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victhinks · 1 year

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Pay For Your Liberty

For Lockwood & Co. Angst week, Alternative Prompt: There's No Way Out | hopelessness ; @lco-angst-week

Posted on AO3

TW: Panic Attack, Anxiety Attack, Suicidal Ideation

When Inspector Barnes shoved the paper over to him, Lockwood held his breath. 60, 000 pounds of damage repair was a lot of money his agency — he did not have. It felt as if the floor had fallen away beneath him and he was in freefall, rushing towards the hard ground with nauseating speed.

“Insurance will cover,” he told Barnes, voice strangled from the strain of rising panic inside of him. He needed to get out of here, get fresh air, take a breath and stop his hands from shaking under the inspector’s watchful gaze. Anything, to get out of here.

Lockwood knew the case was not covered by insurance. Before setting up Lockwood & Co., he had spent weeks painstakingly working through the files and documents, the entire bureaucratic nightmare that was the process of founding an agency. Of course, he had thought about insurance and turned the papers of a carton worth of files and binders to memorize all the conditions and offers provided by all insurances available to him.

None of them covered cases where the agents went against DEPRAC’s official recommendations and guidelines at a humane price, so he did not insure anything that deferred from the status quo.

Using a magnesium flare indoors was a fire hazard and strongly recommended against by DEPRAC and the Fittes manual, as well as anyone with common sense. Lucy had saved his life with it though, and had she chosen not to act, it would have been a hopeless situation for him.

It was abundantly clear however, that the insurance would not care for that.

Barnes knew this, and told him as much. “If you fail to pay your debt to Mrs. Hope in the next two weeks, I will shut you down.”

Lockwood felt dizzy. Barnes’ gaze was heavy on him, assessing him, judging him, waiting for him to fail, make a wrong move so he could snatch away the last thing keeping him alive—

He gave Barnes a sharp smile in return, hoping it was convincing enough. “I will settle my debts in time, Inspector,” he declared, rushing his words to distract from the shakiness with which they were delivered. Lockwood pushed himself into a standing position, bracing his hands on the table to keep himself steady. “Good day.”

And he was gone, rushing through the endless gray hallways in a haze. Where was the exit? He needed fresh air.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, when he was finally out on the streets, away from DEPRAC’s all-seeing eye. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling a tide of blinding panic approaching him.

What was he to do? There was no way he could pay this immense fee in two weeks!

Breathe, he reminded himself, blinking away the shimmer of tears that had gathered in his eyes and taking a few shallow breaths. Not ideal, but it would do.

He could not afford to lose it now, he had to get home and figure out how to fix this mess. In a daze, he started walking through the streets, mind racing for options on how to make that absurd amount of money in practically no time.

The world around him was dulled to vague noises seemingly coming from miles away and Lockwood found himself mildly surprised when he stood on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row. His legs had carried him there on their own volition, he had been much too deep in thoughts to take notice of a single street, hearing Barnes’ ‘I will shut you down’ echoing through his mind over and over again.

When he entered the kitchen, Lucy and George sprang up and Lockwood was hit with a wall of noise. With difficulty he realized they were a string of questions directed at him.

“Are you hurt?” Lucy’s voice barely registered through the pounding of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears. He felt faint.

“Later. Can we please do this later, I really need to sleep,” he said in answer, wishing to earn a few hours to himself and calm down, devise a plan on how to fix this, on how to save the agency and himself.

Retiring with a final nod, Lockwood went to his room and softly clicked the door shut behind him before leaning against it, loosening his tie.

He glanced to his desk, seeing the binders overflowing with legal documents of his agency and household expenses and contracts. They were taunting him, suffocating him with their mere presence. A painful reminder that he was on his own now, no supervisor, no parents — alone in every choice he made, alone to carry the consequences.

It was enough to make Lockwood finally break, sliding down his door until he sat on the ground, knees drawn tightly against his chest.

This was pathetic. He was fine, he just needed to find a way out of this mess.

And he was sure he would — Wouldn’t he? — he had faced worse already.

In the past twenty four hours, he had nearly lost his newest associate, been attacked by two separate Type Two’s (one of which he had been entirely unaware of), been nearly killed by said Type Two, set a building on fire, jumped out of a window and been given a fee that would most certainly cost him his agency—

A violent sob interrupted his train of thought, wracking his frame harshly. The overwhelming feeling that he was choking, unable to breathe, made Lockwood whimper quietly, trying to keep his heaving intakes of breath as silent as possible and curling further into himself.

They could not know, this was his burden to carry. His name on the door, his responsibility.

That did not mean he did not long for a pair of arms to encompass him in a tight hug, helping him calm down. Or soothing words whispered against his hair, gentle reassurances that everything would be alright, would turn out just fine.

He could not have that. His name on the door meant he was responsible now, for everything. He called the shots and he bore the consequences of his agency’s actions. Which left him to deal with their debt of 60,000 Pounds.

For an instant he wished Lucy had just let him die.

It would have been so much easier to be gone, not have to deal with this shit and the hell of a life lead to at least have something. The world they lived in was dangerous, but he could have at least gone for a job with a safety net instead of throwing himself head over heels into his own agency.

I’d be dead, then. Lockwood’s chuckle at his own thoughts sounded hollow to his own ears. Perhaps I will be by the end of the month.

If he lost his agency, there’d be no telling what he’d do. Exploring the bottom of the Thames seemed like a pretty great guess.

But it was not the end yet and after he regained control of his breathing, stopped shaking quite so noticeably and cleared the tear stains from his face, Lockwood left his room with one final glare at the binders stacked on his desk.

It was time to fix this. So how to go about it?

He could take another loan on his house, but the thought alone made his heart ache painfully. Taking the first loan to set up the agency had been difficult enough and left him awake at night sometimes, terrified of losing his house and the last thing he had left of his parents. He had made sure he could pay off the loan for at least six months without any income as a security net. Otherwise, he felt like he would go insane with fear.

But a second loan on the house would be a volatile investment and he did not think he could bear it. What was the alternative, though? Lose the agency and kill himself for lack of purpose afterwards?

Not quite there yet. Concentrate!

He could not borrow money, so he had to make it. They had to take a few prosperous cases and the money would flow in in no time. Right? Definitely.

So Lockwood entered the kitchen, filling George and Lucy in on his predicament and presenting his plan. “We’ll just take on a few big cases and it’ll be all settled,” he stated confidently, the bad press in the paper and the canceled cases pushed to the back of his mind because this had to work.

“Lockwood—” Lucy started, eyes big and filled with disbelief. The ringing of the phone cut her off and he darted out of the kitchen to escape the air of resignation surrounding his friends, well, colleagues, employees. This had to work.

“Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co. How may I help?” he said easily, the well practiced greeting rolling of his tongue without a hitch and making him sound more confident than he actually was.

“By firing Lucy Carlyle,” the inspector’s voice responded and just like that, Lockwood started shaking again. Lucy had enormous talent and she might very well be their best shot at landing a big case if the research into Anabel Ward’s ghost was anything to go by.

They could not do this without Lucy. And Inspector Barnes knew that. “I’m sure you have more important things to worry about,” Lockwood said, gambling for time to figure out how he could get DEPRAC off of his back. But the inspector would not budge.

“Your agency is a big problem,” Barnes said, making Lockwood flinch. DEPRAC was a powerful enemy to have and he had tried his best at staying below their radar. If they wanted Lockwood & Co. gone, it would be only a matter of time until they found something to shut them down: a fee too high for him to pay, a contract he’d missed, a box left unchecked in all the papers he’d signed. A mistake he made, big enough to cost him his life. “Get rid of her, Mr. Lockwood.”

He heard the line disconnect and closed his eyes tightly against the desperation clawing at his chest again. Lucy’s voice behind him sent a sharp pain through his heart, “Who was that?”

This was impossible. This was hopeless.

How could he possibly find 60,000 Pounds in two weeks and convince DEPRAC to leave Lucy alone.

Lockwood turned to face them — Lucy and George — and their soft gazes of concern and worry were enough to remind him that it was his responsibility to figure out how to keep them all afloat.

“Wrong number,” Lockwood lied easily, putting the phone back.

They did not need to know.

“I’ll fix this,” he telled George later, promising the same thing to Lucy, who just regarded him with a tight lipped smile and pity in her eyes.

He just hoped he could.

#not me completely forgetting about the bonus day #typing this in a frenzy #anyway so sad Angst Week is over #this was so much fun #lockwood and co angst week #save lockwood and co #lockwood and co

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365elephantsoap · 2 years

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REVERSE-THINKING IN EXPERIMENTAL DESIGN

I started writing this post weeks ago after reading this article Hypothesis-driven fluorescence microscopy - the importance of reverse-thinking experimental design because it pertains to my job. The article started feeling like a personal attack. So, I started reevaluating the goals I set at the beginning of the year, but some of the blocks I’d put into a particular place shifted into a new place. It’s like I built a very specific pyramid structure with alphabet blocks sometime in January and now that structure looks like steps, really wonky steps like the ones in my basement. That last one is a doozy.

I have been writing here, spilling my guts out for all to read for twenty two years. With each posting, I think I’m being real vulnerable and brave in my sharing, but honestly, I never get that queazy-oh-my-god-i-can’t-believe-i’m-putting-this-out-there feeling when I hit the ‘publish’ button. That queazy-oh-my-god-i-can’t-believe-i’m-putting-this-out-there feeling has happened more times in this year than ever before and has had nothing to do with blogging. At the beginning of the year, I filled out a form answering some really hard question, for Self Care Circle. The questions were part of Human Design and the answers determine what kind of human you are. I am a Generator. Look, you know me. You know how I feel about auras and energy bodies, but I have to admit that there is something in the description for Generator that resonates. As a Generator, I am not a chaser of life. I am at my best when I have to make a decision or have an interaction if the moment comes to me. I need to wait for the moment.

Well, the moment came or I’ve gone off script.

I saw a thing and when I saw it, my heart said “yes!”. For a week, I sat with that yes while doing nothing but thinking about that yes. And I know I’m being vague, but I’m just going to have to be vague about the thing because the thing is not important (yet). The important part is that the thing I saw made me really question my own complacency and complete lack of ambition. I settle into whatever is comfortable and easy, never really pushing myself. This thing caused me to push. It’s made me giddy and simultaneously nauseated. I’ve had to think about what it means to feel valued and if where I am currently is meeting that need to feel valued. Is feeling valued in what I do important to me? I think it might be.

Just a little.

I have no expectations. Either something will happen in regards to my yes or nothing will. For me it’s enough that I did the thing that I was scared to do and put myself out there in a really vulnerable way.

#authentic #do the thing #yes!

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veliseraptor · 2 years

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okay i just have to...well! taking a risk here but the fact that I feel like I’m taking a risk here is sort of part of the problem.

so the thing is:

I’m starting to be (have been for a bit) genuinely a little distressed by the way people on this webbed site talk about feminism and misogyny, which is to say that it’s started to seem like the subject of misogyny in and of itself is “terfy,” or tied to white supremacy, and therefore suspect. that any discussion of the oppression of women and patriarchy (a real thing!) is assumed to be the prerogative of terfs, if not hedged around with disclaimers (and sometimes even with). the “signs of terfs” lists that go around every so often and include...very general tenets of feminism come to mind.

and I just...yeah, okay, I have skin in this game, but I feel like there’s been some loss of sight of the fact that (for instance) transmisogyny is misogyny, that the misogyny in there isn’t incidental (that it is, in fact, about women); or that misogynoir is also misogyny: that half of the portmanteau isn’t race-specific but actually about gender.

it feels like there’s been this full swing in leftist circles in particular where misogyny is incidental or presumed nonexistent or at best subordinate to other causes, and at worst an imagined phenomenon used to prop up bigotry.

and that’s a problem! actually! if nothing else because it means ceding all the ground of talking about misogyny as a real thing that all women do experience (yes, including trans women, including women of color, in a sense where it is still about them being women specifically) to terfs. and do I need to explain why that’s a problem?

if you surrender discourse about an issue (and I mean discourse in the classical sense, not the wank sense) so that the only people talking about it are people with bad politics, the people who want to talk about that issue are going to end up gravitating toward and finding solace with the people with bad politics. and that’s bad, because the problems are real, and the solutions that people are being offered do a lot of harm - but those people looking for solace and a place to talk about their suffering may not be finding other options.

additionally, not to pull out my ~credentials~ but speaking as a Jew on the left: there’s also something particularly painful about seeing yourself re-marginalized by people who you agree with, who you’re aligned with, who you want to be in solidarity with. it feels different - hits different - than hearing it from someone “outside the house,” as it were. and I think it’s important to acknowledge, for strategic reasons if nothing else, the alienation this sort of dynamic generates among potential allies.

and to be extra clear, just in case: I’m speaking from a place where I do want that solidarity. intersectionality demands it, honestly, because people can occupy multiple identities - but intersectionality doesn’t just mean particularizing marginalizations into “combinations.” transmisogyny is a particular phenomenon that occurs at an intersection of identities - but it is also transphobia, specifically, and misogyny, specifically. not just a smoothie blend of both.

just, I don’t know. think about it, maybe.

#lise has opinions #i feel vaguely nauseated hitting post on this but #i've written things about it like three times in the last few weeks and i just. maybe someone else other than me needs to read it #because i've felt very lonely about it on a personal level #and idk. i'm tired and things are bad and i just kinda wish sometimes #anyway. yeah

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firehousewithaview · 2 years

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It’s Just A Day (But It’s Your Day)

It’s taken so so so long, but I’ve finally finished the prompt that @justsmilestuffhappens sent in so very long ago. Like, it was before season 5 even started airing, that’s how long I have been slamming my head against it. But I finally got it to an acceptable enough stopping place. I’m so sorry this took so long and I really appreciate the prompt. Hope you don’t mind I got a bit carried away.

The prompt was: Eddie planning buck's birthday maybe? But not sure if canon s5 or not because Maddie might be M.I.A. for a bit Would he go all out as buck's 30 or something more simple just him Christopher buck and or the other immediate firefam

It’s posted to AO3 here

it’s posted with a second chapter where I put in the totally self-indulgent Eddie & Maddie scene I wrote that didn’t really fit the story but I liked enough to keep anyways.

Eddie never quite understood the big deal with birthdays until he became a father.

Until then, he was ambivalent to the whole concept, taking each one as it went past and celebrating other’s when he was invited. His opinion on them took a full about turn when he realized he was missing the celebration of his son being on this earth a full year while he was in a desert half a world away.

Since coming home, or at least to LA, Eddie has made a concentrated effort to celebrate his loved one’s birthdays, much to Pepa and Abuela’s frustration. Pepa still hasn’t forgiven him for his attempt at a nice dinner his first year in LA, though now she brings it up with a teasing look in her eye instead of looking vaguely nauseated over the memory.

Which might be why he feels blindsided when Christopher tells him, in no uncertain terms, that they are having Buck’s birthday sleepover at their house at the end of the week.

A thousand responses form then float away as he stares at his son. He’s standing at the edge of the couch with his arms crossed and a no nonsense expression, and Eddie gets the uncomfortable thought that he learned this particular pose and face from him.

“We are?” He’s pretty sure they hadn’t made plans, is very sure he would remember a birthday party he is supposed to host for his best friend while there’s still a virus out there, but at the same time, the frown on Christopher’s face is set in a way it rarely is.

The look he gets for that is definitely something Christopher picked up from him. “Yes.” He stresses as if this should be obvious. “I asked if we could have a sleepover on Friday and he said I have to ask you.” He must see that Eddie is about to say something because he rushes on. “And Friday is his birthday and when I asked him what he was doing, h-he said he didn’t know.” He huffs a bit and sticks out his bottom lip. “He doesn’t know, dad! On his birthday!”

Finally catching up, Eddie feels his mouth start to pull down because he actually hadn’t realized Buck’s birthday was so close.

And then hits keep coming because Christopher, seeing his face, seems to think a no is on the horizon, so he starts babbling faster. “And- And- We never celebrated Buck’s birthday together before!” He seems genuinely distressed by this, hands starting to flutter. “Last year I was still with Abuela and before that he was still gone where we couldn’t call him, and before that I didn’t know his birthday, and we only knew him that long, but he should still get to have a good birthday here with us because we love him and you need to make people you love feel special so they know we’re happy they were born!”

By the end of his rant, Christopher has his hands flying through the air in a way that screams Buck so much, Eddie has to clear his throat a little to beat back his emotions. He really lucked out with this kid. “Hey, bud, take a breath.” Eddie soothes, reaching out in a placating gesture. “Yeah, we can have Buck here for a birthday sleepover.” Which is a bit surreal to say because Buck has stayed over a lot in the last few months, especially after the shooting and during Eddie’s healing, but in all that time, it wasn’t necessarily a sleepover, more of a convenience or reassurance reason.

Christopher lights up. “Awesome!” He bounces a bit and windmills his way into a hug when he almost over balances. “It’s going to be so fun!” His back patting from the hug becomes insistent slapping as he pulls away. “We need to tell him now!”

Seeing the time, Eddie smothers a laugh. “It’s time to get ready for bed, but we can see if he can do a video call to tell him and say goodnight.” Squinting, Christopher peers at him for a few beats longer, as if gauging how likely he is to get away with insisting on now, before letting out a big sigh and leaning his head back. “Fine.” He relents, turning to head back to his room.

Eddie stretches for his phone on the coffee table, noting he already has an unread message from Buck.

do you think a goose electrocuted on a powerline is cooked enough to eat

With the instincts of a father of a 10 year old, Eddie is hitting ‘call’ before he really thinks it through.

“Please tell me this is one of your hypotheticals.” He starts in as soon as he hears the line connect.

Buck lets out a laugh on the other end. “Hi, Eddie. Good to hear from you too, Eddie.” He mocks. “No, Eddie, I’m not actually eating electrocuted goose.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, falling back against the couch and craning his neck to see where Chis is and if he actually went to start his night time routine. “We both know I’m over half of your impulse control, Buckley, and I have a healthy paranoia over the times I’m not there.”

Buck laughs. “I’ll have you know my impulse control works just fine when you aren’t here.”

“Really now.”

“Yeah,” Buck says brightly, “It’s not my fault the little voice in my head is starting to sound like you when you’re using your ‘very disappointed dad’ voice.”

That rips a laugh from Eddie too. “Yeah, well, you’ll be happy to know that one finally came back to bite my ass.”

“What?” Buck’s confused voice has Eddie picturing the exact face he is making, including his head cocked to the side a little. He stopped denying he finds it cute ages ago and now just lets the fond smile slip onto his face as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, Chris pulled out all the stops today.”

Across the line, Buck sounds a bit awed. “Now I’m kind of wishing I’d seen it.” He still has laughter in his voice. “What did you do to him, Eds?”

Eddie lets out a squawk of indignation. “I didn’t do anything!” He huffs. “He was just very insistent about this birthday sleepover on Friday and thought I was going to say no, I guess.”

“He has a birthday party on Friday?” Buck asks, laughter finally gone.

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Like you don’t know that.”

“No?” The confusion is back again. “He asked to have a sleepover on Friday when I was leaving yesterday, but I’m sure we can move it.”

Now Eddie’s confused. “What? Why would we move it?”

“So Chris can go to the birthday sleepover?”

The pieces finally click. “Buck.” Eddie sighs, exasperated. “That is the birthday sleepover.”

Well. The pieces click together for him. “Chris’s birthday was three months ago?”

The genuine confusion, that Eddie knows well enough to hear concern starting to creep into, in his voice sends a wave of fondness rippling through him. “Yeah,” He leads patiently, “which means the person we know who has a birthday on Friday is…?”

There’s a few beats of silence before Buck says, “Oh shit, it’s my birthday.”

That’s not the reaction Eddie was going for. “Did you just forget your own birthday?” He demands. The determination on his son’s face makes more sense now.

“Forget is a strong word.” Buck says sheepishly. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

Which is fair, but also a bit frustrating. Buck has the whole station’s birthdays memorized, down to Alan the grouchy maintenance man, and insists on acknowledging them. For his last birthday, Eddie came home to a family dinner with Pepa, Abuela, Christopher, and Buck arranged in his backyard so they could socially distance but still be together. And they combined forces for Christopher’s last birthday, trying to make it as special as they could while still being safe, which meant a cabin out near Sequoia National Forest, a telescope, and a big book of California native wildlife that Christopher was over the moon to use. And the first year had included Disney World because, as Buck put it, “It’s his first birthday in Cali!”.

So Eddie can understand being busy, but at the same time, what the hell. “Then I guess it’s a good thing Christopher has your back.” He teases, going for light but landing closer to sharp. “So you have plans for Friday now.”

There’s something almost reluctant about Buck’s voice when he says “Yeah, it’s a plan.”

It’s weird, but not weird enough to call him out on, so Eddie just heaves himself off the couch as he says, “Chris wants to talk to you too.”

All weirdness has gone from his voice when Buck demands, “Then switch me over and pass me to my favorite Diaz.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie walks into his son’s room and forgets any weirdness at all.

~`~

Eddie thinks nothing of it when he mentions Buck’s birthday sleepover at work, but clearly that was a mistake.

It’s one of those ‘death by a thousand cuts’ kind of days, where people are being stupid just to be stupid but they all happen to be doing it today. The calls aren’t hard, necessarily, but they are tedious. They’re fresh off a minimal injury car wreck where a driver was arrested after going after the person he hit and all Eddie can think of is getting himself another cup of coffee. It looks like Chim had the same idea while Hen and Bobby are scrounging for food. Buck is on the couch with his headphones already back in, determined to finish the documentary he started earlier. Chim had been jokingly lamenting how none of them know how to make normal friends anymore and turned to Eddie to back him up.

And now the silence in the kitchen is deafening because Eddie said, “My best friend is choosing to celebrate his 30th with a sleepover with my son, so I really can’t help with this whole normal friendship thing.”

There’s still movement outside the loft but all the people in his immediate vicinity are statues, which is beginning to freak Eddie out, so he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “What? It’s not that weird.”

Finally Hen seems to break herself out of it, a massive smile taking over her face. “I can’t believe you, Eddie!” She’s close to a cheer, but keeps her voice down with a quick eye flick towards Buck. “How’d you manage that?”

“Manage what?” Eddie asks, confusion thick in his voice.

Chim goes back to pouring his coffee. “Get Buck to see you on his birthday.” He shakes his head, leaning back against the counter and keeping a steady eye on the couch. “He’s been militant since he started about having it off and usually no one can reach him.”

Eddie feels his face crumple even further into confusion. “Really?” He muses around another sip of coffee. “That’s weird, Christopher just asked him and Buck agreed.” No need to mention it seems like Buck forgot about his own impending birthday.

Understanding alights all three faces near simultaneously, even Bobby who has yet to enter the conversation officially. Eddie doesn’t need to be psychic to know they’re all thinking about Buck doing anything for Christopher.

Just as Eddie opens his mouth to see if anyone else knows why, the alarm sounds.

He can just ask them later.

~`~

Later never comes because the rest of the shift is rough.

A house fire takes them nearly 5 hours to finally put out, and they only had fifteen minutes at the station before a car wreck involving a motorcycle called them out again until the sun had set.

No one is in the mood to talk after that one, everyone pulling themselves back together in their own ways. Chim and Hen have both taken off to call their families while Bobby is standing in the kitchen and contemplating the contents of the fridge.

And Buck is on the couch staring blankly at his phone, hair curling where he hadn’t bothered slicking it back after his shower.

Eddie had been the one to all but throw him into the showers.

One of the car occupants had still been bleeding a little as Buck had reached in to help her, and flecks had gotten on his face above his face mask. He hadn’t reacted besides a small flinch, but Eddie found himself unable to look at his face yet unwilling to stray further than arms length away. He’s also trying not to think about the pinched look Bobby had gotten when he saw Buck’s face afterwards, mostly because there are too many things he could be thinking about to count and that’s not conducive to being functional for the rest of the night.

Pausing, Eddie gives himself a few beats to really appreciate that they’re here, back at work with his family right next to him, lets that begin to chip away at the tangled web of steel wool that had curled around his throat earlier.

Then he throws himself onto the couch next to Buck, close enough that his thighs are aligned all the way up and his arm is on top of the other’s.

“So it’s about 8:45,” Eddie starts, already wiggling around to get his phone out of his pocket because he had been distracted as he sat down and now has to basically prop himself into Buck as he digs in his pockets. “I think we can catch Chris before he’s asleep.”

Buck huffs out an amused sound. “Was just thinking that.” He holds out an airpod into Eddie’s peripheral vision. “Here, I can call on mine.”

Finally getting his phone free, Eddie turns to face his friend. “We are not doing that again.” He deadpans. “I learned my lesson. You keep your phone to Google things on and I will keep my peace of mind.”

“Eds,” Buck sighs, all longsuffering, like Eddie is being absurd. “Are you still on that?”

“You left up pictures of maggots on my phone!”

“Well Chris asked what kind was in her cheek!”

“You’re the one who forgot to close it.” He presses the video call next to Carla’s name. “Too late.”

There’s a series of grumbles from Buck, but nothing concrete enough to respond to. At least he hopes so because Eddie definitely got distracted by a warm arm suddenly wrapping around his waist and his back being covered in warmth.

His distraction doesn’t last very long because Carla answers after 3 rings. “Just in time if you’re calling for Christopher.” She laughs. “We were just getting ready to start reading.”

Buck props his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie feels his brain short out a bit, so he misses most of what is actually said. He comes back just in time for Carla to pass the phone to Christopher. “Hi dad!” He says from where he’s obviously tucked in bed. “Hi Buck!”

Eddie doesn’t need to see it happen to know Buck’s face just melted. He also didn’t need to know his body does pretty much the same physically as it does visually, but thanks to his perch almost in Buck’s lap with the other man nearly wrapped around him, now he does. “What’d you get up to today, superman?”

Chris starts detailing all the separate parts of his day, taking time to update Buck on how the seating drama at school is shaping up, and Eddie lets himself bask in the little bubble of comfort made by being so close to Buck and the excited voice of his kid.

He hates that he has to be the voice of reason sometimes, which means he’s caught off guard when Buck is the one to say, “Alright, bud, it’s time for bed if you want to get any reading in.”

“Aww, really Buck?”

“Really, Christopher.” Buck chuckles.

Eddie finally finds his voice to jump in. “Buck’s right, kiddo.”

Though he pouts a bit, Christopher relents fairly quickly. They say their goodbyes, with plenty of ‘I love you’s to go around, and the screen goes back to the call screen with a final ‘be safe’ from Carla. He isn’t really paying attention to the world around him as he locks his phone, which means the arm that comes off the back of the couch to around his waist is a surprise, the tight hug he’s being pulled into even more so.

“Thank you.”

Buck’s voice is muffled where he’s jammed his face against the back of Eddie’s shoulder, but he catches it all the same. There are so many responses that go through Eddie’s mind at that. Jokes to try to add some levity to the moment, playful scoffs that would give him some emotional deniability. But all of them feel like cop-outs, like he’d be spitting in the face of Buck’s sincere gratitude.

So instead he leans back into the hug a bit, curling his arms around the arms around him. “Anytime.”

~`~

Eddie forgets about asking about Buck’s birthday weirdness. To be fair, he doesn’t forget about the birthday itself, which he’s taking as a win.

It’s not that he isn’t beyond curious, more that he’s a father and a firefighter and got very busy across the few days between the end of that shift and Friday morning.

It’s as he’s packing Christopher into the car to get him to school that he remembers.

Or, that he’s reminded. “Did you get Buck a present, dad?”

Shit.

Eddie adjusts the rearview mirror a bit. “Not yet, I’m going today.” He was going to run errands today, so it isn’t a lie. “Any ideas on what he’d like?”

Which wasn’t his best plan because Christopher spends the whole ride to school outlining all the gifts he thinks Buck would like. By the time they pull into the school, he’s telling Eddie that Buck might like an ant farm(“They build their own homes and we get to see it from the outside!”), which is actually probably true, but also means that Christopher would be the co-owner and Eddie is not about to enable that.

Probably.

He’s helping Christopher down from his seat when he hears his phone ping. Figuring it’s Buck hashing out plans for later, Eddie ignores it until the teaching aide and his son make it inside. A horn from behind him startles him enough for him to automatically start driving, but not before he sees the text isn’t from Buck.

It’s from Maddie.

A cold knot forms in his chest, but he tries to force it down. Just because the only times Maddie has texted in the past are for Buck-injury related reasons doesn’t mean she can’t text him about other things too. But the little voice in the back of his head reminds him that Maddie hasn’t willingly reached out to anyone in weeks, something he’s been hearing Buck worry over at least once every two days.

Another ping sends his pulse up and Eddie finds himself pulling into the closest parking lot, cursing when he realizes it’s a Starbucks and he immediately gets caught in the line.

Another ping sends him reaching for his phone even though he’s in the drive-thru line. Usually he refuses to touch his phone if he’s behind the wheel, the scenes of too many wrecks flashing before his eyes when he tries, but he’s starting to see the worst case scenario behind his eyes anyways. Besides, he’s basically parked right now, the line hasn’t moved since he pulled in.

Is Evan really spending tonight with you??

Howie told me he promised Christopher, but I need to check for myslef

I know we don’t really talk but I’ll leave you alone after this

Oh. Well that’s worlds better than anything Eddie could have hoped for. Also worrying and endearing in equal measure. Endearing because it turns out Maddie spirals about her brother in the same way he does for her.

Worrying because, well, Buck’s whole weirdness with his birthday seems to extend to Maddie as well, who is usually the exception for Buck.

Driving. Call?

It isn’t a lie, per say, but for some reason it feels like one.

His phone lights up, still connected to the hands free screen, and Eddie accepts.

“Hey,” Maddie sounds… tired is the best word for it, but not the kind of tired Eddie is used to hearing from her. He’s seen her going on two days of no sleep, seen her in a hospital bed, but she sounds more tired than either of those times. “I didn’t realize you were driving, I wouldn’t have texted.”

Eddie cringes a bit as he eases his truck forward. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. “It’s alright, I was just pulling in to get coffee.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “You want anything? I may as well make this wait actually worth it.”

Maddie lets out what might have once been a laugh but now more closely resembles a sigh. “No, thank you though.”

That right there is a warning sign to Eddie. One of the first real conversations he had with Maddie was about the worst coffee they’d ever had while they waited for the coffee pot at the station to finish. They had both made faces at the other’s story, but agreed even shitty coffee was better than no coffee.

He decides to pick his battles. “So you were asking about my plans with Buck tonight?”

“You guys actually have plans?” She gasps, the first overt sign of emotion she’s shown since this phone call started. “He hasn’t canceled them?”

“Uh, no?” Eddie asks, confused. “Why would he cancel? I’m pretty sure it took a plague to keep him from movie night the last time.” It’s an exaggeration, but a small one. Buck is just as invested in the plans they make as Christopher.

And Eddie, but he isn’t ready to admit the whole story there to anyone, let alone Buck’s sister.

“Oh wow.”

Eddie feels his face scrunch up in confusion. “You’re not the first person to react like that.” He tries not to grumble, but he isn’t sure he’s doing such a good job. “Why is everyone so shocked that Buck has plans on his birthday?”

There is silence on the other end for a moment. Then, “Eddie, Buck doesn’t celebrate his birthday.” She’s a bit choked up. “He hasn’t since I left for college.”

Oh. He lets that sink in for a moment, really contemplating what he knows about the Buckley parents. His palms start to itch the more he thinks about it. There is a part of Eddie that screams to fly to Hershey and fight them, but he beats it back. A cross-country flight would mean he misses tonight.

“So when I said Christopher invited Buck for a birthday sleepover and he accepted…” He trails off. Luckily, Maddie seems to know what he was going for. “You basically announced that your kid had pulled off a miracle, yeah.”

“Huh.”

What does one say to that? ‘He’d do anything for Chris’? ‘Glad we could help’? ‘I’m about ready to lose my mind over how much your brother loves my son and will do literally anything for him, up to and including forgoing personal traditions’? All are true, but the degree of intensity in all those responses is a little much.

So he switches gears. Buck is important in his life, more important than Eddie is willing to admit to anyone but himself, and so he makes the decision to make sure Buck never spends another birthday alone.

Which is not the kind of revelation he intended to have in the drive-thru lane of a Starbucks, but there are worse places.

Like bleeding out in the street.

“Okay.” Eddie takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out. “Are there any birthday traditions you started?”

Maddie sniffles over the line. “Yeah, a few.”

The original plan had been errands, but plans change. “Do you have time to tell me about them?”

“I can do you one better.” She’s still sniffling, but Maddie’s voice is stronger and more like herself than she’s been this whole phone call. “If you have some time for a store run, I can talk you through the recipe for the cake I made for him when he was a kid.”

There’s a beat of silence where Eddie begins trying to hype himself up to do his usual round of cooking failures.

“Better yet, if you have some time to drop off some things I need, I can make it.”

Eddie’ll take that sigh of relief to his grave. “Absolutely, I have time.” He hesitates, but still asks, “Mind if I stick around for the process?” He knows for a fact Maddie has been alone with Jee- Yun a lot over the past few weeks while Chimney gets back to work.

There’s a very loaded pause. Then another. And another. Then, “Sure, as long as you’re willing to help with Jee when she cries.”

“Deal.” He promises quickly. Jee-Yun has to be one of the cutest babies ever, second only to Christopher in Eddie’s eyes. “Now what can I get you from Starbucks? You can even see it as payment for taking over your day and saving me from baking humiliation.”

The laugh Maddie lets out is stronger than the last one and stays firmly in Eddie’s biggest accomplishments of the month.

~[***]~

The cake is finished with just enough time to spare for Eddie to run the two most immediate errands before he has to pick up Christopher. The kid is practically vibrating with excitement as Eddie makes sure he’s strapped in properly.

“So what did you get Buck?” He demands before Eddie has even had the chance to shut the driver’s door.

He really did end up with the best kid. “You see the box on the floor there?” Eddie asks, biting down on a swear word because navigating the after school traffic is a level of hell. “Maddie made the cake she used to when they were kids.” He pauses to focus on executing a turn. “And the bag next to you is what we’re going to use to make his other present.”

The rustling of a grocery bag sounds from the back seat. “What is it?”

Eddie finally gets the chance to safely peek at Christopher in his rearview mirror. He’s bent almost into the bag. “I’ll explain more when we get home, it’s easier to show you.” At his son’s whine, he can’t help a small grin. “Now, tell me about school. Did the seat problem get fixed?”

The resulting dramatic retelling is about as close as his son has ever come to going on a tirade.

~`~

A few hours, a few glue sticks, more stickers than Eddie wants to consider, and a small mishap with scissors that had them both laughing until their stomachs ache later, Buck’s present is ready and the time they arranged for Buck to come over is quickly closing in. Christopher is playing the Switch on the couch, occasionally commenting to Eddie about what’s happening. He places the online order at Buck’s favorite take out because it’s Friday night and that means it’ll take probably an hour to get here.

He’s done well up until now not letting the doubt creep in, but Eddie is only human, so as the clock marches closer to 5, he tries his best not to worry.

According to everyone, Buck hates his birthday, goes out of his way to avoid everyone usually. The only reason he hadn’t this year is for Eddie’s son, which leaves both a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and a pit in his stomach. Because, on the one hand, Buck could have just rescheduled, called this whole thing off and stuck to his normal routine, but on the other, he really couldn’t because Christopher is so important to him that he would fight anything to keep a smile on his face, even his own discomfort.

As the clock ticks past 5, a whole new worry begins to gnaw at Eddie.

What if Buck just doesn’t show up?

Even if he isn’t known for his punctuality, Buck is almost pathologically early for the plans he makes with them. When Eddie asked him about it, he had just shrugged and said, “I never want you guys to feel like I don’t want to be here.” then moved on like he hadn’t just given Eddie an emotional sucker punch. So that Buck still isn’t there at almost a quarter past without a call is unsettling to say the least.

Eddie is scrolling through his phone, debating calling, when the front door has something smack against it, drawing the attention of both father and son. Moments later, Buck falls through the doorway, rubbing at his forehead where a faint red mark of recently abused skin is starting.

There’s a moment of comical silence when seems to realize they’re both staring at him from the couch before, “Uhm,” He starts, hand going to the back of his head, sheepish expression playing across his features. “Nobody saw that.”

Christopher loses it first, laughing uproariously before launching himself at Buck with a scream, “Happy Birthday!”

If he weren’t watching for something, Eddie would have missed the flinch. “Thanks buddy!” Buck enthuses back. “What are we doing tonight?”

Christopher finally pulls out of the hug, curls flying as he makes his way over to the couch, on a mission. Eddie takes the chance to step up next to Buck and clasp his shoulder as the other man takes off his shoes and puts his keys and wallet on the table by the door. “Happy birthday.” He says quietly, heart breaking a little at the small flinch that gets. He catches Buck’s eye and holds it. “I’m glad you came.” I’m glad you’re here with us.

From the look that crosses Buck’s face, he hears what Eddie didn’t say. He ducks his head around a small smile. “Nowhere else I want to be.”

The moment ends as Chris barrels into Buck. “It’s Buck Day!” He cheers, smile a mile wide. “That means it’s all about your favorite things!”

Buck’s face is going to be the death of Eddie tonight, he can already tell. There is nothing in that sentence that should make Buck look like he’s going to cry, but here we are. “Do you have Buck’s special hat?” Eddie cuts in just to take the pressure off Buck answering.

Christopher proudly produces a cheap plastic firefighter helmet from behind his back. It was originally a bright red, but Christopher went at it with his big book of stickers and now has almost no red left. Instead, the front part has ‘30’ written out in Sharpie while the rest of it is covered in stickers that reminded his son of Buck.

Eddie definitely didn’t have anything to do with the golden retriever stickers that surround the 30, really.

Buck takes the hat, beaming. “This is so cool, Chris!” He’s genuinely enthusiastic about it, eyes bouncing from sticker to sticker rapidly. “Did you do all this?”

Nearly delirious with the praise, Chris starts pulling Buck over to the couch. “All the stickers!” He bounces a little as he sits down, crawling almost into Buck’s lap to point out some of the different stickers before the other man is even seated. “Dad wrote the numbers and said we sh-should put the dogs around it.”

Busted, Eddie thinks as Buck’s head snaps around to look at him with an exaggerated incredulous face. “ Did he ?”

“What can I say?” Eddie teases, leaning against the doorway because he knows the second his ass hits the couch is when their food will get here. “We had to properly represent you.”

Buck’s eyes are suspiciously glossy, but he places the hat on his head with reverence. “It’s perfect, guys.” He grins. “I love it.”

With that statement, he digs his fingers into Christopher’s sides, eliciting a series of mingled shrieks of laughter and shouts of betrayal. Christopher, who was already almost in his lap from his excited explanation of the stickers, curls further into Buck on reflex. Both of them are red faced from laughing, crumpled in on each other. A stray slice of sunlight streams through the curtains, high lighting both their curls and the red of their faces. Buck opens his eyes and meets Eddie’s, smile still splitting his face and popping out his dimples.

It isn’t a moment, it really isn’t anything, but Eddie suddenly feels all his doubts about tonight leave him.

Buck’s right where he belongs, and more importantly, where he wants to be.

~`~

Even though Christopher wanted to do something big for Buck’s birthday, Eddie managed to talk him down to a just slightly altered movie night. He had the sneaking suspicion that this would be hard for Buck, even if everything went well.

Now he’s glad he did.

Christopher had demonstrated his mastery on the subject of Buck’s favorite child appropriate movies while they waited for the food, listing movie after movie as possibilities while Buck had tried to present Christopher’s favorite movies as alternatives. It was silly and if Eddie were less aware of what he felt for his best friend, then the night might have ended differently because of the weird things his heart kept doing as he listened to his boys try to outwit the other about their favorite things.

But he does know, so around the sixth round of it, in the middle of a loud exclamation about Buck sobbing over movies where animals die, Eddie had put his foot down and made Buck pick from what he knows his three favorite movies are that Christopher is allowed to watch.

Just as Buck was protesting, the doorbell rang with their food and Eddie left Christopher with the task of extracting an answer.

The loud cheer from Christopher carried to the front door as Eddie accepted the bag.

Now, with the food all gone and Jurassic Park paused on the scene where the can of embryos was buried in mud, Eddie herds them to the table for dessert, Christopher bouncing excitedly in his seat.

From the kitchen he can still hear them as he carefully picks up the cake box. “-thought a dinosaur cake but dad said you would like this one better because it’s special.”

“Oh?” Buck asks, a slight strain to his voice. “Well, I don’t know what can beat a dinosaur cake, but your dad’s pretty smart so I guess we can trust him.”

“Yeah,” the agreement is a bit lacking, “But I did make sure he didn’t make it all by himself.”

“Good plan, bud.” Buck, the traitor, praises. Then, “Wait, is it homemade?”

Eddie makes his grand entrance back into the room before Christopher can answer. “Alright, mijo, are you ready to sing?”

Christopher’s enthusiastic agreement covers up Buck’s slight noise of protest, but Eddie sees the unease he’s trying to hide. There isn’t much Eddie can do about that because everyone knows a birthday in the Diaz house isn’t over until the song has been sung at least once. Even if he wanted to let Buck off without it, Christopher would riot. Still, he casts a look to Buck that promises it’ll be over fast.

Buck flashes him a small but thankful smile before looking down at the cake on the table that Eddie had just unboxed.

Everything about him tenses. “Is this… Maddie’s recipe?” His voice is suddenly thick, not even trying to hide the tears.

Shit.

Both of the Diaz boys freeze, not quite sure what to do. Eddie, as the adult here, takes the plunge. “Yeah, uh…” He swallows. “Apparently Chim mentioned this was happening.” Buck’s eyes snap to Eddie, still filled with tears but none have fallen yet. “She wanted to help.” He doesn’t say all the other things he wants to. Things about everyone wanting to celebrate him but no one wanting to push him about it. Things about Maddie loving him but still wanting to respect his choice about this. Things about how loved Buck is, even if he doesn’t see it.

Buck must see some of it at least because he lets the tears fall even as he says the most heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Eddie says. He means it too. Anytime, anything, he’d do it, if it would give Evan Buckley even a fraction of the elated glee that’s taking over his face.

The moment is broken by the off-key opening of ‘Happy Birthday’ Christopher begins.

Eddie joins in, clasping a hand to Buck’s shoulder.

Oh yeah, Buck is right where he belongs tonight.

~`~

They finish the movie, Buck helping with Christopher’s sugar high by spending some time running around playing dino hunter before they sit down again. Once again Buck nearly gives Eddie palpitations when he runs the usual bedtime arguments off at the pass.

“What do you think about reading that cool dinosaur fact book for you bedtime story tonight?” He asks over the end credit music, lighting up in a way far too genuine to be any sort of fake. “I think we can convince your dad to make the sounds with us if we ask nicely enough.” It’s a pale attempt at a whisper and Eddie knows him well enough to see it’s Buck’s way of giving him time to come up with an excuse not to.

As if Eddie would miss time with his boys tonight, even if it means he has to make the dinosaur noises.

Christopher is obviously torn on the subject, but eventually decides this is the best deal he’s going to get out of them tonight. “Okay.” He agrees. “But it’s at least six pages.”

Buck pretends to put on a thinking face, his eyes going to Eddie for permission before he responds. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.” He pretends to grumble. “But lucky for you, I think six pages sounds like the perfect amount.”

Eddie can't help his fond smile as he nudges Christopher in the side. “Okay, PJs then teeth then pages.”

“You’re going to come and read with us, right dad?”

Pretending to think for a moment, Eddie finally nods. “Yeah, I can’t miss the dino facts.”

Satisfied, Christopher wiggles his way off the couch, down the hall to get ready for bed. Which leaves Eddie and Buck alone together for the first time tonight.

They’re quiet for a little bit, the sounds of Christopher brushing his teeth and humming the Jurassic Park theme the only thing to break the silence.

“Thank you.”

Eddie wouldn’t have heard him if it weren’t for the fact that neither of them had moved away from how they usually bracket Christopher on movie night so they’re leaning almost into each other. He rolls his neck so that he can look at Buck, only to find that Buck has done the same. There’s less than half a foot of space between them. Eddie stamps on the urge to close it.

“You’re welcome.” He says instead. Hesitates, then continues, “I meant it, you know.” He pauses to swallow, Buck’s raised eyebrow spurring him on. “Anytime. We always want you here. So many people do. I’m selfish enough to be thankful we’re the ones you chose to be with today.” Eddie doesn’t know how to say it in so many words, but he hopes it was enough to get across how much everyone loves Buck.

Buck opens his mouth to say something, but a summons from Christopher’s room cuts him off. They share a fondly-exasperated look before they both move to stand.

No sooner than he’s fully upright, Eddie is being pulled into a hug. Buck always buries his face into the closest part of whoever he’s hugging and this is no exception, face firmly planted into Eddie’s neck. “There was no choice, Eds.” He murmurs. “There never is when it’s you guys.”

Eddie stands there a few moments even after Buck’s gone to get his emotions in check, getting the goofy smile to leave his face.

Because no matter what else happened tonight, Eddie is sure of one thing.

Buck is never spending his birthday alone again.

#911onfox #911 fic #Buddie fic #pre-relationship #911 writing #evan 'buck' buckley #Eddie Diaz #christopher diaz #Maddie Buckley

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yrpreciousmoon · 2 years

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Morioh Hi-Fi (2/25)

Title: Morioh Hi-Fi (2/25) All Chapters Here Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Josuke x Okuyasu; Rohan x Reimi; Koichi x Yukako; more. Rating: T for now Description: In an AU where Part 4 never happened, it seems Stand users are still drawn to each other. Rohan Kishibe runs Morioh's coolest record store, along with the world's okayest employees: Koichi, Yuya, and Okuyasu. They live happily in their bubble of obscure music references and hipster style points until the fateful day when Josuke Higashikata enters the picture. AN: I'm going to try to update this fic weekly! But this chapter is shortish and the next one is pretty much done so I may get impatient and just post it sooner. WE'LL SEE! Feel free to check out the master playlist I'm building for this fic including all songs mentioned/used as inspiration. It'll be growing and changing as I write, so you may get some sneak peeks at things to come~ [x-posted to AO3]

Track 01 : Into the Airwaves

Josuke lay sprawled out on his bed, eyes turned up to the ceiling but seeing nothing. He had the entire day off, yet he'd scarcely done anything besides lay here. He had intended to go out, do some shopping, maybe see if someone wanted to hang out. He'd even done his hair, gotten dressed, and now... he was here. Here, on his bed but not really on his bed. Listening to the same CD for the third time that day alone. Letting himself get really and truly lost in the music, letting it take him somewhere else.

Sometimes he'd play out stories in his head, scripting out music videos for each track; sometimes he'd get hit with a twinge of good or bad or downright nauseating and then chase that feeling deep, deep down the rabbit hole. Other times still he'd simply let his mind wander, just feeling the music inside of him like a million tiny pinpricks on his skin, a drop in his stomach, a shot of adrenaline.

Now, he held the CD walkman lovingly against his stomach with one hand, the other tapping his thigh along to the now-familiar beat. He was thinking – as he had already thought many times before – that he ought to figure out a way to capture all of these feelings into actual, comprehensive words, or else that nice guy at the record store would have wasted the effort of putting these songs together in the first place. But... how specific should he get? Would “I liked this track best” be too vague, or worse still, too lame? Would explaining to a near-stranger how a song had made his soul feel be even worse? Could he find a middle ground, or would that be the worst yet, with no true commitment either way?

Josuke rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh. This was getting him absolutely nowhere. Why overthink it? He'd just write down a few of his strongest reactions and give it to Koichi to pass along. That would be fine. Right?

He rolled over onto his stomach, gently letting the CD player rest beside him so as not to make the music skip. He reached for the drawer of his side-table to grab an ancient notepad and pen. A pang of nostalgia flashed through him as he remembered when he used to write in this thing every night, but he shook it off. He had an important task before him, couldn't get distracted. He took the cap between his teeth and pulled to unsheathe the pen, immediately scribbling a bullet point and then waiting for inspiration to strike.

It struck.

Once, twice, again and again, like a hot summer lightning storm. In fact Josuke spent every free moment of the next few days jotting, scribbling, balling up papers in frustration, until he finally had something that he felt was detailed enough for a Cool Music Guy like Okuyasu, but not so much as to betray his own ever-important air of aloofness. Hopefully.

Now, to get his words into the right hands. By Josuke's estimation, his best bet to catch Koichi at work (thus sparing himself the embarrassment of actually handing his notes to off Okuyasu) would be a Friday night. So while he was eager to get his feedback to his new friend(?), he held on to his musings for a couple of days more.

It was getting to be dinner time when Josuke finally descended the stairs to the basement establishment, buzzing with anticipation. He looked better suited for a swanky party than a dingy record store, having dressed himself in smart black pants, a t-shirt that hugged his figure, and a bold red blazer on top. As he stepped inside of Dark Pink he slipped off his sunglasses, allowing his eyes to adjust from the sunset glow to the moody lighting of the store before trying to quickly scan the room for his high school friend.

The good news was, Koichi was in fact there. The... well, other news was that Okuyasu was also there. Shit. If Josuke's idea to write commentary for the mix was in fact a bad idea, he was about to find out. No chance for the benefit of the doubt now.

“He-ey, look who it is!” crowed Okuyasu, standing up from where he'd been bent over a turntable. Koichi turned around from his spot as well, smiling and waving politely.

“Hey!” replied Josuke, willing himself not to blush at the attention. “Um, Okuyasu, right?”

“You got it,” said the other, surprising Josuke with a quick, one-armed hug. “Didja get a chance to listen to that CD I gave ya?”

“Yeah! Thanks again man, seriously.” Josuke grinned, bit his lip, felt like an enormous dweeb. It wasn't often that he doubted his own coolness, but the record store guys had some carefully curated aura about them, especially the always-straightforward Okuyasu.

“And? What did ya think?” he asked, leaning in expectantly.

“Well, I...” Josuke rubbed at his neck, hesitated a moment, then closed his eyes and fished the folded up paper from his pocket. “I wasn't sure if you were gonna be here, so wrote some stuff down... Just my top five tracks.”

Okuyasu's face absolutely sparkled and he snatched the paper away at once, already unfolding it before Josuke could process what was happening. His eyes eagerly tore over the words written there and in the meantime he chewed absently at his thumbnail, bobbed his head along to the slow groove playing in the background. In time the bobs grew into definitive nods and a smile spread across his lips.

“Ha!” he exclaimed suddenly, making Josuke jump a little. “Damn straight.” He tapped a knuckle on one particular line, eyes continuing to pore over the notes. “I thought y' might like that one...”

Josuke allowed himself a nervous chuckle. “Yeah? Which... which one is that?”

Okuyasu paused and looked up, meeting Josuke's eyes. “'Life on Mars', dude. I knew it.” He shook his head, closed his eyes, still smiling. “You're kind of an old soul, y'know? You're into the classics. But not in a stuffy way. Not in a boring Rohan way. You've got this like... thing.” He gestured widely, uselessly, with both hands, the paper fluttering. “You like stuff to be, like... sexy,” he said, nearly growling the word, but then he corrected himself– “Nah, no, you said it better here, uh...” he looked back at the paper again, “Sensuous. That's a better word. Like, I'm not calling you horny, but like, definitely stuff you could make love to. And stuff you could fuck to.”

This outpouring of words took Josuke on a rollercoaster of emotions, but he landed somewhere between relief and amusement, letting the laughter bubble up fully now. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Does it?” quipped a skeptical Koichi from across the room.

Okuyasu shot him a look. “Shut up, he gets what I'm sayin'!” He waved the paper in the air pointedly. “Or like, I get what he's sayin'.” He turned back to Josuke and gave him a deathly serious look. “Right? I mean. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're totally a guy with a...” he circled a hand, searching for the words.

“Oh my God,” Koichi half-shrieked, “Don't.”

Josuke was up to wild, boisterous laughter now. “What were you gonna say? An active romantic life?”

“Yeah! There ya go! That's much nicer than what I was gonna go with. So? Am I on to somethin' there?”

“I guess you could say that.” Josuke covered his face with a hand, but he still grinned.

“Well okay then! Thank you!” He whirled back to Koichi. “See? I know what I'm doin' here, Hirose.” With that, he turned and marched with purpose to a particular shelf, quickly procuring the album he was looking for. Josuke followed, arms folded over his chest, still flushed and smirking.

“Okay,” Okuyasu said, quiet and serious again, “You made this pick way too easy for me, but for real...” he held the record out, and Josuke raised his hands to accept it. Okuyasu pressed it into his palms with an air of intense reverence.

Josuke peered down at the cover. “'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars',” he read aloud, an eyebrow quirking.

“Trust me,” Okuyasu insisted, staring intently into Josuke's eyes. “'Life on Mars' had that big, pretty, sweeping thing you're into, but this is the album that came after, and it goes a little harder. Just a little bit. It's David Bowie starting to go from the love-making to the fucking.”

Josuke almost laughed again, but the unwavering intensity of the other guy stopped him. Instead, he simply nodded. “Okay. Sure.”

Finally, Okuyasu released his own grip on the record, fully entrusting it to Josuke now. “Play it a few times, let it breathe a li'l, and if you love it we'll move on to the next life-changing record.”

“Sounds good. Love having my life changed by space spiders.”

“You will.” Okuyasu put an arm around Josuke's shoulders and walked him to the register. “Dude, just let go an' lean into it.”

Josuke nodded again, reaching for his wallet as that unfamiliar shyness began to creep up once more. “So, uh, hey...” he said as he handed over the cash, “Once I've got thoughts on it, when should I come by? Y'know, so I don't have to give you another reading assignment.” He gestured toward the piece of paper that was still pinched between two of Okuyasu's fingers.

“Mm, I'm here most days, honestly man. Drop in any time. But don't rush it, for real, live with that shit for a bit. And hey,” he set the paper between them and tapped it as he spoke, “This was cool as hell. You've got kind of a way with words, y'know? I mean, I know every song on that mix inside and out but you nailed that shit, like, blew my mind. Wouldn't mind if you wrote somethin' like this for 'Ziggy Stardust' too.”

Taken aback, Josuke stammered before managing, “Yeah, alright, cool! Then I uh... I'll see you guys soon!” He smiled, waved goodbye to the other two, and made his exit.

At the top of the stairs, he exhaled a breath that he seemed to have been holding in the entire time. He shivered a little, tried to let the nerves out of his body. Damn. What was with these jitters? Josuke stretched his neck, his shoulders. He never worried this much about what someone would think of him; usually had confidence for days, figured that his coolness was assured. But... for whatever reason, he really wanted to impress these guys at the record store. Wanted to hang out with them, be a part of their weird little crew, have the chance to bond with people over something as intimate as music. He had his own circle of friends, sure, but lately he'd be feeling...

Right on cue a chime rang from his pocket, and Josuke abandoned his dreams of future friends to answer the summon of his flip phone.

Jojo~ Wat r u up 2? Come over 2nite? ;)

Josuke sighed, pursed his lips, stared at the text for a while before snapping the phone shut and stuffing it back into his pocket. He didn't want to think about the person on the other end of the message, the implications of their question, the significance of his own feelings toward it. No, not now, he had better things to do. And so, resolving not to give the message any more space in his mind than he had already, Josuke opted instead to lift up the record in his hands so that he could better examine the cover art.

The image was of a city street at night, hardly any sign of life except for a single young man – the artist, Josuke presumed – looking forward, towards the camera but not at it, like he was studying something far off in the distance. He looked so lonely, so lost, and yet so determined. Yeah; Josuke could relate.

The text as good as forgotten, Josuke turned his eyes down his own nighttime path, making his way back home.

A good three hours or so later, Josuke remembered the text and finally found the motivation (or obligation) to reply to it.

Sry, cant! Have plans 2nite!

And with that, he let the phone drop onto the floor beside his bed. Tucked his arms up beneath his head and closed his eyes as he got comfortable for the next spin of Ziggy Stardust, already preparing the mental draft of his next review.

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #fanfic #fan fiction #josuyasu #high fidelity #au #morioh hi-fi #Diamond is Unbreakable #part 4

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prophecydungeon · 2 years

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i saw this “post the first line from the last 20 works you wrote” thing going around which looks very fun so here’s that (lines w/ * are from works that are a collection of fragments, etc.)

It had occurred to Atsumu several months after moving to a small but light-filled apartment southeast of the apex that makes up the crescent moon of Ōsaka Bay that he is a very lonely person.

Wash hates the nauseating fade back into consciousness.

Shin transmats his helmet off and stands, shaking out his hair. *

The Sixth Company offices are a sprawling complex, lit just warmly enough to banish the deep-winter chill that grows ever sharper past twilight, with no moving bodies to heat the air. *

Akaashi kisses him on a completely unassuming Sunday evening.

It takes five full Gambit matches for her thoughts to settle.

Ushijima doesn't look restrained anymore, like he's trying to figure out how to be a person; he looks like he's grown into the skin that was always too mature for a middle schooler, for a high schooler.

"Fair's fair," Iwaizumi calls.

There is a Venn diagram, Sakusa thinks, that one could make in regards to his Olympic teammates.

There is no echo of footsteps nor subsonic thrum of reishi that heralds an arrival. *

The radiance is so blinding that he can’t see anymore, just feel the presence of Light bundled into humanoid shapes, sense the impressions it leaves washing up against the edges of buildings, tangling in the hair of regular City-folk. *

With each breath he takes, he dies and is reborn.

Ichigo catches a flash of winter-sky blue and stark white against the heavy gray clouds over Seireitei and his chest seizes.

Hueco Mundo does not care who or what falls within its grasp; the pale sand laps up offerings regardless of whose blood is spilled.

The taste of Quincy, Grimmjow learns, is something close to oblivion.

Hueco Mundo thrums with life among its scars.

Wingbeats echo above him in pitch-black skies, timed between the frantic slam of his heart against his ribs.

Dust-choked air prickles uncomfortably at Shin’s consciousness, an unnatural haze that’s not quite cold enough to numb, not quite warm enough to heat, almost thick enough to swim in.

Saint dreams.

“You’re distracted,” Jolyon says, apropos of absolutely nothing.

thoughts:

firstly this is a DELIGHTFUL journey through where i’ve been since..... may 2020, and it’s very cool to look at it this way. the shortfic especially -- it was nice to see some s/d pop up amid the volleyball lol

secondly it’s really funny to see that there is really seemingly no pattern to my opening lines? these are truly all over the place, which is pretty nice ig. keep ‘em on their toes. you never know what’s going to hit you. vague artsy sentence? dialogue? Description Of The Setting? who knows! not me

#fic talk #feel free to steal this meme it's cool #i wish it was easier to tell on AO3 when a certain chapter was published (and its word count) but oh well #i keep pretty meticulous record of that on my own anyways #i should post that ushijima + oikawa one on AO3 actually i have no idea why i didn't originally

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

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If I Stay Part Two (Final) // Luke Patterson

Summary: Life as you knew it shattered and now you’re left picking up the pieces with memories of a boy with hazel eyes in your dreams. A handsome guitarist who easily becomes your unseen number one supporter. If only you could see him again.

Warning: Swearing, mention of injuries, mention of car accident and talk of death.

Words: 2.5k (excluding the song lyrics of “I Won’t Let Go” by Rascal Flatts)

A/N: Second and last part to If I Stay! I really enjoyed this story because I adored Charlie St. Cloud and I really enjoyed If I Stay. The second part to Lost Time will be up soon when I feel confident in the storyline of it.

If I Stay Part One

Masterlist

In a split second for the first time, you felt yourself, poof, away to a sterile white room staring down at the person in the bed. Covered in cuts and bruises of all colours, was you. A broken version of you that made you sick to your stomach. You desperately yearned to go back to being unaware.

“I’m…a ghost?” You breathed looking at your blemish-free hands, a juxtaposition to the arm in a cast. Then in a nauseating thought, the grief faded for fear on your family. Had they survived? You ran out of the room straight to a nurse, “Where are my parents! Where’s my cousin Lou?”

Of course, the nurse was unaware of an upset, emotional teenage girl, a victim of a car crash and in a battle for her life. Realizing no one would answer you spent hours running around the hospital searching for your parents or Lou.

“Lou!” You shouted through the halls unfazed as you ran literally through gurneys and medical equipment even the odd doctor.

At the very last room, you found Lou sitting up in a bed staring silently at the white wall with an official man seated by the side of her bed. He held a clipboard in his hand.

“Lou, how are you feeling?” The man spoke, his white coat embroidered with his profession and labelling him a psychiatrist.

“Fine.”

“You’ve suffered a trau-“

“I’m aware. I was there. I saw a paramedic violently hitting my cousin’s chest, I saw so much blood. I didn’t know there could be that much blood!” Lou snapped glaring the man down, “I saw the brains of the idiot that caused the accident! You don’t know shit! Oh, your little degree magically has you able to understand what I’m going through?!”

“Lou-“

“You wanted me to talk! So, let me talk!” Lou screamed at the man startling you with the anger, “My cousin! My best friend, my SISTER is up in a bed in a coma! A coma because I wanted to go to a stupid resort to ski! It’s my fault! And no one will tell me anything about my aunt and uncle!”

You stumbled back at the pain Lou displayed, it broke your heart, and you couldn’t listen to it anymore.

“Lou, let’s talk about survivor’s gu-“

You fell through the closed door before you could hear anything more from the psychiatrist. You ambled around the floor aimlessly feeling the worst you ever had and to think for two weeks you hadn’t been aware of anything.

“Did you hear?” A nurse spoke from just outside your hospital room. You jogged over reading her name tag of Melissa.

“Heard what?”

“The father of the mountain accident he flatlined in surgery. Doctors got him back, but they’re concerned about brain damage.” Nurse Melissa told her fellow nurse with concern pinching her expression.

“That’s the father of the Y/L/N patient, right?” Nurse Lucy spoke glancing at your hospital door, “I hope they’ll be alright.”

“That poor girl has quite the decision to make. To live or to die. It’s all on her now.” Nurse Melissa replied, “Her mother died-“

“Little unprofessional to gossip about patients in earshot of everyone. Did you know that coma patients can often hear things while unconscious? Or my favourite tip…did you learn about HIPAA?” The doctor on duty asked, staring the two nurses down with a glared. Each nurse shifted on their feet, “Stop gossiping and do your job. I’m sure you can change bedpans or give sponge baths.”

The nurses scattered, leaving you standing in shock at the information given to you. Your mother was dead, your father could be brain dead, and Lou wasn’t coping well. Leaving you in a state of wondering what to do. Should you stay in a world without your parents or let go to join them in heaven. The thought had you collapsing into screams on the floor as everyone went about their work; walking through the hysterical teenager.

A warm hand slid into your own with a comforting squeeze, but all you wanted was to feel your father wrap you in a bear hug. To listen to your mother’s laugh, move in the air with that beautiful musical sound. You want Lou to be okay.

Luke was quiet as he sat the floor, squeezing your hand every once in a while. You slumped into his arms, staring unfeeling at the door that separated your ghostly form from your physical one. Luke poofed you to the Molina garage right on the couch where he held you tight for god knows how long.

“She’s dead.” Your voice cracked tears rolling down your cheeks once more, “My mom is dead.”

“Sh.” Luke cooed pressing his lips against your temple as you curled further into his body. His heart broke for you as the gravity of the situation became crystal clear.

“Hi.” Luke’s eyes met the concerned ones of Julie Molina, a girl that would undoubtedly know how you felt. The thing that connected you being the loss of a mother figure, “I’m Julie.”

Your blank expression lifted to see a girl you had often seen in the halls of Los Feliz High School and vaguely remembered her. She had been performing during the Spirit Rally months ago.

“I’m a friend of Luke, Reggie and Alex. I’m sorry you’re going through this, but you are more than welcome to stay here. You can be in my room or here if you’re more comfortable.” Julie offered knowing exactly how you felt when a year ago, she had been grieving the loss of her mom.

“Thank you.” You replied hoarsely. Exhaustion from sobbing closed your eyes, something that was different to Luke as a ghost was your ability to sleep.

Alex theorized that you could sleep because your body was still alive, whereas the boys had no physical body. They were just ghosts. He and Reggie were in the studio sadly watching as you slipped in a deep unsettled sleep. Luke’s broken eyes met his best friends before he had Alex come over.

“Please stay with her.” Luke whispered, leaving the tall blonde to switch places. Luke disappeared without another word.

“Where’s-“Julie began, but Reggie interrupted her with a sad smile.

“Remember when we took you to Luke’s house? He’ll do the same but with her.” Reggie supplied coming to sit on the floor in front of the couch; his hand grabbing yours in support.

In a medium-sized house with a backyard kept tidy by the neighbours, Luke found his way to your room. His grabbed a few items of clothing and sneakers into a discarded bag before he dropped the bag off in Julie’s bedroom. His next stop was your hospital room. Luke settled himself in the chair beside you watching your chest go up and down from the breathing tube.

“Hi. I don’t know you in this form, but I know your spirit. I’m not good with my words, but I’m going to try. Two weeks ago I met you in a record store, and I fell in love faster than I can tune my guitar and believe me I have the record in the band. I never believed in love at first sight, but I also didn’t believe in ghosts, but here we are!” Luke chortled leaning to place his hand on yours, but it slipped through.

His smile saddened, “As much as I love holding you and kissing your head… I’d much prefer feeling that aching and yearning feel in my gut. If I felt that then it meant you would be alive and well. I’d rather be sad that I can’t feel you than have you die so young.”

Luke saw your eyelids flicker and he hoped it was because you could hear him.

“You have so much to live for. It’s gonna be hard. I can’t deny that, but I need you to stay. Stay alive and fight for me. For Lou.” Luke choked, squeezing his eyes shut grateful when a hand rested on his shoulder. He knew it was Alex.

“Whatever you’re saying. Continue.” Alex whispered, “It’s working, her body is slowly becoming transparent.”

Alex’s words were further proven as Nurse Melissa jogged in surprised as she took vitals, “Well I’ll be damned. You decided to fight.”

Alex and Luke shared a relieved expression as you got even more strong. Together they returned to the garage. Luke was able to press one kiss to your forehead before you flickered once, twice, thrice before you dissipated.

In that hospital room, a beautiful thing occurred. Your eyes opened. Luke swore the birds sang better at the moment.

Recovery was hard. Relearning the little things, you took for granted was frustrating. Lou would hover as if you would disappear and you thought you were going insane. If you were waking up screaming by nightmares of the crash than it was waking confused on dreams that felt like memories.

The small victories helped like when you walked the entire hospital or when you were able to use the toilet and not the bedpan. The best win was being discharged to Lou’s parents and only needing outpatient physical therapy. Six months later, your father was awake and getting better; the loss of your mother still burnt hot and red.

It was on the sixth month anniversary when you walked down an oddly familiar street. Merritt happily trotting on his afternoon walk; Merritt had been an immense help. In your first month of recovery post coma, you met Merritt who would become your service dog.

A sense of déjà vu nudged you as you took in a vintage styled record store you swore you knew before. Continuing on you stop again at a toy story with a dollhouse.

“My cousin had one…for her unborn niece.” The sentence floated in your mind, but you couldn’t put a conversation.

“Caspar?” A male voice recalled in a distant memory of a dream a few days ago. You couldn’t think of anyone who had that voice, and absolutely no way had you ever seen that dollhouse before.

“Just coincidence.” You mumbled scratching Merritt’s head as his wet nose nudged your head before you could worry more. You watched people roaming thankful that you could do that, that you survived.

It was the building on the very end that confused you the most. Your eyes scanned the name proudly announcing itself as a tattoo parlour. A gasp left your lips as a vivid memory popped into your head with a boy that matched that voice you had thought of earlier.

“Luke. My name is Luke. Hey! I know this shop!” Luke beamed, stepping back to take in the storefront. In the twenty-five years since he last saw it, the blue faded into a teal, but the door was still the same as it always was.

“You have a tattoo?” You asked, scanning his arms bare in the cut off shirt he wore.You couldn’t see any ink on his skin. Luke couldn’t help the smirk on his faceat the blatant heated gaze.

“No.It was 1994. We just played our biggest gig at the time, and Bobby decided we should get tattoos.” Luke’s mouth twisted at the mention of his former friend, “Of course we were sixteen and Alex just about fainted in the shop. The guy took one look at Reggie and laughed at our fake IDs. Told us to come back in a few years.”

“So, you’re a ’90s kid.” You raised an eyebrow coming to a stop on the edge of the street, pressing the button to cross.

“Technically a ’70s kid. We died in ’95 a few hours before a life-changing gig.” The mood turned sombre as Luke thought back on that one night that life decided to raise both middle fingers at his dreams, “Death by a hot dog.”

You were so thankful for Merritt as he nestled up into a dog version of a hug as you felt the crippling anxiety. He was always there and knew about to help, support dogs don’t get enough credit.

When your eyes opened, it is like a dam broke and suddenly you remembered walking this street with three guys. The conversations and even the garage where one had held you in an incredibly vulnerable moment. Three ghosts that helped you when you needed it but didn’t know.

“Luke.” You breathed seeing a form shimmer in the sun as it flickered into a hazy form. Similar to how you did in the garage before going back to your body, he flashed three times. He solidified on the fourth with a great big grin.

“You can see me.” Luke cried, walking closer as he felt on top of the world when your eyes focused on him. He finally felt that yearning to meet your gaze fade away, “I missed you.”

You followed him to the Molina garage.

“I thought we’d never be able to talk again.” Luke sighed, reaching over, and he physically grabbed your hand, “I don’t know if I can touch you because of your former state or because of Julie.”

“Hm?” You questioned sitting cross legged on the bed.

“When I wasn’t watching over you, I was with Julie and the guys.” Luke went into detail about Caleb and the jolts, “We didn’t cross over because it’s not our unfinished business, but the stamps were destroyed when Julie hugged us. We’re sure that just like our instruments are connected to our souls that Julie did as well.”

Your hand brushed Luke’s cheek taking in the silky feeling of his skin, “I thought I was going crazy. I had these dreams of things I didn’t do in reality. My mind just wasn’t ready to remember the beauty of our connection.”

“This is an interesting little relationship you and I have.” Luke chuckled, thinking on how lucky he was to even know you, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You whispered gratefully to intertwine your fingers with Luke’s hand as well. It was like they were made for each regardless of the circumstances that brought you together, “I’m not ready for anything more than friendship, but I do strong feelings for you.”

“Being dead has an advantage. I can wait for eternity, and for you, I would. Just so you know, I have strong feelings for you as well.” Luke beamed scanning your face, taking in the blemishes from the crash. In the time you hadn’t been aware of him following coming out of the coma, he had become acquainted with your injuries.

When those little victories of weight-bearing, walking one step then two and finally that entire hallway Luke had been there unseen cheering you on. When you ‘graduated’ from the inpatient therapy Alex, Reggie and Luke had been there in silent support.

“Do what you need to do, and I’ll be right here for you.” Luke smiled gently, removing his guitar from the case, “Can I play something?”

You nodded in response as started strumming to a new song he had created in the last handful of months.

“It’s like a storm

That cuts a path

It’s breaks your will

It feels like that

You think you’re lost

But your not lost on your own

You’re not alone

I will stand by you

I will help you through

When you’ve done all you can do

If you can’t cope

I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won’t let go

It hurts my heart

To see you cry

I know it’s dark

This part of life

Oh it finds us all (finds us all)

And we’re too small

To stop the rain

Oh but when it rains

The song touched you so intimately as he sang the last few lines softly keeping eye contact with you.

“…Oh I’m gonna hold you

And I won’t let go

Won’t let you go

No I won’t”

You pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek that flushed at the feel of your lips against his skin. His heart fluttered and knew that you were his soulmate and he truly hoped Julie could find someone that could love her like she deserves. Luke’s heart belonged to yours and yours alone and vice versa for you as well.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @merceret @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1 @writerinlearning @aiofheavenandhell @sageellsworth05 @link-102

#luke patterson imagines #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp luke #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms #angst #caitsy and ash productions #agentsofsupernaturalmarvel

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parvuls · 3 years

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fic: kintsugi

summary: The day after brunch at Jerry's, Jack and Shitty have a raw, much-needed conversation over the phone. Some issues need to be addressed before they can head down the road to patching things up.

word count: 6k

tags: year 3, post-comic 3.12, phone calls, friendship, canon compliant, apologies, introspection

notes: based on the prompt ‘providence + family’ by @atlasthemayor.

read on ao3

Jack’s stomach churns strangely when he sees Shitty’s name flash on his caller ID.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, a slight jolt and twinge in his gut, both reminiscent of when anxiety coils low inside him and distinctive in some way. It makes Jack frown and set his heated dinner aside on the coffee table with the hand not holding the buzzing phone. He’s not sure he ever had this foreign reaction to Shitty calling him before, so after a brief moment of puzzlement he decides to write it off as a side effect of the exhaustion weighing him down.

The phone vibrates once more in his palm before Jack slides his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, man,” he greets, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can pick his food up again. Shitty won’t mind the sound of his chewing, probably. “Staying up late to study?”

It’s coming up to half past eleven on Saturday night. Jack dragged himself through the front door and into the dark apartment at around ten forty-five, his muscles sore and his body beat from over twenty minutes of ice time. He dumped his gear bag in the entryway next to his shoes and headed straight into the kitchen without flicking any of the lights on, shoved one of his frozen meal plan boxes of grilled chicken and brown rice into the microwave without pausing.

The yellow glow of the microwave was the sole source of light in the room as Jack strapped an ice pack to his shoulder, still aching from Ericsson’s high-stick, stuck Bitty’s handwritten PB&J note on the fridge, and waited. The only thing he really wanted to do was fall face-first into his bed, text Bitty that he was home, maybe break down the game over the phone if Bitty wasn’t too busy -- but his regimen had taken precedence. He knew he needed to put in some calories and take care of his pain if he wanted to get up for his six a.m. run. By the time his phone started ringing, Jack was mechanically chewing on his food in the living room. His couch was more comfortable than a dining chair, plush upholstery engulfing his tired limbs, and it only distantly occurred to him that there was something sad about eating dinner alone in the dark.

Shitty’s call, when it came, was unexpected.

“Hate to tell you this, but eleven thirty is not late," Shitty replies, the familiar timbre of his voice tinny due to cell reception. It's an effect Jack is closely acquainted with after months of daily phone calls with Bitty, so he knows that's not all there is to it when he notices something else amiss about Shitty’s voice; like the rhythm of his speech is slightly off. He registers it as abnormal, but before he can figure out if he wants to ask about it Shitty carries on talking. “How’s everything going for ya?”

“Okay,” Jack answers plainly, piling rice onto his fork. He doesn't have the energy to think of anything more gripping than the truth. “Eating post-game dinner.”

Shitty pauses on the other side of the line, makes the creases in Jack’s forehead deepen. Something feels weird, but Jack doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it if nothing is really wrong. Sometimes people act in ways that confuse him for any number of reasons, and he’s not always good at telling them apart.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Shitty says, clearing his throat quietly. “The Red Wings. Great game, brah. Your shoulder doin’ okay?”

Jack’s mouth slows down his chewing on instinct, and he swallows the rice with difficulty. Shitty never just tells Jack great game. Shitty talks about hockey like he’s the narrator in a porn film, with an enthusiasm unmatched by anyone Jack has ever met. Shitty once sang Jack’s praises for half an hour after a game against UND in which Samwell lost 2-0. That, combined with his tone -- something isn’t quite right, Jack thinks. He's more confident in that observation now, but his brain feels slower than usual and he’s too tired to connect any dots.

“Euh, yeah. I’ll be alright. Really have to shake it off and make sure I’m all there on Monday night, eh? We’ve had a good streak, but it’s always about how we play the next game. We’re getting better as a group.”

Jack’s tongue slips into hockey speak naturally before he can do anything to stop it, but instead of chirp him, Shitty makes a vague, throaty noise and doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I get what you mean. You and Mashkov really seem to hit it off out there, heh. Uh, listen -- I know you had to drive back for your practice, but. We didn’t really get the chance to talk much yesterday, and I guess…” Shitty pauses again, and Jack lowers the box to rest against his knee, apprehensive. “Well. D’ya have a moment? Because I’d really fuckin’ like to apologize for some shit.”

Jack’s hand clenches convulsively around his fork, a piece of chicken breast sliding off the tines and falling back into the box with a dull noise.

The early morning and then noon hours of Friday were an emotional blur. From the anxiety spike when Jack stepped off the plane to the car ride on the flooded highway; from the sleep-deprived, tearful conversation in Bitty's narrow bed to the cathartic brunch at Jerry’s with their friends. Jack drove straight home after his nap and stepped out of the car back in Providence to find his phone overflowing with chirping text messages. The chirps haven’t really died down over the weekend, but Jack doesn’t mind them, and he doesn’t think Bitty does either; it feels good to have a subject that’s been burdening them both treated lightheartedly. Trusting their friends with this secret isn't as heavy on Jack's shoulder as he feared it might be.

Shitty is the only one who hasn’t written much in the group chat. He and Jack talked briefly on the lawn outside the Haus after the six of them had returned from brunch, and then they resorted to roughhousing when the mood got too somber. Jack hoped that it’d be enough to put everything behind them, but if he pushes himself to think it through, a part of him has known that this conversation was coming. It wasn’t like Shitty to let things go so easily.

Jack's glad that Shitty can't see his face right now, because he can feel himself grimacing. He hopes his brief silence hasn’t been too revealing. “Shits -- it’s cool, yeah? We’re cool.”

“I don’t think we are, actually,” Shitty argues. His voice is growing strained. “You don’t have to talk, even --”

“C’mon, man, there’s really not much to say. Everything is good now --”

“Jack,” Shitty cuts him off, and the tone of his voice shuts Jack right up. Shitty can get wrapped up in things, can lose himself in long tirades about rights and wrongs and justice, but this tone sounds different than it has through the hundreds of rants Jack has been witness to. Shitty sounds dead serious. Jack blinks, and realizes: this isn’t Shitty being his normal self. He’s genuinely torn up about this. “Just -- will ya let me…? Please.”

“I…” Jack starts, but he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. He’s never been skilled at these kinds of conversations, and the odd feeling he got when he saw Shitty’s name on his screen squeezes even tighter than before, making him feel slightly nauseated.

“It’s -- I --. Jack, what I said in front of everyone during the home opening kegster… and all the other times I... That was some fucked up shit. I fucked up real bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jack tries again, but this time the words feel so wrong in his mouth that he has difficulty shaping his tongue around them. It tastes like an outright lie, although he wasn’t aware he was even lying at all.

Jack hadn’t recognized the churning in his gut until now, but Shitty’s steadfast apology intensifies the feeling and dredges up what Jack has clearly failed to notice. He wants to tell Shitty that there’s no need to apologize, but apparently that’s just not true; it’s only now that he realizes the sharp response he had to Shitty’s call is bitterness. Jack’s feelings actually were hurt by Shitty. Maybe he should be startled by discovering wounded feelings he wasn’t cognizant of for over a month, but if this past summer has taught Jack anything, it’s that sometimes he manages to overlook the most substantial of things.

“-- and it’s not enough to be chill about it now,” Jack blinks out of his thoughts and tunes back into Shitty’s distressed train of words, coming chopped and fast through the ear speaker. “I should’ve -- before, too, I should’ve created a safe enough fuckin’ environment --”

“You were always talking to us about creating safe environments, Shitty,” Jack interrupts him. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears, and he puts his fork in the box and the box back on the coffee table to free his hands. He’s still making sense of his own mental state, and he knows that whatever is going to come stumbling out of his mouth will be barely coherent at best. “It’s not -- it was just that -- you’re always saying it’s important, and then, câlice… It was hard enough, hiding, and then with you as well --.”

Everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty. Jack remembers how in sophomore year Shitty marched into the Haus, ecstatic about the five different people who had come out to him that same week, babbling about how great it was and how different Samwell was to Andover. He mentioned sexuality labels Jack had never even heard of, had accepted so effortlessly those borderline strangers who had trusted him with their identities. Shitty has always been the most open-minded person Jack knows, the one to talk endlessly about the inherent toxicity of heteronormativity and to lecture the team about never labeling others without their consent.

Jack’s not always good at pinpointing the root of his own feelings, but the moment he thinks of that thrilled look on Shitty’s face almost three years before, he knows, like a lightbulb going off, why he was hurt. Because it seemed like everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty -- except Jack. Like Jack wasn’t queer enough to warrant the same respectful treatment. Like he wasn’t really allowed to be queer at all. Jack had never felt particularly close to his sexuality, but when even Shitty assumed so assuredly that he couldn’t be anything but straight, it stung. He just hasn’t registered it until now.

There’s a split second of tense silence, and then Shitty says, “I didn’t even know you were having a hard time, brah,” the pace of his speech slowed down.

Jack’s eyebrows draw together. His right hand, absentmindedly, pinches the fabric of his suit pants and rubs the smooth texture between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t -- what does that mean? It’s not like you asked.”

Shitty’s breath comes out in a harsh exhale, crackles in Jack’s ears. Jack can hear springs squeaking and sheets ruffling, the sounds of Shitty dropping heavily onto his bed. “Brah. How was I supposed to ask? You never pick up the damn phone anymore. Shit, man, I know fuck all about your life lately."

The fabric of Jack’s pants stretches in the tight grip of his fingers as he blinks, takes in Shitty’s accusation, and realizes he’s right all in the space of two and a half seconds. He can recall a few missed calls that he never got around to returning, but it didn’t seem so important at the time. He was, and still is, in the midst of his first NHL season, trying so hard not to get so lost in hockey and his own worries that he drowns in it and forgets to be a good boyfriend to Bitty.

It never occurred to him that he was investing so much effort into being a good boyfriend to Bitty that he wound up forgetting to be a good friend to everyone else. He knew Shitty and he weren’t talking as often, that things between them haven’t been great lately, but the truth is he had so many other things to worry about that he let it drift to the margins of his mind.

Jack lets go of his pants, rubs his palm down his thigh to smooth the creases away. His momentary bout of anger deserts him with the release of a slow, purposeful exhale. "You’re right. I’m sorry."

"No, no, shit,” Shitty says immediately, switching back from resigned to guilt-ridden in the matter of nanoseconds. “Don’t -- damn it, don’t apologize, oh shit, I’m victim blaming aren’t I, I totally didn’t mean to put this on you --"

"Shitty --"

There’s the sound of bed springs creaking again and then loud footsteps hitting a floor, which Jack assumes are the background sounds of Shitty rushing up from his bed to pace the length of his room. He’s seen Shitty do it across his small room in the Haus countless times, and it feels strange now, having it happen forty miles away. "It’s just, you know, I tried and you didn’t pick up and I get it, fuck do I get it, remember how in freshman year you forgot to talk to anyone for like a week during the preseason stress?"

Jack cracks a tiny, shaky smile that he knows won’t make it into his voice. His first few months at Samwell were a horrible time, fraught with loneliness and frequent panic attacks, too absorbed in thoughts of the path he was supposed to take to function in the path he ended up taking. His therapist helped with that, later, but before that there was Shitty. Determined to be Jack’s friend for no good reason at all. "Yeah. And you broke into my dorm room to make sure I wasn’t dead."

"So it wasn’t like I was offended you didn’t pick up or some bull,” Shitty hurries to finish, “I know you, I get it --"

But that’s wrong, Jack thinks, frowning deeply. Surely, Shitty must know that. "Shitty."

"What? No, seriously. It’s not the first time it happened, and with the pressure of playing in the league and all, I totally get it -- it’s just --"

"You’re allowed to be offended, Shits." Jack says quietly. His hand reaches up to curl around the phone and tug it away from the crook of his shoulder, but his muscles remain tense even when his shoulder drops down. His other hand is still fisted on top of his thigh and the purple shadows cast by the faint stars outside the windows heighten the grooves of his veins. "I know I -- I know it can get difficult -- with me --"

"No," Shitty interrupts, sounding even more emotional than before, a penitent snowball that keeps on rolling down the hill. Shitty’s capable of rolling on forever, if he thinks something is truly wrong. "No no no, Jack, I didn’t mean --"

"Shut up, Shitty." Jack says firmly. He preserves, reminding himself forcefully that the sentiment he wants to establish is too important to be derailed by Shitty’s atonement. His hands have begun to shake slightly, but he needs to get it out. "I know I’m worthy of love and friendship and all the crap you were about to say. I’m just saying --. You’re allowed to be hurt even if it isn’t new behavior. Just because I -- my anxiety -- y’know. If it hurts you, you’re allowed to be hurt."

The other side of the line goes quiet for a long moment, not even the sound of breathing coming through. Jack closes his eyes, counts to ten, tells himself that it’s Shitty and that the two of them are going to figure it out. Fighting with Shitty has always been mentally hard on Jack, has always felt like shaking the only foundation Jack had to stand on. It didn’t happen often, but Jack tries to remind himself that whenever it did they always came out intact on the other side. Arguing was a healthy way to understand your needs and the needs of the other person, his therapist told him.

When Shitty speaks, he sounds awed. "Christ on a cracker, man. That was fuckin’ wise. That Bits’ influence on you?"

Jack pauses to consider it seriously, taking time to recompose his brain. Being with Bitty -- it has taught him so much, about his own feelings and others' and how to put them into words, the importance of open communication. He told Shitty that the previous day after Jerry's -- feelings could easily not occur to him, even if he felt them very strongly. He coexisted with them without acknowledging their existence a lot of the time, and this phone call is only one example of it. Being with Bitty, having to be aware and give name and give value to his own feelings to make things work between them, has changed the way he interacted with his emotions. Made him understand himself better. He’s not at all sure he would’ve been capable of articulating himself in a conversation like this if not for the progress Bitty and he have made together.

But being aware of his worth as a person, and learning that his disorder didn’t define him but shouldn’t be brushed aside either, that wasn’t Bitty. “No, Shits. That’s your influence on me.”

This silence is even longer than the one before it, and then it’s broken by muffled sniffles on the other side. Jack's heart leaps, panic building in his chest -- but then Shitty says, throat choked up, “I thought -- fuck, Jack, this is gonna sound so motherfucking stupid. But I thought you didn’t, y’know. Need me anymore. I know this is on me too, I’m barely keeping my head above water here and the whole -- fuckin’ Harvard situation, it’s not… but each day we didn't talk and I saw your game scores, or I would see those Falcs vids… it looks like you have this spankin’ fuckin’ brand new life that I know shit about. And you’ve got Mashkov, and St. Martin, and…”

Jack can’t find adequate words for a long moment, and once he opens his mouth he’s surprised to hear his voice is thick, surprised to feel hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Shitty. Tater is great. And Marty is great, and -- Thirdy, and all of them. But.”

None of them are you, he wants to say, but that sounds too dumb to utter out loud. That’s not how Shitty and he talk to each other, or at least, it’s not how Jack talks to Shitty. Shitty is good at phrasing his feelings in ways Jack can handle, but Jack can’t ever make the right words come out of his mouth.

There’s another pause, his mind blanking, and then he says, “Tater didn’t make me sign a friendship contract.”

Shitty snorts, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Jacko --”

“No. Shits --. Tater didn’t make the effort to be my friend even when I was doing everything I could to push him away. He didn’t drag my ass to the Haus my freshman year after I hadn't talked to anyone but faculty in two weeks. He didn’t argue with Bergey until we were banked together on every roadie and was heartbroken when no one spread rumors about us hooking up.”

That shot goes wide. “Oh fuckity fuck, Jack, I’m a fucking dickhead --”

“Bordel de merde, Shitty, will you fucking listen?” Jack rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose, feels his skin crease between his brows. “Tater didn’t make me go to Gender in Warfare in Early 20th Century America because he knew it’d end up one of my favorite classes, or learnt my story about the fire extinguisher and the football team by heart, or -- or have been defending me behind my back since the first week he knew me. Tater’s great. I’m -- you know, uh, thankful, for having people on the Falcs. I didn’t think it could be -- after the guys at Samwell, no team would ever be the same.”

“Yeah,” Shitty says, sadly, in the tone of someone who knows exactly what Jack means.

Jack’s throat bobs when he swallows, chest aching. “And they’re great. But Tater -- or Marty, or any of them -- they’re not...”

None of them are you, Jack wants Shitty to hear, gripping his pants in his hand again to balance himself. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that would make Shitty hear him. None of them could ever be you.

There’s once again silence between them, only interrupted by Shitty’s quiet sniffles and the erratic beating of Jack’s heart. His phone is too warm on his ear, clammy from sweat smearing over the screen, but he can’t bring himself to put Shitty on speaker. It feels like they’re too far apart to have this conversation already, like Shitty should be sitting here on the couch next to Jack in flimsy underwear like he was every time they needed to talk like this over the past four years.

After a long moment, Shitty makes an ambiguous rasping noise and admits, “I was jealous.”

Jack winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Yeah, I mean, apology accepted, whatever, just. I was jealous they got to be there for you every day, really be there in the moments I used to live through with you that I now know zilch about. I was used to that being me.” He then adds, much more grimly, “Except apparently I sucked ass at being there for you at all when it counted.”

Jack sighs. They veered off topic to talk about something Jack considers more important, but now they were back to that and he knows in the pit of his stomach that they, both of them, won’t be able to move on until they talk this through. This is a conversation they need to have, even if it would be easier for Jack to not have it at all. “Shitty. I need to tell you something.”

The thing about Shitty is that he has faults like the rest of them, but Jack has always known that he’d drop anything if Jack needed him. He knows because it goes unconditionally both ways. Shitty’s voice goes immediately even and he wastes no time before saying, “I'm listening.”

Jack swallows. It feels -- heavy, on his breastbones. It didn’t before, it didn’t at Jerry's. He doesn’t remember this weight from years ago, when he first talked about it with his parents, and then -- later, too much later -- with his therapist. His chest was so laden with other concerns then that there was no room for anything more, and this burden was only ever an afterthought. At Jerry's he was thinking of Bitty, of Bitty’s happiness and Jack's own happiness with him, and the necessity of the action for their joint happiness. It didn’t leave any space for this weight.

Now he can feel the weight. It’s stupid. Shitty already knows, and besides, it’s Shitty. Jack knows Shitty so well that he can practically predict the exact words he will use, and even if he couldn’t, he knows Shitty would never turn him away. Yet his chest feels tight, like he’s holding in all of his air, and his fingers are again shaking against his thigh. “Shitty, I'm dating Bittle.”

Shitty makes a baffled sound, clearly not expecting this choice of confession. “I -- yeah, dude, I know.”

“I’m dating Bittle,” Jack reiterates determinedly, eager to get it over with. “He’s a guy.”

Shitty goes quiet for a moment, and then he says, voice low, “Okay.”

Jack wasn’t sure he was going to say it, but now that they’re here, this is something he wants Shitty to know. “He’s not the first guy I’ve been with.”

Shitty’s sharp intake of breath at this is audible even over the phone, but other than that he doesn’t react outwardly. Jack's shaking hand lifts up to rub over his chest while he waits for Shitty to say something, and Shitty doesn’t keep him waiting long. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

That’s almost exactly the reaction Jack expected to hear, but for some reason he doesn’t feel settled. “It never came up before.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Shitty reassures him. Jack’s not sure what Shitty is thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all. This probably isn’t as big a deal to him as it feels like to Jack.

Jack frowns down at the shadows of his socked feet in the dark, thinks it over, and then corrects, “No, actually -- no. It never came up with anyone else. But I did think of telling you. More than once. You were the only one… but I had reasons not to. Or, I thought I did.”

“That’s still cool, brah,” Shitty hurries to interrupt. “You don’t have to --”

“No, because,” Jack sighs, trails off midsentence. He doesn’t want Shitty to make this easy for him, to allow Jack to take the exit he’s being offered. He knows they could stop the discussion right there and Shitty would never say a thing, but he doesn’t want this to hang over their friendship for the rest of time, and he knows that it could if he doesn’t force himself to dig deeper. “Because when you assumed that if I had someone it must’ve been a girlfriend, it hurt. I didn’t realize before -- I thought I was upset because Bitty was hurt, and I hurt him even more with my reaction, and it mattered more at the time. But it hurt. And that’s not entirely fair to you, because you had no reason to think otherwise. Because I didn’t tell you.”

There’s more rustling in the background, and Shitty talks over him before the last word is out of his mouth. “Jack, no, you’re under no obligation to disclose your identity to anyone and it doesn’t give them any right to assume -- I assumed and it was so fucking wrong --”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, because it was. He’s not trying to argue that it wasn’t. Shitty was wrong, but that’s not the point Jack is trying to make.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Shitty sounds contrite, and Jack can almost imagine the look on his face now. The small wrinkle in his forehead, the downward slope of his mustache, the sharp angle of his jaw. Shitty always looks older when he feels guilty about something. “So fuckin’ sorry.”

“That’s okay, man. Eh. Well, it's not, but it's forgiven.” And it is, Jack knows. He’s already forgiven Shitty, would have to try so hard not to forgive Shitty. They’ve hurt each other in the past and they’ll most likely hurt each other again in the future, but it’s never done intentionally. Shitty’s friendship is worth all of this crap and always has.

“I guess I just... “ Shitty lowers his voice, and Jack has to press the phone harder into his ear to hear him. “Fuck, I don’t want to excuse my actions, this does not in any way justify the shit I said. But I guess, in my mind, even though I know you should never assume about anyone, I did think that because it’s you… that you’d tell me. If there was ever anything to tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says this time. He’s not sure Shitty knows this, but this is what he was trying to get to before. What Shitty is saying is reasonable even if it isn’t ideal.

“Fuck no. What the fucking fuck are you apologizing for, you idiot --”

“I’m not apologizing for not telling you, Shits,” Jack stops him before it becomes another rant. He’s growing tired of using so many words at once, feeling the toll of the unexpected emotional turmoil he’s dragging his overworked body through. “I know what you said was wrong, and I know I didn’t have to tell you. I’m saying I’m sorry if you were hurt by it. And I'm apologizing if it made you feel like I didn't trust you, or. Or some shit.”

Another pause follows Jack’s words, and he has to stifle the urge to collapse sideways into the couch and shove his face into a cushion until everything goes away. This conversation, as necessary as it is, doesn’t come naturally to either of them. They’ve been talking about their feelings for too long now and it’s starting to get awkward and overwhelming.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t super touched by your previous comment,” Shitty says, suddenly. “Because stereotypical masculinity is complete bullshit and I’m not ashamed to admit I teared the fuck up. But Jack -- Bitty has done some serious work on you. Or, like, you know, healthy relationships and all, you two worked on yourselves with each other to be better and all that, but. Man, I don’t think that’s a distinction you would’ve made six months ago.”

Jack considers it. The idea of someone’s hurt being valid even if the reason for it didn’t make sense probably isn’t a concept he would’ve been able to grasp, or at least would not have paid much thought to. Looking back, he was probably hurt dozens of times by little comments in the Haus, or things he heard around campus, or moments of feeling left out by his team; but when the reason for his hurt wasn’t completely logical it was harder for him to allow himself that pain. He would usually distract himself from it, instead. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“But can I just say again -- I'm so fucking sorry for being a heteronormative jackass. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for hurting Bits, I’m sorry for --”

Esti de câlice de tabarnak. Jack drops his face into his palm and sighs over the string of Shitty’s rapidly escalating apologies. Jack is fully aware that Shitty is just going to apologize until they’re both old and gray if Jack doesn’t stop him. “Shitty, can you knock it?”

Shitty hesitates, but the flood of his words stops. “I miss you,” is what he says eventually.

Jack drops his hand down, leans his weight on his elbows and blinks at the dark room. Shitty used to tell him that all of the time. When they were apart on school breaks; when they were separated on roadies; when Jack had two lectures and a senior workshop on Wednesday nights and Shitty wouldn’t see him for several consecutive hours. Shitty’s affection was always abundant and inescapable, and Jack didn't know it was something he was lacking until he finally hears it. “I miss you, too, man.”

Shitty lets the gravity of it, the seriousness in Jack's voice settle between them, the earnestness he wouldn’t usually hand over easily when they were back at school. And then he says, “It’s hard as fuck, man. It’s hard to admit that it’s hard, too. It’s hard to see Lards’ pics from kegsters I can’t attend anymore, and it’s hard to find friends in this pretentious shithole full of pretensions dicks, and -- Harvard is fucking hard, Jack. And I hate being away from you guys, but I don’t wanna bring you down with my sad. You assholes are my goddamn family, there’s nothing that’s ever gonna replace that. It sucks knowing that I'm stuck here. I miss you so much it drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Jack knows, instantly and wholeheartedly, what Shitty is talking about. He’s living his dream and he loves the Falcs and he’s sincerely grateful for all of it even on his worst days. But sometimes stepping off the ice after a grueling practice and getting pictures of Bitty, laughing with Holster and Ransom on the ice at Faber -- it aches somewhere deep inside him. Sometimes he lies awake in foreign hotel rooms in foreign cities, and while most nights he longs for nothing more than Bitty’s presence, others he closes his eyes and wishes Shitty was there to crawl into his bed again. Sometimes he puts on his jersey before games and imagines the blue and yellow are red and white. His team from Samwell is his family, too, and sometimes missing them feels like missing an amputated limb.

“I wish we got to see each other more,” Jack squeezes out. His windpipe feels strangled, and for a moment he thinks that if he blinks too hard tears might well up again. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so tired his body is shutting down, or because he’s been holding on to more emotions than he previously thought. “I didn’t know --. I feel the same way, Shitty, but I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m sorry we didn’t really talk much lately.”

It wasn’t something Jack was consciously aware of, but he more or less assumed that if Shitty was ever struggling he would just reach out for help. Shitty was always the better one of the two of them at communicating his feelings, at saying when he needed something or was going through a rough time. It never occurred to Jack to reach out and ask because he always figured that Shitty would come to him first. It's a startling realization. He really isn’t as good a friend as Shitty deserves.

“‘S not your fault,” Shitty objects, even though in some ways it really is. But Shitty means it, Jack knows, despite the lingering hints of anxiety. Shitty wouldn’t say it if he didn’t honestly believe it wasn’t Jack’s fault.

“Maybe, but you should make time for the things that matter to you, right? I’ll try to be better about that. I wanna be there for you, too.”

Shitty sighs, and the tails of it turn into a breathy, weary laugh. “Fuck, Jacko, this is a fuckin’ sobfest. Shit, man. Yeah. I’ll try, too. We could Skype, even. You know I miss that mug of yours.”

Jack finally pulls the phone away from his ear, wipes the sweat tracks away and switches the call to speakerphone. His calendar app is full of cute little reminders Bitty leaves anonymously, like 06:30 work hard and have fun! or 11:11 someone is thinking of you. He’s developed a habit of checking his calendar often these past six months, counting down the days until he gets to see Bitty next. He’s sure it won’t be easy, especially with the progression of the Falconers’ season, but from now on he’ll have to make every effort to fit more people into his schedule. Bitty makes him happy, but he’s not the only one who does.

Jack scrolls through the events logged into his upcoming week. He’s got a game on Monday and one at home on Wednesday, and then Thursday is American Thanksgiving. Bitty is throwing together a whole meal for the Samwell team. He told Jack that he’s under no obligation to come if practice time doesn’t allow it, but... “Are you going to Hausgiving on Thursday?”

Shitty curses loudly. “Fuck, I fuckin’ wish, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’ve got this fuckin’ test coming up. But I promised Lar-- uh --”

Jack smirks, even if it’s only to himself in an empty apartment. Lardo texted him after Jerry’s to let him know that the two of them will exchange deets privately like civilized bros, but Shitty still seems to be under the illusion that he’s fooling someone. Like his heart-eyes haven’t been obvious from space -- and Jack is painfully aware that if he noticed, that really says something. “Lardo, eh? Not getting out of that one.”

He can almost see Shitty’s answering furious blush from all those miles away. “Fuck you, Zimmermann, don’t make this about me. What I was sayin’ is, I wanna be there super freakin’ bad -- we all know I will gladly sell my right leg for Bitty’s cooking --”

“And for Lardo’s company,” Jack chirps, incredibly satisfied with this turn of conversation.

“I will fuck you right up, don’t you think I won’t!” Shitty threatens emptily, even though Jack takes him down every single time. “Seriously. Your bro becomes a pro athlete and suddenly he thinks he’s a goddamn comedian. Anyway. For Bitty’s cooking, I will make an effort. You got team stuff?”

“No,” Jack says with finality, swiping his calendar closed. He always feels better when things are put into action. “I think I’m going.”

“For Bitty?” Shitty asks, most likely trying to chirp Jack back.

“Well. Yes,” Jack says, perfectly honest. He’s not in any way ashamed of how much he wants to be near Bitty all of the time. He doesn’t think he can remember ever being less ashamed of anything in his life. “But also for you. Think you can meet me there?”

Shitty’s quiet. And then he says, “For my best friend? I’ll meet you halfway across the universe, Jackabelle.”

After the two of them hang up the call, Jack doesn’t move, his eyes fixed blindly in the direction of the windows across the room. His food is growing cold on the coffee table, but Jack thinks that at this point he might genuinely be too tired to eat. Whatever little energy he had left after the game was spent on this conversation with Shitty. He doesn’t regret it; they needed to say all of those things. Jack needed to hear all of those things, both so he could forgive Shitty for something he didn’t know he was holding onto, and so he could work on being a more considerate friend.

The game plan is solid, though, Jack decides. Thanksgiving dinner at the Haus will bring the opportunity to be completely honest with his friends after months of hiding a big aspect of his life from them. And it’d be fun, too. Ransom would put together actual charts for the seating arrangement, and Holster would draw everyone into a betting pool on the football game results, and Bitty would inevitably prepare insane amounts of food using the frogs as his sous chefs. He would probably insist that they’d hold hands around the table and say one thing each of them wants to give thanks for, as well.

Jack doesn’t mind American Thanksgiving, but he’s never really seen the point of that ritual. He’s known for a long time now what he's truly grateful for.

#omgcp #jackshitty #jackshitty fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #i decided not to wait for friendship day because i'm not sure i'll be around to post then #but i hope you'll enjoy this anyway?#i wanted to write something about their friendship in early y3 in forever

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moderngirlmp3 · 3 years

Note

hi!! i saw that your requests were open, i was wondering if you could do willie, on 2 nights of no sleep and about 12 cups of coffee, sends alex a confession text at 2am. chaos and fluff ensues

i love your work so much

-🦜

In hindsight, Willie probably shouldn’t have been awake for two days straight. Or at least, he shouldn’t have allowed himself near his phone after being awake for two days straight. Or maybe it was the coffee. 12 cups in 4 hours does strange things. Apparently.

Regardless of the cause, it was 2am and Willie was staring at their phone in absolute horror.

alex 🥁💜

[2:04AM]

so this is probably a really dumb decision but it’s 2am and i just had 12 cups of coffee so here goes. uh. i like you. in a non platonic way.

im sorry i’m really bad at this. haven’t exactly done this before. basically, i love you. a lot.

i know u don’t feel the same and that’s fine but i just wanted to tell you

btw if you wanna take some space or something i totally get it. just let me know haha

[delivered]

Yeah, Willie was fucked. It wasn’t their fault, though. Really, it was just the 2am timing (that he had decided to stay up until) and the 12 cups of coffee (that they had decided to drink).

Okay, so maybe it was his fault. But still. Any plans they had of sleeping had been completely thrown out the window. Willie knew Alex went to sleep at 11:30pm every night; they’d teased him at least a thousand times for it. Even knowing that, and knowing that there was no way Alex would be awake for another several hours, Willie could still do nothing but sit on the floor and check his phone every ten seconds.

Even despite their hypervigilance, he almost missed the low buzz that emitted from his phone after what felt like years of waiting. Willie snatched their phone up to view the lock screen and- @cool.skateboards444 liked your post. Oh. Willie felt his shoulders slump and he rubbed his eyes. What did they expect? It was- they reached over to his phone again to check the time and promptly dropped it back on the floor with a clatter. Below the glowing 2:17 timestamp was a bright white rectangle standing out against his lock screen: alex 🥁💜 - iMessage. Willie rubbed his eyes to make sure they were reading it correctly, and when he opened them again, the notification stared back at him, exactly as he had read it before. With shaking hands, they typed in the passcode to his phone (definitely not Alex’s birthday) and when they opened the messages app, they were met with the absolutely terrifying sight of the smallest text bubble they had ever seen: “oh.”

Willie barely had time to overthink the message before it disappeared, the messages screen now hidden behind a request to FaceTime?? Running off of caffeine, panic, and reflex, Willie instinctively pressed accept and was met with a sleepy-looking, pajama-clad, messy-haired, unfairly adorable Alex. Fuck.

“Uh, hey,” Willie said, and immediately cursed himself for how tense his voice was.

Alex stared for a second, seemingly taking in Willie’s run-down and exhausted appearance, before clearing his throat. “Oh, shit, sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“Nah,” Willie let his face split into the small grin that Flynn liked to call his ‘Alex smile.’ Only now he was realizing maybe that was accurate. “I was already up.”

Alex nodded and was silent for a moment before his eyes widened slightly. “Right. Your 12 cups of coffee. Please tell me that was an exaggeration?”

“No can do, hotdog,” Willie responded, shrugging slightly and running his restless fingers through his hair to ease the fidgeting. ADHD and coffee. A combination that was always unpredictable, never desirable, and pretty much inevitable with Willie at this point.

Alex frowned slightly and Willie wanted nothing more than to be able to somehow teleport into his room and smooth away that little crease between his eyebrows. Unfortunately, he wasn’t some ghost who could poof wherever he wanted to whenever he wanted to. That would be the life. Another thought far outside the realm of ghosts entered Willie’s mind, and he pushed aside the mental image of skating in Justin Bieber’s empty pool and focused back on Alex.

“Hang on, why are you awake?” Willie smirked, but his nervousness tugged his lips back down into a slight grimace. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Time is a social construct,” Alex replied airily, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, and that’s my line.”

“Fine. I couldn’t sleep. And then you… you texted me.”

Willie couldn’t tell if the blood all rushed to or from their face, but it was one of the two because suddenly they were overheating, shivering, and vaguely nauseated. “Oh. right.”

“So…”

Willie couldn’t bring themself to look at Alex’s face on the screen, so they stared at their socks. They were mismatched, he noted; one was dark blue with hot dogs, and the other was dark red with skateboards. Alex had gotten them for him and had taken a sock from each pair for himself. Something twisted in Willie’s stomach and he looked away from the patterns. “Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?” Alex’s voice suddenly burst out louder and Willie looked up sharply. Alex’s eyes were wide in the frame, and through the grainy camera quality Willie noticed him biting his lip nervously. As if he thought Willie was going to say no.

“What- of course I meant it,” Willie blurted out before he could overthink it. “I mean- no, yeah that’s exactly it. Yeah. I meant it.”

Alex’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’ of surprise, and he breathed, “Oh,” so quietly that Willie nearly missed it.

“Oh, c’mon, hotdog,” Willie said quietly, daring to look into the camera. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that. What d’you mean by oh?”

“I mean I like you too, speed bump,” Alex said, followed by an audible breath of relief.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Now can you try to sleep?”

Willie felt like they had been hit over the head with one of Alex’s drumsticks. No, not a drumstick. They felt like someone had dropped the whole drum set on top of their brain, and they were still dazed from the impact. He shook his head quickly and blinked. “Uh-”

“Are- are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Willie reassured him with a growing smile. “It’s just, this is sorta a dream come true, y’know. So I’m a little out of it.”

Even in the crappy lighting of the phone screen, Willie saw Alex’s face go completely scarlet. Clearly fighting back a smile, Alex shook his head and returned, “Go to sleep.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Whatever you say, hotdog.” Willie giggled and ended the call, the image of Alex’s small smile imprinted on his retinas. Yeah, there was no way they were going to sleep anytime soon.

Just as they were starting to get into bed to at least try, there was a soft ping and Willie’s phone screen lit up. 1 message from Alex. With a soft smile, Willie unlocked his phone and opened up messages. There, in the familiar grey bubble, read the six most beautiful words Willie had seen in his entire life.

alex 🥁💜

[2:33AM]

it’s my dream come true too ❤️

-❊-

taglist (send an ask to be added): @deathdancer @julie-and-the-himbo-ghosts @willex-n-waffles @wlwcarries @girlboss-molina @julieandthequeers @lemonade-potahto @honorablescythecurie

read on ao3

#tuserjules #userblue #usernell #tracklu #mine*#jatp #julie and the phantoms #NetflixWeWantJATP2 #my fics

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johnnyutah · 3 years

Note

hi i was just wondering (i’ve only seen the show and played a little bit of the games) what three characters / dynamics you were referring to in your witcher post within the “speech marks” descriptions bevause i can’t figure it out :( and also if you notice this is mostly pervasive among fans of the show, or if it includes fans of the video games and books acting up too

hey thanks for your ask and sorry!! i was being vague on purpose bc i know the subject is very upsetting to a couple of my friends but. mostly referring to the weirdly popular witcher ships like the ‘technically’ incestuous trio of eskel/lambert/geralt, all the very fetishistic jaskier ‘dead dove’ stuff, etc… obviously the geralt/ciri stuff is Worse but i just don’t like that terribly written rape fic is so prevalent (almost commonplace) in this fandom for this thing i really enjoy. also i have seen questionable ideas from both creators who only go off the show’s characterization and creators who are diehard fans of the game and/or books and would never touch the show. i feel like most of the DD stuff tends to come from netflix fans but it is definitely a Witcher Fandom wide problem.

i also feel like i have been exposed to the worst of it just by trying to find likeminded people in the fandom/community, like i stumble onto the worst shit all the time completely by accident and. Idk i just hit my breaking point when i saw that post suggesting that since the original author sapkowski included lots of assault/abuse scenes and themes in his canon, the witcher fandom should be proud of its blatant ugliness and that abuse should be fetishized On Main. it was just a really weird post and to see so many creators that i know hopping on it to agree was like… very nauseating. i am still in search of friends in the witcher fandom who are like nice & normal, i have maybe two right now jdjdkck ☹️

#sorry for the delay in answering i had to run to the store bc one of the frogs is sick :’(#asks #anonymous

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Note

Okokokok post apocalyptic au. The world is dead basically. Or so it seems.

And like one of the characters wants to give up because they've spent two weeks looking for food but have come across nothing without disease or decay.

Maybe liek a few months ago this one had cut off their arm or something for like food ? Right ? Weird ik but liek that describes the desperation I think.

Um maybe like a super angsty confession happens in order to save them. They are two best friends or ... Maybe more ? maybe in death ?? Bruh what do I know.

Pairing(s): Yoongi x OC (Name: Kiku)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Genre: Post-Apocalyptic AU | Fantasy AU

Tags & Warnings: cannibalism references, self-amputation, angst, hunger, lack of hope, just world bad

Authors’ Note: this was the darkest shit i’ve written and it’s kind of vague to a point where it feels like a joke but i hope it was somewhat enjoyable.

“I couldn’t find any food,” Yoongi said. His voice was more gruff than ever from lack of water and sleep.

Kiku hugged her knees to her chest, blocking out the violent rumbles in her stomach. She looked out amongst the blackened silhouettes of the trees against the purple sky. “When was the last time the sky was blue?”

Yoongi knew she heard him. But she never answered him directly. There was a time when she used to speak normally. Answering all his questions, looking around, smiling, crying, screaming. Kiku used to have those feelings before. Yoongi always complained that they were annoying and irritating but she kept doing it louder just to torture him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was annoyed by her. And he hated it.

“There aren’t any clouds anymore either.” Kiku walked across their campsite. “Purple is nice too, I guess. But it smells funny.”

Yoongi sighed. “What does it smell like?”

“Metal.” She picked up the rusty saw they found to get wooden branches. “Just metal. Not even the trees or the grass. Metal in my tongue. Metal in my nose. Can you smell it too?”

“I guess.” Yoongi relaxed back on the browning grass. “Are you gonna get firewood?”

“You said we were out of food.” Kiku sat down on the grass too. She took out a long cloth and tied it around her arm. “It’s already been too long since we’ve eaten. We’ll die. I don’t think I wanna die yet.”

Yoongis’ brows furrowed. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s already been too long since we’ve eaten.” Kiku pressed the saw blade against her forearm and sawed through without hesitation.

“Kiku!”

“Just get bandages ready.”

Yoongis’ fingers trembled as he scurried to grab bandages and whatever medicine they found that could help with injuries. Some of them must’ve already been expired. She could get sick if there was a dud. It was too late though. He heard a nauseating thud hit the ground and a light sigh.

“There—” Kikus’ cheeks were streaming with tears and her whole body was shaking. “Food.”

Yoongi tried to block out the sights as he did his best to stop the bleeding from her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? We could’ve found food somewhere else.”

“Nature’s dying and most of the stores are days away,” Kiku whispered. “We could’ve died.”

“I’d rather die than have you cut your damn arm off.” Yoongi wrapped the bandage around the stump where her arm used to be.

“I’d rather cut my arm off then see you die.” Kiku attempted a smile through her bloodshot eyes and paling skin.

“Then we’re both idiots.” Yoongi caught a glimpse of her arm. For the first time, he felt tears burning in his eyes.

“You know we have to.” Kiku swallowed the lump in her throat.

Yoongi shook his head as a tear fell down his cheek.

They looked away from each other the whole night. Barely talking and tears running down their cheeks as they prolonged their survival amongst the purpling sky.

#yoongi #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi drabbles #bts drabbles #tw: cannibalism #drabble game #drabble games

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Promised

Chapter 4

**Series Warnings!! ** ABO dynamics! Smut, unprotected smut, knotting, claiming, mating, heat, rut, language, overly protective Jensen, age gap! 19-year-old reader, 41-year-old Jensen, virgin reader, loss of virginity, sort of an arranged Marriage, hint at possible mob type settings.

Story Description:

In a world where your presentation can be a blessing or a curse, a newly presented Omega will come face to face with the harsh reality of Alphas, Omegas, and pack alliances that are expected to be upheld with the union of your two families…

A/N: Pt.4!!! Please don’t copy my stuff! Feedback is welcomed! If you want to be added to the series tag list, or just my tag list in general let me know! Cross-posted on Wattpad! Hope you enjoy it!! This is my first ABO series so be nice lmao!

Word Count:2281

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Ran over by an angry truck driver, who once he hit you, backed up and ran you over again for good measure. That's what you felt like when you finally regained consciousness.

You laid there as still as possible, refusing to open your eyes. You were so deeply asleep that when you very first realized you had woken up, you felt nothing but numb until you started to become slowly more alert.

Your joints felt like you had been unhinged and then reattached. Your body felt sore all over like you had the flu and were recovering. There was a dull ache between your legs, nothing like it was though. Your stomach felt slightly nauseated... Did you come close to death, or were you just being dramatic?

The more you became aware of your body the more you remembered what happened the previous night. You could then feel you Alpha's arm and leg caging you into his body as tight as he could hold you in his sleep.

The rise and fall of his broad chest and breathed deeply in his sleep. His scent that seemed to radiate to your very inner being surrounding you. His body warming yours seemly from the inside out. It felt amazing... If only you didn't need to go to the restroom you could stay there all day.

Being as gentle as you could as to not wake up your Alpha, mostly because you didn't know if he would be angry with you for waking him when he looked so peacefully asleep next to you, so you tried to unwrap him from you. You were successful in removing his arm and were working on sitting up to unwrap his leg when he sat up with you like someone had shot him.

You froze staring at him like you might freak out and faint.

"You okay?" he mumbled, started, and still mostly asleep. You would have found it funny if you weren't a little afraid of him. He was twice your age, and after all, he was an alpha. You had heard that they weren't always nice people.

"Y...Yeah... Uh... I just need to," you pointed to the bathroom and he caught on quickly.

"Oh!!! Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, releasing you from his hold and running his hands down his face in an attempt to wake himself up more.

You stood and your world spun as your muscle protested. You could feel his eyes on you, so you tried not to show just how tired you still were even though you had to hold onto the wall to make your way as quickly as you could to do your business.

Once you were done you looked in the mirror for the first time in probably two days. You looked horrible. Your hair was a mess. You were a little pale, with circles around your eyes like you could really use another five or six solid hours of sleep.

Then you saw it. Your claiming mark. Running your fingers over the freshly raised mark slightly you felt your stomach twist with nerves.

It vaguely crossed your mind that you no longer belonged to yourself, but you belonged to him. A man twice your age...

Sure he was attractive, but could the two of you even find a common ground to stand on as far as a functioning relationship, or were you destined to just be his arm candy and a rut bunny for him?

Rut... Shit, you hadn't even thought about that. He would eventually go into a rut and would expect you as his mate to help him through it. The thought terrified you, but in a way, you couldn't stand the thought of another Omega even being without a foot of your Alpha, much less going to bed with him.

A light knock on the door nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"Hey, You okay in there, sweetheart?" his deep muffled voice called through the door before cracking it slightly, but not enough to fully see you.

"Yea, yea, I'm okay. I think I might want to take a shower," you said ideally, looking back in the mirror. You just realized you were wearing a shirt that must have been his, because it was WAY too big for your small farm, coming down almost past your knees. Did he dress you?

He just nodded his head, stepping back into the room, but not going away from the door, which made you a little worried. Was he going to watch you the whole time? Not let you out of his sight? Was he one of those overly possessive Alpha men?

"Okay, I'll order some food while you shower. You haven't eaten anything in two days, you wouldn't let me feed you anything, all you wanted to do was sleep."

Momentarily forgetting about the shower you stepped out into the room, keeping your distance though. It was like having this whole other person attached to you that was a complete stranger. You didn't really know what to do with them, but you were so overwhelmingly drawn to them you gravitated toward them without really even a thought. It was scary, to say the least.

"What do you mean two days?" you asked, your voice small. You hated how you automatically submitted to him when he didn't even do anything but stand there.

"Well, they let your fever get a little too high before they called me... I really don't know why they waited... by the time I got to you, you where exhausted, after we... you know... you fell asleep and slept through the rest of your heat. You'd drink water if I put it up to your mouth, but you wouldn't eat anything... My sister said it was because they let you get a little to far gone before they called me."

You stood there staring at him, trying to process everything he was telling you.

Just like that, those memories flooded you of the past two days. You'd been asleep, but not totally. You remembered Jensen's hands constantly checking you. You remembered him trying to get you to eat. You remembered him washing you in a bathtub. You where aware of all these things, but you wouldn't open your eyes. Your body too exhausted to even get yourself to respond to your mate.

You remembered the fever, and when It would get to high how he'd try everything that he could to bring it down instead of knotting you. Your heart clinched within you. You wondered if you weren't good enough for him if he wasn't pleased with you the first time he was with you. So he'd rather put cold rags on you to bring your fever down, instead of knot you again.

You couldn't help the embarrassment and shame that crept it's way into your features as you set there on the side of the bed. You couldn't meet his gaze. You wanted the floor to open up so that you could take a nose dive directly into it.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt Jensen's arms pulling you into his lap. Holding you close to him.

"Talk to me sweetheart, what's wrong."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him you were ashamed that you weren't good enough for him. So you just sat there looking anywhere in the room but at him. You felt his lips brush your claiming mark, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body at his touch. You felt his fingers lift your chin to look at him.

"Y/N, talk to me, please, let me know what's wrong. Maybe I can fix it. I don't like not knowing what's wrong with you."

There was a command behind his voice, and you knew if you didn't open up soon then he was going to lose patients with you. You felt like all you had done was cry since he carried you into this room. That made you feel even worse.

Not looking at him you couldn't bring your voice more than a whisper. You felt like your heart was being crushed in your chest. Afraid that if you told him what was wrong, he would get even angrier with you than he probably already was.

"I'm... I'm sorry... I'm not good enough for you Alpha. All I've done is cry and be a burden to you since you carried me in here. I couldn't even go through a heat properly... If you want to reject our bond and send me home I understa..."

Jensen placed two fingers over your lips to stop you before could break down completely. Your body trembling lightly at his touch.

"First, I'm not going to reject our bond and sending you home," he said, wiping tears away with the pad of his thumb.

Purring he pulled you closer to him, making you face him, and wrapping your legs on either side of his hips as he leaned back against the headboard, making himself more comfortable.

Jensen Guided your face into the bend of his neck, close to his pulse point where his scent was the strongest, and a calm enveloping you.

"Secondly, you've been through A LOT. I don't expect you to walk around like stone, and I was more than aware that this adjustment, no matter how long they took preparing you for it, was not going to be an easy one for you."

His deep voice rumbled against you, running his fingers through your hair. You vaguely noted how small your body was held up against his massive shoulders and strong chest.

"And thirdly, you made it through your heat just fine. You had a lot working against you. They kept you in your house until you fever reached a dangerous level before they called me to tell me that you had presented, your first heat is always hard, and usually very intense, you being somewhat of a late bloomer made it a little rougher on you, and then there is the fact that you had never been with a man before. I didn't want to hurt you, so I tried different ways to keep your fever under control. After the night I brought you here and claimed you, you were past the worst of it. You where exhausted. I wasn't going to continue to knot you over and over again when you were barely conscious. Just because I mated you doesn't give me the right to rape you, and were in no position to give your consent. I'm not some Alpha that just takes what he wants at the expense of his Omega. It's my job to take care of you, your not a burden."

You don't know how long you stayed there like that wrapped up with your Alpha, No sex, no heat-induced hurry, just whispered affections, and soft touches. Finally, your stomach growled loudly and you felt Jensen laugh against you, unwrapping you from himself carefully.

"Go shower, I'll order us some food. There's an olive garden not far from that will deliver to the hotel. You need to eat to regain your strength. I'll be here waiting for you to get back out here to me. I'm not going anywhere."

Nodding your head you stood and made your way toward the shower, this time turning the water on and stepping in under the warm spray. Letting it wash all your worries away some. Beating down against your sore muscles. The water helps you feel a little more human and a little less like the walking dead. Your mind on the Alpha that was waiting on you in the next room. You hoped that he wasn't lying about the last two days and the reason he hadn't knotted you again, or even tried to have sex with you.

Cursing your stupid insecurities and low self-esteem you dry off quickly. Stepping out of the shower you noticed a pile of clothes sitting there folded neatly for you on the sink that wasn't there when you got into the shower. Here he was, still taking care of you. There was also a bathroom bag pack there with your things, toothbrushes, and other essentials from home. You didn't even hear him come into the bathroom.

Your heart swelled in your chest. Thinking maybe, just maybe he wasn't lying about you not being good enough for him. I mean according to the blood test you were true mates. Though you weren't going to bring that up to him.

When you walked out of the bathroom again you looked at the large hotel room that was more of a studio apartment than an actual hotel for the first time. He'd turned the lights on for one, and you don't remember him really having them on the whole time you'd been here, but also this was the most alert you'd been since you got here.

You found Jensen standing at the island sorting the food he'd bought. Chicken parnassian, salad, breadsticks, even raspberry tea for both of you. Smiling when he saw you come around the corner into the room he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around you. The same calm washed over you, and honestly, you could have stood there like that all night long as long as he kept his arms wrapped up around you like that.

"Feeling better?" he asked, burying his face in your kneck inhaling your scent deeply.

"A lot better," you said as he pulled away from you just enough to grab the food he'd fixed for you, leading you over to the couch before grabbing his own and coming to sit down next to you...

You felt more at home at that moment you had in your entire life, and honestly. That scared you a little.

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

Catch up: Promised Series Masterlist

Tag List:

@deanwanddamons @imabitch4jensen

Series Tag List:

@onethirstyunicorn

#alpha!jensen #alpha!jensen x omega!reader #alpha jensen omega x reader #omega reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles smut #smut #jensen x you #jensen ackles x you #promised #jawritter #dean wichester #dean x reader #supernatural #spn fanficiton #spn fanfic writer #jensen ackles series

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xx-ingie-xx · 4 years

Text

Forgotten 15 Excerpt

GAH Ch. 15 is a challenge. But I’m making progress... slooow progress. The meat of it is there, but I keep hitting these little walls where the writing doesn’t feel right and I can’t identify why. When that happens I have to walk away for a while and come back with fresh eyes. Sometimes it’s only a day or so, sometimes it’s several days. BUT I think I cleared a hurdle recently, so I figured the least I can do is get an excerpt posted. I can’t say when the rest of the chapter will be finished, but I’m fairly confident it will be posted within the next couple of weeks... As always, thank you for your patience!

Oh, and Happy 4th to the Americans out there! Please celebrate safely with social distancing! And a happy Saturday to everyone else! :)

---

“Link… Link, wake up.”

A low female voice seeped into his dreamscape, causing it to fade. He felt himself rise toward consciousness, and the grey void gave way to blinding light. Link flinched and shielded his face with his hood, grimacing at a painful throb behind his eyes.

“Hey there, kiddo,” the voice spoke again. "Didn’t expect to find you here… Can you sit up?"

A gentle hand grasped his arm, helping him sit upright against the wall. He groaned when his body protested, having spent the cold night huddled on a bed of stone. Finally he managed to open one eye, focusing on the bright red hair and tanned, angular features of Nabooru. Loose, windswept strands framed her concerned face, and a softness shone in her otherwise fierce golden eyes.

“You're a mess,” she murmured, pulling back his hood and brushing some sand from his hair. "I take it things aren’t… going well back home?”

Home...

Zelda.

Shame sank its talons into Link's heart, cold and unrelenting. He looked away from Nabooru, choking back tears as the previous night came back with nauseating clarity.

“Oh, come now,” Nabooru said, though Link caught a note of worry. “It can’t be that bad…”

He gave no reply, and the Gerudo sat back with a sigh. Then she reached into her pack and pulled out a canteen, offering it to Link. Reluctantly he accepted it, meeting her gaze before he took a small swig. The tepid water soothed his dry throat, but a painful tightness remained.

He handed the canteen back to her, but she waved his hand away.

“You keep that. Now, tell me what happened."

Link lowered his gaze, unsure where to start.

He had carried Zelda out of the library, barely able to disguise his panic as he passed the guards posted along the way. Impa had helped him put her to bed, then checked her vital signs while Link had struggled to calm himself.

“She doesn’t appear to be in any danger, but I’ll have Maddox examine her when she wakes.”

Link sat in a nearby armchair, listening with his head in his hands, unable to look at Impa or Zelda.

“I can’t stay here,” he whispered. “I can’t…”

Impa turned to him and crossed her arms, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I need time to…to accept this.” He lifted his eyes to rest on Zelda’s still form, watching her image blur behind his tears. “...I owe that to her.”

He rose to his feet and glanced toward Impa, relieved to see sympathy in her solemn gaze.

“And you owe it to yourself,” she said gently.

He swallowed and glanced back at Zelda, seized by a wave of reluctance. Part of him felt determined to stay, to see her wake and face whatever anger she threw at him. The rest of him yearned to flee the sight of her, to hide somewhere far away and wring the grief from his soul.

“Please tell her I’m sorry,” he said, failing to keep his voice steady. “And… that I never meant to hurt her.”

“I know, Link. I will.”

Still he hesitated, rooted by guilt and obligation.

“The Council…”

“Can spare you for a few days.”

Link clenched and unclenched his hands, considering every reason to deny himself. “But Shayne…”

“Will be well cared for.” Impa drew closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.

“Go, Link. It’s time you allowed yourself to grieve.”

He had left the room with heavy steps, his mind too shrouded in misery to bother with supplies or a change of clothes. Throwing a dark cloak over his shoulders, he took the Ocarina of Time and vanished to the farthest place he could reach.

The desert had greeted him with cold air and stillness. A slight breeze rustled the palm trees, and an overcast sky veiled any starlight. Pulling his cloak tighter about his shoulders, he had trudged toward the Spirit Temple, shamed by the colossal goddess' stern, unflinching gaze. He took shelter in a far corner of the antechamber, huddled against the wall. There, utterly alone, he wept until merciful exhaustion overcame him.

His sleep had been shallow, fraught with nightmares. Memories blurred together and flitted from his grasp; others languished into joyless imitations, robbed of warmth or meaning. The wrongness of it lingered in the sun’s light, leaving him cold and empty despite the midday heat.

What has Zelda seen in her dreams? He shuddered to think what invasive images he had forced upon her, how they might distort the memories she once cherished.

"...I’ve made a terrible mistake," he told Nabooru, his voice little more than a croak.

She gave him a dubious look. "How so?"

“Zelda was… exposed to our bond. I let it happen.”

Nabooru stared at him, her face blank.

"And that was wrong because…"

"You don't understand," Link said bitterly. "She experienced everything I've hidden from her all this time. My anger, my grief, my memories—all of it came at her in a jumbled, horrifying mess."

"All right… That sounds overwhelming. I take it she did not respond well?"

Link remembered the way she had clutched her head and sank to the floor, the way she collapsed into his arms…

"She begged me to stop," he said hoarsely. “And then she… lost consciousness."

"Link, you should go back to her—"

"And do what?" he snapped. "Torment her some more? I'm the last person she needs."

It pained him to say such a thing, especially when doubt still pricked at his conscience.

"But you don't know what happened,” Nabooru offered. “Maybe she wants to see you."

Link shook his head, fear closing around his heart.

"I can't see her," he whispered. “Not yet. Not like this."

Nabooru sighed, taking a moment to study his profile. Link stared down at the canteen, letting himself sink deeper into melancholy.

"Why did you drop the barrier?" The Gerudo's voice was unusually hushed, as though voicing a secret. "After all this time?"

"It doesn't matter,” Link muttered. “It was wrong."

“I know something provoked you… Did she ask you to do that?”

He hesitated, then gave a small nod, reluctant to make excuses. "I should have refused.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’m selfish and weak.”

Nabooru snatched the canteen from his hands, causing him to meet her hard gaze.

"If I’m prying, just say so,” she said. “Don’t avoid my questions with that kind of nonsense.”

She raised her brow, waiting for a better answer. Link sighed and looked away, his eyes going distant.

“...if you and I are to find any real happiness… you must accept me as I am now."

“Everything was slipping away,” he whispered. “I just… wanted her to understand…”

“What do you mean?” Nabooru’s voice was gentle again. “What did she say?"

He closed his eyes, struggling to repeat the words that still pierced like knives. “...She no longer wants her memories. She would rather start over. A clean slate."

A heavy silence cloaked the antechamber, broken only by the howling wind outside.

“...She doesn’t want to remember anything?”

Link shook his head. Nabooru shot to her feet and moved several steps away, standing with her back to him. Her stance was rigid, her hands pressed to her hips.

“How can that be her decision?” she hissed.

"She has the right.” His voice sounded hollow, void of sincerity.

“Her rights be damned!" Nabooru spun around, her face dark with anger. “And what of her responsibilities? Does she even know what this means for us? How can she lead us with the mind of a sheltered adolescent?”

Link looked away, grieved to hear her speak of Zelda with such venom, with words so similar to his own.

"And what about you? Does she expect you to move on, just like that? Will she even talk about your past?"

Talk? About the past? Bitter laughter sounded in his head. She would sooner have me forget.

She's not malicious, his gentler side countered. She just wants to build a new life, in the only way she knows how.

It's selfish! She's barely even tried to remember!

Link squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a cry of frustration. He had come there to make peace with the path laid before him, to stitch the gaping wound on his heart, let healing begin… but it seemed impossible. Bitter conflict warred within him—loyalty against loss, guilt against rage, hope against despair…

Vaguely he heard Nabooru sit back down beside him.

“Hey,” she murmured, tentatively caressing his arm. “I’m sorry. I'm not being helpful. I… I don’t know how you’ve coped this long. It would drive me mad.”

“I haven’t coped,” he said bitterly. “I’ve avoided and denied. And I can’t do it anymore, not if I want any kind of happiness with her."

Nabooru fell silent, and Link ran a hand over his tired, tear-stained face, breathing a slow, unsteady sigh.

"At least she's still with us," he spoke, using the same hushed tone that so many used at the castle. "That’s what everyone says. And it's true in many ways—she is no less brilliant or beautiful, and her kindness hasn't left her. But when I look at her… I see a shadow of her former self. It was such an abrupt change—one day my Zelda was there, and the next she was gone. Vanished. Replaced. There was no closure, no mourning… just this sudden, jarring shift…”

He paused then, wondering how many long, exhausting days and lonely nights would pass before some genuine happiness reentered their lives. Could he settle for good enough? Could he find a companion in this new Zelda, and would she take any interest in their past? She had been open to it at one point… Or would it remain a painful subject, something he could only reminisce about in solitude?

Suppose they never forged a deeper connection? Would their marriage wither into a union built on nothing but habit and obligation?

"I know I should be grateful," he whispered, more to himself than Nabooru. "And I have to believe that death would have been worse. But all I see is everything she isn’t, everything she might never be, and I… I just... ”

He paused to take a steadying breath, pushing away the grief.

"...I have tried and tried to face this as she would. To focus on what I haven’t lost and find a way forward. But all I see is that she's trapped behind this—this mirror of herself. She's right there, hidden in plain sight, and every instinct I have screams at me to reach inside and free her…”

He rested his head back against the wall, gazing up toward the ceiling. The tears came steadily now, streaking the thin layer of dust on his face.

"...But that isn’t my choice to make. And even if it was, I don't know how. I can’t save her the way she saved me… and she doesn’t want that anyway."

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, too exhausted to weep. Nabooru ran a soothing hand along his arm, taking a moment to form her response.

“The last time we spoke,” she said softly, “you said she reminded you of how Zelda used to be, before you were married. You fell in love with that Zelda, didn't you?”

Link shook his head. "It’s not that simple..."

“I know—you are no longer that fifteen-year-old boy. You grew up together, endured hardship together, and it changed you both. But that boy still lives in you, and this new Zelda is part of the woman we remember. Much as I hate to say it, there will be more hardship, and she will catch up to you. She just needs time.”

She paused then, watching his face for any sign of comfort.

“I have to believe that, one day, we will recognize her again. It won't be the same, but it will be enough. And there is always a chance that her memories will return, whether she wants them or not.”

Link opened his eyes and stared at the far wall, considering her words with a gloomy expression. Then he turned away to wipe his face on his sleeve, though it did little good as more tears fell. Nabooru took his free hand in hers, giving him a rare look of sorrow.

“I am so sorry, Link,” she whispered. “I wish there was more I could do.”

Gently she drew him away from the wall, and he let himself be pulled into her embrace, resting his head on her arm as she ran her bejeweled fingers through his unkempt hair.

"You know you are welcome here," she murmured. "Stay as long as you need. All I ask is that you keep some faith. I will not leave you to wallow in despair. Can you do that, kiddo?”

Link breathed another tired sigh, then gave her arm a small, appreciative squeeze.

#Zelda #fanfic #Forgotten #Fortitude #excerpt

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marvinswriting · 4 years

Text

Hallway

Prompt: Marvin don't think I'm evil pleasse but like give us a physically hurt Janis....like I saw a post a while back that was like- a tiny getting kicked and it was hurt/comfort and I can't stop thinking about how you describe the hallway to be so dangerous for tinies...👀👀👀 She do be getting kicked tho-

this is heavily inspired by @realmisspolar 's "worse that could happen"

tw: angsty, violent, very bad, don't blame me blame anon, but like- is rough

People get shoved in the halls all the time. Most people didn't have tinies on their shoulders though.

It started off with a normal day, as most bad events do.

Classes went as smooth as normal and Janis was waiting at the 'tiny pick up zone' for Damian.

There were no bad vibes or anything that could cue disaster.

She waved to Aaron as he walked past, getting on the hand of one of his soccer friends. After the revenge party, Aaron, Janis, and Regina all became pretty close. It felt nice to be around and be able to hug people of the same size as her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked to see a perfectly manicured hand. "Hey, Regina." She said knowingly.

"Waiting for Damian?"

"No, I'm gonna hop down to the floor and walk to class myself."

"Sounds fun, I'll join you." Regina joked.

Janis watched as Damian, Karen, and Gretchen walked over to the edge of the pick up zone.

"Hey, shorties." Damian teased, placing his hand down for Janis, as Karen did the same thing for Regina.

Janis faked offense to the nickname and hoisted herself onto Damian's palm. He brought her to his shoulder, which Janis stepped onto with practiced expertise, watching through peripheral vision as Regina did the same thing.

She gripped onto Damian's shirt as the giant trio began walking, mindful of their tiny counterparts.

Janis thought back to when Cady first arrived at Northshore, Damian had said everyone sitting together wasn't an option. Look how far they've come.

Janis watched Regina as other giants walked past Karen. The queen bee didn't flinch or show any sign of fear.

Lucky.

Janis could not say the same as she clung to Damian's shirt.

Two jocks she vaguely recognized walked up to them. When Janis was plastic, she knew everyone. Then Janis was art freak, she knew Damian and some theater kids. Now Janis was in a weird in-between friendship wise with Regina. So she knew a good amount of the student body, but not these idiots.

Regina seemed to because she rolled her eyes. "Nobody wants you here."

"Regina." One of the boys fakes offense. "We just wanna talk."

Janis could feel Damian tense up underneath her.

'Just talking' is never good.

"Go away, Jackson." Regina said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

"Fine." The first boy- Jackson- said. As he passed Damian he shouldered him on the side Janis was on, hard.

Janis saw the wind up before the impact and her first thought was 'oh shit I hope Damian doesn't get hurt' and her second thought was a verbalized yelp as the shoulder beneath her jerked, leaving the small girl vulnerable to gravity.

She was only slipping for a second when she felt Damian's hand wrap around her, pulling her close to his chest as he fell backward.

Janis was hit with vertigo as she was pulled down with Damian. As a tiny, she wasn't affected by the human strength of gravity, and right now it was nauseating. She would rather this then a free fall though.

Damian hit the ground, taking the biggest hit as Janis rolled off him.

Her world was spinning and she didn't really know what was going on, but alarm bells rang in her head.

If Damian was to her right, then she was.

In grave danger.

That's what.

Nobody looks down when they're walking, especially not in a crowded hallway. So to be in the middle-

A foot landed a couple of inches behind her as she staggered up causing Janis to yelp and fall backwards again.

Damian was still lying on the floor, his eyes shut in pain.

Janis thinks he may have hit his head when he fell, but she's got her own issues to deal with.

She tried to step forward towards Damian, but fell backward as a foot swung by.

Holy shit.

She incisively just wanted to curl up and freeze, but Janis knew that wasn't the smart option.

"Damian!" She yelled, looking both ways like she was about to cross a road. Damian didn't hear her.

Fucking figures.

Janis felt the force before the pain. A solid force collided with her side, sending her skidding a few feet.

Somebody kicked her and didn't even noticed.

For a second, Janis felt fine. But then the pain kicked in. She gave in to the fear and curled into herself, clutching her side. People kept walking next to her and over her as if she wasn't there.

Janis grit her teeth as a whimper escaped her lips. Her eyes were screwed shut but she could feel the rush of the wind whenever somebody passed. She could hear the chatter of the unaware student body.

But all she could concentrate on was the searing pain in her side.

Maybe somebody called her name?

Maybe not.

Was Damian okay?

The feet around her stopped and Janis oped her eyes to see Regina running towards her. In the background, Damian was propped up against a locker, Karen and Gretchen crouched next to him. Of course, people stop walking when Regina is on the ground.

"Janis!" Regina said, finally reaching the girl. "Oh my god, are you hurt? You got kicked! What happened?!" Regina placed a soft hand of Janis's side, but the Janis just whimpered and curled up closer on herself.

"Everything hurts."

"When I said I'd join you in hopping down on the floor to walk to class together, I didn't mean it." Regina joked, sitting next to Janis.

People were now walking around them and Janis felt slightly safer. Or as safe as you could be when standing in a hallway at four inches tall.

"Janis." She heard a familiar voice call out.

Janis slowly, and painfully, propped herself up into a standing position to see Damian staring at her with wide eyes.

Did he not see what happened?

Janis took a step, trying to make her way over to where the giants stood. It was maybe two feet for them, but it felt like a marathon for Janis. Not to mention, the second she moved, her knees bucked beneath her and she was hit with another wave on nausea.

"Jesus, Janis." Regina mumbled, trying to stop Janis from hitting the floor again.

Janis glared at the ground like it had personally hurt her. She could see two hands reach out from the corner of her eye, Karen scooping up Regina and Damian gently grabbing Janis.

The small girl could tell he was trying to be careful, but she hissed none the less as his fingers wrapped around her side.

"What happened?" Damian asked. He was still leaning against the lockers, Karen also sliding down to sit next to him. Gretchen left mumbling something about how both of them need the nurse.

"I was kicked," Janis said softly. She knew sitting cupped in Damian's hand was one of the safest places she could be, but she flinched at every sudden noise of movemnt anyway.

"Kicked?"

"I- fell off you when you hit the floor. I guess I got in the way." Janis said, unable to make eye contact with Damian. He was clearly hurt too but was worried more about Janis.

Which was a very Damian thing to do.

"Are you okay?" Janis asked him, already knowing the answer was a no.

"I've been better, but I wasn't just kicked." Damian said, using his thumb to gently push Janis into a sitting position.

"Do you know who did it?" Regina asked from Karen's shoulder. "I'll end their social life."

Janis gave a dry chuckle as the bell rang, leaving empty hallways. "Didn't even see what type of shoe it was."

There was the sound of heels running down the hallway and Janis turned to see Gretchen and two school nurses heading over. A giant nurse and a tiny one.

It started off with a normal day, as most bad events do, but that didn't mean it had to end as a bad day. Yeah, Damian had a concussion and Janis had a bruise that would last for months, but she was lucky to have no cracked ribs or internal damage. Plus, she got to go home early and eat her heart's desire of icecream.

tag list: @musicallygt @realmisspolarbear @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#g/t mean girls #g/t writing #g/t #Giant/tiny #tiny janis #giant damian #tiny aaron #tiny regina #giant gretchen #giant karen #g/t au #sfw g/t

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