#sobriety is complicated

[bewitched-by-sorns-tiddies]

Idk, like, about that thing I just reblogged-

I can't tell you how many days I've been sober. It used to be something I tracked pretty religiously.

It's been over a year since I had my last slip up, and what a little slip up it was compared to where I've been. Over a year since I went 'hey, I've been drinking every night I get home- walking in the door and draining an entire can of cider in one swallow and that... that doesn't feel good. I'm scared.'

It's been 7-8 years since I last got so drunk people were scared for my life. I'm pretty damn certain of that being the time period because syn and I were dating but not engaged. I put down an entire jar of moonshine and the fruit too. Loving me from a far meant Syn risked that the next message from my account wasn't me at all, but my mom apologizing that I was in the hospital or worse.

It's been 8-9 years since I was so fucked up that even when I wasn't drinking, I held onto bottles so that I could put the liquor in my mouth and spit it out every morning- lying to myself that it wasn't a problem that the thing I did to calm down was sniff fireball.

It's been just over 13 years since I drank daily. Since it took schnapps in my hot chocolate to get me out of my dorm in the morning. Since my friends laughed about the fact that they knew if it was anything but a dt mnt dew in my hand, they knew it was mixed. Since I carried liquor bottles in my bag so that I could re-up between classes. Since I did shit that meant I was waking up in ditches covered in cuts and bruises with no idea what I'd been up to.

I was /19/ the first time I got sober in a place where the legal drinking age was 21 and I was so fucked up already when I went cold turkey that I was in withdrawals for months. I hallucinated, I shook, I hurt, I wanted to *die*. But I was living with a child who didn't deserve my alcoholic ass being an alcoholic ass around them, so cold turkey I went.

I can drink now casually. I go to burlesque and enjoy a mixed drink or two. We can keep booze in the house and trust that I won't down it before work or come home and drink too much. That really, I don't think about it at all unless we're hosting.

I didn't know that would be possible at 19. I thought I'd have to be Capital S sober for the rest of my life, and to be honest- my behavior from 21-25 didn't disprove that. That I'd always be a danger to myself and others because my daddy and my momma were both alcoholics and so too was his daddy. It was clearly in my blood.

Healing isn't linear, and it also doesn't look just one way.

So where ever you're at on your journey, no matter if your milestones and celebrations look the way AA or society wants em too- I'm proud of you.

[sparklyslug]

My sobriety anniversary is tomorrow, which is cool but it does mean tonight is a little hard for me SO I just ordered a whole ass chicken dinner and might have to do a spooky season ultimate comfort watch double feature AKA Practical Magic and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

[thatbuddie]

falling asleep with their head in your lap for kingdon (frank's head in mel's lap... 👀 )

“You should just kiss him, you know?”

Mel’s hand, previously caressing the soft strands of Frank’s unruly hair, freezes its movements at Becca’s words.

“What?” Mel asks, her voice instinctively low as to not wake Frank up, but also strangled, as she feels like her heart is lodged in her throat, making her taste all the blood its pumping through her body. 

“Frank,” Becca says, as if there was any doubt about what him she could have been referring to, as if there are a lot of hims in Mel’s life. “You should kiss him already.”

“Becs…” Mel goes to complain, but she finds that the words elude her. 

Becca gets up from the loveseat, stretching her arms high over her head, interlocking her fingers in the air and tilting her waist left and then right.

“He’s good to you.” Bending at the waist, Becca touches the floor with the palms of her hands and pedals her legs, bending each knee one at a time while keeping the other one extended. “He makes you happy. He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend,” Mel automatically retorts. 

Becca stands upright again, so fast Mel worries for a second about orthostatic hypotension, as she sends Mel a knowing look. 

“I’m your sister.”

Silence stretches around them as Mel thinks on her response. Becca works on stretching her wrists by doing gentle circles with them. Mel works on calming her rapid heartbeat by inhaling and exhaling deeply and measuredly. 

“It’s not that easy,” she ends up saying, only to have all her careful consideration destroyed by Becca’s quick reply. 

“Why not?”

Biting her bottom lip as she begins to feel it trembling, Mel lowers her gaze to look at Frank’s head resting on her lap. From this position, with her sitting on the couch and him lying down on his side, she can only really see the crown of his head and the very edge of his nose. Her hand is still buried in his hair and she makes the effort to begin moving it again, slowly. Her fingertips graze his hairline, his temple, the back of his neck. 

There’s a plethora of reasons that she could give, a list full of options to choose from: a divorce, a shared workspace, two kids under the ages of six, caretaking responsibilities, the complicated and never-ending path of sobriety, low-self esteem issues, a friendship that has become so vital to her it’s like she was born craving it. 

It all boils down to one thing, however. 

“You don’t know if he feels that way about me.”

Becca scoffs, the sound disbelieving before it turns into a gentle laugh. Grabbing her favorite blanket from the sofa, she walks towards the hallway that leads to her bedroom. She waves a hand  at Mel in farewell.

“Good night, Mel,” she says. “You should just kiss him.”

The living room feels so much more suffocating with Becca gone, despite it being emptier. Thoughts race through Mel’s mind, loud and overwhelming and fearsome. Her hand lightly shakes as she tries to gently disentangle it form Frank’s hair without pulling on it. 

And then, he moves. Everything goes quiet as he turns so he’s on his back now, his occipital bone against her thighs, his eyes blinking up at her. Her hand is hovering in the air above him, still trembling. He telegraphs his next action loudly as he does it, raising his arm so he can grab her hand in his and rest both of them against his sternum. 

His gaze tells her everything she needs to know. 

“Hey, Mel,” he says, intertwining their fingers. “You should just kiss me.”

[willowser]

i keep thinking about touya going to the same spot he and his ex do drop off, every two weeks. it's outside some little bakery that he thinks is too expensive—and he has a sneaking suspicion that's why his baby mama chose the place—but he always buys his little bug something regardless. a pink pastry with lots of sprinkles and frosting, in the shape of a unicorn or something or other.

and you always come with him. have been for a few years now and you make friendly small talk with his ex and when his daughter jumps into your arms, you swing her around and you both giggle to each other, foreheads pressed together, eyelashes blinking close enough to make his heart swell.

and the first time you're not there, his daughter doesn't wait a minute after jumping out of her mom's car to frown up at him and ask, "where's bub?"

and truthfully, touya's been dreading this moment since he'd pissed you off enough to have you storming out of his apartment, a few days ago. still doesn't know what to tell her, how to explain that he's never loved someone the way he loves you and yet he's sabotaging everything anyway.

"bub is at bub's house."

her light little eyebrows pull down ever further, until a crease forms between them, and then she even takes another look behind him in case he's joking. "why?"

touya grinds his gum between his teeth and tells himself it's better than a cigarette. "she just is."

his ex doesn't say anything, thank god, but he can feel the once over she gives him. he looks like shit and he knows it, because he's aggravated and disappointed in himself, and all the things he'd normally use to deal with those feelings would break his sobriety. so he's only got some spearmint gum.

his daughter doesn't say anything else until they're in their seats on the train, her by the window, drawing shapes in the fog her breath makes. they go through a tunnel and the light from the day disappears and she loses interest, turning to stare up at touya as he closes his eyes and leans his head back as far as it can go.

"are you and bub mad at each other?"

touya opens his eyes, but stares only at the ceiling of the train. all he can see is the hurt on your face when he'd yelled at you, the anger that he drew out, like a poison. "it's—" one thing he tries not to do to his kid, however, is lie. "somethin' like that."

she shuffles around in her seat until she's facing him fully, leaning her head against the back of it as she blinks her big, blue eyes up at him. "did she be mean to you?"

"no."

"did you be mean to her?"

it seems so complicated, when touya thinks about it. why he'd started a fight with you, where his insecurity comes from, why he wants you so bad but is too afraid to admit it out loud—but then his kid makes it seem so easy. so silly.

touya shuffles until he's facing her, too, and even scoots down in his chair so they're eye-level, almost like whispering school girls at a slumber party. "yeah," he admits. "i was kinda mean to her."

"but why?"

touya frowns and still doesn't know what to say. the city skyline opens up behind her, out in the distance, and he watches the setting sun over the buildings until it starts to make him sick. "you remember when you had that scooter, and you fell and scraped your knee?" she nods. "and then you didn't want to ride it anymore because you were afraid you'd do it again? it's...like that."

not a single look of understanding comes across her face.

touya sighs and scoots back upright, bending to dig his phone from his pocket. "you wanna talk to her?"

"yeah!"

he pulls up your contact in his phone—just your name and all the hearts removed, because he's petty like that—but instead of staring at it like he has been for days—he finally calls. it wouldn't surprise him if you didn't answer, but he gnaws his lip as it rings, and it seems like he and his little girl both hold their breath.

"hello?"

when he hands off the phone to his daughter, she happily snatches it up, turning on her knees to look out the window as she grins. "hi bub!"

and touya still doesn't know what to say or how he'll fix it, but he finds some comfort—some of the words—when he hears the tone in your voice change, all sing-song and adoring. "hi, my angel!"

[polkadotjohnson]

Interview: MURDERBOT Star David Dastmalchian Likes His Humans Bloody and Complicated

[Warning: mention of Gurathin's past but no spoilers]

In the early episodes, Gurathin is set up as an antagonist of sorts to Murderbot, but most of what he says is true.

David Dastmalchian: What Gurathin said is a thousand percent true. The SecUnit is totally weird. It’s malfunctioning. It’s not safe. Something is off. I don’t mean to correct the interviewer, but… here’s what’s so wonderful about the world Martha Wells created: more than one thing can be true at the same time. Surprise!

That’s what it’s like to be a human being. In reality, oftentimes stories are distilled down — and storytellers distill down ideas, concepts, and characters — into the simplicity of a binary: this is this, and this is that. That’s not the world Martha Wells was interested in creating. It’s not the world she created, and it’s not the world that [creators] Chris and Paul Weitz brought to life with Murderbot.

So is Gurathin right? Yes. Is Gurathin his own worst enemy because he has such a difficult time trusting and putting faith in others and allowing himself to be vulnerable to others? A thousand percent. The masterwork of the way that they put this show together was creating this ensemble, these incredible actors in those scenes where you might see me or my approach to the character as antagonistic, I’m just trying to get in there and understand.

Gurathin is a great reflection for me on my life. I often go through the world just on the aggressiveness of the attack, looking for what’s wrong with things. Sometimes, when you think about Dr. Mensah’s (Noma Dumezweni) approach, like, “Let’s sit back, let’s talk about this,” as they say. Gurathin’s like, “Fuck that. We don’t need to talk about shit.”

I just watched episode seven. Without spoiling it, we learn about Gurathin’s complicated past. How much did this reveal influence your choices in the first few episodes? 

David Dastmalchian: I haven’t really gotten to talk about this in the press, but we’ve done a number of conversations now — you and I — and I can tell you, showing up to work that day, for that scene that I know you’re referring to, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do as an actor. I was coming up on, at that point, my 22nd year in a journey of mental health and sobriety. I was going to be performing dialogue that was so incredibly written and that was so incredibly personal in a way nobody even realized how personal it was.

And yeah, I was able to look into the eyes of Tattiawna, Akshay, Sabrina, Tamara, and ultimately Noma, and what an incredible director, Roseanne [Liang], we had that day. She just gave us this space to feel safe and go there.

But it was intense and powerful, man. I watch the show with people I love every week. Tomorrow night we’re gathering with Bryan Fuller and my little group of friends to watch the show, but when that episode comes in particular, I don’t know if I want to show up that night. That’s going to be a hard one. But it’s beautiful. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a beautiful thing. I’m grateful that the universe provided such an experience for me and that Paul and Chris created that.

After that scene, did it feel cathartic? What went through your mind?

David Dastmalchian: I fell into my mind — I probably didn’t really do this, but in my mind — I collapsed in the arms of my castmates. They just lifted me up so much that day, as did the director, writer, and showrunner. Every day on that show, everyone was so there for you and made you feel safe and supported. But that was a big one.

I remember going home and sitting there and doing an online support group that I logged into that night, and I felt proud. I felt like, wow — I was able to be professional, show up, do the work that I was called upon to do while navigating stuff that felt personal and emotional. I like to think it didn’t detract in any way from the work, maybe even enhanced it. But whatever came of it, I do think there’s — even if it’s a micro drop of extra something in there — how could there not be, considering how personal that story was? Gurathin was speaking for David at that moment.

Something always apparent in speaking with you is you deeply feel what a character feels. Have you always had this level of sensitivity to the characters you play? 

David Dastmalchian: It's really important for me to be aware of myself and aware of how much the work or the character is affecting me personally, and that can transcend just the themes or the emotionality of the character. Sometimes it's the long hours, sometimes it's the demands of repetitively getting to emotional states of being. I have an incredible network of support in friends, family, sobriety, and mental health that I lean on so that I don't have to — I’ve just gone on and told you how much I leaned on my cast, but in the way that I think is healthy, in the way that we can creatively be there together. 

While at the same time, it's important for me to invest the time and energy into taking care of myself and being aware, going, “Oh my God, wow, this role is bringing stuff up for me.” There's stuff physically as you progress through this season —the threat of danger, real danger, and violence happens in really intense ways. So, there are things that my body and my voice and my person got the opportunity to experience. Even though I know it's all make-believe — you walk away at the end of the day — your body didn’t know that that didn't really happen. So, it’s just an evolving toolkit of ways of checking in with myself and staying healthy.

[vigilante-3073]

Imagine instead of will they won’t they with Cuddy it’s with reader. Either on his team or just a colleague. After the building collapse and house having to amputate the girls leg and her dying he calls reader (like in the episode but instead of him hallucinating it’s real.)

Life & Death

Gregory House x Female Doctor Reader

Summary: House leans on a colleague after losing a patient.

TW: Mentions of blood/death, boss/employee relationship, age gap, mentions of nudity.

House sat silently on the floor of his bathroom, staring off into space as time passed. His shirt was covered in dust and speckled with blood, his ears were ringing as he held the pills in his hand.

The gauze that was taped to his neck had been saturated for too long. He could feel the blood beginning to soak into the material of his shirt.

His body was trembling and his heart pounded in his chest, but he felt completely numb to everything around him. House knew that he was in shock, but having a diagnosis didn't help.

House blamed himself for that woman's death, her leg had been crushed when a crane collapsed onto a parking structure and they were forced to amputate.

A fat embolism traveled to her lungs and killed her in the ambulance before they arrived at the hospital. House could still hear the panicked cries of her husband as he pleaded with them to do something.

Nothing could be done.

She couldn't be saved.

House had waited too long to amputate, wanting to save her leg and comply with her wishes when it couldn't be done. An entire parking structure had fallen down on her and he should've known better.

He was a fool and his indecision had killed her.

House was angry, he had done everything by the book and he couldn't save her. He had lashed out at Foreman at the hospital before returning home to his apartment alone.

House knew exactly where he was going and what he was looking for when he stepped into that bathroom. He wanted to stop remembering her face, her voice and the distressed pleading of her husband.

House desperately wanted to make the feelings stop, he wanted to get high.

House beelined for the pill bottle of Vicodin that he had stashed behind his mirror. House smashed the mirror into the bathtub, hoping that it would quell his anger but it didn't.

He sat on the floor and stared down at the pills in his hand, daring himself to take them. His sobriety was an important to him, but he couldn't handle the pain he was feeling without some help.

House shuffled the pills in his palm before a noise in the hallway caught his attention. Y/N slowly made her way over to the bathroom, leaning on door jamb as she looked down at him.

Y/N had been a part of House's team since the beginning, she was relatively young but incredibly qualified. Y/N was a kind person and she always saw the best in people, even when they didn't deserve it.

Their relationship was complicated and it always had been. Y/N cared about House and his well-being, he was certain that he had disappointed her at every turn but she still stuck by him.

She was one of the few people in the world that he could be truly honest with. Y/N never judged him and often offered some rather helpful advice. It was rare that House had complete vulnerability with someone and he would always hold her in a high esteem.

"Are you going to leap across the room and grab them out of my hand?" House asked, breathing heavily.

"No, it's your choice," Y/N said softly.

"Okay... Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to see the downside," He said, looking down at the pills in his hand.

"Can I help you change the bandage on your shoulder?" She questioned.

"Is that why you're here? Foreman sent you?" House asked.

"No, but he told me about what happened," Y/N said, moving into the bathroom and leaning back against the wall across from him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, House," She said.

"Wasn't my loss," He replied simply.

"You were with her and you talked to her. You may not have known her well, but she was your patient and you lost her too," Y/N said.

"I was an idiot," House stated, staring down at the floor between them.

"No, you weren't. You tried to save her leg, you couldn't have known it would cause an embolism," Y/N said, sitting down on the floor across from him with her back leaned against the wall.

"A building fell on top of her. I was stupid to think that I could save her leg," He scoffed, shaking his head.

"She needed someone and you were there. That's what matters," Y/N said.

"I think the fact that I killed her matters more," He snapped.

Y/N didn't reply and House took a breath, "I'm sorry," He muttered.

"It's okay," She nodded.

A comfortable silence settled between them, House felt tears gather in his eyes as he pictured Hannah's face. He knew that the image would fade with time, but he could clearly remember her panicked gaze and trembling lips.

Y/N stood up and House looked up at her, "Don't go," He said quickly.

"I'm just going to get my kit, I'll be right back," She said, he nodded.

Y/N made her way out of the bathroom and down the hallway before she disappeared from his sight. His heart began to race as he looked down, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his breathing.

"Hey, I'm right here," Y/N said, kneeling down beside him.

House opened his eyes and looked up at her, Y/N sent him a reassuring smile as she pulled out her supplies. House looked down, opening the pill bottle and allowing the two tablets to slide back into the container.

He put the lid on and tossed it aside, Y/N stood up and grabbed a cloth from the shelf. She turned on the tap and waited until the water was warm before dampening the cloth.

"Can you take off your shirt?" Y/N asked.

House shrugged off his jacket and pulled off his shirt, tossing the stained material aside. Y/N returned and knelt down beside him, she wiped the dirt and blood from his face gently.

House watched her as she rinsed the cloth a few more times, washing as much of the dirt from his skin as possible.

Y/N peeled back the old bandage and threw it into the garbage. She cleaned his wounds gently and rebandaged them carefully.

"Why don't you go sit down for a bit while I clean up the glass?" Y/N said, he nodded.

Y/N stood up from the floor and offered her hand to him, House took her hand as he stood up from the floor with a grimace.

He looked up at her and their gazes met, his eyes searched her face as he slowly leaned in. House pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, his hand settled on her hip as she moved her lips against his.

Y/N pulled away, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was heavy as she looked up at him.

"Um, you should go sit. I'll come get you when you can shower," Y/N said softly, he nodded.

...

It took Y/N a half an hour to clean up the mess and get rid of the broken glass. House showered and he expected her to be gone when he finished but he was pleasantly surprised to find her waiting for him.

Y/N changed his bandage and began to pack her things into her kit. House felt like he would fall apart if she left, her kindness was the only thing keeping him together.

House's hand found her wrist, his grip was gentle enough that she could easily pull away, but he hoped that she wouldn't.

Y/N paused as she looked up at him, "Please don't go," He said softly.

"I'm not going anywhere," Y/N assured.

He tugged on her wrist gently and she turned to face him, "I need you," He said.

"I'm here," Y/N replied.

House released her wrist and took a step closer to her, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body into his arms. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he closed his eyes.

He breathed in the scent of her perfume, feeling the softness of her hair against his skin. She was the only person he wanted to see, the most important person in his entire world and he hadn't realized it.

House pulled away after a few minutes, his hands lingered on her waist as her hands slowly slid down his arms.

"I love you," He said.

"House, you went through something traumatic today and you're not thinking clearly," Y/N said softly.

"I love you," House repeated.

"Tell me again tomorrow and I'll believe you," She said, her eyes flickering over his face.

House leaned in and pressed his lips to hers softly, he pulled her closer by her waist. Y/N moved her lips against his, her hands feeling warm and gentle against his skin.

Y/N pulled away and House chased her lips, "We shouldn't do this," She mumbled, leaning her forehead against his and closing her eyes.

"I want you. I want this," House stated.

Y/N allowed him to reconnect their lips, he couldn't get enough of her. House needed to hold her and be held by her, he was desperate for her touch and his own neediness terrified him.

Y/N was everything he'd ever wanted, she was kind, gentle, intelligent and absolutely gorgeous. She may have been quite a bit younger than him, but it didn't matter.

House was in love with her and he missed her kiss as soon as she pulled away.

Y/N smiled at him, "Just a second," She mumbled.

Her hands lifted the material of his shirt off over his head, dropping it down onto the floor. House stepped closer to her, his hands settling on her hips before grasping the material of her shirt and lifting it off over her head too.

Y/N stepped out of her shoes and unbuttoned her pants, shimmying the material down her legs before kicking it aside. House watched her as she reached out and untied his pyjama pants, pushing the material down his legs.

Y/N knelt down in front of him, "What are you doing?" He asked softly.

Y/N reached out and touched the scarred over area on his thigh, "You don't have to," House mumbled.

"I want to," She replied, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the spot.

His eyelids fluttered, breath hitching as she looked up at him from her spot on the floor. House held out his hand, helping her up and pulling her closer to himself.

House had never felt accepted like he did when he was with Y/N. She cared about him and had always been willing to put up with whatever nonsense he managed to send her way.

Y/N made him want to be a better person and she showed him that he had value beyond his knowledge. He shouldn't be interested in her, she was his underling and he was old enough to be her father.

There was just something about her that he couldn't resist.

Maybe it was out of a malicious need to corrupt anything good or a desperate grasp at what he thought happiness could look like. Whatever it was, he was willing to put everything on the line for her.

House had never felt this way about someone before and he knew it was love. Real and unapologetic love.

His hands rested on her hips, palms skating up her sides as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as he walked her back towards his bed.

House gave Y/N a gentle shove as her knees met with the back of the mattress. She fell back with a soft laugh, scooting up to lay with her head on the pillows.

House crawled over her body, "I love you," He said.

"Show me," Y/N replied.

"I can definitely do that," He said.

...

House laid awake, listening to the soft sounds of her breath as she lay beside him. Y/N slept with her bare back pressed against his side and the covers draped over her.

Her hair cascaded over the pillows, catching the morning sunlight as she dozed. House turned onto his side slowly and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body closer to himself.

Y/N let out a soft hum as her hands settled over his forearms, her fingers brushing over his skin gently.

"Did you sleep okay?" Y/N asked softly.

"Didn't sleep," He said.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" She questioned.

"I was watching you sleep. Would have been counter intuitive to wake you up," House said.

Y/N huffed a laugh, "That sounds creepy, House," She replied.

"I thought it was romantic," He said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Y/N hummed, smiling softly as he kissed his way up to to her neck.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Almost eleven o'clock," He said.

"What? I'm late. I have to go," Y/N said quickly, attempting to sit up.

House tightened his hold on her waist, "I already called in for us," He said.

"You told Cuddy that I was here?" Y/N asked.

"Did you want me to lie?" House questioned.

"No, but isn't that going to screw up the team? What if she wants to transfer me?" Y/N asked, reluctantly laying back and looking over at him.

"She won't," House stated.

Y/N huffed, "How can you know that?" She asked.

"Because I told her that I need you. If you go, I go," He said simply.

"House, that's insane," Y/N replied.

"You're worth it," He stated.

The couple spent the day together in House's apartment, he made her breakfast and they shared a bath together before sitting on the couch.

They played cards and board games for hours, he made her laugh and he had never heard a more beautiful sound. He knew that they would have to part ways eventually but he cherished every minute that they spent together.

House slept with her a few more times before she had to return home. He found himself grasping for just one more minute with her. Y/N lingered by the door, her coat draped over her arm and the strap of her medical kit slung over her shoulder.

"Y/N, wait," He said. She paused, looking over at him with her hand on the doorknob.

House's eyes flickered over her face, committing every feature to memory like he would never see her again.

"Is everything okay?" She questioned.

"I don't want you to go," House stated.

"I can't stay here forever," Y/N said with a soft smile.

"I love you," He said.

Her hand slipped from the doorknob as she stepped over to him, "Do you really mean that, House?" She questioned.

He nodded, "I have never meant anything more in my life... I want to wake up next to you every day and go to sleep beside you every night. I have never felt this way about someone and it scares the crap out of me, but you're worth it," House said.

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to his lips before pulling away, "I love you too, House," She stated.

Their relationship would be complicated, it would probably end in tragedy but he hoped that it wouldn't. Y/N was the greatest person he had ever met and if things didn't work out with her, they wouldn't work out with anyone.

He was lucky that he had her to lean on and he would always be grateful for her.

[pop-punklouis]

gonna be honest. if you’ve never seen an addict personally. never been close with an addict personally. never been affected by an addict personally. never personally dealt with mourning an addict who is very much still alive because of the foreign soul they’ve become. never had complicated feelings and hurt and memories regarding an addict in your life.

you have no right to speak on any of this as if you know addiction. for the love of god, shut the fuck up for once over something so intimate and so fragile that you know absolutely nothing about. if you don’t know the face of addiction. if you don’t know the highs and the lows and the creases and wrinkles and phone calls and tears and sobriety and relapse and pain and confusion of addiction. shut… the fuck…. up.

[spiicii]

mamma mia / a bloodline au

chapter 1: i wonder (departure)

jey uso / jimmy uso / roman reigns x fem!oc  word count → 4.4k summary → with wrestlemania only weeks away, jey, jimmy, and roman take a much needed break. however things get complicated when they each receive a letter from an old high school sweetheart.   tags → original characters, recreational drug use, mentions of alcoholism and recovery, slow burn, angst, eventual romance, eventual smut, tags to be added links → masterlist / taglist

April 2025 

Pensacola, Florida 

The day was perfect. 

White, puffy clouds drifted lazily across a brilliant blue sky, a soft breeze teasing the tree branches that hung low over the patio. The azalea’s were in bloom, brilliant hues of pink surrounding the backyard and causing the air to smell like springtime. The afternoon was peaceful. Serene. 

It wasn’t warm enough to get in the pool, but Jey still sat on the edge, his long legs dangling into the cool water. He was more relaxed than he’d been in months, his eyes closed as he leaned back to soak in more of the sun. He could hear birds calling in the oak trees, the sound of someone cutting their grass a distant hum in the background. 

“Want a hit?” 

A voice had Jey opening his eyes, squinting up at the large figure towering over him. He took the blunt without a word, watching with amusement as his twin dropped down beside him. 

“Mom ain’t gonna like this.” Jey commented, but he took a long drag from it all the same, allowing the sweet smoke to fill his lungs. 

“Mom ain’t gotta know.” Jimmy replied, a teasing note in his voice before he snatched the blunt from his brother’s hand. “Besides, she in there cookin’ something. She won’t be back out for a while.” 

Jey hummed noncommittally, watching as Jimmy exhaled some smoke of his own. He considered asking about his sponsor’s thoughts on weed use while in the AA program, then decided against it. Jimmy seemed to be in a good mood for the first time in months and he knew bringing up his sobriety would only irritate him. And the day was too beautiful to ruin. 

Jey leaned back and closed his eyes instead, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. “Where’s Roman?” 

Jimmy exhaled more smoke, his legs swirling restlessly in the clear water. “Who knows. Taking another call, maybe? That fool don’t know how to relax.” 

“You’d think WWE would collapse if he took even one afternoon off.” Jey laughed, motioning for Jimmy to pass the blunt back to him. “God forbid he actually rest for once.” 

“I do rest.” 

Roman’s booming voice caused both twins to turn around, startled by his sudden presence. Roman’s mouth quirked into a smile. “But I also don’t ignore phone calls from our boss.” 

Jimmy waved his hand. “I think he’d survive if you sent him to voicemail. Thought we agreed to chill today, uce?” 

“I am chill.” Roman’s voice was almost defensive, rolling up his pant legs before settling on the edge of the pool beside Jey. He grimaced as he dipped his legs into the cold water, waving away the blunt that Jey offered him. 

“But Mania is only two weeks away. I can’t be ignoring calls. Not now.” 

Jey shrugged, taking another hit before passing the blunt back to his brother. “Yeah, I know whatchu mean. If I check my phone right now, I probably got a million missed calls.” 

“Aye, but that’s because you they future World Heavyweight Champion.” Jimmy said with a grin, nudging his twin’s arm. “WWE might actually fall apart without you.” 

Jey rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Tell that to my adoring Internet fans.” He hadn’t meant for the words to come out so bitter and he wasn’t surprised when both Roman and Jimmy turned to stare at him. 

“Come on, uce. I told you to quit looking at that shit.” Jimmy was frowning now. “Ain’t nothing good gonna come outta seeing all that.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Jey muttered, unable to look either of them in the eye. 

Roman’s shoulder brushed his in silent reassurance, his gaze at his cousin kind. “Jimmy’s right. Those aren’t real fans. They’re just trolls. Losers who don’t even buy tickets. Your real fans are in the crowd every week. You know that.” 

This wasn’t the first time they’d talked about this and Jey couldn’t help but feel like he was being lectured. He’d spent too long as the youngest in their trio, always at the receiving end of one lecture or another, whether from one of them or their parents. Feeling ganged up and getting defensive was pretty much instinctual at this point. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jey snatched the blunt from Jimmy’s hand, taking another long drag to force himself to relax. “We ain’t gotta go over it all again.” 

Jimmy and Roman both wisely stayed silent. The afternoon was too beautiful to argue and they both knew it was a sensitive subject. Besides, they’d all agreed to take the afternoon off before flying to Chicago for their next show. With Wrestlemania coming up, this was probably the last break they’d get for a while. 

“You still talking to that girl?” Roman asked, deciding to change the subject. “You know, that pretty one in NXT?” 

Jey scowled. “Nah, we was just fucking around. You know she too young for me, uce.” 

Roman raised his hands, as if he were surrendering. “Hey, I was just asking. Didn’t know if maybe you’d caught feelings or something.” 

“For a 26-year-old?” Jey kicked the water. “No, thanks. I got enough problems as it is.” 

Jimmy chuckled, taking what remained of the blunt from his brother’s fingers before flicking it off to the side. “I hear that. Though she was pretty. Definitely too pretty for yo ugly ass.” 

Jey glared at him. “We got the same face, dumbass.” 

“Last I checked we was fraternal twins. Not identical. Which is why I’ve aged better than you.” 

“Aged better than me? You fucking wish. You got more grey in your beard than I do!” 

“Please. Ladies love the grey. You just jealous.” 

“Man, if you don’t-”

“I thought we agreed to chill today.” Roman interrupted, trying to resist the urge to laugh. He was used to the twin’s bickering. “Especially since we got that early ass call in Chicago tomorrow.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Jimmy groaned. “I got a match with Melo tomorrow.” 

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Thought you liked working with Melo?” 

“I like him because he’s safe. But that cocky attitude…” Jimmy shook his head. “It makes me wanna put hands on that motherfucker.” 

Jey chuckled. “These rookies are a different breed, man. Ain’t like how it was when we was coming up.” 

The three of them continued to chat, falling back into an easy rhythm. It had been a long time since they’d spent any real time together. Ever since the Bloodline story ended, they’d all gone their separate ways, only able to see each other on holidays or whenever their storylines crossed. It was nice for the original trio to be back together. It felt like how it did back in the old days: the three of them sitting on the edge of the pool talking, Rikishi eventually calling them back in for dinner. It was nice. It was needed. 

Their parents seemed to agree, spending most of the dinner chattering about how happy they were to have the three of them back together. It was strange to be without any of their other siblings, the house unusually empty now that everyone had grown up and moved away. They knew it had taken a toll on their parents, who were used to the bustle and chatter of eight children. 

“It’s just so good to see you back together again,” their mother gushed, reaching out to squeeze Jimmy’s hand. “When are you going to get the Bloodline story going again? Everyone misses seeing the family together.” 

Roman smiled. “Maybe soon. Jey’s gotta win that Heavyweight Championship first.” 

“Well, we ain’t gotta worry about that,” Rikishi replied, his eyes shining with pride as he looked at his younger son. “It’s only a few weeks away. And we already know he’s got this in the bag.” 

Jey seemed embarrassed, quickly taking a sip of his drink to avoid all the eyes that were suddenly trained on him. “Come on, Dad. It ain’t a set in stone thing.” 

Rikishi looked like he was going to say more, but their mother quickly stood, effectively ending any potential arguments. “Oh! I forgot! All three of you got something in the mail. I set it on the counter over here.” 

She quickly retrieved the letters, passing them out to each of them. The boys took them with confused expressions, their eyes scanning the unfamiliar handwriting on the front. 

Roman raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Rikishi. “Don’t think I’ve ever used your address for mail, Pops.” 

Rikishi shrugged. “It didn’t look like spam which is why we didn’t throw them away. It’s postmarked from Greece.” 

Jimmy gave his mother a suspicious look, holding up his envelope. “Why does mine already look open?” 

Their mother looked sheepish. “Well, it’s been sitting on the counter for ages! And they just looked so mysterious! I had to know what was in them.” 

“Mama! You not supposed to open other people’s mail.” 

She waved her hands dismissively. “Oh, please. I’m your mother.” 

Nobody could argue with her on that. Instead, the three of them opened their letters, each of them containing a wedding invitation: 

An RSVP card was also attached, along with some instructions on how to make reservations at the hotel. But it was the handwritten at the bottom of each card that had all three of them surprised. 

I wanted to invite you to my daughter’s wedding as a chance to reconnect. I know it’s been a long time, but I want to see you. Please come. I’ll be waiting. Love, Danielle

Jey’s heart immediately stuttered at the sight, nearly dropping the paper in surprise. He felt his cheeks heating up, re-reading the handwritten message over and over again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He didn’t dare look up to meet anyone else’s gaze, though he knew Roman and Jimmy were staring at him. 

Of course, their mother was oblivious. “Joshua, isn’t that the nice girl you dated in high school?” 

Jey swallowed, his mind already racing a million miles an hour. Was this some kind of joke? The last time they’d spoken, Dani had made it clear she never wanted to see him again. 

“Oh, I remember her.” Rikishi was saying. “Her family used to live down the street. You took her to prom, didn’t you?” 

Jey knew everyone was looking at him, waiting for some kind of response. He quickly straightened his spine, forcing himself to smile. 

“Yeah, I did. Haven’t talked to her in a minute though.” 

Jimmy’s face was strangely blank. “Yeah, I haven’t either. Didn’t know she had a kid.” 

Their mother turned to Roman. “Joe, you remember her too, don’t you? You used to always go along to chaperone their dates. She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she?” 

Roman crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.” His voice sounded more tense than usual. 

“Oh, this is just wonderful! You three have to go! It’ll be like a little high school reunion.” 

None of them said anything, though Jey didn’t miss the way Jimmy’s eyes kept flickering over to him. He was, no doubt, remembering how badly their breakup had been that summer after graduation. That was the last time he’d ever seen Dani. He remembered her dark eyes filled with tears, her pretty face a mask of hurt. He remembered with a pang of guilt the awful things he’d said to her. The way he’d pushed her aside. It made him sick to think about it. 

“Weren’t you three talking about needing a vacation some time this summer?” Rikishi asked. “Greece would be beautiful that time of year. Jon, I know you always said you wanted to go back.” 

“Yeah, but…” Jimmy floundered, still looking over at his younger twin. “I mean, it’s been a long time. How can we be sure she even remembers us?” 

Their mother gave him an incredulous look. “Why else would she invite you? And look at that little handwritten note she put at the bottom. She really wants to see you!” 

Jimmy sighed. “Ain’t it illegal to read someone else’s mail?” 

“Jonathan.” Their mother’s tone was warning. “I’m being serious. You three have been working too hard. And you never get to see each other anymore! This is just perfect. And besides, this might be good for your brother.” 

All eyes were on Jey again. 

“Whatchu mean?” Jey asked, hating how defensive his voice sounded. He cleared his throat. “I mean, why would it be good for me?” 

His mother smiled. “Maybe this is a second chance. You’re single. Maybe she’s single too.” 

“Mama!” Jimmy’s tone was chastising. “She has a kid. And even if she was single, the kid’s dad is probably gonna be there.” 

Their mother waved her hand. “It’s not like that means anything. And why else would she write such a nice little note on his invitation?” 

“She wrote a note on ours too.” Roman pointed out, holding up his card for the table to see. “I don’t think it means that.�� 

“Well, it could!” Their mother let out a huff. “It just feels like fate. An old high school relationship reaches back out to you after twenty years? That has to mean something! Tell them, honey.” She motioned to Rikishi who just shrugged. 

“Maybe. I’m just thinking of your careers. I’ve told you a million times that if you don’t take any time for yourselves you’re going to get burned out. And what happens to burned out wrestlers?” 

“They get injured. Yes, Pops, we know.” Jimmy quickly tried to squash any potential lecture their father was already gearing up for. They’d heard enough to last a lifetime. “But, I mean, Greece? That’s pretty far to go meet with someone we haven’t seen in twenty years.” 

Roman was quick to agree. “Yes and that would take a lot of planning. We have commitments. Shows to attend. Storylines to continue. We can’t just up and leave.” 

Rikishi scoffed. “Please. You can do whatever you want. You’re the biggest draw at that damn company. Besides, it’s only for a week. It’s not like you’re missing SummerSlam.” 

“Yeah, well not all of us are as lucky as the Tribal Chief,” Jimmy shot Roman an accusatory look. “Some of us have to show up to work or else we’ll get fired.” 

“You’re being ridiculous,” their mother said. “Joe would never let that happen. Dwayne would never let that happen. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

Jey had been staying silent for most of the conversation, his eyes still staring at the note at the bottom of the card. It had been so long he couldn’t remember what her handwriting looked like. Why would she want him there? Hell, why did she want all three of them there? They hadn’t seen her in years. And their breakup had been…painful, to say the least. 

You’re really going to throw this relationship away after everything we’ve been through? Dani’s voice had been strained, clearly fighting back tears. I thought you loved me. 

Her words still cut deep, even all these years later. He had loved her. More than he’d ever loved anyone. And he hadn’t loved anyone else since. 

“Uce?” Jimmy was nudging his shoulder, his face concerned. “You good?” 

Jey put down the paper, passing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just…thinking.” 

“Well, listen. I’ll take care of everything,” their mother said, already plucking the RSVP cards from their hands. “I’ll write her back and tell her you’re coming. I’ll even get the flights together. It’ll be fun! You have to promise to send me pictures.” 

Jey was surprised that he didn’t feel compelled to argue with her. Every logical thought in his brain told him that this was a bad idea. Dani wouldn’t want to see him. She had every right to hate him. He’d done her wrong. And he’d spent the past twenty years regretting it. 

Still, it didn’t change how he felt. His heart was still racing, his chest suddenly tight with emotions he thought he’d buried years ago. Perhaps he was a sentimental fool, but he desperately wanted to believe the words she’d written on the page. 

I know it’s been a long time, but I want to see you.

Did she really? After all these years? After everything that went down? It seemed too good to be true. 

Jey felt another brush against his shoulder and he looked over to meet Roman’s eyes. 

“I’ll back your play, uce. Whatever you want.” He said. His face seemed carefully blank, like he didn’t want to burst Jey’s bubble. “I can talk to Hunter and sort it out. You and Jimmy ain’t gotta worry. Do you wanna go?” 

Jey stared at the writing again. 

Please come. I’ll be waiting.

“Yeah,” Jey’s voice was hoarse, an emotion he was too scared to name stuck in his throat. “Yeah, I do.” 

Jimmy shut the bathroom door behind him with more force than necessary, struggling to control his breathing. He’d already been on edge all night, their father doing nothing to help the situation. 

“You found a new apartment yet?” Rikishi had asked when they were alone in the kitchen. “Or you still living in that shithole in North Hill?” 

Jimmy had struggled to control his anger, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear from the dining room. “It’s just temporary, Pops. Just until I find another place.” 

“And you been going to those AA meetings? Talking to your sponsor?” 

“Will you just leave it, Dad?” 

Ever since the divorce, Rikishi hadn’t given him a single moment’s peace. In his eyes, his oldest son, a boy he used to call his pride and joy, was a failure. He’d tarnished the family reputation with his DUIs and disorderly conduct charges. He’d set a bad example to his younger siblings. He’d all but destroyed his career, or whatever career he had left as a nearly geriatric wrestler. He’d wrecked his marriage and was now completely and utterly alone.

And Rikishi never let him forget it. 

I stuck with your mother through thick and thin. We made it work. A real man stays by his woman and never gives up. What’s your excuse? 

Rikishi’s words had never left his mind. What was his excuse? That they just couldn’t make it work? That they’d fallen out of love years ago and were just looking for a reason to end it all? That she got tired of his shitty excuses and refusal to clean up his act? 

Jimmy leaned against the bathroom door, passing a hand over his tired face. This was why he hated coming home. He couldn’t stand to see the disappointed look on his father’s face every time he looked at him, the passive-aggressive comments when his mother was around and the fiery lectures when she wasn’t. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so painful if Rikishi wasn’t right. The truth was Jimmy had screwed it all up. He was supposed to be the oldest. Supposed to set a good example for his younger siblings and uphold their illustrious family name. Instead, he’d all but destroyed his reputation, his career, and his marriage. He was a failure. In every sense of the word. 

He stared at the letter in his hand, his eyes tracing the loopy handwriting at the bottom. 

I know it’s been a long time, but I want to see you.

Yet another failure. Except this one was meant to be buried. 

What the hell was Dani thinking by inviting him? They had both sworn to never speak of that night again. What they’d done was meant to be a secret. Jey wasn’t supposed to know. Jey could never know. 

Jimmy remembered that night all too well. He’d found her heartbroken and alone, sitting at the special spot on the beach that was only supposed to be for her and Jey. He couldn’t believe his twin had been stupid enough to let her go. And when she told him what Jey had said to her, he’d been angry. Jey had done more than broken her heart. He’d completely devastated her. 

He’d loved Dani too, in his own way, but she’d always been Jey’s girl. And when he’d found her crushed by his twin’s betrayal, he felt responsible. Jey had done this to her. His brother. His twin. And it was his job to clean up his brother’s messes. 

Jimmy hadn’t intended to sleep with her. It had just sort of happened. He’d only wanted to make her happy. To do something to dry the tears from her pretty face and see her smile again. To help her forget about Jey and his cruel words. He hadn’t meant to betray his twin and sleep with the only girl he’d ever loved. He’d just…gone too far. 

But that was the story of his life wasn’t it? He always took it too far. And he was always wrong. 

Even though her and Jey weren’t together, she was still Jey’s girl. She had always been Jey’s girl. Which is why they’d promised to never speak of it again. 

Jimmy felt his heart stutter in his chest as he re-read her note. Why would she want to see him? He could understand if she wanted to see Jey. She’d loved him. But she’d never loved Jimmy. She’d only slept with him because she was sad and lonely and probably because he reminded her of Jey. 

Jimmy reached out to trace her name at the bottom of the note. Danielle. He hadn’t seen a picture of her in years but he could still remember every inch of her pretty face. Did she really want to see him? But why? 

He remembered the look on Jey’s face when he’d read her note at the table. He’d looked shocked, his cheeks turning red. He’d seemed embarrassed, scared, and distraught all at the same time, but Jimmy had seen something else there too: hope. 

Jey still cared about her, even all these years later. Jey wanted to believe that the words in the letter were true. That she wanted to see him. That he would get a chance to apologize for the wrong he’d done to her. Jimmy knew his twin too well. 

Jimmy began to realize that he wasn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this one. He couldn’t let his twin go to Greece alone. And Jey would want him there. Jey would need him there. It would look weird if he said no, even though he’d tried to protest the best he could at the dinner table. 

Jimmy stared at the letter in his hand. Dani hadn’t just written to Jey. She’d written to him too. Did that mean she wanted to see him? Had she missed him? Did she really want to reconnect? 

Jimmy folded up the letter and put it in his jacket pocket, right next to his AA chip. He wanted to believe her words so badly. 

I want to see you.

And Jimmy wouldn’t admit it, but he wanted to see her too. 

They’d said their goodbyes shortly after dinner. It was clear that Jey had a lot on his mind, his answers clipped and his gaze absent. He hadn’t taken the letter out of his hand, folding and unfolding the paper to keep reading the note there.

Meanwhile, Jimmy had nearly sprinted out the front door, no doubt anxious to get away from his father’s scrutiny. Roman knew that Rikishi had been hard on him since the divorce and wasn’t surprised by this. It was a miracle Jimmy had even showed up at his parent’s house today at all. 

They all agreed to meet back up in Chicago, each of them on different flights and schedules. Which was fine by Roman. As much as he loved his cousins, he wasn’t eager to discuss the letters they’d received over dinner. He was still too shocked, too confused to know what to say. 

He kept his grip tight on the steering wheel as he drove to the airport, his gaze unblinking on the road ahead. 

Dani had invited him to Greece. To her daughter’s wedding. And she’d handwritten a note, specifically to him, wanting to reconnect. 

Reconnect? 

They hadn’t seen each other in nearly twenty years. He didn’t want to think about their last night together, the memory still locked away deep within the recesses of his heart. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t think about her again. What they’d done that night had been wrong. He’d let her get too close, allowing her to penetrate the strong, composed facade he tried to project to the world. And he’d always regretted it. 

It wasn’t because he didn’t care about her. Far from it. He’d always cared about her, ever since kindergarten. She’d been the first friend he’d made. 

But that’s all they’d ever been. Friends. He’d never had the courage to ask her out, no matter how much he wanted to. His hesitance had given Jey the opportunity to swoop in and steal her heart. And he only had himself to blame. 

He had no intention of doing anything with Dani after Jey broke up with her. When he’d gone over to her house, it had been to check on her. Nothing more. He hadn’t made the first move. But he hadn’t stopped it either. 

Roman’s knuckles were blanched from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t want to remember. 

Please come. I’ll be waiting.

Roman remembered the words in her letter. There was once a time when he would have been overjoyed to hear them. But that was a long time ago. He’d been a different man then. 

Was this a bad idea? Originally he had agreed to go for Jey. Roman knew he needed closure after the horrible breakup they had. And maybe Mama was right. Maybe Dani would be single and Jey would get another chance to mend things with her. Roman knew he still carried a torch for her, even all these years later. And Roman wanted to be supportive. 

Because that’s who he was now. He was supportive. He was kind. He was understanding. He didn’t fall in love with his cousin’s girl. He didn’t sleep with his cousin’s girl behind his back. He didn’t hurt the people he loved and make excuses for it. 

Roman made up his mind. 

He was going to do this for Jey. He was going to go to Greece and be supportive. He was going to put his own feelings to the side and be the good older cousin that he was supposed to be. Besides, he didn’t have any feelings about this. Dani was just someone he knew from school. She meant nothing to him. He didn’t care about her. He didn’t love her. 

He didn’t. 

next: chapter 2: i've been waiting for you

previous: prologue: i have a dream

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024 @punksyeet @pr0wlerpunk @lilucey @cassrox @cosmiccandydreamer @sarlaccussy @fearlesschimera @hadesorion @rollinssection @levissslutt @mingisfavgf @aaira3333 @thealliasylum @marababyyyy @transparentphantomface @eringobragh420 @tssweets @kelbrave @astria0wwe @fairiebabey @romanreignsbae @mandmilovehim @briabrae @psilovey0u @80sredroad @ajenae @dumb-b4mbi @4milly @m00nlitnight @terrortwinunicorn

[nightscythe]

The Curze intoxication thing from the taboo kinks post still lives rent free in my mind, I think it’d be interesting to flip it so Curze can have a chance to relax for once, no visions or looming future just him having a grand old time.

Half way through he’d probably starts babbling about all the things he couldn’t before as they suddenly spring to mind, like how much he adores his beloved and wants them to stay a part of him forever, how much he wishes he could love his sons (or how he does love some of them in spite of everything in the case of Sevatar). Then towards the end he quietly admits that sometimes he wishes he could change the future

Of course when it’s all said and done he decides he never wants to do it again, not because he disliked it but because allowing any doubt in his visions to fester upsets him in way he can’t explain.

-💜

;; you’re right, he deserves some down time. all those feelings he wants to say but can never bring himself to during the day.. makes me feel very soft. this idea is all on you!! ‎ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

soft curze // you somehow convinced curze to try something guaranteed to make him as close to drunk as a primarch can be…

you’re sat on the floor, cross legged with a pillow on your lap. curze has his head rested on the pillow, he’s staring up at the ceiling without the usual complicated thoughts on his mind.

he’s quiet, which is typical, but it’s not the same silence that usually occurs around him. there’s no threat of prophecy and the future he so badly didn’t want to see always showing when he least wanted it.

“i adore you. i really do.”

you hear him laugh first. it’s quiet, then it’s not. nothing bitter in his tone, just a genuinely happy tone that makes you smile as it continues.

“i’d do anything i could if it meant i could stay with you.”

it seemed the alcohol had set in.

“do you think about what might happen?” he asks you, detached from a reality in a way you haven’t quite seen before. he looks up to you as your fingers just skim his hairline. “do you think about what’s inevitable, and what we may be able to control?”

he smiles, leaning into your touch. his cheeks are blushed, his lips a deep red. you can’t disguise the surprise well enough. “what do you mean?”

“you’re here with me.” he flails his arms to gesture the room around him. “was this moment by chance, or by fate?”

you can only shrug.

“it’s like a dream,” he continues. he lets his eyes fall shut and sink into the feeling of you smoothing over his hair. “i’m afraid that if i think of it too much, it will all slip away. i’ll wake up from my own consciousness and everything that makes me want to continue will fall apart.”

he looks up to you again.

“you’ll leave me. everyone will leave me. i won’t feel a break from the pain any longer.”

your lips part as though you want to answer, but he shakes his head. he turns to the side, not allowing you to nestle into his insecurities, reaching for the glass on the floor that contained more of the bitter liquid which started this all in the first place.

“i won’t love anyone more than you,” he tells you. “not in any other lifetime.”

he smiles fondly as he downs another mouthful. a trickle falls from his lips which he wipes away with the back of his hand. he sits up fully now, so he’s parallel to you.

“i still don’t understand it. how we met, how we managed…” he gestures around him again, “…this.”

the glass is placed back down to the ground carefully. in his eyes, the depth of a thousand words he’d never speak when sobriety befell him. he’s warm. he’s glowing.

“i wasn’t built for love. i wasn’t built for anything but justice and war. yet, i’m allowed moments like this with you, and i’ll cherish them for the rest of time.” he exhales deeply as he meets your gaze. leans forward ever so slightly each second, closing the distance. “i sometimes wonder why i try to continue. i’m reminded of what it’s like to be apart from you, in distance alone, and i realise that i could never be without you.”

a slight panic glints in his eye. he shakes his head, recoiling like he’d set something wrong in the hands of time.

��i don’t mean that you can’t leave me. you can. you… can make that choice.” he hums as he slouches. “it would be hard. too hard, perhaps. but you’re still there. that’s what matters. even if we are apart. but, you haven’t left. not yet, maybe, but you’re still here. and it makes me think, believe, you won’t ever leave.”

“i won’t.”

he smiles behind his grimace. he wants to trust you. so, for just one night, he lets himself. “i believe you.”

it’s quiet for another moment. his smile is gone, but otherwise he’s still the same. still absorbed in his own thoughts rather than what was dictated to him.

“it feels strange. others also make me feel lucky, you know.”

you tilt your head gently to the side. “others?”

“my sons.” he rolls his eyes as he huffs a laugh. “a few of them, at least. some are noble, some are more than others could pretend to be. i wish that i was given a chance to find some form of attachment to them. love, even.”

his eyes shift beyond you.

“perhaps for some i do. sevatar, for example. he is a bastard. but… i care. it may not be love, but it’s something close.” his eyes fall on you again. “he must never know i said that. he will become weak.”

you can’t help the frown. “he’s weak for knowing you love him? what does that make me, then?”

“it is not the same love i feel.”

“i feel like that was implied.” you lean forward and reach for his hand, fingers running down the back of his hand. “knowing you love me doesn’t make me weak. it makes me feel safe. protected. fulfilled, even. maybe telling him would help.”

he pauses, considering your suggestion. his decision is laced with hesitation. “it wouldn’t change the future.”

“don’t speak of that for now.” you lace your fingers with his. “i know you wish to change it, but tonight, you don’t know what future will come true.”

he nods once. glances down to your hand intertwined with his. keeps them loked, tight as though he’d never feel your touch again if he let go, whilst moving back to lay with his head on the pillow. lets his thoughts settle for a moment.

they’d never be silent, but this was close enough.

meanwhile, you keep the secret of seeing sev’s face completely expressionless as he stares into the room from the hallway, never seen by the dulled senses of his primarch.

you both agree to never speak of it again.

for curze’s sake, of course.

[glitter-stained]

Prompt: Christmas Con

Idea: Jason & arrowfam fic in a no cape AU (no no, not the horse movie one. A different fic.)

It's a Christmas fic.

Jason is a realistic "troubled kid" (not a mass murderer -may I insist, this is a civilian AU and no action story. In-world superhero logic does not apply here.) who was adopted as a preteen by Bruce as a preteen. As a teen, he struggled with his mental health, endangering himself with passive suicidality and even running away to find his biological mother -struggles which led Bruce to enroll him in what he thought was a therapy centre, making Jason yet another victim of the troubled teen industry. As an adult, Jason's relationship with the batfam is fraught, as the family doesn't understand Jason's resentment and has been fed over and over the narrative that he's simply a bad kid who refuses to do what's necessary to get better until they -and Jason- eventually started to believe him. On a meta level we have a Jason relatively close to Rebirth here in that he's rather depressed with a very negative opinion of himself, has lost his fire in a way that makes it feel like he's almost unrecognisable to when he first came back (from "therapy") and was so angry on behalf of himself, and that most importantly, he's internalized all the classist bullshit dc has been feeding up about Jason. The main theme of the story is the intersection between classism and psychophobia. Oh and Jason has BPD, because I'm predictable.

Meanwhile Roy is struggling to rebuild his life in the aftermath of his divorce with Jade. Their relationship is complicated; he loved her, and will still always love her in a way, and so will she, and they both love each other so much, but their relationship is so difficult, so much stuff happened due to problems in their work life colliding and many other issues, including issues with Jade's mental health, Jade wishes she could take care of Lian but she's self-aware enough to know she needs to work on stuff and wouldn't be able to give her what she needs, but she still visits a lot and tries her best, but they're also arguing all the time, and Roy is struggling to find balance between work and single-fatherhood, and the stress is giving him cravings and making sobriety more difficult. But from his family's perspective, Jade is just a cold-hearted woman who abandoned Lian and broke Roy's heart, and Roy has had enough of Ollie shit-talking his loved one at every family dinner.

(To clarify, the idea isn't to portray Bruce and Ollie as terrible, but rather misguided parents who thought they were acting in their kid's interest and had maybe an ego problem of assuming they're the ones who know best and Roy and Jason just don't know what's good for them; but the difference highlighted by the parallel, across the story, has to be Ollie's ability to learn and accept that he was wrong, vs Bruce's tendency to double-down on a more comfortable, yet ultimately harmful, point of view.)

So Roy has had enough! And as the next family dinner, he has an idea, one meant to show Ollie just how "spoiled" he's acting when complaining about Jade...

Rose Wilson, survivor of the troubled teen industry and proud self-appointed most annoying roommate, is about to spend Christmas with her newfound brother... But Eddie is invited to a giant christmas party this year, and neither of them is very comfortable leaving their other roommate alone for Christmas. So when Rose's friend approaches her about an issue her brother's having, Rose knows just the way to help her former foster family while helping Jason put his theatre skills to use and get him a friend and a good distraction in this difficult time.

The plan is simple: hire Jason to act as Roy's terrible, deadbeat boyfriend for Christmas to teach Ollie a lesson about talking shit about Roy's ex-wife in front of him and Lian at family dinner.

Jason thinks he's got this one, easy peasy! A frankly comical job that pays great on Christmas day, and all he has to do is behave as an annoying parent's worst nightmare of a boyfriend? He doesn't even have to dust off his acting skills- an unstable, impulsive, asshole street rat like Jason already fits the bill perfectly. A day of food and money, and all he's gotta do is have fun and be himself.

A hiccough, though: the plan is simply not working. Of course, there's Oliver's suspicion and distrust about Roy's taste in partners, Roy's kid who seems convinced he's trying to replace her mom and steal her dad, and this damned chilli that tastes like a non-verbal shovel talk... But be it his defensive demeanor, the cigarette smell, the fact that he dropped out of highschool, or his thick, "vulgar and ill-mannered" Crime Alley drawl, nothing seems to phase this odd, complicated family- and the more Jason learns to know them, the less he wants them to dislike him...

Aka the one where Roy's con to get his family to leave Jade alone accidentally backfires into Jason getting a support system. Can be platonic or romantic! And remember, fuck the troubled teen industry.

[liecraves]

If you think about it, the Mel and Langdon ship is more profound than what some people are letting on. OK, I get it, they're both pretty and all (if you want to get superficial about them) but think about them individually first.

We can see from the start Langdon is very arrogant and sure of himself. He grew and flourished in the ED environment where a character like that is appreciated and encouraged in men. We see him sort of going up, and up, and it wasn’t until Santos noticed cracks in his work-persona that we see him falter. And that’s when the audience finds out about his addiction and the way he’s been getting the drugs to sustain his addiction*.

Season 2 Langdon is going to feel very alone and he’ll need tons of support. He lost his mentor and the fellowship Robby wrote a recommendation letter for. He'll probably have to repeat the last year of his residency and he most likely lost the trust of most of the people he works with.**

With Mel, we see her being empathetic, kind and maybe even naive entering the ED so hopeful and excited to be there. And as the season progresses, we see her more settled and confident of herself, taking charge and performing complicated procedures. But, still needs the reassurance of senior doctors: Stepping away from patients on two different occasions to find an attending to help them perform procedures and both times Santos and Mohan took the lead to take care of the patients.

Season 2 Mel could grow into a more confident doctor and even take the lead in multiple cases, without doubting herself or needing to be constantly watched over by Robby or Langdon, even now that he has returned. As for her feelings for Langdon, she’ll most likely treat him the same as before. She has heard of what happened, maybe she doesn't know he stole from the hospital, but she definitely knows he went to rehab.

As for the two of them, I think Mel can ground Langdon and help him settle into working on his sobriety. Why Mel? Because we don’t see Langdon interact on a personal level with anyone aside from Robby, Dana and Collins. And assuming his relationship with Robby is on the rocks, with Dana he was straight-up selfish, and Collins we don’t know her reaction ‘cause she didn’t know (but honestly, it could go either way, resentful like Robby, or supportive like Mel). So Mel is the only relationship Langdon could rely on at work. She didn’t know him for long, which gives her an unbiased opinion, and he’ll probably appreciate her not really knowing him. It gives Langdon the space for him to change as well, because he won’t be constantly compared to his past self.

And this makes me curious about how next season is going to go for them aside from all the fanon stuff. As I said, the type of person Mel met during her first shift is going to be very different to the type of person Langdon comes back as. Same for him, the Mel he met is not as confident as the “new” Mel is gonna be, having 10 months of experience in the ED.

Still, Langdon will need someone who can understand the rough parts of his addiction and his job, and Mel will need someone to take care of her when she’s done taking care of her sister. (We saw the way she ends s1, going home to take care of her sister after taking care of people during her 15 hour shift. She is a primary caretaker 24/7 and she’ll probably burn out at some point next season)

Why would Langdon value Mel's opinion? I think Langdon recognizes and values people he can learn from. In season 1 we can see he really admires what Robby teaches him (and during the end of the season we can see him admiring Dr. Abbot’s work as well) But we don’t really see him appreciate or recognize his peers or subordinates' knowledge. (Medical students, Interns, Residents, Nurses) But, in comes Dr. Mel King into this world where he thinks he’s the ruler of. He says it himself, that he is learning things from her: being more attentive to patients, not to rush into the initial evaluations, especially with neurodivergent people.

Also, we don’t know the real Langdon. We don’t really know why he started taking drugs or for how long (or we do, in case he was telling the truth), we don’t know his relationship with his wife, kids, parents, siblings, etc. So it’s interesting next season will focus on his return to the ED, and probably will navigate aspects of his sobriety and how he is now that he is newly sober. Especially the interactions with his peers and the probable flashbacks he’ll have throughout the season.

So, for me the Mel+Langdon pairing makes sense. They fit together and there’s a lot of room for growth for a relationship (romantic or platonic– even though I really see the potential for a romantic one) There are aspects of their dynamic that sort balances the other and as I said before, they can help each other in different aspects in their lives and be together during the tough parts of life. They both need that.

(Having said that, I do want very much to get that scene at the end of season 4 or 5 of them walking away from the hospital holding hands.)

notes:

*Also, I think it is very relevant to point out the way prescription drugs are given away like that. If what he said was true, it means a doctor prescribed the initial doses of painkillers, very well knowing the risks of addiction and dependence to those drugs. Season 2 can very well be also about that: doctors giving away drugs that reduce pain without actually considering the addictive factors of said meds.

**I actually don’t want him to be treated differently. Sure, stealing drugs from the hospital is bad bad, but he’s an addict surrounded by doctors and medical staff who know how addictions work and shouldn’t be judgmental about it. The lens that should be put upon him is to watch him not endanger a patient again (and of course not kill himself by doing drugs), not the addiction itself, I think.

final note: Even if they keep being platonic, what I wrote are several reasons why they could be good for one another, this is the whole point of this post. And also, I think relationships are the point of the show. We know the writers want to make something as close as possible to how real hospitals work and as far away as possible from medical dramas where the main focus are the romantic relationships. However, I think the show targets how lonely and alienating it can be to study medicine and work in a hospital, and it highlights the importance of relationships: Robby-Dr. Adamson, Robby-Dana, Robby-Collins, Robby-Langdon; and how those can grow or be ripped apart.

[oscquinn]

oscquinn's lip gallagher x reader masterlist. *indicates smut

smth smth

[ SERIES ]

mkverse; borderline, eventually, let it happen.

BORDERLINE: you've been best friends with lip gallagher your whole life. how will senior year play out as you navigate college applications and complicated feelings?

EVENTUALLY: your relationship with lip simmers in summer heat, and some to a boil one night after his baseball game…

LET IT HAPPEN

[ FICS ]

i really like you

what will lip say when debbie asks him, "what is it you like about her?

who's naughty and nice *

prompt - decide who has been the naughtiest and the nicest and give each other rewards & consequences accordingly 

birthday girl

you see the cute boy from your classes while out at the club for your birthday

full *

lip has a thing for filling you up, and he's far from shy about it

bunny's birthday *

my birthday fic for my dear wormy. hot dad lip & breeding kink <33

fever pitch

the basics of my mlb!lip au, in headcanon format!

[ BLURBS ]

safe space

college dad lip

late night calls (college dad!lip)

surprising you (college dad!lip)

frat party (college dad!lip)

heterochromia (college dad!lip)

rough sex *

professor!lip *

aftercare *

college domesticity *

summer love, and exhaustion

leaving for class but lip stops you

gentle parenting your bf

protective + jealous (frat!lip)

pregnant reader

needy after work *

'yes ma'am'

walking you home (frat!lip)

begging (frat!lip)

treat you better (frat!lip)

overstim (sub!lip) *

massage *

birthday blurb

brat taming *

needy (college dad!lip) *

halloween + sfw pt2 + nsfw pt2 *

speaking italian *

ta lip + anotha + anotha + anotha *

angry & protective (frat!lip)

picking you up from a party (sorority!reader)

against the window *

father's day

"don't pretend to be so innocent" *

afterparty *

caring for liam (college!lip)

little league freddie (dad!lip)

eyeblack designs (college baseball!lip)

sobriety talk & hurt/comfort

he's cold & annoying

filming it (sub!lip) *

he missed you

realization of feelings

© oscquinn, 2024. dividers by @cafekitsune. updated 11.02.24

[cheriecoke]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions, references to forced prostitution, dubcon/noncon

please heed the warnings for additional ones this chapter. chapter word count: 7.2k

PART VII ♰ MASTERLIST

By anyone’s standards, the night was young. A cool autumn evening had come in, the brisk breeze of winter just around the corner, biting at your exposed skin. The bells hadn’t yet chimed midnight, but the sun had set hours ago, leaving a gap in the evening, when the respectable citizens could return home and the salacious ones could terrorize the streets without reproach.

It was near dusk, but that meant your day was only just beginning. Your work resumed once the dark curtain of night fell over the town, shrouding everyone in tangible secrecy.

Your newest patron was a curly-haired bookkeeper, a crisp man with even sharper green eyes, lips puckered between distaste and seduction. He hardly seemed the type to linger in the wrong side of the city after hours, but you knew his delicate appearance was merely a ruse — a way to repent for his sins and keep them between him and God.

It was apparent, perhaps to you and you alone, that this was far from the first time he’d paid for a woman. His gaze grew hungrier with each passing second, as your fingertips danced along his skin. You scratched gently at his arm, with nails that were cut short and dirtied; pure evidence of your less than fortunate situation, a life so different than his own.

As they all did, he ignored signs that pointed towards your unclean soul. He spared one final glance towards the cathedral in the distance, then smiled at you lewdly. 

“Your father puts a high price on your head,” he said, guiding you closer to his side until you were wrapped up in him, giving you the allure of comfort when you knew it was power he sought. “I hope you’re worth it.”

Your ran your thumb along the lines of his palm. The tendons flexed as his breath hitched.

Even though you were nothing but a poor girl from the village, you knew that you still had a certain something to you — something that drove every man around to his knees. It never failed you, and now that it was the means of your livelihood, it couldn’t.

“Is it not better to brave the emptiness of another lonely evening with companionship?” you whispered, words tinted with beautiful melancholy.

His features pinched, mouth gaping, too slow to understand your meaning. To which you refrained from sighing, forcing an even tighter smile as you bat your eyelashes.

“I’ll be worth it.”

You had grown to hate nighttime, dark with its illustrious glow of stars. It held a promise of unknowable saltiness rubbed into wounds, an unwanted ache between your thighs that never seemed to ease.

Beauty did not come without pain, and the impossible splendor of the darkened heavens was no exception — you knew that more than anyone. You thought it every night as you slunk through the shadows like you belonged there, with nothing but the endless universe to swallow up your misery.

Sunlight would never compare to the otherworldliness of the moonbeams. But the mornings, with yellow and orange hues splashing against your face, bathing you in opalescent colors, set you free. 

“Remind me your name,” the green-eyed man said, slurring the final two words into one syllable, a testament to his sobriety. “I can’t believe it slipped my mind.”

If you told him, by the end of the evening, he’d forget it anyway. It was better that way, better for it to be a fleeting thought, than for your name to be imprinted on his soul, a dirtied and scornful word, sullied by your actions and desperation.

“Ah,” you pulled him out the door, to the alley, just around the corner from the bustling pub. It was loud, and empty enough outside that no one would take notice to either of you. Neither would they care. “You can call me whatever you want, sir.”

He smiled, but it was oily and sharp, causing you to nearly recoil with disgust. This was far from the first time you’d done this, but it never got easier, never made you feel less ashamed. Each touch still felt like an awful burn, crisping your skin until it was darkened with ash. Every kiss was a thousand knives ripping you apart, blood freely flowing down your neck until you’d run dry, as empty as your soul had become.

“Aren’t you a sweet one?” he said, sparing no time before he had you up against the wall, his palms digging into the bones of your hip. “I can see why you’re so popular around here.”

You swallowed, but plastered your seduction on thick, trying to emit something pleasurable when he swirled his thumb over your breast. It would be one of those times, it seemed, that they were less than gentle with you.

“The payment usually comes first.” You hated the way your voice cracked on the final word. “How can I trust that you’ll fulfill your end of the bargain otherwise?”

He glowered, retreating from abusing a wound into you neck, his lips already flushed with desire. To your relief, though, he pulled the cloth-wrapped coins from his pocket, and threw them on the ground. The money landed in a thick puddle of mud with a disgusting plop, the silver and bronze jingling against one another.

“There. You can dig it out of the mud yourself, whore.”

You didn’t have time to react before your skirt was hiked up to your thighs in a few quick movements, the remainder of the ruffles ripped apart. The sharp sound of linen tearing echoed in the alley. Your pastel blue evening wear now nothing more than cheap cloth.

He was more than eager as he dipped his dark lips back to your neck, running his tongue along the vein like a starved man. Hot hands launched up along your sides, possessive, before pulling at the tight lacing of your corset.

“Wait,” you said, your nails digging into his shoulders. It was hard not to cough up pain from his rough touches. “Don’t you want to go inside? I have a place where no one can hear us.”

The cruel man smiled, tucking your hair away from your face, his touch almost gentle, as if he could come to care for you, in another life. A glimmer of metal on his finger shone in the moonlight, sharp gold, like a curse. Reminding you of the thing he didn’t care to cherish, the one you’d lost, when your father had sold you to the first man that took interest.

“Doesn’t matter. I like to be watched.”

That was that.

He turned you around roughly, so your cheeks were pressed into brick, scuffing your skin with tiny little pinpricks. Though you’d hardly had enough time to become aroused, his hardness pressed against the small of your back, wasting no time before he sunk into you.

It hurt — more than you’d expected it to, with how many times you’d been abused and used in such a way. But you didn’t cry, escaping into your mind instead, trying to tell yourself that you’d get out someday, even if it was a simple fantasy to comfort you in your most vulnerable moments.

“Fuck,” the man groaned into your ear, his movements speeding up as he forced you impossibly closer into the wall. “You feel so good. Didn’t expect you to have such a tight cunt after being used by half the men in town.”

You didn’t say anything, only letting out a few audible sounds of pleasure to appease him. Not that it mattered anyway. You knew he didn’t want you to talk, he just wanted to stick his dick in someone other than his wife, who probably knew all about his infidelity, and couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

Finally, he came, spilling into you, despite your requests for him not to, and slumped against your back, breathing heavily. You’d gotten nowhere close to reaching an orgasm, but he didn’t care, even as he caressed your hair softly, pressed kisses into the space between your neck and jaw.

“You’re such a good whore. Pretty. Shame I can’t keep you all to myself.” His voice was low, raspy, tinged with ownership as much as it was disgust.

You prayed to a god that didn’t care, and smiled coolly over your shoulder. “You could always be a repeat customer. We can pretend, can’t we?”

He smiled, softened only from his orgasm, and laughed at that. You were grateful that your comment landed—some would have slapped you roughly for the sarcasm in your tone. “I’ll consider it.”

“I wouldn’t mind. You’re certainly not the worst I’ve ever had.”

A flicker of something appeared in his irises, but you were, for once, unsure if it was humor or uncertainty. “But not the best?” 

You steeled yourself, remained impassive, and shrugged, trying to play along. It was hard, more than it wasn’t, to gauge what it was these clients really wanted. Each time, you’d thought you’d had them figured out. Many were shallow creatures with desires that didn’t extend far past their loneliness and need for a quick release.

Some, with their deep-rooted disturbances and truly unspeakable desires, were near impossible to read.

This man, it seemed, was one of latter.

“Is that the case?” His face contorted with anger, and he pushed you hard against the wall, his fingers curling back under your skirt. “Fucking bitch. That wasn’t good enough for you? We can go again. I’ll make it better.”

Your eyes grew wide, and you shoved at his wrist, trying to get his thick fingers out from between your legs as tears welled up in your eyes. “No. No, I was just kidding, you were good, it was good,” you smiled, but it wasn’t enough, wasn't real enough, and he doubled his efforts.

“Don’t lie,” he spat, stroking himself until he was hard again, the disgusting, flushed organ pulsating in his hand. “I hate liars.”

You took a steadying breath, your thoughts flying through your mind too rapidly to be condensed into words. Panic took hold, but your strength waned, his body too strong and too large to push away. “We had an agreement,” you said, sounding anything but confident in your words. “Your time is over. It’ll cost extra.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” His face was dangerously close, and he wedged a knee between your legs to keep them apart. It hurt everywhere he touched, like his hands were made of liquid fire. “You think your father would believe you against me? He can’t keep a goddamn penny to his name so he passes you around, his pretty little whore.” The man laughed, so dark and careless. Just moments ago, he’d been smiling at you like you were a friend, and all it took was the wrong tone of voice, the wrong sort of joke for him to turn on you like an animal.

Sudden clarity passed over you as the ocean between your ears died down, giving way to the calmest of waters, smooth as glass, a resolution coming to mind. You fumbled under your bodice, for something wedged up between the tightest of laces, the failsafe, for the times that the situation got so fatally out of hand.

“You’re the smartest investment he’s ever—”

His words cut off, garbled, as he choked on the blood that started to seep from his throat. A beautiful river of scarlet poured from his neck, coloring the surrounding skin a muted pink.

For a moment, the scene passed as if you were reading it from a novel; present, but removed, a third person in the story.

You watched him slump forward, grab at his neck with terrified, wide eyes. Blood spewed through the cracks between his fingertips. The color drained from his face, dulling him to a corpse, the dark venom of his eyes becoming nothing more than a muddied brown. There was so much in his expression, and then there was nothing.

He fell to his knees, then clumsily onto his face, the last breath of oxygen escaping him.

In an instant, you were on him, barely registering the bloodied knife in your hand, as you brought it down over and over, sinking it into his back and pulling it out again. A crunch — the sound of bones and tendons splitting apart. Then a spray of blood splattered against your cheek, dripping to your jaw in a beautiful smear of maroon.

It would be hard to clean this one up, but you always managed somehow. You’d manage again. Again and again and again.

Once he was dead, so completely dead that you were sure you’d killed him twice, you stood up, breathing heavily. His body already started the process of rot, decaying in a puddle of his own fluids. Blood poured out from him so quickly that you felt it’d only be minutes before there wasn’t an ounce of it left in him.

It was as gruesome as it was liberating. How many times had you brought the knife down into his skin, how many times had you—

“You have a penchant for brutality.”

The voice came from behind you, materializing out of nowhere, a melodic whisper in the night. And though it felt like a song, a tune you could drown yourself in, you whirled around, taking the crimson shrouded blade to the stranger’s throat, eyes hard.

He smiled at the action, lips curling around shiny white teeth. “I would’ve thought cutting open his throat was enough to kill him.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, so quickly that you felt your body was moving on instinct. An obvious lie, but denial was the only way to go, when you’d been caught so red-handed.

Briefly, you were met with terrible darkness, as the stranger, dancing with the blade of your knife, remained invisible in the black night. But the moon moved, clouds parting for its splendor, and the beams illuminated the icy stranger like the star of an eternal performance.

The once loud shouts of the pub became nothing more than whispers, the frigid air of a near November heating at an unthinkable pace. Around you, the world seemed to change in an instant, with the vastness of a man that seemed too beautiful to be human.

He cocked his head, smiled at you, and though it was surely mocking, the twist of humor in his eyes only made him that much more lovely. The allure of him transcended this realm, handed down from something otherworldly, something that you had never believed in until now. There was an indescribable distance in his eyes, so raw with wisdom, but exceedingly charming, and one glimpse had leveled you to the stupidest of women.

“No?” The stranger laughed, his melodic voice clearing you of your senselessness, reminding you of the less than ideal situation. “Because it looks like you killed someone in cold blood.”

Your lips parted, then you swallowed, knuckles paling around the hilt of the knife. It was difficult to look him in the eyes, and you dropped your gaze to his perfectly rounded lips, before letting them fall to the sharp lines of his jaw.

“Don’t look so scared. I hardly care about him.”

“He had it coming.” Your voice was unmistakably shaky, nervous. Even if you couldn’t identify the true root of your anxieties.

The handsome, transcendental stranger grinned easily, unfazed by the position he’d found himself in. As if death mattered naught to him — and why should it? It was something that touched you all, there was no escaping it. If you were to run your blade across his throat, what would be the harm? It would’ve happened eventually.

“I’m sure he did.” His voice was akin to a lullaby, rivaled even the greatest concertos. Then, he took a step back, away from the blade, running his eyes across you, observing with an inner wit you were certain you didn’t posses. “I’ve seen many in your shoes. I know of the cruelty of man.” He glimpsed past you, cocking his head at the sight of the brutalized body, near unrecognizable. “Yet none have taken such… drastic measures. It seems you are quite the vengeful angel.”

The words triggered the same sort of anger that had gotten your unsatisfactory patron killed, a flare of bubbling red beneath your skin.

You scowled, running your tongue along your teeth. “I’m no angel. Don’t call me that.”

“Ah.” The beautiful devil hummed, acknowledging the result of your rage and the blade dripping with blood. “Right. Well, I’m uncertain how to describe your beauty, if not angelic.”

It was cruel of your body to react with such warmth, a present trickling of heat over your cheeks, down your neck. Rarely, did the words of men affect you. They shouldn’t now. “I’ve heard that plenty of times in this line of work. While poetic, your words are unimpressive.”

“I doubt the rest of them have seen this side of you, and seen the beauty in you still.” He took a step towards you, then thought better of it, and paused his movements. “Or, do you often let people watch you sink a knife into your generous clients? Perhaps this is a custom I’m not familiar with around here.”

You weren’t sure how to read his dry tone, and you let your hand, still shaky with the blade, fall at your side. “It is a custom that comes to pass when one is desperate and out of options. Do not call such a thing beautiful.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Silence fell between you, and though it was only for a moment, it unsettled you, thinking of all the ways this could end. You didn’t have it in you to kill someone else, another man, not without reason. You’d never enjoyed it, never liked the way the veins split open, the sharp noise of the skin breaking.

There was just no other way.

“How are you planning on cleaning this mess up?”

Your face fell, that once seize of panic grabbing hold once more. A sharp breath left you as you closed in on yourself, feeling so much smaller than you had only minutes before. “I don’t know.” You turned to stare at the body; his eyes were still open wide, staring at you with a kind of fear you didn’t know you were capable of causing. “Are you going to tell anyone?” you whispered.

There were hands on your forearm, and then they were gone, icy cold fingertips spinning a calming circle on your skin. Gently, the stranger eased the blade from your hand, wiping it on his robe, before tossing it in the mud. “Of course not. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Inhaling, you closed your eyes. “You could if you wanted to. You can do anything you want as long as you don’t tell anyone.” That realization alone made you afraid of the power he held over you, the weight of the secret he could pin you down with. “They’ll do much worse to me if they find out.”

“If I was concerned about turning you in, I don’t think I’d be having a conversation with you, now would I?”

“I don’t know. I rarely trust the word of men, even the kindest ones.”

He was silent. There were sounds of a scene that took place behind you — him stepping away, boots crunching in the dirt and mud. Then, the tune of the coins from the pouch, as he dumped them into a clean handkerchief, handing them back to your with a soft caress.

“Well, seeing as I did nothing as you committed a rather violent crime, I’m afraid I’m already complicit. I’d lose nothing by helping you dispose of the body.” He smiled, tilting his head, the brightness of his eyes near an iridescent glow. “I know you may not trust me with words, but my actions might suffice instead.”

Your stroll around the city was brief. Eventually, you found yourself in a pub that had been standing since your ancestors were children. The brick walls were older than even you, cracked and faded. Places like these seemed to be the only ones you found yourself often, as if beckoning you back, knowing the truth of who and what you were.

It was somewhere you could hide in a shaded normalcy; not meant to be seen, but unable to stay away.

This time, though, you had no desire to hide, to slink into the black corners until you faded easily into the shadows. You sought to be a member of them all, assimilating into the spaces that opened up for you, as you settled into the concave embrace of humanity.

The evening didn’t feel so cold and unwelcoming today. Instead, there was warmth, a kind that came with the sting of nostalgia. It was an enveloping embrace, so tight that it hurt, yet filled with steel-coated love.

Shadows cascaded on the far wall, creating dark outlines of the crowd. Each person seemed to move quickly, matching the static energy of the room, never settling, never still. It was just as hazy and cloudy as the outside, the stench of the old city tainted deep into the old walls. There was nowhere to inhale without sharing a breath with another, an intimately close gathering, one that almost reminded you of what it was like to be human.

Until a couple sat next to you, nosey and less than alert, their dark eyes roaming all over you with shameless curiosity.

You could smell their blood within seconds of them falling into the chairs next to you, so overwhelmingly sweet, mixed with the sharpness of of alcohol. The man’s metallic nectar was tinged with a putrid smell, layered from years of copious liquor and tobacco.

His wife’s was not so tainted — but no different than any of the other uninteresting humans that sat around in the room, so concerned with their bodily pleasures that any other sensations were outside of them.

“Hello,” the woman said, tall and thin, with silky black hair that was strung up tight with pearls. A few dark strands fell loose around her cheeks, which were highlighted by red pigment that had smeared from droplets of sweat. Her eyes, deep brown and alluring, were unfocused, pupils large and round.

She stared unabashedly at you, drinking you in, before she broke out into a fit of laughter, seemingly unrelated to her previous polite greeting. A slender hand came to cover her mouth, but you were unsure if it was out of shame for herself or for you.

Your nose wrinkled.

The woman stumbled back into her husband, and they spoke in hushed whispers, a conversation you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on.

As the couple distracted themselves once again, you fixed your eyes on a man across the room. He wore a stiff military coat, and seemed deeply troubled, with a mind still gruesomely stuck in the field. His smile was awkward, but kind towards anyone who approached him, even while he appeared to be planning an escape out the window.

You considered his sobriety, his alertness, the way he was still nursing the same drink he’d bought when he walked in an hour ago. The uncomfortable little soldier would save you from losing your sense to intoxication, as the blood of anyone else in the room was surely tinged with liquor. But a small part of you craved the drink, longed for the bit of release that abstinence stole from you.

He would be an easy target, a safe target. But there was nothing interesting or irritating about him, save for the thunder of fear he had flooding around in his mind, the dread of returning to war in the upcoming weeks.

“I, um,” the husband of the bumbling woman, shorter, and round, with a thick mustache hiding his upper lip, coughed. Your attention drifted slowly over to him, eyes sliding like those of a snake. “I apologize for my wife. She’s had far too much to drink this evening.”

You met his gaze, but said nothing, leaving him to interpret just how you’d felt about their interruption. There was utter emptiness, perhaps soullessness, in your expression, and you’d thought that had been enough to deter him. But he was determined to remedy his wife’s behavior, and came closer, scooting his chair into the intimate space surrounding you.

“Are you new to town? We haven’t seen you here, and, well...” He clasped and unclasped his hands, unable to meet your eyes.

You remained silent.

He sighed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to prattle, but Cassandra—my wife, that is—is normally the talkative one. Right now, though she’s…” He glanced to the chair beside him, where his wife had sat herself again, slumping forward like she could hardly keep her head up. The man shook his head. “Well, anyway. She’s interested in making your acquaintance. You are quite…” He gesticulated around you like you’d know exactly the word he was searching for, language betraying him.

“Quite what?”

His eyebrows dipped together, before smoothing. There was a pause, like he was considering whether to indulge you with praise or ignore the sentiment completely. “Well, you know, we’ve just never seen you around here before.”

You exhaled, somehow disappointed by the exchange. Everything was still the same, then. For some reason, you’d expected fifty years to have altered the course of the human race, to have remedied the distinctly unlikable nature of the people that hailed from your hometown. How obsessed they’d always been with their appearance, climbing the social ladder by pushing the rest back down to the lowest ring.

“I see,” you nodded, returning your gaze to where the soldier had been. He’d left the bar now, standing outside, smoking a cigarette with shaky hands. Unsurprising and characterless. "I haven’t been home in quite a while, but I’m here now. For how long, I’m not sure. But I know these streets like I paved them myself, despite the changes that have sprung up in recent years. I doubt I’ll need a guide, if that’s what you’re offering.”

The plain stranger eyed you curiously, noting how old you appeared. It was more than obvious that he was unable to believe that so much had changed in the years you’d been away. Then, the skepticism faded, and his bright grin was back, a hand outstretched to greet yours.

“Oh, how wonderful to hear. I’m Gustav, and my wife’s Cassandra, as I mentioned. We’ve been living here for about a year now, bought a shiny new mansion across the river. Feels like we still don’t know the lay of the land, though, if you’re interested in showing us around.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, yet, still held on tightly to his air of superiority over you.

You blinked, staring at his outstretched hand, thick and veiny, with polished, clipped nails. It shook with the years that were gaining on him, while your own was steady, held tightly in your lap.

“I have a hard time believing you came over here out of the goodness of your heart,” you said simply, smiling so widely it almost ached. “You know, I’ve always hated the niceties of the bourgeoisie. I doubt you’ll gain anything by towing me around town.”

Gustav licked his lips and retracted his hand, his eyes hardening slightly. “We only thought you’d like to find a familiar face around the crowds. Didn’t know you were already well-acquainted—”

A snort bubbled out of you, and Gustav stopped, sniffing as you broke off his thoughtless rambling.

“Oh, no need to try and appease me. I knew the minute you two walked over here that your intentions were anything but altruistic. You saw a beautiful stranger, and your wife, who I know to be the gossip of the fucking town, just had to sink her claws in.” You leaned towards him, eyes roaming to the pulsing vein on his neck wildly. “You moved here after you made your fortune as a banker, thought you’d establish yourself as the wealthy newcomers. You’re nearing fifty, but you still eye the prettiest women in the room, stare at all the things you can’t have, while your wife slips into bed with men twenty years younger than her. To get what you can’t give her, of course.” Each of your teeth dripped blood red from your poisonous words. “Am I right about that, Gustav? Or are you really looking for a friend?”

He stared, wide-eyed at you, his short, stubby eyelashes falling over droopy eyes. “I—”

“I’m tiring of the chatter. I’ve found myself in a rather unique position lately. Normally, I enjoy making a game out of this, but all this travel has worn me down, and I’ve no desire to butter you up.” Leaning close, so close you could feel his hot breath on your skin, you ran a sharp nail against his soft jawline, feeling the stubble of his chin, the thick flesh around his neck. “Come with me. Bring your wife with you. Don’t make a sound or I’ll kill you both.”

You’d kill them anyway, but they didn’t need to know that.

Gustav, foolishly obedient, nodded, and followed as you stood from the table. A drastic sound came from the chair as it fell onto the ground, clattering into the floor. No one turned, unbothered by the ruckus, and you went around the back, where the streetlights faded into the woods, the trees welcoming you back to your rightful home.

Cassandra had sobered quickly when Gustav held a hand over her mouth, hushing her profusely when she nearly tripped over a rock. Her dress, a beautiful rose and cream evening gown, had muddied and torn at the bottom, the edges fraying.

“Gus,” she slurred through the cracks of his fingers, clawing at him, her grasp weak from intoxication. The rest of her words came out incomprehensible, but you could sense her fear, the confusion imbedded in every fleeting thought that popped into her mind.

You lured them further into the forest, until the shouts of the city sounded like whispers, drowned out by the creatures roaming beneath the heavy trees, familiar with your kind as they fled into the shadows. It reminded you, briefly, of when you’d had nothing to eat but the blood of rabbits, mice, birds that flew in through your windows and found themselves caught in a spider’s web. How far away that now seemed, how drastically your life had altered with the presence of another vampire.

Gustav tried to form words, but you turned, pressing a finger to his mouth, hushing him without a sound. Then, you smiled calmly, licking your lips, a manic sort of energy blocking off your sensibilities.

Hunger. That was the word, the feeling — you’d known it well, longed to release yourself to more primal inhibitions. It didn’t feel so hard, now, without the guilt clawing at your throat, forcing you back into a box you’d felt so trapped in.

You pinched Gustav’s cheeks, ignoring the sharpness of culpability that scratched at the back of your mind, the past fifty years of progress tumbling down like a house of cards. “Don’t move.”

Before he could finish blinking, you’d yanked Cassandra from his arms, sinking your fangs into her neck. The blood rushed into your mouth, burning delightfully on the way down, so hot and acrid from her drinks. It had been so long, you’d almost forgotten the sensation of alcohol, how it was painful before it was pleasant, leading you astray.

Gustav stayed true to his previous commands, glued to the spot, but his eyes were so wide you were certain they’d bulge out of his skull. There was more than fear spelled out in bold letters on his expression — it was terror, one that came with the end, of knowing that the last breaths of life were coming. You hoped that he cherished it, like you never had.

Cassandra’s body grew cold, and you dropped it, tossing it away like a doll, her skull making a sharp sound against the heavy stump of the trees. Then, you rounded on her husband, near sick with horror, stiff and ugly from morality.

His blood tasted just as stale, but you drained him anyway, lapping at the thick liquid, letting it stick to the skin around his neck. Gustav didn’t move, didn’t grasp at you with the same desperation that Cassandra had, and you felt no sense of satisfaction when he dropped dead to the ground, the alcohol in both their veins already making your thoughts fuzzy around the edges.

You stared at the pair, their eyes glassy and lifeless, mouths parted without sound, and wiped your own scarlet lips, letting the blood stain the sleeve of your dress.

For no reason at all, a laugh bubbled up in you, and you let it ring out through the forest, matching the nightly call of the cicadas and the owls lingering above. You weren’t sure how long it lasted, your fit of, perhaps, insanity, as you stared at the corpses and tears of blood ran from the corners of your eyes. The sweet relief that came from quelling your hunger was paired with the dizzying effects of alcohol, rendering you anything but sensible.

Still, you felt the presence of another, so attuned to that being, the aura of carelessness and authority. You’d known he’d been coming from miles away, yet, you drank, continued to drink even when his dark eyes were watching you, hardly bothering to hide within the shadows.

Your laughter ceased, and the sticky tears lingered on your cheeks, as you turned, slowly, stumbling with every movement. “How’d you know I’d come here?” you said, dipping your head before raising it to meet his gaze.

Dazai smiled, sideways and achingly lovely, every hollow of his cheek, every curve of his lip, made even darker in the moonlight. It seemed to illuminate him and him alone, this world of grotesqueness and haunting starlight and misery made for him.

“Where else would you go?” Dazai said, each syllable a prayer, a lullaby from the grave, hauntingly beautiful. “Where would either of us go but home?”

Your chest heaved, filled with a sick and desperate love, as your body hummed to the same melody of his words. And though you'd wanted to deny it, to rebel against the twining of your heartstrings, you'd known in every fiber of your soul that Dazai would be here too.

PART VIII

[whirlybirbs]

About "Bruised Ego"

If I may ask how long has Toshinori been attracted to Derecho? Has it been one of those "for a villain, i'd tap that." Or more of a developed after the rehab? Has there been moments of where they go out to eat and Derecho or All Might get hit on leading to the other person to get a little jealous.

But honestly amazing writing as always, I've been following since the ben solo days and still go back to read them every now and then!!

it's complicated.

truthfully, pre-villain rehab derecho is dangerous.

you're some old money, long standing yakuza's prized guard dog, constantly amped up on quirk enhancers — a drug i personally consider the biggest, baddest stimulant crossed with an immediate performance enhancer. it's essentially like feeding you a live wire.

all might's agency has a task force dedicated to arresting derecho — or, well you. before you had a hero name. before you were anything short of a frenzied, violent enforcer on a short leash. back when you were a grinning mugshot and an extensive rap sheet.

you were different, then.

toshinori knows it's the drugs — he knows that's how you came close to nearly killing him that one night. it's how he learned not to go toe-to-toe with you in the rain. water is a conductor and all that.

you are beautiful — and you were back then, too. scarier. tougher. less of a light in your eyes and more of a blood thirst that earned you title of most wanted. it's almost like a knife's edge. get too close and you'll get cut.

toshinori likes strong women. strong men, too.

but back then, he hated you.

there was a sliver of him that knew you were a victim of your circumstances — but all the playful rivalry went out the window that night in april when your fists cracked across his face in the pouring rain and you swore you'd kill him and everyone he ever loved.

I LOVE MAKING YOU BLEED.

it's the night you almost flatlined back in that disgusting, cold yakuza safe-house. it's a wake-up call. you flew too close to the sun. one breath away from an overdose you wouldn't come back from.

he arrests you the next time you go head to head, after a botched robbery downtown. you... you just can't keep doing it anymore.

it's that image that winds up on the front page of every newspaper in japan — the one with your chest slammed down against the hood of a detectives car, your legs spread, and all might gripping the cuffs behind your back to tightly you had bruises for weeks.

they muzzle you.

it's... poetic, really.

truth be told, prison is the best thing that ever happens to you.

the villain rehab program is second.

it takes toshinori a long time to agree — with a lot of bargaining and parol restrictions placed on your head. but the hero commission are different sort of vile ilk. the kind you don't argue with.

it takes toshinori a long time to even loosen up around you, too. truth be told, he regrets to admit he was convinced you would end up back behind bars — this time in tartarus.

you're irritable, short-tempered, violent, and often times cruel.

but you're smart. and, despite your circumstances, you do have a good heart. slowly, toshinori can see the fear melt away and you're less like a cornered dog snapping its jaw.

you take praise well. you enjoy routine. you begin to attend those meetings gran torino recommended — after all, it's not just villains who struggle with quirk enhancer addiction. there are plenty of heroes who have wandered down that path, seeking greatness at the cost of their sobriety.

it's slow. a new sort of dangerous. over time, you become enmeshed in his life in a different way than years ago. now, it's through text typos and late night patrols. it's you letting toshinori hitch a ride on the back of your yamaha ninja. it's comfortable silence in the agency's infirmary after a long mission.

and when you smile. well, shit.

yea, he's always liked strong women.

and you're dangerous.

— a reference to this fic here ;

[bridgetlynn]

I really enjoy your posts/analyses of The Pitt. Just curious, what do you want to happen with Langdon and his family? I won't say "what do you think" because we honestly have barely any information so far, but would you like for him to struggle and make up to live happily with his wife and children? Or are you on the divorce train? Always appreciate reading your thoughts, thanks!

First of all - thank you very much. I've sort of always treated Tumblr as the equivalent of screaming into the void so I'm genuinely surprised (and grateful) when someone actually appreciates what I have to say.

Secondly - way to ask the question that could get certain groups of fans to come for my neck depending on my answer 😉

I knew the answer to this immediately when I saw it in my Inbox; but, I wanted to give it some thought as to how exactly to phrase the answer. Mostly, cause it sort of comes from a personally complicated place.

I'm going to start by pointing out for anyone not the original asker - I was questioned about what I would like the canon plot to reflect for Langdon and his family. I very much stand by what I've said (for decades) about any fandom: You Do You. A back button exists for a reason - I don't have to like what you're writing; I'm still going to cheer you on as a fellow creative. (you know, providing it isn't glorifying any type of abuse towards any demographic)

What I would very much like to happen on the show with Langdon and Abby and their babies - I would like them to be happy and stay together. And I don't mean "stay together" in that white knuckled, gritted teeth, fake smile, 'let's stay together for the kids' shit we sometimes see on TV or a movie when a parent is some form of addict (in recovery or otherwise). I mean, genuine Stand by my man. Step up for my wife. I Love You. Happiness.

Allow me to explain the WHY of that hope and dream for Season 2 -

There are two ways that families with addicts are portrayed in mainstream media (there's some nuance in more obscure/indie shit but overall it's really two routes): "Stay Together But It's So Bad and Tragic" OR "Divorce! Of course. Cause Addict! Duh! That's What You Do." It never seems to matter if the addict in the relationship has been to rehab and is successfully working their recovery - they get the same treatment as if they were lying on the couch in front of a toddler with a needle hanging out of their arm.

And it genuinely disgusts me. Because, No! That is not "just what you do with an addict partner" (ie: Suffer or Divorce them). If your partner won't go through the steps to get sober or is repeatedly relapsing? Yea, I get it - dump their ass. The "suffer through it" shouldn't even be an option then. But if this person who you supposedly love and who hopefully loves you back and you have built a family with has knuckled down and tortured themselves into sobriety and are maintaining that sobriety and are providing for you and your children a overall good life??? Gee Media…I'm searching for a problem here.

That is never written. Ever. Instead there is this conscious bias against addicts - they deserve to be punished. They can't have anything good. They shouldn't be allowed to be happy.

That is not real life. And this show supposedly prides itself on it's sense of realism.

I'm really afraid that the narrative is going to take the spin of "Langdon is a shitty husband/father" instead of trying a more hopeful narrative for him.

Also, really why is he a shitty husband?

Cause he bought a dog (possibly) without asking his wife? (Genuinely - I don't remember that part being outright confirmed. I remember it being more Dana's opinion on the matter of Abby having 2 kids and now a dog but needing a vacation. Not that Abby was ever unaware of the dog being purchased).

Cause he's a snarky asshole? There isn't a single person on that show that is actually nice except Mel and Whittaker. They all gave as good as he did. And sometimes shot first.

OR is he "a shitty husband" because he's an addict? Did we jump right back around into that again?

So yes, canonically on the show I would very much like to see Frank and Abby and Tanner and Unnamed Child of Unknown Gender #2 (totally gonna be a girl) weather this storm and come out the other side together and happy.

And if they do not - I want ANY other reason for a divorce then "it's cause Frank went to rehab because he's a bad man and he can't be trusted around the kids so I just had to leave him."

Cause on a real deep personal level - seeing the absolute immediate assumption that Frank Langdon will be divorced next season makes me sick to my stomach (sorry you all do you but I'm still fucking human and I'm allowed to side-eye the internet every once in a while). I get that they are fictional characters (no shit).

But I lived in that house growing up. My Dad was "whatcha holding?" and my Mom could drink like a fish. Right up until I was around 9. They would take turns going to rehab so that someone would always be around at home to take care of me (It was the 80s what can I say - no one even blinked about this. And insurance payed in full for the luxury facilities. Heck, I met Daryl Strawberry as a kid cause he was in rehab with my Mom in Manhattan once). They also loved each other and me fiercely. When I tell you that I had no idea anything was "weird" about my house - I always had food and clothes. I went to a private Catholic school. I had basically whatever I wanted without tipping into "spoiled". And then just out of the blue one day both got sober - I stayed at my grandparents (who themselves were hard core drinkers) my parents both went to rehab and came out and never touched a thing again. And we had the most stereotypically sitcom style life right up until my Dad died of cancer when I was 12. So, I got a whole 4ish years with my parents totally clear headed. But the important point I'm trying to make with this is that it is possible and happens more then the media would seemingly like to indicate.

Guess people actually being happy and overcoming adversity doesn't make for good TV.

And I'd really like to see that portrayed in a drama free "What you thought we were going to split up?" way on the show.

[bullet-prooflove]

Disloyal: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @eddieslut69 @mia1653 @kimbergoldess

Companion piece to:

Attention - Terry hasn't been paying you enough attention.

Distance - Terry and you struggle with emotional distance as the embezzlement case continues.

Twenty Four Hours - You come home from your trip to spend 24 hours with your husband.

When Terry runs into Cassandra, he’s eating alone in his favourite restaurant, going over the questions the investigators were asking him during the latest round of depositions. He's trying to work out which way they’re leaning in regards to his complicity. He wants to call you, talk it out but it’s 1am in Madrid and he knows you’ll be sleeping.

He doesn’t register Cassandra sitting down across from him, not until she reaches out and touches his hand. His eyes raise up to meet hers and he’s taken back to twenty years ago, when he first met her at an Narcotics Anonymous meeting in Beverly Hills. She’d been in recovery for popping pills for almost two years at that point and he’d just got his one year sobriety chip.

She was the first woman he fucked sober.

Their relationship had started with coffee. He connected with her because she understood his struggle. He found her easy to talk to, non-judgemental. It’s the same now as he tells her about the stress he’s under, the depositions and the physical distance between the two of you.

“I miss her.” He says as he sips from a glass of top shelf whiskey. “It’s starting to feel unbearable.”

“I know what it’s like to be lonely.” She responds squeezing his hand. “It can feel like a chasm deep down in your heart.”

That’s exactly what it feels like, it’s as if he’s staring into the abyss and there’s just this darkness eating him up inside.

He’s drunk by the time the restaurant closes. He doesn’t know where the hours have gone. He’s enjoyed having company this evening, setting the world to rights, laughing again. He does the gentlemanly thing and helps Cassandra into her jacket and she smiles before she tucks herself under his arm, a little wobbly on her heels. He’s not fond of the proximity, it feels disloyal to the woman whose sleeping alone almost six thousand miles away, on a trip the two of them should have been taking together.

He shifts away as Cassandra’s car pulls up, tucking his hands into his trousers so she doesn’t try to initiate any more physical contact.

“I’ve missed you Terry.” She says brushing up against him. Her fingertips trail along the lapels of his jacket, her head tilted up so her lips are perilous close. “Come home with me tonight. Your pretty little wife would never have to know.”

“I’d know.” He says, his voice brittle. “And the last thing I’d ever do is betray my wife.”

She withdraws then, hurt clouding her features and Terry can’t bring himself to care because he’s staring into the abyss again, wondering how he’s going to survive the next couple of months without you.

It’s the next day that he storms into the conference room where the depositions are being held. He’s done playing nice, trying to be cordial. The past few months of his life have been on hold because of the crime that’s been committed against him and he’s sick of being treated like the villain, when it was him who raised the flag in the first place.

“Charge me or let me go.” He tells them. “I have a plane to catch.”

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