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unfixablebabyyy · 4 months

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pt 2 of the dennis You thing uh fair warning it's kinda all over the place but i had fun writing it (also gonna post it w the original but im a boomer and despite a decade on this site i still don't know how to work it properly lmao)

(nsfw, minors DNI)

There's something wrong with me. I haven't really been sleeping which is doing a number on the bags under my eyes. I keep getting these crazy headaches. I think I'm breaking out- I caught a blemish in the mirror last night and I'm certain it's gotten worse. Unfortunately, it's all your fault. The last woman I slept with was in and out of my mind faster than I was in and out of her, but you are driving me absolutely insane. Mac has started to notice, which is goddamn annoying. He keeps looking at me like I have some kind of disease, asking me stupid questions, constantly hovering. Maybe it's because I stopped eating. Or maybe it's because I stopped taking my meds. Either way, he knows something is up, but he can't find out, and neither can Charlie, and absolutely not Frank. You're too sweet to keep a secret from Dee and, no offense, but quite frankly, I don't think you could- you're not a very good liar. And if Dee knows we slept together, what if she told you about all the weird and horrible things I've done? She's been oddly quiet about the whole thing. I can't even think about it without feeling nauseous. What if she told you about the system? Or the binders? Or the tapes? Or all that stuff hidden in the side panel in the trunk of my car? I'm not stupid, I know that stuff is more than off-putting- it's incriminating. I need to calm down. I really need a Valium but I forgot to get my prescription filled- my mind has been occupied by one thing: you.

It's been about a week since we had sex. I made you dinner, and I did my homework- I knew exactly what to say, exactly when to laugh, exactly how and where to touch you. I like the music you listen to and the movies you watch, or at least that's what I made you think when I had it all queued up, with notes on your favorite parts. We're compatible, see? I drank too much, which was stupid of me, but you didn't seem to mind. It all happened so fast and intense and I was in control right up until I wasn't. As I watch the tape for the 500th time I swear I can pinpoint the exact moment you slipped into my brain and made a permanent home there. That night I did the unthinkable and actually allowed you to stay over and when I woke up the next morning with you lying beside me I was shocked to realize that I actually hated the thought of you leaving. And when you did finally leave, I felt so empty it made me sick.

Usually, once I've been with someone intimately, my desire for them fizzles into boredom within a few hours or so, but I feel like I want you more now than I ever did before. I need to feel your hands on my body, your breath against my neck, your lips on mine. I need to taste you again. I want to own you, put you on a leash or handcuff you to my bed and leave you there so that I know you're all mine.

I need to shower. I need to eat something. I need my meds. My hands are starting to tremor and when I stand up my head rushes and I almost blackout. Is this what it feels like? I'd almost forgotten. I need to focus. The last time I felt even remotely this way for someone, it ended in alimony and a murder accusation. I pick up my phone from my bedside table. 5:17 PM.

"Hey. Stop by the bar if you're out tonight, drinks are on me." Send. I groan. Get it together. I should really go and open the bar. Can't forget to stop by the pharmacy.

It takes me two hours to get ready because I can't decide what to wear or which cologne you might like more. The uncertainty is making me so anxious I forget to grab something to eat on the way out.

"Dennis! Can I come with you?"

I think Mac is yelling at me as I bound down the stairs, but I don't really care- I can't handle him right now. Outside the sun is getting low, painting the sidewalk with shadows. When I get to my car and slide into the driver's seat, I immediately feel a little better. The warmth of the day coupled with the smell of the interior lull the chaos into a low buzz. I inhale through my nose and close my eyes. Relax. I turn on the Range and the radio comes to life. I cringe, resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands as the chorus of "Hungry Like the Wolf" blasts at full volume. I snatch the dial and turn it down. Any other time I would've loved a little Duran Duran, but right now, it's jarring and abrasive. I pull out a Jimmy Buffet CD and stick it into the slot. As I back out of a parallel park, I begin to sing along, "I spent four lonely days in a brown LA haze, and I just want you back by my side." That's right, focus. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar.

I almost blow up at the pharmacist over the fact that it takes twice as long to get my prescription, except that she looks at me like she knows me, and not in a good way. She's tall, with dark hair and chocolate eyes, and I have to admit she does look a little familiar, but she's not you, so it doesn't matter. When she hands me my prescription and I still don't recognize her, she seems irritated.

Back in the Range, I pop open the cap and dump the pills in my hand. I pick out one and swallow it dry. The rest of the medication go back into the bottle, with the cap twisted tight, and I'm off to the bar, 20mph over the speed limit. When I finally turn onto Paddy's block, I clock Dee's car across the street from the entrance. I should have never given her that damn key. But then again, I've been so distracted lately, maybe I left it unlocked. Thank god the Valium is starting to kick in, otherwise I would be boiling over right now. Lucky her, I guess. I still slam the door when I get out, but before I enter the building, I roll the tension out of my shoulders and take a deep breath.

Inside, Dee is sitting at the bar, facing the door, with a heavy pour of wine in her hand and a smug grin plastered on her sharp face. Our entire lives, she's never bested me in anything other than being born 3 minutes before me, so her confidence right now is unnerving.

"Oh come on, really? Have you just been sitting here alone all day getting drunk?" a successful attempt at knocking her down a peg. Whatever you've told her (or she's told you) has inflated her ego dangerously.

"What?! Fuck you, I'm not drunk, I'm trapping you," she snaps back.

"Trapping me?" I can't help but laugh. It's so easy to get under her skin. I step behind the bar and take a clean glass to the tap, pouring myself a beer, preparing myself for what's to come.

"What do you want with my friend you little freak?" she blurts out, as clumsy with her words as she is with her lanky body.

"You have friends?" the drugs are doing their job. I feel like I'm beginning to even out, gain some control.

Dee, on the other hand, is seeing red, "You know who I'm talking about, don't play stupid with me. You couldn't just bang her and be done?" So then she knows I invited you.

"Honestly, Dee, I don't know who you're talking about," I take a sip of my beer and lean on the bar.

"Oh yeah? Then why don't I just text her and tell her not to come to Paddy's tonight?" Bitch. She smiles when she sees the mask come off and I glare at her.

"Whatever," my jaw clenches a little, but I try to maintain my posture.

"So? What are you planning?" she asks, and I roll my eyes.

"You always assume the worst," to be fair, she's also seen the worst.

"Yeah, because you haven't fucked the same girl twice since high school," that's probably true, "So what is it? You trying to prove some point to Mac? Did you and Frank make some gross bet about 'who could fuck Dee's friend first'? I mean what are you up to?" she squints at me, trying desperately to see inside my brain. I just shrug.

"Nothing," she should know I'm telling the truth- it's incredibly difficult to lie to your twin. But apparently I absorbed most of her brain in the womb.

"Dennis."

"Deandra," I mock, my patience wearing thin. Before she can open her big mouth, I say, "It's just drinks, ok? I had fun last time and I figured we could all hang out. That's all."

The longer the silence lingers, the more she begins to believe me until her eyes go wide, and she gasps, "Oh my God!" Suddenly, the door crashes open and in walk Frank, Mac, and Charlie. My stomach drops. I shoot her a pleading look, but she's ecstatic.

"Don't fuck this up for me," I whisper through clenched teeth, but it's too late. Dee turns to the gang.

"Dennis has a crush!" she shouts. The guys go silent. Mac's face twists as he cocks his head to the side.

"On a girl?" Frank doesn't look convinced.

"No he doesn't," Mac says incredulously. Good boy.

"Yeah, come on, Dee, what are you saying?" Charlie laughs.

"Shut up, Dee. If Dennis had a crush I would know about it, right Dennis?" Mac flashes his puppy eyes at me.

"Yeah, for sure," I reply, and Mac gives Dee an 'I told you so' look. The wind is absolutely sucked out of her sails.

"No, no, guys, do you remember my friend from the other day?" she desperately tries to hold their attention, but they've already stopped caring. We exchange glances, but that's the last of it.

"Dennis, pour me a glass of that slippery drink," Frank says as he climbs onto a barstool. My nerves are too fried for this shit.

"How am I supposed to know what that is?"

Frank waves his hand, "I don't know, Charlie always makes it for me."

"Oh good, I'm sure it's not something poison, then."

"No, no, Dennis, see, the Borax gives it this really nice sweet metallic taste-" Charlie begins to explain, but I raise my hand to cut him off.

"You know what, Charlie? I'm going to stop you right there because Borax is the stuff we use to clean the bar towels." I turn back to Frank, "I'm not making that- you're getting a beer."

"Oh, me too, please, Dennis!" Mac chimes in as he squeezes past Dee to sit on the stool beside her, nearly knocking her off her seat.

A few hours and a couple of drinks later, the door to Paddy's opens and in you walk with a burst of cool night air. There's the clatter of pool balls as Mac stands from his shot and I smile at you from the table, leaning on my pool stick, the medication and the alcohol bringing me right back down to where I need to be.

"Hey! Look who it is!" Charlie, who is drunk enough to be slurring his words, waves you over. "Wanna see something crazy I found in the alley today?" Before he can show you whatever it is, Dee pulls you aside and shoves some strong cocktail she made into your hand. I need to intercept.

"You want another drink?" I ask Mac to cover myself. I want to sprint over to you but I need to have self control.

"Nah," thankfully, he's busy lining up and practicing his next shot. As I make my way over I can feel my heart beating against my rib cage like a trapped moth.

"Hey," I hug you, kissing you on the cheek as I lean in. You're so warm and your hair smells like shampoo.

"Hi," your face feels hot against my cheek and when I pull away I can see that it's starting to turn pink. Dee looks like she's about to throw up.

"You wanna play?" I ask, motioning to the pool stick in my right hand, "Mac and I just finished a game."

"Yeah, sure," you look so cute and you don't even have to try- though it's obvious you have. It's reassuring. You want to impress me which means Dee couldn't have told you much.

"I'll be right over, I was just gonna grab another beer," I point to the abomination Dee gave you, "You want something else?"

You blush and look over your shoulder to make sure Dee isn't paying attention before leaning in, "A beer would be great," you whisper. God, you're so sweet, so careful about my sister's feelings. I nod and give you a little wink and when you brush past me to join Mac at the pool table I'm hit with a wave of your perfume and it's just as intoxicating as the first time.

"What did you tell her?" my face is inches from her ear, causing Dee to jump and drop her phone onto the bar.

She rolls her eyes and huffs, "Nothing, weirdo. Your stupid little secret is safe with me... for now."

Great. She wants to keep me nervous, like she's got me wrapped around her finger, but she never will. That information is all I need from her. I grab the beers and head back to the pool table, ignoring her glare. There you're bent over the felt, taking notes from Mac who thinks he's giving you good advice.

"Now when you go to hit the ball, if you put your hips into it, it's like an extra boost of power," he's saying as I step up behind you.

"I don't think that's right, Mac," you reply.

"Well then how do you do it?" he challenges. I cant stop staring at your ass.

You line up your shot and strike the cue ball. It hits a stripe that ricochets off the side of the table before missing the pocket by a fraction of an inch. "Fuck," you mutter.

"See? You needed that extra push!" Mac thrusts his hips as he tries to prove his point.

"Mac, you look and sound ridiculous," I finally weigh in, setting our beers on a nearby table. "Here," I prop my stick up against the table and pick up the cue ball, placing it in its original position. "Try again," I say, and you obey. You bend back over the table and aim your stick at a different stripe ball. Such a good girl. My fingers slowly press into your hips, tilting them forward as the heel of my hand presses gently into the small of your back. I nudge your feet apart so that you're standing square. I have to step back or you'll feel how hard I'm getting. You take another shot, and the stripe falls into the pocket with a satisfying crack.

"Whatever," Mac stomps over to the bar, leaving the two of us to start our game.

I give an approving nod that I know goes straight to your panties, "That was pretty good." You lean back against the table and cross your arms over your chest, which squishes your breasts together, and you wore something low cut like a little slut. I want to take you out back and pick up where we left off, "Why don't we make this a little more interesting?" You raise an eyebrow, "How about loser goes home with the winner?"

"Hm," you match my grin, your eyes dancing, "Fine. Deal." And I'm back on. You want me, and any doubt or fear I'd held onto despite the Valium and the alcohol vanishes instantly. I begin to gather the balls for the break.

"Just out of curiosity, what do you think my chances are here?"

Without looking up, I chuckle and reply, "Slim to none." I then lift up the rack and gesture, "After you."

Ten minutes later, you lose. Of course.

"Good game," I round the table to lean next to you. You're so close I can feel the heat of your body against me and if it weren't for my friends and the accusations this afternoon, I'd kiss you. "So, did you wanna leave now, or...?" You laugh.

"I thought you were buying drinks tonight?" you challenge. It's only 10:00- the night is still young and you want a hunt. I'm more than happy to give it to you.

"Fine," the words leave my mouth faster than I can catch them, "I suppose if you're willing to release your inhibitions, I'm not going to argue." That was a bizarre thing to say. I'm still off my game, unable to reel it in because every time I look at you I think about the way you made me feel that night. To my surprise, you just giggle.

"If you slip me something, I'll pretend I didn't see," you shouldn't joke about that- I just might.

"Hey you guys wanna do some shots?" Frank shouts across the bar.

"Looks like you're up, bartender," you bat your eyelashes at me before walking over to the bar to join the rest of the gang, hips swaying, making my mouth water.

As the evening wears on, one by one they drop like flies. Charlie is the first to go- passed out in the men's restroom, an open can of paint at his side. Next is Frank, of course, sprawled over Charlie's lap and snoring like a chainsaw. Dee and Mac last until around 2AM, but after Dee throws up into the ice machine, it takes every ounce of composer for me not to lose my mind on her. You might find that unattractive. Instead I suggest she goes home, heavily implying that it's not a suggestion at all. Mac is the last to go, but he doesn't leave without asking if I need help closing about a million times and throwing you an odd look. When the door shuts and the two of us are finally alone, you lean over the bar, and I can feel your eyes on me as I wipe down the counter with an old bar towel.

"So, Dee seems to think there's an expiration date on our... whatever you wanna call this." That dumb bitch. I bet she told you all about my penchant for fleeting affairs. I bet she told you I'm a womanizer or a misogynist or just a fucking asshole. I bet she told you you were too good for me, and maybe she's right, but fuck her.

"Dee doesn't think- if she did that would imply that she has a brain," that was too mean. I can tell because you don't respond right away and I'm afraid that maybe you think I'm annoyed at you and not my idiot sister.

"If there is, that's fine," you continue carefully, "I would just like to be in the know."

"My sister believes I'm incapable of having any kind of genuine feelings toward someone I'm sleeping with," I have a feeling you'd appreciate honesty over any lie I could conjure up, even if it's a good one. You're clever. Sometimes I feel like you can see right through me and it scares the shit out of me.

You pause. "Is she right?"

"No," I've never been so sincere with a woman and it's making my palms sweat. You hold back a grin and I feel exposed, my stomach clenches, and I have to take the wheel or I'm going to start getting all nervous. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Alright," I pick up my jacket from behind the bar and pull my keys out of the pocket, "You wanna get out of here?"

"Absolutely."

You wait on the sidewalk as I turn off the 'Open' sign and lock the doors. Tossing the jacket into the back seat of my Range Rover, I round to your side and open the passenger door for you. As you step up to slide into the car, you lean up and kiss my cheek and I feel my entire body go numb.

"What a gentleman," you grin and bite your lip and I want to spank you but I don't because you just called me a gentleman.

We share a cigarette on the way to the apartment despite my rule against it in the car- I can't help myself, I need to taste your mouth. You tell me all about the week you had and I react as if I don't know- as if I haven't been following you around this entire time. As I slowly pull up to the building, I look up at my window where I catch a glimpse of Mac as he flips on the kitchen light and walks past. Shit. As I park the car, I figure the best I can do is bring you upstairs and hope Mac sees it as an easy fallback- if I could get Dee's friend once, might as well get her again while she's around, right? That cover story would have to do.

You follow me into the building and up the stairs, pausing at the door as I sort through the keys. Just as I touch the key to the lock, the door jerks open.

"Oh thank God- I heard you coming down the hallway- hey can you help me-" Mac is breathless as he speaks, but when his eyes fall on you he abruptly stops. "Uh, hey." He smiles at you to mask his confusion.

"Long time, no see," you joke and he lets out a short laugh before glancing at me. I glare back at him, challenging him to choose his words carefully.

"Yeah... So what are you guys up to tonight?" Wrong. I clench my jaw. What do you think?

"We were just going to go watch a movie," I squint at Mac, hoping he'll get the hint to shut up and go away.

"Oh, cool, well... have fun," Mac looks for approval, but I deny him the satisfaction, brushing past him and pulling you along until we're both in my bedroom behind a locked door. The reality of having you alone in here is indescribable. It's all nerves and appetite in the dim blue light. It all feels so good in the dark.

I'm willing to behave, but as I move towards the television, your body collides into mine, your lips on my neck, teeth grazing my skin. I already like this game more than any other we've played.

"Are you gonna fuck me tonight, daddy?" your voice in my ear sends chills down my arms. Your generation is so needy, and I knew you were dangerous when you let me come close to choking you in the alley that night, but I've been looking through your laptop when you leave it at home, your phone when you were sleeping the night I claimed you. I've seen your search history, the things you watch at 3AM when you're lonely in bed and undoubtedly thinking of me. You're depraved.

"Oh yeah, kitten," my fingers weave through the hair at the base of your skull. I tug hard and you gasp, chin tilted upward, throat exposed. You shiver when I run my tongue from your collarbone to the curve of your jaw. I nip your earlobe before pushing you away roughly.

You stumble back and bite your lip, waiting for a command. It's been two weeks since we met, and one intimate encounter and you're already so eager to obey. God, you're perfect. "Take your clothes off," our eyes are locked, and I don't let you look away. It's almost sacrilegious that you're still fully clothed- here in my room, you belong naked. Always. You pull your shirt over your head and reach behind for your bra. "No," my voice stops you on a dime, "Slower," I demand as I step back and sit down on the edge of my bed.

From here, I watch the way your breath hitches when the cups of your bra brush your nipples as it slides down your arms and falls to the floor, the way you rub your thighs together before pushing your jeans to your ankles, the way you look at me- standing there, in just your underwear, exposed- like a fawn in the soft glow of the city night that filters through the window.

"Come here," you look like you want to jump into my lap, but you're being so disciplined with me. And why wouldn't you be? I'm your elder, I command respect, and it's my job to teach you manners. You slowly walk over and straddle my hips before planting yourself on my thighs, your hands pressed against my chest.

I wonder if you can feel my entire body buzzing beneath you. You've been waiting for this, too. I can tell. You're absolutely ravenous with it. Usually I would find this kind of behavior to be slightly endearing if not pathetic, but I want you so bad it's only driving me further down the rabbit hole. You're allowing me to control you and it's like it's the only thing I've ever truly wanted. I wonder how far you'll let me go. Not tonight. I want you to trust me- I /need/ you to trust me. So for now I'll play nice. If you want daddy to fuck you, then I will. I'll make you think I love you, princess.

I slip a hand between us and press my index and middle finger to your clothed cunt. It's already soaked through the fabric. I watch your pupils blow out as I push your panties aside and touch you, dipping both fingers into your soft, wet folds and sliding them up to meet your clit. You let out a soft mewl and I have to remind myself to breathe. Usually it's all about me, and why wouldn't it be? I'm the man after all. But I need you to know how good I can make you feel so that it hurts even more when I teach you what pain really is. I'm going to make you cum over and over again in every way I can possibly think of, and then, I'm going to deprive you. I can't wait to watch the light slip out of your eyes when you realize the fun is over, that you're mine, that your only purpose is to please me.

I can't help myself- without warning, I plunge my fingers into your tight little hole. You rise, yelp, jerk away at the sudden intrusion, but I'm much stronger than you, and an arm around your waist holds you in place.

"Shh," I swirl my fingers inside of you and you cringe, but this time, you stay seated like a good girl. You like it when I hurt you. I reward you with patience- pumping my fingers in and out of you slowly, gently spreading them as I go, stretching you out. You moan and slump into me, your face to my neck, planting lazy kisses as I work on your pussy. I feel like I'm going to black out. My clothes are suffocating. When I pull my hand away from your heat, you whine. I wrap both arms around you and flip you onto your back so that I'm on top of you, my knees between your legs, arms on either side of your rib cage. I sit up for a moment to remove my shirt, unbuckle my pants. You bite your lip and I reach down and run my thumb along your jaw. You lean in to my touch and when I get to your chin I gently pull your bottom lip from between your teeth. And then the pad of my thumb is pressing down on your tongue.

"You look so pretty," and you do- looking up at me through your eyelashes, sucking on my thumb, body nearly naked beneath me. Nearly. I pull my hand away from your face and nudge your hips. You lift them and I slide your panties down enough for you to relax back into the mattress. As I begin to work the thin fabric down your legs, something comes over me, and I back down off the bed and kneel on the floor. You sit up, watching me, eyes going wide when I grab your ankles and tug you closer. I haven't done this in a really long time. A really long time. I'm not nervous, but my heart is racing.

I pull you a little closer, and this time I'm more gentle. You inhale sharply when I drape your knees over my shoulders and the flutter of my breath hits your glistening cunt. When I look up at you, your eyes lock with mine, and I take the opportunity to slowly lower my head between your thighs. I watch your face as I press the flat of my tongue against your hole and drag it up. You taste so good, better than I'd imagined. Your fingers curl into my hair, and the dull burn in my scalp feels so good, I pull away a little just to feel your grip tighten as you whine and tug me back into you.

I hear you breathe my name as I relearn how to do this. I had been certain there wasn't a thing about sex that you could teach me, yet here we are. And I want to make you feel good. I want to be the best you've ever had. I need to be. So I take it slow, I pay attention to the way your body moves, the sounds you make, the pace of your breath, the rate of your pulse against my mouth.

I pull away for a moment for air, turn my face into your inner thigh and close my teeth around your soft flesh and you gasp and pull my hair so hard my head feels like it's on fire, so instead of letting go, I leave a dark purple hickey in the center of the indentation my teeth made on your skin. You moan and it rattles through me and I'm back to devouring you. I add a finger, then two, then three, and the sounds you're making are absolutely obscene and I think I'm getting you closer.

You squeeze down on my fingers and I swear to god I feel it on my dick. I groan into you and the vibration makes you flutter around me again and I touch myself with my free hand. I might actually cum from this. Your legs start to shake on my shoulders, and I focus on doing everything right as you whimper and moan and white knuckle my sheets.

"Dennis," your voice breaks through our syncopated panting and makes my dick twitch in my hand and if my eyes were open you would see them roll to the back of my head. The pressure is building- I feel your thighs tense against my ears, and I'm beginning to lose my pace on myself- it all feels so overwhelmingly good. I open my eyes to see your chest rising and falling quickly. Like a trapped rabbit. My teeth graze against your flesh and I nip at you lightly, shove my tongue inside of you, replace it with my fingers once again as I suck and bite at your clit. You let out one loud scream before remembering where you are, and sob as you teeter on the edge of climax.

"Daddy, c-can I-" you clench your jaw and knit your brow and it's so cute that you can't even use your words, and it's so cute that you call me daddy, and I'm about to cum, too, so all I can say is:

"Yeah, princess," and you're cumming around my fingers, against my open mouth as I spill out over the carpet and think vaguely about the stain. I thought you tasted good before, but now, I'm ravenous, and I love the way you tremble as I refuse to let up.

A few seconds later, you're cumming again, and if it wasn't for the alcohol and my medication, I would be ready for round two. Instead, I clean you up with my tongue and you scratch my head in sweet little circles as you come down. When your fingers find the space behind my ears my whole body tingles and it's like you've hit some sort of off switch. You giggle when I moan and close my eyes and rest my head against your thigh.

"I always catch you doing this," you take my earlobe between your thumb and forefinger and rub it a little, "What's up with that?" I hum at the familiar feeling coming from unfamiliar hands.

"I've been doing it since I was little," I mumble as you continue to make my brain short circuit, "I do it when I'm nervous," I'm not sure why I told you that part.

"You were doing it at the bar tonight," you comment, and despite the pleasure, my body tenses a little, "Do I make you nervous?"

When I open my eyes and look up at you, you're looking right through me, into my soul. I can't lie.

"Yes," and it makes me crazy. You smile.

"Good. That must mean you really like me."

I roll my eyes and sneak a quick nip to the inside of your thigh where my cheek was resting. You yelp and sit up to smack at me but I'm faster and I'm on top of you, pinning you by the wrists as you laugh. I hate how vulnerable you make me, all twisted up and trapped inside, and I feel like I need to contain you, but my hands on your wrists and my weight on top of you isn't enough. You have invaded every part of me, and it's too much.

"Well?" I can hear the smile in your voice even though my face is buried in your neck.

"Yeah, yeah," I feel like I'm in high school. You're younger than me and here I am blushing into the crook of your shoulder.

"Cool," your fingers slip through the hair at the base of my skull, "I like you, too." And even though I know that, the wave of relief that rolls over me makes me physically relax.

"Then you're staying," it's something between a question and a statement because the adrenaline is still making my head fuzzy. With my ear against your chest I can hear the methodical beat of your heart behind your sternum. I can't remember a time I was this intimate with someone. I want to get up, wash my face, grab you some of my clothes to wear, but my skin feels stuck to yours and your fingers in my hair is turning me off again. The air conditioner hums to life in my window and I feel the goosebumps pick up on your arms, your legs, the cool breeze ghosting over the thin sheen of sweat on your body. I sigh as I pick myself up off of you. I walk over to my dresser and tug open the top drawer, pulling out one of my Penn sweatshirts and toss it to you.

You bring the ball of fabric to your face, close your eyes and inhale. "You know this is mine, now," you say as you pull it over your head and hug yourself. I wish you weren't joking- I would love to see you in my sweatshirt every day for the rest of your life. I hope you wear it home tomorrow. I hope you don't go home at all. Next I throw you a pair of my boxers and when you stand and shimmy them up your legs, they hang so loosely off of your hips that I can almost see the v of your pelvis before you smooth the sweatshirt back down.

You hop back onto the bed and burrow under the covers, and I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. By the time I get back, you're sound asleep, your head on my pillow, filling my bed with the smell of your shampoo and body wash and lotion and perfume and you. I'm careful not to disturb you as I make my way into bed, as if you might leave if you wake up. When I wrap my arms around you and pull you into me, you murmur in your sleep and relax into my chest. I probably won't get much rest tonight, so I just enjoy the feeling of your warmth against me and the sound of your breathing as I think of how I'm going to explain this to my friends.

#dennis reynolds #it's always sunny in philadelphia #dennis x reader #my writing

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Chaos Magnet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None :)

Genre: FLUFF, HUMOR, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When Y/N get invited onto a stream with the gang by Jack (Sean) she’s not sure what to expect but it’s safe to say that such chaos is not something she could’ve ever imagined.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it really had me laughing and still had me be awe-struck by the adorableness of the idea. Sorry it’s been such a long time since you put in the request but I still hope you come across the fic and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Alright people, silence in the call for a moment!“ Jack calls out when the lobby’s counter has finally reached up to nine, leaving room for one more person who is yet to join, but apparently he doesn’t care much that he’ll probably have to repeat himself when the tenth person enters the call and lobby.

“Jack, you should know by now, the day there’s silence in this call is when some supernatural force murders all ten of our mics. It just won’t happen, deal with it.“ Charlie, who was having an ‘intense’ discussion with Toast up until Jack’s interruption, says sarcastically, chuckling ever so slightly, enough for it to be contagious and make me crack a smile as well.

“There won’t be silence, I’ll be talking. If only the rest of you would LET ME.“ Jack replies just as sarcastically, getting Charlie to let out an actual fit of laughter. When his chuckling subsides along with the rest of the chatter in the call, Jack finally gets to have the speech he mentioned, “Right, ok so here’s the deal folks: today we have a guest addition to the stream, curtesy of mine because I’m obsessed with her channel. As you might or might not have noticed, there’s one person missing from the lobby but she’s gonna be joining us any minute now. As I said, I’m a huge fan so you better not embarrass me or I swear I’m gonna kill you first when I get to be an impostor.”

I don’t know what the others are thinking - probably something similar as what I’m thinking though: Noted, embarrass Jack to the best of your ability. Trust me, getting him flustered in front of his YouTube idol is well worth the death in Among Us he’s threatening us with.

“Also keep in mind that she’s of a different kind, not of our breed if you will - she’s an ASMR YouTuber. Not those who eat in the mic just because they think it’d be pleasant for people to hear.“ Jack goes on to explain, the way he’s described this girl’s craft is quite intriguing, especially when you consider how confidently Jack expressed his distaste with ASMR in the past. He’s always claimed not to be a fan but here we are, I guess people really do change.

“Thank you for making it seem like I do more than just cut up soaps, Jack. I really appreciate it but don’t bump the bar up that high, people will be disappointed when they actually visit my channel.“ An unfamiliar voice appears in the call out of nowhere. Though, unfamiliar is not the adjective I should focus on when describing this girl’s voice. I’ll list a few more but even they won’t do it justice: pleasant, awing, mesmerizing, unbelievable, out-of-this-world...I really could keep going.

“Oh come on, Y/N, you don’t just cut up soap. You turn them into bath bombs too!“ Jack laughs, earning him a playful scoff from the newcomer. “Oh yeah, almost forgot - Everyone, this is Y/N, our ASMR artist.“

“Please, some ‘artist’ I am. The people in my comment section would disagree with that description.“ She giggles after kindly responding to each and every greeting the gang sends her way, myself included. “The word I’ve seen people use most when describing my channel is ‘cringey’ so....yeah.“ She laughs, a genuine laugh instead of the bitter one I was expecting to follow such words.

“That seems to be the cool kids’ favorite word, don’t dwell too much on it.“ Rae tells her reassuringly, “What’s important is what word would you use to describe your channel?“

Y/N hums, sounding as though she’s fallen in thought but that’s only one brief moment before she answers. Or begins to, at least, “Well, if I were to describe my channel with one word it’d be....BEEFY!”

That one out-of-context word, screamed out by such an angelic voice has me breaking down with overwhelming laughter collapsing all my ability to hold back.

“Out of all the words, you’d choose beefy?“ I somehow manage to ask between fits of laughter that render me breathless.

“She’s a vegetarian, I think, I don’t know why she’d choose that word.“ Jack too is laughing his butt off but has a significantly better grip on it, “Y/N, care to explain your peculiar choice?“

There’s a lot of shuffling and random noise on Y/N’s end before her reply finally comes, accompanied by a weak meow, “Sorry guys, that was a classic cat of Mr. Beef Stronganoff seeking attention by being chaotic.” She says through laughter, her words followed by another meow which was a lot more clear, seemingly closer to the mic, “He took down my mic, and he seems like he wants to do it again....BEEFY NO!”

For some reason, even with that explanation in mind, I can’t keep myself from laughing. Come to think of it, I think the explanation only makes it funnier.

“Ugh, darn it! I saved my mic but he ran across my keyboard and turned my webcam off how do I turn it back on?“ Her voice dies down for a few secs before it reemerges from her end, “Ok nevermind I got it. Now I can answer...what was the question again?“

Recovering from his laughing fit, Jack manages to repeat the question, “What word would you use to describe your channel?”

“Oh that! Right, ok. Um, I’d call it aesthetically pleasing and BEEFY NOT THE ROUTER CABLE YOU DUMMIE!“

She’s insane. Or her cat’s insane. I can’t tell. Maybe both. Either way, I can’t help but feel like I’ve found a soulmate in this literal stranger. It’s safe to say us chaos magnets like her and I, we don’t only attract chaos, but also chaotic individuals. I’m so glad she magnetized me to herself. Or was it the other way around? We may never know - mystery is in the nature of us chaos magnets, you know.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 13: Paper And Ink]

A/N: Can I just take a second to say how happy I am to see all of your reactions to my little fic?! I have never been a super popular writer on Tumblr but I like to think that I have some of the cleverest, kindest, most thoughtful readers around. Your support for and emotional investment in my stories makes me so, so, so happy. Please enjoy this latest chapter...it’s the longest one yet! 💜

Also, MAJOR shout out to @writerxinthedark and her constant insanely astute observations!! Girl, I’m shook. Do you have ESP or what...? 👀

Chapter summary: Roger tries to reach a compromise, John tries to offer solace, Chrissie tries out some retro science, Y/N tries to process some alarming new information.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language! Discussion of substance abuse! Babies! Drama! Angst!!!

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“You can’t leave,” John pleads. One of his hands—strong, nimble, a gold band on his wedding finger—is clutching the wooden bedpost. Chrissie paces back and forth beside him, gnawing her thumbnail until it bleeds, silent tears streaking down her ruddy cheeks.

You throw your open suitcase onto the bed and start yanking things out of drawers: panties and bras—the practical ones, not the sexy ones, I won’t be needing those in the immediate future—jeans, velvet dresses, sweaters, socks, mittens, scarves. It’ll be cold in Boston. “I’m going home.”

“Love, please...” Chrissie sobs.

“I’m not staying here.” Your voice is surprisingly steady, resolved even. “I’m not going to stay in this house with him. I’m not going to follow him around the world watching him fuck other women and humiliate me in tabloids. I’m done, I’m going home.”

“You have a contract with the record company, you’re the tour nurse!” Chrissie protests. “Jesus christ, they could sue you for non-performance! When does the band leave, a week from now?!”

“Six days,” John says softly.

“Six days!” Chrissie shouts at you.

“I’m not going. They can sue me, that’s fine.” I don’t have any money anyway. None that’s actually mine.

“You can’t leave,” John says again. His greyish eyes are wide and restless, desperate; you didn’t know it was possible for him to be this agitated. He’s not Queen’s unflappable bassist today.

“Yeah? Observe.” You pick the pink conch shell up off the dresser—the one John found for you on the beach in Ostia, during a tour that feels like a lifetime ago—and tuck it gently into a corner of your suitcase where it will be cushioned by knit sweaters. “John, I have a bunch of your sketches downstairs. There’re some on the refrigerator, some framed in the living room, a couple on the dining room walls...will you go get those for me, please? I can’t leave without them.”

John just stares at you, blinking and thunderstruck.

Next to the empty space on the dresser where the conch shell once lived is the Canon F-1. You consider the camera for a moment, then snatch it up and move to hurl it out of the second-story window.

John jolts out of his paralysis. “No no no no, I think you’ll regret that.” He gently pries the Canon out of your grasp and places it back on the dresser.

“What the hell are you going to do in Boston?!” Chrissie wails. “All your friends are here now! Your life is here!”

“I’m going to get a job at the hospital and marry some boring, predictable man and get a house with a white picket fence and fill it with two exceptionally average children”—if I can have them, and that’s a big if as it turns out—“and a golden retriever and live out the rest of my days in blissful, prosaic anonymity. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh come on, you don’t want that!” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve never wanted that, that’s why you came to London with the band to begin with!”

“I don’t want to feel like this!” you scream, and all those tears you didn’t know you were biting back start spilling out in hot, torrential streams. Your breath hitches; your throat burns. Like wildfire. John pulls you to his chest, murmurs that everything will be okay, cradles the back of your head with his palm. You know he’s exchanging a glance with Chrissie over your shoulder. That’s why she brought him here, after all; to help talk you off the ledge, to help convince you to stay.

“What a fucking mess,” Chrissie says in despair.

“It’s my fault,” you choke out.

“It’s not,” John whispers.

“It is,” you insist bitterly, sobbing into him. “Everyone warned me and I ignored it because I’m a complete idiot and now I’ve gone and ruined my life.”

“You don’t have to go!” Chrissie implores. “You can stay here. With us, with me and John and Mary and Freddie and Brian. You have British citizenship, you can get a job at a hospital in London if you really want to leave the band. You can stay with me and Bri for as long as you need to until you’re back on your feet, or with Freddie...they’d give you any amount of money you needed to get started...they’d be heartbroken if you left, love, you’ve been there for them through everything, since Queen was just a bunch of nobodies, since we were all flat broke...they’re never going to forget that loyalty you showed them, that faith. They’d do anything to repay you.”

You sigh shakily as you untangle yourself from John and wipe your eyes. “If I stay here, I’ll spend the rest of my life dodging Roger at birthday parties and holidays and restaurants. And being known as the wife he fucked around on. I’ll be a pitiful mess of a person. They had a photo of me in the News Of The World, did you know that? A tiny little circular photo under a huge, glamorous one of Dominique. ‘Look everyone, check out the dashing rock star’s sad, pathetic, unremarkable, soon-to-be-ex-wife. Surely you can appreciate why he’d shop around.’”

“Yes, I saw that part,” Chrissie says softly. She understands some of what you’re feeling, surely, and yet she must also have a sensation of gratefulness; plenty of musicians wander like tornadoes, touching down and sowing chaos wherever their compulsions take them, but few wives have the misfortune of seeing their names and faces paraded through the tabloids. Suddenly, Chrissie isn’t the most-wronged wife in Queen anymore.

You bury your face in your hands. “Oh god. My parents might even hear about this. They could be buying wine and Cheetos at the grocery store and see my husband and his girlfriend on the cover of a magazine in the checkout line.”

“I’m so sorry,” Chrissie replies, her voice hoarse. John crosses his arms over his chest and says nothing; but he kicks the wooden bedframe hard enough to send a crack down the center of the footboard.

Downstairs, you hear the front door open. Chrissie and John whirl to you, panicked.

“Hey, love of my life!” Roger’s chipper voice vaults up the staircase. Someone hasn’t checked the headlines yet. “Baby? You home?”

“Do you want me to stay?” John asks you.

“No, I can handle it.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ll stay for as long as you want me to. I’ll hide in the goddamn bushes outside the window if that would be helpful.”

“No, John.” You smile and climb onto your toes to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, to hug him goodbye. He’s warm and comfortable and sheltering. He feels more like home than this house ever has, isn’t that strange? And for a second, just one, you wonder what your life would look like if there had been no Veronica, no Roger.

You’d still be in Boston, you idiot, you chastise yourself. You never would have come to London with Queen if it wasn’t for Roger. And You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about you.

“Thank you,” you tell John. “But I have to do this part myself.”

“Okay. Don’t you dare go cart yourself off to Heathrow without telling me first, alright?”

“Sure,” you say, not meaning it. I can’t let him stop me.

“Good luck,” Chrissie frets, wringing her hands, twirling her wedding ring. “Call me, okay? I’m going to be a nervous wreck until I hear from you. I’ll chew my poor fingers to the bone.”

“I’ll call. I promise.”

“Hey baby!” Roger materializes in the bedroom doorway, pushes his prescription sunglasses up into his windswept blond hair, peers around the room at you and John and Chrissie. And you’re suddenly reminded of how a room changes when Roger walks into it, how everything shifts somehow, becomes brighter, more alive, brimming with magnificent potential; how cavernously empty the world would feel without him in it. Chrissie glares at him with her arms crossed, nostrils flaring, tapping one fashionable riding boot against the hardwood floor. “Uhhhh...am I interrupting something?”

“Bye, love.” Chrissie kisses you quickly on each cheek and breezes out of the room. You hear her boots clopping as she descends down the staircase. After a moment, John follows her.

“You despicable prick,” John hisses as he passes Roger in the doorway.

Roger is mystified. “Baby, what’s going on?” His eyes flick to the hastily packed suitcase, to the cracked footboard. “What the fuck happened to the bed?”

There are so many ways to ask the same question. When did you decide that you needed to have her? Who is she to you? How could you do this to me? What did she give you that I couldn’t? Instead, what you ask him this: “Have you seen the News Of The World today?”

His brow furrows into deep grooves. “No...” But something primal flashes in his vivid blue eyes, just briefly. Something like fear. He knows he’s done things that would hurt me. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unearth them all.

You grab the magazine off the bed and hurl it at him. Roger picks it up off the floor and flips to the front page. His shoulders slump, one hand comes up to cover his mouth, he exhales in a deep sigh; his whole body shifts the same way a room does when he walks out of it: dims, deflates, goes bloodless. He calmly lays the News Of The World on the dresser, folds his sunglasses and sets them down as well, rubs his eyes with the heels of his calloused hands. Then he turns to you.

He’s going to deny it, you think, revolted. He’s going to deny it just like Brian did, try to patch things up in some weak and gutless way, placate me so he can drift off to sleep at night imagining he’s a good husband.

But Roger isn’t Brian. He never has been.

He asks you quietly, in surrender: “What do you want to know?”

Your stomach plunges into freefall, because this is real. Maybe there was some part of me that was hoping this was a mistake, some naïve and hopeful sliver of idealism left over from childhood, from a time when everything in the world was either good or evil and nothing lived in the treacherous shadows in between. “How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, Roger, it matters.”

“Not long.” He waves a hand glibly. “She...ah...well she thought I was pretty maddening at first. It took her a while to come around to the idea.”

You flinch like you’ve been slapped. “Jesus christ, Roger. Thank you, that’s great, thank you for that information.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he protests, exasperated. “I’m really not, I don’t...I just don’t...bloody hell, I don’t know how to do this.”

“To do what? To fuck around?! Obviously that’s inaccurate—”

“No, to confess!” he shouts. “I never confess, I never admit it, I just avoid or deflect or deny it, and when that doesn’t work anymore I just walk out because usually I don’t care enough to have the conversation. But now I do so I’m really, really trying to give you what you want. I thought you wanted answers. So ask me whatever you want to and I’ll tell you the truth.”

Everyone lies. Everyone disappoints you. I knew that, I really did...but somehow I let him convince me that I didn’t. That he was built of nothing but light. “Do you love her?”

“No,” he replies instantly. “It’s a fling, that’s all.”

“So you didn’t corner her somewhere and tell her that you’re planning on breaking up with me.”

Roger winces. I wasn’t going to end up like Josephine, that was the first promise I made to myself on British soil. And look where I am now. “No. Never.”

“Why, Roger?”

He looks away, runs his hands through his hair; he genuinely doesn’t know how to answer.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you even sorry...?”

He speaks carefully, purposefully. “I’m sorry you had to find out, that you were hurt by it. And I’m really fucking sorry about that headline. Discretion is extremely important to me. I never would have let that happen, but you know...” He shrugs, smirking guiltily in that disarmingly bewitching way that he does. Stop, you warn yourself, feeling something in you grasping for reasons to stay. “I haven’t been thinking especially clearly lately.”

“Yes, between the coke and the drinking and the pills you’re quite the disaster, aren’t you?” Scalding tears slither down your face. “So you’re not sorry you did it. You’re not sorry that you’re an addict or a cheater.”

“It’s not about that. It’s...” He searches for the words like premonitions in tea leaves. “Yes, there are drugs and parties and women. There are a lot of those things. But I’m not addicted to any of them. I’m addicted to being Roger Taylor, drummer of one of the best bands in the world. It’s everything I am, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be. I never want to live in a world where that’s not who I am anymore. You understand that, what it’s like to feel caged and miserable, you know what it’s like to want to experience things. And so if it takes coke and pills to get up on that stage every night and drum under those blinding lights until it feels like my arm is split open again, okay, no problem, I’ll do it. If women are a part of the lifestyle, a part of being free, then I’ll take advantage of that. And why the fuck does it matter? Why do so many people think that fidelity is the ultimate manifestation of love? Plenty of faithful people hate each other. Plenty of people who screw around are irretrievably in love with one person, are fucking owned by them. I love you. I want to come home to you. I want to raise my children with you if that’s a possibility, and if it’s not then fine, whatever, I’m gonna love you all the same. You’re still on my list, Boston babe. You’re always going to be on my list. Why isn’t that enough?”

“John doesn’t cheat,” you object helplessly. Even if he has all the reasons in the world to.

“No, he doesn’t. But he’s a very different kind of man. A better one, probably. But you’ve always known who I was. And I never promised you an ordinary life.”

You shake your head, hide your face in your hands, can’t force the words to leave your trembling lips. It’s not enough for me. Maybe I thought it could be, but it’s just not.

Roger says, gently: “I know we said the marriage didn’t mean anything”—yes, that was your condition, wasn’t it?—“but that’s not completely true. It’s not just paper and ink. It does mean something. It means that you’re the person I want to take care of, the person I can rely on to provide for my family and friends if something ever happened to me. It means that I love and trust you in a way that is unconditional. That you’re my best friend.”

“I don’t want to live like this, Roger,” you whisper.

“So what’s next?” he demands. “So you’re going to take that suitcase and run back to the States and...what, get a job at the same hospital you were so desperate to escape from? Back out of the tour? Abandon the band and the friends you have here?”

“If that’s what it takes to get away from you.”

For the first time, you hurt him; you really hurt him. You see it ripple across his face like cold, swirling ocean waves. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’ve already decided, Roger.”

“Come on, baby, please, we can work this out—”

“I’m not interested.” You zip the suitcase closed, heave it off the bed, and drag it towards the door.

“So even if we can’t work it out,” Roger erupts, bolting to the doorway, to stand between you and whatever a life after him looks like. “Don’t leave the band. Leave me, just me, but not the band. I know you don’t want to leave them. I know they’ll be devastated if you disappear, not to mention they might legitimately murder me over it. Bri can be a twat, sure, but he’s convinced you saved his life. You and I might be the only people on the whole fucking planet who can see how brilliant John is, who understand him. Freddie’s convinced you’re some kind of good luck charm, you know how superstitious he is, he’ll start having those meltdowns again where he insists he can’t sing five minutes before a show and that the band is doomed, the tour will be a complete disaster. We need you. And I want you to keep the job you love, the travel, the mansion, the money, I want you to have all of it. You’ve earned it. You shouldn’t lose it because of me.”

And as you clutch the handle of your suitcase, your mind dashing from one logistical step to the next—grab my passport and some cash out of the safe, collect all of John’s sketches, call a cab to take me to Heathrow—you start remembering things. But you don’t see them like flashes, like misty reveries, no; you feel them like heat from a roaring fireplace, like Mediterranean pebbles digging into the wrinkled soles of your feet, like the deafening screams of crowds filling the Rainbow Theater, the Hammersmith Odeon, the Apollo, the Budokan, Madison Square Garden. Memories of excavating shards of glass from John’s hand in a New Orleans mansion crawling with fantasies and nightmares, of toasting pink champagne in the lobby of the Chelsea Register Office, of museums and parks and beaches and apartments filled with threadbare couches and extravagant dreams, of Christmases and New Year’s Eves, of Roger convincing you to come to London with Queen on a June morning in 1974, cradling your face in his rough hands, promising you everything you’ve ever wanted: ‘Love...Accept. The fucking. Offer.’ And you could run to the other side of the world, sure; but you’re never going to be able to carve those memories out of your bones.

You let go of the suitcase, and Roger’s smile lights up his face like the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Careful...careful, love...” Roger contorts himself to keep the umbrella over you and the Boston cream pie you’re carrying as rain pours out of a sinister grey sky. You both hurry beneath the roof that covers the front porch and ring the doorbell. Freddie answers wearing a tight green shirt, jeans, and an enormous toothy grin.

“Oh, for me?” he squeals, eyeing the pie.

You step inside as Roger stays out on the porch to shake off the umbrella and finish his cigarette; Chrissie hates people smoking in her house, and one should get what they want on their birthday. “Obviously, it’s for Chris. But I suspect she’ll share.”

Chrissie appears in a blue dress, her wide-set pale eyes alight as she gazes at the pie. “At last! I finally get to try one of these! And yes, Freddie, I’m only going to have the teeniest tiniest piece, so there will be more than enough to go around.” She embraces you and takes the pie. “Is this homemade?! It is, isn’t it?”

“Happy birthday, Chrissie,” you announce with a tired smile. Queen leaves for the News Of The World Tour in two days. You’re leaving with them, to everyone’s palpable relief; Freddie and Brian have never mentioned the headline to you, but they know about it of course. Everybody knows. It’s an elephant in every room, an ancient beast that quakes the floor when it walks.

“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Chrissie tells you. “I always do.” But she’s a little thankful, too; because spending months away on tour is undoubtedly preferable to a permanent absence, a visibly missing piece like a chip in a tooth.

“I know. I’ll call.”

Roger steps inside the massive Chelsea home. “Happy birthday, Chris!”

She promptly spins away, ignoring him, and ferries the pie off to the kitchen. Freddie wraps an arm around Roger’s shoulder and steers him into the living room where Mary, John, a perpetually pregnant Veronica, and a host of assorted Mullens and Mays are passing the twins around like footballs and chatting over appetizers and tea and cookies. Biscuits, you correct yourself. And the shrimp cocktail are called prawns.

“What did you say your name was?” a middle-aged, rotund, bearded man asks John disinterestedly. “Josh? James?”

“John, actually. I’m the bassist.”

The man frowns as he gobbles down a shrimp. “Oh, how odd, I’ve never even heard of you.”

“Yeah?” Roger pipes as he sails over and claps the man aggressively on the shoulder. “Well let me introduce you. This is John Richard Deacon and he wrote You’re My Best Friend, you’ve heard of that one, right? He learned the electric piano to compose it. Yes, he doesn’t just play bass, he has all sorts of gifts. He’s massively talented. He builds amps and manages finances and can sketch pictures that look like freaking photographs...”

You wander into the kitchen where Chrissie is slicing herself a miniscule portion of Boston cream pie. “Oh fuck it, it’s my birthday. I’m having a proper piece of pie, thighs be damned.” She goes in for a second attempt. “You want any?”

“No, I’m alright. I haven’t been feeling well.”

Her brows knit together in concern. “Not compulsively consuming your own weight in snacks to avoid socializing with strangers? That’s unlike you.”

Well, since you asked, I was feeling even more piggish than usual until I found out my husband was fucking somebody else, and also that the entire country knows about it. “Yeah, weird.”

Brian enters the kitchen. “Oh, pie!”

“You want a piece?” Chrissie asks cheerfully. So they’ve made up somehow. Like they always do, like they always will.

“Yes, absolutely, but I’ll get it myself, love. You go enjoy yourself. It’s your day.”

She beams up at him and journeys out to the living room. You are in no rush to join her. Watching Roger charm the crowd, allowing him to dazzle you, to lull you back into his orbit like the subsidiary moon of a vast, ringed planet...no, you have no stomach for that at all. You pour yourself a glass of red wine and try to swallow without tasting it.

Brian’s doting demeanor evaporates like he’s taken off a mask. He sighs, mixes himself a Vesper, sips it as he leans against the kitchen counter and studies you warily. “How are things?”

“Paradisiacal.” Each night you sleep in the guest room with the blue-grey walls and the seahorse-patterned blankets. Roger tried to give you the main bedroom, still sleeps in a spare room in case you ever decide you want it; but you like that the blue room is smaller, more humble, that it smells like John’s brand of cigarettes, that there is no gaping emptiness where Roger usually is. Roger doesn’t try to talk to you about Dominique. He is attentive, optimistic, easygoing, affectionate; he lights the fireplace in the living room and brings you hot chocolate, he wears the red hat you once knit him every time he leaves the house. But he left the paperwork showing he’d sold the apartment—the ‘London Love Nest,’ isn’t that what the headline called it?—out on the kitchen table where you would see it. You know he’s waiting for you to forgive him, as if that’s an inevitability. And every once in a while you feel a guttural stab of fear that he might be right. Someone puts Hotel California on the record player out in the living room. “Every time I hear this goddamn song I get acid trip flashbacks. I start thinking of sharks for some reason.”

“It reminds me of...” Brian’s gaze goes murky. “Well, of a girl from New Orleans.”

The one from the hot tub. The one with a peach tattooed on her shoulder blade.

“We have a stop there,” you say. “You know, on the tour. We’ll be there for a few nights.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.”

No, perhaps that’s all he’s been thinking about.

“How are you these days, Bri? Two beautiful children, adoring wife, We Will Rock You becoming a fantastically successful single...your world must seem pretty golden.”

“You’d think so.” He peers out the window where raindrops are clinging to fogged glass and the November skies are illuminated with episodic flashes of lightning like Morse code. At last he says, very softly: “I think I married the wrong person.”

“I think I did too.”

Bri raises his eyebrows and clinks his Vesper against your wine glass. “So we were both right. Fantastic. Cheers.”

You gulp down the rest of your wine, feeling your stomach roil in protest. You pour another glass. Brian drains his Vesper.

“You want me to escort you out there?” Brian asks, gesturing towards the living room. “I’ll happily redirect everyone’s attention towards the twins if you’d like. They’re very convenient conversation starters.”

“No, thanks Bri. You go ahead.”

“Alright. If you insist.” A smile ghosts his lips. “I’m really glad you’re coming with us, love. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision. And I’m sure things won’t feel easy for a long time. But Queen wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get out there before I punch you in your fragile liver.”

Brian laughs, sets his glass in the sink, and disappears into the living room. You stall in the kitchen by yourself. You sip wine, browse through the family photos displayed on the refrigerator, listen to the polite chatter of the guests from a distance. Eventually you venture towards the living room before losing your nerve and veering down the hallway towards the back porch. Outside the rain is falling torrentially, the sky rumbling with thunder. John is sitting on a wooden bench under the roof and smoking as he gazes out into the storm.

“Hey,” he says, sliding over to make room for you on the bench.

You sit down beside him and hold out your hand. He stares at you for a moment, puzzled, before passing you his cigarette. You take one long drag and give it back to him. John blinks at you, stunned.

“That’s extremely bad for you,” he teases.

“So is getting hammered and driving into cop cars.”

He clutches his chest. “Ouch. I felt that in my soul.”

You shove him, chuckling. He points down at your boots. You swing your feet up to rest in his lap, and he lays his left hand on them while he smokes with his right.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I know you might not want to talk about it. That’s fine. But if there’s any baggage you’d like to unburden yourself of, I’m listening.”

I’ve got baggage, all right. I’ve got enough to fill a Boeing 747. “Everyone warned me. Everyone told me it was a terrible idea to fall in love with him. Everyone except you, John. Why is that?”

He’s slow and deliberate when he answers. “I never wanted you to be with someone because...you know...because you thought you should be with them. Because they were the ‘smart’ choice or the ‘safe’ choice or whatever. I wanted you to make your own decisions, whatever those were. I wanted you to be with someone...whoever that was...only because you wanted to be. Because you loved them.”

You nod. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

“I told you once that it didn’t mean anything to someone like Roger when he...you know. When he does what he does. I was telling the truth then, and I’m telling the truth now. I don’t think it meant anything to him. And I don’t know if that kills any of the pain I know you’re feeling, but I hope it does. Because you being in pain is the absolute last thing I’ve ever wanted. Are you angry with me for not trying to change your mind?”

“No,” you say immediately, and you mean it. “Not at all.”

“Good. Because they took away my driver’s license for a year and I’m probably going to need a lot of rides from you.”

You laugh, a brash authentic laugh, and John grins over at you.

Chrissie hauls the sliding glass door open and steps out onto the porch with a frustrated huff. “I know this party is technically for me, but when you’re the mother of infant twins sometimes all you really want is a smoke, a nap, and a bottle of vodka.” She lights a cigarette and plops down into a chair facing the bench.

“How are you, Chris?” What you mean is: Have you screamed much at your husband lately?

“I’m doing pretty well today, actually.”

“Is that because you’re genuinely happy or because you’ve trained yourself not to be sad?”

Chrissie smirks. “You’ll find those feel like the same thing after a while.”

“No, I won’t find out. Because I’m not staying with him.”

“Love...” Chrissie begins.

“I’ll stay in London. I’ll even stay with the band. But I’m not going to stay married to him.”

“Y/N, please, maybe you should think about this,” Chrissie presses. “I know you love him. And I know he makes you wonderfully happy when times are good. Maybe that’s all we can ask for, you know? Wives in our predicament. Maybe we can learn to cherish them when they’re with us, bottle up the magic, store it on a shelf to tide us over until they come back home. No one else is going to light you up the way he does. There’s only one Roger Taylor. Withdrawal from that is going to be hell.”

You glower out into the wind and rain and say nothing.

“And that woman, Dominique Beyrand? I’ve asked around about her, she’s got some husband back in France that she goes home to when she’s not working here. It’s just a fling for her too, it’s nothing serious. I don’t think there was any chance he would have ever considered actually leaving you for her.”

“He bought her an apartment, Chris.”

“Men do stupid things that don’t mean anything all the time. Isn’t that right, John?”

“Sure,” he offers ungenerously.

You stop yourself before the words tumble recklessly from your lips: Maybe you’re trying to convince yourself more than me, Chrissie. “I’m divorcing him,” you vow quietly.

“Okay,” Chrissie capitulates. “Okay. I’m sorry, love, please forgive me. I only got two hours of sleep, Teddy was crying all night.” She puffs on her cigarette and sighs mournfully. “I hate to say it, and I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I guess it was sort of lucky you never got pregnant. Can you imagine trying to split up when you have children together? Working out custody and finances and holidays, having to pretend like you don’t want to disembowel each other all the bloody time...it would be torture.”

John glares at her, his left hand still on your boots.

“Yeah,” you respond; but now you’re distracted, because you remember the reason why you had been so determined to ignore the phone when Chrissie called to warn you about the News Of The World headline. Because the kitchen phone was right next to the calendar, and the calendar would report in no uncertain terms that your period was due.

When was that? A week ago?

You can’t be late. You’ve never been late.

“Oh god,” you breathe.

“What?” John asks, concerned.

In reply, you lurch off the bench, stumble to the edge of the porch, and vomit red wine into the wet grass like a gush of blood. Chrissie soars to you and rubs your back as you retch into her lawn. “Oh no, you poor thing!”

“John, go away,” you choke out as he approaches. “I’m humiliated, I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“You saw me in a jail cell. I’m staying.”

You turn to look up at them. They read the raw horror and shock in your eyes. John’s jaw falls open and he shakes his head, firmly in denial. You could relate.

Chrissie gasps. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“No fucking way,” you wheeze. “After all this time, after all those months of nothing...”

“You better take a test,” Chrissie says. “Come on, I have a kit upstairs.”

She pulls you to your feet and leads you to her bathroom, deftly avoiding the increasingly intoxicated crowd downstairs. John waits just outside the door as Chrissie rummages around in the closet for the test kit. It’s a contraption that looks like a chemistry set, with a dropper and a test tube and a stand with a mirror. You piss into a paper cup—successfully although not with flying colors—and wash your trembling hands in the sink with a piece of pink soap shaped like a seashell. Then you lay on the cold linoleum floor with a folded towel for a pillow and a bucket within reach. Chrissie trickles a few droplets of urine into the test tube, mixes in the contents of a small plastic vial, and places the test tube in the holder that suspends it above the mirror.

Chrissie explains to John: “If she’s pregnant, the chemicals will form a brown ring in the tube. If there’s no ring, we’re in the clear.”

“How fitting,” you chuckle from the floor, dazedly, cynically. “That would be the only ring I’ve ever gotten.”

It takes two hours. The three of you loiter in the bathroom, Chrissie and John perched on the rim of the enormous garden tub, fidgeting and chitchatting anxiously. They alternate popping downstairs, mingling just long enough to not arouse suspicions, bringing back biscuits and bits of toast that they futility try to coerce you into eating. Chrissie doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes in the house, she never has; but now both she and John are chain smoking as they wait and periodically get up to check the test tube.

“This isn’t real,” you whimper. “This can’t be real, right? There’s no way the universe has this ironic a sense of humor.”

“Wait, something’s happening.” John waves Chrissie over to the test kit. She examines it.

“Love...” Chrissie begins, her voice tentative, her eyes glossy.

“No,” you insist. “No way, no fucking way, I don’t believe this...”

Chrissie turns the kit so you can view it, so you can see what she does reflected in the tiny mirror: a single dark ring that informs you you’re carrying Roger’s child.

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saeysooo · 4 years

Text

♚ yandere arcana ; main 6 headcanons {crybaby} ||

♡ tw: psychological terror, possession, manipulation, murder ♡ gender-neutral / female apprentice

♜ asra alnazar ; tag, you’re it ♜

They were your master, you their apprentice; But that relationship wasn’t enough to suffice Asra. NOT EVEN CLOSE! They wanted to be yours... Or more so they wanted you to be theirs!

They would watch you through your windows... In fact, they would follow you everywhere! You were so perfect to them, especially whenever you would get undressed after a long day of training. Your soft skin, the adoring stare in your innocent gaze... And yet you had no idea who was watching you behind open curtains.

“You’re so cute! I can just cut you up!”

“Let’s go on an adventure together... What do you say, darling? No..? It’s funny how you think you have a choice!!”

“Then how about we play tag~? If I win, you’re mine. If you win... Well, you’re still mine! You’re mine, ALL MINE!! Run darling!! RUN!”

Maniacal laughter invaded your thoughts, crawling across your skin as you ran for you fragile little life.

They pushed you to the ground, holding you in their dominating grip. At a loss for words, it was too late to scream for help, cry. And even if you did, they wouldn’t let you go!! YOU LOST THE GAME!!

They had no idea before... That YOU were their poison; the bittersweet wonder that they were always searching for on all their adventures into the unknown. There was no way they can give up such a rare flower!

Fluffy, white hair tickled your cheek, their lips dragging across your skin, leaving the mark of their adoration upon you.

“My mother used to tell me that I should pick the best lover... Oh, I love it when I hear your breathing... I know that you won’t ever leave me!”

Where were you...? CAN ANYONE HEAR?! HELP, PLEASE!! ...Ha, you’re talking to yourself!! Silly apprentice, they trapped you in their oasis~!!

♜ julian devorak ; mad hatter ♜

He’s absolutely. Fucking. INSANE.

Julian Devorak was CRAZY for you! Perhaps it was the drugs he experimented with that drove him to his insanity... Or not!

“WHERE IS MY PRESCRIPTION?!”

Maybe it was just the sole factor that you were the only person that showed so much attention to him!! He drowned himself in your touch, the mere sight of you. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do just to hear you call him such endearing things; things only reserved for HIM!

“Wonderland is wherever you are, pumpkin!!”

There wasn’t one dream where you weren’t in it; driving him absolutely nuts. There were so many wondrous things the two of you would do: Skinny dipping in a rabbit hole, painting roses red with his blood, getting high together off helium. Or perhaps the two of you can get drunk off a blue caterpillar and fool around?

The feeling of you being in his mere presence made him want to tear the skin off of him, he wanted so badly just to hold you!!

“IT’S ALWAYS JULIAN NO, JULIAN PLEASE JUST LISTEN! Pumpkin, you DON’T UNDERSTAND! My brain is absolutely SCATTERED whenever you are around, can’t you see!?!”

And by lord how much he loved roleplaying in the bedroom with you. He would go as far as to make costumes and everything to get the scene he wanted to play out absolutely perfect!

“How about this~ Oh I know let’s do some improv acting!! It can be a drama! You can be Alice, and I’ll be the Mad Hatter!”

No matter who you told, nobody would accept or believe that Julian was absolutely insane. He was beyond a histrionic, and it was all because of you. You did this to him. You made him fall in love so fucking hard it drove him mad. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!

♜ nadia satrinava ; cake ♜

Everything about you was absolutely divine to the Countess. They would bend over backwards to make you happy, to have you stay in their loving gaze. Even if you wanted to leave... She wouldn’t allow it! Can’t you see?! YOU’RE ALL HERS!

Every night you would return home, Nadia felt as if a huge part of herself was missing. You were perfect to her, don’t get her wrong... But there was one ingredient to you missing that was stopping you from being absolutely divine: Her love.

You were warm to her like an oven, your kisses upon her cheek always so sweet like sugar. Your fingers were silk-like, every single time you touched her. Your skin tasted like buttercream and you smelled like vanilla! Every sense she felt around you was filled with empty calories... Calories that would never satisfy her until you were all hers.

You saw her as nothing but a friend... And oh how much she hated that. The thought of you not being more than such a berating title made her skin crawl, her jaw tightening with anger.

It was when you started dating someone else that she felt more than betrayal... Oh no she went ABSOLUTELY. FUCKING. MAD.

“I am NOT a piece of cake, flower!! How can you just discard me like I didn’t love you more than them?! HOW CAN YOU LEAVE ME WITH NOTHING BUT A FROSTED HEART THAT WAS SUPPOSE TO BE YOURS?!”

“I planned everything out perfectly when I was with you!! The dates, the outfits, the sex! ALL OF IT!!”

Nonetheless... she found a way to forgive you. That’s what a Countess does, forgive those who have made mistakes!! Oh how much you will miss your lover... But it will be okay! Soon you will have another!!

“I’m taking back what’s mine... And showing you a slice of heaven that you can have when you are mine. Not that you weren’t already mine~!”

♜ muriel of the kokhuri ; teddy bear ♜

What was once his cold, exposed heart? He couldn’t even remember anymore. Despite all his attempts to push you away, isolate himself once more... You showed him love, gave him a space in your heart that was unmeasurable. And he didn’t want to admit how much he loved it.

You could never be scared of Muriel, knowing he was just a big teddy bear! You found it absolutely endearing whenever he talked in his sleep, saying all the things he would do to you, nervous beyond belief!!

It was when you started finding knives under his pillow in the morning, crumpled photos that he had drawn of you, destroyed pieces of wood that he whittled of you... That doubt began to sprout in the midst of your naive heart. Should you be scared?

What was once a comforting and quiet energy... Became malicious and violent. His love for you seemed to only extend farther than what you could perceive “healthy.” How can love become so violent?! What happened to the sweet, gentle giant that sparked a newfound feeling in his mind?!

There was only one thing you wish you did... RUN.

It was when you disposed of the myrrh he had given you to forget him... That he went absolutely mad. How can you just try to dispose of him?! ACT LIKE YOU DIDN’T KNOW HIM? HOW COULD YOU??!

What was a normal, rainy day was filled with nothing but sheer terror. He was inside your home!! WHO WAS HE?! ... YOU’RE SCARED! But oh how you had brought this upon yourself!! SO WHAT IF YOU’RE FUCKING SCARED?!

You were unprepared when his heavy breaths radiated off of the walls, bouncing around inside your mind... He was absolutely silent... When he tried to bring a knife down upon you.

♜ portia devorak ; dollhouse ♜

There was nothing Portia wanted more than for you and her to be a perfect couple, someday a perfect family even. Pepi, you, and her... Alone in her cottage, living a domestic life. How wonderful does that sound? Absolutely HEAVENLY to her, that’s for sure!!

To the public, you and Portia were, in fact, the perfect couple! She was absolutely angelic to anyone who met her eye, and you were her darling lover, an endearing doll of hers that she kept close to her. She opened the walls of her home to you, to her heart!

But soon people started to see something... different between you two. Were you really as perfect as you looked?

She’s coming... SHE’S COMING!! Swinging the attic door open, her wide smile offered an array of madness that couldn’t begin to be assessed. Her giggles filled your ears, what was once something you loved became something you came to fear.

When was the last time you truly thought for yourself? Portia did everything for you. She coddled you, fed you, dressed you, did your makeup, told you when you can speak, when you were to sleep. There wasn’t a moment where you were anything else but her rag doll, controlled and motivated under her loving hand.

“You were absolutely wonderful today, doll!! The way people looked at us. We’re perfect together!! EVERYONE THINKS IT, DON’T YOU?”

No matter how perfect everyone thought the two of you to be, you saw what everyone else didn’t see of Portia... How terrifyingly. Fucking. Insane she was.

But this is all your fault. You tried to run, tried to ruin the perfect facade Portia built up in her head. She just had to take things into her own hands to make sure you stayed! AND NOW LOOK WHAT HAPPENED!!

♜ lucio morgasson ; milk and cookies ♜

What else is there to say?! He LOVES YOU!!

He locked the doors of the palace at night. He needed to know you were there with him, in his arms, sound asleep... But when you tried to run, Lucio lost his trust in you; Trust that you can be alone.

“YOU SHOULD THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU TRY TO FUCKING CALL FOR HELP AGAIN, LITTLE BIRD!!”

Every night became the same; Lucio spiking the milk that put you to sleep; enough poison in it where he would be able to bend you to his will. Day by day, you grew weaker, unable to think for yourself. He took his chance to hold you then, singing a lullaby to you until you were... absolutely... knocked out...

“Do you want me, little bird? Of course, I’ll hold you!! I’m here!”

When the plague hit, did Lucio care? Absolutely not!! All that mattered was that you were with him, until death did you part! But when Lucio got sick, ill-ridden with the plague... He needed a final resort... Something that would assure you both would be TOGETHER FOREVER

“I baked you cookies, darling bird. Do you like them? ...Do you want to know the secret ingredients? Well, it’s a little bit of sugar... And a LOT of poison! ...Oh look how tired you’re getting. Perhaps I should put you to bed? The plague can’t kill you if I do first~! But don’t worry!! I’ll be join you VERY soon, my beautiful bird!”

He held you close to him, the sickening look in his reddened eyes absolutely deadly, filled with lust. There was nothing more soothing than seeing the pure innocence on your face when you were asleep. He sang you a final lullaby, before he set the room aflame... Ashes, ashes... If he was going to die, you were going to go down with him!! Amongst the fire surrounding him, he found solstice in knowing you were waiting for him, beckoning him to join you in the supple whisper of death. Because even in death... You couldn’t escape him; Death couldn’t do you part!

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*Author’s Note: I re-listened to the crybaby album and heard certain lines in different songs that set off my yandere writing radar. I stayed in my seat for 4 hours writing this as well... So I really hope you enjoyed!

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175 notes · View notes

toomuchtv95 · 4 years

Text

Struggling Chapter 3

Characters: Jay Halstead, Hank Voight, Antonio Dawson

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Eventually)

Word Count: 3k+

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, drowning, badly written medical talk, fluff

A/N: So I am going back to work on Tuesday, which means updates will be slower. I will try to get update as much as I can but I can’t promise anything, but I promise I will try my hardest.

Series MasterList

Slowly opening your eyes, the bright light coming from the light hanging over you, caused you to squint your eyes. As you tried to move, your hands were tied to a rusty old radiator along with your ankles tied together which you lead you to be immobile. A sharp pain cut through your head and it felt like your whole body was in pain. Every movement you made causes some bone or muscle to ache. You started to feel something trickled down your face and once it reached your mouth, you tasted blood. The kidnappers must have busted your head open when they hit you over the head and knocked you unconscious.

You heard the kidnappers talking in the hallway, “why the hell would you kidnap a cop?”

“She’s been threatening to file my arrest. I had to do something.” It was all coming back to you now. You were meeting up with your CI and when he didn’t want to do what you asked, you threaten to file his arrest, and he decided to knock you over the head. But who was the other guy he was talking to? “Look this can work in our favor. We can make demands. Get what we want.”

“I should have arrested you the moment I picked up at that drug bust.” You finally manage to find your voice which was hoarseness from the lack of water and dehydration. “It will never work. Making demands in hopes they will give you something. They won’t give you anything.”

“Well it’s worth a try and if they don’t give us what they want we can just kill you.” Sam, who was your CI, pulled out a phone from his back pocket

“Hey, have you heard from Y/N this morning? I tried calling her on my way, but she didn’t answer.” Jay walked up to the crime scene with coffee in hand and concerned in his voice.

“She called me letting me know she was meeting up with a CI about something.” Antonio turned around to see Jay walking towards him. “She said she would meet us back the district.”

Just as Jay was about saying, his phone went off and to his surprise, your name popped up on the screen. “Y/N? Where are you?”

“Y/N is a little busy right now.”

“Who is this? Where’s Y/N?” Jay stopped dead in his tracks which caused Antonio to stop also. Jay put the phone on the speaker so that Antonio could hear the other person.

“You don’t get to ask questions.” You wanted to call out to Jay, but Sam had tied a handkerchief around your mouth. “The only way your going to see Y/N again is if you give me what I want.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Antonio ran off to go find Voight.

“Well, then I guess we have no business left to discuss.”

Sam was about to hang up, “okay, wait. First off, I need proof that Y/N is okay, then we can make a deal.” With that said both Hank and Antonio approached Jay.

“Fine.” Sam removed the handkerchief from your mouth. “Talk.”

“Jay! Whatever you don’t listen to him he’s a drug addict!” You screamed out which caused a slap to the face and a whimper escape your lips. Sam replaced the handkerchief and took a few steps back.

“Okay, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her.” Hearing you cry out anger flooded through his body. Jay glanced up at the Voight who was, of course, worried for his daughter. “Tell me what you want, and I will see what I can do.”

“I want my drugs back. The ones that were taken from me that night of the drug bust. Y/N took them away from me and now I want them back. I’ll call back in 1 hour with a location and you better have my drugs and if you don’t Y/N is dead.” With that said the line went dead.

Jay felt sick to his stomach when he heard you cry out and Jay will do whatever he has to get you back. “He was using her phone we can ping it. He wasn’t to smart on that part.”

“Jay’s right. You two go back to the district ping her phone and get a location. Keep this between the three of us and we will bring the rest of the team if we need too.” Voight was, of course, worried that his daughter was taken but he knew that Jay and Antonio the situation could handle the situation. Hank didn’t want to worry the team considering that this lowlife drug-addicted was stupid enough to use your phone to make demands.

Sam had thrown you into a trunk of a car and drove for about a half-hour until you reached your destination. Sam’s partner in crime disappeared when he realized that Sam was insane for kidnapping a cop and making demands. Once Sam pulled you out of the trunk, you notice that you were at a much nicer house then the last one. Sam carried you through the house and into the backyard considering that both your ankles and wrist were bond by zip ties. Once outside, you saw that there was an inground pool and you had a bad feeling that if Jay didn’t show up something very bad could happen. Even though you told Jay not to do anything, you knew that he would do anything to save you.

“Well looks like your boyfriend isn’t going to make it.” Sam looked down at his watch realizing that the hour was almost up, and Jay was nowhere in sight. Sam removed the handkerchief from your mouth as he set you down on one of the patio chairs.

“Why are you doing this?” The zip ties dug into your wrist and they started to bleed from you struggling to get out.

“Because I’m taking back what’s mine. I never wanted to be your CI, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go back to Jail not again.” Sam waved a gun around as he paced the patio as you could see that he was clearly high on something.

“If you kill me then that will definitely put you back in prison.” Sam looked down at his watch again before pulling you up from the chair and stood you at the edge of the pull. “Times up.”

“Sam listen don’t do this.” You struggled against Sam’s hold, but he had the upper hand.

“Let her go.” The two of you snapped your heads to the right to see Jay standing there with a duffle bag. “Look I brought you your drugs. That was the deal.”

“Your late.” Sam decided to make another stupid move by putting the barrel of the gun to your head.

“Well, you’re the one who changed locations last minute. I was on my way to the other location when you decided to call and change locations.” Jay dropped the bag to the floor as he took a cautious step towards the two of you.

“We had a deal. I bring you your drugs and you let Y/N go.” Sam gripped his hand around your arm which you knew would leave a bruise. You tried to get out his grip, but it was no use, so you stopped trying.

“Like I said it’s too late.” Next thing you knew it, Sam threw you into the pool and the moment your body hit the water, you tried to move, but you couldn’t because of being bond. The water whirls around you, trapping you from the oxygen you needed. Your entire body started to throb as your lungs start to feel like they are on fire. Slowly, blackness begins to surround your visions and you knew you couldn’t hold on much longer. As you lost consciousness, you still felt someone, or something grab you and pull you out of the water.

Jay had jumped in the water shortly after attacking Sam and putting him in handcuffs. The moment Antonio stepped into the backyard to see Jay giving you chest compressions, he called into his radio for an ambulance and backup. “Come on Y/N.” After a few more compressions, you started to spit up water and you slowly opened your eyes.

“Jay.” Jay sighed in relief when you spoke up. Once Jay sat you up, he cut the zip-ties with his pocketknife and instantly pulled you into his chest.

“What’s the verdict doc?” Will stood in front of you finishing up with stitches on your forehead as your father walked into the exam room.

“She’ll live.” Will chuckled as he removed his gloves. “She’s got a couple of stitches, a few cuts and bruises, and a concussion.” Will grabbed the tablet from the tablet and started punching in things. “You’re lucky you didn’t suffer any permanent damage.”

“Thanks, Will.” Will gave you a soft smile as he patted your dad on the shoulder while leaving the room. “Where’s Jay?” Even though you almost just died all you cared about was Jay and how he came to save you.

“He’s in the waiting room.” Your father stood in front of you with a soft smile on his face. Even though your father didn’t like in house relationships he would make an exception for the two of you if it ever came to that. All he ever wants is for you to be happy again and if that means bending the rules a little, he would do it. “You know it’s okay.”

“What are you talking about?” You slowly got off the examining table and started to change into the pair of dry clothes that your father had brought you.

“You and Halstead.” You turned around as you pulled on your jeans followed by your sweatshirt. You looked up at your dad shocked considering that he wasn’t a fan of in-house relationships.

“There’s nothing going on between us.” That wasn’t a complete lie. You had no idea what you and Jay were. Since telling him about Ryan and then kissing him and him not kissing you back, the two of you haven’t talked about it. To be honest, you have been avoiding him because you weren’t ready to talk to him about it.

“All I’m saying that it’s okay to be happy again.” Your father had a small smile on his face, as he walked out of the room with you.

“Okay, here’s a prescription for some anti-nausea medication” Will handed bottle with the prescription. “And here are your discharge papers.” Will then handed you the rest of the paperwork. “Now go home and get some rest and take a few days off.”

“Oh, trust me, she’s taking a week off,” Hank spoke up from behind you which earned him an eye roll from you.

After thanking Will again, the two of you walked into the waiting room to see Jay slightly pacing. Once Jay saw you, he practically ran over to you and pulled you into a hug. “I’m so glad you're okay,” Jay whispered against your hair before pulling away just enough to see your face.

“According to Will, I’ll live.” You chuckled as you still hand your arms slightly wrapped around his waist.

“Jay take her home and take the rest of the day off.” As Voight appeared behind the two of you, you both took a step back. “And make sure she takes it easy. Will said she needs her rest.” Jay nodded his head as your dad hugged you. “Alright, I got to get back to the district. Take care of her.”

“Thank you.” You sat on the couch with an icepack pressed against your head as your headache started to rise again.

“I’m just following orders.” Jay around the couch and sat down next to you.

“That’s not what I meant.” You removed the icepack and tossed it into the coffee table. “I meant for saving me.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about saving you.” Jay reached over and squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“For what? Getting kidnapped and almost drowning?” Jay looked at you with a questionable expression.

“For kissing you the other night. I was just caught up in the moment.” You pulled away from his touch as you started to feel uncomfortable about bringing it up, but it had to be done. The room got quiet making things more awkward and uncomfortable. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t kiss you back because you caught me off guard.” Jay completely skipped over the fact that you basically told him that he could leave. “Believe me when I saw that I regret not kissing you back, but I don’t want you to think that I did it out pity because it wouldn’t have been.” Jay reached over to cup the side of your face and lightly stroked your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You laid your hand over his as you leaned into his touch. “You are the first guy I’ve kissed since Ryan died.”

“Really?” Jay removed his hand from your cheek along with yours and rested them in your lap.

“I’ve been struggling the last two you to regain my life back and then I realized that the only way I was going to move on with my life is by letting go of Ryan.” Without thinking you turned his hand over and begin to run your finger over the lines of his palm. “I will always love him, but I need to move on and be happy again.” You looked down at your conjoined hands and whispered, “you make me happy.” You looked up only to get caught by Jay’s lips. After a moment, you pulled away to catch your breath. “What was that for?” You whispered against his lips.

“Regret for not kissing you back the other night.” Jay moved a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled.

“So, what now?” Without realizing, you leaned forwarded and rested your hand on his chest which took Jay by surprise but didn’t show it.

“I don’t know. But I do know that you should get some rest. That concussion won’t heal itself.” Jay rested his hand on the back of your head before leaning forward and place a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Will told me that shouldn’t be alone for the night.”

“If you wanted me to spend the night again all you had to do is ask.” Jay chuckled as you pull away from and playfully slapped his chest. “Well, I guess if it’s doctor's orders then I’ll stay.”

You woke up the next morning to the soft sunlight hitting your face through the curtains. Last night, was tougher than you thought it would be. You woke up twice last night feeling nauseous along with a piercing headache. The first time you got up you sprinted to the bathroom and threw up all the contents from the pizza you and Jay had ordered for dinner. After the second time you woke up, you asked Jay to lay in bed with you until you fall back asleep. As you rolled over in bed you came face to face with a sleeping Jay and you couldn’t help but smile. At this moment you realized that this was the first time in two years that you shared a bed with a man and there wasn’t a single ounce of regret or guilt.

“Your staring,” Jay mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Well, when a good-looking guy is lying next to me, I can’t help but stare.” You scooted closer to Jay only to be a few inches away from him.

“How are you feeling?” Jay rolled so that he was now on his side fully facing you.

“My head still hurts, but the nauseousness has subsided for now.” You reached over and lightly stroked his cheek with your thumb. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jay reached up and covered his hand with yours.

“For being you.” You whispered as you leaned forward landed a soft kiss on his lips. When you kissed him, your brain lit on fire, and warmth spread throughout the rest of your body. Your whole body craved more, and for the first time in a long time, you were happy. Since kissing him the other night all you could think about was kissing him again and now that you have it was intoxication and you never wanted to stop.

“As soon as you’re feeling better, I am taking you out to dinner.” Jay breathed out as he pulled away.

“Is Jay Halstead asking me out on a date?” You smirked at him as you popped yourself up on your elbow resting your head in your hand.

“Yes, I am.” Jay smiled at you as he sat up in bed going for his phone that was going off. Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, the smile on his face disappeared which meant one thing. “We caught a case.”

You sighed as you gently fell back on the bed. “Go save the city. At least one of get to go to so that.” Jay chuckled as he stood up from the bed.

“Well, I manage not to get myself kidnapped and then thrown into a pool.” Jay leaned down slightly hovering over you. “I’ll call you later.” Jay was inches away from your lips as if he were about to kiss you but ended up kissing your forehead instead.

“Such a tease.” Jay chuckled as you tossed a pillow hitting him in the back as he left the room. As you laid on the bed staring at the ceiling you let the happiness soak into your bones. This was the moment you have been waiting for. Happiness. It’s been a long time since you felt this happy and you weren’t letting it go. As you heard the front door close, you slowly got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom.

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#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #Chicago PD #chicago pd x reader #chicago pd imagine

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timeaftertime-chriscornellfanfic · 4 years

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Chapter 39 - Drown Me In Your Thirsty Veins

Seattle Washington, November 4 1990

(Andi is 20, Chris is 26)

ANDI: "Ok, Mrs. Cornell, here is your prescription and you are all set," one of the girls behind the counter at the pharmacy says as she hands me a little bag.

"Thank you," I smile as I take the bag from her. I swear it's still crazy to me to hear people call me 'Mrs. Cornell'. It almost sounds surreal in a sense.

In the few weeks that we have been officially husband and wife, we have been practically inseparable - well we always were before of course but even more so now, though I'm not counting the times when I slip of course. The next morning after I came back, Chris took me to city hall so that we could actually make our marriage official and even though I hated myself for slipping and missing the whole entire thing, Chris told me that my future self came back to marry him at the ceremony, which confused me at first, but at least I was able to be there, even if it was my future self. Then to celebrate, we went back to the tattoo artist that originally did my ring tattoo and had him finish it. Chris still keeps my wedding band and engagement ring around his silver chain necklace, never taking it off.

I haven't slipped since the wedding but my neurologist decided to up my dose of Lorazepam anyways. No one knows why I slipped at the wedding. I've been taking exactly what is prescribed to me like clockwork but for some reason, it just happened, and it wasn't like my normal time slips either. The dizziness was overwhelming. It just felt different. Anyways... hopefully these pills will help.

As I head out the doors looking down at my prescription, I flip my curls out of my face to see Chris leaning against his baby blue Ford pick-up in his leather jacket, a plain black knit sweater, black jeans with the cuffs rolled up over his red Doc Martens, taking a drag from his cigarette while he squints his eyes from the rising smoke. His beard is perfectly trimmed and his curls that are down passed his shoulders, gently sway in the cool November breeze while he waits for me. Seems like he's always waiting for me.

"Hey beautiful," He says sweetly exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Hi," I smile back as I walk up to him, lifting myself up a little to press my lips to his. I give him a few quick kisses but then he just grabs me by the nape of my neck and presses his lips harder to mine making me giggle against him.

"You ready?" He says when I pull away from him.

"As I'll ever be," I say and he chuckles giving me one last quick kiss and then moving to open the passenger side door for me. He helps me in, then closes the door and heads around to his side and climbs in. I immediately take over the task of finding some tunes, popping in a cassette with Guns N' Roses blasting through the speakers. Chris glances over at me with a smirk as he butts out the last of his cigarette.

"What can I say, I love Slash ok?" I smile and give him a shrug. He laughs and gives me a sweet smirk again. He then turns his attention to the steering wheel, pulling out away from the curb and we take off down the streets of downtown Seattle.

We are heading up north to London Bridge Studios for Chris to do some recording with Jeff, Stone, Matt and Mike McCready. Chris's grandfather has a cabin near the studio, so we decided to use it for a place to stay which will also give us some much needed alone time in between recording.

Over the summer, Chris had been working on some songs in the wake of Andy's passing and Jeff was the one who had suggested that he record the songs, in sort of a tribute to Andy. Since there were also a few other songs that Chris had written that sort of didn't really fit the esthetic of Soundgarden, he thought of maybe putting them all on an album. One last time to say goodbye you could say.

About an hour and a half later, we arrive at the Cabin which was located down a winding back road that was apparently only maintained during the summer months. There was only just a little bit of snow on the road but it still made the drive a little slippery. I guess Chris's truck needs some new winter tires.

Once we were parked, I climb out of the truck while Chris grabs some of the bags from the back, then comes around to take my hand leading me up to the front door. Hi fishes in the pockets of his leather jacket to find the keys while I pull closed my leather jacket, feeling the chill in the air. It's definitely a lot colder up here than in Seattle. Once he opens the door, he lets me inside first.

"Damn, it's cold in here too," I say.

"Yea it will be for a little bit, 'til I get the fire going," He says as he sets some of the bags down at the door. "I'm just gonna grab the groceries from the truck, I'll be right back babe,"

As he heads back to the truck, I take off my Doc Martens, carry the bags over to the bed which was straight ahead on the far side positioned next to the wall and slip off my leather jacket.

The cabin is one big large open room with a large fireplace and a little kitchen off to the far right side with a small fridge and stove that looked like it was from the 1940's - which it mostly likely was. The couch and love seat surround the fireplace with what looked like an animal fur throw rug in the middle, and a TV positioned high up on a stand in the far left corner.

Chris then comes back in with the groceries and a couple of guitars, setting them down by the door as he begins to take of his red Doc Martens. I then walk over to him, taking the bags of groceries and walk over to the kitchen to put them away.

"Ok, let's get a fire going," Chris says as he walks over to the fireplace, grabbing some of the kindling and some of the wood logs that had been already cut from a few months prior and placing it inside. He then takes the long lighter off of the mantle and lights the fireplace and it instantly roars to life.

"Are you hungry?" I ask as I close the fridge, stashing the grocery bags on the counter.

"A little," He says as he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me.

"My god, I'm so cold," I say and snuggle into him for warmth as he brushes my curls from my shoulder, placing his lips to that spot under my ear. The scent of his cologne so fresh and comforting, as it fills my nostrils.

"Me too baby," He says, his voice deep and smooth. His lips move to my earlobe, his beard tickling me as he does so, sending chills down my body. He slowly reaches in front of me, carefully unbuttoning my red plaid shirt and once he reaches the last button, I turn to face him, pressing my lips to his. His hands make their way up my back, his fingers skipping across my skin as I lace my fingers through his curls, his tongue swiping across my bottom lip.

He then swiftly picks me up and I laugh in surprise, wrapping my legs around him as he carries me over to the fur rug in front of the fire. He lays me down giggling with me, my shirt now open revealing my black lacy bra as he kneels in between my legs.

"I thought you said... you were hungry?" I ask, watching him lift up his sweater, revealing his perfectly toned chest and abs. His gorgeous curls fall down around his shoulders as he tosses his sweater on the couch, the silver chain necklace laying against his skin glistening in the warm fire light.

"I didn't say it was for food," He says with that sly smirk, his incredible blue eyes fixating on mine as he moves over top of me, unbuckling my belt, popping open the button to my jeans and pulling the zipper down. I bite my bottom lip as he immediately pulls my jeans down over my hips tossing them aside then carefully holds my ankle, pulling off my white sock, tossing it with my jeans and I couldn't help but laugh at how ticklish it felt.

"Chris, don't, don't touch my feet please," I laugh.

"Shhhhh trust me...," He laughs and takes my other ankle, pulling off my other sock. He then gently moves his hands up my calf, opening my legs further as his fingers brush across my skin, moving up my thigh to the rim of my black panties.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath letting it out slowly as I feel his fingers play just inside the rim of my panties, feeling his blue eyes watch me as I react to him. Once his fingers begin to softly stroke my clit, I let out a whimper, slightly arching my back to the feeling of his touch.

"Shit, baby... you are so wet already," He says and I quickly nod letting out a gasp as his fingers tease around my slit without actually going in. I want him so bad already but I need to let myself enjoy it. He then stops for a moment, slipping his fingers out from the thin fabric, then pulls them down over my hips as I help wiggle out of them. Without even wasting a single second, he positions my legs perfectly, then spreads me open, his lips instantly making contact with my clit.

I moan as he places gentle fleeting kisses all around my clit, his lips feeling so hot yet soft at the same time. His thumb brushes the outside of my slit, still teasing but not actually going inside which was driving me absolutely insane with incredible pleasure.

"Fuck... Chris you're so fucking good," I manage to get out in between my moans. Then as if he felt the need to up his game, he gives my clit a few licks , then begins to suck, feeling each gentle pull while his tongue intermittently flicks in perfect timing.

I moan even louder than before as he slips a finger, then another inside me stroking perfectly as the crackling sound from the fire fills the room. It wasn't long before I could feel that wonderful sensation deep inside me, begging to explode. As much as I tried to hold back and just enjoy him playing with me, my body had other plans. Without so much as a warning, I cry out a string of sudden profanities that even a sailor would blush at as Chris plays me though the entire event. It was almost like I had lost my complete sense of awareness of where I was and what time I was in. Like I wasn't even on this plane of existence anymore. I wish time slipping was this incredible.

"Stop, stop... oh my god, Chris you have... to stop," I pant.

"Are you sure baby? It seems like you don't really want me to," He says as I try to stop myself from responding to his touch, but he just makes me feel so good.

"No, I mean yes... you have to stop," I continue to try to catch my breath with my eyes still squeezed shut. I quickly cover my face in my hands, not wanting him to look at me anymore. I'm not exactly sure why but I just feel so vulnerable, like I don't want him to see me at all.

"Baby?" He chuckles and it was all I could do to will myself not to cry.

Why in the fucking world is this making me cry?

I hear him unbuckle his belt and after a few quick seconds, I feel his lips place sweet kisses to my stomach, slowly moving up to my ribs and I start to giggle, feeling his beard tickle me. Chris then starts to giggle as I start to laugh while he continues to place sweet kisses on my chest.

"I... love you... so, so, so, so much," He says softly laughing in between his kisses as I take my hands away from my face, wiping the stray tears from the corners of my eyes. "... and I love how I can make you cum so hard that you react that way to me,"

"So you want to make me cry?" I laugh still wiping my eyes.

"No, no... I mean - " He cuts himself off as I laugh.

"It's ok Chris, I know what you meant. I'm just embarrassed about crying after... that, but holy fuck, I don't know what or how you were doing whatever you were doing but... fuck..." I try to explain as I remember the exact moment, feeling the tingling sensation returning to my clit. He then grabs my hips and pulls me to him and I laugh again as he laughs with me, his lips moving to that spot under my earlobe.

"You don't need to feel embarrassed at all. You don't even know how incredibly sexy you are, do you?" He whispers in my ear and I can feel his cock, so insanely hard as he teases my entrance with just the tip.

"No," I say shyly.

"Well you are baby," He whispers pushing himself inside me, slowly and sensually and I instinctively wrap my legs around his hips, locking his legs with mine, arching my back while he moves in and out of me. I feel my entire body lose control as he hits the perfect spot inside me, filling me up completely.

"Holy shit," He pants and pulls out of me.

"What?" I exhale.

"Nothing, I'm just trying not to cum yet," He says as he looks down at himself.

"Chris, I don't care," I pant. I just wanted him back inside me. He then pushes himself back in and I swear I thought I was going to lose it. He just feels so incredibly hard and thick. He lets out a loud moan and touches his forehead to mine, as I cry out seemingly louder than before. I flick my eyes open to watch his expression, his eyebrows knitting together, then furrowing.

"Oh, fuck yes!" He cries out and I feel him release inside me as I pant, trying to catch my breath. "Oh my god baby, that was... holy shit,"

Panting, he collapses down on top of me and I giggle to myself full of pure bliss from him. We roll on to our side, and he lifts himself up on his forearm as he pulls out of me to look down at himself for a moment. I then place my lips to his cheek and then down his jawline to his neck as he continues to breathe slightly heavy.

"Sorry babe, give me a second here," He says and he moves away from me, and gets up, fumbling just a little and I giggle. He quickly makes his way to the bathroom which was beside the kitchen and comes back with a towel, wiping himself down, then coming back to me, moving my leg to help wipe me down too.

"I kinda... made a mess," He smirks shyly,

"It's ok," I giggle.

"Look... look what you do to me," He says kneeling in between my legs again, glancing back down at himself, his curls falling across his face and I can see that he was still fully erect.

"Awe, baby... maybe I can help with that," I say, completely turned on again at the size of him and how he was still so hard after that. I sit myself up, flipping my curls out of my face and immediately take him in my hand giving him a few good squeezes.

"Oh shit," He exhales as I place my lips to the tip of him, giving him a few sweet kisses first, then begin to suck lightly while his entire body tenses. I give him another squeeze as I suck harder and more determined, earning moans of encouragement with each stroke. He then leans against the couch, repositioning himself with his legs straight out in front of him, I kneel in between as his fingers lace through my hair, drowning in my dark curls. I moan a little as his fingers play with my hair feeling so good as I do my work on him.

"Fuck, you are so fucking good at that," He praises, his breathing becoming more intense.

I stop for a moment, running my tongue all the way down his shaft and slowly back up to give me a moment to catch my breath. Then I continue sucking, flattening my tongue along his shaft stroking and squeezing whatever I couldn't get in my mouth.

"Baby, come here," He breathes and I give him one last good suck as he pulls me to him.

"Did I do something wrong?" I ask.

"No, no... I just wanna be inside you again," He says, those blue eyes of his intensely fixated on mine as I position myself perfectly on top of him.

As soon as I lowered myself on him, I knew I wasn't going to last long at all. His hands move to my hips to help guide me and it was all I could do to keep myself together. I throw my head back as he reaches up moving my shirt off my shoulder, pulling my bra strap down and pressing his lips, gently nipping and moving down. I moan arching my back moving with his rhythm as he frees my breast from the confines of my bra, his lips teasing, his tongue flicking my nipple was all I could take before I could feel that wonderful sensation creeping up once more.

"Chris, I'm gonna cum again," I pant as he breaks his lips from my nipple.

"Me too baby," He says as his thumb brushes my nipple. I take in a deep breath and touch my forehead to his and once more, we release together, moaning and crying out as one.

#time travel #Time After Time #alternate universe #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #chris cornell #chris cornell fanfiction #soundgarden #soundgarden fanfiction #fanfiction #grunge #grunge fanfiction

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commodorecliche · 4 years

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not to get hella personal on main but i gotta rant... so... putting it under the readmore cause it’s... a lot of drama.

having my in-laws living for 6+ months rent fucking free in my house, the house that i OWN, is decimating my mood... like, my home is no longer a place of solace for me, and it’s driving me insane. there is nowhere in my OWN HOME that i feel like i have sufficient privacy. my mother in law is home all day, and she cleans, which sounds nice, except she goes into my bedroom and bathroom EVERY GODDAMN DAY and rearranges all my shit, moves all my meds around, and god knows what else. i have shit in the drawers i don’t want her seeing. i do not need her going through my fucking MEDS. plus, i have freaking ADHD. i have PLACES for everything, and if something isn’t where i EXPECT it to be, it’s like it doesn’t exist. i’ve forgotten to take my meds more times than i ever have before since they moved in.

i haven’t had the chance to COOK in my OWN KITCHEN in MONTHS because she insists on cooking every single night, and all of it is food that is way too heavy for me (lots of butter, grease, lots of red meat; i eat VERY little red meat usually...) but i don’t say anything because i’m too fucking conflict avoidant to create drama.

there is ZERO room in my OWN FRIDGE because they go grocery shopping TWICE A WEEK and pack the damn thing through. i went to the store today to buy some stuff for me and my husband, and i bought TEN things, only five of which had to go in the freezer and fridge, and I had to spend 20 minutes rearranging both just to CREATE room for MY shit in MY fridge.

our bills have gone up dramatically - our power bill is up by over $100 every single month. our water is up almost $100 every month. and they don’t pay us. once in a while they’ll toss a little money at us, but for the most part, they never do. they’ve been here for 6+ months and they’ve given us a total of maybe $400. we didn’t want to ask them for money, because the expectation was that they would be saving to get their OWN place ASAP. but there is ZERO talk of them getting their own place. if we ask, we get a vague “oh we looked at an apartment”. i tried setting up a tour for an apartment complex I used to live at, and they just didn’t go.

if they aren’t at the house, i’m stuck babysitting their dog, who literally cannot be left alone in the house, because if my MIL isn’t there, she will constantly poop and pee all over the house. i don’t know how to fix that.. she isn’t my dog, so i don’t know what to do. it’s a serious separation anxiety this poor dog has, and i have no idea how to fix it, because i’m not her human. plus, it’s not my responsibility to train THEIR dog. if i keep the dog in the backyard, she gets lonely and barks constantly, if i put her in her kennel, she barks. i have to make sure that dog is GLUED to my side at all times if my MIL isn’t home so she doesn’t freak out and so she doesn’t use the bathroom all over my house.

fuck man, i had to BEG my in-laws to take their dog to the fucking vet to get some prescription flea medication for her, because my MIL would just “comb out all the fleas” before coming inside, which, we all know doesn’t work. and the dog was giving my cats fleas! my indoor cats, who haven’t had a single flea on them in over 5 years!

and all that is just the tip of the iceberg.

i can hardly get my husband to talk to them, because he knows they’ll freak out if he makes even the simplest of requests. and it’s just not my PLACE to talk to them about this stuff, because they’re HIS parents, not mine. and i understand why he’s scared to talk to them, but i’m starting to feel so resentful that he won’t just... stand up for me to them. on top of that, having them around is super detrimental to his mental health too, so we’ve been arguing more than we EVER have before, because there’s just so much stress in our own home. we hardly EVER used to argue, now it feels like we’re just... snapping at each other, and short with each other, and constantly tense.

i feel like there is no peace or solace or respite in my own home. i’m starting to hate coming home because i know that i’m not going to have any time to myself, and i know all my meds are going to moved around or hidden in new places. while i’m always excited to see my husband, because i adore him, i’m also hesitant to come home because i’m worried we’ll bicker and it’ll just drive my mood down more. my house doesn’t feel like mine anymore, even though i pay the damn mortgage. there’s nowhere i can feel creative and on my own - i have barely written or drawn or painted since they moved here. it has put a HUGE damper on my creativity and it’s killing me. i feel like i’m spiraling.

we did start seeing a couple’s therapist so that we can deal with this as a team... but this shit is killing me...

sorry, i know this was long, and super personal, but this is literally the only place i can get these thoughts out...

#text #personal #shut up lindsey

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Blood and Mercury

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Symptoms of mercury poisoning may include: irritability, excitability, delirium, insomnia, vivid dreams, depression, and suicidal tendency.

There must have been a lot of mercury in Break's past for him to show so many symptoms.

|| A modern AU about Break's past struggle with drug abuse and suicidal thoughts, and his current struggle with the Mad Hatter's illness, and how much of that struggle he should tell Sharon about.

Character Focus: Break

Notes: 1. Warning! This fic deals with topics of suicide and drug abuse. Everything is described very subtly and poetically, and it's not explicit, but it is about that. However, although it's heavy for the first part, there's some definite comic relief at the end if you can get that far!!

2. This is a modern AU. Not the reincarnation AU, an actual modern AU, where the plot of the series happens in modern time. (I mean, I guess it could be a reincarnation AU if actual events repeat themselves...but I don't think they do). So, in case it's not clear, Break's sick from his second contract with the Mad Hatter, just like in the series. Although I do like the idea that it's actually mercury poisoning.... a) I didn't even think about that until I'd already written it, b) coughing up blood and stuff isn't a symptom of it, and c) that's a really cool idea that I'd rather focus on and do justice in another fic. (Let me know if you'd be interested in reading that!!) The time frame for this is meant to be towards the end of the series--around the time Break was teaching Oz sword fighting.

3. I've always headcanoned Break (or more Kevin) as being suicidal because of the "So...you wanna die?" line. I don't know if the line was actually supposed to mean he was directly suicidal, or if it just meant he was depressed and not doing well, and/or just didn't care about his life, but that's how I've viewed it. And even if he was suicidal, I don't know that he ever attempted it. It could just be that he was suicidal inside but never did anything with those thoughts. Regardless, I do think he wanted to die in some fashion, and to me it makes his story more impactful (especially when he ends up wanting to live at the end), and relatable if he was actually suicidal. So I really wanted to play with that idea in at least one fic (though I'd enjoy playing with it in the context of the actual series too).(You don't have to read this part if you don't want to XD I just wanted to put it up front)

This fic was inspired by the song "Colors" by Halsey!

If you enjoy this fic, I'd really really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! Even the shortest comments can truly make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Chapter 1: The Candy Shop

Collapsing. Blackness. Scratches in his lungs. And the taste of blood.

He never complained but his blood tasted like ash, and regret, and the blackness that overtook his sight was far from empty; an abyss, the memory of one, engulfed his world before he even felt the ground.

The last thing he had heard was Sharon shouting his name, and at Oz to get the medicine—and do so quickly. She didn’t say why, but they all knew it was because every second they wasted was a second he no longer had to spend.

Sharon’s voice, doused with pain. All that hurt and care, and thinly veiled tears, crammed into a few words. He’d never tell her, but he could care less about the wasted seconds, if only she would promise never to cry like that again.

He had collapsed this time. That wasn’t exactly abnormal, still, little by little, line by line, every little sign, he was getting worse.

“Don’t push yourself, Xerx.”

Reim would scold him for not listening.

And maybe Break would laugh, say some quip about how he worried too much, how he needed to let loose. Or maybe he’d say nothing at all. But they both knew—words or no—at some point, this would be all that was left; a few laughs, a drink or two, and the words Xerxes, don’t throw your life away.

What a fool he was.

With Sharon it was different. Different because she was young, and she didn’t understand, not fully, not enough. Or because she understood too much, and everyone pretended she didn’t. He didn’t like to entertain the thought, but maybe that included herself; maybe when she told them to get the medicine, she was telling herself it would work.

Which was the scarier thought; that she didn’t understand? Or that she understood completely, and pretended not to?

What about before? When she was a child laced in light. Was it worse then, or better?

She was younger—so, so young…had they really known each other so long? Was he really so old?…little girls shouldn’t be forced to deal with the broken shards of someone like him.

They might get cut on the pieces.

She didn’t know. She didn’t need to pretend. Still, they tried to hide his pain from her young impressionable brain. And this was not easy, nor fun, but neither were the tears and the questions.

That all but went out the window when the little girl found him, collapsed on the bathroom floor, along with the desperate spill bottle of pills, meant to override the circuits in his brain. Salt thrown over his shoulder.

For good luck on the other side.

Shelly’s face. No anger. No disappointment. That kindness was in Sharon’s smile too, now—and did this kindness mean more if she knew the truth? If he’d known the capacity of their smiles, would he not have tried it?

Sharon had led her mother to him—her voice was desperate, shouting, crying, back then too…some things never change—laying there on the floor, on a date with death and a bottle whiskey and cyanide. As if toasting to the thought We are born drinking from bottles, why not die that way too? Instead of throwing them away he had tried to throw away his life instead.

Bottle up his life, slap a label on it, set it on the shelf. You can take it down on special occasions. Sell it, throw it away, it doesn’t matter. Throw away his life with the very thing that was meant to heal it. Not many murder weapons were once medicine. An overdose on ineffective salvation.

Hadn’t wrote a note either. Hadn’t given them a reason, hadn’t detailed his pain, or plan for revenge.

Just tried to leave without a trace, and left too many.

And when he woke up and, to his chagrin, was still alive—no heaven or hell, just here on an earth that was both—she hadn’t scolded him…well, not at first. She hadn’t demanded to know what he was thinking, or tried to ingrain within him him how much they cared, and how terrible it would all be if this plan of his had worked. She had just smiled, and spoke softly. And later, when she cleaned him up, she had said…

It was always the same. The same now. Black and white and red all over. Sharon’s cries, instead of choking down all the pain, forcing herself not to feel, like he did, she took that pain on her tongue and let it spill out into the open air.

Maybe that was all she could do. Shout his name, and pray her words would pull him from the beyond the veil, and try to discern if there was such a thing as medicine after all. Maybe she wanted to feel useful, because just sitting here, waiting for the end to come and grab him with teeth and claws, was more than she could bear. And in some way he was grateful, because he’d rather she pretend she could save him, than see the real pity, the hopelessness in her eyes when she realized she couldn’t. When she realized the Red Queen and the Black King had her Mad Hatter after all, and she couldn’t break him out of their dungeon.

One day, he was sure, it would all become too similar to a snowy night long ago—a night dressed in black; black cloak, black coffins, black sky, and black around those red eyes, which his own became indistinguishable from too quickly. Maybe Sharon would even say those words too: Break, please don’t leave me, because he’d never had the guts to tell her what his past was made of. And then…he would do just that.

He’d rather have her believe the lie he might live than say to her face I’m going to die and nothing can stop it.

He wasn’t afraid to die. We all die at some point. Some sooner than others. Why should he get more time when he wasted so much of it? Save your breaths. Save your tears. Save your lives, not mine. We all lose the fight eventually. He had spent his whole life fighting, maybe just once he could go quietly into that goodnight; meet death as a friend. He didn’t deserve more time than anyone else.

He just…wanted a few more minutes awake. A snooze button on life. Five more minutes. Ten. Twenty. A year or two? There were a few more things he needed to do. He wasn’t going to let death take him down easy.

All that talk, and not-talk, of medicine and death led him here, today, with a prescription container in his hand, and an ache in his head.

He swung open the lid to the cabinet, a mirror hanging limply out, glinting in the cold fluorescent light.

Why do they put mirrors on medicine cabinets? Like you need a second look to tell you—Yep, I’m crazy— before you pop the little capsules in your mouth, which promise This will make things better. And you tell yourself plastic and paperwork, lab coats whitewashed as their promises wouldn’t lie.

He lifted the container to put it back in its proper place in the cabinet, but paused, letting it rest on the tip his fingers, sliding into place in his palm. His arm dropped back down, eyes scanning over the label, darting to the rest of the contents of the cabinet, as if staring down an old foe.

White ones, and blue ones, red ones, yellow ones…like some candy store for the sick, the insane, and the empty. It wasn’t just pills either; powders, and needles, and glass that breathes fumes into your lungs and brain; a delusion’s kiss, that makes everything just a little bit better, just a little bit funnier. Needles that, needless to say, could take you a real wonderland if you shoved them in far enough.

He’d tried them all at some point in his life. And when they didn’t work, the stash sat dormant in his closet, his drawers, cabinets like this one, while new-fangled solutions took their place. He didn’t throw them away—you never know when one day you might need to fly—like he was keeping illegal souvenirs of a worse world.

There are worse things than bottled happiness. And ‘happiness’ can do more damage than a decent amount of sorrow sometimes.

They smelled like walls that someone puked on at one point, but they painted over rather than clean up, and you could still tell by the smell something was wrong, closer to the woodwork. But they were too easy to keep contained; to not smell, to not taste, too easy not to realize what they were really made of.

He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a few hundred, maybe thousand or more, dollars* here staring back at him in hollow color. The amount of money they cost only comparable to their unending ingredient lists—full of the names of chemicals he couldn’t pronounce, and titles that he could, but wouldn’t waste breath on. He didn’t care about the money, or what they were made of, or the warnings of how much more damage they would cause—asking you to decide between your brain and your liver. All promising happiness, and not-perfect-just-better, and a decent night’s sleep.

He tried not to care about much.

None of them worked. Not for him at least.

And, no, that wasn’t an exaggeration. Wasn’t just an excuse to get more, or him not trying hard enough. There came a point when his body just wouldn’t respond to their signals.

There came a point when too much of him was already too dead to respond to anything but mad scientists, calling upon lightning storms in old abandoned castles. Besides, the Mad Hatter’s malady wasn’t exactly something an ordinary doctor could fix, or even name.

In truth, he could handle the physical aspects of it; the blood in his lungs, the passing out, and the loss of vision—which would be more than a temporary side effect before long. But there was something else—what do they call it? The soul? The heart? Something like that. He’d forgotten long ago. Those parts, that pain, was harder to take, to tolerate, and rotted the longer he stuffed it down. Like he was barricading the door to the monster’s lair with the bodies of those monsters that had gone before, and he knew full well none of them were quite dead.

There was an old picture on the countertop. A woman with hazelnut hair and a sunflower smile, a man in turquoise with a begonia eye, tragedy woven into the petals. And a little girl who thought flowers were bandages.

He picked it up, brushing the dust off their faces, trying to smile, though it was stained as his eye back then.

People need hope. They need this thing to tell them to keep going, it’s not over yet, not to give up. It’s like the glue to the gingerbread house that is you. When you don’t have it, your life kind of…falls flat. Like soda that’s been left out; no longer bubbly, no longer worth drinking. When someone doesn’t have it, it doesn’t mean they can’t live anymore, that life is undrinkable, it just means this thing we called living, once, doesn’t have the same carbonation.

But hope is a funny thing, elusive, reclusive, and volatile. Picky about the things it can eat. Difficult to keep alive.

That’s why this candy store was so full, what its stockers promised to fix, to feed; that beast, hope. That’s what the dealers promised they could provide; something they all knew couldn’t be borrowed, or bartered, or manufactured.

Hope’s not something that can be bottled. We’re all like children, unaware fireflies, those pretty blinking lights, will die without air.

He set the picture back down, turning his gaze to the container still in his other hand.

The only reason he kept using them was for them. For Sharon, Sheryl, and Reim. For Oz and Gilbert, and the rest. As long as it didn’t hurt, or make it worse, if it gave them hope—(a hope he could never have)—for him to take the medicine, he’d do it.

Sheryl had been the one to suggest the medicinal path in the first place. It made sense; she had dealt with this sort of thing before. Shelly had been sickly all her life, and medicine helped—(Helped. Didn’t save her life. And Shelly would have argued she didn’t need it either, and had often refused them herself). But this wasn’t the same. This was deeper than skin or bone. Still, she was kind, and he respected her—or he came to…not to mention he didn’t want to cross her.

Reim had agreed; regiments and tangible, scientific solutions appealed to his personality. He liked when things were concrete, it was more promising to him than whimsy, and words.

They had yet to learn of the concrete things that were tea and sugar, which work a lot better at lifting the spirit than things you aren’t supposed to taste.

Life is about tasting. About watching, and listening, and really feeling. Life is about living. Not swallowing and trying not to taste. Not existing and trying not to live.

It was Shelley who had told him that. She had let them try out their methods, but she told him if he didn’t want them to work, that they wouldn’t. That he could try them, but they were useless without resolve to go with them. She told him that the ones the doctors give are from a factory, made of greed, and half-baked promises that rubbed too close to lies. Not belief, and real promises, and laughter—(which is, of course, the best medicine). And even the ones they don’t give you are too strong to grant you something you can call life. That maybe he oughtta just throw them away after all.

She told him a smile and a day in the sun was all he really needed. That they can’t bottle and sell hope and sunshine. That you can’t pull life out of death, and hope needs to come from something alive—from something free of charge, flickering in the air, that can’t be put in a jar, or tamed. She pointed to his chest and said that hope hails from there. The last thing in the box is always hope, you just have to really empty out the rest of the crap in the box first.

Shelly wasn’t someone you could hide these sorts of things from. She had this sixth sense; she could speak with the already-dead. One way or another, she’d find out—(even if she had to wring it out of you). But instead of sending you to the doctor, telling you that something was wrong with you, that you were crazy, she would smile. Like all you needed were a few kind words, and she’d send you back into the world, heart humming. She could be unbearably compassionate. When she talked about happiness, it was like she was speaking of an old friend of hers. She’d say that it doesn’t come in shots or smoke, it was more elusive, and can be found in a kind gesture, at amusement parks, and in sunsets, in a really good cup of tea, or a homemade cookie.

And when she’d cleaned him up, after finding him on the bathroom floor, she’d said:

“So, you want to die?”

Did he? Did he really want to die? Or was it something else? Something darker? something brighter?

He wanted to sleep. To rest. He knew that much. His sleep was always interrupted and irregular, and he had forgotten what real rest entailed.

Knives and blades rested comfortably in his hands, but he had broken the skin too often, of too many others, for it to provide any semblance of relief when used on himself. Besides, he didn’t want to die naked in a bathtub painted red. He didn’t want to lay in a coffin with stitches on his neck and flowers growing out of his wrists. He didn’t want the world to find him hanging from the ceiling like a criminal in town square. He didn’t want scars to tell his secrets, or his death to show him weak. Very little about his life had been elegant or dignified. So he wanted to die, at least, softly, with some measure of dignity. Make some music out of the cacophony. Without a scratch, or a word, or a second to spare. Something subtler would be his weapon of choice: the prick of needle, the taste of poison, the promise of happiness in a bottle—just enough happy to kill you.

Because that’s how it was, then—during that time when they had found him on the bathroom floor. That desire wasn’t flashy and boisterous. It wasn’t the rich smell of steel and iron, it was more insidious; the smallest pinprick of the soul, or something he may have swallowed at one time or another, that withered his insides slowly. It wasn’t something to parade around, or cry out to the town, and it wasn’t something he needed them to rescue him from. It was just there, nagging at the back of his heart, like a sore soul.

He didn’t cut, and he wouldn’t bruise or burn, and he wouldn’t ask for their help, or tell them a thing either.

His cries were veiled, veiled behind those times he shouted at them, or insulted them, even now still veiled behind his jokes. It wasn’t obvious. The pain was a shadow behind his words and actions, a demon behind him at all hours.

Back then, there had been days when he wouldn’t move from that windowsill, unless Shelly shoved him off.

Sometimes he felt like a shadow himself when he was around the living—like he wasn’t really there. Already dead, an imprint, a faded image of some past, some distant version of a self who may or may not have existed. He couldn’t share their happiness, or even their grief, because he wasn’t a real thing, here, now. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here, with a new young mistress, a doll with his old mistress’s name, and a heart full of regrets. I mean, really, shouldn’t. Time had bent for him, and he feared the bends were becoming breaks.

“You wish to die…so you do not suffer anymore. You simply want to save yourself.”

Was that true? Was this not about death, or even rest, but about…salvation?

He wanted to live. And that’s why he tried so hard to die.

Sharon, Reim, Sheryl, Shelly, and…Oz.

He ran his hand through his hair, grimacing at the thought of Oz seeing all this. Sharon had assigned him the task of medicine-caddy after all. He imagined the boy saying to himself What does Break need all these for? Then backtracking in his mind Oh, right, which would either be followed by, Oh, right, he’s crazy or Oh, right, he said he wouldn’t last the year and take an extra few moments to find the right ones before running back.

Usually Reim was the one to do this. Reim knew about the whole not-working thing. He had told him to stop taking them, to tell Sharon that they didn’t work. To stop pretending they did, that he’d never know what more damage they were doing to his body by taking them. But he also didn’t force him to tell the truth. Perhaps protecting Sharon was for the best. They were like her older brothers—a little too protective at times. Neither of them wanted to see her cry.

He didn’t usually let anyone besides Reim look in this cabinet—best not let the world in on his little secret candy shop—but he hadn’t had his medicine on him at the moment he fell, and Reim had been busy running errands for the bird-brained duke at the time.

He tossed the still-full container into the trash, where it gave a satisfying swish and clang as it tumbled into bottom.

Such a simple action. Why had it taken him so long?

He should have listened to her earlier.

He rested his hands on the sink, closed his eyes again, blowing out a breath.

The yellow pills don’t contain happiness, in as much as the red ones don’t contain anger, or the blue ones sadness. The red pill and the blue pill don’t sit in the hands of the god of dreams, asking you if you want to wake up. We may be made out of dust, but some dust in a capsule can’t patch the rips in our souls.

Can’t fix the hole where his eye is meant to be. Can’t undo the brand on his chest.

Doctors can sew back the skin, but they don’t know how to stitch together a ripped mind. They try, they think they can plug the hole up. But you can’t come to them with the broken shards of your heart and say Hey doc, can I get a new one?. You can’t walk in with a messed-up mind and say Clean it for me, will ya?

There was nothing they could do about his eye, except give him one made of glass, and he had enough broken shards in his brain, and enough falsity in his smile. And they couldn’t rewind the clock burned on his chest. His time had already reached zero, so it made sense he was dying.

He could handle being broken, being Break. In fact, a little penance could do some good. He’d could handle pain.

It was the memories he wanted to tear to shreds and return to sender. But he was not granted the grace of amnesia, unlike little girls named Alice. Just bad dreams, and reminders on his broken body telling him he was less than worthless.

He didn’t want to go to the doctor, especially not a psychiatrist. And Shelly wouldn’t have made him go, until faced with Sharon’s eyes, blurred with tears, asking when he was going to get better.

He didn’t need a shrink to know he was crazy. What would he talk about anyway?

Well, let’s see here, I’ve killed a hundred and sixteen people, so that might be weighing on my conscience a bit.

Why? Because a demon told me I could change the past. To tell you the truth, I could, and I did, but you know what demons don’t tell you? You can change the past, but that change may mean the difference from bad to worse. I made it worse. And in my version of events; the changed past I sought so desperately, that one little girl who survived ended up feeding her family to another demon to save her sister, in the same way I wanted to save them.

I wasn’t there to stop her. And I know she failed. I am what success looks like.

And it’s my fault she’s dead. I killed her. I killed her. I killed that little girl—

Yeah, no diagnosis necessary.

Sometimes he wished he could be diagnosed with something normal. That they could say he had a disease, or a parasite that was slowly eating at his mind. But this wasn’t something that could be found in text books. It was closer to magic—things from the Abyss are not for doctors to diagnose. The blood he coughed up wasn’t from a disease, or pent up abuse or torture, it was something more mysterious; contracts, and scars, and mirrors. It’s not quite the same as an illness, not something they can just cure. They couldn’t explain the whole some of us-don’t-age-anymore thing, why would they be able to explain the blood, and the coughs and the dying just because it was more serious? There weren’t exactly Chain doctors. There are just doctors and either it’s in the books or it isn’t. And even if there were, it wasn’t exactly common for an illegal contractor to survive their trip the Abyss.

Besides, he didn’t ask for help, not even from those close to him, so why would he ask a doctor?

It was easier that way. It was easier to say it didn’t matter, easier to disappear, than to admit that he cared.

So the one time he did go to the whitewashed walls he told them something, some story that was only half based on a movie he’d seen, and they sent him away with a note to the one who bottled the happiness.

And that’s just the explanation for the prescribed ones.

The rest fit under the motto ‘Well, if you can’t beat the crazy, might as well join it.’ And those were the kind Shelly especially wanted him to throw away.

Crazy. Mad. Mad Hatter.

They say hatters used to go mad because their glue contained mercury, and the fumes polluted their brains. A mad hatter, with stitched up hands, ash-white skin, smoky eyes and a mercury turned brain…yeah, that sounded just about right.

If hope is life’s glue, then his contained mercury.

He looked up into the mirror, tilting his head to the side, and smiling wryly to himself at the thought;

There must have been a lot of mercury in his past for him to go this mad.

One day, they all stopped working. Like when he found out he couldn’t get drunk anymore. Two kinds of poisons, no longer effective, because he was already dying. No matter prescribed or uninscribed. Maybe that’s how it was with mercury poisoning; one day cures just stop curing, time stops ticking, hearts stop yearning.

Too crazy. Not crazy enough. And nothing works either way anymore. Maybe she was right, and he just throw them all away.

“Hey!”

Break started, turning to see Oz standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” Oz leaned into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the contents of the cabinet.

“That depends on if you’re sitting on the floor or the ceiling!” Emily sang.

Oz was used to his absurdity by now, and ignored it; “I was going to ask,”—he bounced on his tiptoes like a curious three-year-old—“what’s that green turd?”

Break tried not to laugh at his naiveté, and folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the cabinet, shutting it with his body.

“Sorry, Oz-kun,”—he smirked—“but there isn’t any children’s medicine in here, you’ll have to check elsewhere.”

Oz glared at him. He was known for being a pain in the ass…but Oz was known for being one too.

“Is it pot?” Oz continued his line of questioning, smiling like the cheeky brat he was…according to Break at least.

Break’s own smirk faltered, not realizing he was asking out of understanding rather than ignorance.

“I’ve always wanted to try it,” Oz mused out loud.

“Is that so?” The smirk was back on stage.

“Yeah!” He bounced on his toes again. “Seems like fun!”

“You know Gilbert-kun just might just kill you if he found out.” He said it like that would be a good show for a Saturday afternoon.

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?” Oz pouted, his eyes narrowing.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Oz grunted.

“Maybe you and I could come to an agreement.” He inclined his head towards the cabinet.

“What’s there for me to tell? Are you upset I saw inside there?” He pointed with his thumb to the medicine cabinet. “It might be a little weird, but it’s not my place to judge…Honestly if you’re taking all that, it explains a lot.”

Break snickered. “You think too highly of yourself, Oz-kun; if I were upset, that would imply I care what you think.”

“Whatever.” Oz smiled; he had enough insanity of his own. “I know you love me.”

“Oh sure, the way a farmer loves the cute little rabbits eating his crops.”

Oz made to leave, but before he exited he spun in an attempt to get at the cabinet. In a flash, Break grabbed the broom from the corner, and tripped him with the end, sending him to the floor.

“Ow,” Oz rubbed at his head, which he had knocked against the doorframe.

Break didn’t apologize.

“You’ve been skimping on our lessons.” Break leaned on the broom.

“Why do I have to learn sword-fighting anyway? …It’s like you’re from another century”

“My, my.” He twirled it around so the end was at his pupil’s throat. “Just last week you were saying how excited you were to learn.”

“That was before I realized ‘go easy on him’ doesn’t register in your brain.”

“How else are you supposed to learn~?” Oz sat up, pushing the makeshift sword away from him.

He paused a moment before asking,

“They don’t work, do they?”

Break’s eye widened for a split second. He followed Oz’s emerald gaze to the medicine cabinet.

He gritted his teeth. “Cheeky little brat.”

Oz put on a sad but proud smile. “I knew it.”

“You really aren’t cute at all,” Break muttered under his breath.

“Does Sharon-chan know?”

Break looked away, pretending like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Why don’t you just tell her?”

Break laughed. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I made my lady worry?”

“Come on, seriously. I mean, what good does letting her believe they work do?”

“There’s good to be found in even the strangest of situations.” Emily twittered.

“I’ll watch the twelve o’clock special later, thanks.”

“He doesn’t want to make her cry,” another voice broke in.

They looked up to see Reim in the doorway.

“Oh, Reim-san~! And we were just getting used to your absence!” Break joked.

Reim’s hand clenched into a fist.

“Spare me the pleasantries.”

Reim walked in to help Oz up, giving Break a reproachful look before saying, “I hope he isn’t causing you too much trouble.”

“Always. But I can handle myself. He’s just mad a saw inside his medicine cabinet.”

“Ah, yes, his little ‘candy shop.’ I have been telling him to just tell Sharon, and throw them out, for years.”

“Years? Break, you should really throw those out! Why don’t we help you?”

Break looked away. “Tch. You really think I need help from the likes of you?”

Oz got a mischievous look. “What if I tell her myself?”

“Then I’ll tell Gilbert-kun you want to take up smoking weed~?”

“Oz-sama!” Reim’s grabbed Oz by the shoulders. “You want to start smoking drugs?!” He shook him, before spinning him to Break as if presenting him. “Xerxes this is exactly the reason I tell you to throw them out! You’re polluting the young lord’s mind!” He shook Oz more.

“Eh.” Oz shrugged. “My mind was plenty polluted already.”

Before Reim could react to that, Break spoke,

“See?” Break put his hands behind his back and stepped up to Oz, leaning down so he was eye level. “That’s the mild version of the lecture Gilbert-kun would give you.”

Oz sighed managing to break free of Reim.

“Come on,” he spoke to Break, returning to the previous subject. “Do you really need to keep taking them if they don’t do anything? Seems like a waste of time and money if you ask me.”

“That’s what I keep telling him!”

“You should just tell Sharon-chan. She’s stronger than you think. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Well, boys,” Break patted them on the shoulders as he walked by, “not that this isn’t fun, but I have some serious work to catch up on.”

“You’re going to play video games again aren’t you?” Reim crossed his arms.

“Break!” Oz called.

Break sighed, eyes lidding, before turning to Oz.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“He’s not alone!” Emily chittered, “he has me!”

Oz rolled his eyes, and Reim facepalmed.

******

Notes Cont.:

*I know this probably wouldn't be "dollars", but a) I don't remember them mentioning the name of their currency in the series, b) a more generic word like "money" didn't fit the sentence, and, c) as an American, something like "euros" (which, while probably closer to the correct term) didn't sound as natural to me.

I don't know if anyone will believe me, but I actually wrote this a VERY long time ago. I started it sometime around July 2018, before/right when I started posting my writing online. It was one of my very first PH fics, and has even informed some fics I've posted--(I got the name "Black and White and Red All Over" for my halloween fic last year from this fic. Well, I got it from the joke/expression, but this fic is what tied that phrase to Break in my mind). I would periodically work on it over the years, and I really enjoy the language, so it was fun to continually return to it.

The first part has been postable for a long time, the problem has always been the end. Lately I've been going through my old fics and making myself post them even if they're not perfect. Usually the way to do that is just to break them up earlier than I wanted to. I really wanted to add a heartfelt ending to this fic (still do!) but for some reason I had the toughest time transitioning to more of an actual scene at the end and actually writing it, so it ended up just getting stuck on my computer. The other issue is that I have zero experience with drug abuse, so I think I just felt like I was describing things wrong and got cold feet about posting it. If I got anything wrong, please kindly let me know!

Do you think I should write out the memory of Break’s suicide attempt in ch2? I kind of wanted to actually write it out but I wasn’t sure if it’d be too heavy...

Oz and Break's relationship is actually one of my favorites in the series, and I absolutely adore writing for it...but it seems I have trouble doing so. I have one more Break and Oz fic that I absolutely adore that's been stuck on my computer for about the same amount as time as this one, that I also got stuck on the middle/end. (I actually might have written it before this one, as I recognize some similarities XD) Hopefully I can break it up and post it soon too!

Thanks for reading!! Once again, if you could leave a comment, it would mean more to me than you know!!

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foxglove-and-fireflies · 4 years

Text

Schizophrenia

Schizophrenia is many things.

To me, it is terrifying, enormous and all consuming.

But Schizophrenia is frustrating most of all.

I was recently diagnosed with Schizophrenia after an 'episode'. It's the second 'episode' I've had, and this one hasn't gone away.

The first time was in December of 2015. Stress in my life had been building for a while, and I felt thrust into a life I wasn't prepared to deal with. I was not mature enough to handle my life, not nearly prepared enough to manage the stress I had.

I was 19. I got married just shy of three months prior. I planned a wedding, moved into a house I never asked for (after spending my wedding weekend repairing it), and I was a full time student. Prior to my wedding I was working part time as well, but I quit after I felt too overwhelmed.

But it was December, and I was out of classes until January. I tried my best to be a 'good wife'. Wake up first, wish him well as he left for work, do laundry, make a lunch for him to take to work the next day, do the shopping, pay the bills, clean up after his aging dog, tidy up, welcome him home, cook dinner, mow the yard...

I did my best. I failed often. Many days I couldn't do everything, and some days I felt powerless to do anything. I went to my mother for advice and asked her "How do you be a good wife? I feel like I'm not enough. Should I get a job?"

My mother advised me that I should make it my job to be a good housewife and take care of all of the things I mentioned before, and that Bret was too good to me. She boasted about how good I had it, how good my husband was, and how I should be grateful for what I had been given. She felt I was ungrateful for my home, that I wasn't taking good enough care of it.

I left feeling more guilty about my failures and less clear about what to do next. I went to her unsure, hoping for encouragement and guidance, but I only felt more guilt.

The stress I felt got worse. The more stressed I felt, the harder it was to accomplish anything. The pile of dirty dishes felt like a monumental task. The laundry felt endless, like I could never catch up. I would lie in bed, so anxious about not having the energy to fix my problems that I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating.

I stayed awake for almost four days, and ate maybe twice in that time. I knew I was depressed, but I didn't know how to reach out for help. It's not like Bret would have reacted badly; he was always supportive of me. All the same, I couldn't.

Thoughts of suicide began to creep in. What if? I wonder what people would think. What nice lies they would say about me at my funeral, and what terrible things they would say in private. How would they judge Bret? He'd be the young widower to the crazy woman.

These thoughts became intrusive. Slowly I realized this voice narrating the thoughts in my head was not mine. I don't know how long this persisted before I realized, but when I did, I was terrified.

I had no idea what to do about it. Should I keep it a secret?

I became distant, in a sense. Like I wasn't really there, like it wasn't really me in my body. I felt very far away, detached from reality. I lay laid on the couch one night, the voice inside my head terrorizing me. Taunting me.

"He knows," she insisted. "He knows I'm in your mind."

The voice echoed inside my head; It came from inside my right eye. I thought about gouging it out to silence her.

Bret must have noticed my distress, as he came to comfort me. He reached out to brush a hair from in front of my face, reaching right towards my right eye.

I slapped his hand. "He knows." the voice echoed again. I was shaken. I wanted to throw up. Bret didn't know what to do to help me either.

I can't remember how many days passed after that, or even if it was the same night. Bret had gone to sleep, and even though I couldn't, I joined him in bed to be a good wife.

"He likes me more." The voice taunted me. "You're weak, you know. He's going to help me."

I got up to wash my face. I stared at the person in the mirror, hoping to see something in my eyes.

"I'm going to steal your body. He's going to help me because he doesn't love you anymore. He likes me better; everyone will. Don't worry, no one will miss you. Everyone will like me better. So why don't you just disappear already?"

It was my voice, but stolen from me. My thoughts no longer mine.

I closed my eyes. "No, I don't want to die. You can't steal my body. I don't want to disappear! You can't take my body from me!"

I searched for a shaving razor. I could dig my eye out. I could get a blade and silence the voice, even if it meant dying. I had to silence it.

Then I realized something that changed my life.

I had a choice. I had one very important choice. Two options only. I could either kill myself right now in this bathroom, or I could get help.

I was so scared. Crying, hyperventilating, unable to see straight, collapsed on the floor, I was so tired. I had to die, or I had to walk through that door and tell Bret what was happening and ask for his help.

The voice was so loud. I struggled to think. I made my choice.

I stood up, I opened the door, and I screamed the only thing I could think of.

"Bret, help me! I don't want to die!"

I had made my choice. It was a bad night. I don't remember much afterwards. He went to the doctor with me, and I got on anti-psychotics. I was embarrassed and ashamed. The doctor gave my prescription to him, and told him to hide my pills. She told him to give me one every night, but not let me know where they were.

I was just a crazy person who wasn't to be trusted with anything. I felt awful.

But things got better after that. I started therapy, and I was scared of my 'diagnosis'. Schizophrenia? Clinically Insane? What would the Psychologist tell me I was?

Depressed. I was depressed, and stressed. I also had an underlying thyroid problem, which can make you hallucinate. I got on antidepressants and adjusted the dose. I worked through some things and built some coping strategies with my therapist.

I was doing so well. I was proud of my progress. I got a job working at a place I loved. I was becoming an independent person with friends and things I did without Bret. I faced fears, I tried new things, I had fun. He was happy for me and I was growing and maturing. Life was so good! Five years passed since I made my choice, and I was so glad I made it.

It only took one day for it to fall apart.

Or... maybe it was longer than a day. I can't remember anymore. Why can't I remember? It was less than two months ago. Or three? I can't remember, and I'm frustrated by it.

I wasn't particularly stressed. I mean, work is hard sometimes, and I'm always worried about something. I've been dealing with anxiety for years, but it was managed by medication, and I no longer needed therapy. I wasn't worried about anything in particular.

Until I was. Suddenly I was afraid. The suddenness of my paranoia also scared me. What was happening? Why did I feel this way? Why did it feel like a leech on my mind? I had no idea, and that only made things worse.

I began to lock all the doors in the house all the time. I would be stricken with the need to check all the rooms in my house because something was telling me to. I was scared of what I would find. I would open the door to the upstairs bedroom and peer into the darkness, waiting for shadows to move. Waiting for the movement to tell me someone was hiding in there. When there was no movement, I flipped on the light.

Nothing there, but my mind was not satisfied. No, I turned the light off again, waiting for them to appear in the dark.

Flick off. Wait. Flick on. Flick off. Wait. Flick on. Flick off. Wait.

Over and over, until I was at least somewhat convinced it was empty. Then I would move to the next room and do it again. I did this for every room in the house, and the closets, too. I knew this was tedious and pointless, but I couldn't help it. I had to.

After I had checked through the whole house, I would hide behind the curtains and watch the world outside. I waited again for movement, for something to validate my fears. I knew there was something out there, and when there was nothing, I grew frustrated.

Sometimes there was something. A figure, taller than my fence, staring at me. I could see it, but distorted. It was there and at the same time, it wasn't. Still, I stared at it, and it stared back at me. All the while I felt a sort of pressure in my mind. This wasn't right and I could feel it. Something was wrong with my brain, but I was helpless to stop it. Frustratingly helpless.

After a while, my husband asked me to come to bed. I tore my eyes away from the figure and went to bed. I locked my dog in the room with us that night.

I woke up for work the next day, and I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn't leave the house, and wasn't really sure why. I called in sick.

So I talk to my doctor. She is very kind and understanding, and prescribes me Seroquel again. An anti-psychotic.

Now, before I go on; I am not a doctor. I have looked this up out of curiosity, but I am not a doctor. This is my understanding of how this works, but have I clarified how much of a doctor I am? Because its 0%. Do not take my advice.

Seroquel works by blocking dopamine receptors in the brain, preventing excessive amounts of it which can cause hallucinations and psychosis. Dopamine is a type of neurotransmitter. Your nervous system uses it to send messages between nerve cells. Dopamine helps you feel pleasure, think, plan, focus, and find things interesting.

Seroquel has side effects. For me, it made me exhausted. All the time, with no letup. I was sleeping 20 hours a day. I lost so much time, and I felt like I was disappointing those who depended on me.

My husband, my work, my pets. Here again is the recurring theme of frustration.

Maybe you think I'm just being lazy; I should set an alarm and throw my feet on the floor and hop out of bed.

I wish I could, but I felt prisoner to the bed. I would be awake, and as I felt my medication begin to work, I would begin to feel a little drowsy. A few minutes of that, then I'd get a little dizzy, but I'd be okay. I'd keep working, or reading, or whatever. Suddenly it would wash over me, almost painful.

My eyes would blur, refusing to focus on anything. My stomach would tighten, pulling my head towards the desk. I could feel my temperature falling and my breathing slow. If I fought it, I grew nauseated.

It's like my body was in control of my brain; it was demanding I go to sleep. My brain would stop responding, and all I could think was "go to bed before you fall asleep right now." I was a hostage to the demands of the medicine.

So I would crawl into bed and sleep for hours. I'd wake up to my alarm; 12pm: time to take your next dose of Seroquel. Still groggy from the last dose, I'd put it off for an hour or two; I needed to eat, shower, and be alive for at least a little bit.

But I wasn't working. During this pandemic, I've been working from home. With my medication like this, I couldn't work. I was struggling to stay awake for 4 hours a day and I felt guilty about not spending those hours working.

When I am awake, I feel shielded in a way. I feel like something is protecting me from delusions, like I'm on the edge of a cliff with a rope holding me back from falling. I feel slower, like my brain just can't manage to access information that I know I have.

How old am I? Um…. … 23. No, 24? Yeah, 24. I think. I should know this.

The information is there, so why can't I recall it? Thinking becomes exhausting, trying to force myself to remember things and think through basic ideas. It feels like walking through mud.

So I started skipping doses. Yes, I know, mistake, mistake…

But I was doing okay! I was getting some work done, only sleeping half the day instead of the full day. I was feeling okay, too. Thinking a little easier. I was okay!

Until I wasn't.

I walk upstairs to take my meds (after having skipped a couple doses) and suddenly I don't know where I am.

Has the kitchen always looked like that? No, I don't recognize it at all. Why did I come up here again? Where did I come from to get here? Where was I? Where am I?

It was so fast. Panic set in in a minute or two, and I was so confused. Why was this happening? That dog… looks like mine. Sort of. Cheddar, is that you? No, that's not her!

"Bret..!" I call out, hoping he can hear me from wherever I am. "Help me!"

He replies "I'm in the bathroom." but I don't hear him. I don't hear him, so I'm convinced he isn't there.

I'm not in my house anymore and now I'm alone. Panic. What is going on?! So I begin to talk.

"No, no, no non ononono no nO NO!" I muttered to myself in disbelief.

I couldn't understand why this was happening. I begin to hyperventilate. I can't breathe. Is there air?

I'm suffocating.

I begin to scream, unable to contain the fear any longer. My cat walks up to me and I recoil, scared by the unfamiliar creature.

It takes me a bit to even realize that I'm screaming, and when I do, it only fills me with more fear. "The neighbors will hear me if I keep screaming, and they'll call the cops." I think. Maybe I said it out loud, I'm not sure.

"The cops will show up to see me screaming. They'll lock me up. They'll put me in mandatory psych! They'll kidnap me! I can't go! I'm scared to leave!"

My thoughts keep spiraling to worse and worse scenarios, so I force myself to stop screaming, returning to the muttering. "Quiet, quiet, quiet… you have… to stay quiet… or they'll come…." I mutter between heaving sobs.

I don't remember when, but I threw some things in my panic. My feet dug grooves into the carpet as they tried to push me farther and farther against the wall.

I look to my left and see a man standing there. When did he get there? Did he just say something to me? I thought I was alone in this strange place. Who is he? I push myself into a corner. Wait, that stranger looks like Bret, but why is he here?

I don't remember much else. Did I lash out at him, or simply pull away? I remember both, but also neither. He brings me to bed, checks all the rooms in the house for me, and gets me my medication. He brings my dog and helps me realize its her.

I am forever grateful for him. He is kind and patient, helping me as best he can. The next morning I am still shaken, the feeling still there, but milder. I call my med provider and change to Seroquel XR, which makes me less drowsy. I'm still working on getting used to it, and trying to find a schedule that works with it. I can't not take it.

So I log into work and hop on Zoom. Should I pretend I'm ok? Should I be honest and tell them how scary the world outside my bedroom is? My coworkers greet me with the normal "Morning! How are you?"

I'm not sure how to reply. I go between a generic "I'm ok, you?" and being a little more truthful "I'm not doing well."

Either way, I don't feel like myself. My brain feels like mud, and with the perpetual fear of the pandemic going on, It feels pointless to even be here. What does advertising matter? We don't even have product to sell right now, we're sold out. So why am I here?

But I push that aside, my mind too muddied to work through that. I float through the day, often sleeping through much of it.

But what other choice do I have?

I'm so frustrated.

#mental health #schizophrenic disorder #schizophrenia #experience

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photolover82 · 4 years

Text

Season 4 of The Masked Singer is here! Time to rate some (16 to be specific) costumes...

Hello my fellow Masked Singer fans! Guess what’s back, back, back, back again! I am back back back, to recap The Masked Singer, woohoo! Season 4 is here and premieres on September 23rd, in 9 days from when I am writing this! Last night, they did a little sneak peak Sunday revealing the first clue for all the costumes (and they have finished revealing the costumes after 2 weeks of doing so on socials).

So, let’s rate some masks and make some initial guesses/perceptions of who I think it could be (this will be more fun so I could document how right or wrong I am from looking at costumes):

SO INTRODUCING THE SEASON 4 LINE UP OF MASKS *INSERT FANFARE HERE*

1. Giraffe 🦒

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 9/10 (This is really cute and dapper of a mask I love it, it gives me Hamilton/Shakespeare vibes, I really want it to be a Hamilton actor)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Male due to the voice/costume

The costume itself is 8 foot tall so it has to be someone pretty tall, over 6 feet for sure

1st clue: shares something in common with a giant

As for guesses, I am thinking he’s an actor even tho he is super tall like an athlete, but I don’t really think athletes would wear this kind of costume, but who knows? I’ve been surprised too many times by this show.

2. Popcorn 🍿

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 10/10 (This is the cutest costume, I think it’s my favorite of them all, I absolutely adore it, I would wear it like how adorable)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Female due to the voice/costume

1st clue: "Mirror Mirror” reference and a perfume on a table

As for guesses, I am thinking she’s Julia Roberts, since she was the evil queen in the movie Mirror Mirror and in a Lancome Perfume Ad but I haven’t heard her sing so I can’t be too sure

3. Dragon 🐲

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 8/10 (Pretty sick costume ngl but the head is a bit scary looking, it looks angry yikes)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Male due to the voice/costume

1st clue: look into stocks and bonds to find out identity

As for guesses, I really really want it to be Jack Black... but I feel like I say that a lot, a girl can only hope, this is legit a perfect show for him.

4. Snow Owls 🦉

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 10/10 (It is so majestic, and THERE’S 2 OF THEM OMG. A. FREAKING. DUO.)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

A pair of one male and one female based on body types and costume differences

I am assuming either a brother and a sister or a couple

1st clue: they are tied in the talent department

As for guesses, I am thinking the brother-sister route and with that clue, Derek and Julianne Hough... because they are both talented dancers so tied in the talent department, get it? If you wanna go the couple route, maybe Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively?

5. Sun 🌞

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 9/10 (This is really cute and pretty, I love it from the neck down... the mask itself is kinda upside down and a bit weird to look at)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Female due to the costume

Something tells me that it’s a legendary singer

1st clue: shines like a torch even in freezing winter

As for guesses, I am thinking she has to be a legend, like maybe Jennifer Hudson, Adele, Christina Aguilera, Tina Turner, Janet Jackson, etc.

6. Mushroom

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 10/10 (This is really cute, kinda gives me ET meets Super Mario Bros mushroom vibes)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Can’t tell the gender, this one’s confusing

1st clue: has many hats

As for guesses, I honestly am not sure

7. Jellyfish 🦑

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 9/10 (This is really cute and dapper of a mask I love it, it gives me Hamilton/Shakespeare vibes, I really want it to be a Hamilton actor)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Female due to the costume

1st clue: warm and glowing fur with water

As for guesses, I am thinking she’s probably either a model or a YouTuber idk tho...

8. Crocodile 🐊

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 8/10 (I like the outfit and sparkles and all but the color is a bit much tbh )

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Maybe a gay male

1st clue: Tik Tak Toe is important apparently

As for guesses, I am thinking he’s Adam Rippon, because there was announced an olympic athlete and this seems like something he’ll wear.

9. Gremlin

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 10/10 (It’s so cute and fluffy I love it)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

I think it’s a guy but I have no clue

1st clue: can thrive when the temperature is 66.5 degrees

Idk what that means so I am so confused as to who it could be.

10. Squiggly Monster

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 5/10 (So many eyes and arms it freaks me out)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Probably a tall male, gives me thingamajig’s height vibes

1st clue: known to have many hands to latch on to

As for guesses, I am thinking he’s an athlete or someone who has a lot of stuff, like a Shaq or something like that

11. Lips 👄

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 6/10 (It’s kinda weird looking idk how to feel)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

I think it’s a female but idk ab the rest

1st clue: dishes go deep

I have no idea who she is tbh

12. Whatchamacallit

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 4/10 (That one eye freaks me out, it kinda looks like cousin It)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Idk the gender this is so confusing

1st clue: magical start (cards)

As for guesses, I am thinking it’s a magician, most likely a male... I am thinking it’s that guy who hosted Cupcake Wars whose also a magician

13. Broccoli 🥦

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 6/10 (Meh not a fan, it looks super weird)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Male due to the voice/costume

1st clue: lean, mean machine

As for guesses, I am thinking he’s either an athlete (bc of the deep voice) or a guy who really likes weed, like a Seth Rogen or Snoop Dogg... Seth Rogen is my top guess bc it looks like something from that weird movie Sausage Party that he directed

14. Serpent 🐍

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 8/10 (I feel the same ab this as I did with dragon, kinda cool and wow the animatronics but it looks intimidating)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

I think it’s a female but I have no idea

1st clue: 31118 prescription number

As for guesses, I have no clue... not a single one.

15. Seahorse

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 9/10 (I like it a lot, the colors are a little bit much but it’s kinda cool in a way)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Female due to the costume

1st clue: “quiet place” to hide

As for guesses, I am thinking maybe it’s an actress, at first I thought Emily Blunt from the movie “The Quiet Place,” but idk just a hunch

16. Baby Alien 👽

Mask Rating & Thoughts: 9/10 (It’s a freaking puppet, how crazy and insane)

Initial Guesses/Assumptions/Clues:

Idk who it could be gender wise

1st clue: a 6 in the stars

As for guesses, I am thinking it's a famous puppeteer like Darci Lynne or Jeff Dunham

Ok, so that’s it! Starting September 24-25 more or less, I am gonna do these per week! I am so excited! Tell me in the comments your favorite masks (top 4 or 5 maybe)... Mine are Popcorn, Snow Owls, Sun, Gremlin, and Mushroom! Bye guys!!

#the masked singer #the masked singer season 4

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haikyuu-imagines-and-others · 6 years

Note

so this might totally not work but how about a scenario where Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Akaashi and Oikawa (sorry if it's too many?) had like a bad breakup with their (now) ex and they're trying to get back with her or smth and they have this one friend supporting them in the make up but also comforting and trying to distract them and stuff?? and at some point they realize they're actually in love with their friend? Or maybe she actually goes to whoop their ex's ass when she's being particularly mean 😂

Hhhhhmmmm well I usually only allow 3 characters at a time, but I’ll make an exception for this one! Mostly because it has a degree of angst that I absolutely love! But please be sure to limit to 3 for scenarios! Thanks love for the request! - Admin Satori

Kuroo Tetsurou:

Your heart had started hurting at the beginning of this mess. Your love for Kuroo shriveling up and aching when he’d gone off and found himself a girlfriend. He seemed so happy, so content with life and excited for the future… you’d kept quiet… you’d kept quiet and settled for being his friend.

Because you’d rather be his friend than nothing at all. Confessing to him how you felt once he was happy with how things were going would only threaten your friendship…. And if you had to go on without him? You don’t know what you’d do. He was your sunshine.

Yet…. About a week ago… his warm smiles seemed to dim before altogether extinguishing before your eyes when he admitted his girlfriend had dumped him.

For someone else. One of his friends from college.

“Because I’ve got a really ugly laugh, she said it freaked her out.” He chuckled halfheartedly, shrugging easily before running his fingers through his hair - he was staring into the mirror in his bathroom. You had come over to hang out and have fun with your friend, take joy in his company… but this wasn’t a side of Kuroo you were used to.

“An ugly laugh? Not even!” You scoffed, “She’s insane. Let her go ruin her life.”

But he didn’t let up. He wanted her back. He changed everything about himself so she would want him back. He cut his hair - short. Cropped black hair. He pierced his ears because that’s what his friend had.

You couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as he transformed everything for her. He wore different clothes, too baggy and weird matchups. Hats and too big glasses… Were those prescription based? Had he really spent more money to get new frames for his glasses?

“Tetsu-“ But he wouldn’t hear it from you. Too in his own head trying to figure out ways to change himself.

“_______, which one is better?”

Resting your hands on his, you had him lower the clothing out of the way, “Tetsurou….. Let’s go out on the town today…” He rolled his eyes, about to bring up the clothes as a show of ‘duh that’s why I’m asking you what to wear’, but you held his hands down, “Don’t you have any normal people clothes?” You smiled, but the irate tick of his eyebrow had you internally shrinking away from him.

Had you said something wrong? Was this really that serious?

So you slowly pulled your hands away, down casting your gaze before stepping back, “Sorry.. You probably have plans with her today, huh? Uhm… I guess.. Just shoot me a text if you need anything, okay?”

He didn’t respond, and you took that as your cue to leave.

You didn’t see him for days after that. He was busy. Taking classes on how to mask his speech to make it sound like whatever language was his mother tongue. Going shopping on his own to pick out the most similar clothing he could to the guy his ex was dating. He even changed his laugh… You hadn’t heard his real laugh in about a month now…

If you were being honest with yourself, you’re heart would break knowing you couldn’t even recreate his laugh in your memories. All you could hear is his forced laugh… he wasn’t happy, and yet he didn’t even see it himself.

But you were there for him. Sending him messages here and there, encouraging him to find himself before trying to get her back, sending the funniest of memes you’d think he’d like.

But you were hurting. More now than ever before. Because the young man you loved, the one you could see yourself with for the rest of your life… was slipping away. Slowly being replaced by some kind of imitation human.

You’d had it though. You were tired of watching him water down his personality because she couldn’t understand. Because she was the problem. He was perfect the way he was. “Wow, you’re so much smarter than me, I’m blown away by your brilliance.” He’d stumble over his fast learned French, complimenting her in a language she didn’t even understand but that she found ‘sexy’ and ‘hot’.

Irritation in your veins, you simply turned to her, and her smug smile, and growled out, “You’re a fucking idiot.” You were so angry. So furious. Before she could jump at the opportunity to shut you down, you were right there with your fury, “What kind of airhead are you? You don’t even KNOW French and you’re forcing him to learn it? For what? A chance to be by your side? Do you know how many women would JUMP at the opportunity to have Tetsurou for who he is? Millions.”

She scoffed, “Oh yeah right. He was an absolute loser before I-“

“No! No he fucking wasn’t!” You completely lost tack of where you were, your anger getting the better of your words, of your thought process. “He was smart! He still IS smart! Way more ‘brilliant’ than you! He learned French… in 2 weeks! Just to impress you! He changed everything about himself for you! And you’re still seeing someone else? Why even drag him along if you’re not going to commit? Why make him change everything about himself, everything I loved, if you don’t even want him?”

A simple shrug. “It was funny.”

No care. No sympathy. She didn’t care. She didn’t love him. He was her toy and she was having fun.

You didn’t even notice when you raised your hand to hit her.

But another hand held you back. “How cute~! You were pining this whole time? Oh, if I had known that, I would have made him change much more…” Then she was walking away, tossing a “Come on, Tetsu~, we’ve got some shopping to do~.”

“Uh…. Go on ahead of me… I’ll catch up….”

You roughly pulled your arm from his hold, but soon found all the fight had been leaked out of you in that moment of fury. You were tired. Tired and hurt.

Kuroo didn’t leave to catch up, though. He stayed with you. Silent. Watching your emotions play out on your face before you gathered what was left of your strength to cover what you were feeling. Hurt. Lost. Loss. You wanted to lash out, get him away from you as quickly as possible just so you could have your alone time - time to grieve over the young man who would never want you.

“I can’t…. I can’t do this anymore, Tetsurou… I can’t… It’s not healthy for me to watch you lose yourself for someone like..” Your hand waved weakly in the direction his ex had walked off in, “I just.. I don’t have it in me anymore.” When had your eyes welled with tears? No matter because you could feel a few of them slip passed your control down your cheeks. “I can’t stand by anymore… I can’t fight her… I can’t…. Your heart isn’t mine to fight for anymore, and that much is so fucking obvious since you’re just going to go after her and-“

Lips against yours. Hands cupping your face. You felt your heart break just a bit inside your chest at the mere idea of this being a dream or a trick. But if this were a dream or trick… what was the harm in indulging in the feeling of warmth spreading throughout your body?

So you fell. You fell for him harder than you had in the very beginning. Your hands held his against your cheeks, feeling his thumbs rubbing away your runaway tears, “I’m not… I’m not going after her… I’m not going anywhere…” Was that a choir singing in your ears at the sound of his real voice? That didn’t help dry your tears, but it had your heart swelling in your chest.

Kuroo kissed you softly, tenderly, anxiety eating at his core for making you wait so long for his attention. But when you’d gotten angry at his ex… when you’d admitted to being emotionally worn out… He’d seen you. The real you. The you who had been by his side even in his stupid choices.

“Please….” You whispered, “Please stop changing yourself…” You pulled from his lips before moving your arms to wrap around him, pressing your face into his chest and letting out a quiet sob when he held you close to him, burying his face in the top of your head.

“My laugh isn’t too ugly for you?”

You scoffed around a sniffle, pinching his side, “Your laugh is my favorite laugh.”

Iwaizumi Hajime:

Why had you agreed to this? To get in better shape, sure… but to watch him kill himself over someone who clearly didn’t have the ability to care? Not at all.

And yet you stayed. You helped. You watched and trained and worked out with Iwaizumi almost on a daily basis! You were feeling good about yourself! He would help you eat healthy and shed off any weight you felt shouldn’t be there! It was great!

Except that it wasn’t. Because he was taking it too far. A 5k, and you were beat! Ready to shower and rest your aching muscles…. And yet he turned it into a 10k, a 15k, a 20k….. Leaving you in the dust, or forcing you to catch up with him by non running/walking means. You’d catch up with him towards the end, driving beside where he was running on the sidewalk, calling for him to get in the car so the two of you can go relax and binge watch some TV.

But he’d only fight back. “I don’t have TIME to relax, ________. I have to keep working out. I don’t want her to think I’m lazy or getting fat.”

His ex. She’d pointed out his ‘chubby cheeks’ before breaking up with him… and now he was obsessing over it. Trying everything in his power to bulk up his body and slim down his face… Did he really look chubby to everyone? Did his efforts at the gym not translate into his physique?

You had lost count how many times you’d told him he looked amazing, that his arms were big enough to squish a watermelon between them or that you could hand wash your clothes on his abs….. He could probably outrun a goddamn cheetah… and yet he didn’t stop. He didn’t quit.

It wasn’t healthy. You were in your peak condition - where you wanted to be in terms of body weight and eating routines. You were feeling amazing! Endorphins firing off when they were supposed to, anxiety and depression long gone from your mind because you were taking care of the root of them… You were in the best shape you’d ever been and you couldn’t be happier!….

But you could. You could definitely be happier…. If he’d stop killing himself over his ex.

“Hajime, for fucks sake… You’re not even eating right anymore!”

“I can’t eat, ______. I’m just going to get fat and look like a damn hippo next to her. Gotta be in my best shape.” He’d brush you off, even going to move past you towards the weights he had in his home. He’d spent so much money on gym equipment - because the gym he’d gone to had noticed his unhealthy habits and actually banned him from going back.

Leaving you to be the only amount of reason he might listen to.

It wasn’t working though. He wouldn’t listen to you. Not when you pointed out his faulty thinking, not when you showed him videos saying what he was doing was unhealthy, and not when you practically begged him to come to his senses.

Stubborn fool…. But you loved him. You loved him for his heart, for his thoughts… for his kindness and thoughtfulness towards others… You loved him for who he was… not for how he looked - though he looked absolutely delicious. And yet… He didn’t see that.

You couldn’t keep this up. You’d stopped working out with him. Stopped spotting him when he lifted weights… At one point, you’d stopped talking or visiting him altogether.

He hadn’t noticed.

That probably hurt the most. The fact that you could disappear and he wouldn’t notice… Not how he was now. Before his ex? He would have physically gone to your house to check on you… but now? After her? After her thoughtless heartbreaking lies? …. He only thought of her, of how to better his body for her pleasure.

But you couldn’t take it any longer. Sitting there alone in your home… wondering what he was doing, wondering if he’d eaten at all or if he’d had any water… Why was he killing himself for her? Why? You loved him… You loved him no matter what, but watching him bend himself broken……

Iwaizumi was lying on his back on his weight bench when you entered his home. “______! Come spot me.” You didn’t fight, you followed his instruction…. But irritation boiled your blood when he lifted the weight off it’s support before you were in place… So you did something that rational thinking you would forever be embarrassed about.

You straddled him.

Legs on either side of his hips, you sat casually on his pelvis, hands under the steel rod he gripped in his hands. “Wha-what the hell are you doing?” He grunted out, forcing his mind on the weight shaking in his hold and not the pressure of your body on his. “Fuck, help me?”

“This is literally half the weight you were able to lift last month…..” You noted, the muted anger clear in your voice. But you made no move to help lift the weight from him. Instead you grabbed the steel from the top and pulled it down so it was over his chest, then you were leaning down on it.

Iwaizumi let out a gasp of a squawk, “________! Stop!” He called, his own irritation in his voice, he was getting angry with you… but you knew this was the only way for him to see.

So you leaned a bit harder on the steel bar, feeling his arms shaking as they struggled to keep the weight from ‘crushing’ him… though you knew it wouldn’t harm him… His muscles were so weak from overuse, he needed to rest… if he rested, you knew this weight wouldn’t have any chance against him. Yet he struggled. Because he was unhealthy. He was weak.

“You’re a goddamn fool, Hajime. In your drive to get strong, to be the biggest meat head in the whole world, you’ve made yourself the weakest human I’ve ever known.”

His green eyes showed his anger, showed his boiling rage, “Get. Off. Of. Me.”

You smirked, “Make me. Big strong Hajime… I’m sure you could toss a little one like me around like a ragdoll… So why don’t you?” His arms continued to shake as he held off the weight, and you felt disgust in your stomach at the sight of him, “Because you can’t.” You roughly pushed off of him, moving to stand behind the weight bench and pull the steel bar to its support rings.

Iwaizumi didn’t move, gasping for air as he stared up at you, his expression showing his anger…. But his eyes… His eyes showing his fear, because you were right. He knew you were right this whole time. “Why do you care? I’m trying to get….” He panted for much needed air, his lungs burning from the exhaustion making itself known.

“Because I’m literally watching the man I love kill himself. You’re wasting away to nothing but skin and bones, all your muscle is falling apart because all you do is wear it down…. Soon enough you won’t even be able to hold your own head up and you know what? She’s not going to want you back. Not then, not now, and not when you eventually end up in an early grave because your heart can’t handle the effort your exerting.”

No tears. You were quite proud of your explosion. In most cases where you were angry, you couldn’t get your words out clearly, or you’d lose your train of thought… but you’d been thinking about him nonstop since he’d been dumped… since he’d started this whole insane power trip.

The silence was deafening.

“I owe you… so much, Hajime. Because you helped me. You pulled me out of his swirling hole of darkness… and you pushed me to better myself… I’m healthy. I’m able to run a 5k without dying after a couple feet… I’ve been eating healthy and all my inner demons are being starved because I absolutely love myself now…..” You looked down at where he lay, limp and weak… and you wondered if this was the first break his body has had since the breakup. “But I’m not happy, Hajime… I’m not. I can’t be. Watching you do this to yourself… You’re in the top percentile in terms of body mass and weight…. But you’re not stopping… You’re wearing yourself down day by day, hour by hour…. Not eating because she said you’ve got chubby cheeks….”

Iwaizumi looked away, feeling his heart ache. “Do I still have chubby cheeks?”

“Yeah, you do.” Was your immediate answer, and his green eyes were back on you in an instant - he took insult to your telling him the truth. But you let out a sigh and moved to stand beside the weight bench, grabbing his arm and pulling him to sit up. He struggled to help you, everything about his body felt heavy, felt tired and nonresponsive…. But you didn’t seem worried. “That’s not going to be something you can change though…. You’ve lost…. Nearly a quarter of your body weight… and you still have chubby cheeks… I think they’re just genetics.”

You playfully pinched his cheek, and he let out an irritated huff, “How could you love someone who’s got a fat face?”

His body slumped, and you couldn’t tell if it was on purpose, against yours, leaning into you. You wrapped you arm around his waist, and rest your head on his as it laid on your shoulder. He needed your strength right now. “Hey now, chubby doesn’t mean fat. You’ve got a cute face.” You smiled, hearing his unintelligible grumbling. “Please…. stop.” You whispered, struggling to keep the emotion out of your voice… this was the first time in a long time you’d been able to talk to him about anything other than a workout plan.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you squeezed your arm around his waist, feeling him flinch at the minimal pressure, “Ah! Alright alright! Jeez….” He hissed out, letting out a exhausted sigh, “Then… Could you help me get better?”

Vulnerable… You knew it was a long road before he was back to who he used to be… But if he wanted you to help him…

“And…. When I’m feeling better and I’m able to actually walk…” He cleared his throat, and you could feel the warmth of his face against your shoulder as he blushed, “Will you let me thank you by taking you out to dinner?”

“Uh…..” There goes your confidence in your words… You hadn’t expected that. Now it was your turn to blush, feeling your heart slamming against your chest as you watched his shaking hand take yours on your lap. And you knew he was shaking because he was weak, but a part of you felt as if he were shaking because he was nervous. “Uhm….” You cleared your throat, “Y-yeah… I-I’d love to….”

Akaashi Keiji:

So very flashy. How annoying… Your eyes traveled between the cool and collected Akaashi, your close friend… the man you loved…. To his girlfriend…. Who didn’t seem to care who was staring as she cooed and reacted loudly to the container Akaashi was currently offering her.

“Oh my GOD! Keijiiiiiiiii! These are so pretty!!!!” Pearls. A pearl necklace and matching earrings. She took the jewelry out of the container before tossing the velvet box in your genera direction, “Oooooh these are cute.” Akaashi watched patiently, though there was pride in his eyes… He was happy. He was content in her reaction because it meant he did good in shopping for her. But before he could really be proud, she turned to face him seriously and grab his hands, “Okay, so where’s my 4 months and 1 day anniversary gift?”

Your lips rolled inward and your eyebrows rose in your surprise at her greediness. But you remained silent. Akaashi had invited you out to hang out with him and his girlfriend, so pointing out her gold digging tendencies was definitely out of line. Akaashi stared at her in surprise, his eyes widening as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the time lapsed, “4 months and one day?” He asked, repeating what she said to make sure he’d heard her correctly.

She rolled her eyes, tugging on his hands like a child on the verge of a tantrum, “Well, duh, Keiji~! Everyday with me is a blessing, right? Don’t I deserve nice things?” A pout and Akaashi was letting out a tired sigh before using one of his hands to pull out his wallet. “I want something prettier than the pearls! Something that glitters in the light!”

“Something expensive.” You muttered under your breath, feigning innocence when her head turned to acknowledge you.

“You don’t want me to be as boring and ugly as ______, right? Look at her~ No jewelry or anything pretty at all!” She huffed, pulling her hands from his and crossing her arms over her chest.

Insulted, but not really bothered, you simply rolled your eyes. Akaashi, though, didn’t seem to notice the jab in your looks, his fingers delving into his open wallet before pulling out a mind boggling amount of money for her.

She happily plucked the money from his fingers, and as he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, she held up a finger to stop him. “Ah ah ah, no kisses. Not until I get my shiny stuff.” Then she was turning and prancing off in the direction of one of the most expensive stores in the city. Leaving you and Akaashi.

“Well, it’s really nice to see you, Keiji…. What’s been going on?” The idea of bringing up his girlfriends actions had you internally cringing. You didn’t want to talk about it. That was his life, his choice. And while you were pining for his attention…. You couldn’t force him to look your way in anything other than friendship.

His green eyes met yours, and your heart squeezed in your chest. He looked so tired. So exhausted. Had he been sleeping well lately? “Work. Honestly,” He smiled halfheartedly, “This is the first time I’ve been in public that wasn’t work.” His hum trailed off into silence. His eyes seemed to drop at bit, and you had to hold back the impulse to stroke his cheek…. That wasn’t something for you to do.

He’d been working nonstop. You knew. Pearls? On his salary? He must have been saving up for weeks. He probably even went into his savings account to pull for it… and you KNEW he hated dipping into that account! “How many hours this time?”

Akaashi checked his wrist watch, “Technically, this is only my lunch hour I’m using… I still have to go back into the office.” He must have seen your disapproving expression, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked in the direction of where his girlfriend had gone, “I’ll be fine. Work isn’t horrible..”

“You look like you haven’t slept in days, Keiji….”

“I’m fine, ______.” Was his curt response, wounding your already aching heart. You didn’t say anything more, allowing him to make his own decisions and run his own life the way he thought was best….

Yet you regretted not saying anything that day.

Because it only got worse.

He’d stopped texting you, stopped talking to you - and when you reached out to him… he only left you on ‘read’. Was he ignoring you? Was she poisoning him to leave you alone? Or was he genuinely upset with what you’d said that day?

But you were right, and you wouldn’t let his reaction to you make you question yourself. He was harming himself because she liked nice, material things… She liked expensive things, and he liked her - so he was going to bend over backwards to get her the nice expensive toys she wanted in that present moment. By any means necessary, you knew, because he was a loyal young man. He was a dedicated young man, who would stop at nothing for the ones he loved.

Did that mean he loved her more than he….. no, he never loved you. You were just a friend. You were sure Bokuto was a higher tier in affection receiving than you were. Because you were his girlfriends’ ‘competition’. If she didn’t like you… Then Akaashi had no choice but to agree with her.

Anger coursed through your veins as you shot up from your couch, feeling sick to your stomach at the idea of Akaashi not caring about you because he didn’t have the courage to think for himself. He was his own man. If he wanted to be friends with you, he damn would be! This silent treatment on the phone was absolutely ridiculous and you wanted some answers!

So why wait for them?

You banged on his front door, listening for any movement beyond. Another couple of bangs, and still no response. Was he home? His car was in the driveway… The lights inside the house were on… He had to be home. He was ignoring you or maybe he just… wasn’t paying attention.

The spare key. You remembered where it was. Under the doormat, you remembered telling him it wasn’t a good place to hide a key to his valuables…. Before he really had any valuables, that is. Akaashi had never been one for material things… Not until she came into his life and drained his wallet. She liked nice things…. He bought himself nice, useless things to make her happy… He bought her…. Probably thousands of dollars worth of material things.

The lights were on. Everywhere. You frowned as you slowly entered his home, closing and locking the door before turning off the lights nearest you. It was 3 in the afternoon, there was no point to having all these lights on when the windows were open.

“Keiji? You here?” You called out, a bit of a tremble in your voice - his empty house was creepy… No soothing presence of the man you loved to calm your nerves. “Keiji?” You tried again, slowly opening the door to his study.

Akaashi glanced over at you briefly before turning back to his laptop. He was working. On a weekend. Headphones in, you wondered if he was listening to a mundane lecture his boss had forced onto him or if it was his favorite music. He waved you off, his natural reaction to wanting to be left alone, but you only came closer. “________, I’m working. Please leave.”

But you didn’t. You scoped his office.

It was a wreck. A mess. A flimsy blanket and pillow on his office couch, books and papers littered all over the floor. Did he ever leave this room? Maybe for the bathroom since you didn’t see any unsavory yellow liquid filled bottles…. yet. The only site of food or drink being contained, poorly, in the trash bin. A whole pile of energy drinks beside it.

“What… the fuck, Keiji…” You had had it. You reached towards him and pulled the earbuds from him, making him lean back in shock when the lecture faded away from his hearing. “Keiji…. Are you serious? Look at this….” You waved towards the entirety of his study, “This has got to stop! You’re running yourself into an early grave!”

Akaashi shrugged easily, “I haven’t been home enough to tidy up. I have to make sure my next paycheck is big enough so-“

“No, no you don’t, Keiji. You have to take care of yourself. You have to drop her and focus on yourself!” An empty bag from one of the expensive stores caught your eye, you grabbed it and started picking up what you thought was trash, tossing it into the bag, “What the fuck is going on, Keiji.. It’s like you’re someone else entirely and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried talking to you but you only shut me out, and honestly it’s getting harder and harder for me to try to help you because I know it will only end it failure and hurt my heart even more than it already is-“

“She dumped me, _______.”

You froze.

Dumped him? His shoulders sagged, and his hand tiredly closed the laptop in front of him before leaning back in his desk chair, his hands coming to rub at his face roughly. “She left me… And I need to get this money so I can get her something nice.. So she comes back to me…”

“Why?” You didn’t mean for your voice to hold the poison it did. But why would he want her back? She was only a greedy gold digger…. And yet…. He wanted that? He wanted that poison in his life?

Akasshi lowered his hands, giving you a surprised look, “…. Because I loved her?”

It was a lost cause. He was. Your heart ached as you dropped the bag, not finding the point in cleaning up if it would only revert once you’d left. “Why?” You asked again, this time balling your fists by your sides, “Don’t you see what she’s doing? She just wants money. She just wants you to spend all your money on her so she can look good. That’s all it is. She doesn’t care, Keiji… She doesn’t give a damn! You spent all that money on her, you missed holidays, you missed my birthday, you missed your own birthday for fucks sake…. And what? She left you anyway? Don’t you see?”

When had you started crying?

You roughly wiped away your tears, “She’s not going to change, Keiji… And you’re a goddamn idiot if you think she is.” You sniffled, “No one who really loves someone does that. They don’t make you bend over backwards just to hang out with them, they don’t love you depending on the dollar amount of a gift, or make you lose yourself to make them happy!” Akaashi was taken aback when your eyes met his. He’d never seen you so distraught before - never seen that expression of pure torture in your eyes, “I love you, Keiji… and I would NEVER make you change yourself for me. I would never ask you to spend your very last dime on something stupid like earrings or a diamond necklace….”

He was at a loss for words. “I….I know that, ______…..” His voice was calm and collected, but the hesitance at the beginning of his response told you he felt out of place. He never would have expected you to confess.

“Then why…” You started only to stop…. Seeing there was no point in letting him see you fall apart… “You know what….. Forget it…” You sniffled, rubbing at your cheeks to clear the tears before making your way to the study door.

“N-No, wait!” His hand grabbed your opposite wrist as you went to open the door. “Please…. Don’t leave.” Your hand rested on the door as he held you in place, “You’re right, _____. You’re right. I’m a complete fool… For not listening to you, for ignoring you… You’re right… and I’m so sorry… Please….” His voice cracked, and you prayed this wasn’t a trick…. “Please stay.”

Oikawa Tooru:

“I think I’m going to stop doing anything with Volleyball…”

That took you off guard, and you lowered your coaching clipboard. He was the coach at his former highschool… and he wanted to stop? Everything? You huffed with a smirk, “Yeah sure, when pigs fly, Tooru.” But when he didn’t laugh, you glanced up at him once more, “Why would you want to do that?”

Oikawa shrugged, “Ah… Because I’m not any good at it. Busted knee, it’s not like I’m going anywhere grand or amazing with this kind of career.” So nonchalantly was he digging into himself, you ached at how harsh his words were. “So might as well give it up before it wastes anymore of my life, right?”

“I think….” You started, “If you enjoy what you do… why give it up?”

That seemed to confuse him for a couple days. He’d come into the gym, teach the players a new tactic then spend the rest of the session in his office, making it seem like he had paperwork to do but really… he’d just sit there and stare off into space.

Had what you said really been that insane?

Apparently to his girlfriend, it really was. Soon enough you heard the office door slamming closed and the sound of clicking heels as she stomped to where you stood on the side of the court - watching the students playing easily with each other. She grabbed your shoulder and whirled you around to face her.

You nearly reactively punched her for putting her hands on you. But you restrained yourself in time for her to stare huffily at you, “Did you tell Tooru it was fine for him to keep this job?”

“First…” You calmly responded, setting down the clipboard in your hands before staring at her fiercely, “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.” She didn’t seem to flinch, her jaw only clenching in clear annoyance with your calm demeanor. “Secondly, Tooru is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.. I just simply said-“

“OH! So it WAS you! You bitch! He needs to leave this dead end job and get something better! Something that actually suits his handicapped self! He’s broken, ______, let him fucking leave this hellhole and get some desk job or something.”

The expression you pulled wasn’t something you were used to. Disgust? Maybe mixed with humor? Or maybe it was disgust and insult? “Tooru is not broken. Not in the least. He’s fully functioning and much stronger than he was as a teenager… If he wants a break from work, he’s got plenty of time off saved up-“

She scoffed, “Clearly, you’re not understanding me.” Her eyes became hateful as she glared at you, “He quits.”

A snicker pulled from your mouth at her complete seriousness, and when her fury only seemed to increase, you shrugged easily, “I can’t take that from you, sorry. Tooru-“

“STOP calling him that! He’s MY boyfriend. You call him something formal or-“

“Like I was saying, Tooru,” You emphasized his name, “will have to come talk to me about it if he really wants to quit… I doubt he does, but my office is open for any appointment he wants to set.”

Then she stomped her foot like a toddler, “Don’t you realize he’s broken? He can’t do anything right! Always clumsy around the house, talking about volleyball as if he’s ever going to play again, honestly, what’s the point?”

You nodded as if you were actually listening, grabbing the clipboard now to show you were done with the conversation, “Just tell Tooru to come talk to me and we’ll get it figured out. Thanks. BOYS! Huddle up!” You yelled loudly, gaining the attention of the high schoolers.

Oikawa didn’t come talk to you about quitting that day. Or even that week. But she sure was in your office more often, complaining about how you were tricking Oikawa or manipulating him into staying. She was easy to handle, though… Kind of fun with a side of dead brain cells after each conversation with her… But it’s not something you could stop since she would come into the building with the request to talk to Oikawa.

It hurt you to see him having to deal with her everyday. It hurt you even more to know he was willingly staying in that kind of relationship instead of looking your way… But you saw him everyday, too, and you were able to talk to him as you would if he were yours….

Yet that ache in your heart remained. Because he wasn’t yours. And by the looks of that relationship, and her control over him, he never would be.

Then one day… out of the blue…. She dumped him.

He didn’t come to work for days. And you gave him time. You didn’t worry about his absence because you knew what it was to be heartbroken… You were just stronger for how you handled yours.

By the second week of his… unplanned leave, you’d decided that was enough. He needed to come back to work.

When he opened his front door, you were surprised to see he looked relatively normal. Clean, put together, rested… He looked great! “Breaks up, bub… Time to get back to school.”

Oikawa frowned but allowed you into his house, “_______, I just got dumped… have some sympathy…”

You scoffed with a smirk, “I did! For almost 2 weeks, Tooru… But you gotta get back to work sometime, so why not today? The kids are…… What’s that?” Your eyes were drawn to a bag of what looked like charred books and magazines. Burnt to a crisp and resting by the front door to be taken out with other trash. “Are those….” You could make out a few titles, space and aliens and planets and stars…. They were his nerd books, his favorite topic… Burnt and ruined. Ready to join the garbage… “Are those your…. Your alien books?”

He didn’t meet your eyes when you looked at him in shock, simply shrugging before making his way further into his home, wanting to be away from the memory of yesterday. The memory of burning his books and interests down. “Ah, what’s the point, ______~? I’m nearly 30 years old! Space is for kids who have a chance to get there.” He shrugged easily, as if 30 years of obsessing over the unknown was nothing to him.

“Your whole life…. Tooru….” You were speechless, how did someone handle these cases?

“She said I’d never make it to space, so why bother? And honestly, she was right… So I figured… why keep the clutter? Maybe she’d enjoy the cleaner house when I win her back.”

“Win her back…..” You echoed, but it didn’t sound like your voice - honestly, you could barely hear your voice over the cracking of your heart.

Oikawa nodded with a smile, as if he’d done something right! “Yeah! I even got rid of my Volleyball magazines and some of my previous-“

You slapped him across the face, an impulse reaction, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Then you were grabbing his arms, his hand coming up to rub his cheek with a sour look on his face, “All your things? All your interests?”

He shrugged, “She didn’t think they had a point.”

Anger seized your body and you shook him in your hands as best you could… He just let you slightly wiggle his body, “What the hell is wrong with you?? Who cares what she thinks? If you liked them, why didn’t you keep them?”

A laugh…. One of his fake laughs escaped him as he pulled out of your hold, “You’re right, ____! I’m just an idiot, huh?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just a blind idiot who doesn’t know how to make anyone else around me happy… I couldn’t keep my girlfriend because she didn’t like my stuff.. and now I can’t keep my best friend because you didn’t like what I did with my girlfriend…” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head with a ‘hopeless’ smile on his face, “I just can’t win, huh?”

You wanted to hit him again. You wanted to shake the sense into him. You wanted to yell and tell him how wrong he was for thinking so lowly of himself and allowing the ideas of others unhappiness change who he was.

But you could only stand there in shock.

“I…. I loved your interests… Tooru… I loved hearing you talk about aliens… Or space in general… Hell, I didn’t understand half of what you were talking about, but I loved hearing you talk about it…. And Volleyball?” You let out a huff of disbelief, “I fucking TOOK the job as the team sponsor because you were the coach! You know I didn’t know a thing about Volleyball before you…. And you were nice enough, sweet enough, to take the time out of your busy day to talk to me about it and show me videos of you playing in the past…..” Your heart leapt into your throat, “And… And you’re telling me you… You just… got rid of everything?”

His eyebrows furrowed, his heart hammering in his chest. He was upset you hit him… but maybe you were right to. Maybe he was losing his mind…. He’d gotten rid of everything… for her… but you… You liked those things, so why had he gotten rid of everything because she hadn’t?

“I… I don’t know….”

Pity filled your heart. Pity for his confused head, his foggy thinking… she’d wrapped herself so much around him, constricted his air and reasoning so much that even after her releasing him… he was still affected by her poison. “Oh, Tooru….”

Tears filled his eyes, “I… I don’t know, _____! I don’t know why I did it! I don’t…. I didn’t….” He reached up and wiped the tears leaking down his cheeks, “I just.. She didn’t…” Realization of what he’d done was finally setting in and you could see he deeply regretted everything he’d done. “Oh my god…” He slowly lowered himself to sit on his couch, slouching forward as he covered his face with his hands, feeling shame wrapping around his body…

You joined him on the couch, not giving him a chance to argue before you were wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close to you, “It’s not your fault….” You whispered quietly, but he only shook in your hold. He’d gotten rid of his most prized possessions… Without even pausing to think if it was a bad idea…. “She hurt you, Tooru… She dug herself into your life and uprooted everything….” He closed his eyes tightly, wishing what he’d done was just a bad dream… that he’d never met her… that’d he’d just gathered the courage to be with you from the beginning! “And when you’re better…. Feeling better or thinking better…. We’ll go get cooler stuff…. Cooler Alien things and space stuff….”

Oikawa felt guilt and shame pinching his heart. Here you were…. Supportive and sweet… offering to help him when he was the most idiotic of people to fall for someone so evil… and yet… He hadn’t seen that before. He’d chosen to be blind to it. Because his ex had chased him… And he liked being chased - but you… You waited. Patiently, you waited for him to come to his senses.

You just wished you’d been more proactive in voicing your opinions of his ex. Maybe it would have saved his alien books and volleyball stuff. “Thank you… For slapping me…” That took you offguard, too, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of deja vu at his ability to keep you on your toes… But you could only laugh in surprise. “Seriously… If you hadn’t slapped me..” He trailed off, knowing he’d been under his ex’s spell before you’d hit him…

Humming with a small smile, you squeezed him in your hug, “Thank me by talking to me about space and volleyball.. Or anything else you like…” He blushed deeply… You could feel the warmth and wondered what he was thinking about, “So what do you li-“

“You.” Oikawa blurted out, feeling his face light on fire with his embarrassment, “I like you… A lot…”

#Admin Satori #Haikyuu!!#Haikyuu!! Scenario #Kuroo Tetsurou #Iwaizumi Hajime #Akaashi Keiji #Oikawa Tooru #Angst #Hurt/Comfort #yikes #toxic relationships #stress #psychological manipulation #exercise exhaustion #self conscious #Kuroo's laugh is BEAUTIFUL #Iwaizumi is GORGEOUS the way he is #Akaashi is MORE than his duty #Oikawa's interests are IMPORTANT and WORTHY

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dfcfanfics · 5 years

Text

Looking Back At 2019

Greetings! Your sixth-favorite old man who churns out Miraculous fanfics is back again, casting his eyes on the year-about-to-end and what came of it.

Throwing my ramblings behind a cut, for the benefit of those who are less than fanatical about them.

Okay! Still here? Great.

Stories that I wrote in 2019 included:

Longfics:

Let’s Take It From The Top: The conclusion to this one arrived in January. This was a long-running alternate universe story, the longest I had written at that time, rebooting the Miracuverse with two alterations:

1) Gabriel brought the Cat and Moth, not the Peacock and Moth home from Tibet.

2) Gabriel was willing to listen to Nooroo’s pleas to not use his powers selfishly.

That simple starting point cascaded into a very long chain of surprises and reinventions of familiar Miraculous events. Old faces with new Akuma identities, including a new one (Firefly) for Marinette before she ever becomes Ladybug! A Wish gone awry that eventually threatens all of France -- and perhaps more. Good Gabriel exploring the possibilities of Nooroo’s powers while attempting to save his son. The eventual emptying of the Miracle Box in an all-out showdown. Adrien in pink sweatpants. The answer to what happened to Atlantis. And my very first piece of fanart received ever, from the incomparable @yunyin.

It’s a lesser-loved piece of mine, but I think there’s some very solid writing in it, so if you skipped over it I’d encourage you to check it out.

Someone To Watch Over Me: My labor of love. This was inspired by absolutely perfect Ladrien concept art from @buggachat, which I will never hesitate to link. I fell in love with it, considered how I would work it into a longer Ladrien idea that was bubbling in my brain, and reached out to @buggachat with a first-chapter draft. She gave me the go-ahead to continue with it, and I hope she likes what I did to her poor characters along the way. ;)

Adrien’s attempted Akumatization and Ladybug’s last-second rescue leads to far more than either of them bargained for. Marinette reaches out to Adrien with comfort and affection in both of her identities -- and finds Adrien responding to both in kind, as much as he is capable of in his somewhat emotionally numb state. Slowly, she cracks his shell and a Ladrienette triangle forms. Though obviously Marinette would be fine with being Adrien’s girl in either identity... he doesn’t know that, and the slow burn to full-on romance is quite the ride.

All the while, Gabriel is watching his son closely, as his master plan requires someone with emotional ties to Emilie to be Akumatized and Adrien is his last-hope selection. He watches the evolving relationships, ready to pick off whichever one ends up broken-hearted when Adrien makes a choice and the triangle collapses... and is curious when that doesn’t seem to happen. A dinner party at Marinette’s proves memorable, followed by one at Adrien’s that proves... life-changing for all.

24 chapters, 230k words, my longest chapter ever, an Adrien moment that startled many readers in a very good way, and many other delights.

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...: This one wasn’t supposed to be a longfic. It started out in my mind as a wacky farce, responding to how Heart Hunter / Miracle Queen ended and examining where the Adrigaminette triangle might go. But the more I wrote at the beginning, the more I started digging into the emotional possibilities and felt like, well, this could actually go places.

This picks up with Marinette overwhelmed, hiding out in her room. The blossoming relationship between Kagami and Adrien, the new responsibilities of Guardianhood, knowing what happened to Master Fu, and many other questions are screaming inside her skull and she is out of answers. A ring of her doorbell shatters everything, though, as it reveals a sobbing Kagami; in this version, he tries being her boyfriend but abruptly cuts it off, admitting that he loves someone else. And we all know who that someone else is... and now Ladybug knows that, too.

And our heroine... snaps.

12 chapters so far, a deliberate experiment in writing shorter chapters (each one is under 5k) that has been... well, challenging to both myself and my readers. The response has been good and it is nearly complete; I’m thinking maybe four more chapters unless something changes.

Not-so-longfics:

Two Hearts That Wax And Wane: The first of a small handful of response fics to Puppeteer 2, specifically the car scene near the end, which I found to be one of the definitive moments of the entire Season 3. It certainly created veritable oceans of salt on Tumblr, so I decided to try to make something sweeter out of it.

Marinette has heard “the girl that I love” from Adrien’s lips... and it certainly wasn’t referring to her, at least as far as she knows. So... now what? Adrien isn’t sure what Marinette’s reaction meant, but he knows that he screwed up somehow, and that he needs to make things right with her or potentially lose a very precious friend. And so four chapters follow, one from each Love Square side’s perspective (Adrienette, Marichat, Ladrien, Ladynoir in order).

Angst segueing into fluff, as is my usual formula.

Full Stamen Ahead: A five-parter that makes an utter shambles of the French education system. (If you’re sensitive to Americanizations, this is not the fic for you, unless acres of fluff serve as a sufficient antidote.)

The school is promoting a Carnation Day, in which white, pink or red carnations are delivered to students for a nominal fee. Marinette decides that she’s finally going to confess her feelings, but an interruption by Chloe disrupts her red-carnation attempt. Seeing an opportunity, Chloe responds with a nasty plan of her own... and chaos soon reigns.

Five short chapters of high school antics, detective work and flower petals.

Just One More Minute...: Another fic inspired by Tumblr art, this one by Ladybeug. After five hours of fighting an Akuma, our heroes tumble together to a rooftop, unable to move another inch. They’re about to detransform, and they know it. But... surely... they could rest for just a moment before they act, couldn’t they?

One-shot.

Playing A Familiar Chord: Puppeteer 2 response fic number two, this one from a Lukanette perspective. After hearing what she did in the car, Marinette returned home feeling completely disheartened. Who might be out there that she could turn to, talk to, call on the phone and get a male perspective on about what just happened? Who could be her Big Brother today, even though they both know that he’d like to be more than that?

One-shot. Fluff, comfort, and a Luka who’s smitten but remains assertive as well.

After the Storm Breaks: Heart Hunter/Miracle Queen response fic, examining what might come next. A short time after the finales, Adrigami is fully enabled... as is Lukanette. A party that Adrien, Kagami and Marinette all attend becomes awkward, so Adrien calls Marinette to make sure that they’re still on good terms... and a lot of unexpected truth comes out.

One-shot. Fluff, comfort and friendship. Exploring a far stronger Adrienette forming even while they’re each dating other people.

A Little Promise I’d Made Myself: A super-fluffy one-shot. It’s a New Year’s Eve party at Rose’s house, and while Adrien is having a good time, he notices that Marinette is sitting off by herself. So he joins her, and as the countdown to midnight approaches, Marinette wonders if she has it in her to give him a real New Year’s kiss...

Crack and Silliness:

Assorted bits of insanity, response fics and stuff that popped into my head.

The Logical Conclusion: Ladybug examines why all the Akumas center around one particular classroom... and presents Chat Noir with her theory as to whom Hawkmoth must be.

Reservoir Kwamis: Quentin Tarantino’s film Reservoir Dogs from a Miracuverse perspective. Maybe three people will enjoy this.

Getting Things Backwards: Backwarder response crackfic. Adrien opens Marinette’s “love letter”... which is actually Fu’s constipation medicine prescription... and interprets it in a very different way.

First Times Are Always Awkward: On Ladybug and Chat Noir’s first outing against Stoneheart, Tikki is not fully aware of modern technology... like cell phone cameras. So that “Kwamis cannot be photographed or recorded” extends to their magic as well -- like certain costumes. Alya ends up with quite an eyeful when she watches the footage she captured...

Communication Breakdown: In an emergency, Plagg needs someone else to accept his power, don the ring and be a hero. He’s in a room with someone who is able and willing. But when it comes to saying “Claws out” aloud, there’s one little problem...

Busted, Said The Kwami: Kwami Buster response crackfic. Adrien finds himself dreaming of a midnight visit by Ladybug, who becomes Multimouse, who acts... unusually. This is not Plagg’s first rodeo with size-changing heroine fantasies, though.

Nooroo Uses A Swear Word: He sure does.

Options Include...: A response to an Instagram post by Adrien. Marinette sees Adrien admiring Nino and Alya’s relationship, and pining for one of his own, and reacts...

Leave Some Stones Unturned: Wayzz and Marinette investigate Master Fu’s studio, as Wayzz is aware of many secrets hidden away there in Fu’s absence. They find a pair of Kwamis who are not from the Chinese set, and whose concepts and personalities startle Marinette greatly... (Little Feat fans will appreciate this one.)

If you’ve reached this note, I thank you regardless of whether you’ve actually read my stuff or not. :)

I thought Season 3 had a lot of interesting components and a lot of very flawed execution, both in where it chose to take the characters and the usual nightmares involving episode ordering and character consistency. I sincerely hope that the hiatus before S4 will allow Team Astruc to present a more coherent and consistent approach in 2020.

Tumblr salt of You’re Not Writing The Story How I Want You To! and My Ship Must Sail NOW! will continue, obviously. That’s life. But Tumblr salt picking apart writing choices and characterization in what they actually put out there... that I can get behind. The Marinette Defense Squad remains vigilant. My hat is tipped to the many Tumblr folk who approach these episodes with a critical but supportive eye; recognizing what’s good, pointing out what’s not and wanting what emerges to be great.

Best wishes to all in the new year, particularly @brittsarts, my tireless artist friend still plugging away at the comic-ization of Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright and doing fantastic work at that as time and energy allow.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #rambling #old man reviews where all his free time went

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

something more than me | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf. if there’s anything else yall wanna see regarding this series, let me know!

masterlist | series playlist

These days, the only way you could get me out of the dorm room apart from class and work was if you needed a buddy to travel with at night. What I’m trying to say is my roommate, Stella, wanted to go to a coffee shop after the sun went down. She would have gone alone if it wasn’t in a questionable part of downtown. It was also a coffee shop neither of us had been to before, and it was far from campus. She wanted me to go with her because I was always preaching about travelling in pairs at night.

The only thing is, Stella told me we were going out about fifteen minutes before she intended to head out the door. She was already dressed in a hoodie and leggings, a red beanie over her brown hair. She had her boots on and keys in hand. She was ready, while I was the opposite. The moment I woke up today, I decided to throw the whole day away. No interaction, no makeup, no pants.

“Come on!” Stella snapped, pulling off the comforter I was lying under.

I’ll admit, I was a bit under the weather these days. I had been waiting for a prescription refill on my antidepressants. Sleep evaded me, and when it wasn’t, I was having nightmares. Aside from that, my digestive system was giving me a hard time, which added to the mental stress. Finally, there was the fact that I was still in a gloom from, for lack of a better phrase, “breaking up” with my toxic fuck buddy, Luca. You could imagine how much I did not want to go out tonight.

“Isn’t that place, like, on the other side of town?” I asked, mumbling into my pillow. “Why not just go to Starbucks?”

“Because Shawn and Camila are performing at this place and I promised I’d go!” Stella hastily replied as she reached down to the floor to grab my jeans. “Now get dressed so we can go!”

“I don’t know those people…”

“You know Camila!” My pants were thrown at me. “Cover up your granny panties and let’s go!”

I vaguely knew Camila. She sat in the front of my stats class, always chatting to the professor. I was always in the back, close to the exit, staying as invisible as possible. We weren’t friends.

Stella was persistent, so I rolled out of my small bed and pulled my jeans on. “At least it’s not a bar.”

We showed up to the coffee shop after the show had started. People were spilling out the door, but Stella pushed her way in with me on her tail. A boppy tune was booming through the vicinity, and two distinct voices were singing passionately accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

Stella dragged me past the cashier/barista, claiming that there would be time for that later. She stopped near the front of where the singers were; A short girl who was fully jamming to her own song, and a tall guy with a guitar singing beside her.

I knew the short girl was Camila. Who could forget her beauty and voice that was talked about all over campus? I did not recognize the tall curly haired guy, though it was easy to tell he liked the group of girls sitting directly in front of his singing space.

My body was there, but I felt out of place. I thought that only happened at bars and night clubs. I wasn’t fond of being in a crowded space, or out of my dorm. My therapist said it was good for me, though. Being surrounded by strangers is better than being isolated, even if you feel alone in that crowd. Those are her words, not mine.

I snapped back into reality when the song ended and everyone started clapping. I joined in, trying not to look like an obvious stick in the mud. Come on, we can do this.

“Thanks, guys!” said Camila into her microphone. “I’m gonna leave it to my friend Shawn now!”

The girls in front were certainly happy about that. That Shawn guy was too. Must be a Leo.

Stella flagged down her friend as soon as she was offstage. Camila excitedly approached us and hugged us both. I tensed up at the touch, and my nose itched at the scent of her perfume, but she didn’t notice.

“I’m so glad you guys made it!” she exclaimed.

I’ve talked to you exactly once.

She and Stella chatted for a little bit before the next song started. Now, instead of holding a guitar and standing at the microphone, Shawn sat down in front of a keyboard set up. I internally prepared to barf at the incoming slow love song.

Thirty seconds into it, I learned to not judge conventionally handsome singers and assume they only live to make ladies swoon. This song was fucking sad and poking at my own wounds.

“You’ve got ahold of me Don’t even know your power I stand a hundred feet But I fall when I’m around you”

I got that cold ache in my chest just like I did two months ago. My throat burned and tightened up. I was immediately sucked into the song, and mildly resenting it. How dare a handsome singing man make a song that I actually like.

Someone hurting you so bad that you’re begging them for mercy… That feeling was my best friend and worst enemy. She knocked the wind out of me many times, so I had to kick her to the curb. You can find the will to leave someone toxic, but no one ever tells you how hard it is to deal with the sadness and aches that come after. I just couldn’t pinpoint why it was happening. I cut off the toxicity, I removed the bad thing. Why was I so fucking sad?

Applause rippled through the crowd as Shawn hit the bridge. I let out a soft breath and clapped as well. This guy certainly knew how to move a crowd with his voice.

“I’m prepared to sacrifice my life, I would gladly do it twice”

If I was the type to smoke cigarettes, I would have stepped outside to do so. My eyes were starting to sweat, so I looked at the floor and tried to suck it up. The toxic ex was making his was into my brain again. It was bad enough I still saw him at work…

The show ended with that last song. Shawn thanked the audience and waved at the girls in front. As soon as he stepped off the stage, everyone in the shop rushed to the barista to order drinks and whatnot. That was when Stella grabbed my wrist and ushered us back outside. Camila followed close behind, her hands on my waist. Didn’t have boundaries, I guess.

“Y’all are getting popular,” Stella said when we were finally out in the chilly night.

Camila was beaming. “Amazing, right? We had no idea it would turn out like this!”

“So when are you and Shawn tying the knot, eh?” Stella nudged her friend.

“Ha! You’re so funny!” Camila replied with an eyeroll. “We’re looking, just not for each other!”

That made Stella smile mischievously, and she glanced at me. “Inch resting.”

The two girls talked some more, while I merely listened. This was still better than being at a bar… Or alone in my dorm for the millionth time on a Saturday night. Maybe I needed someone, or something more than me. Something to push me to… I don’t know? Something better, I suppose. Stella was good at that when she wasn’t in Full Extrovert Mode. I couldn’t demand she always “takes care” of me, though. She deserved a good time as much as anyone else did.

For convenient timing, the singing man emerged from the overcrowded coffee shop. He spotted Camila and joined our circle. He had a drink holder in his hands, and a big smile on his face.

“Hey guys, I brought drinks!” he greeted, looking at all of us. His face was much kinder when it wasn’t hidden by dim lights.

I also couldn’t look directly at him when he gave me a cup. Nope, we’re looking at the ground now, laid ease.

Stella, on the other hand, was not having it with my quiet, introverted ass. She nudged my arm to make me look up and then she properly introduced me to Shawn.

“Oh, you’re the goth roommate!” he said. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Will I ever be able to trust Stella to make me seem like a normal person to other people? Probably not. At least she was trying to get me out of the shell I made for myself.

“You too,” I replied with an awkward smile. “Good set.”

“Thanks. I saw you tearing up in the crowd.”

Fuck.

“That’s impossible, I don’t do tears,” I said without thinking. Okay, edgelord. You’re so edgy. So original.

Shawn chuckled. “Maybe it was the other girl with black lipstick and the Underoath t-shirt.”

And we’re looking at the ground again!

“Hey, aren’t you and Shawn doing the same major?” Stella asked, nudging me once again.

“Music?” Shawn guessed, looking intrigued.

I was puzzled, glancing at Stella once. “Um. No. Psychology.”

“Oops. Had a brain fart.” My insane roommate giggled.

“It’s cool.” Shawn smiled and lied his stupidly cute eyes on me once again. “A psych major, eh? Are you analyzing my every move?”

Funny joke. First time hearing that one.

“No, but I can for three hundred dollars,” I said back.

“Is that how much a shrink is?” Camila piped up.

“No!” Shawn answered. “Free healthcare!”

Yeah… yeah, he got me there.

“Somehow, I still think I’m in the States,” I said timidly.

After that, Stella and Camila strolled down the street. That pretty much ended Stella’s Safe Buddy Duty. I felt quite out of place once again as she babbled away to Camila in Spanish. It’s not that I didn’t speak the language, I just really am as much of a hermit as I’m told.

Shawn thought different as we walked someways behind them. “They always do that in class. You can’t understand them either, eh?”

“¿Y porque piensas eso?” I replied, once again without thought. “Simplemente soy muy callada y casi nunca me salgo de la casa. Nomas estoy un poca incomoda con personas que no conozco.”

“Awesome,” he said after a moment of silence. “So… you’re from the US?”

“Yup. Southern California.”

“What made you want to come all the way over here for college?”

“Simple: I don’t like the desert. Or heat. Or the sun.”

I had my eyes on the sidewalk I stepped on until I realized Shawn hadn’t replied. I looked up only to realize he was looking back at me in disbelief.

“That’s it? You moved countries because of the weather?”

What is he expecting, my life story?

Before I could talk back, Stella piped up from in front of us. “She’s a goth, she’s allergic to the sun!”

“Ah, so it was for your own health,” Shawn replied. “I get it now.”

The next time I saw this guy was at a bus stop just outside of campus. I had seen him from where I parked my car, and I secretly hoped he would have forgotten me by now. I made sure to have my headphones on as I walked past him, but he touched my shoulder and stopped me. So much for remaining invisible.

“Do you always look at the floor when you walk?” he asked, amused.

“How else will I know where to step?” I said in return.

He laughed, which was then followed by silence. Why did he stop me? Just to say hi? What kind of fuckery-

“You’re not wearing the black lipstick,” he pointed out.

I shrugged, feeling… inadequate. “Didn’t want people constantly reminding me of my lip color.”

“Well, it looked really cool the other night. It’s kinda what made me notice you.” He offered a smile, to which I changed the subject.

“So, where you headed?”

“Work. I work at this flower shop in the middle of town.” Shawn looked both ways, noticing the empty roads. “I think the bus is late.”

The bus is late. He works with flowers. The bus is late. Flowers.

“Are you running late?” I asked. Don’t do it. Oh god, don’t do it.

“Uh…” Shawn checked the time on his phone. “No, I should be fine. I like to be early.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I have a question.”

FUCK.

“Uhh…” I said stupidly.

“What really made you want to come here for college?” he prompted.

Someone clearly didn’t forget my lack of interest from the other night. Why was this question so important to him?

“Why are you here for college?” I said back.

“I live here. Now you.”

God fuckign-

“Wanted to travel, I guess. I’ve been in one place my whole life.” I shrugged, looking anywhere except him yet again.

“Hm. Okay. What are you listening to?”

“Five sauce.”

“Aren’t you a goth, though?”

I rolled my eyes and made a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “Firstly, Stella calls me that, I don’t. Secondly, you ask a lot of questions.”

“Well, I just wanna get to know you.”

Any normal, naive person would have been swayed by Shawn’s sweet tone and charming smile. I, however, learned that there’s more than what meets the eye. He doesn’t really want to know you, he just wants something. He doesn’t care, he just wants to make you think he does.

I narrowed my eyes. “You need to unlock level forty seven friendship to know anything,” I told him.

“And how far am I?”

“We’ve talked one time before this. You’re not even on level one!”

“Okay, so we’ll hang out sometime so I can make progress.” Shawn’s grin was now very smug. Then he looked to the street. “Oh, right on time.”

The bus just so happened to pull up right about now. My eyes were still narrow and furious, and I was making sure Shawn knew it. How dare he trap me! How dare he ask questions about me! Just say you wanna use me for sex and go!

He was still grinning as he went to the bus entrance. “I’ll let you know when I’m free to hang out. I’ll see you later!”

This motherfu-

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #i love that im writing again :')

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fallout4holmes · 5 years

Text

Journal 56

We decided to head for Jamaica Plain, planning to reach it late in the evening to rest and move north from there. The party was quiet as we walked for most of the way. Cait was in a state of awe at the sensations assaulting her senses at first, unhindered by a haze of chems and/or withdrawal for the first time in years, but she adapted quickly. Eventually, her curiosity caught up to her.

“Holmes? I’ve got a… personal question.”

“Yes?”

“When you showed me your arm, back when ye tried to get me to go clean? I was wonderin’ what the chem was. I mean, you’re supposed to be pre-War, yeah? Can’t imagine a family man shootin’ up with psycho everyday.”

“I’ve tried a variety of substances, but I never had any desire to take anything that might make me exceedingly violent. And I didn’t become ‘a family man’ until much later.”

“Betcha were the type to eat mentats like candy.”

“Ha! Guilty as charged.”

“So, what’re the scars from, then?”

I sighed, “In my young and rebellious days it was a simple cocaine solution. As prescription drugs became easier to obtain with a variety of useful effects, I took to using Calmex, among others.”

She whistled low, “I heard of that stuff. Why?”

“It kept me from going insane, or so I told myself. Kept my mind from running itself ragged, the constant need for stimulation, kept black moods at bay.”

“Hell, a bottle of whiskey not enough?”

I smiled, “Depressants have their place, but stimulants were more… satisfying.” I noticed Valentine had changed his pace to match mine, walking close but trying not to hover. I reached for his hand. “Addiction nearly cost me my career, and my life. It took the efforts of my very determined and compassionate wife to clean me up,” my hand tightened around Valentine’s, “and my equally compassionate partner after my relapse two hundred years later.”

Cait thought about this for a moment. “Lucky guy.”

“Extremely,” I nodded. "I'm glad you were lucky enough to have Hancock and Piper looking out for you."

She scoffed, blushing. "Hancock was lookin' after an investment," she muttered.

"You don't truly believe that."

She shrugged, "Don't see any other reason he'd help."

"One way to find out," Valentine said.

Cait made a noncommittal noise, and the subject was closed.

We reached Jamaica Plain well after sunset, and were met by a Minuteman on guard. "Evening," he said, casting a confused look across our odd group. "What brings you to Jamaica Plain?"

"Tracking down the Mechanist." I held out a hand, "General Holmes. I haven't had the pleasure?"

"Name's Stills… General?" He was surprised, and a bit skeptical.

"Don't your own fuckin' soldiers know you?" Cait teased.

"I haven't met every single Minuteman," I sighed, "especially most of the 'old guard' who have returned."

"Ignore the Silver Shroud costume," Valentine drawled with a chuckle. "The Lockheeds still in residence?"

"Jane and Joan?" Stills asked, still wondering if I was truly who I said I was, "They're still here. Are you Nick Valentine?"

"In the synthetic flesh. Have we met?"

"No, but the Lockheeds mentioned you, and my patrolmates said…" his attention returned to me, dread in his voice, "oh hell you really are, aren't you?"

I laughed, "I am. Don't worry, it's my own fault for not being more present among the Minutemen. It seems Jamaica Plain is thriving, even after that Gunner attack a month ago?"

"Bounced back real quick, sir," Stills nodded. "Wainwright and her crew at the checkpoint were a huge help."

"Were you and your, ah, patrolmates sent from the Castle?"

"Yessir. Nash, Crosby, and I were sent down after the Gunner attack to help, and then stayed on as a guard against killer robots and potential Brotherhood conflict."

"I see. I've met Nash and Crosby, they're Danse trainees."

"Yes, sir," Stills smiled, "a fine pair. The Lt. Colonel can sure train 'em. We've some spare rooms you and your friends can use toward the center of the settlement."

We thanked him and found a place to stay for the night. Ada volunteered to assist with guard duties, as did Valentine. I was delighted to see Jane and Joan Lockheed both in good health, and Jane instantly engaged Cait in conversation regarding preferred methods of killing Gunners. Joan confided that Jane has been a bit on edge after her injuries during the Gunner attack. Cait was happy to compare techniques.

I sat outside by a low fire with my pipe as the night grew dark, Radio Freedom playing softly from within the house.

I felt a thin hand on my shoulder, "Might want to put some more fuel on that fire if you're planning on staying out here," Valentine said.

I reached up to lace my fingers in his, “I’ll come in, soon.”

“Good, wouldn’t want you to freeze. Might wake up another couple centuries later.”

“What a terrifying thought,” I scoffed. “Would you be waiting?”

“Well past my warranty,” he chuckled, and bent down to lightly kiss the side of my face, “but if I was still around, I’d be the first thing you saw when you woke up.”

I smiled, “My dear Valentine, you are the one fixed point in a changing age.”

“Hm. Are you saying I'm stubborn, or just too damn old?”

“I was praising your constancy of character.”

He was amused, “I'll take your word for it. What’s got you in a meditative mood tonight?”

I drew deeply on my pipe, savoring the sensation before watching the smoke on the chill air as I considered my answer. "There's still so much I haven't prepared for, Nick. So many possibilities I know I haven't considered. I feel like I have run out of time and I've only just begun."

"Despite what you seem to think," he said softly, "you’re only human. No one expects you to pull off a miracle, Sherlock, except maybe yourself. And I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the people fighting in your corner."

I sighed, and nodded. He was right. I didn't like it, but I knew he was right. "My wife often said the same thing," I muttered. "'There are limits, even for you, Holmes.'"

"The more I hear about this woman, the more I like her."

I smiled, "You would have adored each other."

As I stood with a stretch, the Voice of the Minutemen came over the radio.

"Good evening. This is Radio Freedom, the Voice of the Minutemen. We have just received word that Mechanist robots attacked County Crossing, but were defeated by Minutemen forces, with the help of the mercenary friendly to the cause, Mr. MacCready. Mechanist robots have also attacked Mass Fusion repeatedly, according to sources in Goodneighbor, but were defeated each time. A few robots made it to Goodneighbor's door, but we're taken down by Mayor Hancock's Neighborhood Watch. In other news, vertibird patrols continue—"

Valentine stepped inside to turn off the radio. "If we're going to get all the way to Goodneighbor tomorrow, then one of us needs a night of rest without worrying about vertibird air patterns," he said from the doorway.

I tried not to be annoyed. "Valentine, I recognize your intent, but please trust me. I will rest at some point, but I can't right now. I would love nothing more than to sit on a nest of pillows smoking all night in thought and meet tomorrow settled in mind."

He considered me a long moment. "You'd do that on a tough case, huh?"

"Particularly challenging matters were 'three pipe problems.'"

He smirked at that, but returned his thoughtful gaze. "Alright. Just do me a favor and get in here? Too damn cold out tonight, and we don't have any pillows."

I laughed a little in spite of myself, some small relief at his reaction as I joined him, "I'll make do without pillows."

"If you say so." He lit a cigarette, but it was more an action to fill time than any need, "Holmes, if I get too, uh… overbearing, let me know."

I was surprised. "I'd hardly call you overbearing."

"You know what I mean. Everything happening lately… I'm worried about you, that you're pushing yourself too hard and being too hard on yourself. But I also know you need space and your usual methods of staying sane don't always look like everyone else's. I'm not gonna stop worrying and trying to look out for you, but I don't want to lecture you on what you already know works best for you, either."

I was stunned, my answer quiet, "I'll do my best to listen, and to try to explain what I need. Thank you, Nick."

He shrugged, "Well, I'll try my best not to assume you're being a drama queen."

I rolled my eyes as we went inside, "Honestly."

"You're right, that's too much. I'll just keep telling myself you aren't going to freeze to death."

"... Are you implying the idea I might not be dramatic is ridiculous?"

"Said the man in a Shroud costume?"

"You are infuriating, Mr. Valentine."

"And yet you love me, Mr. Holmes."

I did not respond apart from a huff and holding his hand through the night. He laughed, and stayed by my side, content to let me spend the night in quiet thought and eventual deeper rest.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #nick valentine #cait #sherlock holmes #crossover #should have let him listen to that nick

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