#general sales tomorrow is gonna be a nightmare

[burnhamandtilly]

the way trying to get tickets for the eras tour is pretty much becoming a nightmare.. all this mess it's taking away all the fun it was supposed to be. the tickets are being bought in mass by people who only care about profit and today some of them announced floor tickets for R$12,000 in a resale website (that's TWELVE TIMES the original price).. who the fuck can afford this shit? plus fans are literally being THREATENED on the queue for the physical sales tomorrow. ppl called the police, who did nothing and went away after a few minutes. when will this nightmare end!!!

[wilfywarfy]

Hold Me (Eric Derekson drabble)

Summary: Eric just wants someone to care about him for once. Turns out, there's plenty of people that are willing to lend a hand

WARNINGS: Derek Derekson (This bitch deserves his own warning), crying (Mostly from Eric), anxiety, hurt/comfort, Eric Derekson blames himself for his father's hurtful shit

I made this just because I wanted Eric to have some happiness in his life, and I figured the egos could provide

"I-I swear I'm trying my best!" Eric said as his father started to berate him for the millionth time. It was a stressful day, considering that Mark needed merch adverts by the end of the week. They couldn't afford to mess up. Though to Derek, that was all that Eric was doing.

"Oh, you always say that same crap! You realize we got a whole warehouse full of products to sell, right? And my name is plastered all over it! If this shit doesn't sell out, who do you think is gonna get blamed for it? Me! Even though it's you who keeps messing up our damn advertisements! So shut your damn mouth and get on it!" Derek said coldly, using that tone of voice that made Eric have nightmares. It was the tone that flashed red every time he heard it.

"Yes- Sir yes sir!" Eric said, trying to pull himself together once more. No matter how many times he did it, he'd never get used to being in front of the camera.

He heard his father sigh. "Just roll the damn music."

The generic sales music started up, and his father stared daggers into his soul.

"I'm Eric Derekson, here with Eric Der- No, Der- Derek Dereksons Charity Warehouse!"

-

When Eric got back to the manor, it took all his power to not burst into tears as soon as the doors shut behind him. Another God awful day, as always. The only usable takes they'd gotten were ones of his father, though they even had to edit those down due to his habit of repeating motions.

What was worse was that he'd have to go in for the next 3 days to try and film his portion again. If they didn't have Eric, Mark would get suspicious. And if there's one thing about Derek Derekson, it's that he doesn't like people on his trail.

"The Host on his way to the front door sees that Eric has returned home, and greets him warmly."

Eric flinched, snapping out of his own thoughts, seeing that he was no longer alone. Host had managed to stand in front of him while he was spacing out.

"O-Oh, sorry. I'll get out of your way. Sorry... yeah."

"The Host tells Eric that he has nothing to be sorry for." The blind man says with a slight smile on his face.

"Well, I, uh... I guess I'll get going now." Eric said as he tried to hide away from the conversation.

"The Host stops Eric before he leaves, asking him why he sounds so anxious. The Host wonders how Eric is doing after his day at work."

Eric knew that there was barely any use trying to hide anything from Host. Chances are, he'd already known and just wanted to hear it from the source.

"Uhm, well... you know. I know that you know. I know that you know that I know." Eric fidgeted with his comfort towel, twisting it around his fingers.

"The Host supposes that he does. Though he doesn't quite like how Eric decided to go back tomorrow, seeing how miserable he is around his father."

"It's not his fault... i-its been a rough few days." Eric excused his dad for what wasn't the first time.

The Host sighed. "The Host doesn't like how Eric would rather bring himself pain than relieve himself off it." That was the thing about Host. He could see right through you, no matter what you said.

"I'm alright. I'm okay, Host." Eric lied, not even convincing himself.

The two sat in silence for a moment, the air becoming a bit too thick.

After another too quiet moment, Host decided to make his next move.

"The Host decides to cancel his afternoon walk to instead help Eric."

"W-What? N-No, Host, you don't need to do that for me!" Eric said in a panic. He'd already felt like a burden, he didn't need anyone chaging their plans for him just because he couldn't suck it up.

"The Host insists, and The Host doesn't mind." Host said sincerely, offering a hand for Eric to grab.

"I... I can't... I don't- hmph." Eric didn't want to finish the rest of the sentence in case Host would be angry with him.

The bandages on the man's face started to seep with blood. "Eric. Please."

It was the end of a discussion if Host ever used first person. He didn't want to get into an argument. He was pretty sure he'd crumble if he did.

Eric gently took ahold of the other's hand, letting the other lead him deeper into the Ego Manor.

-

The living room was packed, as always.

Google and Bim were cuddled up on the couch, the robot looking at one of his many floating screens while he teased the game show hosts hair. Yancy and Illinois were next to them, the convict ranting about the latest musical he'd watched while the adventurer listened in awe. The Jim's were on either side of Captian Magnum, RJ asking about his life at sea while CJ kept the camera rolling on their interview. Yan, King, and Bing had somehow dragged Doc into their video game challenges.

Eric felt out of place. Everyone was happy, smiling. All Eric could do was fake it.

"The Host has found Eric, and brought him to the rest of the egos." Host announced, making everyone look at the duo.

"Eric!" King said with a smile on his face, which had been stained blue from Wilfords cupcakes.

He smiled back, hoping that it didn't look as fake as it felt. "H-Hey."

"We've been waiting for you to come back all day! We had to shove the Jim's off your cupcakes! Where have you been?" King stood up and went over to Eric, pulling him into a hug.

As he stood in King' hug, Eric heard a variety of "Where've you been?" or "How are you?"

It all hit Eric like a bus. He wasn't sure what snapped inside of him, but the tears that were in his eyes earlier started to fall.

When the others realized what was going on, the room was then echoing words of concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you okay?"

"Eric, what happened?"

As King pulled away from the hug and saw the tears falling down Eric's face, the first thing he did was wipe them away. "What happeneD? Did I squeeze too tight? Did I make you uncomfortable?"

The tears only got worse when Eric took in that King was concerned about him, that he thought he could ever hurt him. "N-No, King. I-I'm fine."

"Hmm. Was it one of those days?" The other asked.

"I-It was my fault anyways."

"Hey, no. That bastard is being a dick to youse all over again!" Yancy said, hearing Eric blame himself. He, along with most of the other egos, hated the way that Derek treated his son. Though with Yancy, his anger was multiplied ten-fold considering that he'd killed his own parents for being dicks to him.

"It was a stre-stressful day today. I kept messing up. H-He was right to be mad a-at me. I'm no Merrick."

"Eric, no. No, don't let him do that to you." King saw the look of pain in Eric's eyes when he mentioned his brothers name.

"Eric, c'mere." Yancy gestured over to him, beckoning Eric along with two fingers in the 'coke along' motion.

He went over to the ex-con, standing in front of him until Yancy stood up, letting Eric sit in his place. Illinois put his hand on his back, tubbing circles into it.

"Aight, I want youse to look me in the eyes. Can youse do that for me?" Yancy asked as he crouched down to Eric's level.

Eric looked at Yancy, the others gaze being almost too much for him. He did it anyways.

"There youse go. Listen, Eric, I get it. Youse a familiar type. Youse want ta keep the last blood youse got on ya. But youse got to realize that sometimes, letting go is the best you can do for youse. Not your dad, or us, or anyone else. Youse."

The ex-con watched Eric take in his words, tears still streaming down his face. He saw a lot of himself in Eric. Two guys that were sealed shitty hands. The only difference was that Eric was stuck, and he didn't know how to get out.

"I... I can't just leave him behind." Eric tried to excuse. His father had always warned him about what would happen if he tried to leave him behind. That he'd never make it a day without him. That he needed him.

"I know it's hard. Happened to me toos, with my parents. But sometimes, youse gotta let go to let youseself be happy."

The longer Eric thought about it, the more he tried to find any way to rationalize his father's behavior. But he just couldnt. Yancy was right.

As if he could hear the argument going on in Eric's brain, the former prisoner wrapped his arms around Eric, holding him in a hug. And all the action in his brain ceased.

He landed on one answer. Yancy was right.

He had to leave. For once, he'd do something for himself. For his own happiness.

Eric slowly returned the hug, the tears coming back stronger and harder. Yancy felt his shirt being soaked by tears, though he didn't mind.

"There youse go, kid. Let it all out." He said as he pat Erics back.

"T-Thank you." Eric sobbed into his shoulder.

It wasn't long before Eric felt more people surrounding him. The egos all gathered up around him and Yancy, capturing Eric in a group hug.

Eric smiled.

Maybe he'd be okay. He's got a new family to rely on.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

DAY 22. NEEDING EACH OTHER.

A CHALLENGE WITH JAVIER PEÑA.

NARCOS ┃ USEFUL LINKS.

❝ words: about 750.

❝ a / n: don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it, i’d really appreciate it!

If someone asks you how you have ended up at the front door of that place, you couldn't respond. You were feeling like the walls of your house were closing and closing around you, suffocating you and forcing you to go to the street. And you just started to walk with no destination, until a flashing red and blue mix of lights called your attention. There you are now. The club where you met Javier a little more than a year ago and a couple of months. You would like to burn it down, blaming it for the pain installed in your chest since a week ago when you kicked Javier's ass out of your house. But what you really need right now is a drink. Or two.

Walking in and crossing through the crowd, you sit in the first stool you see free. You raise a forefinger to call the bartender and ask for the stronger and bitter shot he can serve you, expecting it would help you somehow to forget. As the cold glass touches your lips, a hand grips your wrist to put it down. Removing the drink from your hand and asking for a beer, Javier takes a seat by your side.

“Necesito que me escuches un momento”.

(I need you to listen to me for a second).

He wasn't expecting you to be there. He has been going to this club since you broke up, wanting to find you exactly where you are right now, and spending his night getting drunk to find the encouragement to go to your house and kneel and bed if it was necessary. But now, he's not going to lose the chance again, or try to find excuses to not face reality.

“Me trasladan a los Estados Unidos de nuevo. Me han apartado de la investigación después que intentaran… ya sabes”.

(I get transferred back to the United States. The Ambassador took me off the investigation after trying to… you know).

If you thought that your life couldn't be more miserable, this is happening. Your truly worst nightmare coming alive. Yes, you broke up, but you didn't want it forever. You wanted to talk with him. Now, he's leaving Colombia. Biting and licking your bottom lip, you nod your head just one time, not being capable of looking at him. You're broken enough and you don't need to be finally destroyed.

But the tables are turned when he places a white envelope over the bar, dragging it with two of his fingers above it closer to your free hand. You arch an eyebrow confused, hoping it's not money he's offering to you or you'll kill him on your own.

“Nunca te mentí cuando dije que quería que te vinieses conmigo a Texas”. Javier presses the inside of his cheek with his tongue for a moment, as soon as you land your eyes on the dark chocolate ones. “La DEA ya tiene un trabajo para ti”.

(I never lied when I said I wanted you to come with me to Texas. The DEA has a job for you already).

Driven by curiosity, you take the envelope to open it and have a look inside. A plane ticket —with your name.

“Ambos sabemos por qué estamos aquí pero… no voy a forzarte a hacer algo que no quieras. Así que… piensa en ello al menos. El vuelo sale mañana en la noche”.

(We both know why we are here but… I'm not gonna force you to do something you don't want. So… just think about it at least. The flight leaves at night tomorrow).

You don't reply. You can't. Your head is a mess right now. Your vocal cords are frozen. And your heart is about to stop. This is not how you imagined it and you feel into a corner. Is it a now or never situation? Javier places a hand on the back of your neck, leaning forward to kiss your temple and rest his forehead there.

“Yo te voy a amar hagas lo que hagas, y si decides quedarte aquí y me quieres ver, te vendré a visitar. Lo prometo”.

(I'm gonna love you anyway, and if you decide to stay here and you want to see me whenever, I'll come to visit you. I promise).

A tear escapes from your eye, not knowing why you can't tell him that you want to be with him. Not knowing why you can't say a single shit to ask him to stay with you. And he understands you somehow, kissing your temple one last time before leaving.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s

NARCOS: @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @diogodxlot @danniburgh @catcher11 @pedritobalmando @mys2425 @tanyaherondale @scullys-alienpussy @acourtofsnakes @pascalesque @encounterthepast @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @gemini0410 @nikkixostan @arveeee @cjbtw @goldielocks2004 @aurelie-celine @spideysimpossiblegirl @agirllovespancakes @kingpascals @im-an-adult-ish @hoam-2 @pedritomando

[chaos-and-recover]

Let’s all hug it out and not stress about  getting tickets tomorrow

Hi! I know we’re all hype as hell about My Chem being back and also anxious as fuck about the North American tour going on sale tomorrow, but let me tell you a few things, based on two decades of buying concert tickets and 14 years of selling them, including 4 at one of the arenas they’re playing on this tour.

1. There are no presales*, and that’s great for us.

Most tours these days have at least a fanclub presale, some have fanclub and LiveNation and Facebook and credit card restricted (think Amex Front-Of-The-Line or Citi card) like 4 different radio station presales. Each of these presales has an allotment of tickets, which takes away from what’s actually available by the public onsale. They also create more stress for us, and usually aren’t even all that exclusive if you know ANYTHING about the band (the passwords are so, so often just the name of the latest album or the name of their biggest song, try it for your favourite band next time, you’ll be surprised how often it works). But there aren’t any* for MCR! And that’s excellent! We’re looking at full capacities (minus various contractual holds) being available starting tomorrow.

*Not including PSL offers for certain season seat holders for whichever NHL or NBA team plays in that venue. Mine offers some premium season seat owners to purchase their seats for concerts ahead of the general public, but only premium seats, and only some, based on their season ticket contract and whether that’s grandfathered into it. 

2. It won’t sell out immediately. They’ll tell you it will. Don’t believe it.

Tomorrow, once you’re in Ticketmaster and have gone through the queue, you  might get a page that tells you there are no tickets available. Do not exit Ticketmaster. Refresh the page! Once you’re through the queue, you will actually have a certain number of re-directs you’re allowed before you’re kicked back into the line. No tickets available do not mean they’ve all sold, it means a) there’s a problem with the site (lol) or b) they’re all in other people’s carts. Not all of those people will complete their sales. Cards get rejected. People forget passwords (for the love of GOD log into your TM account before you do ANYTHING. Make sure your card info is up to date and that you have enough money on it. Save yourself the disappointment). Carts timeout and systems crash. Sucks for those people! Now their tickets are back out there for you.

The radio and news and social media is all gonna say “Sold out in 3 minutes!” This is a bold-faced lie. I recently bought tickets during a presale after spending about 5 minutes in the queue, completing my sale 10 minutes after the presale opened, and then hearing for DAYS about how the presale sold out in 90 seconds. Obviously the fuck it didn’t.

Speaking of the queue, I can only imagine you’re gonna get stuck in one tomorrow. If you don’t buy a lot of tickets or haven’t bought a ticket to a high-traffic show in a minute, you might not know what the queue is. It’s a virtual system for managing traffic to the Ticketmaster site so their servers aren’t overloaded. If you click Buy Tickets before noon, you’ll get sent to a virtual waiting room. At noon, the queue will open and you’ll be randomly assigned a place in line -- it literally doesn’t matter when you join the waiting room. You could get there at 11:59 and end up closer to the front of the line than someone who went on as soon as the waiting room opened (usually 1/2-1hr before on-sale). Don’t stress about it.

3. Don’t panic and fuck up your purchase

If you get tickets you want, you have like 10 minutes to complete your purchase. Doesn’t sound like a lot but, honestly, it is. Just go slow. Make sure you fill everything out properly. Better yet, if you have credit card information saved on your TM account, it’s even faster. Keep an eye on that lil clock in the corner, but take your time.

And don’t waste your money protecting your purchase, it’s almost impossible to get a refund through that if you can’t go, don’t bother. Just sell your tickets.

4. On that note, don’t buy third party

It’s possible that I’m wrong and it’ll sell out (or appear to sell out) in a matter of minutes. Don’t go running to Stubhub or Seatgeek or Viagogo or wherever else the kids are buying tickets these days. Your seats are not guaranteed. They aren’t ‘yours.’ You might get turned away at the venue because someone else came with the same tickets and already went inside, or the owner transferred them to someone else after you bought them and now yours aren’t valid. Usually, when you buy a concert ticket on a third party site, what you’re getting is a PDF that the original owner downloaded and then posted. They still have full control over the ticket and they can do that as many times as they want, or transfer it out of their account. Whoever’s name is on the account in the primary ticketing system is who owns that ticket. It won’t matter to the venue staff how much you spent or where you got it. If your name isn’t on the account they can see, they can’t help you.

You’re also gonna be paying exorbitant markups, and I very much do not recommend that. Every few years someone tries to find a way to keep scalpers from getting tickets, and it never works. The only way to stop ticket brokers and resellers is if people just stop fuckin buying from them. So don’t do it.

But if you must go third-party, insist that the seller transfers the ticket to you through Ticketmaster (or LiveNation). Do not buy from some rando on Facebook or whatever who won’t transfer it. On that note, be skeptical of randos on social media selling tickets because they “can’t go.” Check event pages for other dates, or other events in your area. I guarantee you’ll find the same names offering tickets for sale because they can’t go. Don’t buy from them.

Buy Verified Resale through Ticketmaster if you have to, but because then the ticket is transferred to you and you’re protected (you can still get turned away if the original account was flagged for fraud, but you’ll get your money back). You’ll still be paying absurd markups plus higher-than-normal Ticketmaster fees. Don’t let ‘em get you twice.

5. Be patient. “Sold out” never means sold out.

Here’s a tip that’ll come in handy for every show you go to for the rest of your life: We, as box office staff, can almost never use the phrase “sold out.” We’ll tell you there are no tickets available, but not that it’s sold out. Because it isn’t. So if you can’t get tickets tomorrow, or even just can’t get seats you’re happy with, don’t run to the third parties. Just relax, be patient, be happy for your friends who did get tickets, and then bide your time.

Tickets, sometimes entire sections worth of them, are held back from sale all the time. Some of those are for guest list, radio contests, promotions, and whatever else. If they’re not used, they’ll go up for sale, because why not get the butts in the seats? There are also production kills that are held back until the tour actually goes into production, sometimes right up until load-in when the roadies start building the set and then the promoter realizes, oh shit, that section right on the side there? It’s not actually blocked! It’s got a killer view! Let’s sell those seats! 

I’ve scored some of the best seats I’ve ever had at big shows the day before.

They’re always really conservative about what gets put up for sale because it’s easier to sell them later than to find relocations for seats you sold and then realized they’re obstructed (ask me about the nightmare that was Maroon 5′s last tour some time (:)

Artist tickets probably won’t get released until, like, an hour before gates open, and I’d be surprised if many shows had any left since everyone and their uncle will come crawling out of the woodwork asking for tickets, but you never know. 

tl;dr, don’t get too worked up over the on-sale tomorrow. Be patient. Be  calm. We’ll get through this together, and we’ll all be able to see My Chem without lining the pockets of rich-ass ticket brokers.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Playing Games (baon)

Summary: In the aftermath of Internal Disputes, Sans wasn't alone, not when his own thoughts could be haunting him.This wasn't how things were supposed to work, none of it, and there was nothing he would do but wait.

Tags:  Kustard, Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, References to Collaring

Notes:  Now, I want you to know that I say this with the greatest sincerity possible, but all you people that got me shipping kustard? I hate you all.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The hospital chairs weren’t bad when it came to comfort, especially if you ran a little shorter in the pants than average. Not that it would’ve mattered much if they weren’t, Sans was well-trained in how to get to sleep in any and all places, knew exactly how to curl up in a folding chair for maximum comfort, no matter how hot or cold the climate got around him.

Tonight, he was only too tired to sleep. That didn’t matter either, he’d been worse off plenty of times before. Only thing that mattered was that Paps was the one sleeping, and that was enough of a topsy-turvy to make Sans want to check they hadn’t missed an exit and were still in the right universe.

Probably were; from what Stretch said, when you first took a sideways step into another world, you could feel the wrongness of it in your bones. His bones felt shaky and sore, a fine litter of bruises all along his side where he’d hit the asphalt, but none of them were sending out Morse code squawking that the sky was falling, so they were all right there. Chicken Little would have to wait for another day, though maybe he’d check in with Stretch’s little flock, see how their bones were feeling--

Sans ran a weary hand down his face, smelling the lingering smoky char. Fuck, he was tired.

In the hospital bed surrounded by machines and IV’s, Papyrus was lying perfectly still, and it was so fucking wrong to see. Even when he was sleeping Paps usually twisted and turned like he was training for the next Olympics. That little quirk cost Sans plenty of his own sleep when they were kids, nights huddled together for warmth beneath a threadbare blanket and all the while his baby bones bro tried to sleepwalk a watusi up his spine.

Sometimes Sans missed that little kid.

The fancy suit Papyrus always wore when he was playing ambassador was gone, replaced by a hospital issue gown that would give a peepshow of his pelvis when he stood. His old clothes were past the dry cleaning stage, scorched all the way up his spine and yeah, that sight was gonna haunt Sans’s dreams a coupla times in the near future, as was the bitter taste of his own soul in his throat when he crawled over to him, all the dazed moans and screams around them as he clung to his brother, frantically checking him over.

Yeah, let’s close that scene and set the memory box aside for those upcoming dreams to rifle through. No need to re-live the nightmare during the daytime, too.

Sans shifted in the chair, pulling his bare, bony feet up onto the cushion. He hadn’t changed his own clothes yet; about all he’d managed was kicking off his shoes, his filthy socks draped over them like the peels of the world’s most disgusting fruit. His travel outfit was a lil’ different than his bros, a hoodie and shorts were about as fancy as he cared to get, maybe a pair of sunglasses if he was feeling particularly feisty about it.

That getup was fine for someone on security team, something Papyrus very much was not, and Sans was planning to have a nice, long chat about that with him whenever his brother finally woke up.

He was gonna wake up and Sans was gonna be here waiting when he did, thanks.

As if magnetically drawn, a compass endlessly searching for north, Sans’s eye lights slid back to the bed towards his sleeping brother. His skull was still abnormally pale against the pillowcase, a revealing sign of magic drain despite the IV steadily dripping at his bedside. So very pale, except for the fine line of a fresh crack running down the side of his skull. Barely visible, really, someone who didn’t know any better might mistake it for a cranial suture.

Sans knew better.

It’d been a lot worse before Tori started in on it, crawling over to them through the rubble on the tarmac, ignoring shouts to stay down and her normally pristine white fur had been filthy, hands already caked with crimson marrow even as she reached out to Papyrus. The ugly wound Sans could barely stand to look at vanished beneath a thick green glow and that little crack was all that was left, a souvenir of Papyrus’s first trip to California. His brother had slumped to the ground after, those thready, pained moans fading. He’d been unconscious ever since.

He was gonna be fine; both Tori and Blue told Sans’s that over and over on the plane ride home, gonna be just fine. He was out cold was all, used up his magic down to the last dregs generating enough of a shield to cover himself and two other people besides. Right now it was nothing but a waiting game, Sans moving his pawn across the board until he landed on the ‘good morning, sunshine’ spot.

Just fine, sure, and Sans believed them. But he really wished he could roll doubles right now and speed up the process.

Most of his thoughts were either being firmly suppressed or focused the still figure laying on the bed, but Sans did manage to spare one or two leftover balls from the ones he was mentally juggling to wondered tiredly how Stretch was holding up. He’d been eating shit sandwiches himself this weekend, and now honey boy was topping it off with big ol’ slice of disaster pie. At least Sans had the luxury of being with his bro from the get-go. Trying to picture how he’d feel knowing only the bare details of what’d happened sent a cold frisson through his soul. That was enough for him to offer sending Edge out in the first ambulance; at least he was with his brother, Edge and Blue were both stuck in limbo all the way home.

Besides, he’d gotten to see plenty of the show on the flight home in the moments when Edge wavered into brief wakefulness. No wonder he never wanted to smoke weed or even drink much. They’d doped him to the gills without mercy, and now Sans was gonna have to live with an eternity of regret that the loss of his phone meant he didn’t get a chance to record Edge massacring a heartfeltly sung rendition of ‘I Want It That Way’.

Since Tori and Blue were no fun at all and refused to do it either, seemed the best option was to send Edge out and hope Stretch got a front row seat to the second act.

That show had been a helluva lot better than the inflight movie Edge’d given them on the way out. Stoic and distant since the second he’d gotten on the plane, a fuckton more so than usual. Wasn’t until Blue snuck in a whisper to Sans what was up that he got it. Anniversary tomorrow, yeah, husband back home while he got stuck playing lead babysitter with Sans as backup ‘cause Red was off saving the world or catching an early bird sale, some bullshit, anyway.

(not thinking about red, better not to, better to not)

Stretch probably pitched a bitchfit about Edge tagging along without him and Sans hadn’t registered to vote in this election, but he was gonna go with Stretch as his candidate. There was no good reason he could think of to make Stretch stay home past paperwork and pissiness, and the fact that Blue thought his Papy staying home was the better choice told him all he needed to about that.

They’d been Aboveground for a few years now and Stretch was nowhere near as bad off as he’d been back when they’d first shown up on the doorstep back in Snowdin. He’d gone the good boy route, got himself a therapist and everything. He was happy, anyone could see that, and HP issues aside, it was ‘bout time to cut the apron strings let Stretch mess up his own cooking.

Edge was better about it than Blue, but looked like he was still trying to play sous chef ‘cause Stretch wasn’t on the plane. Their fearless leader had put up a good front, but any moron could see he was upset, and Sans wasn’t just any idiot on the street. Whatever his reasoning, Edge obviously wasn’t happy about leaving his honey behind.

Welp, Sans had a feeling Edge wasn’t super eager to add Stretch to the roster now. Not after spending some quality time laying on the crumbled tarmac waiting for a stretcher, banged up and bandaged the best they could manage on the fly while the Human side of the contingency ran around squawking out orders, getting everything on lockdown. Trying to keep everything on the down-low until they could get a proper press release in order, yeah, that was the right procedure.

Sans still didn’t have a single qualm about slipping Edge that phone so he could let Stretch know he was okay. ‘Course he’d probably scared him shitless the way he started rambling on like it was his deathbed confession hour instead of just saying ‘alive and kicking’, oops, but eh, couldn’t win ‘em all.

Sans wasn’t winning a lot of ‘em lately.

The stack of blankets were tucked around Papyrus with generous care, but Sans got up and went over to him, anyway, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles in covers. His hands were beneath the blanket, the better to keep them toasty warm. Probably for the best, it was bad enough having to look at his skull, that single ragged crack. If he had to keep looking at his bro’s bruised, battered knuckles, Sans might go nuts.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was his duty to play big bro, his, he’d taken that on years ago while he was still in his own striped shirt, his very first job. He was the one in Security, he was the one who was supposed to fucking protect, and even if Sans thought maybe he’d fucked that up a time or two before, suspected that there was a memory he didn’t possess, a

(reset)

past that wasn’t theirs. But he’d been keeping up their end of the bargain since his bro decided to be an Ambassador and Paps wasn’t supposed to break it, he fucking wasn’t—

The door creaking made Sans jerk, heat rushing to his fingertips in a heady blurt of magic for an attack that stopped forming the moment he saw who it was. He took a long, slow breath, shaking away his exhausted agitation the best he could, cause he was going to need every wit that hadn’t been blown away in the explosion to deal with this.

Red was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. The light pouring in behind him cast him in shadow except for the smoldering glow of his eye lights burning out from his sockets.

Sans only ignored his awful horror movie impression and wandered back to his chair, crawling up to settle on the cushion with a weary sigh.

"you done with skulking around trying not to talk to me?" Sans asked. He didn't mean to sound as pissy as he did, but did Red really think he wouldn't notice? On the plane, outside the ambulance, even here, Red'd been all over, watching but not getting close.

No answer came, no sardonic comeback, no angry snarl. Red stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with disturbing care. Probably only playing at kindness for Papyrus’s sake, but something about his expression was unnerving, the lines of his face laid out in a way that Sans didn’t know.

He came close to the chair without reaching, only stood there, hands visibly fisted in his pockets. Crimson eye lights resting on Sans, but more like Red was looking through, like Sans wasn’t even there and Red’s gaze was laser-focused on the wall behind him.

“came to tell you i’m taking off for a while,” Red said, every word filled with deliberate indifference, “dunno how long.”

Sans only nodded. “yeah. thought you might.”

“wanted to see if you’d keep an eye on that fucking cat of mine.” Again, nothing but cool detachment, Red speaking to the wall and expecting answers.

He made no mention of asking Edge and Sans didn’t either. “sure, why not, i could use a few more scrapes for my collection. maybe i can trip over him on the stairs, add a few broken bones to the tab.”

There, a veritable hit; Red winced visibly, the distance in his gaze wavering. It was almost fascinating, really, watching with his own detached interest as Red tried to force it back. Must be a sign of his own shaken control, all of it unraveling, snapping into its proper place as he actually looked at Sans.

Sans had a pretty good idea what Red was seeing. The force of the explosion had thrown them all to the ground in spite of any shields, leaving behind a nice collection of mottled bruises and bloody scrapes to share around. His own pain had been secondary, unnoticed until they’d been shoved back on the plane for a ride straight back home. He’d been sitting next to Paps when Tori came over, watching the metronome precision of the rise and fall of his rib cage like only the force of his will was keeping his brother breathing.

The cold wetness against his skull had stung and it was only then that he noticed his own hurts. He’d sat there and concentrated on keeping Papyrus breathing, let Tori gently clean him up the best that she could.

So he didn’t have any illusions about what kind of eye candy he was right now. Another note of interest that Red didn’t seem to be able to look away, the minute flicker of his eye lights moving as they traced over those bruises and scrapes.

“i need to go,” Red repeated, but that indifference was wavering, seeping away, leaving behind something that was almost pleading. Huh. How about that. “i gotta. this is my fault. i’ve gotta—"

“listen to the ego on you,” Sans snorted. “even you can't know everything.”

“no, you don't fucking get it.” Shattered desperation, like nothing Red ever showed. Seemed like those walls Red kept up weren’t quite as impervious as Sans always thought; words were spilling out of him, vomited out in pained rush. “i didn't have shit going on here. i didn't come along on this trip because i knew you'd go without me and i…i wanted you away. for a couple days. wanted some time to get my head on straight and i didn’t give a shit who i pissed off to get it, i—"

Yeah, Sans could believe that. Fucked over his own brother and Stretch, and why not? It was only to get out of a Security detail that would’ve left him sharing a hotel room with Sans, left them out in the open in front of everyone. Made them obvious in a way that somehow Red didn’t think they’d been before, fooling no one but himself, but it was a lie Red somehow needed.

Knowing that was a different sort of bruise, on his soul instead of his bones, and every word out of Red was giving it a rough press. It was satisfying in a strange way, to know Red was panicking over him, made him want to feel it again.

"all right,” Sans said calmly.

"no, it ain't all right!" Red snarled, his voice cracking, breaking, breathing too heavily. "if I hadn't've fucked off--"

"then you would've been there instead of edge and it would all have happened the same way." He felt oddly serene, floating in his own peculiar calm. "you're one person. even you can't be everywhere and know everything. ‘sides, if that’s your fault, this is mine.” He flung his hand out like an attack at the hospital room, towards his brother lying unconscious in front of him. “’m getting sloppy, should’ve reacted faster.”

Red twitched, stepping closer, grasping that line of thought with eager gratitude, “reacted to what? how did my brother know? toriel ain’t sure and neither was blue—"

“intent.” Sans shivered, remembering the prickle of it washing over him, virulent hate that came a bare second too late for him to react. The memory of it made him remember something else, a delirious question forgotten in the aftermath, “didn’t think edge could beat me when it came to sensing intent.”

Red waved that off. “he’s been practicing ever since andy got turned into a pincushion outside that chinese place. what else?”

Of course he was, Edge probably spent his lunch hour wandering the streets to see how much hate he could pick up, that was a filling meal. “it was coming from the driver. edge was a lot closer to the car, he must’ve felt it before i did. he yelled for everyone to get down but by then, paps already had me face first on the asphalt.” He shrugged, trying not to think too deeply of the wash of vicious heat, the sound of it, the screams, fuck, all the screams— “after that, it gets a little explody. i can still hear it a little, it’s like listening to a seashell lodged in my head. doc said it might take a day or two for the echo to fade out.”

“that it?” Red’s gaze bore into him.

“that’s all i’ve got,” Sans drawled sourly. He turned in the seat, lounging with deliberate casualness, his legs hanging over the arm. “that’s the shit, the whole shit, and nothing but the shit. so that happened and our bros got hurt, yeah, but they’re gonna be fine. so, now, you wanna take off and go headhunting? you go on ahead. play your little game, start following your clues. just remember after paps wakes up and i can see he’s okay? i’m coming to find you.”

Red had been nodding along and Sans could see the moment realization bled through, the indignant rasp as he snapped out, “the fuck you are!”

“the fuck i’m not,” Sans countered, tauntingly. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting his own sweat, the bitterness of smoky residue as he goaded, “how are you gonna stop me? ask edge to chase me down while he plays hop along cassidy on some crutches?” Fury was sparking in Red’s eye lights like a firecracker as Sans went on with fractured glee, “he’ll be a coupla weeks recovering, you know. even you harping on him to get up and play protector ain’t gonna change that. gonna tattle on me to asgore, gonna lock me up? tie me to your bed?” Sans tapped a finger against his cheek bone pensively, a mockery of thinking, “or maybe i won’t go after you at all. maybe i’ll see about playing a little on my own.”

Ah, that, that right there. Sans could feel the impotent fury rolling off of Red, about the only time he couldn’t get it up, hands flexing as if he wished there was something in them and for a distant moment, he thought Red might actually attack him and wouldn’t that make for an interesting problem to explain.

Then it was gone, all that anger and frustration swallowed into nothingness. Interesting how Red managed to break without so much as changing expression. Must be a gift.

“you win,” Red said abruptly.

“we playin’ something?” Sans asked lightly,

“only with our lives. ain’t like anything important.” There was a sharp prick of frustrated anger in that, wasn’t all gone, then, only banked. A point Red proved by stalking forward to take Sans’s chin in two sharp fingers, yanked it up. Crimson eye lights searched Sans’s face and he couldn’t begin to wonder what they hoped to find. “you even know what you’re getting into here?”

“i’ve been fucking you for over a year.”

“i ain’t talking about fucking.” Those searing eye lights pierced deeply into him, crawling over the depths of his soul. “do you know?”

Deliberately, Sans lifted his chin more, exposing the bones of his cervical vertebrae. Red’s gaze dropped, lingered over them with hypnotic weight, and his fingers followed, coiling around Sans’s throat like a metaphor.

“if you like it, then you shoulda put a collar on it,” Sans said, soft and singsong. “i’ve been fucking you for over a year, fucking around three times that, you think i don’t know? collar me, claim me. may as well, i ain’t going anywhere, anyways.”

Red shuddered, lurching forward another step and his fingers tightening convulsively, not quite painlessly. “collar you? like you’d be fucking obedient.”

“from what i saw of you wearing one, i always figured the obedience part was an optional add-on. besides, at least i’m housebroken.”

The thin fingers around his throat tightened again, so very close to choking and Sans only shivered, yearning into that grip even as Red whispered with low, virulent intensity, “should’ve known i couldn’t keep dodging you forever.”

Red leaned in, but not for a kiss. His mouth was suddenly hot on Sans’s collarbone, dragging over I, uncaring of the sweat and filth coating him. Sharp teeth nicked tantalizingly against bone and Sans couldn’t hold back a cry, edged with a near sob because he wasn’t supposed to get this, he wasn’t, wasn’t supposed to have this suddenly thrust into his lap like a gift. His magic gave stirring an unfortunate try, but he was thankfully too tired to demo how much his psyche was absolutely going for the sweet threat in that touch.

"i wanna to keep you," Red muttered, mostly to himself, something like desperation curling around every word. Sans answered anyway, mumbling mindlessly.

"okay. okay, yeah."

"wanna keep anyone else from touching you,” whispered against him, a promise, a threat, Sans didn’t know. Red’s tongue was winding around his clavicles, sharp fingertips tearing Sans’s t-shirt, exposing more. “wanna put my collar you, warn the whole world that you're mine."

"yeah," Sans breathed brokenly. His hands move of their own accord, not bothering to ask for permission as they clutch at Red’s shoulders, blunt fingertips digging into the leather of his coat with creaking force.

"That sounds very romantic and potentially disturbing, but may I ask if you could do that in your bedroom and not here in front of me?"

Sans came pretty fucking close to kicking Red to the floor as he jerked up to see his brother’s sockets open, blinking at them owlishly. It wasn’t even a thought to scramble down and go to him; reaching for Papyrus was as automatic as drawing a breath. His brother reached back and if his hands were shaking a little, if there was something tremulous and almost fragile in that touch, Sans didn’t care.

His brother was awake and reaching for him, pulling him up on the bed and into his arms.

“Hush, there’s no need to cry,” Papyrus scolded gently, but he held on to Sans with enough force to get his bruises singing out an Ava Maria. “I’m perfectly all right and even if I’m not, you are, so that’s fine.”

“that is so not fine, paps, it is completely the opposite of fine,” Sans wiped away embarrassing flood of tears, sniveling humiliatingly into his sleeve even as Papyrus flailed and tried to reach for the box of Kleenex on the bedside table. “me and red are the ones working in the security department, we—”

He turned back to the chair, trailing off when he found it empty.

Well, shit.

“know something, bro?” Sans sighed out, even as he settled into his brother’s arms. “that whole vanishing thing is fucking annoying when i’m not the one doing it.”

Papyrus smoothed a hand down his spine, more gentle than not, and if he had an inkling of what he just interrupted, he was kind enough not to ask. “Never fear, brother, you are always fucking annoying whether you’re trying or not.”

Probably true. Hearing his brother swear was always enough to give his soul a seizure, even if he knew Papyrus only did it to get a rise out of him. He needed to go find one of the docs, let him know Paps was awake and there were probably tests that needed to be run, x-rays maybe, who the fuck knew.

It could wait a minute. Right now, the only place his soul wanted to be was right here.

But later, he thought maybe he had some dice to roll. Some asshole in a stupid hat once said the game was afoot and now that he knew there was a chance?

Sans was playing to win.

-finis-

[emospritelet]

KoL! Prompt! - "I'm sorry, that came out wrong."

What better prompt to use when Gold finally decides to ask Belle out?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] {Part 22]

AO3 link

The next day dawned cold, crisp and bright, and Gold decided to walk into town to arrange the Secret Santa present for Belle.  He smiled a little as he walked; he had two days off work, and much to his surprise was looking forward to it. Usually he hated being away from the hospital, but concentrating on a gift for Belle was a pleasant distraction.  The gifts weren’t due to be handed out until Christmas Eve, and he was hoping that he would have the time to make the arrangements that he wanted by then.

Now that he had decided he would definitely be asking her to go out, he felt a little calmer.  Initially the realisation that he had strong feelings for her was unexpected and almost terrifying, but he had come to terms with the fact that since he had met her, his life had changed dramatically, and would never be the same again.  He was okay with that.

There was still the issue of whether she would say yes, but Ruby’s words had given him encouragement, and so he decided to ask her when they were next on shift together.  Dinner. He would ask her out for dinner. Or possibly coffee, but at Granny’s, not at the cafeteria. Coffee was enough to start with. But then would she just think he was being friendly, rather than asking her out romantically?  Dinner. It would have to be dinner. He wouldn’t bother with the flowers this time, though. That seemed like tempting fate. If she said yes, he could bring her flowers on the date.

He took his time with the walk as he pondered his next move, enjoying the chirps and squawks of the few birds that saw out the winter in Maine, and nodding to the people that passed him.  His feet led him to the Town Hall, and he gave his name at the front desk before being asked to go on through to the Mayor’s office.

Regina Mills was dark-haired and lovely, the picture of stylish efficiency in her tailored suit and designer shoes.  He had long admired her taste, and the two of them had a reasonably amicable relationship, developed over several years of him patching up her son Henry, who had a tendency to be accident-prone. She looked up from behind her desk, setting down her pen and giving him a brief, red-lipped smile.

“Madam Mayor,” he said pleasantly.  “Compliments of the season. You’re looking very well.”

“Dr Gold,” she said.  “Please tell me my son hasn’t been in need of your care again.”

“Not this week,” he said.  “Although you may want to consider dressing the boy in bubble-wrap.”

Regina sniffed.

“Believe me, Emma and I have already had this conversation,” she said dryly. “What can I do for you?”

Gold smiled.

“Do you remember when I put you in touch with that adoption agency in Boston?” he said.  “And when I promised to get a friend of mine to consider your application before anyone else’s?  I believe that resulted in you adopting Henry. And later meeting the love of your life.”

“Yes,” said Regina suspiciously.  “I told you I owed you one, as I recall.”

“Ah.”  His grin widened.  “You do remember.”

Regina rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” she sighed.  “What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not for me as such,” he said.  “It’s something the whole town would thank you for.  It would create a lot of goodwill this festive season.  And with it being election year soon I just thought—”

“Yes, yes!” she snapped.  “You’ve made your point. I’m feeling in a generous mood, so just tell me what it is you want and I’ll see what I can do.”

Gold smiled, and stepped closer to the desk.  Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

x

Belle hurried to the locker room, sighing as she changed her shoes for heavy boots and pulled on her coat.  She smiled at Dorothy, coming on shift as she was leaving, and held up the copy of the hospital calendar she had been given.  The contents had been a pleasant surprise, although she had to admit that she’d spent far longer staring at the month of December than was healthy.

“The moment of truth, huh?” she said.  “I think we look pretty good. Jefferson says they’re selling like hot cakes.  He’s had requests for orders from all over the country!”

“Yeah, I think those friends of his gave some free publicity,” said Dorothy, with a grin.  “Suits me: his other fundraising option was a bake sale, and I’m not that great a cook.”

“Oh, I think that’s still going ahead,” said Belle.  “After the New Year, though.”

“In that case I’ll limit my participation to buying and eating other people’s creations,” she said.  “Showing my ass seems to be way less painless. For all concerned.”

Belle giggled, pulling a hat down over her hair.

“I’m hoping the townsfolk are gonna be reasonably discreet,” she said.  “I don’t care if some guy I never heard of wants to put the calendar on his wall, but I’m not sure my dad needs to know about his daughter taking her clothes off for charity.”

“It’s for a good cause,” said Dorothy dismissively.  “Hey, did you get your Secret Santa gift yet? You know we’re giving them out tomorrow, right?”

Belle sighed.

“Yeah,” she said morosely.  “I’m not sure I got the right thing.  It’s been a nightmare trying to think of something that’s meaningful and yet doesn’t cost more than thirty bucks.”

“It’s Secret Santa,” said Dorothy patiently.  “It doesn’t have to be meaningful.”

Belle shrugged, and Dorothy pursed her lips as she grabbed a pair of clean scrubs.

“Hey, did you see Gold today?”

“No, he’s not working until tomorrow,” said Belle.  “Why?”

“Oh, no reason.  Just asking. Is Whale in, then?”

“Whale’s there now, Jefferson’s in later,” confirmed Belle, grabbing her purse and closing her locker.  “See you tomorrow?”

“Count on it.”

She headed out, shivering as she stepped into the bitter wind, and hurried home.  Coloured lights twinkled from the houses she passed, lifting her spirits as she shuffled through the snow, but when she reached the small house that she shared with her father, it was dark except for a single light in the lounge.  Belle’s mouth flattened. He hadn’t switched the Christmas tree lights on. Again. Feeling her festive spirit drain away, she opened the door and went inside.

“It’s only me!” she called, and heard a grunt from the lounge over the sound of the TV.

Rolling her eyes, she struggled out of her coat and hat and tugged off her boots, exchanging them for soft sheepskin booties and heading to the kitchen. Her father clearly hadn’t started anything for dinner, and Belle huffed in exasperation. Guess I’m cooking again, then.  One glance in the fridge made her frown.  Cans of beer filled one of the shelves, the remainder being taken up by eggs, bacon and a block of cheese.  She sighed to herself and shut the door,wandering through to the lounge. Moe was slumped in his usual chair with a beer can resting on his belly, eyes fixed on the TV screen.  Belle put her hands on her hips.

“I thought you were buying something for dinner,” she said, and he glanced around.

“You said you would.”

“No, I said I couldn’t because I was working,” she snapped.  “The flower shop is right next to the store! I notice you bought beer, so you managed that.”

“Don’t be a bloody nag,” he groused.  “Just order a pizza or something.”

“We had pizza last night.”

“So we’ll have it again!” he said impatiently, and gestured at the TV.  “I’m trying to watch this! Just order a damn pizza and get me another beer!”

Huffing in exasperation, Belle stomped through to the kitchen again.  I really, REALLY need to get my own place!

x

The next day she was up before Moe as usual, but still later than she would have liked, so she had to rush to cook their breakfast.  He stomped into the kitchen with a bleary look in his eyes, nodding to her as she pushed eggs and bacon towards him.

“I’m working this afternoon, so could you pick up the turkey and the things for Christmas dinner?” she said, when they were almost done.  “Everything’s ordered and paid for, you just need to collect it from the store.”

“Alright.”  Moe looked at her, chewing his bacon.  “What time are you back tonight?”

“Oh, not until eight or so,” she said.  “Can you see to yourself until then?”

“Guess I’ll have to,” he said sourly.  “I’ll go to Granny’s, have a drink with the guys.”

“Okay.”

Inwardly she heaved a sigh of relief.  It meant that he probably wouldn’t be home until late, and she could have an evening of relative peace and quiet preparing the Christmas dinner.  Moe shoved the last bit of bacon into his mouth, following it with a swallow of coffee and pushing away his plate.

“Better get to the shop,” he said, shoving back his chair.  “I’ll see you later, love.”

He sauntered off to pull on his boots and coat, and Belle frowned at the dirty dishes.  Guess I’m doing those, huh?

She took a shower once she was done with cleaning up, brushing her clean hair until it shone and putting on a dark green dress that showed off her pale skin.  The addition of some red lipstick made her feel almost festive as she swirled the skirt in front of the mirror, and she smiled to herself. Her gift for the Secret Santa exchange was wrapped, and she looked it over, chewing her lip before putting it in her bag.  She hadn’t been sure whether it was an appropriate gift, but there wasn’t anything else she could think of that wasn’t hopelessly generic.

It was a sunny day, if cold, and she turned her face up to feel what warmth the sun could send as she made her way to the hospital along the main road out of town.  Her phone ringing made her stop, and she dug in her bag, frowning a little as she saw the number of the flower shop flash up.

“Belle?” barked her father, before she had even had time to answer.  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.

“Don’t you bloody play coy with me, my girl!” he snapped.  “What do you think I’m talking about? Were you planning on telling me you’d decided to take your clothes off for money?”

Belle groaned.  The calendar.  Great. Well, I guess it was too good to last.

“It’s for charity,” she said shortly.  “And it’s not like I did a bloody Playboy centrefold!  I think it’s very tasteful.”

“Tasteful my arse!  I just had to put up with bloody Miss Ginger holding it up and telling me this is what happens when a daughter has no mother to keep her on the straight and narrow!”

“The day I care about what Miss Ginger thinks of me it’ll be snowing in hell,” said Belle tartly.  “That woman could find fault with a bloody saint!”

“Why didn’t you damn well tell me you were doing this?” he demanded.

“Because I’m an adult, and it’s my body and I’ll do what I damn well please with it!” she returned hotly.  “Why do you even care? There are eleven other people in that calendar and I don’t see you complaining about them!”

“None of them are my daughter!”

“I posed for a nice picture of my butt so the hospital could save towards a CAT scan,” she said, exasperated.  “Somehow I think your reputation will survive. I’ll see you later.  Don’t forget to pick up the food, okay?”

“Don’t you think I have enough to do in this shop?” he snapped.  “I have to cope in this place alone and you want me to run bloody errands for you?  What did your last slave die of?”

“If you want a Christmas dinner tomorrow, you’ll have to pick up the bloody turkey!” she retorted.  “I can’t be in two places at once!  Alternatively we’ll just eat bacon and bloody eggs all day and you can edge closer to that heart attack the doctors keep warning you about!  Your choice!”

She didn’t wait for his response, hanging up with a huff of indignation and striding off towards the hospital entrance.   Bloody man!

x

Gold was able to collect Belle’s Secret Santa gift on the morning of Christmas Eve, and had had to make a detour back home to wrap it before heading to the hospital for his shift that afternoon.  He had bought a little something extra to go with it, which he thought was fitting, and he placed everything in a narrow box and wrapped it up with shining green paper, tied with gold ribbon and a single tag with Merry Christmas Belle x written on it.  He had decided, after much deliberation, that he would ask her out before the gifts were exchanged; he didn’t want her to feel obliged to say yes, after all.  There was no one in the break room when he entered, and he set the box with the other gifts already under the small tree, slipping out and heading for the ward to start his rounds.

He was mentally running over what he wanted to say to Belle in his head, the words repeating in a loop of what sounded to him like something forced and awkward.  Belle, we’ve been friends for awhile now, and I’d like to take the next step, if you’re willing.  I wondered if you might consider having dinner with me on Friday evening.  He said it over and over in his head, in the hope that it would sound natural when he managed to verbalise it.

He was so busy repeating it to himself like a mantra that he barely noticed the object of his desire approaching, and almost bumped into her.  Belle was carrying a jug of water in one hand, and it sloshed alarmingly. She put her hand on his forearm with a giggle, blue eyes sparkling.

“Whoa there!” she said.  “Are you okay? You looked as though you were miles away.”

Gold smiled at her a little tremulously, feeling as though his tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth.  His script, so easy to repeat in his mind mere seconds ago, appeared to have evaporated into the ether, and he could only stare at her.

“Belle,” he said.  “Uh - hi.”  Great.  Great start.  I suppose at least you got her bloody name right, you loser.

“Hi!” she said brightly.  “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m - I’m very well,” he said, wanting to punch himself in the face with something.  “You?”

“Good!” she said.  “I saw the calendar, by the way.  I thought the pictures turned out great, what about you?”

“I - yes.”  He tried to ignore the image of Belle that had just pushed its way into his head.  “Yes, I thought you looked - okay.”  Okay?  Okay, you moron? She’s a fucking goddess, what is wrong with you?  Okay, my sainted backside…

Belle looked as though he’d spat in her face, blinking rapidly.

“Right,“ she said thinly.  "Uh - thanks.  I guess.”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” he said, wishing he had just sent her a bloody letter or something.  "I’m sorry, that came out wrong.“

"It’s okay,” she assured him.  "Really.“

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Gold wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.  She glanced down at the jug of water in her hands.

"Right,” she said again.  “Well, I was about to—”

“Of course,” he said quickly.  “I won’t be a moment, it’s just - there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?”

He tried to grasp at the words he had carefully constructed in his mind, the right words with which to ask her out, but his brain had run off on gleeful tangents, eagerly pushing inappropriate suggestions at him.  She was gazing up at him with those wide blue eyes, and he was tempted to take the jug of water from her hands and empty it over his head.

“Right,” he said.  “Uh - Belle, you - you know we’ve been friends for awhile now…”

He trailed off, hesitating, and she tilted her head to the side a little, her brow furrowing with mild curiosity.

“And,” he managed.  “And I wanted - I mean I wondered - uh - no, I mean I’d like—”

“Belle!”

Astrid’s sharp voice cut him off, and he stood there opening and closing his mouth, momentarily mute.  Belle turned to face Astrid, who had almost sprinted down the corridor towards them.

“Oh, thank goodness!” she gasped breathlessly, skidding to a halt.  “It’s your dad! They found him collapsed in the shop!  Suspected heart attack!  They’re bringing him in now!”

Belle had clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Heart attack?” asked Gold, a medical emergency returning the gift of speech to his parched throat.  “I’ll come with you.”

“Dr Whale’s there,” said Astrid, shaking her head at him as she handed him the jug of water.  “I just came to get Belle.”

She put an arm around Belle, who shot him a brief, frightened look and allowed herself to be led away at a brisk pace.  He stared after them, holding the water jug in his hand and feeling helpless.

Well, said his subconscious, with an air of satisfaction that made him want to scream.  You blew it.

[littleoldrachel]

Seventh chapter is (finally) up! Read it here on ao3, or here  on ff.net, or under the cut.  100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous |  chapter 7/100 - “I dreamed about you last night.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x 

Tw for anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight.

“I dreamed about you last night”

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it’s an effort to untangle his fists from where they’re clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that it wasn’t fucking real, get over it. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he’s been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For fuck’s sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just how much of this he’s supposed to take. How much more can he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly ridiculous. The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can’t remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he’s only thinking it because he’s exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It’s too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he’s suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus’ brain, and he’s spiralling; the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –

His lungs are tight again, only this time it’s like something’s sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he needs to do. The urge to hurt himself is a fierce, burning, boiling need beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there’s some kind of visible proof that the turmoil in his head is real and happening and valid – something that will make people not just listen, but hear him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as “distressed, but not a pressing concern” –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even attempt to stop them from falling.

(You need to call someone, his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms finally kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is past that, damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There’s an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he’s locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally – finally – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-up-I’m-awful-awful-awful rises so fast that it’s almost vomit-inducing. But then –

“Hello?” croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre relief-but-still-panic washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he’s woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning (selfish, selfish, selfish) –

“Prongs,” he manages, and hears James’ intake of breath.

Give me one second, Moony,” he whispers, and there’s movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he’s moved rooms. “I’m here, love, talk to me.”

“It’s – bad – “ Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to make it better.

“Breathe for me, love,” James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. “Did something happen?”

“Bad dream,” Remus’ voice cracks, and he hates himself, hates that he can’t handle a stupid nightmare, hates how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he’s nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he knows that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.

James doesn’t say ‘it’s okay, it wasn’t real, it’s over now, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’ doesn’t say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is scarier – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, “hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?” When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school’s science block up for sale. Remus doesn’t pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James’ expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, “how are we doing?”

Remus inhales, relishing in how easy it is now, and leans back against the headboard. “Better.”

“Good.”

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a thunk. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it’s not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

“What’s going on, love?” James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

“I… I haven’t been doing well,” he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn’t scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of ‘go on’ encouragement. “I can’t sleep. I can’t – everything hurts all the time. I – I – I –“ His chest is constricting once more, and this time he’s too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. “I don’t know what’s changed,” his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

“Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?” His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There’s a large part of him that is longing for James’ understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can’t do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock – two hours for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly does not understand what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, “no. No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It’s not a problem.”

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “No. Honestly, it’s fine.”

James makes a humming sound, “okay. Fine. But I’m coming over tomorrow after school, and we’re gonna talk.” He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he’s not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

“Thank you.”

Remus can’t speak – if he does, he thinks he’ll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

“I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow.” James hesitates. “Please take care. I’ll have my phone on all day.”

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, “I love you too. Thank you,” but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus’ chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow’s – or rather today’s – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It’s stale and stifling in here, but it’s far enough to the window that he can’t help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he’s slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown burning pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they’re gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm’s reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it’s the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It’s a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it’s severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there’s nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky’s bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because he hates this. He can’t keep doing this – he cannot.

Later that day, when he’s curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It’s only as he’s popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads ‘Pads <3 (5 messages)’.

Pads <3 (11:13): hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i’m here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

Pads <3 (12:15): do you want company?? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

Pads <3 (14:56): moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don’t remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

Pads <3 (14:57): you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don’t deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

Pads <3 (16:34): i’m sorry to do this bc you shouldn’t reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you’re ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i’m sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius’ messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

You (17:19): hey, sorry to worry you. I’m okay, I’ve been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

Pads <3 (17:21): moony! no no don’t apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do??

You (17:24): no it’s okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it’s fine [smiling face emoji]

Pads <3 (17:25): i mean. that’s not fine.

Pads <3 (17:26): prongs said he’s coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along?? it’s completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he’d called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James gets – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it’s because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that’s doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to try, he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it’s time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he knows Sirius will understand, it doesn’t stop the shame from mounting.

You (17:35): I’m really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I’m so sorry

Padfoot <3 (17:36): no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i’m here if there’s anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn’t shift, but Remus stares at the ‘i love you’ for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve anything good, the words don’t change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells vile, and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn’t much better, he knows, because he just doesn’t have the energy for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it’s not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn’t long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won’t care. James will understand. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how shit of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky’s litter tray, before there’s a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. “Moony!”

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James’ shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it’s overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus’ head, and says, “fuck, I’ve missed you.” Remus suddenly realises that he hasn’t showered in five days (disgusting, useless, lazy fuck), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

“It’s been literally a week,” Remus points out, though he adds quietly “I’ve missed you too.”

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he’ll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. “Exactly. A week without my moonshine.” He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You know I’ve been worse. Let’s clean up a bit though, yeah? It’ll help in the long run.”

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus’ cheek, “stop spiralling. This is not your fault. D’you want to talk as we tidy, or d’you want to wait?”

Remus’ chest tightens in anxious anticipation. “Tell me about your day?” he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of course he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can’t help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus’ bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus’ movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. “Sit down,” he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus’ side. (It’s different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it’s something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there’s a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an “it’s my treat.” Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

“It’s kosher, don’t worry,” James says, already munching on his first slice.

“It’s not – you didn’t have to do this, Prongs.” His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is more takeout, that he’s already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn’t fucking deserve any of this. It’s easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus’ heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

“How do you want to do this?” James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James’ eyes track the movement, and he says, “okay, maybe let’s start there?”

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge fuck you to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it’s an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

“Can I see your hands?” James says carefully. He waits for Remus’ assent, before gently turning Remus’ hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus’, and the tenderness with which he’s being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he is not worth such kindness. James’ expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus’ lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, “it’s been a while since you last did that.”

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “I – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even register it until it was too late.”

“What made you do it?”

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky’s position. “I was just – I was just so low and angry at myself. I just – I – I –“

“Breathe, Moony,” James says, tapping at Remus’ chest, and he nods distractedly.

“- I just wanted to hurt,” blurts Remus. “I wanted some kind of proof – that – that all this-“ he waves a hand around his head, “was real.”

“It is real,” James says immediately. “This shit is the realest thing you can feel.”

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. “I – I do – I know that. It just – I haven’t felt like this in a while. And it scared me.”

James is silent for a moment, and then says, “what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” Remus says finally, not meeting James’ unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be too much. “My fibro’s been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can’t get out of bed and everything is just so much and I’m gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time.”

“That was a lot of ‘fucking’s” says James lightly. “Keep going.”

Remus takes a shallow breath. “I’m just – unhappy –“ he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he’s in love with a man who is the actual definition of ‘deserves the world,’ but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and brilliant person. He has two jobs that aren’t completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it’s an income.

(He knows – he does know this – that this isn’t how depression works, that mental illness doesn’t just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

“I don’t understand why this is happening. Nothing’s changed. I’m not doing anything differently. It’s not supposed to be – I’m so tired.” His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has no reason to cry about this, he’s not even sad, he’s just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants out.

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James’ arms have tightened around him, and Remus’ cheeks are wet, and it’s too much, it’s all – too much, he can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’t –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it’s like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it all to stop. He’s vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he screams, wasting the last mouthful of precious air, because why won’t it stop. His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can’t breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything stop.

(Please G-d, let everything stop).

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he’s told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It’s hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like too much; even the feeling of James’ fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus could not feel guiltier if he tried. “Sorry,” he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it’s all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

“It’s okay,” James says immediately, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a pause, and then James sighs, and it’s an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus’ heart pang, because defeat is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. “Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?” James says softly, and even though Remus knows what’s coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. “Okay. Are you depressed?”

It’s easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn’t have to meet James’ concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has nothing to be depressed about, and nods again.

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Another nod.

Another pause.

“Do you want to die?”

And isn’t that the question? Because Remus knows what it’s like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen – to make that happen. He also knows what it’s like to want to not exist – because the two aren’t the same thing at all. There’s a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of ‘wellness’ isn’t perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he thinks he’s more the former of the two. Things aren’t all bad all the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he’s just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he’s not in the mood where all he does is leech the good from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he’s been to empty to even cry about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can’t get out of bed for wanting to just not exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and living, but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn’t pray often, he isn’t even sure if he believes in G-d, but he does know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn’t that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James does understand what it’s like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to them, trembling with nerves and wringing his hands. James is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it’s like to be too afraid to admit what’s happening to you.

He’s been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn’t have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he’s not able to.

“Can I hug you?” asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James’ lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. “It’s going to be okay,” James says just as gently. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ve got you.”

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won’t let him apply that same logic to himself, because the last thing he ever wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it’s only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

“You and I are going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning first thing. This can’t go on.”

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: “No – you have work, I have work-“

“This is a thousand times more important than work, Moony. I would choose you over any commitment every fucking time. When are you going to understand that?” He doesn’t give Remus time to answer, probably because he knows that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, “I can’t make you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-“

“I’ll go, I think – I want to go,” Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

“I – you – seriously?”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it’s the truth.

“You’re not going to be by yourself. I’ll be with you the whole way, if you’ll let me.”

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James’ chest as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, Moonbeam,” he whispers seriously.

(There’s nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven’t done the hard part yet, don’t be proud of me for finally admitting I need help, again) –

“The hardest part was telling someone,” James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. “And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this.”

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it’s something he’s told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it’s not something he can process. “What now?” he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. “I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep.”

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

“Do you want me to invite the others over?” James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn’t pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, “maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they’ll want to.”

“On it,” says James, already tapping out a message to them both. “Don’t be stupid, of course they’ll want to.” Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. “What am I ordering?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t,” Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he’s only just become aware of it.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Prongs-“

“Is this your fucking doctor again?”

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. “Don’t you think it’s better to listen to the ‘fucking doctor’ who actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Not if he’s trying to fat-shame you, then no.”

“He’s not – it’s not like that.”

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. “Well, I’m ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind.”

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing I love you without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter beams the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn’t curl his hands to hide the mess he’s made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, “I love you so much, Moony. You’re so fucking important to me.”

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius’ chest, his feet on James’ lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There’s a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you’re Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on Matilda. They’re barely a third of the way through before the day’s emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, “sleep. We’re here, I’ve got you,” and it’s like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn’t have to do it alone).

[agent-absinthe]

Excerpt from Honeyed Pt. 5

I won’t make any promises as to when this will fully be up by I hope this tides y’all over for a bit!

“What do you think about the current state of the Kingsman stocks and the company outlook?”  Percival asked, his gin and tonic lying forgotten in his hand as he and several others looked to Elise for her answer.

“Well, considering the fact that it’s been over six months since the company began its partnership with Microsoft I think it may be hitting that plateau of investing interest.  The stocks will probably fall a little, but I think Kingsman is in good enough health to afford to pay off some extra dividends and get that enticement back up.  Maybe offer a special deal to college students, they already love the brand and any promise of growth in their lives is always a welcome one.  I mean just by getting out there and talking about it on campuses could generate more cash flow than we have coming in from current holders.”

Elise took another drink of her cocktail and smiled at the sharply dressed business men, who nodded their approval and drank with her. Hamish had deposited her at the bar and went off to deal with some formal business matters, his colleagues becoming very curious about who Merlin was carrying around on his arm.  Percival had not expected an actual answer out of her, then again if anyone was going to bring in a gorgeous girl that knew her shit it was Merlin.  He was currently leaning against a table talking about quarterly results with several of their biggest stockholders including Joseph Hesketh, who was quick to ask about his date.

“She’s a cute little thing isn’t she?  Looks a bit young too, Hamish I didn’t take you as the uh, cradle robbing type.  Not following in Hart’s footsteps are you?”  Joseph’s eyes locked on to Eggsy across the showroom floor, the sugar baby brat was in line for a promotion that his son should be getting instead.

Merlin was on his fourth dram of good scotch so the insult didn’t sting as much as it should have, “She’s 23, tha’s not exactly a cradle robbing age.”

“My apologies, where did you find her?  She looks like she’s getting comfortable over there with Percival, seems quite friendly.”  He said it with a laugh, nodding to the bar where Elise had her hand over her mouth giggling at something the Software Developer said.

Hamish immediately scowled, his buzz turning his own insecurities to irrational anger in seconds, he huffed and turned back to Joseph downing the last bit of his drink before answering the question.

“Elise just likes to please, probably laughing at one of his fucking computer puns-“

He watched them talk excitedly to one another for several more minutes until Percival excused himself and Elise put a hand on his forearm as they said goodbye- an innocent gesture of friendliness.  Merlin took it as anything but.    

Elise was back at square one of sipping her drink alone when a younger man who didn’t seem so impressed with her knowledge slid across the bar to her side. He was handsome- curly hair, sharp cheekbones, a jaw of marble- and apparently didn’t realize who she walked in with.

“And who’s date are you then?  Must have cost him a fortune to have you all dressed up, although I will say the company knowledge is a very good touch.”

“Pardon me?”  Elise prayed she heard him wrong, her heart beginning to beat faster.

“Oh, drop the act.  Half of these old bastards in here have an escort or a whore on their arms instead of their wives.  You look far too uncomfortable in those diamonds and dress to be used to anything and I don’t see a name tag on you which means you are not part of the American sales team, obviously.  So the question still stands; are you an escort or are you a whore?”

She was caught in the headlights.  Eyes wide, heart hammering.  Was it that obvious that she didn’t fucking belong in here in these clothes? Was she that much of a low class fuck up?  

“Oi!  Charlie, how ‘bout you back the fuck up there, bruv.  Maybe try not to be such a posh fuckin’ prat, ya?”  Oh, Eggsy.  Thank fuck Eggsy.

This only made Charlie laugh, “Ah!  A sugar baby!  That was my next choice.  Ugh, do you lot just run in packs now?  God, I have to know who’s willing to pay to try and pull a Pretty Woman on you though. Is it Bors?  I bet it’s Bors-”  

Eggsy was aggressively protective of Elise, he remembered his first time being thrown to these wolves and dammit if he was going to let Charlie fucking Hesketh ruin Elise’s night.  He was prepared to make an absolute scene and embarrass the fuck outta Charlie, luckily there was no need for that because right at that time Hamish was making his way to them.  The look on his face less than pleased.  Elise didn’t notice it though all she knew was that he was coming for her and she wouldn’t have to stand around like a lost puppy.  

“Hamish!  Honey, Eggsy was just introducing me to one of the other U.K agents!”

The sudden terror on Hesketh’s face was enough to make Eggsy put a hand to his mouth to try and stifle the laugh that was going to bubble up.

“Hesketh, your father’s asking for ye, best go see to it.  And Eggsy, Harry is around here somewhere, go keep him out of trouble.”    

“Of course!  Lovely meeting your date, sir!”  Charlie turned sharply and drug his own feeble date along with him.

“Thank goodness you came back, I missed you.  I was starting to get really uncomfortable, these people are vultures- ah!  Hamish stop, Hamish that hurts.”

He had a possessive hand on around her upper arm, blunt nails biting into her as they paced across the room Merlin’s long and now quick gait made Elise have to hold up the front of her dress so that she wouldn’t tread on it.

“I do not appreciate you disrespecting me like tha’.”

“Disrespecting you? How?”  Elise felt like she had somehow been dropped into a nightmare.  What the fuck was happening?  

“Y’ were flirting.

Ah, Percival.  She rolled her eyes, "How? How was I flirting? I was trying to make a good impression!”

The hand around her arm tightens, nails now cutting into the skin. Hamish would wake up tomorrow with dried blood under them and have no memory of where it came from.  He pulled her closer to him and fixed his gaze on her, eyes heavy and dark with rage.  Fear now joined the growing shame as she looked up at him suddenly painfully aware of how small she was despite the heels that nearly put them on fair ground, but anger was also making its way into her system.

"Why are you acting like this?!"

"ME? You're the one soliciting with everyone else here!"

"Soliciting?! Hamish, you told me to socialize! What's wrong? Did you not know I was fucking smart? Did you not think I'd be able to talk to people here? I'm trying to look like someone who belongs here with you and not-" and you huff and look down embarrassed, Charlie’s words still echoing in her head.

"Like what? Oh like a paid date?  A whore?"

"... ya.”

He tosses her arm down and seethes, "Well that's all you are. I paid for everything on ye and I paid for you.  That makes you mine so, fuckin’ act like it.  Keep your mouth shut, stop flirtin’, and for fuck sake keep your hands to yourself.”

Elise turned her head away and blinked, fuck don’t cry don’t cry it’ll make the scene worse.   Bile was at the back of her throat, chest suddenly so tight she felt like she couldn’t fucking breathe.  Even though no one was watching them, Elise had never felt more humiliated in her life.  No one made her feel more humiliated than Merlin had just now, the whole relationship of trust and intimacy now broken down into labels.  The power dynamic more clear now than ever.

“I need a fuckin’ drink.  When I get back, ye better be here and have lost that attitude.”  Another scotch was definitely not what he needed, but at this rate nothing mattered.

Her voice was small and strained from trying not to cry, “You’re not who I thought you were.”

Hamish didn’t respond and instead stormed off leaving Elise on her own again.  She couldn’t stay here, not after that- he made it perfectly clear what he thought about their arrangement.  Made it clear that there was not a mutual respect, she was just some young piece of ass he could pay to carry around on his arm when it was convenient.  A panic attack was blooming in her throat, mascara already starting to run and blur her vision.  Elise was able to slip out the patio door before any of her sobs became vocal, how could she have been so fucking stupid?

“Somethin’s wrong.”  Eggsy had seen some of the exchange, saw Elise slip out.  His stomach was in knots.

“Darling, I’m sure everything is fine-“

“No, it ain’t.  Go stall Merlin, I need to make sure that El’s ok.”  

He handed Harry his martini and made for the door leaving the accountant looking a little bewildered.  It was easy enough to find her.  Elise was sitting on the steps leading to the gardens, it was a chilly night and most of the drunk crowd was happy to stay inside where it was warm.  To try and quell her sobs Elise was biting her fist, anything to keep the pathetic sounds from coming up.

“Elise?”  Eggsy knelt beside her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she instantly leaned into him and he held her, “What ‘appened?  Is this about what Charlie said- don’t listen to him!  He’s just a posh snob, don’t know what he’s talkin’ about.”

All of his words of comfort fell short as soon as she spoke, “Hamish called me paid for.  Basically said I was just his whore.  Eggsy, I-“

More sobs came up from her lips, but Eggsy already had his phone out to grab her an Uber, one arm still protectively around her shoulders.  His own anger making his blood boil, he had to get her out of here before Hamish fucked up even more.

“Shhh, I’ve got ya a ride, they’ll take ya back to Merlin’s so you can get your car.  Go home, take a shower, don’t think about him, love.  I’ll call you in the morning and we can figure out what to do.  If you want to end it ya got every right to.”

“If I leave-”  Panic showed plainly on her face.  Panic and fear.

“Hey, ‘arry and I will handle him.  He’s gonna have a lot to answer for tomorrow, what he did was fucked and ya don’t deserve to be treated like that.  Now come on, they should be pullin’ up front soon.”

The poor Uber tried talking to her but eventually just handed her a box of tissues and turned up the music, it was a merciful gesture and she made sure to tip them well.  Once inside Elise could feel the exhaustion and shame seep into her, filling every fiber like she had been infected by something.  After the dress, jewelry, shoes, and lingerie lay neatly folded on a chair in his bedroom she pulled on some spare clothes she kept at the house and left, wanting nothing more than to curl up in the shower at home and finish crying.  

[ryeimagines]

Touch - Derek imagine

For the anon who inspired the idea for this and which wouldn’t leave me alone until i finished it. Enjoy! Ps. The cookies are a little shoutout to one of my favourite authors who first came up with it and I have no accepted that as fact. Also, you cannot convince me Derek isn’t secretly a cuddle monster. 

Requested: Yes. Word count: 1838. 

It started off as an experiment after a random comment from Stiles, caught up in one of his usual rants about stuff random facts he stumbled upon during one of his deep dives into wikipedia. Pretty much like most everything that had happened to you, it was totally the energetic teenagers fault.

“Hey, did you know that hugs can actually reduce stress for weres?”He paused long enough to stuff some curly fries into his mouth.

“Really?” Scott questioned.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read online.” Lydia commented, not lifting her gaze from the book she was reading. And that right there was pretty much like a dare. And if there was one thing you could always count on, was that the sheriff’s son would never back down from one.

“Okay, so let’s try it out.”Stiles stood up, gesturing for Scott to get up on his feet and pulled him in right there in the school cafeteria. “Hey there buddy.”

“Well, did it work?” Stiles prodded as the duo pulled apart.

”How are you feeling Scott?” Isaac spoke up, eyes flicking between the pair.

“Good. Really good.”

“Holy crap, that actually worked.”

Shortly after that, you somehow became the unofficial pack plush toy, surrounded by cuddly monsters who craved your attention and touch. It was everything from a quick hug for Scott before his Chemistry test, to comforting Isaac after a nightmare. You didn’t know exactly when it happened, but somehow your room had turned into a hotel, wolves coming over for sleepovers. One time you ended up being pushed out of bed because there was too many people, after that you started putting mattresses on the floor instead so you could spread out and sleep in a pile. Another thing you never saw coming. Though you had to admit, it was nice how the bond grew stronger, as you got closer. Even Peter tried to get in on the action though you promptly shot him with Allison’s bow because hell no. The only one who didn’t partake was the younger Hale, not for lack of trying though. Stiles’ hugged Derek and got punched in the face, since that no one tried repeating it.

You could see right through that sulky facade and the furrowed eyebrows in annoyance. He was jealous, he wanted it just as much as the others but for some reason he was denying himself. It was with a pang you remembered that his last pack died years ago and no one had probably shown him any kind of affection since then. You had a bit of a breakdown after that one, resolving to fix this immediatly. You knew he would never ask for it, so you decided to do something about it because you couldn’t take it any longer. You waited for a while, biding your time to find a good moment before shutting that down realizing that was never gonna happen. So, instead, you struck one day after a particularly testy day fighting fae. Everyone was in a bad mood after that, so you did what you do best; cheering them up. You stuck around after the others had left the loft, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say, pouncing on him before he had a chance to react or move away. He promptly froze, though easing up after a little while of you refusing to let him go, you only squeezed harder. He was a werewolf, he could have pushed you off easily or picked you up and thrown you out the door but he didn’t. He just stood there, arms against his side, and let you cuddle him. Afterwards you left without a word, throwing him a soft smile over your shoulder as you left but that was that. He wasn’t much of a talker, and you didn’t want to force him into doing something he wasn’t ready for.

That was the catalyst, now adding the grumpy alpha to your list of strays showing up in your bedroom for some cuddles. Though with Derek it was different, you took things slower, not wanting to startle him and undo all the progress he’d been making. He would only ever come over when you were alone, he’d promptly left another time when Isaac and Scott showed up, and he would only stay for a little bit at first. You were used to your window being used more than your actual front door, so it didn’t surprise you anymore when someone showed up. At least Derek gave you a soft knock of warning before coming inside, most nights anyways. That first night he actually stayed over, he tumbled in, bloody and clothes torn with the most emotion you’d ever seen in those hazel eyes. You acted on instinct, pulling in into a firm hug, before cleaning him up and getting him some clothes and wrapping him up in blankets, laying down next to him, careful not to press against his wounds, but close enough for him to feel your body heat and picked up the book you were reading and gently ran your fingers through his dark hair with your free hand. His peaceful breathes helped calm your nerves and you fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. He was gone by the time you woke up, and avoiding you for a couple of days before you confronted him and told him he was an idiot and you were expecting him tomorrow night, no excuses.

If someone had told you a couple of months ago that you would be sharing a bed with Derek Hale, you’d have laughed in their face. You didn’t have much of a relationship at first, more like tentative allies than partners, but it had blossomed since you started spending time together without threat of imminent danger or saving each others lives. You would count him as a friend now, getting to know Derek the person and not Alpha Derek who’s angry and doesn’t know what he’s doing leading a pack of teenagers. You were talking a lot, about the pack and you tried helping him out the best you could, but also non-werewolf related things like books and movies. Or you’d just sit in silence, enjoying each other company reading or watching a show. You learned that Derek was not a microwave popcorn kind of person, they taste better in a pan, and he loves gingersnaps. Seriously, he ate a plate of them you’d made for a bake sale, managing to look guilty when you walked into the kitchen and caught him redhanded, crumbles on his shirt. 

He volunteered to help you make more. He’s now banned from the kitchen. 

Things were getting better though, in general, and with the pack. Since the others were able to smell Derek’s scent lingering on you, and after a serious talk, they started to include the sour wolf in things as well. Group hugs were now a mandatory thing after a successful day of kicking butts, or after a rough one. The pack had grown closer, and you could see the change in Derek as well, he seemed to be breathing a bit easier, more sure of himself and his place in the pack and as a leader. This wasn’t just a group of people forced together fighting, it was a pack. A family. The first time you saw him smile was after that group hug, it was half a smile but it was genuine, you could see it in his eyes. And it was beautiful, you wish you’d brought a camera so you could freeze that moment. Sadly it was promptly cut short by Chris Argent showing up.

The thing about being a human running with wolves, you were a weakness and therefore also the target of everyone trying to hurt the pack, or just general assholes who got their kick out of hurting kids. Frankly, with the amount of hospital visits since you moved here, you should have earned a free one by now. Mrs McCall was not amused by that suggestion, muttering about idiots as she finished changing the dressing on your arm. This time was a close call, and you would have a constant reminder everyday you looked in the mirror. The big bad of the week had almost succeeded in removing your heart. Thankfully Scott came bursting through the door and saved the day and you passed out, supposedly being carried by Derek all the way to the hospital. Yeah, there was a conversation that you did not want to have, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. You were officially discharged and sent home, ordered to rest and not doing any strenuous activities.

Which is why you were in your pajamas at 3pm, hair up in a messy bun having a Netflix marathon and stuffing your face full of snacks when something crashed on to the floor, startling you. Looking up, your eyes locked with familiar pools. If looks could kill, he’d glare a hole in your head. Oh boy. He looks pissed. You had seen him angry before, but not like this, not at you. You jumped up, subconsciously moving back towards the door like he was a wild animal. Though, to be honest in that moment he was.

“Derek-”

“What the hell where you thinking? Are you actually insane? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

“I was thinking that he needed to be stopped before someone else got hurt.”

“Someone did.” Which, fair point. Then suddenly, he was moving towards you rapidly and something inside you told you to run. Derek Hale is finally going to tear my throat out. Shit.

“I’m sorry I-” Something crashed into you, if it weren’t for the arms around your waist holding you upright you’d be on the floor right now. It took you a moment to process what was happening, then it hit you. Oh. Derek’s hugging me. He had never initiated one before. Now, he was clinging to you like you would float away if he let go and you realized he wasn’t angry, he was scared. Scared for you. Before you made the choice, your arms found their way around, returning the hug and you burrowed your face into his neck, his scent filling your nostrils. 

You weren’t sure of how long you stayed like that, but when he finally took a step back and fixed you with a stare, you missed his touch already. 

“Don’t ever do that again. You’re pack. They need you.” I need you. 

“I promise to try my hardest not to die. Okay? You won’t get rid of me that easily.” I’m not going anywhere. He scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Why did it have to be teenagers?” He sighed. 

“Oh hush you big teddy bear, you know you love me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Okay, whatever you say sour wolf. So, are you staying?”

“Yes.”

[zombizombi]

i think it’s fly when you stop by for the summer

The mountains were beautiful. Jeff loved going home in the summer -- Christopher and Bethany always visited with the kids for at least a month, and even though he’d gone back to Vegas early with them last year, Jeff had a feeling that staying out in the mountains and visiting Calgary would be good for him. Hell, any escape to a different place would be good for him. And, after a rough playoff season that ended with their elimination in the second series, it seemed like Kent could use a break. New York and his mother’s new family never sounded very relaxing, and Jeff remembered how lonely Kent had seemed last summer.

He would love it in Alberta. The mountains were like medicine. Jeff knew his parents wouldn’t mind his bringing someone home to visit, and Chris and Bethany would be thrilled to have extra hands with the kids. Kent would likely get stuck in Jeff’s room with him, but that was fine. They roomed together all the time on roadies, so it wouldn’t matter.

“Come to the mountains with us,” Jeff said. They were eating dinner before heading out to the NHL awards.

Kent looked up from his stir fry. “What?”

“This summer,” said Jeff. “Come visit. You’ll like it, I promise.” He took a large bite of his own food. “Chris and Bethany’ll bring the kids and my parents won’t mind, it’ll be great. You’ll love Calgary. I’ll take you to the Stampede. It’ll be fun.”

It took a bit more convincing than that, but eventually Kent agreed to come to Canada after seeing his mom in New York. His mother was pregnant with a new baby, anyway, and he didn’t want to be underfoot. Things sounded strained, in Jeff’s opinion, but he knew it wasn’t really his business.

His business mostly involved making Kent smile.

Jeff resolved to take Kent hiking and out to the rodeo and the dinosaur museum, the kind of fun, innocent things a guy ought to be doing during a summer off. They worked it out so that Kent would visit his mother in New York before coming to Calgary at the beginning of July, where he’d stay for a month and a half. When Jeff asked his parents if they minded, their response was enthusiastic. Apparently, Christopher had mentioned Kent to them, too.

He picked Kent up at the airport by himself, ignoring the curious stares of people who recognized him. Kent waved as soon as he saw him, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, man,” Jeff said. Kent’s flight had come in early. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” They headed for the car.

“How d’you feel about pancakes?” Jeff asked, putting on his seatbelt. “Because we’re about to eat so many fuckin’ pancakes.”

“It’s a sin to turn down breakfast food,” Kent said. He glanced at the radio. “What is this?”

“Nope,” said Jeff, “shut it. My car, my music.” He paused. “You know it’s Rush.”

Kent groaned.

After he’d fed Kent and shown him some of the city, Jeff took them home to drop off his stuff. As he’d suspected, his parents expected Kent to stay in Jeff’s room -- Christopher and Bethany and the kids all stayed with them when they visited in the summer, which meant that their guest rooms were full. Jeff took Kent down the hallway to his room, apologizing.

“It’s fine,” Kent said. “Seriously. I don’t care.” He dropped his bag on the floor.

“I can get an air mattress or something,” Jeff said. They’d slept in the same bed often enough that he hadn’t thought about it until he saw Kent’s measuring glance at the single queen sized bed in the room.

“Why,” Kent asked, “you worried I’ll cuddle you?”

Jeff laughed. Worried? Not at all. “You should be so lucky,” he said.

“Your cohort of women would kill me,” said Kent.

“Whatever,” said Jeff. He didn’t have a cohort of women. And if he had, he wouldn’t care about them, anyway.

When they went back downstairs, Jeff’s mother met them in the kitchen. “You boys going to the opening ceremony?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “Where’s Chris?”

“Julianna’s sick,” she said. “I don’t think they’ll go with you tonight. But you go and have fun --” she smiled at Kent, who smiled back. “Both of you.”

“Thank you for having me, ma’am,” he said.

Jeff leaned over, kissing his mother on the cheek. “We’ll be back later.”

“Your mom is so nice,” Kent said, as they walked out to get back in Jeff’s car.

“Yeah, she’s cool,” Jeff said. He turned the key in the ignition.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll get there in time for the dancing exhibition,” Jeff said. “My cousin’s dancing this year, so we gotta go. And then there’s a tipi raising contest, so I thought we’d go to that.” He glanced at Kent. “I’m assuming you don’t wanna stay out drinking all night, so… I thought we’d do other stuff.”

He felt warm seeing the small smile on Kent’s face.

It was crazy at the Stampede. They were there pretty early, but it was still full of people. Kent and Jeff blended right into the crowd, right up until the moment they walked into the Indian Village and Jeff caught sight of his cousin.

“Hey! Jonas!”

Jeff found himself quickly saying hi to a bunch of people he knew, being invited to come drum with old friends, and just generally losing sight of Kent pretty quickly. It was easy to do.

They spent most of their first night out in the Indian Village, looking at the tipis and wandering around. Jeff tried to encourage Kent to ask questions if he had any, and he had fun introducing him to various people he knew. By the time they went back to Jeff’s parents house, Kent was yawning -- he’d gotten up early for that flight.

Jeff knew Kent was tired when he didn’t dream.

The next day, Jeff figured that taking Kent to see as much cowboy bullshit as possible would be the most fun and typical way to pass time. There were only about a million things to do, so they started with agriculture and went from there. For some reason, Kent seemed to really like listening to people talk about what they did, and he definitely liked petting animals. His eyes went all soft as he stroked a horse’s nose, and Jeff smiled.

Asking him to come was a great idea. He’d have to remember to take Kent to the dog bowl.

After walking through vendor halls and looking at things for sale, Jeff was too hungry to do anything other than eat. They strolled around the midway, finding plenty of things to eat -- and drink. Kent surprised Jeff by actually drinking with him, and when they sat down to watch chuckwagon racing, he sat closer than usual. Jeff expected a fun, boisterous time, but he hadn’t counted on Kent being so upset by a wreck. They left after Kent’s third question in regards to whether or not the horses would be okay.

Maybe Jeff needed to alternate Stampede with something gentler.

He knew just the thing. A day trip to Banff would be beautiful. They could get up early to get in the car and make the drive over to the Banff from Calgary -- it took about an hour and a half, but the country was pretty and Jeff wouldn’t mind driving.

“Hey,” he said, as they walked up to the house that night, “you wanna skip Stampede tomorrow and go hiking? Stoney-Nakoda day isn’t until Tuesday, so it’s no big deal.”

Kent’s surprised expression brought a chill of regret to Jeff’s stomach. Of course he’d want to go hiking, away from all the people. “Yeah,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe Jeff was asking him to go somewhere quiet. “That’d be awesome.”

“Cool,” said Jeff. And then, “you know we’re not just gonna always party here, right? The Stampede’s just a big thing.”

“It’s fine,” Kent said.

His nightmare woke Jeff up halfway through the night.

In the morning, they woke up spooning and neither of them said anything. It was one bed, things happened. Right? Jeff went downstairs to make coffee before Kent had a chance to mention it.

It was an easy drive out to Banff, one Jeff had made what felt like hundreds of times. The sky was clear and they had strong coffee in hand, and Kent stared out the window, taking in the scenery.

“Pretty, huh?” Jeff said.

“It’s really beautiful here,” said Kent.

Jeff drove them to Waterfowl Lake’s campgrounds, parking the car in the cul-de-sac for Chephren Lake hiking and putting up a sunshade in the windshield. He figured they’d do Chephren first, and then if Kent wanted something more challenging, they could do Cirque Lake.

Jeff preferred Cirque Lake, but it was nice to pick something easy to start with.

It was beautiful no matter where they looked. The hike started with crossing foot bridges over the turquoise water of the Mistaya River. Kent stopped to stare at it for a little while, enchanted with the water.

“We haven’t even gone anywhere yet,” Jeff said. He laughed and tugged on Kent’s arm. “C’mon.”

Chephren Lake was a popular trail, not difficult at all. It was heavily travelled and relatively flat, but it lead them through the lush, aromatic forest. It was the smell of summer, comforting and serene.

They crossed log bridges over little streams and muddy patches, continuing through the forest until they reached the shoreline of Chephren Lake. It was even more blue than the Mistaya River, and the view was stunning. Rugged mountains surrounded the exquisite water, and it was a view that never ceased to make something in Jeff’s heart feel clean.

“Here we are,” Jeff said. A slight breeze stirred his hair. It had been a bit of a steeper climb to get all the way up, and it was hot out. He motioned with an arm. “Chephren Lake. And that --” he pointed. “That’s Mount Chephren.”

It was worth it for the look on Kent’s face. “Oh,” he breathed, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the mountains kissing the sky.

Jeff smiled. “Yeah,” he said, fighting the urge to grab Kent’s hand. “It’s perfect.”

He wasn’t looking at the mountains.

( missed the rest? find it on AO3! )

[clearsandwicheagle-blog]

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

"cheap car insurance for permit drivers

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

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cheap car insurance for permit drivers

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

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cheap car insurance for permit drivers

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

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Average amount of settle payouts from substandard insurance companies?

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cheap car insurance for permit drivers

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

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Cheap Auto insurance?

I got my G2 about 3 weeks ago, and i am trying to find a insurance company in the GTA that offers insurance for a primary driver for a low price. I am a teen and I would be driving a 2001 volvo S80 2.9L""

""Healthcare insurance is a good and necessary product, that can literally save your life...?

...in many situations. Why are Conservatives playing the ridiculous charade that Obama is some horrible tyrant for doing his best to make sure every American has it?

Liability Car Insurance for another state?

Hi, I would really appreciate if someone could give me an answer to resolve this situation: Facts: 1- I legally own a car in the US, currently I'm overseas. 2- My friend has a complete power of attorney 3- Car was registered in California and now is staying in Virginia for almost a year. 4- I put the car on Nonoperational status with CA DMV and canceled insurance in 08.2008. 5- I need to make my car drivable again, and my friend has to move it to MD where she lives. 6- To put car back on road with CA plates I should renew the registration with CA DMV. 7- CA DMV requires the liability insurance before registration. 8- My friend was at the insurance company (Progressive Insurance) and they say, they cannot insure the car with Californian liability unless the car is physically in CA. Wnen I'll be back to US in couple of months I have to drive car back to CA, because I study there so my residence is CA. Can anyone tell me please how this situation can be resolved? - I don't wanna sell my car - registration with MD MVA is the last expensive and unwanted option.""

Obama waives auto insurance?

Obama waives auto insurance?

Questions about serial numbers and home insurance?

In an event of property loss or robbery and you have to report to the homeowner's insurance, should you give them the serial #'s of all items lost or stolen or should you give them the list of serial numbers the moment you start insurance?""

Can my auto insurance be lowered if I keep it in a garage and don't drive it for a year?

The engine died on a car we're financing, can't sell it and can't fix it until we have the money which is estimated to be around February next year. We plan on parking it in our garage until we get it fixed next year. We have to continue to insure it since it's financed but do insurance companies offer lower rates on vehicles that aren't driven in scenarios such as this?""

How much are you paying for your kids car insurance?

Recently, I brought my daughter a 2002 Camaro v6 for 7,800 with taxes included. I pay 127 dollars a month for insurance. She is about to be 16 and able to drive on her own. She is very responsible, gets great grades and has very few friends. How much do you pay for your child's insurance? I heard that buying them a sports car would make the insurance go very high but that hasn't been the case.""

""How do i get an car insurance quote without giving (name, address, social security no, etc)?""

A 2001 toyota sienna xle, for a 15 year old driver W/ Learners Permit living in bellevue, WA never had one ticket or accident, mostly A's grades, employed PS Not 15 yet but am employed, just wanna know when the time comes""

Why is my insurance qoutes so high!?

hey all, I am a 17 year old male, live in cumbria. i realise this is a c rated insurance post code, i understand that. what i do not understand is why when i put in qoutes for the exact same car, exact same details all bar the name, my insurance skyrockets. i get qoutes of 3200 on a corsa 1.0 and the like (small, 1.2 or less cars) whereas friends, even 1 of which lives 5 doors away from me, get qoutes of about 2400. why is this? i understand the post code part, but the thing is all my friends being qouted live in the same area, in the same town, same estate in fact, our first four letters of our postcodes are the same, i thought this was what determined the post code factor. im currently a student, ive put down i have held my license for 4 months, i am the registered owner and keeper of the car, i am the policy holder, even added a parent with 30+ years experience on (which by the way only saved me 100) and i got 3200. my friend on the same street got 2400. why is this? also, can anyone recommend a cheap insurance company, as a young driver? eg. under 19 really, because i know car insurance has almost doubled in like 3 years. no wonder people are illegaly driving with this daylight robbery scam called insurance. thanks""

What is the cheapest car insurance?

What is the cheapest car insurance?

Auto insurance question.?

I was in an accident and my auto insurance has a limit of 5000 medical. I went over the $5000 medical bills. Will my private health insurance cover the overage?

Is there affordable Health Insurance for a jobless 23 year old?

Hi. I'm a 23 year old female college student and I don't have a job. I turned 23, May 23 and am untterly confused about how to obtain health insurance. I don't have a job (not from lack of trying) and I desprately need to see a dentist. I don't know how this insurance thing goes. I usually just ask my mom who to go see and I go and see them, but since I'm cut off this is difficult/impossible. I appreciate all answers (though I beg you to make them useful answers). Thank you!""

Can my fiance add me to his insurance plan?

and is it more convenient than individual? (insurance through his work)

How much is a g35 coupe insurance?

I am a 17 male and am about to buy a 2004 g35 and was wondering how much insurance was. I have a clean slate, no accidents or tickets. I have farmers insurance and was wondering how much my monthly insurance would be roughly? I have a good gpa of above 3.0 so doesn't that give me a discount?""

Question about car insurance? (Progressive)?

So I am 19 and currently on my parents car insurance plan still. When I moved out the first time they put a hold on my car insurance because I didn't feel the need to have a car while living downtown. I moved back in with my parents for a few months to look for a new place and I got back on the insurance and now I am about to move out again permanently back to the city but this time I want to take my car with me. I will be changing my primary address and getting a new drivers license for that state (My family is in Indiana and I am moving back to Chicago). I will be going to school full time in that state as well as living there so my question is... does anyone know if I can stay on my parents car insurance if I am no longer living in their home/state?

Connecticut best car insurance?

What is the best CAR insurance in Connecticut? If you are in Connecticut do you recommend your car insurance? Thanks!

Do insurance rates go up if i get a lift?

i want to put a lift on my truck, but i dont know what that would do to the insurance if anything. its a 1994 silverado, extended cab, short bed, 1500. plz no stupid spam answers!""

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

cheap car insurance for permit drivers

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-much-more-would-my-car-insurance-cost-i-went-from-ethan-moore/"