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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years

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Do you think Jason Todd fandom is kinda toxic? Because it seems like NO MATTER what DC do, there'll always be complains. Forget the bad adaptation like Titans. Even Judd Winick cannot escape the criticism with how he potrayed Robin!Jason. They just never satisfied.

SORRY, IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS. I just moved from Washington D.C. to Seattle, which, for my non-American friends, that's 4442km away. And I DROVE THERE ALL BY MYSELF. And now I'm trying to find new work in a new city and trying to stay mentally healthy and positive. Life is exciting but hard and scary.

*sighs*

As someone who was a fandom elder with V*ltr*n. I've seen some of the worst when it comes to fandom behavior. I'm talking people baking food with shaving razors and trying to give them to the showrunners. I'm talking leaking major plot details and refusing to take it down unless they make their ship canon (I am looking at you, Kl*nce stans) For the most part, DC Comics has had a decades-long reputation of treating their fans like trash and not caring what they think so from what I've seen, we all just grumble and complain in our corners of the internet about how we don't like how X comic portrays Jason Todd.

The challenge with Jason Todd is that he's your clinical anti-hero, the batfamily's Draco in Leather Pants, he's a jerkass woobie, and on top of all of that, he's a Tumblr sexyman. It's a perfect storm for a very fun but frustrating character to be a fan of. It doesn't help that every writer decides to re-invent the wheel every time Jason comes up so his canon lore is confusing at best and inconsistent as a standard.

I guess starting with a general brief on who Jason is and what is uniform about him with every instance he's appeared in comics/media.

Grew up in a poor family in Gotham with a dad who was a petty-mid-level criminal, and a mother who dies of a drug overdose.

Survives on the street on his own by committing petty crimes and potentially even engaging in sexual acts to keep himself alive.

Is cornered by Batman and taken in after Dick Grayson quits/is fired

Becomes the second Robin, but is known for being the harsher, more brutal Robin.

Is killed by Joker after being tortured, but somehow comes back to life and regains senses through the Lazarus Pit

Resolves himself to be better than Batman by basically being Batman but kills people.

Where there has been a lot of conflict in the fandom is the fact that Jason Todd is not a character that is written consistently. DC Comics loves to go with the narrative that Jason was "bad from the start" and was the "bad robin" when, yes, he has trouble controlling his anger, but he also still is just as invested in seeing the best of Gotham City and trying to be a positive change for the world as any other DC Comics hero.

Where I get frustrated with the fandom is its ability to knit-pick every detail of a comic they don't like while completely disregarding everything that makes the comics great and worth it to read. My example being Urban Legends. To which most people had pretty mixed reactions to. I was critical of the comic at first but as it went along I ended up really liking it. I have a feeling DC Comics went to Chip Zdarsky and told him he had 6 issues to bring Jason back into the Bat Family, and honestly he didn't do a bad job. Did it feel rushed? Absolutely. I wish there was more development of Jason and Bruce's characters and their dynamic as a whole. However, where I see a lot of people being angry and upset with Urban Legends is that they feel Zdarsky needlessly wrote Jason as an incompetent fool who needs Bruce to save him.

Whether or not that was the intention of Zdarsky is up to debate. However, and this may be controversial, but I don't think he wrote Jason Todd out of character at all. For as fearsome, intimidating, and awesome as Red Hood is. Jason is a character who is absolutely driven by his emotions. Why do you think he donned the role of Red Hood? As a response to his anger towards The Joker for killing him, and towards Bruce for not taking action against The Joker and for seemingly replacing him so quickly after he died. Jason didn't care about being the murderous Robin Hood or for being the bloody hammer of justice against N*zi's and P*d*ph*les. He only cared originally about making The Joker and Bruce pay. It wasn't until he trained under the best assassins in the world and realized most of them were horrific criminals who trafficked children and were p*dos that Talia began to realize that the teachers that she sent Jason to train under started dying horrific and painful deaths.

The entire story of the Cheer story in Batman Urban Legends was started because it finally forced some consequences upon Jason. Tyler, aka Blue Hood's father was a drug dealer who gave his supply to his wife and kids. And when Tyler's father admitted he gave the drugs to Tyler, it immediately made him fall within the self-imposed philosophical kill-list of Jason Todd. And Jason, well, he proceeds to kill Tyler's father. When this happens, Jason is in shock. Tyler's dad fit the bill to easily and justifiably be killed by Jason. We've never seen Jason having to deal with the consequences of being a murderous vigilante on a micro-level. When Jason realizes what he's done in that he's murdered Tyler's dad, he's shocked. He tells Babs the truth. He does a rational thing because he's in shock. He doesn't know what to do, he never has had to face the consequences of his actions as Red Hood and now the gravity of befriending a child as a vigilante hero who kills people just set in when he killed the father of the same child he was just introduced to.

(Oh here's a little aside because it had to be said, Jason would not have been a good father or a good mentor to Tyler and absolutely should not have been his new Robin. Jason is a man who is in his early 20's (not saying men in their early 20's can't be good fathers at all) who is a brutal serial killer using the guise of a vigilante anti-hero to let him escape most of the law. the complications of having the man who murdered your father adopt you and make you his sidekick are way too numerous for me to explain in a long-winded already heavy Tumblr essay post. There's a reason why we don't advocate for a story where Joe Chill adopted Bruce Wayne or one where Tony Zucco took in Dick Grayson.)

The next biggest argument is that they feel that Jason is giving up his guns as a means to just be invited back into the Bat-Family. To which I will tell anyone who has that argument to go actually read Urban Legends. Already have and still have that argument? Please re-read it. Don't want to? That's okay, I will paste the images from the comic where Jason specifically says that he doesn't want to give up his weapons for Bruce and his real reasoning down below since the comic isn't exactly readily accessible.

Jason gave up the guns because he felt the gravity of what he had done and knows how it'll effect Tyler. Thankfully his mom is alive and in recovery. But Tyler doesn't have a father anymore. And Jason killed Tyler's father. It may have been in accordance to Jason's philosophy, but it was a case where it blurred the lines. Jason Todd isn't a black and white character, just very dark gray. He doesn't kill aimlessly like the Joker. If you are on Jason's list you probably have done something pretty horrific, and also just in general, being in his way or being a threat to him. Mind you, in early days of Red Hood and the Outlaws (Image below) Jason almost killed 10 innocent civilians in a town in Colorado all because they saw him kill a monster. That being said, Jason isn't aimless in his kills.

(Also can we just take a moment to appreciate Kenneth Rocafort's art? DC Comics said we need to rehabilitate Jason Todd's image and Kenneth Rocafort said hold my beer: It's so SO GOOD)

That being said, the key emphasis in the story of Cheer asides from trying to introduce Jason Todd back into the Bat Family and give an actual purpose for him being there, other than him just kind of being there ala Bowser every time he shows up for Go Kart racing, Tennis, Golf, Soccer, and the Olympic games when Mario invites him, is that Jason and Bruce ultimately both want the same thing. Jason wants to be welcomed back into the family and to be loved and appreciated. Bruce want's Jason back as his son and wants to love and protect Jason. Both of these visions are shown in the last chapter of Cheer while under the effect of the Cheer Gas. It's ultimately this love and appreciation they both have for each other that helps them overcome their challenge and win.

Jason Todd is a character who, just like Bruce, has been through so much pain and so much hate in his life. The two are meant to parallel each other. While Bruce chose to see the best in everyone, giving every rogue in his gallery the option to be helped and give them a second chance, hence why he never kills, Jason has a similar view on wanting to protect the public, but he understands that some crimes are so heinous they cannot be forgiven, or that some habitual criminals are due to stay habitual criminals, and need to be put down. But at the end of the day, the two of them both try to protect people in their own ways.

I am aware that through the writings of various DC Comics authors such as Scott Lobdell and Judd Winick, the two have had a very tumultuous relationship. And rightfully so, I am by no means saying that Scott Lobdell writing an arc where Bruce literally beats Jason to within an inch of his life in Red Hood and the Outlaws, nor Judd Winick's interpretation of Under the Red Hood where Bruce throws the Batarang at Jason's neck, slicing his throat and leaving him ambiguously for dead at the end of the comic is appropriate considering DC Comics seems to be trying everything they can to integrate Jason back into the family. That being said, a lot of these writings have shaped the narrative of Jason and Bruce's relationship and have an integral effect on the way the fandom views the two. It doesn't help that Zdarsky acknowledged Lobdell's life-beating of Jason by Bruce at the very end of Cheer by having Bruce give Jason his old outfit back as a means of mending the fence between the two of them. That does complicate a lot of things in terms of how they are viewed by the fandom and helps to cause an even greater divide between the two.

Regardless, I want to emphasize the fact that Jason Todd is a part of the family of his own accord. Yes, he's quite snarky and deadpan in almost every encounter. However, Jason is absolutely a part of the family and has been for a while of his own will. There's a great moment in Detective Comics that emphasizes this. Jason cares about his family because it is his found family. Yes, they may be warry about him and use him as a punching back and/or heckle him. At the end of the day, we're debating the family dynamics of a fictional playboy billionaire vigilante whose kleptomania took the form of adopting troubled children and turning them into vigilante heroes. Jason Todd wants a family that will love and support him. This is a key definition of his character at its most basic. This was proven during the events of Cheer and is being reenforced by DC Comics every time they get the opportunity to do so.

Now, none of this is to say that I hate Judd Winick. I do not, I don't like the fact that in all of his writings of Jason, he just writes him as a dangerous psychopath, and Winick himself admits to seeing Jason as nothing much more than a psychopath. Yet Winick is the one who the majority of the fandom clings to as the one true good writer of Jason Todd because 'Jason was competent, dangerous, smart' Listen, friends, Jason is all of that and I will never deny it. However, what I love about Jason isn't that he's dangerously smart of that writers either write him as angsty angry Tumblr sexyman bait or that they write him as an infantile man child with a gun. There's a large contention of this fandom that has an obsession with Jason Todd being this vigilante gunman who is hot and sexy and while I definitely get the appeal. It is very creepy and downright disturbing that all of you hyperfixate on his use of guns and ability to be a murderer. It is creepy and I'm not necessarily here for it.

What I love about Jason Todd is that despite all of the pain, all of the heartache, all of the betrayal, and bullying, and death, and anguish. Jason Todd is one of the most loving and supportive characters in all of DC Comics. Jason has been through so much in his life, but he still chooses to love. He still chooses to see the bright side in people. Yes, he takes a utilitarian approach and chooses to kill certain villains, but at the end of the day he wants to see a better world, and he wants to be loved. It takes so much courage and so much heart to learn to love again after one has been abused or traumatized. I would not blame Jason at all if he said fuck it and just went full solo and vigilante evil. He has every right to, but he still chooses to be with the Bat Family of his own accord. That's something that I see a lot of in myself. I have been through a lot of trauma and yet I try to be a better person myself in any way that I can. It is extremely admirable of Jason to allow love back into his heart when he really doesn't need to. He kills and he protects because he has this love of society. It may have been shaped by anger and hatred, but Jason has found his place amongst people who love him and value him. I think Ducra, from Red Hood and the Outlaws put it best in the image given below.

To end this tangent, I love Jason Todd and all of his sexy dangerousness, but it's far more than that. As much as Jason may be dangerous and snarky, he loves his family without a shadow of a doubt. I look up to Jason Todd because despite all of his pain and all of his trauma, he still choses to love. Jason Todd is a character who is someone I love because despite all of his flaws and having a very toxic fandom, he still serves as a character filled with so much heart and so much passion. I wish more writers would understand that. But for now I will live with what I have. Even though the fandom may be vocal about it's hatred for his characterization, I choose to love Jason regardless because he is a character who chooses love and acceptance regardless of his pain. Jason Todd is by no means a good person in any sense of the word. He has easily killed upwards of 100 people by now. He is a character who is flawed and complex but ultimately is one who powers forwards and finds love and heart in a place from so much pain and anguish. That is what I love about Jason Todd. After all, to quote a famous undead robot superhero, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Jason Todd chooses to love despite all of the trauma and pain and grief. Yes, he is hardened in his exterior, but inside there is a man with a lot of love to give and someone who deserves the world in my eyes.

#Long post GOD #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bat Family #Batman #red hood and the outlaws #RHATO #RH:O #Batman Urban Legends #Red Hood Lost Days #TW Voltron #TW Death #tw murder #TW Klance #Gotta love how i am pouring my heart out onto jason AND calling out the Voltron fandom #Regardless love Jason Todd people

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 3 years

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Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 2)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge.

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3.

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki visits Mick to give him a very important task.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead @i-dont-like-rice @nikki-sexx @smokeandmirrorz

Mick was supposed to not give a shit about Nikki. He and the stupid drummer had tormented him and his wife for months on ends, making the whole tour a living hell and he didn’t need to have even more things to worry about. So what if his bassist decided to get addicted to heroin? He was a fucking dumbass but it wasn’t his problem. He would end up killing himself and it wasn’t like Mick could have done something, not when his whole body was torturing him.

The only problem was that he cared, deep down. He cared about the fucker and hearing the news that he was gone forever hit him. He lost one of his friends and the band all together in a day, what would have happened? He hated to admit he was scared about the future, it was hard to imagine Motley Crue without Nikki.

He sighed, turning off yet another discussion about his death. They didn’t call him yet but something was telling him that they had to release a statement soon. Doc was probably freaking out somewhere crying for all his millions of dollars lost.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man” A voice incredibly similar to Nikki said, making Mick jump up.

Nikki didn’t feel anything, one moment they were in the ambulance and the other they were on the beach. He was confused for a moment before he remembered that Mick had a beach house, and stared at it for a bit. He didn’t know much about the guitarist, maybe almost nothing but he respected him so much. He was one of the strongest dudes he had ever met.

The weirdest thing about all of this was probably how he was only able to feel certain things, no cravings or sand under his feet as he was walking, yet he would still feel guilt, fear, love, worry… it didn’t make sense but he wasn’t in the mood to question the universe’s rules.

People can’t see you until you decide to show yourself. You have to remember or otherwise they can’t hear or see you.

The voice still freaked him out, but at the same time he was grateful for it to be there… it made him feel less alone, which was great considering how he felt lonely for his entire life.

“You’re not alone Nikki, I’ll always be there with you, through highs and lows”

“God it sounds like a marriage vow, T-Bone”

“Well if I could I’d marry now…”

He shook his head, trying to get the memory out. It wasn’t the time to be sentimental and risk fucking everything up, so he walked ( more like flew) through the front door and found Mick sitting on the couch.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man”. The bassist hoped that he was heard, otherwise it would have been pretty embarrassing.

Mick visibly jumped at hearing Nikki’s voice and quickly turned around to look at him. From his widened eyes and confused expression, he knew he probably looked fucking transparent.

“Okay first of all why the hell are you here talking to me if you’re dead? Then why the fuck can I see myself through you ?”

The black haired man just realized that he had no idea how to explain everything and be believed, he just went along with whatever the voice in his head was saying, but now it was different. He fumbled with his hand and realized he couldn’t feel them, while he tried to come up with the best way to explain to his friend how he was a ghost and why he was there.

“I died… I have no idea how I came back but I have unfinished business and I need to talk to you!”

The guitarist looked at him up and down, clearly skeptical. However, there wasn’t much arguing… Nikki’s ghost was literally standing in front of him.

“Okay I have no idea if this is a dream, I’m dead or in a coma, or simply I drank too much but now I’ll grab some vodka and you’ll spill your little secrets as you like”.

Nikki smiled a bit… He honestly felt normal for the first time since he was brought back. Having Mick joking was so familiar, usually Tommy was the aim of his jokes and they all laughed because they were all so unexpected…

Tommy. Thinking about him still hurt, again he wondered if he was okay and how much he missed him… but it wasn’t his time now. He had other things to talk about as Mick came back into the living room with his glass.

“Mick… you gotta promise me that you won’t let Motley Crue die, that you will fight to keep the band’s legacy.”

The older man looked at him surprised, rolling his eyes.

“Well that’s a bit hard when our bassist and songwriter died!”

Rage and resentment were heavy in his voice but there was more : fear and sadness. Nikki felt guilty and he fucking hated it, it was so unlike him but he couldn’t help it… Mick cared about the band as much as he did. He always said the band was his life, before heroin came into the picture, but it was also Mick’s and he probably destroyed everything.

“You will find another one, another bassist who is also a songwriter…” The words felt so foreign coming from his mouth. They even hurt a bit but they were necessary.

“I know you care about this band as much as I do, Mick. I know how much you’ve worked your ass off in shitty bands, trying to find the one that was going to break… I might be dead but Crue can’t have the same fate”.

Mick scoffed, taking a long sip of his vodka.

“It’s not easy, it’s not like we can find the perfect match like we did. Plus, everyone will probably hate him for replacing you!”

The frustration was almost tangible, but there was something else… Mick was scared, he knew everything was about to fade away because of Nikki’s actions, he was already looking at the boat sinking. Nikki started to panic because his band had to live, even in his death! It was pointless and selfish but that was the only thing people could remind him of.

“If you give up, then Vince and Tommy will do the same! I know that you think no one will take you, but the truth is they will. Crue is what it is because of our vision, you are part of it and I’m asking you to keep it going. Think of this as my dying man’s wish… even if I’m already dead”

The older man’s grip on his glass got tighter, his eyes lost in thought as he was pondering Nikki’s words. It was hard to take in, hell that was an understatement, it was fucking insane and probably wouldn’t work but the bassist needed to have this false hope.

“It’s so fucking weird, you know? To realize you’re fucking dead yet here talking to me.”

He was deflecting, Nikki knew it, but didn’t want to push it too far. He learned to know Mick, he kept his promises and he was a hard worker and with a good dose of luck and jokes, you got him to your side.

“Yeah, do you remember how I said you weren’t going to make it in that interview? Well, karma hits like a bitch!”

“Mick might not make it , he drinks a little too much and it looks rough” Mick quoted, trying to imitate Nikki’s voice.

“Yeah and then you said something like I heard what you said and you’re dead, fuck I guess you were right” He laughed but Mick didn’t.

Oh c’mon so what if he was joking about his death? It’s not like anyone really cared about him. They just saw him as a burden, which he was. Not his mom, nor his band or his Tommy would have really missed him… they would eventually move on.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He said annoyed but his lips formed a small smile.

“I know, I know. Mick… please promise me that. If Crue is going to end, then my whole life didn’t mean anything! Ple…” He stopped himself, he was so fucking close to begging but he couldn’t. Nikki Sixx didn’t fucking beg, not in life or death.

“I’m thinking about it!”

He really meant the first part. He spent all his teenage and adult years creating the band of his dreams and making sure they conquered the world. This band was his escape; his attempt at redemption after his shitty childhood. Nobody loved Frank Feranna but he didn’t care, he would become Nikki Sixx and be super fucking famous!

He didn’t need anyone’s love, except that he did.

“ I love you, Nikki.”

“ No you don’t, nobody does, T-Bone”

“Well I fucking do. You gotta pass on my dead body before you’ll hear me not saying it over and over”

His heart might have stopped, but he still felt the big wave of nostalgia hitting him. He couldn’t do it, he would have never been ready to see him again.

“Okay, I will. But listen to me, it won’t be easy and I’m an old man with a fucked up back, so don’t send demons against me if I fail!” The little spark of determination in his eyes relaxed Nikki, he was on board.

“I fucking knew you were the best, Mars! If I wasn’t dead I’d probably tattoo your face on me as a thank you!”

“Oh gross, never say that again!” He pretended to be disgusted but his eyes betrayed him, the small softness in them told Nikki he felt touched.

“Who knows, maybe in hell they have tattoos for the ghosts. God we used to hate each other and now we are two peas in a pod.”

“I still hate you.”

“Ugh, you crushed my heart Mick”

The guitarist flipped him off, rolling his eyes. Nikki desperately wanted to keep talking, if he did then he could have pretended nothing changed, right? He didn’t have to face Vince and Tommy and go through the light… everything would have stayed the same or he could fool himself that it would.

I think it’s time to go to the next person.

The voice was demanding yet still calm. Nikki knew that he couldn’t stay forever, they had to prevent spirits from just lingering into the real world like that, it made him a bit angry but he understood it. It wasn’t like he could have done much anyway…He was just a shell of what he used to be.

“I gotta go Mick…” He wanted to punch himself because he sounded so fucking pathetic, but the other man gave him a compassionate smile.

What he fuck are you, a little small puppy? Oh look Frankie is scared to leave his illusion of a family.

Mick walked him to the other without saying anything, but before turning the handle, which was pointless because Nikki could have just passed through the door, he broke the silence.

“Try to give us some signs, okay? Show us that you’re there… but don’t you fucking dare spill my vodka or I’ll make you two times dead!”

“Oh that’s exactly what I’ll do, thanks for the suggestion!”

He stepped outside and looked at Mick one last time.

“You promised, alien. You gotta do it!”

“Yeah yeah, you better repay me when I come to join you there…” And with one last look, Mick closed the door.

Nikki felt all of the weight crushing down on his body, even if it was made of air. He simply stood still, his mind racing like a freight train, trying to take everything in but also getting ready for his next move… being overwhelmed was an understatement, he felt peeled down like an orange and this was only the beginning. He felt like a fucking coward but he just wanted to get over it, was it that bad to accept his fate and disappear without facing anyone?

You are going to abandon him again? You know why you need to talk to Vince, and you know this will be your last chance to see him, asshole!

He went to kick the sand, but he couldn’t touch it. God, how frustrating was that!

So where are we going next?

Nikki would have wanted to scream at him, give him the middle finger and just run away but it wouldn’t have been helpful, would it? So he forced himself to be as neutral as possible.

“Vince Neil. Take me to his house.”

#nikki sixx #Tommy Lee #mick mard #vince neil #motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #80sRock #80s rock band #fanfiction #my writing #tommy lee x nikki sixx

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

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Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 3/8

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

"Do you remember the last time I was in your car?"

The hitch immediately started with that one question. It seemed innocent enough with the way you said it in nonchalance while you let your eyes roam the ivory interior of the Lexus. The two of you were only halfway out of the highway when you asked out of the blue, ultimately pissing Nanami off.

At the reminder, his knuckles immediately turned bone white on the steering wheel, his expressions turning dark as he glanced at you, mouth set in a thin line.

He couldn't remember a darker time in his life than watching you almost die from the rear view mirror of his car as you lay shivering on the backseat, unresponsive even if he struggled to both drive, not to crash and keep you conscious. The glassy look about your blue eyes and the way your pupils had blown up to more than twice their size making him shiver. It was safe to say it scarred him for life.

It was a day like any other. He had just gotten off work after a long day at the court, a mix of sadness and elation coursing through him after winning the case for a teenage girl who was brutally murdered. He finally put the man responsible for it in jail for good. It felt good to see the relief on the faces of the grieving parents; to finally put an end to the daily misery they have to go through, having to be reminded of what has become of their daughter.

But as he was resting in his study, a damp towel draped over his tired eyes and throbbing head, his phone suddenly rang. It wasn't yet 10 o'clock in the evening so he opted to answer it, surprised when he saw your name on the screen. You never really called, and the last time you did, it didn't bode well.

"Hello?"

"Suguru..." came your hoarse voice from the other end of the line, your shallow breaths and wheezes evident in each syllable followed by the sound of faintly splashing water.

"You've reached the wrong person, sweetheart," he muttered, reminding him just how Geto was your favorite among Gojo's friends. He did not resent that, but to say he wasn't the tiniest bit jealous was a lie.

Nanami called your name several times but there was no response, just loud rustling and what seemed to be the device falling on the floor with an echo.

"I fucked up big time," you managed to choke out when you spoke again, your tone slurred, and you seemed to be having a difficult time speaking.

"Where are you?"

"I n-need you... p-please..."

"What's going on?" Nanami was already on his feet, dashing out of the study and picking up his keys, still coaxing you to respond when he heard a ding on his phone. You managed to send your location but you weren't speaking anymore.

He was not religious, probably did not believe in a higher being, but as he drove towards your location, thankfully only half a mile away to the suburbs, he found himself fervently praying for your safety.

When he finally got to the address, he found a modernistic structure, a house, and there seemed to be a party going on. He saw some familiar faces, the gallery manager from the previous exhibit of your recent collection and some art connoisseurs he recognized from the same event.

He barged into the house, being handed a champagne flute the moment he entered, everyone welcoming him but he didn't see your face among the people. He refused, asking instead where you were, sprinting up the stairs in large strides when he was told you went upstairs with some people.

Nanami pretty much kicked every door open until he finally found you in one of the upstairs bathroom. He thought his knees would give out as his heart literally stopped at the sight before him.

There, on the half-filled bathtub was you, soaked to your chest. Your white hair was matted over your forehead while the tips floated on the water. You turned your head when you heard him enter, revealing bloodshot eyes, your lips blue and you looked like you didn't have any blood left with your almost greyish pallor.

Hurriedly, he took you out of the tub, carrying you downstairs much to the curiosity of the guests. "You will be okay. Stay with me," he kept telling you.

Despite your state, you managed to smile, tears springing from your eyes. "Nanamin..." you said weakly, making his heart swell that you were at least happy to see him.

He seriously thought you were going to die, but apparently, you did not necessarily overdose on the cocaine you had taken in as he would later find out from the doctors themselves. You had a bad trip and had to be weaned off the substance for the next twenty four hours.

"Are you drug dependent?" he asked when he picked you up from the hospital, opting not to tell Gojo about the matter until he got his answers.

"You won't tell Satoru, will you?" you asked.

"That depends on your answer and whether you're telling the truth," he told you gruffly, fighting hard not to be angry seeing as how fragile you looked. He hadn't slept and he felt as if his nerves were frayed.

You shook your head. "That's the first time. I promise you it won't happen again. I know it's stupid, but I was just curious."

"Your devil-may-care attitude will kill you."

"I know."

He didn't say anything more no matter how much he wanted to scold you and beat some sense into you. He never brought it up and neither did you. That was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. It was your secret which he will carry to his grave and for the last three years since then, nothing like it happened again. You voluntarily cut your ties with the people who were in that party and since then, you had been well.

"Don't remind me," he snapped at you, keeping his eyes on the road.

You’ve reached the shop that Utahime had instructed you to go to for your fitting, but before he could kill the engine, you spoke again.

"Come to think of it, I've never properly apologized for it, and I haven't said thank you enough for saving me that day."

Nanami shot you a sharp look. "I don't want to talk about it."

You sighed and held his hand as he was taking off his seatbelt. "I don't mean to make you angry, but I am sincerely apologizing for it. I am sorry because I put you through that."

Nanami held you by the wrist instead, meeting your gaze with a cold stare. "If you are, then I hope you also realized what a selfish person you are. You're right. You put me through hell. What could I have said to your brother if you died on me that night?"

You didn't say anything, appearing contrite for the first time.

"Gojo would have lost you. Your friends would have lost you." He sighed heavily, holding your hand properly, his expressions softening at how tiny yours looked in his. "I would have lost you."

At his last statement, you nodded and chuckled quietly. "I wouldn't refute that if it saves me. Still, I wanted you to know that it was a big deal for me." You smiled at him. "But that's not all. I could have lost you, but you're still here. So, thanks." And in a surprising turn of events which left him dumbstruck, you lifted both your hands and brushed your lips on his knuckles before disembarking from the car and skipping to the couturier's shop.

His mind wandered throughout the time he was being assisted into the suit that the bride- and groom-to-be had chosen for him to wear on their wedding. He had to give Gojo props for choosing well and suiting the ensemble’s piece to his preference. But he couldn’t quite concentrate on the task at hand when the scene in the car kept playing in his mind. The back of his hand still tingled where you kissed it.

All he wanted to do was see you, but you were a room away, also being pricked and pinned. He wanted nothing but for the fitting to be over so he can be with you again, regardless if it was just for the short drive going back to Gojo manor. Your course of action and words fueled something in him he thought never existed, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to see you, hear you, smell you, touch you. He wanted you, wanted to have you for himself come Gojo or high water. He already knew that, but he never felt as strongly as he did for you than at present because he also knew, that for the first time, you were being yourself and not playing games with him.

Nanami vaguely heard the tailor say something to him, but he didn’t quite catch it, but his image on the mirror suddenly became clearer as he was interrupted from his daydream. His brows furrowed together as he assessed what the man said, but before it could drag on for too long, his cluelessness, he said, “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“Is the fit just right, Mr. Nanami?” the man asked again, expert eyes scanning over his figure.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Nanami stated hurriedly. He couldn’t care less about the suit, but it was already great. He didn’t see any reason to prolong the appointment. “Can I get changed now?”

“Certainly, sir,” the tailor said. “I will leave you to get dressed.”

He just nodded and carefully shed the suit off before changing back into his clothes, meticulously folding the sleeves of his shirt before he set out in search of you. He knocked on the door he was directed to, hearing music playing on the other side of the door along with some voices, one of which was yours.

The door opened and his eyes immediately met those cool blue ones through the mirror. You had your arms spread out to the sides as three women worked around you. “Done already?”

Nanami felt heat creeping up his neck as he averted his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were far from finished.”

“Oh, shush. I need your opinion.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Like I know anything about this.” At odds to his words, he sat down.

“Your boyfriend is handsome,” the couturier commented with a flirtatious giggle as he sized Nanami up.

“I –”

He was about to protest when you cut him short and said, “Isn’t he?”

“That coming from the person who said she didn’t feel like drawing my face,” he said, feigning annoyance.

“Oh, baby. I can’t draw your face if its saves me.” You flashed him a seductive smile. “You’re too perfect.” You winked at him through the mirror while he just sat down and shook his head in amusement, picking up a magazine but not really reading through it. He just watched as you were directed like a doll to pose whichever way the stylist wanted and he could have sworn he has seen nothing more beautiful.

“Just another pin right here,” the couturier said flamboyantly, fastening this and that around your sides, “…and we’re done!” He clapped his hands, standing back as he admired his handiwork. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s fine,” you said, tilting your head to the side.

“Hmm,” Nanami butted in, closing the distance between him and you. He came closer behind you, silently ordering everyone else out of the room with a succinct jerk of his head before he stood there, eyes on your bare back. He placed both hands on either of your shoulders, towering over you.

You quietly observed what he was doing from the mirror, your expressions unchanging even when he traced your spine with his finger. His lips curled at the corners ever so slightly when you slightly jerked forward when he reached the small of your back, relishing the smoothness of your skin against his calloused digit. He lingered there, drawing circles as he met your gaze on your reflection.

“Isn’t this too low?” he asked, his breath hitting the shell of your right ear. “You’re attending a wedding anyway.”

“Oh?” You twirled around so that your back was to the mirror, while you looked over your shoulder to check what he was saying. The plunging style of the dusty rose gown dipped all the way to your waist. “You think so?” You looked up at him, noticing how his face was just inches away from you. “I think it’s okay.”

“Okay for everyone to see?”

At that, you smiled smugly at him. “And you don’t like that, do you, Nanamin?” you asked sultrily.

“I am your boyfriend after all,” he teased. “While I’d like to brag about you, it wouldn’t sit right with me to know everyone’s seeing what’s supposedly only for my eyes, now would it?”

“I never took you for the jealous – whoa!”

Without preamble, he wrapped a strong arm around you, pulling you close so that you were flush against his chest, a devious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t even concealing his enjoyment anymore. He liked having you close like that, your intoxicating scent dominating his senses.

“Why did you say that to the stylist?” he asked, leaning closer and reveling at the fact that you were caught off guard, eyes wide in surprise.

“It’s easier to just say so than explain, isn’t it?” You leveled your bearing with his. “You didn’t do anything to disagree either.”

“First, you kiss me in front of your brother, flirt with me like it’s normal and say things like that. What are you playing at?”

“Is this one of your games?” you asked, returning his question to you the previous day. You reached up and cupped the side of his face, eyes lingering on his mouth. “Cause I’ll play, Kento.”

He has never quite thought of his name before, whether he liked it or not. It was given to him and he couldn't imagine being called anything else. But he has never liked the sound of it as much as he did when it was rolling out of your tongue. It brought out a strange feeling, spurring him on to give in to his desires instead of holding them back like he usually does with you.

It was all the encouragement he needed. Fuck everything, he thought, dipping his head lower to close the distance between the two of you until he was touching your lips. A quiet gasp left your mouth when he pressed his lips onto yours in an experimental touch, gentle as a zephyr. Your ocean eyes stared at him, taken aback when he pulled away but the dazed look you had was the same one that drew him back to you, landing pecks several times, each one lingering longer than the last.

"Are you teasing me, Nanamin?" you breathed out softly, the laughter in your voice dying out when he captured your lips, this time shutting you up for a good while, coaxing you to respond to his ministrations. He knew he won over you when he felt your fingers grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer, your chest rising and falling against his in shallow breaths, making his heart thrum wildly.

His senses were already heightened whenever you were in the same breathing space as he was, but it was always a different story when you were touching him. Hyper aware. There wasn't a better word that would describe how he felt at that moment. He seemed to see everything he wouldn't usually notice; hear his heart thrumming over every other thought in his brain; almost touch the tension in the air and feel that intense heat blooming from his chest outwards.

But at the same time, nothing mattered but the person in front of him, kissing him and making him feel all sorts of ways. He was a gonner and he knew it but he didn't want to fight it either.

You moaned into the kiss when he gently darted his tongue into your mouth, seducing yours in a fiery dance that united your breaths. His hands made their way up your shoulders, the feel of your soft skin awakening carnal thoughts, making him think of nothing but ways to own you, mark you until he was satisfied. He cupped your face in his large hands, holding you in place, unable to get enough of your taste and the sensations you gave him. They made him crave like a man starved and deprived and he wants to take, take, take.

By the time he pulled away, he was a panting mess, eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against yours, willing himself to calm down. He couldn't help the smile that graced his lips the moment he opened his eyes to find you flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. But that was short-lived when he heard a clinking sound on the side of his head and a wicked grin stretched over your mouth. When he followed the sound, he saw the keys to his car dangling on your fingers.

"What –"

You took a step back when he tried to reach for it, effectively holding it away from him. "Prestidigitation," you declared, sounding victorious. "I'm driving. No arguments."

Nanami sighed, his senses still fuzzy from your kiss and the sight of you whirling around in chiffon and taffeta. He just gave in to his affections for you in hopes of coming out the victor, but you still played him in his own game. "Fine. You win."

You stood on your toes and pecked him on the cheek, stepping off to the side to ring the bell for the shop staff. "I promise not to crash your car."

Nanami sat on the passenger side of the car, glancing at the fair-haired villain who stole his car keys, currently driving him to some surprise place of your choosing. He had protested when he noticed how you were going to the opposite way from the manor, taking the highway that led well away from the town. Thrice, he told you to turn back and for every reason he cited, you had a counterattack, not necessarily valid but enough grounds for you to get your way.

"I need to read through the case file and take down notes to make up for the time I'm missing at the firm," came his first excuse but you effectively shot that down by pointing at his briefcase neatly tucked at the backseat.

"Yeah, cause as anal as you are about your job, you don't keep spare copies in your car in cases of emergency."

He jerked on his seat at your comment. "Hey, I'm not anal about my job! I'm just being prudent."

You laughed at the way his voice was raised than usual. "No need to get defensive. Besides, Your initial hearing isn't going to be in two months and by the looks of it, you have everything almost done."

"How did you –"

"I saw them the first day you arrived." Shrugging, it was your turn to shoot him with an annoyed gaze. "You keep forgetting that I have photographic memory. I'm cursed to remember everything."

Truth was, he seemed to be forgetting whose sister you were, letting his guard down and kissing you the way he did. He knew he could have done more if he completely let go of his reins. You were just too tempting, too beautiful and brimming life and infinite galaxies in your eyes which devoured him and made him lose of all sense of time, space and just sense in general.

"Satoru will be looking for you," Nanami attempted for the second time which only earned him an imperious look from you. You said everything in that single action: one, that you didn't care and two, that he was behaving ludicrously.

For the final time, he tried to appeal with something which you would actually give a damn about. "Don't you want to spend time with your friends?"

"Seriously, Nanamin, they're the least of your problems. We're going camping tonight. Besides, they know –" You deliberately stopped talking, your ears turning red, evidently flustered.

"They know what?" he prompted, leaning forward to have a better look at your face to assess your mood.

But then you said, "You're distracting me."

"And you're being evasive."

"If you don't want to spend time with me, just say so." In an abrupt swerve which made his life flash before his eyes, you pulled over to the side of the road, letting go of the steering wheel after you killed the engine. "Drive us home then."

You motioned to remove your seat belt, but Nanami stopped you, shaking his head. Why anything never went right when he was dealing with you was beyond him. "That's not it at all."

"Then what?" you snapped.

Damn, he thought. If the two of you were already fighting the way you are at present, he couldn't imagine how things would be once you were in an actual relationship. Then again, maybe it was the confusion as to what was happening that was causing the unwarranted tension between you two.

He sighed. "You're just too erratic. I can't keep up."

"And you're too fucking vanilla!" you growled.

Nanami was appalled that you would say that same comment in such a way. Leveling his ire with yours, he spat, "That's rich coming from you. Didn't you date that Kamo kid?"

You were stunned at his citation of your former relationship, even more so at his childish attempt at spiting you. It was so atypical of him. "You..." You jabbed a finger at him, about to spit fire when you realized that he cared enough to notice. Your brows knit together. "How did you know about that?"

"You think I wouldn't notice that he's been following you around like a lovestruck puppy during last year's autumn festival?" Nanami scoffed, sneering. "A person like you with someone more boring than the vanilla you claim that I am?"

He was being petty, he knew it, too. The look on your face as you just ogled him in stunned silence says it all. It was as if you never expected him to ever retort the way he did. It was really unusual if he would say so himself since he never really indulged you enough to actually argue with you the way the two of you were doing at the moment.

Out of the blue, you burst out in a fit of giggles, the corners of your eyes watering. "Come to think of it, he acts more like an old man than you do..."

"You dare call me an old man?" He knew your argument was over, but he couldn't help but say it. There was an out of place sense of satisfaction that engaging you in a word joust gave him no matter how unintelligent and shallow it was about.

When you finally calmed down, you said, "I want you to have fun and have a sense of adventure for once. I swear I won't throw your dead body to the ocean."

His left eye twitched at your sentiment. "Well, if you put it that way..."

"Just say yes to me for once."

"I always say yes to you if you haven't noticed by now."

You snickered, starting the engine. "I want you to say yes to me now."

Nanami felt something tug at his chest. "Yes."

"Good." You leaned over and poked him on the cheek.

Nanami sat there, rolling down the window as you drove, letting lose and enjoying the scenery the car passed by on the way to the sea. For the first time in a long time, his face ached from smiling too much, unable to help it.

He knew it and he didn't care if he was doomed. He was in love with you, always have been and always will.

-end of part 3-

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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xxisxxisxxis · 3 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety-One [PT. 1]

A/N: Part 2 coming tomorrow.

Words:3k

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of miscarriage, sexual situations

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NIKKI

I stare down at the small, black and white pictures of seemingly nothing except a tiny, tiny little blob, except for one picture which is marked with “4 months” on the back, February 14th, 1986, in white marker in Vivs’s handwriting, one picture out of seven, each with dates…she doesn’t say a word to me, and she didn’t before she handed them over. She just chunked them in my lap and went from there.

I don’t know what to ask, because I don’t know what to say.

“Are these…?” I finally get out, looking at her.

She’s got tears in her eyes, and it slowly starts sinking in.

These are fucking kids--well, tiny little embryo kids, or whatever.

“These are your’s?” I ask next and she nods.

When the hell was she ever fucking pregnant?

I check the dates again…

1983.

1984.

1985.

1986.

1986...the back of it says “twins.”

“Where was I when all of this was happening?” I ask her, and she licks her lips and breathes out.

“I don’t know, Nikki, where were you?” She replies lowly.

I look at her for a moment, trying to decide if she’s serious or not.

Then she digs in her purse and pulls out a paper, unfolding it before going through the list of dates assigned to each ultrasound image, reciting to me--in my own words from diaries--my whereabouts around the time she lost each one.

I take it that she’s already skimmed through a diary or two already.

I get angrier and angrier with each line, shaking by the time she starts on, “1986--you were unconscious while me and Andy McCoy were trying to resuscit--”

I throw the pictures and they all split from each other and scatter around her, cutting her short.

“None of this is my fault, Vivian!” I scream at her, my heart feeling as though it’s rotting behind my ribs. “I didn’t fucking know!”

“How could you fucking know when you were so damn hig--”

“You came home in ‘83, from that appointment and told me it was a false-positive test and you had just gained a little weight. I wasn’t on smack in July of 1983. In fact, I went a little while on just Tylenol and beer while I was tampering off my heavy meds the doctor prescribed for my shoulder. So you could have fucking told me then what the fuck was happening, instead of shutting down and shutting me out for three goddamn months!” I’m crying without realizing it until hot tears prick down my cheeks, my skin uncomfortable as my nerves singe from my boiling blood. “I loved you, I had just married you for Christ sake--I was happy and excited to be at that point with you and you fucking left me for three months! You’d barely let me touch you, you wouldn’t come out of our room, you wouldn’t wanna go out, I’d sleep on the fucking couch or crash at Robbins or Tommy’s because you’d tell me you just wanted to be alone, and all along I thought it was my fault because I went to that fucking party with Tommy instead of staying with you the night of our wedding and you were just making me pay...and then when you were put on medication I thought it was my fault, too, because I thought you’d figured out I was tampering with smack, and I just…” I’m up and pacing, hands in my hair…

Amber doesn’t say a word.

I think Viv broke her, too, because she looks like she’s trying to find the right thing to say.

Maybe she’s hoping we can talk this one out on our own.

But I don’t want to talk anything out.

Not right now.

“I didn’t tell you about them because I was scared you would cope with the pain the same way you’d coped with pain for years. I was afraid you’d drink and drug yourself and leave me to deal with it by myself, and I didn’t want to put that on you, so I just dealt with it myself.” Vivian admits, her voice cracking.

“Vivian, you haven’t dealt with it, though.” Amber quietly interjects, softly. “You haven’t dealt with it. You haven’t allowed yourself to heal.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?” I shakily ask, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.

“When you died.” She says next, honestly, her tone a dead giveaway that it’s not something she’s proud of, but it’s the truth. “I was just gonna bury the pictures with you, just in case you had random kids coming up to you in the next life, you’d know who they were, I guess.”

I feel sick to my stomach at the confession, my whole body repulsed with the fact that she’s managed to hide this the past four years.

“Nikki, if you need to take a break, we can,” Amber assures me.

I’m getting the fuck out of there as fast as I can, just desperate to get some air that Vivian isn’t breathing her demoness presence into, and the second I get free, I'm puking my guts up in the hallway.

I know I had a reason to be angry with her, she hid that from me, like I'd hid so much from her. She thought she was protecting me, though, and I just didn't want her to leave me because I was a pussy and a piece of shit--and I knew it.

I was more pissed at myself, though, because I knew I'd put her in the position to feel like she couldn't come to me and tell me she was pregnant, let alone had lost it, even before I was on smack.

She knew how I handled shit--either drink, do whatever drug was accessible, or both.

When heroin and crack entered the picture, that just cemented her will not to tell me about it.

I think the biggest elephant in the room, though, despite her being pregnant with Duff's baby at that point, and me and my thing with Vanity and all the other women, and her hidden pregnancies, was the fact she never wanted to get married to me that fast, and I knew it.

I knew it the day we got married that she didn't really want to, she was just trying to make me happy, and I fucking let her do it because I was so terrified that I was going to lose her if I didn't go as far as I could to secure her to me.

The amount of unnecessary bullshit she could've bypassed had I just taken a step back and told her we didn't have to get married if she didn't want to...I often times think it would've saved her a lot of heartbreak. We could've broken up when shit hit the fan with smack in '84, I still would've lived through my bad OD in '87, probably, and we could've gotten back together when I cleaned my shit up--that is if she would've waited for me...and that's why I didn't let up. Because "if she waited" wasn't good enough. I didn't want "if."

I wanted her.

So I married her, knowing she didn't want to, and instead of proving her wrong and giving her a relationship to question why she ever second guessed vowing an eternity together with me, I put her through hell, treated her like shit, abused her, endured her abuse, wasted each other's time, hurt each other, ruined each other more and more than what we were when we got into the relationship.

And that was my first indiscretion against her.

Marrying her knowing she wasn't ready.

By the time I finish puking, I'm leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths, hearing Vivian crying, still in Amber's office.

I squeeze my eyes closed, my palms roughly wipe my stray tears.

Despite being sober, the little fuck that is Sikki is trying to claw out of the box I've put him in for over a month, now.

Just the faintest, "leave her," echoes in my mind.

"Fuck you." I audibly tell him.

"She never wanted to be with you in the first place. Why do you think her body refused to carry your fucking kids? Because she hates you so much that it'd be an abomination to have your little hell rats."

"Fuck off." I argue, again.

"And just think about it. The timing of this one she's got now...she was getting her brains screwed backwards right next door to you while you were keeling over. It was like she knew what was about to happen and she was celebrating the fact she wouldn't have to fucking deal with your shit ever again." He taunts, getting more and more of his scraggly hand out of the box, the lid cracking open to reveal his white, sallow skin and dark eyes.

"Fuck off." I gritt out once more.

"What's wrong? You don't think she'd do that? After all the times you've admitted she's an evil bitch from the pit fires of hell? Because I think she'd do it. In fact, I bet she'd stare your overdosing carcass in the eyes, screaming out his name in ecstasy, while dripping cum at the mere fact you were dying."

I slam the lid of the box back down, crushing his boney, track riddled fingers, making him curse me.

I refuse to listen to his bullshit anymore.

Vivian loves me. She wants to be with me. She'd be gone by now if she didn't, and I wouldn't blame her.

1 9 8 1

"Ummm…" I trail off, watching her closely, lickikg my lips, my hand grabbing at the curve of her hip over the comforter she's got pulled up to her chest, her head in the crook of my elbow, looking up at me, awaiting my answer. "...I don't know." I say, honestly.

"As theological as you are and you can't tell me whether or not you think Aliens are real?" She asks and I roll my eyes.

"I don't know, miss honor roll, you tell me." I counter and she grins.

"I think the universe is too big for it to just be us." She informs me.

"Ah, says the one who also believes a heaven and a God exists within the same wide range of universe." I reply and she hits my bare chest with the back of her hand, gently.

"Shut up." She says, shaking her head a little. "Is it not reasonable to think there's more than just us?"

I think about it for a moment.

"I wouldn't be surprised if aliens are real, I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't." I admit, rubbing my eye for a second.

"What about God?" She asks next and I try not to laugh in her face.

"I'm almost one hundred percent sure that God doesn't exist." I state.

"How do you know?" She says, blinking emerald greens at me, as if what I'm about to say about her imaginary friend she's been brainwashed into believing in, is going to make or break her.

"I'm not sure, baby, I just think...fine, tell you what, I wouldn't be surprised if God were real, and I wouldn't be surprised if he weren't real." I give her the benefit of the doubt.

"I'd be surprised if he weren't." She tells me.

"Yeah? Well, how do you know he is real?" I question her, next, a teasing smile on my lips.

"I don't know, you can't see him or hear his voice audibly, but you can feel him." She explains the best she can and I raise my brows.

"You can feel God?"

"Well, yeah." She replies, her finger tracing along the few bits of chest hair I've got and I lick my lips for a second before leaning down, kissing her.

"What about now?" I ask, grinning as my hand pushes away at the covers over her to run against the smooth skin of her thigh and she smiles just a little before pressing her lips to mine, one of her hands threading in my hair with her other arm snakes around me, pulling me on top of her and I chuckle lowly, nestling between her legs while we get hot and heavy with our tongues and teeth.

Both of us let out satisfied breaths when I slide into her, her eyes fluttering closed, brows furrowed slightly, head leaning back as her nails bite into my arms.

I pat myself on the back and trail hot, wet, sloppy kisses along her clavicle before pulling out of her again, a little shudder going up my back from the tight, soaking heat between her legs.

When I start building a slow but hard rhythm, her legs are locking at the base of my spine, her arms hugging at my back, pulling me to her as, "Nikki," slips from her lips.

"What about now?" I ask in her ear as I force myself as deep into her as her body will let me, and she whimpers out, "yes."

A sadistic little pat to my ego causes a pull at my lips, my hand wrapping around her throat as I stare down at her, her nails clawing down my back, tears in her eyes as I thrust back into her…

I kiss at her lips, her cheek, her jaw, moving my hand from her throat to kiss her neck and I swear I hear the faintest, barely inaudible whisper of, "I love you," but decide I'm just hearing things...

Present

I squeeze my eyes shut, the smell of my puke wafting in my face, making me take several steps back to catch my breath.

It's hard to swallow the fact that I really let myself be convinced for so long that I'd let her fuck my life up, to the extent of blaming her for my life actually being fucked up.

"Fuck." I curse at myself, raking my hands down my face.

How the fuck am I going to make this right with her?

How the fuck is she going to make this right with me?

She's pregnant, with Duff's kid or whatever, and then BAM! just drops this shit on me that she's actually been pregnant multiple times from me and never mentioned losing any of them to me.

I know it's my fault that she didn't tell me. I know it is. Am I going to admit that to her? Fuck no. Am I hurt over her not telling me anyway? Yeah, I am.

If I wasn't in sobriety penitentiary, I'd probably be out and about trying to find something to numb and distract me…

I don't know what to do.

But I do know one thing for sure: I'm not in love with her anymore, but I love her, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same exact way about me...but it's not like we can't get back to that place we were in when we first got together, it's just gonna take some work...a lot of work.

I huff out a breath, taking a moment to get my shit together, mentally.

Do I go back in there and finish out today or just try again next week?

I think on it for a minute…

"Fuck it." I say out, shakily, weakly, tears break past my lash line once again,

a far cry from that tough motherfucker I swore I was for years. "Just fuck it."

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

And fuck me.

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #👀

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thefactsofthematter · 3 years

Text

we’ve all lost our way before

a bittersweet, jack-and-medda-centred prequel to this fic i wrote last year. no one requested this, i just felt like pouring out some emotions, so if you’d like to Feel Things with me, be my guest! this can be read as a standalone fic as well, if you haven’t read the original.

read this on ao3 if you want!

javid (sort of); 2.3k; modern au; warning for drug abuse, addiction, and overdose.

Jack is nineteen when he overdoses for the first time.

The saddest part is that he sees it as a strange sort of victory. He's been playing with fire for four or five years now, but only just OD'd. No one— at least not anyone important to him— will know that he was hooked on drugs as a literal child... they'll think of this as a recent problem, that art school was the catalyst in turning him into a junkie. He thinks it might be less shameful this way.

Medda is there when he wakes up in the hospital. He knows exactly what's going on as soon as he comes to consciousness— the familiar ache in his joints tells him that a withdrawal is starting to hit, and the rhythmic beeping, in sync with his heartbeat, is enough to fill in the story of just what happened. He overdid it.

"Mama..." he groans, hardly able to open his eyes. He reaches weakly towards where he can see her sitting in a chair and typing on her phone, with a nervous scrunch to her eyebrows.

She looks up, and then she's there in an instant, right beside him to take his hand.

"Oh Jack..." she whispers, wrapping both her hands around one of his and squeezing. Her voice is wet, like she's been crying. "What've you done to yourself, baby?"

There's a lot he wants to say— that he's ruined his own life, and he's sorry, and he can't believe he's done this to her, and he probably should've just died from the overdose so she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore, and he's so so so sorry for everything. None of those words leave his mouth, though.

"I did something bad, didn't I?" he mumbles, feeling his fingers twitch between her hands, but not quite in control of the movement. The doctors must be medicating him somehow, because this isn't a normal comedown. Why is he so tired?

"You sure did," she sighs. She pauses and swallows, as if she's trying to figure out what to say. She finally shakes her head and continues. "You overdosed on heroin, Jack— I found you on the bathroom floor, and your lips and fingers were blue. I thought you were dead."

Jack feels a horrible, horrible little ball of shame start to twist in his gut. It's not regret, necessarily, but he feels bad that she had to see that. He feels bad that he scared her, and that he's making her deal with all this now. He's a horrible son.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his words shake and his fingers twitch again, the nervous jitter that comes with the drugs leaving his system. "I didn't mean to."

She closes her eyes for a second and then nods. He can tell she's trying to be empathetic, and that she's angry with him but she doesn't want to show him that.

"I know you didn't," she says. "I know, darling." She rubs her thumb in little circles on the back of his hand. "But did you even think for a second, when you decided to shoot up in there, that one of the boys could've found you?"

This is a point that she likes to drive home whenever he's in trouble. Jack is the oldest of four, and he needs to be responsible because his brothers look up to him. He was a teenager when she adopted him, and he knew that by joining the family, he was stepping up to be a role model for Crutchie, Race, and Albert. He'd been so honoured, and he really thought he could do it, at the time.

"No," he finally croaks, because of course he didn't consider it— he wasn't planning on overdosing. "I'm sorry."

The youngest, Albert, is only twelve— and even at that, he's awfully naive for his age. He probably doesn't even know what heroin is or what it can do, and now Medda's going to have to tell him that his brother almost died from it. Of course the boys are going to ask questions, and Jack knows Medda will answer them honestly. She's not a fan of keeping secrets.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asks, after a moment. She sounds so hurt, like the thought of Jack's addiction physically pains her. It makes him want to vomit. "The doctor said some of the needle marks on your arms look like they've been there for years. When did it start?"

Jack can't bring himself to answer. It's too embarrassing.

He was such a stupid, gullible fourteen year-old that he let the older boys in his last foster home before Medda's place do this to him— it was a group home where they were horribly abused in every way you can possibly think of, and everyone was searching for a way to cope. They told him drugs would make everything better, and they held his arm still while they injected him with the tiniest amount of heroin, and suddenly he wasn't scared or in pain anymore. He couldn't feel anything. It was the best he's ever felt, and he knew right then that this was going to become a problem. His parents had been addicts, he knew it ran in his blood, but he let himself fall into the trap anyways. It's horrible.

"I want to go to sleep now," is all he says, purposefully avoiding the question. His eyes feel droopy and heavy, and the ache of the withdrawal is growing stronger, and he knows that if he doesn't sleep now it'll only get worse.

"Please, Jack," Medda whispers, not giving it up. She's squeezing his hand almost desperately. "How long?"

He lets his eyes fall shut and weakly attempts to wrench his hand away from hers.

"I'm tired, Mama."

A heavy sigh.

"Okay."

She lets go of his hand and moves instead to pet his hair, even as he turns his face away from her and tries to roll onto his side in a pitiful attempt to show that he wants to be left alone. She hums softly as she does so, and it makes Jack's chest feel tight like he's going to cry. He finally has a mother who loves him, after all these years of wishing for one, and all he can do is disappoint her.

Medda is on the phone the next time he's awake.

"Did you know he was abusing drugs, David?" she asks, and her tone is almost accusatory, like she thinks Davey had something to do with this. "He overdosed on heroin last night."

Davey must panic on the other end of the call, because her tone suddenly goes much softer.

"No, no, he's okay. He's in the hospital, but he'll be alright." She pauses and sighs. "The doctor said it looks like he's been using for a couple years, at least. You didn't know?"

Jack decides not to open his eyes just yet— he's nauseous and his stomach aches. He's sure that if he were to force himself to vomit it might alleviate it somewhat, but he wants to hear what Medda and Davey might talk about, so he just doesn't move.

"Okay," Medda sighs. "I understand. I had no idea either— it's scary how well he hid it. He overdosed in the bathroom at home; he must've been using drugs in the house this whole time, and I never caught on."

Jack's awfully ashamed of that bit. He didn't used to do it at home— he only did it on occasion when he was younger, and he'd save it for when he was with friends, or if he had a really bad day. It's just the past few months that have gotten so bad... he can't go a day without it anymore. He gets dope sick, craves his next dose until he can finally shoot up, and it doesn't even really get him high. He needs heroin to feel normal these days. He's been at home, around his little brothers, with that god-awful drug coursing through his body. He hates himself so, so deeply for that.

He needs help. He knows he needs help. But he somehow doesn't want it— he knows it won't work. He'll end up checking himself out of rehab, or wherever Medda tries to send him, and he'll go right back to the drugs. Being sober is hard, and being high is easy. He likes that easy, relaxed feeling, and he knows that any amount of time he spends sober will just make the next high feel even better.

"I'm going to try to get him straight from the hospital into rehab," Medda says on the phone, which makes Jack feel horrible that he's already planning on refusing that idea. "You've got school, sweetheart, this isn't your responsibility. Come by for a visit if you'd like, but don't get to thinking you have to look after him or anything... oh, I know you love him. I know, dear. But you have to put yourself first, alright?"

Jack doesn't like listening to this anymore. Medda's going to convince Davey to break up with him, isn't she? She doesn't think Jack deserves to have a boyfriend as lovely as Davey, since he's such a disappointment— she's right, but it makes his chest ache anyways.

"Mama," he groans, finally letting her know he's awake. He feels like a helpless little kid as he reaches out for her yet again. "I feel sick. I'm gonna puke."

The light hurts his eyes as he opens them, and he barely registers Medda pressing a little paper bowl into his hands for him to vomit into. He leans forward and gags into it, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sunlight while she rubs a hand gently up and down his back.

"I'll let you go, Davey," she sighs into the phone. "Text me when you get here, alright?"

Jack tries to ask if that means Davey is coming to see him, but it comes out a little garbled when he realizes he's not done throwing up. He interrupts himself to shove his face back in the little bowl and heave yet again. It takes until he's finished puking to realize that he began to cry somewhere in the middle of it, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Mama, I'm so sorry," he finally says, once he's sure it's over. He leans his head back against the pillows and finally says the words he's been dreading. "I... If you don't want me anymore, I understand. It's okay."

This must catch Medda off-guard, because it takes her a second to process it. She's perfectly calm as she takes the little bowl from him and sets it somewhere for a nurse to take away, but then she turns back around to him with a confused frown.

"Hang on, what?" she asks. "Jack, baby, what are you talking about? Where did you get that idea from?"

Truthfully, the thought hasn't fully left his mind since the day they signed the adoption papers, a little over two years ago. He's always figured that she'd get sick of him at some point— he's even looked into how an adoption can be annulled, so that he's prepared for when the day eventually comes. She'll realize he's not worth all the trouble he causes, she'll see how messed up he is, and she'll get rid of him for good.

"I ruined everything," he mumbles, not quite able to look her in the eyes. He wipes pitifully at the tears on his cheeks and forces himself to keep talking. "If you want to, like, cancel out the adoption... that's alright. It's not fair that you have to deal with me when I'm so awful."

She's silent for a second, and Jack is sure that this is it. She'll undo the adoption, kick him out of the family, and he'll be all on his own again. He doesn't want that, of course, but he understands why she would do it.

"John Francis Kelly," she finally says, and she comes over to the bed to cup his cheeks and hold onto his face. "Look at me. Nothing you could ever say or do could make me even consider that. Not in a million years. Do you hear me? Nothing could ever, ever make me stop loving you."

This is where Jack finally breaks. She's too good to him— he can't understand what he's done in his fucked-up life to deserve to meet someone like her. He's done nothing to earn her love, but she gives it to him unconditionally anyways, and he simply can't comprehend it. He sobs, leaning forward into her arms; she hugs him tight and just holds him there.

"You're my son, Jack," she whispers, as his head rests in the crook of her neck and she rocks him back and forth. "Okay? It doesn't matter that I've only had you for a few years... that doesn't make it any less real. No matter how many mistakes you make— no matter what you do or where you are, I'll always be your mother. You're not getting rid of me." She gently combs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "You got yourself into a tough spot, but we'll get you out, baby. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm sorry," Jack sobs, as if he hasn't said it enough today. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Medda replies. "I know, baby. You made some mistakes, but it's not the end of the world. We're gonna fix it together, alright?"

Jack can do nothing more than cry at this point, so Medda just rubs his back and pets his hair. She shushes him softly, as if she's soothing an infant, and he simply clings onto her for dear life. He doesn't deserve how wonderful she is.

#my writing #jack kelly #medda larkin #davey jacobs #javid #newsies fic #if you read it on ao3 the end notes are about what happens between this and the og fic #please rb!! it helps people see it!

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

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My runaways story continues. Based on characters from the Throne of Glass series. 90% of this was written tonight. 100% of this is roughly edited.

TW: Depression, mentions of addiction, grief, angst…angst

when rowan whitethorn meets a girl and memories are cruel twists of fate he slowly slowly slowly come to understand reality. Part One, Part Two, Part Three

the thing about hope

There is a farm where rows of lavender bloom. All summer long for miles on end. The purple and blue extend along in near perfect rows. He’s never understood it. Flowers. Plants. Life in general apparently. How was anything supposed to grow when it was all such a raging storm of instability and pain? How was anyone supposed to come out of life functional?

Rowan didn’t know.

He didn’t know how his mother had managed to keep acres and acres of the lavender alive and blooming. It was to the point where every summer hundreds of people would come to pick lavender themselves or buy potpourri, lavender jam, lavender honey.

It was consuming. Inspiring.

He didn’t know how she managed to keep such beauty alive but not herself.

And lately he didn’t want to.

“Check in on room 220,” someone says. A clipboard is stuffed in his chest and Rowan grunts a response.

Grateful to be pulled out of the memories, he takes the clipboard and pushes off from the desk he leans against. He doesn’t look at anything in the file. As long as it doesn’t take him back to pediatrics he doesn’t care. There are so many stickers on his scrubs he knows he’s going to have to throw them away. Dammit. These were his good ones too. He was supposed to be on the trauma surgeon’s services but instead was schlepped off to do the grunt work of the hospital.

Sighing, he meanders to the designated room and looks through the open door.

The girl is laying perfectly still. Her hair in a messy braid flung off to one side. She’s so pale that Rowan can see her veins even at a distance. Her eyes are rimmed red and blue. It seems a miracle that she is even alive.

Rowan wants to roll his eyes. It doesn’t help that another girl, nearly her same age, is stretched out partially over the foot of the bed. This one hasn’t taken care to brush her hair out of the way. A pair of too tall black heels lays on the floor and Rowan can make out a black lacy dress. Of course, a couple of girls out partying to the point that they drank too much and got alcohol poisoning.

They should have been kept in the ER and turned out this morning with the regular discharges.

Rowan’s about to walk into the room to start taking her vitals when her eyes pop open. Hazed with sleep and pain, her eyes take a moment to focus on her friend. The girl curses. Several times. And then she notices Rowan.

“What the hell’d’you want?” Her voice snaps and slurs together in a way he has never heard before.

“Glad to see you’re not dead,” he replies. He finally glances at her file. “Aelin.”

“Yeah right,” she mutters. She’s barely awake as she rolls her head from side to side and then kicks lightly at the girl lying at the foot of the bed. “Wake-up, bitch.”

The brunette gives a muffled reply but doesn’t move. It doesn’t matter though because Miss Aelin Galathynius is asleep within moments and Rowan is left in a peaceable quiet once more.

She is trying to be quiet—Aelin Galathynius. But if there is one thing Rowan has learned about her in the past twenty-four hours it is that she is incapable of it. Of being still too. Once the drugs slowly worked their way out of her system and she’d managed to stand on her own two feet without looking like damn Bambi, she hadn’t stopped. Stopped talking, stopped cursing, stop, ordering him around.

Until she threw up on his shoes.

His good shoes.

“Buzzard,” she mutters before slumping onto the floor next to her bed. The hospital gown she wears does little to cover her. Not that she cares. She hardly tries to adjust the way it rides up her thighs or dips down from a shoulder.

Rowan wonders if she’s somehow managed to sneak another hit into the hospital. But he soon realizes that one of the reasons she hasn’t managed to be still is because she is shaking too much. She is sweating too much. She’s in a withdrawal that is threatening to kill her.

So when she passes out, again, Rowan stays with the night nurse to get the vomit cleaned up, to get her hospital gown changed, to make sure she’ll make it through the night.

He was eight when his mother died.

And eight when the lavender was plowed over to make room for a new hotel.

And eight when his father started drinking.

It takes forty-eight hours for one Aelin Galathynius to be discharged from the hospital.

Rowan is once again covered in stickers from the cretin children in the pediatrics wing. For some reason he doesn’t care though. Not when one of the girls who needs a heart transplant hands him a sticker. It’s a daisy with white petals and a happy, smiling face. She tells him it’ll help him remember to smile more.

He decides he has a love hate relationship with the pediatrics wing.

While he’s down on the ground floor working on paper work that supposedly will help him find his way into an OR he caught the flurry of blonde hair. He looks up to see Aelin walking towards him in the clothes she was wearing when she was admitted. It occurs to him that she was not dressed like the girl who had been visiting her. No, Aelin Galathynius had not been dressed for a party that night. Not with the leggings that had holes along the seams, the black tank-top with bleach stains. Not with the hospital socks to protect her feet.

She’s walking though the hall with wide eyes, beautiful eyes. Even though they are still rimmed with red, the gold and turquoise is captivating. If filled with confusion.

And Rowan realizes he knows that look. He knows that look all too well.

Maybe that’s why he’s taking that silly little sticker and writing on the back of it. Maybe that’s why he gives it to her.

“Ninety days,” he tells her.

It’s a lie, but sometimes it’s better to have the start of a goal, the start of something too look to, to home for.

She tilts her head as she takes the sticker, her beautiful eyes piercing him. And then she is gone.

He tried to find another lavender farm when he was ten.

Just to be something better than what he had. Because at ten years old, his mother was dead and his father was absent. So he would walk for hours around Wendlyn. It was summer and her had no place better to be, so why not on that desperate hunt?

He never found lavender quite like his mother’s though. He did find a group of boys playing with water guns. They still had smiles on their faces. They still had shoes on their feet. Even if the shoes had holes and more tape than sole. But they were smiling and laughing. And Rowan wanted to remember how to laugh.

The girl should not be on his mind.

Aelin Galathynius.

Beautiful, shameless, powerful.

She should not be on his mind, but how can she not be? She’s made an extra trip to the hospital on another overdose. But this time was different. This time she left with shoes. With grimace. With determination burning in her eyes.

She handed him a small watch that day. Pink, Dora the Explorer. She winked and told him keep track of the days for her.

And in that moment Rowan knew he was gaining a look into who Aelin Galathynius really was.

Which was highly unfortunately because no he cannot stop thinking about her.

He cannot help but hope she is okay.

And it is strange to him--to hope. It hasn’t come easily to him. Not since his mother. Hope is intangible. It can’t be measured or felt. At least he never thought. Hope is obscure and obsolete. Something that has barely graced his life.

But when he thinks of Aelin Galathynius, he feels a bit desperate that one day he’ll turn around and see her out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t see her as the girl that vomited all over him or flipped him off while failing to stand up properly. Rather, he sees her as what he saw in her eyes that last day. That determination. That strength. And he hopes that she will always become that person.

He knows it isn’t his place to think of her like that. He shouldn’t obsess over a woman he hardly knows. And not just because it is sad and pathetic, but also because he shouldn’t even know she exists. She was just a patient in the hospital where he works. A name on a paper. A body in a room. And that should be it.

But hope, he comes to realize, is a bitch.

When his father died, Rowan thought that maybe that was how things were supposed to be. Maybe things would get better. He had Lyria, he had college coming up, he had his friends. He could see his life playing out the way it was supposed to.

It was late in the summer when they had the funeral. The only thing Rowan could afford to put on the casket was a small bundle of lavender. And Rowan believed he was betraying his mother for it.

Not long after, Rowan began his senior year of High School. Lorcan of course had been suspended so much last year that he had to repeat senior year again. Neither he or Rowan minded. It made things easier. Mostly because Fenrys and Connall insisted they could continue their yearly ritual of cleansing the school halls with silly string and glitter bombs. For one more year at least.

For Rowan, it was all that mattered. Chasing that high of life with his friends. Forgetting the man that drank himself to oblivion. Forgetting that he betrayed his mother by laying his father to rest with that small bloom of lavender.

Maybe that was why Lyria died. The universe knew that all he was good for was betrayal. So he betrayed the universe.

The first time Rowan realizes he loves Aelin is when it is raining.

Torrents of rain are coming down and he can hardly see in front of him. As if that’s not the worst thing of the night, Aelin won’t unlock the car. Probably because she’s mad at him. Again. For something he doesn’t even know about. It shouldn’t matter. They’re barely friends anymore.

Not after she kissed him.

Not after he left.

Not after he forgot to text. To call.

She says she doesn’t blame him. They’ve been busy. He finally got time in a surgery to hold a scalpel and make a few stitches. She finally got a pay raise and has a new skirt to prove it. They’ve been busy and that has been perfectly alright.

Until tonight. Until he was so close to breaking because damn the fools who can’t drive. And damn the fools who don’t use their seatbelts. Who think that one drink never hurt anyone. Damn the fools who don’t answer their phones.

“I can’t find the keys!” she yells over the rain. She’s digging in her purse, her blonde hair utterly soaked.

“Are you serious?” he shouts back. Unable to help it, he tosses his hands in the air. “Hell Aelin.”

“Screw you,” she says.

He almost doesn’t hear it because the rain is pattering against the car, the sidewalk. It’s a rush of noise that assaults his ears in a constant whir. Scowling, Rowan goes to Aelin’s side. She must be missing something, not seeing properly.

As soon as his shift ended, he’d come racing to her apartment, praying, hoping, she hadn’t gotten tied up in an accident. Only to find that she was talking to some guy--a really attractive one with dark hair and golden eyes. The kind of guy she should be with. The kind of guy not tatted up with a drunken alcoholic history. The kind of guy who isn’t him.

Rowan just barely grabs her arm when she yanks out the keys with a triumphant laugh only to have him jostle her enough for the keys to go flying over her head.

“Dammit, Rowan!”

“Dammit, Aelin!”

They are screaming at nothing. At everything. To the rain that slips down the planes of their faces and deep into their bones.

And then Aelin is laughing. She’s tossing her head back and clutching her wet hair and is laughing. It’s the kind of laugh that can carry over the rain. It hits Rowan suddenly as he stars at her sopping wet form. Nothing can affect her anymore. She is her own.

And he loves her for it. She got her all on her own, he realizes. He might have been in the background, but he’s not the one who got her the apartment or the new job. He’s not the one who drags her out of bed so she can get to work on time or even get in the shower. No. She’s done it all herself. And he loves her for it.

So while she’s laughing like she’ll never stop he’s coming forward. His hand are cupping her face before he even realizes what he’s doing and he kisses her.

Mouths slick with rain and bodies chill with it too--they come together slowly at first. And then all at once Aelin is moving against him, her hands around his neck. She pulls him tighter against him as though he might disappear.

Rowan wants to tell her he’s not going anywhere but that would require him taking his lips from hers and that is not going to happen. Not now. Not for a long time.

At least he thought so.

Until a clap of thunder echoes overhead. Until he realizes how cold her fingers are on his skin. Until the slip of lightning comes and lights up the shock in her eyes.

And he pulls away until he can rest his forehead against hers. With a sigh, he runs his hands down her cheeks, her neck, until they settle on her waist where he lets his fingers dig into her sides.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. He has to close his eyes from the sight of rain drops falling from his lips and the desire he has to capture them with his own. Deliberately, he steps away from her and runs a hand over his face.

She stares at him still, head cocking to one side. “That’s it?”

“That’s all it can ever be, can’t it?” he replies.

Even though he’s finally begun to hope again. Even though he’s finally started to see something else in his future. Even though she is the reason he can roll out of bed in the mornings. He knows she deserves better than him.

He should have remembered that hope is a bitch.

thanks for reading my dears!

Tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @cicadabones @esco--s

#throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass au #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #runaways fanfic #the fanfic no one asked for continues #the fanfic no one asked for #queen of shadows #kingdom of ash #modern au #runaways

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clemkaplan · 3 years

Text

[ CLEMENTINE KAPLAN. 32. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ TWO MONTHS ] and are originally from [ BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS ]. They are an [ EVENT PLANNER ] and in their downtime love [ GARDENING ] and [ HORSE BACK RIDING ]. They look a lot like [ LUCY BOYNTON ] and live [ ON SILVERWOOD TERRACE ]. (ooc: nel, 20, she/her, pst )

hlo besties, i’m nel and this is clementine !! she’s inspired by marie antoinette and is a new muse, but i’m super stoked to be playing her !! this all got a bit long, so love you if you read it all <33

here’s her pinterest board xx

ABOUT.

tw: drugs, overdose, death

the youngest of four children, clementine kaplan was used to being spoiled. she loved her mom. she loved her dad. she loved her brothers. she loved her sister. it was the perfect life.

she was a jester, wanting to make her family laugh, whether that was creating dances or one woman plays, she wanted to entertain. they’d indulge her, congratulating her and encouraging her.

her heart was full. full of love and toys and dresses and bows and friends. she got everything she asked for. one glance of her big, blue eyes and the world fell into her hands. it was all she knew, not knowing how lucky she was. her older siblings protected her and guarded her, keeping her safe from the pains of the world, while she skipped through fields and picked the neighbors’ flowers.

she did well in school, but she was always distracted by her friends. if they wanted to go to the park, she’d drop everything to go with them. and when they were in high school and the park turned into a party, she’d be the first to say yes. she danced the most and laughed the loudest and smiled the widest, capturing the attention of everyone around her. it was bestowed upon her like a crown created only for her head. she was indulgent. she was wasteful. but she didn’t even realize it was wrong. she left a trail of hearts in her wake, from friends and lovers alike, growing bored after she filled her stomach. it wasn’t meant to be hurtful, but she only wanted to be so full of joy that it was leaking out of her ears.

she was accepted into boston university for hospitality administration. it was the best news. she could stay home and live with her family forever. her jubilation was tampered as her sister sophie started dating alex. he was trying to take her precious sister away as she spent more time with him than with clementine.

at the last second, she decided to stay in a dorm at college and that spurred her long nights of drinking and doing drugs. she was gluttonous, ravenous, and completely blind to the fact that she had a problem. she’d come home high. she’d go to class high. by some kind of miracle, she managed to graduate with her b.a. and moved back home, where her parents accepted her with open arms. she was their baby after all.

it all came to a head when sophie announced her engagement. that was it. that was the end. she had found a new family. she went to the club with her boyfriend at the time, and the next morning, she woke up in a hospital bed. she had overdosed. she cried for hours after her parents told her, sending them out of the room. she was embarrassed to have been brought so low.

clem went to rehab and was there for a month. her parents gave her a job working at their event management firm. it was low responsibility, but her first true responsibility nonetheless. she went n.a. meetings and started gardening. she went back to riding horses, her sport of choice from elementary to high school. she was doing well. she was stronger than before. she still went out with her friends and she still danced, but the only high she got anymore was from all eyes being on her.

the world came crashing down when sophie died. sophie. her sister. her best friend. one day she was there and the next day she wasn’t. close to relapsing, one of her brothers found her before she could. she went about her daily life as a ghost. it was like a raincloud followed her wherever she went. clem threw herself into work as a distraction and moved up the ranks of their business. she cherished every time she got to talk to someone. she reached out to everyone she met and tried to be kind, but she was always dragged down by her own problems.

it’s been hard for her. it still is hard for her, but she worked so hard, her parents have put her in charge of their expansion to l.a. she packed up her bags and moved, excited at the prospect of a fresh start.

PERSONALITY.

being the baby of the family, she was sheltered growing up, getting what she wanted when she wanted. she knows she’s privileged, but so used to this, she can be a bit insensitive sometimes because she doesn’t always grasp the extent. she is selfish and likes to take, but she is kind and inclusive. she is confident and outgoing and blunt, but she is scared of outright calling someone out. though, things don’t always come out the way she means them. she enjoys having fun and meeting new people, but she can be a bit of a flake because she wants to constantly be entertained, and can’t properly communicate about wanting a relationship to end. she’s a hard worker, but she also loves not having to work.

HEADCANONS.

her love language is acts of service.

since she just moved out here, she doesn’t have a pet, but she always had dogs growing up. her parents would end up taking care of them, but she always called them hers.

she is incredibly lucky. will find twenty dollar bills on the ground. has a collage with all the four leaf clovers she’s found hanging up on her wall. she can still drink without wanting to relapse.

every morning, she goes for a walk on the beach. she likes to start her day off with fresh air and the feeling of sand beneath her toes.

every sunday night, she takes a bubble bath and does a face mask. she finds it relaxing and thinks it’s the perfect way to start her week off right.

she actually hates clementines. she only likes berries.

does NOT talk about her past drug problem.

she was closet with sophie. she’d understood clem in a way no one else did because she understood her heart, and seemed to always knew what she was thinking. she’s trying to be her happy self again, but it’s hard without sophie, made even harder knowing that alex is out there alive and well. it’s not fair, and she and the rest of the kaplans still blame him. she’s hell-bent on never forgiving him and never letting it go, the one grudge she has and one she’ll nurse until she’s six feet underground like her sister.

WANTED CONENCTIONS.

she hasn’t been here long, so she probably won’t have a ton of established connections.

enemies: someone who is jealous of her because she lives in her own little bubble, and it rubs them the wrong way that she so easily gets what she wants.

friends: coffee buddies or bar buddies or walk buddies, etc

neighbors: maybe she’s tried to recruit them to help with her garden.

someone who has known her from her past. friends from boston. enemies from boston. exes from boston. someone who knew her in college and saw how wild she got. people who knew her sister.

crushes!

a plot based on this!!!

i’m so down for not plotting nd just seeing how the thread goes <33 bt also if any of y’all have a dream plot you really want nd think she could fit, i’ll be so down for it. or if you wanna plot bt don’t have ideas, i love quotes nd applying them to rp situations, so hmu if that’s what you want !!

#slintro #about.#drugs tw #overdose tw #death tw

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epiitaphs · 3 years

Note

🎁

spotify wrapped meme

tw: drug abuse, alcohol abuse, body horror/gore mentions (nondetailed), suicide mention/discussion, suicidal thoughts, blood, panic attacks

75. DROP DEAD - Gvllow

Yes I’m too late When I lost my best friend I’ll never forget that He sent me a text before the last breath

He leaves both his work phone and his personal one in the first safe house. The SIMs are drowned and snapped, the phones nothing but shattered plastic and glass. He couldn’t help but stare at the last text he’d gotten from Jim. It was nothing special - some confirmations that Sebastian had asked for and a mention of future plans that were now never going to happen. They weren’t a distraction or a source of hope, he thinks, rereading the words over and over again until they have no meaning and he’s no longer really seeing the phone in front of his face. They were a foreshadowing and he should have seen it. He should have seen it some many other places too, small presagements of what was to come.

It’s stupid to be doing this, he realizes, when he’s in a new car. What’s he running from? He might as well have kept that phone with those last messages because it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if anyone catches up to him because it’s all over. He doesn’t give a shit about the web. It will fall, he imagines, with the two heads of it gone, but he doesn’t care. Why keep control of the world when the one man he’d want to rule it with is gone?

And yet he keeps running. Just a little more. One last safe house, one that he bought independently of Jim, though there’s no question the man knew about it. He doesn’t know why - why not go somewhere that reminds himself of Jim. That’s stupid. Everything reminds him of Jim. The fact that he’s still alive reminds him of Jim. He’ll see how long that lasts. People on all sides of the law will be looking for him. Sebastian’s never been good at just lying down and dying but this time might be the time. He shouldn’t have smashed that phone. He laughs at that just a little - shot himself in the foot there a little bit. Everyone who’s ever worried about him would be fucking proud. The laugh is barely a laugh. Sounds like pain. He’ll get desperate enough soon.

Ain’t nothin’ funny ‘bout being depressed When it feels like your whole life is already dead

He’s a ghost walking through the world. Sebastian had always been the one who was supposed to die on a rooftop with a bullet in his head. The bullet that killed him had missed his own brain, but it had killed him all the same. There’s nothing. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s been here. Everything’s blended together for a multitude of reasons. Right now, he’s trying to convince the crawling sensation that’s taken up residence on the back of his neck and in his shoulders that he’s allowed to move even an inch without something happening. He wants to move, in theory, but he can’t force his limbs to do it. They feel locked into place, his mind telling him that even sitting up will bring about the end of the world. Sebastian wishes he could tell his brain that the world’s already fucking ended.

Even when he manages to sit, the tightness of his throat chokes him. At least the hangover he’s got makes him nauseous enough that he doesn’t have to even consider being able to sleep. It won’t happen for a little while longer and that’ll be nice. It won’t stop the panic from creeping in anyway, the need to sit there in the safest corner of the room, the urge to check that the door’s still locked, that there’s no one outside the windows, that no one’s hiding somewhere in the minimal space he’s slowly making his grave. He’ll have to leave it soon, though. He’ll walk through the world a ghost and maybe no one will recognize him - enough that they’ll let his physical body continue to decay until it matches up with the way he feels in his mind.

I’ll see you when I go to sleep That is the only time we ever speak

The moment plays again and again and again in front of him. If he hadn’t been paying close attention to Jim as well as the target, he would never have seen. But he did and it haunts him even while he’s awake. He almost wishes for the feeling of David’s body, rocks in his back, hot sun, and blood in his mouth. Not that he really has to - occasionally he’s sober and asleep at the same time and he’s very well reminded of it. But now, the dream doesn’t end there. Sebastian wasn’t there to really see it up close, but his imagination fills it in for him. The blood in his mouth becomes Jim’s and Sebastian’ well acquainted with the end result of a bullet to the brain. There’s plenty of imagery that comes to mind.

The guilt - the thought what would your mother think doesn’t even cross his mind when he finally exits his grave into the real world. The world of the living. It feels like there’s a veil, another realm that he’s a part of. He’s not even sure he should be allowed to cross back and forth, but he does. He does and he comes back - the world of the dead welcoming him back with open arms and a comforting darkness. He knows his tolerance is shot, that he’s probably still a bit drunk, that overdosing would be so easy because it’s been so long but he needs it so badly. Sebastian prefers a slow death right now and he’s not quite there yet. He’d rather sleep like this, hope that what he sees is either more pleasant or nothing at all. The familiarity of it is something he wishes he could feel with Jim, but that’s not possible is it?

Can I breathe please?

Sebastian put all his eggs in one basket, all his faith in one man. Pull the keystone and the whole arch crumbles. And crumble it does. He doesn’t know why Jim did it. Why Jim didn’t tell him. Maybe he does - because he would have died trying to prevent the inevitable. That’s what should have happened, because here he is, more or less dead. There’s a weight on his chest, there’s something stuck in his throat. Soon there’s going to be a day where he has to make a decision. Is he going to pass into another stage of grief or is he going to stay here forever until it kills him.

Maybe the answer’s already given. He’s alone, and Sebastian never did that well. Maybe he knew. Maybe he decided the moment the gun was shot. That’s what killed him, so yeah, he’s known since that day. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but at some point it will have been long enough. Either some external force will pull him out of the world of the dead or he will simply sink deeper into it until he cannot leave. He knows what will happen. It’s a foregone conclusion but the part of his mind that’s still clinging to straws hasn’t given up just yet. A drowning man will let go eventually.

There’ll never come a fuckin’ week Where I can’t think about you

He feels like one of those dogs that sleeps on its owner’s grave. All he can see if that moment again and again and again and nothing’s enough to stop it completely. There will always be a moment of clarity where he sees it happen in front of him. He still doesn’t know how long it’s been. It’s probably been a couple weeks, but that’s a blind estimate that he has no way of verifying. He wouldn’t care if he did.

Maybe the day’s come.

#drug abuse tw #alcohol tw #suicide tw #suicide cw #panic attack cw #blood tw #death ment #diabolicaltendencies #well unfortunately here we are #i kNOW the meme says starters but you're getting this and you're going to like it #this is why i should try writing a little bit every day during my breaks bc otherwise this happens #text #i don't bite. i'm just a little bloodthirsty | sebastian answered #v: heavens rained down their spears

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lokidiabolus · 4 years

Text

The Deal - Bonus

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)

Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust

Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU

Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

The time when Anthony thought if he can’t get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I swear NOW it’s done lmao.

Unbetad!

2024, 275th day

It was rather unexpected to see this kind of development, when it came to the form Anthony took in Hell. When Alastor gave it some thought here and there (more often than he would admit, granted), he could imagine Anthony as some sort of cat demon the most. There was something feline about the man when alive – the unpredictability maybe? He wasn’t sure.

So when the Hell opened to swallow yet another sinner – and the sinner was his beau – his expectations were about everywhere but in what he actually saw once he located the trembling creature in the Pentagram outskirts.

A spider demon. White as fallen snow, but covered in his own blood, six arms and two long, long legs and tear stained face, trembling in Alastor’s arms like a frightened child. The last few months of Anthony’s life were fluctuating and the more Alastor had to stay in Hell to deal with Vox, the more Anthony’s light was dimming, and Alastor knew that, he saw what was happening, how the will was weakening and the desire to join him here winning over. A selfish, petty part of him thought good, finally, come to me but at the same time Anthony was young, so, so young to die, it made him indecisive and when was the last time he felt like that? If ever? Not even during his own life and death he never doubted, but with Anthony… he wanted him to be his without remorse. No regrets, no sadness over his life ending.

But now here he was. Finally calming down, the trembling subsiding, the pain from his face easing away until he was just resting in Alastor’s arms, breathing deeply. An adorable spider, caught in the web of his own inner demons… maybe it was fitting.

***

“You are pouting for an hour already.”

“I’m sorry to rain on yer parade, but I’m a fuckin’ spider monster,” Anthony flashed him an unhappy sneer and glared at his reflection in the mirror for umpteenth time, his eyes narrowing, sharp teeth baring just to growl and turn away from it once more. “Who fuckin’ picks this? What did I do to deserve bein’ a six-armed horror?!”

“But imagine how good are you going to be at hugging,” Alastor couldn’t stop himself from grinning, even though Anthony was clearly distressed by his new look, but there was simply no reason to be. He was such an adorable creature, white and pink and soft and cushy. If he wasn’t walking around like a ticking bomb, swearing at each step, Alastor would definitely be trying the new cuddle arrangement. But there was time for everything.

There was eternity for them now.

“I could hug with two arms just fine!”

“Maybe I would like to be hugged with six,” Alastor shot back, which stopped Anthony in his stomping with a defeated sigh.

“But… spider,” he whined, gesturing to his lanky body and abundance of limbs, and ironically all Alastor could see was a cute pouty face and dangerous claws he honestly found threateningly appealing – all six clawed hands with them. Anthony just couldn’t see past the shock yet, but Alastor had means to make him so.

“And a deer,” the red-eyed demon smiled at him from the table he was sitting behind.

“All ya have is a cute Bambi tail and ears, big deal,” Anthony rolled his eyes – his unevenly coloured eyes, Alastor mentally added, which was fascinating – and glanced down at his feet with a frown.

“If that is all you can see, then I suppose I am a lucky man,” Alastor tapped on one of the radios near him and smooth jazz started playing. True, he never had a single issue with his demonic appearance, even when he first arrived here. At this regard he was always a perfectionist, so all of him the others could see was perfectly tailored to show his dominance. Nothing about him was cute, no matter what Anthony was saying. Not the tail, not the ears. He was an Overlord, demons feared him.

Well, except of this particular case, that is. But Anthony was special, he was allowed.

“Oh yeah, I forgot, handsome guys are scary as fuck,” Anthony grumbled, but there was some sort of playfulness in his voice, which signalized his mood was getting better. “Pretty sure all demons just run at sight of ya, oh nooo. Pretty guy inbound, ruuuuun~.”

“They do run though,” Alastor smiled at him sweetly. “Different circumstances though.”

“Yer dad jokes, huh,” the pretty spider smirked at him, softening the rudeness. “Don’t blame them.”

“Now now, Anthony,” Alastor tapped his claws against the table, stopping any other eventual teasing that would definitely follow, because Anthony never left things at only one jab when he had a chance. “If you are done with your moping, how about you come here?”

There was an evident hesitation in the demon’s features, insecurity written in his whole body language, but Alastor was patient and willing to show him there was nothing to feel insecure about. Only proud.

He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing, and Anthony let out a squeak when a pair of shadowy hands curled around his waist, gently pushing him forward like walking a child on the first day out.

“Aww, hi Al Junior,” Anthony cooed back at the Shadow, which gave him a raggedy grin in return. Evidently too happy to see him, that for sure. Even more evidently appreciative about Anthony’s new look as well. “Haven’t seen ya both in one room yet, that’s new.”

The Shadow waddled him all the way to Alastor’s desk and nuzzled his neck from behind, obviously delighted about the experience. Anthony patted him with one of the six hands, still not that good at coordinating them all, apparently, and Alastor cleared his throat while tapping against the table again.

One more nuzzle and then the shadow slithered away, blending into the walls, and Alastor would have sworn if it could, it would stick its tongue at him.

“Hehe,” Anthony looked happy though, which was amendable, and then finally circled the mahogany desk and stood next to Alastor comfortably sitting in his chair. He let himself to be touched on his thin waist, lower on his hip, then back up on his chest – fluffy chest, if anybody asked, so, so fluffy – and then let Alastor took one of his hands and gently pull him on his lap, sitting on his legs carefully like he could shatter any moment.

“There~,” Alastor crooned. “Not that hard, was it?”

“Might be even easier with the voice,” Anthony suggested meekly, like he was asking for something risky, and Alastor circled one of his arms around his waist and touched his face with the other.

“Whateva you want, darlin’,” he spoke softly and Anthony’s smile widened. “Feelin’ better now?”

“Yeah…” the spider demon nodded curtly. “Still weird, but I’ll get over it.”

“Don worry, I’ll be there fer you every step on da way,” Alastor tilted his head down and gently pressed their lips together. “Promise.”

He was right – six armed hugs were absolute heaven.

***

2024, 277th day

“Huh.”

Alastor took several more steps before he realized Anthony stopped all of sudden, staring at the vending machine sitting between dark corners of dubious streets filled with vermin. He was staring at the lowest button, head tilted, and Alastor returned to him with a silent question in his eyes.

Not that Anthony noticed, his eyes were glued to the vending machine with something akin to wonder, and when Alastor glanced down at the point of the spider’s interest, he noticed Angel Dust written there in all italics.

“Fuckin’ swell, huh,” Anthony mumbled more to himself than to Alastor, judging from his expression. “That this would be here too.”

Alastor knew how Anthony died, of course he did. PCP overdose might have come as a surprise, but at the same time they talked about it when Anthony’s heart was still beating. His coping mechanism, his addiction, his attachment to something that could ease the state of despair. If Vox didn’t get in Alastor’s way, maybe there would be a possibility to prolong his life for few more years.

But then again Alastor would be lying if he said he regretted having Anthony here with him, finally. He wasn’t that much of a good guy for playing a Good Samaritan (if even a little, honestly), and if Anthony wasn’t in such a bad state at the beginning of their deal, he would probably (definitely) drag him to Hell right away, especially after being asked to be killed from the get go.

“Anything you can think of,” Alastor commented. “Any drug. Any alcohol. Any poison. Any weapon. It is all here. And worse.”

“Hell yeah,” Anthony chuckled bitterly and averted his eyes from the nameplate, little raw at the edges, vulnerable. Still so new, still so open. “Oh well. Sorry. Let’s go.”

Alastor made sure they didn’t pass any other vending machine on their way back to the Radio Tower.

***

2024, 285th day

It wasn’t like he wanted to make a habit of spying on Anthony, but once the spider demon left the tower on his own and ventured to the city, he had his reasons to make sure he would make it back home in one piece. Barely any demon would notice the shadow of a person was different unless really looking, and he kind of doubted Anthony would meet anybody like that on his first independent stroll anyway.

There wasn’t much the spider had planned, from the way he behaved outside. He just wandered around, peeking into shops and avoiding trouble, then peeking into more shops, got some clothes and then practiced his totally not six armed spider act when he managed to hide the middle set of arms like they were never there. Alastor didn’t know he could actually do that, but he was impressed anyway.

He had several cat-calling demons around whistling at him while skilfully flipping them off, and in case they wouldn’t be deterred, the Shadow blinked at them menacingly and they scuttered to dark corners like filthy rats.

It was nothing out of ordinary until a dark purple limo stopped at the edge of the sidewalk he walked on, pulling down the window just to reveal the Princess of Hell herself smiling nervously, calling at Anthony in her bright princess-y voice. Now that was interesting for sure.

“Hey,” Anthony blinked in surprise at her sudden invitation to get in, obviously not having a single clue who the girl was. “Daddy told me not to talk to strangers.”

Alastor totally did not choke on that.

The princess laughed, bright and happy and shook her head while opening the doors of the limo wide open.

“We won’t do anything bad,” she assured him, and there was another girl next to her in the car, though Alastor had never met her. Her displeased expression was spot on though. The princess dragged her closer, leaning her near the opening of the doors. “I’m Charlie, this is Vaggie! We just want to talk a little?”

“Ya can talk with me standing right ‘ere,” Anthony crossed all his four arms, eyes looking her up and down, not budging. “Whaddya want?”

“Weeeeell-,”

“What is your name, mister?” Vaggie stared him down pointedly, her voice sharp as a knife. Anthony visibly hesitated, then glanced away to the rest of the street. They talked about it shortly after Anthony got to Hell – not everybody wanted to keep their human name. Alastor did because he was not a fan of aliases, The Radio Demon nickname just happened on its own. Anthony didn’t seem to be in need of getting any kind of demon name either, but now there was an obvious reluctance in his features.

“Angel Dust,” he looked back at them, the drug name slipping past his lips. Intriguing. “Ya can call me Angel, toots.”

Vaggie didn’t look impressed but Charlie was smiling like a sunshine. When they started spouting nonsense about rehabilitating a demon in one of a repurposed royal family’s buildings, Alastor laughed so hard he almost let the Shadow spill it out.

It was only an hour later when Angel burst into the Radio Tower, dropped the shopping bags and yelled:

“Ya won’t fuckin’ believe what I’m just gonna tell ya, I shit ya not!”

Just few days later the 666 News broadcasted Charlie’s plan live (with an immense failure in the reception, but that was expected) and Alastor got a brilliant idea. Out of everybody involved, Charlie was probably on the board of it the most.

***

2024, 300th day

The hotel was a whack. It was a total fucking ruin in dire need of reconstruction. Angel didn’t know what the hell was repurposed here, but it must have been hiding in a basement because the rest of it screamed ancient. Not that any part of Hell was pretty or anything, but at least some of it had class. Ironically the most class was visible in the Lust circle in porn studios, but Angel was not getting even near of that filthy lair, that for sure (not to mention Alastor didn’t even let him wander too close, probably for a good reason. Said something about moths. Angel didn’t question it).

Niffty made a bit more presentable though, scurrying around the hallways like a sonic Roomba and at least the entrance hall looked nicer once Alastor was done with it.

Alastor The Radio Demon, Angel learned. An Overlord even. Vaggie was super into telling him how bad and evil and absolute horror-ish Alastor was, how bloodthirsty and merciless, and Angel just thought of his Bambi tail wagging when they hugged and kind of spaced out.

Sure, guy had a reputation. Angel saw some flattering posters in the 666 News studios with BEWARE !!! HIM and RADIO SOUNDS = STAY AWAY and DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM but if Alastor was anything, a cuddler would be the right description. Also probably a cold-hearted murderer, but nobody was perfect.

He told the girls he was new and had barely any kind of comprehension of Hell’s inner workings back there when they stopped in in the city, and obviously that immediately must have raised red flags when he got to the Hotel just few days later with Alastor leading him in and keeping him close like a pet on an invisible leash (though not really a pet, Angel was just super amused by the height difference, so he stuck close to him for shit and giggles).

“You can stay here, Angel,” Charlie was just telling him in a shushed whisper when they walked through the hallways, Alastor several steps in front of them, looking around with wide smile on his face. Fucker was definitely enjoying it, but even Angel felt rather giddy about it.

“Here?” he imitated her low voice and she quickly glanced towards Alastor humming a tune and twirling his microphone.

“You know. If you need a place to stay,” she gestured towards the deer demon quickly.

Oh. Oh. She thought he feared Alastor or something? Or that Alastor kept him around against his will? A big bad Overlord and a newbie, what else would she think, right?

“Can’t do, Cha-Cha, made a deal with this guy,” he made finger guns pointed at the red-clothed figure with his all four arms. “Hands are tied.”

“Oh,” Charlie’s eyes widened for a second, like she was saying oh no, you fucked for good, gurl and then hesitantly nodded. “I see. But… I mean. It depends on the deal, of course, but… If you needed to stay away or something, you understand?”

“I fear that just won’t do, my dear!” Alastor’s voice thundered through the hallway cheerily, loud as fuck, even though he was standing few meters away from them. “I own his heart, you see. He cannot leave even if he wanted to.”

Charlie’s eyes widened even more, and Angel had to bite his lips to stop himself from laughing. How fucking vague, just playing it like Angel was suffering in the Radio Demon presence.

“Isn’t that right, my dear Angel?”

“Oh yes, poor me,” the spider demon swooned dramatically. “Can’t leave ever! He’d totally find me and cu-,” ddle me to death, he wanted to say, Alastor’s eyes warning him not to, “-t me to death! Double death even.”

Charlie started to visibly panic. Oh damn, she was so naïve, it was fun.

“Do not be alarmed, princess,” Alastor assured her with a chuckle. “No cutting needed. Angel is quite knowledgeable in his duties.”

“Pffft.”

“Aren’t you, my dear.”

“’bsolutely,” Angel saluted him. “Controlled by fear and fear only.”

There was a mischievous gleam in Alastor’s eyes right before he turned around and continued his way through the raggedy hotel, resuming the tune. Angel patted the small woman on the top of her head, but still wasn’t sure if she got it was all a joke or she unironically feared for his life.

***

2024, 304th day

She feared for his life. She kept on trying to get him to stay overnight in the hotel for therapies and fun activities and movie nights and Angel was wondering how to break it out to her without revealing Alastor was a big softie who liked to snuggle in bed (and honestly he liked it even more now, in Hell, and Angel was wondering if it was because he was fluffier or because Alastor was just happy he didn’t need to keep fearing if he didn’t leave the stove or lights on in Radio Tower when up in the land of living).

From all he gathered during the days he spent in Hell by now, Alastor was a big thing around the Pentagram City. As one of the Overlords and one not hellborn on top of that he harnessed tremendous power through fear, his shady as fuck deals and radio broadcasts where he delivered the carnage for everybody to hear. Angel didn’t listen to any yet, but he was sure he would eventually, when Alastor would feel like letting him on it.

“She thinks yer abusing me,” he said while petting the red hair gently, lying on his back in the bed. The red sheets were silky and felt really nice around him and he doubted Alastor owned anything that was not red or black, like a walking, talking stereotype. Classy though.

“I am abusin’ you,” Alastor agreed from Angel’s fluffy chest, where his face was buried. He had been cuddling Angel for the past hour, like it was one of those days when he didn’t feel like being big bad deer and just stayed in the tower, making Angel spoil him. Then there were days he didn’t feel like being touched at all, unless it was at night when sleeping, and Angel was starting to be a real pro in reading those moods in his natural environment. Sometimes Al Junior gave him a hint even before Alastor appeared in flesh, and it was appreciated. Alastor wasn’t really making a big fuss when touched in his untouchable mood but the way he stiffened was red enough light for Angel to give him space.

“Yeah, yer a menace, I need to pee for like twenty minutes now,” Angel sighed and his poor bladder with him.

“Unfortunate.”

“Well, it’s yer bed I’m gonna pee in, so suit yerself,” he shrugged and Alastor huffed out a laugh. It was nice he could laugh at Angel’s crude jokes now, since before he just told him off.

“Don worry ‘bout the demon belle,” Alastor mumbled sleepily. “She’s just too nice fer her own good.”

“Aw, she’s a cutie tho,” Angel pulled a little at Alastor’s ear and it flicked. “Enthusiastic and all that shit, I guess ye don’t see that down here often.”

“Barely,” Alastor hummed.

“Well, if anybody can rehabilitate a demon, it’s her,” Angel pulled the other ear and it flicked too. Cute.

“Mmm,” his companion let out. “Don’t be too much of a good boy, darlin’. I refuse to part wit you.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” Angel chuckled warmly at Alastor affectionate speech. “They’d have to kill me to take me away from ya.”

“You ‘nd me both.”

Angel thought if Charlie saw Alastor like this, she’d definitely coo at him. Honestly, he kind of wanted her to, for funsies, but maybe it was better to leave sleeping deer lie.

***

2024, 310th day

“Cupcakes?!”

“Ugh.”

Angel ignored Alastor’s sound of distaste and grabbed Charlie’s hands in all four of his, eyes shining.

“Ya mean like real ones?! Not like… sugar water ones, right?” He was craving sweet things and Hell had shit. The best things came from topside and apparently not as many demons ventured there for ingredients, so Angel was seriously super low on sugar.

“Yeah!” she smiled at him happily and nodded towards the kitchen because he was still holding her hands like a vice, but she seemed to be fine with it. “We thought we could try baking them tonight!”

Another obvious attempt to get him stay the night, he knew. But cupcakes. It was like… the only bait that could potentially work, apart from Frappuccino orgy and pole dancing. She gave a vibe like she wouldn’t condone the latter though.

He sent Alastor a pleading puppy eyes and the demon let out a defeated sigh. He didn’t even need to say anything, he was just done. Angel didn’t blame him, he was bothering him about sweets for days now and since Alastor disliked those, he was driving a hard bargain every damn day.

It was an obvious plan, really. The baking didn’t start before nine in the evening and Charlie made sure only the patients were attending, which meant only Angel, really (the hotel didn’t have many patients so far, and by many I mean none) and Charlie as a main helper. Vaggie joined them around half past nine with a badly hidden curiosity and Niffty kept running around, sweeping crumbs that had the audacity to touch the floor, and if she had nothing to sweep, she helped them with filling the forms, quite skilled for such a little lady.

“Here I thought Husky would be leading the baking party,” Angel commented when they put the first batch into the oven and Vaggie made a snorting noise somewhere behind the counter.

“Busy pouring drinks for Happy face,” she shot back while mixing the dough in the bowl. “He’s lounging at the bar like a shark, just waiting for a drop of blood.”

“Fitting,” Angel had to agree, though in much better light than Vaggie meant it. Charlie’s enthusiastic expression fell slightly and Angel just knew she got him here for a talk or two. Maybe even an all-nighter.

“Angel,” she started, swiping her hair behind her ear like she always did when nervous. “I know you said you made a deal with him and all-,”

“Careless of you, by the way,” Vaggie added with a sigh. “His deals always have a catch; you can never win.”

Angel leaned against the counter, giving them his full attention, which seemed to encourage Charlie a little. Maybe it was for the best to get them let it out of their chests and then ease their minds, no matter what Alastor would say about it. He knew his partner enjoyed people grasping for straws and worry, but neither Charlie or Vaggie deserved that – in both death and life combined they were the nicest girls he ever talked to, when he didn’t count his mum and sister. Sure, Vaggie was sharp as the spear she used, and Charlie had a naivety of a child, but they meant well, and he had to admit he was fond of them.

“I don’t doubt that,” he made a vague hand gesture for them to continue.

“He found you the moment you got to Hell, right?” Charlie asked with caution of a dancer on a nail bed.

“Well… yeah.” Not a lie. But he already belonged to him anyway, so it was not the moment of import as they thought it was.

“Can you tell us what the deal was about? Maybe we could help you somehow,” she smiled hopefully, and Angel took a deep breath.

“Ah, crap. Cha-Cha, I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously,” he scratched his head. “We were just playin’, you know. It’s not like he’s ever gonna hurt me or anythin’. Or cut me or whatever we said before.”

She didn’t look convinced. Fair.

“The only danger I’m in, and I mean, that’s a fact,” he crossed his arms on his chest. “It’s that he won’t let me get up from the bed when I need to pee. Like. That’s how lazy he is, ya know. Just not moving. Just stayin’ in.”

Okay, might have not been the best example, he realized when Charlie just stared at him and Vaggie’s upper lip curled into a sneer. Did he just make Alastor into a sexual predator?

“We just sleep together,” he assured them with all four hands raised. That didn’t help either. Charlie looked at Vaggie with tight-lipped expression and Vaggie seemed not wanting to be part of the conversation at all.

“No sex,” he added for good measure. “At all. Zero. Nada.”

Disbelieving stares. Even Nifftys’, she stopped sweeping, that’s how much she didn’t believe it.

“I mean… does he look to you as somebody wanting to fuck all night or…?”

“Ugh, Lucifer help us,” Vaggie groaned while smacking her forehead. Charlie looked unsure and huh. Interesting. Sure, Alastor was always making an impression, but he didn’t know Charlie potentially thought of him as somebody with sexual drive. But then again, Angel was probably biased, knowing him for the asexual he was.

“Okay, let me… get you on a secret,” he conceded in a low voice. “I made a deal with Alastor ‘bout four years ago.”

“I thought you said you’re new?” Charlie blinked in surprise and Vaggie raised an eyebrow. She was definitely onto him now; he saw the realization in her face.

“You were still alive,” she said in a shocked voice. “You made a deal with him when you were still a human.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed her words with a small smile. “I summoned him on Christmas Eve, and we made a deal that day. And four years later I fucked up my life and here I am. He just collected what belonged to him, is all. He’s not forcing me to do anything, ya know. I wanna be with him on my free will.”

“Or so you think,” Vaggie added with a frown. “Never thought about it?”

“No, never,” he refused immediately. “I get it, toots. He’s a big, scary Overlord here. He kills people. I mean this is Hell, of course he won’t be paintin’ their nails, right.”

She just stared at him with the same expression.

“But ya gotta believe me on this. Al is… well. He’s…” he rubbed his neck with a nervous laugh. “I don’t wanna sound corny as fuck. I just like ‘im. Like a lot.”

The oven dinged into the heavy silence and Charlie was the first who reacted, probably happy for a break in the flow. The cupcakes looked like a treat and Angel was kind of glad when they got into decorating and neither of the girls pressed him for more. Niffty did give him shifty looks though, probably still thinking they were going at it as rabbits behind the closed doors.

Alastor was still at the bar sipping bourbon from a tumbler when Angel was finally allowed to leave the kitchen around midnight, full to bursting. They burned the first batch a little, but he blamed the talk rather than their culinary skills.

“You seem unperturbed,” the red eyed demon commented when Angel sat down next to him and put a small basket with cupcakes on the counter. Husker behind the bar eyed it with disdain and took a swing of his bottle instead.

“Well, takes more than that to ruffle my feathers, ya know,” he grinned. “Not amused by my choice of words in there?”

“I quite approve, actually,” Alastor sipped his drink again. “Except of making me into a sexual deviant, thank you very much for that, darlin’.”

“That one slipped out on accident,” Angel chuckled. The expression of the girls made the misstep worth it though. “I kinda didn’t want to give out yer a cuddle monster but had no idea how to explain properly. Charlie might have troubles to look ya in the eyes for some time.”

“I can live with that,” Alastor shook his head. “I will make sure to let you get up when you need to pee from now on at least.”

“Somebody kill me again…” Husker grumbled and dragged down the cage with a grunt, locking the alcohol behind it. “I’m fucking leaving.” And with that he shuffled away from the bar with an unhappy flap of his wings until they were alone in the hall, staring at the place he disappeared at.

Angel snorted and Alastor drank the rest of his bourbon before standing up as well and offering a hand for Angel to take.

“Shall we go home then? Or do they want to keep you here so I can’t ravish you tonight?” he asked like it was no biggie to use home and ravish in one breath and Angel felt his face heating up, probably from all that sugar, before he took the hand in his and stumbled up.

“Home…” he mewled, grabbing the basket. “Please.”

“As you wish, cher.” Alastor’s voice was low and warm and Angel really had to think more on how to express to the girls on how much he loved this man, no voodoo involved.

***

2024, 325th day

There were several parlours in the hotel, most of them in terrible state of neglect, except of one Angel found by sheer coincidence one day and then made it his secret hideout for lazing around with music on. He got a permission from Charlie to paint the walls and adjust the place to his own liking, since it was in the second floor and basically nobody came there anyway. He planned to ask her for a pole as well, but that could wait – one step at the time, as they say.

He mostly used it for busying himself, since there was always something to do, and if he didn’t feel like working, he could always just dance to songs Alastor didn’t find fancy enough to play in the Radio Tower and it did the trick.

To Angel’s delight Alastor visited the Hotel often, but even when he didn’t have time or didn’t feel like it (though he never explicitly stated I don’t feel like going today, really, but Angel could tell when he had to do something and when he just said it), Angel ventured here by himself, much to Charlie’s excitement every time she saw him (it was actually pretty heart-warming, really. Though it also kind of sucked he felt welcomed in Hell a lot more than he ever did during his life).

“Look at you, so busy,” a static voice interrupted Angel’s reminiscing while absentmindedly scraping the remaining tattered wallpaper off the wall, and before he could turn around in surprise, Alastor was already standing next to him, inspecting the wall with raised eyebrows before glancing back down on Angel squatting at the bottom. “No fun therapy today? Or is the manual labour Charlie’s idea.”

“Yer the only fun around here, Smiles,” Angel grinned at him cheekily. “Didn’t expect ya today though.”

It was one of those I have something to do excuses while meaning I just don’t feel like rainbows today and Angel respected that. Seeing him here all of sudden was a nice bonus and he wondered if he even checked with Charlie first or she had no idea he arrived.

“Surprises are my speciality,” the Radio Demon said, eyes skimming from every part of the parlour critically. “Which this place is, to be honest. Less of a dump than the rest of the hotel, though.”

“Yeah, it’s more neglected than tattered,” Angel agreed and put the scraper down. “Yer gonna help me paint?” He nudged Alastor’s leg with his knee and the Radio Demon seemed to ponder that. He was more of a let do my totally not cursed magic do the work rather than actually attending himself – unless it came to cooking – so Angel didn’t expect him to actually take off his coat, neatly fold it on one of the barstools and roll up his sleeves, which meant business. Angel liked when it meant business. He liked it a lot.

“I can do that for a while,” Alastor hummed and the spider demon didn’t know if he was that bored or if it was his way of asking for attention but both were cute, especially when he meant to join Angel in this. “Can’t let you have all the fun now, can I.”

“Tsk tsk, what would others say, an Overlord painting walls by hand,” Angel stood up, his upper set of hands dropping on Alastor’s shoulders and the demon let him with half lidded eyes and a smile on his lips.

“Hmm.”

“And by an ordinary fuckin’ paint too. Not even blood!” he gasped and Alastor took him by his waist and pulled him close.

“Mmmmm.”

“Yer riskin’ your reputation just for me?” the spider demon leaned back in theatrical swoon. “Oh, Alastor!”

“Literally only for you,” the deer demon purred back at him, holding him by the waist, letting him lean back so his head almost touched the floor, and if somebody walked in at that point, it would raise some serious questions, especially when Angel curled one of his legs around Alastor’s hips.

That’s why Charlie did arrive at exactly that point, Angel’s name on her lips, just to stutter to complete halt in between the doors, staring.

“Oh… hey, Princess,” Angel greeted her from basically upside down, Alastor not letting go or making any other move to remedy their positioning. “Didn’t hear ya comin’.”

“I… can see that,” her eyes switched from one to another. “Wanted to ask if you want to join us for lunch… both of you.”

She peered at the Radio Demon with raised eyebrows and that apparently made him get back to reality since he finally pulled Angel back up – still not letting go of his waist – but his hands were mostly just resting rather than holding. Angel dutifully put his leg down as well and earned a small cough from the princess.

Awkward.

“Would be my pleasure, sweetheart,” the static buzzed in a jolly tune and the Radio demon focused back on Angel, his expression softer than Angel would expect, given Charlie’s ogling. “Now shall we, darlin’?”

“We shall,” Angel grinned back at him and genuinely didn’t expect Alastor to grab his face and smooch him on the spot, then let go and leave the parlour with a happy twirl of the microphone he summoned out of thin air.

Charlie’s jaw was probably on the floor, but Angel’s was kinda too, so at least they matched.

***

“I’m just saying it looked like I interrupted something intimate, that’s all!”

“Juuuust please bury me somewhere alreadyyyyyy,” Angel whined, and Charlie patted him gently on his head like a dog she got in the pet store. Vaggie looked mildly interested in the conversation and that was bad news. They were the only ones in the dining room now, Alastor, that sneaky bastard, just poofed home once they finished the lunch, singing some happy tune and obviously left all this to Angel to deal with. Husker disappeared almost immediately, definitely knowing something horrible was going to happen and Angel didn’t even see Niffty the whole lunch.

“I think it was rather sweet?” she tried again, and Angel groaned and hid his head between his legs. “I suppose it gave me a bit more perspective of you two now!”

“Seriously, what did happen there?” Vaggie stared at them both, perplexed, as if she wasn’t here at the lunch where Charlie asked Alastor if he ever thought of spending the night in the hotel with Angel, in Angel’s room, to get the full hotel experience. She specifically said Angel’s room because she had no fucking filter and probably also because Alastor seemed to mightily approve of her choice of words and Angel’s utter mortified expression. The more frustrated Angel became, the wider was Alastor’s smile.

“They just kissed,” Charlie happily announced and yeah, Vaggie’s expression of total and utter disgust was spot on. “But it was cute!”

“Ya thought we were fuckin’ there at first!” Angel huffed. “And now ya say it was cute?”

“Well, you weren’t…” she rolled her hands around. “You know. And I know you said you don’t do that! So, I believe you!”

“Now ya believe me,” his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Because of one obnoxious smooch?”

“Was it obnoxious?”

“He made a show out of it, ‘fcourse it was!” Angel groused, expecting Alastor to be real smooth about it later. Just helping he was going to say, for sure. Totally not making Angel want to hide under a rug and stay there because he was caught smooching the Radio Demon (though anybody else doing the smooch would be resting in pieces by now, so maybe it was more like a praise than a handicap, but still) and the Princess of Hell being the witness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before though,” Charlie sat a bit closer, clacking the chair with her until she could put her arm around Angel’s shoulders. “I guess I’m still a little surprised to see Radio demon actually possessing a beating heart.”

“A heart of his own, not the hearts he had stolen,” Vaggie added matter-of-factly. “Just for the record.”

“Thanks, Vaggie,” Angel huffed, but she was probably right anyway. “But it wasn’t like… why would one stupid show-off kiss make ya suddenly play a different tune?”

“Weeeell…” Charlie nervously looked away and Angel just knew.

“Ya were totally eavesdroppin’!” he pointed at her accusingly. “Holy shit, Cha-Cha, the Princess of Hell and ya just-!”

“Okay, okay!” she batted his hand down, her cheeks redder than normally he would even say steam was coming from her ears. “I might have been eavesdropping here and there-.”

“Here and there?” Angel couldn’t believe that. “So, there was more? Damn, you only act like an innocent girl, huh?”

“I was just worried!” she squeaked like a toy being squeezed too much. “I thought if he was being bad to you, I could save you somehow, but…”

Angel felt like the words actually physically smacked him over the face. Charlie, the bloody Princess of Hell, a hellborn demoness that knew him for how long? A month? This girl right there was caring for his wellbeing? She was ready to save him from an Overlord? Just because… because of what?

“But… why?” he couldn’t help but stare at her, eyes wide. “Why would ya go that far for a random sinner?”

Her face lit up with the most honest smile he had ever seen, like a puppy being petted for the first time even after peeing on the carpet, and Angel’s lower lip trembled in repressed sob she absolutely noticed, because of course she would.

“Because I care, Angel,” she pulled the chair even closer, so they were touching with their sides. “You’re my friend!”

“I bet ya say this to every girl ya meet,” he laughed trough ugly sobs and damn, that was so humiliating, he was going to need a real therapy after this.

“Just roll with it,” he heard from Vaggie, but couldn’t even look at her because Charlie was suddenly smooshing his face against her chest in a bear hug, petting him with cooing noises.

Holy shit, yeah, that was so going into a mental vault, Angel was so thoroughly embrassed.

And the worst thing was – he liked it. It was the nicest, warmest, the most awkward and cringiest thing he had ever experienced, and he did lots of shit in his life for this to top it all. Even Vaggie patted him awkwardly on his back in her way of showing support, and it only made him sob more.

It was probably good Alastor was fucking gone for this. That would be suicidal.

***

“Now wasn’t Charlie nice?”

Obviously Alastor was aware of everything. Angel didn’t even question it, especially not when he saw Al Junior peering at him from behind the Radio Demon, his smile wide and raggedy, as if he was not a spy master of gigantic proportions.

Alastor’s study was all lit up with the owner sitting behind the table, smiling at Angel softly. He only had a red shirt slightly unbuttoned from the top and his pants, but otherwise the rest was off, and it somehow added to the hominess Angel felt in the Radio Tower.

“Ya knew she was spying on us, didn’t ya,” Angel walked closer, stopping only a step away from the table. “Several times.”

“I would be a terrible Overlord if anybody could spy on me so easily, wouldn’t you agree,” Alastor grinned proudly, because obviously he would be proud of that in this regard. “There were no words able to sway the demon belle anyway. I may not be safest bet in any other regard, but for you, I am the safe heaven.”

“Mmm.”

“I was just trying to help.” There it was. “The situation was rather dire, as you sure agree.”

“I’m not upset, Al,” Angel breathed out with a small laugh. “I’m just… kinda offline right now. It was tiring as fuck.”

Alastor understood, that much was obvious. When he stood up and reached for Angel’s hands so he could lead him to the bedroom for a good night sleep, Angel had a fleeting worry of this all not being real, of waking up eventually in the hospital because somebody found him in the dirty bathroom of the club he overdosed himself in, and they managed to save him. And he would so fucking hate it he’d probably just kill himself with a yoghurt spoon or something the moment they’d leave him alone, just to end it.

But when Alastor pulled him close to his body and raked his clawed hand through his hair, the fear disappeared like a fleeting dream. He was where he was supposed to be. And he was happy he could cling to Alastor like a lifeline and never let go.

“Anthony,” Alastor’s static-less voice broke the gentle silence. “You touch my tail one more time and you lose dat hand.”

“That’s fine, have five more,” Angel grinned into Alastor’s chest and took the leap of faith.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #au #the deal series #human!Angel Dust

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nikkigrand · 4 years

Text

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m abandoning all of my works. Everything.

This post is going to be long, honest, triggering and deeply personal. So for those who don’t want to read through all of my bullshit, the gist is that I’m not emotionally or mentally capable of writing anymore.

TW ARE IN PLACE.

If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know that my boyfriend was killed in Afghanistan last year. Since then, my life has been a breathless decline into self destruction. I didn’t know—I still don’t know—how to recover from happily waiting for his return to painfully knowing he never will. I swear that some days I feel like he’s still out there and some day he’ll come home and this will all be just a bad dream. I want to wake up to a reality where he steps off that plane and into my arms, where I don’t keep a crumpled old t shirt that smells more of me than him under my pillow, where the shock of hearing certain songs doesn’t make me throw up. A reality where I don’t have to sit in front of his ashes every time I visit his mother and look at his singed necklace around her neck.

I wanted nothing more than to wake up. Just wake the fuck up and feel alive again because for so long I had felt this choking pain and grief and misery and then nothing.

Everything became an escape, something to fill that void in me. I tried all the healthy things. I ate, I worked out, I ran. I talked to people about how I felt and reached out, but nothing helped. I volunteered, i planted trees and flowers, I channeled my grief into kindness. I tried to take all this pain and turn it into something beautiful, and still I felt nothing. I was falling falling falling into this black pit and was reaching for anything to keep me from hitting the bottom.

So I started chasing highs. The standard shit at first. I drank so much alcohol that I’d wake up in bushes with my friends, limbs tangled in ways that left me sore and stinging for days because who the hell passes out in a Rose bush?

At first, drinking was fucking hell, because no matter how much I drank I’d always end up with my head cradled in the palms of my hands, fingers digging into my scalp as I screamed and wailed and asked why why why why when he was so close to coming home and why was life so goddamn mean??? I’d be in bar bathrooms, just curled in the corner and sobbing like a dramatic princess until my friends carried me out. This happened about a dozen times before it just stopped, because I figured I wasn’t drinking enough if I could remember everything.

So I drank more and more and more and then I realized that it wasn’t making me feel better, it wasn’t doing anything for me.

So I started smoking. Just weed, you know. Nothing too crazy at the time. But all that did was make me hyper-fixate on all of my failures and short comings. It made me hate myself so viscerally, so deeply that I wondered if this is who I truly am at my core. A mean bitch who drinks, smokes, parties. A maneater who fucks these poor kind hearted men to fill that hole her dead man left inside her and still finds herself cold and numb after because it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I’m sure you know where this is going. But I hated myself. I’m a beautiful girl, I’m not blind, and yet I found myself to be so fucking ugly. So fucking ugly and grey and all I wanted—all I needed—was something to breathe life into me the way life itself did before.

I just wanted to feel happy and normal. Only for a little while. That need was so encompassing it would grip my insides and I’d cry from how much I wanted it, how much I had convinced myself I needed it. It was all I fucking wanted.

So the bumps came. And then the lines. And then whole baggies to myself. And it felt amazing, it was wonderful. The world was alive, things were different. I had more energy, more life in me than I had in months. Then the other type of lines came and it made me feel like I was floating away. There was no pain, no misery, no death hanging over my shoulder to remind me that the strength of your love can’t make people stay.

But soon, that too wasn’t enough. Like every other thing, I felt there was something better, something that could make me feel more. So here is where I tell you about all the pills I popped, all the different colored presses and how each one pulled me out of that hole I was falling into and deposited me above the ground —much higher than I could have ever dreamed of—and filled my grey world with beautiful gorgeous colors.

Then I can tell you about all the tabs I let dissolve on my tongue, or fully swallowed out of impatience, all of the lines of ketamine I combined with ecstasy and acid in one night. The things I saw, the way I felt—it took me far from this dismal life and was addicting. I was chasing something every weekend until it became every other day, chasing some feeling I still can’t name, and I knew that it was ruining me.

My grief and my drugs were killing me, and I knew it. With every cotton mouth, every clenched jaw, every pounding headache, I fucking knew and didn’t care. I’d look at my friends faces and I knew, I knew they loved me and would be devastated if they knew what I was doing, and I still didn’t care. What was life if it felt this empty?

My grades dropped, i turned down a contracting job I wanted for years, I spent all my money on psychedelics and stimulants, and it had gotten to a point where I’d pop a pill while sitting at home just because I didn’t want to be sober and didn’t want to think about how fucked up my life was becoming.

Then one day I was at a concert, high in the clouds with a joint settled comfortably between my lips and frizzy hair piled messily atop my head, when I saw a girl get carried out the venue by medics. She was probably a few years younger than I am, and i remember looking at her face impassively as they pushed through the crowd with her body thrown over this bear of a man’s shoulder as if in slow motion. She was pale and foaming at the mouth, with her arms dangling limply down his back, and she looked dead—she was dead. I knew in that same way you know that the sky is blue when the sun is up, I just knew.

And in that moment—those few seconds it took me to acknowledge that she had most likely overdosed and died—this intense yearning shot through me, so strong that I felt it in the crooks of my fucking elbows, like I wanted to embrace whatever the fuck it was that I desired to live inside me, and this voice cried out, “I wish that were me.”

And you know what, I didn’t even know I had spoken until the guy next to me shoved me in the shoulder and said, “no you don’t.”

And that terrified me. I remember dropping the joint, fumbling it in my shaking fingers, burning myself on the lit end, before handing it off to that same random guy and running off to get some air.

I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I know I’m depressed, I know I’ve got issues, but I had never said something so suicidal out loud up until that point. I’ve never vocally wished for death and even as I sat there, as I looked out at the people outside the venue huddled together doing whip it’s and killing brain cells, I still wanted to be that poor dead girl on that man’s shoulders.

That was it for me. I remember calling an Uber home on the spot and taking everything I had and flushing it. Im not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it was easy. I had convinced myself that I needed these things to make me happy, and i don’t know if I can ever see life the same way after them. The feelings you get off these things are otherworldly, it’s so damn good, but they come at a price. You dont feel the same way you did before you took them, and you never will. You’ll never be who you were before that high, but you can almost convince yourself that it’s worth it. So it was pretty damn hard to take my neon presses, my rocks. my capsules, my bud and my tabs, and flush them down the toilet.

Almost immediately after I did it, I cried. Mostly because i had flushed hundreds of dollars down the fucking toilet, but also because I had become that girl in those cheesy college movies. You know the one, the one where the party girl gets addicted to drugs and goes on a bender and her whole life is just one big goddamn tragedy that won’t end. I hate those fucking movies and I, for the life of me, could not believe I was that girl.

I had been military, straight laced with a good head on my shoulders and a hard worker. I was smart, respected, the girl everyone wanted to bring home to mom. And now I was a hot mess crying in my bathroom because I had just flushed my addiction down the shitter.

Now I’m just home, trying to gather the pieces of myself in a way that doesn’t cause long term damage when I’ve yet to hit my 27th birthday.

I still go out with my friends. They know nothing about what I’ve done because I’ve always gone out and done things alone. This is the first time I’ve ever spilled my guts.

So where does FanFiction come into play in all this. Well, it’s simple, really, if you’ve gotten to this point and picked out all the mistakes in grammar. My brain is so fucked up that I can barely write a passable 3 page essay. I can’t remember words, much less how to string them together to form something beautiful in the way I used to. Trust me, it kills me and I’ve agonized over it for hours. I once tried to take this amazing idea I had and put it to paper but it would just not flow. Nothing made sense. Where before writing was effortless and focused, now my brain could barely concentrate on forming a sentence that didn’t sound like gibberish.

My attention span is so short that I literally have to isolate myself with no internet and my textbooks to get work done. It’s so bad that I have anxiety and panic attacks about the fact that I feel like a whole dumbass with one brain cell, where before I was proud of my intelligence and could hold decent conversation.

I’m still pretty, as if that fucking matters, but now I’ve got a stutter and can’t hold eye contact because my paranoia makes me think they’re judging me. And let me tell you, I’m so fucking pissed about that because I know it’s just my fried brain thinking these things, and there’s no one to blame but myself.

And I still feel empty and numb. How can I write about love and human emotions when I don’t feel anything? How can I write about looking at someone and loving them when the memory of love faded like my lover’s ashes in the wind? I just can’t.

I know love as it whispers against my skin with each interaction between me, friends, even other men, and yet I look at them and feel absolutely nothing.

So Yeah, I can’t write my stories if I can’t get my brain or my heart to work.

I’m really sorry to all my loyal readers. I really am. I wish I had been stronger. Thank you for all of your support throughout the years.

Don’t do drugs.

#trigger warnings #personal

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 4 years

Text

Guns N’Roses when they discover that their boyfriend/partner is bisexual:

A/N: Here’s the second part of my wonderful bi boy/ nb people. Remember that you are valid, loved and being bi is not something wrong!

TW: Mentions of sex, biphobia, mentions of addiction, overdose and death

Axl Rose

You were biting your nails nervously, waiting for Axl to arrive. You usually hate that your boyfriend was late, but this time you were glad, because you really needed to gather up your courage and tell him what you needed to.

You were bisexual, but he didn’t know that. You were too scared of upsetting him, to be misunderstood, it was already difficult for him to deal with all his internalized homophobia, due to his upbringing, what if he thought you were just a “fake gay boy” who went after him only for fame, but in reality he was attracted to girls? You would hurt him so bad, because in his eyes you betrayed his trust, you took advantage of his vulnerability and stabbed his heart.

He would have left you, and you couldn’t deal with that, your life without that wonderful redhead was so empty and sad, you’d be so hurt, your heart broken in so many little pieces. Your thoughts were so loud, that you didn’t hear Axl coming towards you.

“Sorry baby boy, I had to stay in the studio a little longer… are you okay?” He asked concerned.

“Ax… we need to talk.” You stated, biting your lips.

“Is it a bad news or a good news?” He tried to laugh, but his attempt fell flat.

You took a deep breath, your heart beating so fast that you just wanted to lie and finish it all, but you knew it had to be done.

“ I’m bisexual, I like girls too. But before you can say anything, I’m not a “fake gay” and not I’m not trying to be straight to please people.” “Babe…”

“ And I didn’t take advantage of you just to get famous and have money. I was so scared of telling you this, because I could never stay without you, please don’t leave me !” You were frenetic, but then you felt two hands cupping your face.

“Hey baby, calm down. I’m not angry, I’m just surprised, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I’ll love you and respect you regardless of whom you like. You’re my boyfriend, I could never leave the most important person in my life!” You looked you right in the eyes, a small smile on his face.

You really felt like you could have cried of joy, it felt so good to be able to get ridden of this weight and to have Axl still at your side. You kissed him, and he brought you into a hug, playing with your hair.

“I love you so much Axl, I know it is hard for you, so it means a lot!” You said.

“Yeah, I want to try my hardest because you deserve the best, ya know?” He said, nervous but also happy.

You squeezed his hand tightly, making him smile.

Slash

You were sitting on a beat up couch in the backstage. Your boyfriend Slash was showering and as much as you loved to shower together, you knew what would happen if you stepped there, so you decide to spare the boy to hear everything and just hung observe all the roadies working and people talking.

After a couple of minutes, you felt someone sitting down next to you, probably your boy, but before you could turn around and throw yourself in Slash’s arms, you heard a female voice speaking.

“Hey there, beautiful!” She said, flashing you a smile. Probably, she was a groupie.

You looked her up and down, and you had to admit she was very pretty. Of course, you didn’t feel any romantic feeling towards her, but you could still appreciate beauty when you saw it.

“Do you like what you see? I didn’t know you were into girls too, sugar! I just thought you liked guys since you were Slash’s partner, as he calls you.”

You were no-binary, and you came out to Slash one month after dating. He started to refer to you in the right way and using the right pronouns, then he asked people to call you his partner, even if he didn’t out you.

“Yeah, I don’t discriminate, you know. Even if I like my boyfriend very much, thank you!” You replied, but she seemed to ignore you, sitting on your lap.

“I believe Slash won’t oppose if we propose him a threesome.” She whispered with a smirk.

You felt someone clearing his throat.

“They are my person sweetie, so move on!” He said firmly, and the girl hopped off your lap and got out of the door, still flashing his mischievous smile.

You started panicking, because you had no idea how long Slash was there and what he heard or saw. Oh God, what if he thought that you were a cheater? What if he heard that you are bi?

“Slash… I-I’m bisexual. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you about this before, but I was scared that you could believe at all the stereotypes, and leave me. Also, I was scared that you thought I was “too much” because “c’mon you can’t be no-binary and bi, too!” Your breathing was getting faster, and you were really afraid to start crying, but Slash held your hands.

“You can always talk to me baby! I love you just as you are, and I’m proud you decided to tell me. I’d never leave you or believe what they say. You are my wonderful partner and I’ll keep loving you until the end!”

You kissed him with passion, running a hand in his curls, and thinking how lucky you were to have him.

Duff Mckagan

Being a bassist and opening for the band that your bassist boyfriend played in was the best thing ever!

You and Duff were pretty reserved with your relationship, and you never felt the need to talk about your past relationships, so your boyfriend didn’t know you were bi and you had been with girls too. You were too scared to come out to him, and make thing awkward between you two and your bands, plus the past partners were not all supportive, and that make you quite afraid that he wouldn’t love you anymore.

You were doing an interview with a rock magazine, Duff was also there, but he already did his, so he was there as moral support. It was going good, the interview didn’t ask you too personal questions, well until now.

“Duff isn’t the first musician that you have dated, though. Before him you dated a famous singer in a girl’s band, is that right?” She questioned pleased.

You felt the world stopping, while your heart started to beat faster. Too scared to look at your boy, you fixed your gaze at the floor, trying to calm yourself, because your brain was shouting at you how Duff would hate you, leave you forever and never come back.

“Yeah, I dated her, but we didn’t get along. I don’t want to talk about it and I think our time is up.” You voice cracked a bit, but there was no way that you would let her know how her words hit you.

She seemed upset, but she left anyway.

“I thought you said that you never dated someone just t pretend to not like boys.” Duff said surprised, but also hurt.

“I didn’t do that, I’m bisexual so I like girls too, and I thought that I loved her, but it didn’t go that well.” Your eyes darted anywhere but to the blond bassist, while you tried to fight the tears.

You were not ready to see him walk away, and you tried to prepare for the worst, but Duff simply thumbed away one of your tears.

“Don’t cry babe, God please I hate seeing you like that. I promise I’m not angry or anything, just why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was scared that you would react like she did when I told her, that you would think of me as a cheater, a fraud, someone who can’t decide and I didn’t want you to leave me, I love you too much!”

Duff sat down and put you on his lap.

“You are my baby boy, and I could never be pissed at you, or think all those awful things. Nothing is changed between us, I still love you and I’ll support you no matter what, even if groupies will be after you even more!” He joked and you managed to smile.

He stroked your cheek and kissed your nose, while bringing you closer and keeping soothing you.

Izzy Stradlin

Your eyes shoot open, your heart beat fast as the images of your nightmare were still impressed in your memory. Everything felt so real, your mind was still having troubles realizing that what you had seen was not real, or at least it was not happening right now.

You tried you’re best to not wake Izzy up, who was sleeping next to you, but you felt way too anxious and scared to stay still, so eventually your boyfriend woke up due your trembling.

“Hey babe, you okay?” He asked sleepy, his elbows on the bed as he sat on it.

You shook your head, feeling worse and worse, so much that you couldn’t even talk and you just wanted to cry. It’s okay, it was not real. It was not now.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me, it’s fine!” He reassured you, he gently rub your back.

Usually you and Izzy didn’t have secrets between each other, in fact you came out to him as no-binary, and he totally accepted you, never stopped to show you his support and addressing you in the right one. However, you kept away from him two things: that you were bisexual and that your ex-girlfriend died of overdose soon after your breakup.

That was what the dream was about, but of course you couldn’t tell him without coming out in the process, so what were you going to choose? He thought of being rejected by him, made you even sicker, because Izzy was your boyfriend, your rock and you couldn’t be without him. You were about to lose him so many times due alcohol and drugs, you couldn’t bear it if it was your fault this time.

But that the same time, you knew how much he hated lies, and how this all thing was eating you alive.

“I-I had a girlfriend some time ago, she was a good girl, but she started to get addicted to heroin. I tried to help her as much as I could, to stay at her side but the relationship got too toxic to handle, so we decided to break up. S-She died soon after due to an overdose.” It felt good to let it out, but at the same time it was terrifying thinking about the consequences.

“Wait you said girlfriend?”

“Yes Izzy, I’m bi. And I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you! I’ve seen her fading away more and more, until she was gone, and the same thing was happening to you. I’m so glad you are clean now, because I could never stand having you away from me, so please don’t leave me!” You were begging him, with tears in your eyes.

Izzy hold your hands, giving you a smile.

“Darling, I love you and I could never leave you or be ashamed of who you are. I’m so grateful for having you here at my side, helping me stay sober, and I promise you nothing will tear us apart, okay?” He said firmly, squeezing your hands.

You put yourself into his arms, your head against his chest until his heart beat made you fall asleep.

Steven Adler

You were chilling on the sofa, watching some old sitcom on the TV, when Steven entered the room, a confused look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something for you but he didn’t know how or what, so you decide to leave him think.

“Babe why did you have a pin or your jacket with written “bi” on it?” He asked you, unsure but curious at the same time.

You started to shake as your breathing was getting heavier, you were totally panicking. You turned off the television and tried to calm yourself down. You didn’t think he would be able to catch on it, it was a cute little pin, hardly to read from far, and Steven never showed interest into seeing what it was about, until now.

Now probably your secret was out: yes, you were bisexual. You never told your boyfriend that, but still you felt a sort of pride in your identity, even if you were closeted, you still wanted a tiny bit of freedom, and that pin was it.

You’ve never told Steven about your bisexuality, because you were afraid to lose him or that he wouldn’t understand you, usually boys were wither gross about it, or they thought you were just gay. If Steven reacted like that, not only your heart would be broken, but you also couldn’t stay with him anymore.

“I know what bi means. Are you bi honey?” He sounded hurt, probably because you haven’t told him before.

“I’m s-sorry. I-I was scared that you could g-get angry at me and leave me, like people did in the past!”. You started crying, reality hitting hard, the possibility of Steven getting away becoming scarier every second.

“I love you sweets, I could never leave you, not when you own my heart, it beats for you!” Your boyfriend said, grabbing your hand, trying to calm you down a bit.

You left out a sigh of relief, while you tried to stop crying.

“Bi means that you like both right? Sorry I lied when I said I know it for sure!” He giggled, a bit embarrassed.

You nodded with a smile, then you hugged him very tightly, still not believing that you were out now and he was okay with it.

“Thank you so much baby, this means a lot to me!” You whispered into his ear.

“You are my heart, I could never stay without you, and I’m proud of who you are!” He replied, kissing your lips gently.

#guns n roses #axl rose #slash #duff mckagan #izzy stradlin #steven adler #bisexual male reader #bisexual no-binary reader #axl rose x male reader #slash x nb reader #duff mckagan x male reader #izzy stradlin x nb reader #steven adler x gender neutral reader #80srock #80s rock band #fanfic #fanfiction #guns n roses fanfic

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hexthelore · 4 years

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Famously Haunted: The Père Lachaise Cemetery

(photo by julia & keld)

The Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, France is one of the most famous cemeteries in the world, with several million visitors every year. The cemetery is even still open to receiving new permanent occupants. However, the cemetery only accepts those who died in the capital city or who lived there, and even then there’s a long waiting list; perhaps because it has been a famous cemetery for as long as it has existed. When the cemetery first opened in the early 1800’s, it started out with bodies of well known people moved there. A long history and a lot of foot traffic has left the place with a history of hauntings, and even a bizarre hoax.

But this is just why the hauntings are known. I believe the reason that it is haunted in the first place is not simply because it’s a resting place of the dead. The dead in this cemetery are particularly restless, as they are often moved around. This started with the bodies of famous people being moved to Père Lachaise to bring acclaim to the cemetery, but eventually evolved. Now that it has gained popularity and has become more crowded, some bodies get moved around inside the cemetery grounds to increase space. Family members' remains are regularly combined into the same graves. Sometimes maseuloems will house dozens of members of the same family line, with graves that can be either combined or separated by only a few inches. Shelves are even inserted to help stack as many bodies as they can fit.

The habit of reopening graves extends past just adding more family members to the same grave or mausoleum. Recently, the Père Lachaise Cemetery has offered up their eternal resting places to lease. It is standard for the cemetery to have a 30 year lease on a grave, and if the lease is not renewed by the surviving family, the body is dug up. The so-called abandoned remains are boxed up and labeled and sent to the Aux Morts Ossuary, which is still within the Père Lachaise Cemetery. It isn’t hard to imagine why the spirits here may be so active.

While the common experience of living visitors to the Père Lachaise Cemetery is an unsettling, haunted feeling, it is not just haunted in concept. There are a few ghosts that have been seen more than once, and there’s a legend that, although it is definitively a hoax, leaves people feeling a little more than strange about the cemetery.

Probably the most popular ghost of the Père Lachaise Cemetery is that of rockstar Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors. He went to Paris in 1971, attempting to get clean and reconnect with himself in the beautiful city. However, this trip turned tragic when he died on July 3rd. While the police report claims that his death was heart failure while at home, it is commonly believed that he overdosed because of the suspicious circumstances of the official report. If you’re interested in reading further on Jim Morrison’s time in Paris and the circumstances of his death, you can check out this article on it here. The struggle Morrison was going through before his death with his problems with drugs, alcohol and fame and the circumstances of his death itself may have led to his spirit being particularly restless, leading to sightings of his ghost at his grave. While there are plenty of mentions from people of feeling or seeing his presence when they visit his grave, the time that really led to the belief that he haunts Père Lachaise was Brett Meisner’s visit to Morrison’s grave in 1997.

(photo from paris info website)

Brett Meisner is a rock historian, and in 1997 when he visited Jim Morrison’s resting place, he took a photo that he later felt has left a negative impact. The photo shows Meisner next to Morrison’s grave, and in the background of the image there is a human figure that has no reason to be there. It genuinely appears to be the ghost of Jim Morrison, chest bare and arms outstretched. The photo can be found with a quick Google search, but due to superstition of the photo causing a negative reaction on the people who view it, I don’t feel comfortable putting it here. Mesiner didn’t realize how astounding the image was until years later, in 2002, when he had the image authenticated. Mesiner has said since that he wishes he didn’t have the photo; that he feels it washed a negative energy over his life and has led to problems in his personal life. Not only this, but fans of Morrison who have seen the image have told Meisner that they’ve had an uneasy feeling since viewing the image, or have felt that Morrison haunts them. It’s possible that Morrison haunts not only the Père Lachaise Cemetery, but haunts through the image of his ghost as well. Morrison himself believed in ghosts, and with him dying young and possibly dying due to an overdose, it’s possible that his spirit still lingers.

Jim Morrison isn’t the only famous ghost, though. Aldolphe Theirs, a prime minister of Paris from the 19th century, is said to haunt his grave at Père Lachaise. While there are no specific first-person accounts that I could find of Theirs spooking anyone, it is generally claimed that Theirs tugs on people's clothes when they get a little too close to his tomb. This may be Theirs wanting people to keep their distance from his mausoleum, or it may just be a way of him making himself known.

The other main haunting of the Père Lachaise Cemetery is that of author Marcel Proust. It was hard to find specific actions of his hauntings, which leads me to believe that it stems from a general energy of sadness that comes from his grave. It is said that he haunts the cemetery every night in a search for his lost love. It isn’t clear who his lost love is specifically, but it is thought that they are buried in another cemetery, leaving Proust searching for his lost love forever. Considering that Proust was a closeted gay man, it is likely that this eternal search for his lost love is symbolic of the struggle with relationships he may have had in life, and the feeling of never being truly able to come together.

Although this one is not a haunting, the peculiar hoax that occured about Élisabeth Demidoff’s mausoleum deserves to be mentioned. A Russian Countess, Élisabeth Alexandrovna de Demidoff spent her last few years in Paris, and ultimately died there in 1818 at the age of 39. However, it wasn’t until 75 years later that her grave at Père Lachaise stood out amongst those laid to rest there. A posting went into papers in many places, but it seems to have primarily occurred in the United States, which has the earliest dated edition on the Chicago Daily Tribune in 1893. The posting claims that Russian Countess (sometimes Princess) Élisabeth Demidoff died only five years previous, rather than nearly a century before, and lays out a challenge to earn 5,000,000 francs: stay one whole year in her mausoleum, alone. Descriptively, it says that the person will receive no visitors, and won’t even be allowed to speak to the person that brings them food once per day. Their only activities - aside from staring at the Countess’s coffin - would be to read by the candlelight that is casted beside her (clear) coffin, and to take an hour’s stroll around the cemetery in the late evening or early morning, after the cemetery gates have been shut, thus not a living soul would be in sight. It seems the main purpose is to have this person be her watcher; there were descriptions of her mausoleum being covered in mirrors, so that anyway her watcher might look, their eyes would fall upon her preserved corpse. The article makes note that those who attempted to stay were not able to last long. Specifically, they were driven mad by not just their loneliness, but also haunting and mysterious sounds, shadows, touches, etc.

(photo by Guilhem Vellut)

While no such will ever existed, the public did fall for the peculiar prank. Following the various articles depicting this bewildering proposition, articles were released explaining the nonsense of it all. They described Paris officials and those in charge of Père Lachaise receiving letters upon letters from people across the world, although especially in America, requesting to be given the opportunity to stay in the Countess’s mausoleum and win the 5,000,000 francs. Soldiers were especially known to apply, stating how they’d spent long periods of time with little to not contact with people while vigilant in the dark. Although no real damage was done, it definitely irritated the Parisian officials. Additionally, perhaps in an attempt to continue the legend, there has since been lore about Demidoff being a vampire. This appears to only be due to symbols and inscriptions that aren’t even very identifiable on the mausoleum, and people claim the supposed symbols point to vampirism. I don’t imagine that this is something anyone believes in; rather it’s just embellishment on what is already at its base an already known lie.

Whether or not the Père Lachaise Cemetery is truly haunted, the cemetery is itself a haunting experience for visitors. The fact that the graveyard still actively takes in new residents, but that many of them have been or may be moved around, gives credence to a dark energy in the cemetery. However, even its tales of haunts aren’t too negative or distinct, which leads me to believe that Père Lachaise is more haunted in spirit than in anything truly tangible. Of course, visitors of the cemetery must decide for themselves. Its residents are the only ones who will know for sure.

sources: Amy’s Crypt (1) (2) - Bess Lovejoy - Chris Woodyard - Daniel Kreps - Discover Walks - Find A Grave - Marilyn Brouwer - Wikipedia

#pere lachaise #pere lachaise cemetery #paris #france #paris cemeteries #european cemeteries #urban legends #hauntings #haunted #french hauntings #french urban legends #parisian hauntings #jim morrison #marcel proust #my post

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

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Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 9 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 9

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

Check out my Patreon for more!!!

She was waiting outside, looking down at her shoes like it was the most interesting. She was about to turn and head back in to check the time. Of course he wouldn’t show up. Why would he?

“Shit.” Nikki grumbled as he pulled up by the sidewalk. Leaving the car idling, he ran up to her and gently grabbed her hand, making her turn and look at him. “Sorry! I’m so sorry! Tommy borrowed my car to get gas for his bike and then he lost my keys and I was looking for them and by the time I found them, it was after 6 o’clock. I… if you want to cancel I can understand, but please let me make it up to you for being late?” Nikki rambled as he looked down at the ground in shame.

"Oh Nikki, I was scared that you changed your mind." She looked away. "That Tommy sounds like fun."

“Like a snake bite,” Nikki sighed. “I’m really sorry, I understand if you don’t want to see me again,” Nikki breathed. He felt like a failure, he let her down.

"Of course I want to see you silly boy." She smiled at him. "Off we go?" She held her hand out for him.

Nikki gave her a bright smile, “Let’s go sweet girl,” he pulled her in for a sweet deep kiss. “Lets go catch our movie first and then dinner.”

He helped her into the car and drove off towards the movie theater. The opted to see The E.T the Extra Terrestrial, and Nikki found himself liking the movie and loving (Y/n) snuggling up to him. They were sharing a bag of popcorn and there were few times where their hands reached at the same time. NIkki let her eat most of it. He kissed her head during the movie letting her know he was enjoying her company. It didn’t take long before he gently pulled her face up and began kissing her deeply. His hand cupped her face before running his fingers rently through her hair.

(Y/n)felt herself pressing up against him and giving a soft sigh. Nikki smirked against her lips at the sounds she made. Kissing her again he felt his heart pound in his chest and the bulge in his pants get bigger. Shifting slightly to fix himself he broke the kiss and touched his nose against hers.

“I hope Chinese is ok for dinner,” he whispered to her.

“I love Chinese food.” (Y/n) smiled. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

“What can I say,” Nikki kissed her again. “I know what my girlfriend likes,” he realized his words and blush. “That is if you want to be… mygirlfriend.” he rushed.

“Mr. Sixx, did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?” (Y/n) laughed.

“Yes… unless you think it’s too fast and i’m not good enough… and….” Nikki felt her lips on his, shutting him up.

“I would love to be your girlfriend Nikki Sixx.” She smiled at him.

As soon as the movie was over they made their way to the Chinese restaurant. Once at a booth Nikki relaxed and smiled.

“So, you have siblings, and they sound kind of… I don’t know, mean?” Nikki shrugged. “I don’t know how anyone who cannot appreciate that brain of yours.”

“My siblings are kinda idiots,” (Y/n) laughed. “My sister is smarter than my brother. Nessa likes to say that mom and dad were saving all the brains for me.” She sighed. “I just wish I was as cool as them.”

“You are cool,” Nikki argued. “I mean hey, you listen to us and Aerosmith, and I’m sure you listen to other artists I haven’t mentioned that are pretty cool.” NIkki reached for her hand as he shoveled a spoonful of fried rice into his mouth.

“The Beatles are my favorite band,” She shrugged. “My brother teases me, but I cried so hard when John Lennon died.”

“You and me both sweet girl,” Nikki said and smiled at her. “Your brother sounds like he doesn’t know good music even if it hits him in the ass.”

“Oh, I’m telling him that.” She laughed. “He’d probably go pout and blair his old Led Zeppelin records.”

Nikki laughed but forgot he was eating and almost choked on his food. Taking a sip of water and cleared his throat, “Your brother is lame to make fun of you but listen to Zep!”

“Right?” She took a sip of her drink. “I can appreciate all kinds of different music. Just not classical. Not too big on it.” She smiled at him. “Besides yourself, what’s your favorite band?”

“Well, Zeppelin is one, then you got Queen, Leapard, Ramones, Kiss.” Nikki smiled.

“God, I would love to go see Queen.” (Y/n) said. “Freddie Mercury has better eyelashes and makeup than I do though.” She laughed. “But, I think your makeup is pretty good too.”

NIkki chuckled, “Maybe I can score us some tickets when they come by.” (Y/n) smiled at him.

“Do you have a gig tomorrow night?” (Y/n) asked. “My brother wants to hang out and...I just wanna make sure I don’t miss anything.”

“Yeah, we’re playing at Whiskey tomorrow,” Nikki said. “Best part is we live right down the street from it,” he put money on the table for their food. They got up and headed out.

“That’s convenient.” (Y/n) laughed. “Bet it’s party central there.”

“Sometimes,” Nikki shrugs, “But the parties are boring without you.”

“I never was one for big parties. My brother and sister used to make me hang out in my room when they threw house parties, or they sent me off to Nessa’s. Think that’s when I started falling in love with muric.” She shrugged.

“Well, I think you would be a party animal,” Nikki said as he pulled her close as he walked with her along the street. “I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

“Who’s saying you can’t?” (Y/n) asked with a smile. “Might be the last time you get to before your bandmates interrupt us.”

“I got the best spot for us,” he smiled. “Come on”

“Where are we going?” (Y/n) asked as Nikki led her down the street. Nikki led her to his car and drove her to the Hollywood sign.

“I figured we can get a nice view,” he said as he parked the car and helped her out. Lifting her by her waist he sat her on the hood and sat by her. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.” She said, looking out of Los Angeles. “I’ve done day hikes up here, but never night. It’s gorgeous.”

NIkki was looking at her, “Yeah it is.” he smiled.

“Have you ever wanted to leave California?” (Y/n) asked him, staring down at the lights.

“I was born in San Jose, Mom moved around alot had a lot of shitty step-dads when my dad split.” he sighed and looked at the scenery. “My childhood wasn’t a happy one.” She reached out and held his hand.

“I know my siblings were mean to me, but I can only imagine what you went through.” She leaned against him. “I hope that I can make you happy now though.”

“You already are making me happy sweet girl,” he whispered as he pulled her in for a kiss. One hand cupped her face, the other wrapped around her waist. “I feel like i’m falling real hard and fast for you (Y/n) I can’t explain it.”

“I think I might be falling for you too.” (Y/n) admitted, leaning in to kiss him again.

Nikki let his hands roam her body as his fingers found their way under her shirt. His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw, to her ear, and then down her neck. (Y/n) moaned softly, but slowly pushed him back.

“Nikki, I really like you, I do...but...I never...you know…” She looked down, ashamed.

“You mean you’re a...oh… OH!” Nikki caressed her cheek and moved her face so he could gaze into her eyes. “That just means I would need to plan a date in a more comfortable spot away from the guys.” Nikki rasped. “That is if you still want to be with me… I won’t pressure you… I mean it’s your choice.”

‘I want to,” She told him. “Maybe a couple more dates?” She asked, afraid he’d be upset.

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiled as he brought her in for a kiss. “How about I take you home?”

“Sounds great.” She smiled and slid off the hood with him. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Anything for my girl,” he said helping her into the car and driving her home holding her hand the whole way. He pulled up at the dorm.

“Thank you Nikki.” She smiled at him. “I had a great time. And I’ll be at the concert tomorrow night, barring inconvenience. I don’t have any classes tomorrow after my 8 am.”

“Maybe I can sneak away for a few to come make out with you?” Nikki wiggled his eyebrows as he parked next to the sidewalk to her dorm. Leaning over he pulled her in for another kiss. “Sorry, I just can’t help myself.”

“I think I’d love that.” She kissed him again. “I can’t get enough of that.”

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do just tell me where you’ll be at and I can meet you.” Nikki smiled kissing her again.

“Okay.” She kissed him one more time. “I probably should get in. Thank you for everything again Mr. Sixx.”

“Ok, sweet girl.” he whispered before kissing her again. “I’ll call you when I get to my apartment just to make sure you’re ok.” he whispered.

“I might be asleep, so please don’t be upset if I don’t answer.” (Y/n) told him. “Goodnight Nikki.” She kissed his cheek and headed towards the door, where Vanessa was waiting.

Nikki drove off towards his home as Vanessa ushered Y/N to her dorm. “So...how was it?”

“Amazing.” (Y/n) said dreamily. “I really like him Nessa. Would you want to go see Motley Crue tomorrow night? Athena might want to go too.”

“Does that mean I get to meet the infamous Vince Neil?” she said. “Rumor has it he’s really good in bed.”

“Sure, we’ll set you up.” (Y/n) laughed. “Let’s go get some sleep. I’ve got an 8 am.” They headed to Vanessa’s room. She had a double room, but no room mate. “I need to tell him I don’t really live here.”

“Do it sooner rather than later,” she sang. “So how should I dress tomorrow?”

“Jeans and I’ll let you borrow one of my band tees.” (Y/n) told her. “You’ll knock him dead.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Vanessa sighed as she gave (Y/n) some PJ's to sleep in. “So… are you and Nikki going to…. have a deflowering ceremony?” she batted her eyes at (Y/n).

“Oh my god.” (Y/n) groaned. “We talked about it. I think he wanted to tonight and I told him I’d never...and he seemed okay with waiting.” She sighed. “He’ll probably just find another girl on the side, right?”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Vanessa smiled. “He seems happy with you.”

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @flamencodiva @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @livingdeadharley @motleycrying @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags: @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12

#too young to fall in love #Motley Crue #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki x reader #dirt!nikki sixx #dirt!nikki sixx x reader #dirt!nikki x reader #dirt!nikki #the dirt #fanfiction

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wereallsaloonaticshere · 5 years

Text

Summary: Thompson moves back to America after Edward dies, and finds Eduardo, a bandit, mourning Juan’s death.

Fandom: Eddsworld, Saloonatics ~ Ships: TomEdd, Juardo (Eduardo x Juan)

Tw: Drugs, death, grief, implied overdose, cursing, tell me if i need to add any.

Word count: 3,478

He’d expected it to look the same, or roughly, as he had left it.

Yet as he entered the town, the one where he grew up and spent most of his adult years and loved with all his heart, he realized that he should have followed the train conductor’s warnings.

The place stunk.

Not smelled bad stunk; that wouldn’t have been a change; but depressing stunk. Everything in the town, the shops, the bars, the homes. It all looked... dead.

It was a ghost town. All traces of life were stuck in place, people having likely fled due to the influx of criminals that would’ve occurred after Thompson left.

He walked into his old favorite bar. The bar was named ‘A good place to start’, which Thompson had always found ironic, but especially now, when his world felt like it was caving in on itself. When it was ending.

Deciding he might as well try, he looked over the counter to see if there was any leftover alcohol. None. Which makes sense honestly, that was usually the first thing stolen, but Thompson just wishes something was there to ease his mind. Make him forget for a little while now, at whatever steep cost he’d have to pay later.

Thompson slumped into his old bar stool, and held his head in his hands. He didn’t feel like spiraling into another pity party, yet he also didn’t want to move.

But if he didn’t go anywhere, if he didn’t at least try to distract himself, then what was the point of moving back to America in the first place?

He forced himself out of the chair, and walked out. Wandering aimlessly, he waiting for something to pounce on him from the shadows, but nothing came.

Even the criminals had abandoned this place.

After some time, he heard soft weeping. A deep voice, one that rang a distant bell that resided on the outskirts of his memory.

Thompson was, by far, no stranger to crying. So he knew that, if he were crying in a place where he thought he was alone, he wouldn’t exactly want someone intruding.

So, he tried to walk away, but instead tripped over his own feet and landed on the ground with a thud. Dust from the ground flew into his lungs, and he loudly coughed it out.

The man he’d heard before was looking straight at him now, eyes wide with surprise and recognition.

The man he saw was the bandit, Eduardo, if he remembered correctly, who had kidnapped the Prince many years ago. He was wearing a rumpled and dirty green shirt, with hideous, shadowed bags under his eyes. Not that Thompson had any ground to stand on in that department. Both men looked altogether disheveled.

Eduardo shot up, looking ready to sprint away, but then he just stood there. Staring.

“What?” Eduardo said, “Aren’t you gonna kill me to?”

Thompson stood up, raising his hands in front of him.

“Hey, I’m no killer.”

“But your friends are.” Eduardo shot back, eyes, already sunken in and red, welling up with tears, “All you cops are. Freaks.”

“Hey! That’s not-”

“If you’re not gonna kill me, at least leave me alone.” Eduardo sunk back down onto the earth, back slumped and head in his hands.

Thompson walks over to Eduardo.

“Why are ya-”

“The fuck did I say before? Leave.” Eduardo growled, hands pulling on his hair.

“Fine.” Thompson walked away.

He walked until he found an abandoned hotel, not want to go back to his old house and see what the new people had done there. Prying open the doors, he figured the owners wouldn’t mind if he borrowed one of the rooms for a night or two. He takes the first one on the ground floor.

He gingerly takes a compass out of his pocket and places it onto the night stand next to him.

As he climbs into bed and curls the covers around him, pictures of Edward start to rattle around in his brain.

This is always when things go downhill. Though, with the subtraction of alcohol, it might end with less of a headache and with no embarrassing stories you overhear from other people at work the day after.

Edward was beautiful, and brilliant, and bold. He would take him up onto the balcony and they would snuggle under a big, soft blanket, looking up at the stars. One night when they did this, Thompson said something that’d been on his mind for some time.

“Hey, Ed?”

“Yes, Thom?” Edward snuggled closer, and a slight chill went down Thompson’s back.

“There...there are more stars ‘n your eyes than the whole sky.” Thompson fidgeted with the blanket, studying his own hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward’s face, bathed in moonlight and dusted with dazzling pink. His own cheeks got warmer.

Edward raised his hand over his mouth, eyes betraying his smile.

“Thompson...” The star-y eyed man giggled, “I hope you know that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me before.” He slowly wraps his arms around Thompson, petting his hair softly and cooing other praises into his ear.

Thompson flushed at the flattery, breath wavering. He allowed a small smile, hugging tightly.

That was the night Thompson was sure he was never going to leave Edward for America, that he would stay with him until the end.

And in that way, he wasn’t lying. He did stay with him until the end.

Edward and Thompson shared many tender moments, and had built a very unique relationship indeed. But it seemed it wasn’t enough, not for Edward.

He was erratic when they outlawed the original cola. He would sob into Thompson’s arms after waking up from a vivid nightmare, wondering how he would ever feel happy again. Thompson would pretend not to feel a little hurt at the implication that he wasn’t enough, but would swallow it down, not wanting to inadvertently hurt his partner’s feelings. Though that just led to more statements like that, so it probably would’ve been worth the trouble to just say something.

He would keep Thompson up at night, just talking, saying he was unable to sleep yet exhausted. His superiors had tried to team Thompson up with someone else because of how badly Edward was suddenly doing on all his cases. Thompson refused.

After weeks of being constantly tired, cold and hungry, the symptoms seemed to stop, suddenly. He was doing better again, oddly enough.

“Thank God he didn’t go to therapy, like his superiors told him to,” Thompson overheard someone say, “it was probably just a rough patch.”

And it seemed like it was. Everything was better, suddenly. He was getting picked for the best cases, and his superiors were giving him small bonuses again. Sure, it was odd Edward would go to take smoke breaks alone every hour or so, but hey, that’s being a detective for you. It’s a stressful job.

But soon he would wake up in the middle of the night again, getting chills and tremors even though he was always used to the cold before. Bags would appear under his eyes from waking up so often.

Thompson begged him to go to a doctor, but Edward denied every time, until Thompson just quietly hoped from a distance.

“Why would I go to a doctor? So they can lock me up and prevent me from doing my job? Preposterous, Thomie. This city; all of England; needs me.”

“If you say so...”

He didn’t know what to do. Edward was eventually taking so many short breaks he got suspended. Then fired. They of course still needed to pay rent and afford food so Thompson decided to keep working, which left Edward alone for long stretches of the day, and...

Thompson curled into fetal position, feeling a fatigue so strong he could hardly breathe without each one feeling like a sit up. He didn’t even have any tears left to cry.

He didn’t want to relive the next parts, the ones that made him feel unfit to call himself human.

Eventually, he fell asleep, staring blankly ahead.

Thompson didn’t take much back to America with him. The clothes on his back and enough food and money to help him survive the sea ride were the only things he originally planned on taking.

Then, as he was trudging out the door, something caught his eye.

A compass.

Technically worth nothing, Thompson found it in a pile of mud. But it looked pretty to him, even from a distance, and when he picked it up, he saw intricate gold designs on it. He took it home to clean it. It was broken, however, but Thompson figured he could always get it fixed.

When Edward found the thing drying on the dinner table, he asked Thompson what it was.

“It’s a compass.” Thompson said, smirking.

“Well, yes, I can see that. What is it doing here?” Edward asked, amused and intrigued.

“I...I dunno. I found it ‘n I thought it looked nice. So I went and cleaned it up all spiffy for ya.” Thompson picked it up and held it out, “Here ya go.”

Edward light up, and carefully held it, examining it in the light.

“Thank you! This is lovely.” He kissed Thompson on the cheek, effectively burning the man’s face off. “I think it’s really symbolical how you found this in the mud but still saw enough beauty behind the hard exterior to clean it.”

“Right...the symbolism.” Thompson had never really been a symbolism ‘guy’. In his mind, if you had something to say, just say it. Don’t make everyone else feel stupid for not understanding how some vague dream or color-coded outfit tie into some bigger, overarching story line.

“I think it fits you nicely!” Edward beamed, proud of himself.

“You think a dirty, broken compass ‘fits me’?” Thompson raised one eyebrow, leaning on the table with his elbow.

“Oh no! No no no no no.” Edward smiled nervously, waving his hands in front of him, “I simply meant that you finding the beauty in something others would consider trash is...well, quite sweet.”

“...Have others called ya trash before? ‘Cause I’ll beat ‘em for ya, if ya want.”

Edward chuckled a little before he realized Thompson was dead serious.

“No no, it isn’t that, I just think it’s like your old town.” When Edward said that, Thompson felt a little nostalgic for his old life. Not that he’d trade Edward for anything, of course; he just liked the familiarity of the thought. “Your town seemed rotten with crime at first glance, but you stayed and helped it; why? Because you saw it’s good, and it’s beauty, and the potential it had with a little cleaning up!”

Thompson titled his head and squinted at the floor.

“I...think I understand?”

“I’m glad I could help!” Edward smiled, and Thompson couldn’t help but reflect it. “I really do think it’s sweet, you know. It proves you notice the little things, and-”

“Alright, alright,” Thompson interrupted, blush furious at the praise, “that’s enough. Thanks, though. Sweet of ya ta interpret it that way.”

“You’re quite welcome!” He kissed him on the cheek again, and Thompson let himself smile dumbly, his eye fluttering shut. “But I think it could also mean you see...”

Thompson had stopped listening at that point, but watching Edward ramble on about things he didn’t know or care about...well, he enjoyed how happy it made him.

Thompson figured he couldn’t leave the compass there to get taken and thrown away by the bank, he wouldn’t bare it. Even though his entire reasoning in leaving was so he could get away from everything that reminded him of his late...friend, he knew he wouldn’t feel right leaving this behind. So he put it in his pocket and left with it.

Now it was on the nightstand. Or at least, it should’ve been.

When Thompson opened his eye and saw it missing, the nothing feeling was replaced by panic.

Flinging the covers off him, he went to check under the bed, but before he could, he saw a flash of color out the window. It was dark green, with a small glint of gold.

He flew through the doors and ran outside.

“HEY!” He shouts at the moving figure, better recognizable now. It looks an awful lot like the crying man from before; Eduardo. Thompson sprints with all his might, a swirling inferno of energy replacing the usual dull spark.

He doges houses and runs after Eduardo, further in the desert. Colors blur together, and soon Thompson has Eduardo pinned down, pressing his wide-eyed face into the dust. He pries the compass out of his hands.

“Now.” Thompson’s voice was a quiet, tired growl. A warning through gritted teeth. “Why did you try and steal my compass?”

“I...” Eduardo shrinks into himself, eyes closing slowly now. He sighs. “I just wanted to finally leave.”

Thompson blinks and shakes his head.

“Sure, bandit.” Eduardo tightens his lips. He hasn’t been called that in awhile. Or he just doesn’t like that word. “I’m gonna-” He instinctively reaches for where he usually puts his handcuffs. Of course, he turned them in when he quit. Old habits die hard.

“What are ya gonna do now?” Eduardo asks, “There’s no one else here to help you, and I could get out of this any time.”

“Then why haven’t ya?” Thompson asks, calling his bluff, and Eduardo simply frowns. “I knew it. Now why did ya steal my only...why did ya steal my compass?”

“That’s none of your business.” Eduardo snapped, eyes squeezing shut, “Now let me go.”

“How should I know ya won’t just try n’ kill me? Or something worse?” Thompson asked, tightening his grip. Eduardo grimaced. “Ya said somethin’ about finally bein’ able to leave. If there’s no one else here, why not do that a while ago? Who was stopping ya?” Thompson’s rage had turned to curiosity. Mixed with rage.

Eduardo tried to swallow, making his hair fall in front of his face to mask the expression. A few seconds pass, and Thompson considers asking again, because he wasn’t going to let this go, until he hears quiet sobs from the man. Thompson softens.

“I...” Thompson was never really good at comforting people. That was Edward’s job, mostly. If they were on a case with a grieving widow, Edward was the one to hold them. He would always know just what to say, even when he himself was at his worst. Remembering Edward’s worst moments puts tears into Thompson’s eye.

One time, just two hours after Edward got suspended for a week, Thompson was yelling at him for being so inconsiderate.

“I don’t even know how ya did this!” Thompson had thrown his arms into the air

“I-I don’t either! My job performance is fine-”

“It’s because ya keep taking breaks every 5 seconds! And ya never tell no one what you’re doing! It makes me wonder if ya ever even stopped using-”

“Shut-shut UP!” Edward shouted, then placed a hand over his mouth. Thompson instinctively took a step back. “I’m...I’m sorry, Thompson. Terribly sorry.”

“It’s...” Thompson rarely heard Edward raise his voice. But when he told him to shut up, there was legitimate fear in his voice. Edward clutched his arms, looking at the ground. He shivered. “fine. It happens sometimes.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Edward said, almost as if he was apologizing for something else, and walked quickly away.

The look of regret in Edward’s eyes...Thompson knew he didn’t want to do what he was doing. But it was almost as if he had to. He wanted to stop, but didn’t know how.

Teardrops fell onto Eduardo’s neck.

“Wha...” Eduardo said, “Are you...can you get off of me?”

“Sure.” Thompson sat next to Eduardo has he sat up. A short silence proceeded, a heavy and curious one.

“What am I doing?” Asked Eduardo, sighing to himself as he fumbles with his necklace.

“I don’t know.” Thompson wiped the tears from his eye. There was an awkward tension in the air, and they both just wanted to fill it. So, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I just miss him so much. Edward, I mean.” He blushed slightly.

“Were you two...?” Eduardo cocked his head, eyebrows creased.

Thompson licked his lips. He looked the man over again, and saw that he didn’t have any weapons on him. Of course, he might be able to throw a few punches, but Thompson didn’t find himself caring too much about that. He figured if he had nothing left he cared to lose, why not risk all that remained?

“I loved him.” Thompson kept his eye open when he said this, wanting to see Eduardo’s reaction. He nor Edward had told a soul about their relationship, but he didn’t care all that much about his reputation now, and Edward didn’t exactly have a spotless one anymore. Also, Thompson doubted there was a thing Eduardo could say to hurt him that he hadn’t heard before; offhand in the streets, at church, in crude jokes. Eduardo could never hurt Thompson in a way that mattered, no one could anymore. In Thompson’s mind, that is.

Wide, deep brown eyes freeze and stare into Thompson’s icy blue one. After no signs of joking, Eduardo’s jaw goes slack.

“I get it.” Eduardo said, “I just...didn’t know there was another out there, I-I...” Long buried and hated tears soak his eyelashes, “I thought I was alone. For so long.”

“I know. ‘M sorry.” Thompson taps his fingers on the ground, not knowing if he should move to hug him, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to think.

“Years.”

Thompson just waits, heart bleeding with familiarity.

“Juan died. A...I loved him.” Eduardo lets out a quick and harsh laugh, “Fuck, I still love him. I miss him so damn much.” He clenches his fists. His entire body is shaking. “I wish I had never called him any names, I wish I hadn’t waited so long to tell him, I wish he hadn’t been...” He buries his face into his hands.

“’M so sorry.” Thompson slowly wraps his arms around Eduardo, which the latter gladly accepts. They stay like that for awhile.

“And I feel like if I leave here...it’d be like abandoning him. I can’t do that, not again.” Thompson could tell it was like flood gates had been opened. The dam he had built to keep his emotions at bay were broken, and nothing would stand in the way of it’s cleansing destruction. “His smile, his clothes, his oh-so-angelic voice...what would I be if I forgot them? Who am I right now, without them?”

Thompson shut his eye tight, realizing that these were questions he had been avoiding answering himself. He felt hollow without Edward, and condolences from well meaning co-workers didn’t help fill that void at all. If he wasn’t already spending all his money on rent, he would’ve spiraled into alcoholism. He was determined to try and take a small part of the burden off this man’s back. No one deserved to feel like they had to cry alone.

People didn’t understand why Thompson cared so much when Edward died.

People obviously expected grief; but they also expected him back at work by Tuesday. They were just friends, after all. Who mourns for years over their friend?

Thompson could feel his heart being ripped out when he got pulled to the side one day at his lunch hour.

“It’s Edward.” His Captain had said. The waters in Thompson stilled.

“What is it?”

“We found him in an alley, a few miles north of here. I’m so sorry.”

Thompson simply sat down, for a pressure as heavy as the world had just been set on his shoulders. The tears didn’t come until much later.

Plaid in all black, he demanded time for mourning. In English etiquette, a widow was to mourn for her late husband for two years. But Thompson was no woman, and Edward and he never married.

In English etiquette, he was to feel sad, but not too sad. That wasn’t normal.

He was offered a week, but instead quit the job entirely.

He lived off his savings, unable to get out of bed some days, clutching the pillow Edward used to sleep on, pretending it still smelled like him, even months after.

No one deserved to cry alone.

Yet both of them had, too many times.

For Eduardo had the same weight on his shoulders. But both of them together, finally with someone who understood them, after being dead alone for too long...

It was nice.

And no one cried alone that night.

#tw drug mention #tw drug overdose #tw drugs #tw cursing #jonuardo #eduardo x juan #eduardo x jon #tomedd #eddtom #thompson x edward #shipsworld #fanfic #fanfiction #stuff i made #my writing #my stuff #saloonatics

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