#my body just loves throwing me into bed when ive deprived it enough by giving me literal sick symptoms

[orcelito]

Tonight would be such a lovely night if I didn't have this damned manager meeting to do in a bit over an hour 😠

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

So We Refuse To Take it Tragically

A/N: I’ve just accepted my fate is to be obsessed with this man, so here’s yet another Obi-Wan fic. There will be a second part to this, and I’m thinking a mini series of in-between moments. I won’t give spoilers, but this is NOT my normal type of fic, but he’s an exception to every rule in my book, apparently. Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my beta on this, I don’t know where this would be without you!

Thank you also to @beskars​ for her post here that birthed this. Always blessing us with fuel for the thirst. 

And to the one I know IRL that found my tumblr, one I will refer to as Top Voice, this is your final warning to gtfo before feasting your eyes on unprecedented filth and sap. 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! Fem Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!!  Cumeating, hair pulling, Comfort Sex, ANGST!! (It has a happy ending later, I promise, but it starts after ROTS, so it’s par for the course) If you’re gonna write not-particularly-pertinent-to-plot-porn, might as well make it unnecessarily detailed, right? As usual, too many feelings for porn,  More warnings will be in the tags to prevent spoilers 

Title from one of my favorite quotes: 

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

Tatooine is no place for a baby.

 There are no soft surfaces, nor comforts, nor surplus of anything. It’s desolate and deprived and oppressive, but you watch as Obi-Wan shields the child from its harsh, sand-pelting winds with his whole body, despite the fact the child fits in the space between his wrist and elbow. It’s overzealous, but you don’t say anything of it.

 The past two days have ripped away nearly everything he held dear, insisting on devastating every tender place. Nothing sacred has been left untouched.

 He broke the code long before he met you, and you know part of why his love for you came so easily, why he had no qualms with breaking his vows, was because he’d long since loved the man that became his family in every way that matters.

 Love and Light so tightly knit together the fabric of his being one could not be separated from the other. 

 And you could take on the entire Force with your two fists for how it had rewarded him for it with Hate and Darkness coming from someone so close it shattered something foundational in Obi-Wan. 

 Yet even now, there isn’t Darkness surrounding his signature. There’s brokenness and his ever-present equilibrium has been replaced by jagged shards. But despite it all, those rugged pieces still reflect light erratically in their shine.

 It’s a loss and betrayal that spans many different planes: on one level, there’s nowhere you look in the galaxy beyond just the two of you that isn’t marked by the Empire’s rise in power, marking the end of the Republic he fought for and the fall of the Jedi, his community, comrades, and only home he’d ever known. And on another level, you’ve seen the weight of war and worse in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but nothing, nothing like this.

 The pain is panoramic, but it’s also profoundly personal.

 Even still, his attention isn’t on himself, but on the fussy bundle in his arms.

 You wonder: is it the galaxy that doesn’t allow this man time to heal? Or is it his own choice to throw himself into the need of others so he has a tangible reason to avoid his own torments?

 When he places the baby into the arms of the young couple, you know the times ahead will give the answer to that.

 Because there aren't the cries of the past few nights to wake either of you, there’s silence. 

 You long to fill it, to try to bridge this insurmountable void with something, anything you could say. But you know it’s bigger than you. So, so much bigger than you.

 Monumental obstacles and tremendous loss find themselves standing in the threshold of an abandoned hut smaller than your flat was on Coruscant. 

 “Well… it’s not much to look at, certainly. But the moisture vaporator seems to be in repairable condition, and we’re just far enough from town to avoid any curious neighbors. What do you think?” He turns to you, and his eyes, dark circles under and all, turn sharp in their assessment of your response. 

 “I told you. I’m going wherever you are so long as you’ll let me.” Your voice is gentle but adamant as you remind him. 

 He walks up from the living room to the threshold of the kitchen where you are, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “Be that as it may, I’m asking your input on where we’re going, or living, as your happiness means a great deal to me.” 

 There’s still no smile, but it’s the brightest his energy has felt since the last time you saw him before he came to your door in Coruscant days ago, whispering a rushed, heartfelt farewell, which you quickly countered with an emphatic, unshakable, “I’m coming with you.”

 You look up at him, gliding your hand across his cheek into the hair at the nape of his neck. There’s Darkness at the door of his soul that he’s fighting off every moment, and he has the audacity to speak of your happiness. 

 You don’t dare bring up his. It’s irony, at best. 

 So you smile, timid, knowing the gesture in itself might be blasphemous to the tone, but genuine all the same. “We can make a life here. I know we can.”  

 He scans your eyes, looking to find the authenticity in your statement. “Are you certain?” 

 He’s not asking about the hut anymore. Or, at least, not just the hut. 

 “Obi-Wan, I never had any delusion that any life I had with you would be easy. I thought I’d only ever be getting you in secret, sparse moments. Although I’d never, ever wish for it to be under the circumstances that it is, having you like this is better than I ever hoped.”

 There’s silence as he processes your words, then a wry twist of his features. “How I wish that your expectations needn’t be so low.”

 “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” You incline your head, trying to find the words to convey what you mean. 

 “Nothing any person or any planet anywhere has to offer me holds a candle to what I’ve found in you, nor will it ever. I’d never trade unshakable wholeness for the transience of materialistic happiness.”

 You know this has to resound with him. Is it not within the core set of values he was taught to forsake comfort in any avenue for something far greater? 

 His eyes flick between yours, gauging, and you can feel him reaching out to feel at your signature to solidify the truth. 

 If you knew him any less, you might be insulted at his questioning of your trustworthiness. But it’s not you he doesn’t trust. It’s something good willingly giving itself to him that causes his wariness. 

 The Force can have your middle finger along with your fists. 

 Then he’s relaxing into you, letting out an exhale that seems heavy with more than just air, and burying his nose in your hair for his next inhale. 

 ****

 By the end of the day, you’ve gathered enough supplies for basic necessities and to start on the repairs of the hut. You both snarf down a ration bar before shortly thereafter clearing the blown-in sand off what must have been the bed of the home. It’s a half circle indenture in the wall, and it has a dip obviously made for a mattress or cushion of some sort, but as all that’s available are the blankets bought in town today, you set to fluffing them to some semblance of comfort. 

 Fatigue pulls you into it far sooner than the suns setting. Last night was your first night without Luke, spent in a room you rented in town. Today was spent traveling to and from the hut, discussing details on what needs to be done, and you? You are absolutely exhausted. You can only imagine what he must feel like. 

 Obi-Wan secures the lock on the door before sitting on the side of the bed, looking off into nothing for a long, long moment. 

 You push up to your side, placing a hand on his back. “Obi…”

 His shoulder nudges toward your hand, but he cuts you off. “It’s going to get quite cold when the suns set, and since the stove isn’t properly ventilating yet, we’re going to have to work with body heat.”

 “I’ll try to mask my reluctance,” you retort.

 He turns his face to you then, and just a smidge of humor sweeps across his eyes before he sheds his cloak, followed by everything else until only his pants remain. You’ve long since stripped down to your own sleeping comfort level, so before he can fold his cloak along with the rest of his discarded clothing, you take it and cover yourself with it. 

 He shakes his head a little at you once he’s done, settling down next to you, throwing the covers over both of you. 

 “Tell me what you need.” You’re face to face with him, but his expression is unreadable. 

 “I… I don’t know.” He considers you as if you held the answer to the question you just asked him.

 “What about want, then? What do you want, Obi-Wan?” You wish he didn’t have his shields perpetually raised these days. It’d be so much easier to just read his energy. 

 His hand reaches up so he can stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You’re tired, darling. Rest.” 

 Ah, there it is. If the answer to the question of desire is him counter offering his own response with the fact you’re tired… 

  “So are you. But you still want.” You press your body fully against his, dropping your voice down to a whisper. “And so do I.” 

 You won’t push anymore than that, letting him take or leave the invitation. For you, it’s not even a question. It’s been four months since you last saw him. Since you’d last felt his touch.

 You’d spent the last few nights in each other’s arms, but between Luke's shrill cries and the deafening devastation of the events of the days prior, it’d been just that: sleep. Or, what tousled, disturbed counterfeit the circumstance offered you both.  

 For him, though, there’s an abysmal weariness that digs far beyond lack of sleep, and you don’t dare infringe upon him in any way.

 But there’s still a longing present, and even without his Force signature to guide you into his feelings, he can’t hide his eyes. 

 You watch the moment he makes a decision solidify across his countenance right before he presses his lips against yours. You sigh into it, letting the draw of his skin on yours pull you into orbit.

 Because that’s exactly what happens. It’s a kiss for a kiss’ sake, for flavor and fervency and the fullness of each other, but it quickly gains its own momentum when his tongue parts your lips truly. 

 It’s an acute absence. Not having his energy surrounding you with his shields so far up. But it also gives sharp attention to the press of skin against skin, makes it an anchor and an outlet for all that is still too tender to even acknowledge.

 You find grip in his hair, purposefully running your hands the opposite of the way he combs it as he takes your face in both hands and pulls you into him all the more. 

 When you both need to breathe, he only moves so far away that his lips still brush against yours on every exhale. “I..” he starts, then stops. 

 The hand still in his hair rakes through it gently, scratching your fingertips against his scalp as you wait for him to complete his thought.

 “Let me taste you,” he says at last. You know it's a question from the way he stills, waiting for permission, but it’s phrased as nothing like it. 

 You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical quest…”

 “Oh, hush.” He’s already nudging you over onto your back, situating his body over yours, claiming your lips again. You allow yourself to sink into it, cherishing his weight over you, his hand roaming your ribcage, before pulling back to speak. 

 “I’m sorry, are you now getting on to me for my sass? Because… oh!”

 He finds a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, pinching softly with a small tug. 

 “By all means, continue. I was most intrigued.” His smirk is back, but it fixes you with a tinge of worry when it again proves to be a smile only skin deep.

 You place two fingers just shy of his forehead, but he catches your wrist in an almost painful clasp. The alarm casted by his expression quickly is washed away by a carefully constructed impassiveness, and your heart sinks. 

 He has to see it, because he bows his head in apology. “Not tonight.”

 And before you have any room to respond, he’s shifting himself down as he lifts your shirt up, placing a single taunting, wet kiss on each nipple before moving even further down, nipping at the skin right below your belly button. 

 He’s distracting you from what he’s not allowing you access to, and you know it, and you let him anyway. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Distraction from the barrage of the mind. If that’s what he needs, that’s what you’ll give.

 As he toys with the hem of your underthings, and you lift your hips to assist their removal, you realize it’s exactly what you need too.

 Except he apparently isn’t planning to remove your underwear at all. With a casual flick of his hand, your legs are parted and held like that with a no-nonsense sprout of Force energy. Then he’s simply pulling the cloth to the side and brings his mouth torturously closer, but stops just before contact. 

 You push up to your elbows to tell him you can’t take much of those teasing breaths he’s taking, blowing hot air against sensitive nerve endings. But when you hear his breath stutter as he just looks, unhurried in admiration, you decide against it, even as you flush at the undivided attention. Sprawling his palms out over your inner thighs, he dips down to press his mouth between his fingers, sucking not-so-gently into the soft skin, sending the flesh into tremors before he’s even really done anything to you.

 He says your name as he opens you up with his fingers, parting your folds so everything is bared to his view. You start to squirm, the exposure starting to feel a little too heady, and you’re starting to appeal with the beginning of his name when he leans forward, straight away connecting his lips to your clit. You try to thrust up into it as some shameful noise leaves you, but there’s only so much movement you have with your legs still pinned. 

 He loves to tease, so you don’t expect him to retract the energy that constricted your legs at the first resistance. Instead, he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you on to his tongue and lets you push your hips into him unchecked.

 He hums at your enthusiasm, the reverberation sending your hands into his hair again, which gifts you with even more noises from him. 

 It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re coming undone on his tongue, biting into your forearm to dampen your cry. 

 He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, signaling your tender surrender. He obeys, looking up at you from between your thighs, absolutely besotted, eyes shining a shade brighter than before. 

 Then. Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps his eyes on yours before dipping his head and tilting his jaw, running his beard right where you’re still open and vulnerable, abrasion grating in a way you know you’ll be feeling all day tomorrow. 

 He licks his lips as he moves back up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on him. 

 He goes easily when you gesture for him to lie on his back so you can straddle him, carefully avoiding any contact where he’s throbbing for you. His hands fall right to your waist, stroking gently as he waits for you to initiate. 

 You focus your study on the section of his hair that’s fallen in his face, twirling a finger in it, happy to have anywhere to look but his eyes. 

 He’d normally at least be in your mind by now, and even though you understand it, well, the drought of it is as appropriate for the planet as anything. 

 You remember too late to raise your own shields against any accidentally too-loud thoughts, as Obi-Wan cups his hand on your chin, forcing your gaze to his, saying your name quietly in calling.

 “You have to know, it isn’t anything to do with…”

 You interrupt him. “No. No. I won’t have you addressing my insecurities of all things in light of…”

 “Please listen, love. I need you to know, it hasn’t anything to do with the love I have for you. That hasn’t changed and never will. I think I need… “ He pauses, solemn in thought. “Time,” he finishes finally.

 You knew this already in the pit of your stomach, but hearing him say it, hearing him affirm that it isn’t you insufficiency… you hate that you needed it as much as you did. 

 And if he needs time? That’s what you’ll give. But he also has a want, evidenced by the brush of him against you when you scoot yourself down his torso. 

 You take the hem of his pants with you when you continue down, ridding him of them and his shorts. But when you wrap your hand around him and begin to lower your mouth, he grips your chin again, shaking his head. 

 “I can’t… please, just.”  It’s always an anomaly when he’s at a loss for words, usually ever-so articulate.  

 A gasp chokes out of you when you feel the phantom of his mind. Not in full, no. With barriers, and it’s projected out, not at all the same sensation to being within it. 

 It’s desperation. For how long it’s been, for how drained he feels, how he’s not sure how long this will last, and how much he yearns to be inside you.

There’s not even a second of debate in your mind as you take your position on his lap again, lifting your hips, intention apparent. He takes his cock in hand, holding steady so you can start to seat yourself onto the thick push of him. 

 The hitch in his breath is your only warning before he seizes the undersides of your thighs, halting you from taking him any further.

 His eyes are tightly shut, and you know from watching him before that his facial expression is an attempt at borderline meditation, except it’s several long seconds before he achieves anything resembling calm. 

 It’s as good a time as any to push his hands off you and squirm around to take him a little deeper. You plan on rubbing your victory in, but your smirk is wiped away with a whine at the elation. Instead of stopping you again, he almost imperceptibly thrusts up, and it’s your turn to falter, slamming your hands into his chest, nails digging in, working against your weight trying to pull you down onto him. 

 It goes on like that, until you’re both bordering on hysteria before you’ve even fully taken him. You can’t figure out if it’s a worse torment to keep delaying or continuing. 

 Obi-Wan seems to have come to his own conclusion to that, as he finally opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he places his palms flat on the tops of your thighs and pushes down until your skin is flush with his.

 You pull a hand up, biting on your fist, trying to stifle the exclamation in your throat.

 He pulls it away, voice ragged as he speaks. “I want to hear you, little one. We needn’t hide anymore.”

 It’s a dimensional statement. For one, no one is around for miles, a stark contrast to your quarters on Coruscant where you at least attempted to be considerate of your too-near neighbors when it came to noise. For another, it’s the irony of being in hiding from the Empire, but being allowed to be open in your relationship with each other finally.

 And the deepest irony is that you both have your barriers up so firmly right now all you can concentrate on is bared skin.

 Oh, but what a beautiful spanse of bared skin he is. Freckled and almost luminously pale, bending and curving with the strength of the form underneath.

 He sits up slowly, generating a breathless plea from both of you at the new angle. A search of your eyes asks you a question, and you’re nodding, kissing him with the full brunt of your craving. 

 You slide up and then down again just as he drives up, and you’ve found your rhythm, just like that. 

 His hands push you onto him every time you pull up, and his tongue laves your breasts, sucking and biting along your collarbone, as you rake your nails down his chest, over the backs of his shoulders, his scalp, anything you can touch. 

 It’s enough to send him into a chorus of groans, shoving himself hard up into you.

 He doesn’t even speak it aloud, just projects the apologetic warning that he’s on the edge.

 When his thumb finds your clit, everything in you goes tense despite the relief. You clench around him, hard, and he instantly moves his hands to your shoulder blades pulling you flush against him as he lets out an unrestrained sound against your breasts. 

 You push his thumb away from where it’s stilled against you, replacing it with your own. His fingers twitch in their bruising grip, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

 You stay like that for a moment, just letting him ride out his bliss, whispering sweet affirmations into his hair.

 When he looks up at you again, his eyes are glassed over. You wonder if it’s ecstasy that is the cause, or something from the bedrock boiling to the surface. 

 He doesn’t give you a chance to elaborate, flipping you over on to your back. The moment he withdraws, you can feel the mess dripping down your inner thighs. 

 It takes everything in you to not come at the sight alone as Obi-Wan dips further down your body, parting you and lapping his tongue right where you’re weeping evidence of desire. 

 You know you have to be making a mess of his face and beard, but he certainly doesn’t seem to mind, indulging on his own spill infused with yours. 

 When he adds two fingers in you and curls them strategically, searing heat shoots through your lower stomach as you arch against his mouth, his name a high whisper with absolutely no suppression, echoing across the empty stone walls of the home. 

 He leaves a final tender kiss against you before lying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, and you pull him into yours right back when your limbs remember how to function.

 His head drops against yours, and his eyes flutter shut, taking a deep inhale, like he’s trying to fill his lungs with more than just oxygen. 

 Nothing is fine, and the world is crumbling. But right now, as the suns finally leave the house in dark, as you clasp each other in tight embrace, as sleep pulls you under, you can pretend it’s fine. If only for a moment.

 *******

  There’s a flash of feeling that startles you awake and into the disorientation that comes from waking in a new place. The sensation worsens when you feel the reverberations of the equivalent of a slammed door in the Force. 

 You sit up quickly and look over to Obi-Wan, who sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands, fingers brutal in their grip.

 You move toward him, and he turns around at the sound. “Go back to sleep, darling. it’s nothing.”

 When you fix him with a gaze that essentially translates “bantha fodder,” he just lies back down, pulling your back into his chest, and you doubt the fact you can’t see his face like this is a mistake. 

 The rhythm of his breathing betrays the fact he is nowhere near sleep, but you find yourself fading off soon again anyway.

 ****

 When you wake in the morning, you’re alone in the bed, which is no surprise. He’s not one to lounge, and if the height of the suns peaking through the window has anything to say, he’s already been up for a while.

 His cloak is still tangled in the blankets, though, and you wrap yourself in it, padding outside after doing something about your morning breath. 

 The hut is situated on a cliff, overlooking a barren valley. The suns glare with their unrelenting eyes of heat even so early in the day, and you stare back as best you can without squinting, daring them to do their worst. They know nothing of the misery that’s already visited this home. They have no hope of competing. 

 You find Obi-Wan cross-legged near the edge of the cliff. Cross-legged and levitating. 

 Of course, you know he can do things like this. It’s just such a different thing to see him doing it . You’ve never had a proper morning with him like this, seeing his routine. He was always up before the sun, you with him, gathering moments and soaking them in before he had to leave again.

 He looks almost peaceful now, not at rest, but peaceful. 

 How?

 How does he still have so much trust in the Force? 

 A more lighthearted thought emerges through the grim train, as you notice he’s opted to not put his tunic back on yet. 

 It doesn’t matter out here, you suppose, there isn’t any other living being for miles around. For that matter, you wonder why he even left the pants. 

 His voice damn near startles you, not even opening his eyes to address you. 

 “Although that may be the case, there are some locations more bearable to get sunburn than others.”

 You blush at being caught, and gently ensure your thoughts aren’t accidentally projected again, but he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it.

 “Join me?”

 As he opens his eyes and descends the couple inches down back onto the ground, you feel your heart do the same. He’s taught you little things, here and there, and you’ve enjoyed it, learning to tap into that constant humming you never had the tools to channel before.

 But now? 

 What interest do you have with The Force that failed the man who served it without fail? You could burn it down for the atrocities it’s committed even in negligence against the man you love.

 But there’s been enough burning.

 Obi-Wan won’t speak of what transpired on Mustafar, but you’ve caught glimpses. Last night wasn’t the first night you’ve had him back, and it wasn’t the first you’d woken to a severe troubling in his aura. 

 You’re still not sure if Luke is a fussy baby or simply a very responsive one, as it seemed Obi-Wan was already awake before Luke started crying. 

 It was only mere seconds before his shields came slamming down, firmly in place, every time. 

You can’t tell if he’s trying to shelter you from his feelings or blockade them away from himself.

 Maybe both.

 But those seconds? They’re long enough. For just a flash of a charred, severed body. Of hateful, pleading, golden eyes. 

 There’s been enough burning. 

 “I can’t ever be a Jedi, Obi.” 

 “That’s not what I’m asking of you.” 

 He knows your criticisms as well as your compliments over the Jedi. You’ve both discussed it at great length many times, always over a firm understanding and respect, but you’ve never really had long enough to have a conclusion. But you’re not going to push now, not with the fall of it all still so close behind him. 

 “I should think our relationship itself is testimony that I don’t inherently agree or adhere to all Jedi teachings.”

 You drop your eyes, trying to ignore the sweat starting to trickle down your skin from the relentless heat. “I thought maybe you were with me in spite of your better judgement.”

 His brow furrows. “At first, that’s what I may have thought too, but it made itself clear that although what transpired between us was forbidden by the Code…” he trails off for a moment, almost hesitant. “...the way Light was and is exemplified any time I have you in my arms presented a solidified case that not always is the Jedi way synonymous with the will of the Force.”

 He says it wholeheartedly, but you can tell it pains him. It’s easy to never speak ill of the dead, either of individuals or groups. To glorify and wipe away any transgressions to ensure their memory sparkles as you grieve it. 

 The harder thing is to grieve everything, both the good you lost and the bad you experienced from the same source.

 And there’s another level there. Something that has him patting the spot beside him and giving a heartbreakingly forced smile.

 Even through it all, wariness of aspects of his own religion included, he seeks unity with the Force without reservation or resentment.

 You don’t fight him anymore. 

 The war is over, but the battle has just begun, and so help you Maker, you’re going to fight for him to have the chance to heal. 

 So you sit, mimicking his position. 

 When he smiles again, it’s much smaller but not at all fake. 

 “First, clear your mind.”

 *****

 The days are afflicted with an underlying gloom, full of work that busies the hands but leaves the mind to wander, which wasn’t at all a luxurious thing. 

 But the nights are filled with unclaimed time, time in an abundance you never had with each other before. 

 Sometimes it’s shot with silence from the weight of the day, reveling in the presence of another as you work together on the supper dishes.

 Or sometimes there’s almost an excitement, despite the labor ahead, of the plans for the place that’s now your home. 

 “Wouldn’t we have to have some sort of larger equipment to hoist that over the cliff edge?” You wonder aloud to Obi-Wan, speaking of the replacement unit for finally getting some very basic temperature control for the hut. “The way around back is too rough and would scratch it up, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to try pushing it up manu…”

 You stop at his smirk he’s trying to hide with tilting his tea cup higher over his lips. 

 “...Or there’s a Jedi solution to this problem that requires neither, and you’re just letting me ramble on anyway.” You punctuate the end of your statement by tossing a pillow his direction, which just stops. Midair. 

 There’s so much legend surrounding Jedi, you haven’t really been sure what’s factual and what’s fairytale. 

 You certainly knew of some of his abilities, but he didn’t tend to elaborate on details of his missions before, and you never argued, knowing it was a liability for you to have that kind of information if anyone ever found out what you meant to Obi-Wan.

 He chuckles, not even trying to look a little guilty. 

 Once you remember to shut your mouth, you get back to planning. “And that same principle just applies to objects of any size?”

 He nods. “Same principle, just more concentration required.” 

 You tuck your feet under you on your chair as you think on that for a second. You’ll have to ask him to teach you that one next. Mediation alone could get rather dull.

 “So, for instance, if a great amount of concentration is being spent Force-lifting an object up the cliff, it would leave a Jedi vulnerable to, say… projectiles thrown?” You throw another pillow at him, which just as easily halts next to the other, gravity defiant. 

 He could have lowered the first one by now. You raise a brow at the knowledge he’s putting on a show for you. 

 “You��ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.” 

 More often than not, the time of the evenings are spent loving and lounging in sheets, savoring the difference of unhurried lovemaking, with no heart-wrenching farewell on the horizon.

 But every time you gently ask to reach his mind, he pushes the request and your hand away.

 *******

 Obi-Wan’s visits to see Luke are met with a level of hostility. The man, Owen, seems wary of him, doing everything he can to cut the visit short as you and the woman, Beru, if you remember correctly, look silently to each other for some relief in the tension.

 They already likely know his actual name, but you’re careful to only address Obi as “Ben” here, along with everywhere else that isn’t your hut. It’s precautionary, but if it’s for the sake of protecting Luke and Obi-Wan himself, you’ll do it without any further questions.

 But Luke seems to be doing well, and that is ultimately what matters most. It’s hard to believe how quickly he’s grown in the mere weeks that you’ve been here.

 The boy might be by far Obi-Wan’s greatest purpose being on this planet, but it’s not his only. 

 Master Yoda had given him Jedi texts, yes, but also another task for his time here. 

You’re thankful to talk about either, as it seems to be one of the few things he’ll open up to you about as it pertains to himself. 

 But when he goes to meditate alone, calling for his mentor, his father in every right of the term, he comes back more empty than he left. 

 When you look at him with a too-knowing look, too infiltrating for his comfort, he easily slides into a quip.

 “My old master, it seems, won’t appear unless on his own terms. I’m not sure what else I expected, honestly.”

 ******

 You also learn that the man does not cook. Not that you consider yourself an expert, but at the very minimum, you know how to use spices, which on Tatooine come as hot as their weather.

 “Is it a Jedi thing to have tasteless food, or is that just you?” You tease as he dices some sort of root at your direction while you sift through the cabinet. 

 His eyes are full of mischief when he’s quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I would argue there’s concrete evidence that I’m quite happy to indulge in the pleasures of taste.”

 You can’t help your blush as his very pointed look. 

 Dinner is long forgotten after that, but the night is delectable all the same.

 *****

 Something has shifted in your own Force signature. Something you can’t put your finger on. 

 It doesn’t seem harmful or threatening in essence, but it makes you wary in a way that makes your skin itch with more than the dryness. 

 You try not to think much of it. After all, there’s plenty to do between tending to the vaporator, hunting, fending off the Sand People, and your learning to wield the Force.

 After rumors of Tusken raiders being nearby, you ask Obi-Wan to teach you combat.  This would be starting long before he normally would teach someone, he explained, but he does it anyway. It’s not exactly using the Force at first, having to start with how to even move your body in the event of attack, slowly enhancing those skills with the Force as you become more confident in them. 

 You look forward to it more than any other task. It gives you a strength you haven’t had before, and it’s a whole different level of connection to the Force when you trust it physically, not just in your mind. 

 It’s also another level of trust with Obi-Wan, knowing he’d never hurt you even as he enters the role of a potential threat, guiding you through how to handle it.

 So you don’t know why today your stomach won’t agree to the way you want your body to move. You push through it anyway, despite Obi-Wan’s concerned questioning. 

 You lose your lunch into the rocks, and you really wish he wouldn’t pick you up to take you back into the hut, because the shift of what’s up and what’s down doesn’t help at all. 

 And you wish he wouldn’t dote over you the rest of the day, as if you didn’t feel useless enough already, as if the illness didn’t leave as quickly as it came. 

 You make a mental note to ensure you don’t let yourself become dehydrated again to that point.

 *****

 The trips into town are kept to a minimum, trying to keep curiosity away from the new couple. Also, there wasn’t much to do except barter and spend credits, something you both tried not to do a great deal of. 

 Obi-Wan was sent off with enough Republic credits to get you started here, but it was hit or miss if the vendors took them that day, and he also didn’t want to spend too much at once.

 Nothing was more suspicious than surplus here.

 The woman you brought the limited produce available from seemed… different this trip. 

 Obi-Wan was a couple of stalls down from you, negotiating with a man who had obviously jacked up the price on the items needed. Poor man didn’t know what he was in for. 

 You turned your attention back on to the woman in front of you, and tried to decipher what was different this time and why it felt so familiar. 

 As you pointed to a basket of hubba gourds, inquiring of the price, she gave you one that you knew for a fact was higher than last time. 

 You counter offered the same price as last time you were here, and she firmly stated her price again. Ready to stand your ground, you go to state your price again, she puts her hand to her belly, bringing her skirt in around, revealing a small bump. 

 “Can’t afford your low-ball offers with this one on the way, understand?” 

 The sky suddenly falls around you in thunderous clamor as the physical realm around you moves on, unaffected and unreachable. Almost mechanically, you place the credits she asked for on the table, not even capable of addressing the obvious manipulation.

 Understanding drenches you in its brutal weight as you realize the source why she felt so different this time. 

 Your hands shake in their clasp on the basket as you pull yourself into a side alley, heaving your breakfast up. 

 Because you recognize the same difference in her is the exact same one that has changed your Force signature.

 It’s because there’s a flickering light of another being’s Force signature within you. 

  Tagged as requested: @maybege​

[unfolded73]

Husbands: Two Years In (3/5) - schitt’s creek ff

This fic is complete, posting every other weekday. While I'm including it as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 5153 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Summer

Wherever Patrick Brewer might have expected his the trajectory of his life to lead, even after he’d broken it off with Rachel and left his hometown, even after he realized he was gay and fell in love with a man, he could never have imagined a future that included walking down a sunny sidewalk in SoHo on an August afternoon with a woman like Moira Rose on his arm.

This trip to New York City had been in the works for months, planned for the break between the filming of Crows IV and the date when Moira would need to return to set for season three of the Sunrise Bay reboot. The entire Rose family had converged to visit Alexis on this trip, and this afternoon the plan was shopping, which Patrick had gone along with good-naturedly. He didn’t care about the shopping, but it was still fun to be in a city like this, to people-watch as Moira, Alexis, and David orbited around him. Johnny Rose, meanwhile, was meeting with an old friend and hadn’t joined them for this particular outing.

Alexis and David were several feet behind him and Moira, standing outside the Burberry store and arguing about the merits of a coat. Patrick assumed that even had he lingered to listen, what they were saying would have gone in one ear and out the other. So since Moira had taken his arm a few minutes before, he continued their slow promenade, figuring her kids would catch up when they got bored with their debate and noticed that they’d been left behind. Moira moved gracefully in platform heels and a vintage silver dress that probably cost more than Patrick’s entire wardrobe, a hat and large sunglasses obscuring most of her face as she attempted to avoid being recognized.

At the very moment that Patrick was thinking this, a middle-aged woman stopped in front of them, her hands flying to her mouth. “Moira Rose? Oh my god, I’m a huge fan!”

So the attempt to hide her identity only went so far, Patrick realized, watching Moira’s reaction. She pulled off her sunglasses and smiled. “I’m out with my family at the moment, but I would be delighted to pose for a quick photograph.”

The fan gave Patrick a once-over, seeming to consider and immediately reject the idea that he might be anyone important. Moira let go of Patrick and leaned in, almost but not quite touching the woman, and smiled wide for the two seconds that it took for the selfie to be taken.

“They didn’t really kill you off at the end of the last episode, did they? I mean, no one saw your body,” the woman said.

“Now now, surely you don’t think you can dragoon me into revealing spoilers for Sunrise Bay out here on the street like a common newsboy.” Patrick stifled a laugh at the idea of a newsboy out on the sidewalk, selling papers full of TV show spoilers. “But I do appreciate your apprehensiveness about poor Vivian. It would be an inauspicious ending for her if after all this time, her life was snuffed out at the bottom of that cistern, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do keep watching!” Moira said with a flourish of her sunglasses to indicate that the woman was dismissed.

“My mom texted me with that same question about your character,” Patrick admitted, holding his elbow out again for her.

“I was trending the night that episode aired,” Moira said, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as they began walking again.

“You’re very kind to your fans,” he said.

“I remember what it was like to feel like I didn’t have many fans left,” she said in a lower register, her accent less ostentatious, the way it got when she was admitting something real, something true. “I don’t take this revival of my career for granted. Not for a second.”

His heart squeezed in his chest for her, for everything she’d gone through and everything she’d managed to claw her way back to achieve.

“Ooh, that’s a lovely handbag,” she said, leading him over to the window of another store.

Patrick thought it was hideous, but what did he know? “Do you want to go in?” he asked, looking down the street to see David and Alexis had finally started to wander in their direction, albeit slowly.

Moira shook her head, resuming their walk. “After those years of deprivation, I find I’m still not used to buying things on impulse. Isn’t that curious?”

“I mean, it’s no surprise those years left a mark. And being frugal is… wise.”

She smiled at him, then glanced back in Alexis and David’s direction. “Do you know, I find I’ve almost forgotten what David was like before he was with you, Patrick. He’s so… secure. It used to surprise me, seeing him like that, but now it’s who he is.”

He winced at the idea of taking credit for David’s growth. At the same time, he knew that David still had deep wells of anxiety lurking under the surface. Marriage hadn’t turned either of them into different people, much as they might sometimes look idyllic as a couple from the outside.

Before he could respond, Moira’s phone chirped from inside her large bag. “I bet that’s John,” she said as she rooted around for the device.

“There you are,” Patrick said to David as he and Alexis joined them.

“Yeah, no thanks to you, just leaving us behind,” David complained while Moira stepped away and spoke into her phone.

Patrick laughed. “We were a half a block ahead of you, David.”

David reached out and put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Yes, but you’re new to the city,” he said with a crooked smile. “You could get lost. Or abducted.”

“I’m sure your mother would have protected me if it came to that.”

Moira finished her call. “I’m going to meet John back at the Plaza and have a little repose before dinner. Shall we reconvene later?”

“We could go back to the hotel too,” Patrick said to David. The Roses were paying for David and Patrick to stay at the same Manhattan hotel, a generous gift that meant they didn’t have to cram themselves into Alexis’ tiny apartment or rent a room in Queens, which David had recoiled at when Patrick suggested it. Pointing out that David had absolutely no logical reason to be picky about hotel rooms, all of which were a step above the place he’d lived for a few years, didn’t sway him.

“I’m still trying to get ideas for your anniversary present,” David said.

“My goodness, have you been married a year already?” Moira asked. “How time does fly.”

David brought his hands up to his cheeks and shook his head in disbelief. “Oh my god, we’ve been married two years, Mother. At least, in a few weeks we will have.”

Alexis reached over and booped Patrick’s nose. “And Patrick hasn’t even mentioned divorce once yet, David, which is impressive.”

“Mm, eat glass,” David said. Patrick grinned — he’d missed their ridiculous banter.

“There’s a gelato place across the street,” Patrick suggested, pointing. He wouldn’t have minded going back to the hotel to rest, but stopping for ice cream would be a good compromise.

David’s eyes lit up. “My husband knows me so well,” he said.

~*~

Patrick let himself be pushed down into the soft mattress, David’s naked body covering his, his mouth working, wet and insistent, against his jaw. “God, good hotels make me so hot,” David whispered.

Chuckling, Patrick ran a palm over the stubble on David’s cheek and back into his hair. “Then it’s a good thing that your parents’ room is on another floor,” he said. He was still a little tipsy from the wine they’d had during dinner at a very nice restaurant, and the process of getting undressed with David once they got back to their room had been a frantic blur.

“A very good thing.” David reached down and cupped Patrick’s hardening cock. “What are you in the mood for?”

Patrick thrust against the inadequate friction David was giving him. “Can I fuck you?”

David squinted an eye closed. “Don’t think I can do that right now, not with the way I’ve been eating today.”

That was fair; Patrick didn’t think he’d be able to bottom at the moment either, now that he thought about it. “Or you could suck my cock?”

“Mm, yes, I can do that,” David said, already sliding down the bed and positioning himself between Patrick’s legs like he didn’t want to lose this momentum, this sloppy, slightly drunken desperation.

The first flutter of David’s tongue against him had Patrick throwing his head back and groaning. But then it quickly became clear that David was in the mood to tease, to savor him, licking him from base to tip with swipes of his tongue like his dick was some kind of obscene ice cream treat, and then only taking him inside his mouth with the gentlest of pressure, not giving him enough suction to get anywhere close to coming. Patrick’s fist clenching in David’s hair only made David chuckle in the back of his throat, like Patrick’s impatience was exactly the goal.

David pulled off, replacing his mouth with his slowly jacking fist. “If you’d let me pack the way I wanted to, I’d have you tied up by now so that I could really take my time with you.”

“I wasn’t going to haul an entire suitcase full of sex toys through customs for a one week vacation,” Patrick said, his hips rising in time with David’s hand. “I wasn’t that interested in giving U.S. airport security a thrill.”

“Your loss,” David said, turning and sucking a bruise into the skin of Patrick’s inner thigh.

When his thighs were mottled with hickeys and David was still only giving him incomplete friction with his hand, Patrick surged up from the bed, flipping their positions. “Your turn to be tortured for a little while,” Patrick said, biting David’s lower lip hard enough to make him grunt.

He worked his way over David’s chest, nosing through his chest hair, pausing to suck hard on one of his nipples, scraping his teeth against the skin stretched over the side of his ribs, then further down to position himself between David’s thighs. He tried to hold out, tried to stretch out the time before he took David’s cock in his mouth, but he felt too hungry for it to wait long. The saltiness, the weight of it on his tongue, made Patrick moan. He still could remember the first time he did this, that night at Stevie’s, and how that final tiny doubt that maybe he wasn’t actually gay, maybe it was just some spell that David Rose had woven, evaporated in the face of how much he loved sucking cock. How he powered through that first blowjob fueled by determination and desire, a puzzle piece of his sexuality slotting into place.

Now he knew David’s responses so intimately, he could play him like an instrument. If Patrick wanted David to come in under two minutes, he could usually manage it. Or he could edge him over and over until David was clutching fistfuls of the sheets and begging, voice hoarse with desperation. Tonight he wanted to tease him, to pay him back for the bruises he could feel now on the inside of his own thighs, but his arousal was pushing him to suck harder, to take David deeper, the tip of his cock brushing along Patrick’s soft palate as he drew him in over and over, matching his rhythm to the shallow thrusts of David’s hips.

“Fuck, I love your mouth,” David gasped. “God, Patrick…” and then he was coming, Patrick letting it pool on the back of his tongue as he soothed David down, slowing and finally pulling off when David relaxed. Patrick swallowed as he wiped saliva from his chin.

“Come up here,” David whispered, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Let me finish you off. Fuck my mouth.”

Even in the midst of his intense arousal, Patrick was tempted to joke that David was just offering that so that he didn’t have to move, but he elected to hold that comment in as he shuffled up the bed. David put an extra pillow under his head and then grabbed hold of Patrick’s hips, opening his mouth and letting Patrick push his cock inside.

Usually Patrick could grab hold of the strong metal bars of their bed when he did this, but in this hotel he only had the faux headboard that was affixed to the wall. He braced one arm against the wall and reached down to thread his fingers through David’s hair with the other, holding him gently in place as he fucked into his mouth.

“God, that’s hot, David. I love the way you take me,” he gritted out, trying to resist the urge to lose too much control, to thrust too deeply even though he knew David could tap out if he needed. Still, it was an overwhelming visual, the sight of his erection sliding into David’s mouth, and it didn’t take long for Patrick to tip over the edge, crying out as he came, fist clenching in his husband’s hair.

He collapsed at David’s side as David exhaled a long breath, ending on a giggle. “How is the sex between us even better now than it was three years ago?”

Patrick wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical, but he thought about the answer anyway. While he thought about a serious answer, he gave a non-serious one. “It’s the hotel turning you on so much.”

David smiled. “It’s not, though,” he said softly, signaling his desire to have a sincere conversation.

Patrick rolled toward David and settled a hand on his chest, feeling for the thump of his heart. “Because we know each others’ bodies so well,” he said.

“Mmm. By that logic, when we’re in our eighties, our orgasms will be visible from space.”

“Visible?” Patrick asked, laughing.

“You know what I mean.”

Leaving that aside, Patrick said, “Well, by then I imagine that our aging bodies will have something to say about the sex being all that amazing.”

“Impossible. We’re immortal.”

Patrick lifted his head and pressed a kiss to David’s cheek, and then to his lips. “We’re not.” He knew it wasn’t what David wanted to hear, that he was killing the post-coital mood by saying it, but for some reason he couldn’t stop himself. “If we stay together for our entire lives then there will be messy physical stuff. There’ll be… one or both of our dicks will stop working—“

“Okay, that’s not going to happen.”

“It might happen at some point.”

“You can just feel free to smother me with a pillow if that happens to me,” David said.

“But David, if I murder you, I can’t be the beneficiary of your life insurance,” Patrick replied with a smirk.

“Mmkay.”

“I’ll love you even then, you know,” Patrick said. “When we’re old and wrinkled and have unreliable dicks.”

“That’s very sweet, but can we get back to talking about how great the sex is now?” David whined.

Patrick kissed him again. “The sex is excellent.”

David gave him a warm smile, one of those smiles that filled up his whole face and radiated out of his eyes. “It’s nice seeing you so happy.”

Something about the way David said it gave Patrick pause. He pulled back, putting a little bit of space between them. “You say that like it’s a rare thing.”

He could see a spark of worry in David’s eyes. “No, not rare. You’ve been… exhausted a lot this year, and… and I think this vacation came at a good time, that’s all. I’m glad you’re enjoying the city.”

“I am enjoying it,” Patrick said, but his brain was focusing on the first part, the part about how he’d been exhausted. How David had noticed. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want his mental state to be a burden to his husband, or to make him feel like he was in any way lacking. “I’ve been fine.”

“Okay.” David leaned up and kissed him gently. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Patrick shifted over onto his own pillow, watching as David rolled to face the opposite wall, scrunching his pillow under his head. Sometimes Patrick took it as an invitation to be the big spoon, but tonight he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

He just wasn’t getting as much enjoyment out of things these days, that was all. And that was to be expected, wasn’t it? They’d been running the store for close to four years, so of course the day-to-day tasks had gotten dull. At the same time, the stress of deciding whether it was the right time to open a second location was wearing on him, because no matter how much planning and calculating he did, ultimately it was a gamble. And Patrick wasn’t a gambler.

Meanwhile, the novelty of being a homeowner was wearing off a bit, and he’d found himself focusing on the downsides of it lately more than the upsides. Rather than spending his early mornings in their warm kitchen, looking out onto the back yard and feeling content, he was struggling to wake up when his alarm went off, brushing his teeth and noticing the water-stained vanity for the hundredth time, feeling inadequate because he hadn’t figured out how to fit replacing it into their budget when the Rose Apothecary expansion was looming.

But the truth was, even with all of that, sometimes he did feel happy. He’d been happy while he was planning for this trip to New York with the Roses, looking forward to seeing David with his family again and excited to see what the city was actually like with his own eyes. At times like that, it felt like depression was just in his imagination. It felt like maybe he hadn’t been depressed at all, or that he had been in the winter, but that he was over it now. But at the same time he could feel it lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for a weak moment. Telling him he was a bad son, or a bad husband, or a bad business partner. Telling him that he didn’t deserve David’s love, not when he couldn’t bring himself to get started on fixing up the bathroom.

Patrick lay awake for a long time, listening to David’s sleep-breathing, before finally falling into uneasy slumber himself for a few scant hours before waking with the early morning sun.

While David continued to sleep, Patrick pulled on some underwear and a t-shirt and shifted the curtains aside enough to look out. The view of Central Park from their room was breathtaking, and he paused to wonder how much the Roses had paid for rooms with that view. Unplugging his phone from the nightstand, he went back to the window and took a picture through the glass.

He looked from the window over to David, tousled black hair against acres of white bedding, bare shoulders on display. Patrick took a picture of that too.

After brushing his teeth and taking a shower, Patrick got back into bed to read until a more reasonable hour to wake David up. The rest of the morning passed with a leisurely breakfast and an Uber ride downtown to the Whitney Museum, which David had been talking about visiting for months. It had the added benefit of being close to Alexis’ apartment in Chelsea; they were planning to meet her later in the afternoon.

Patrick soon learned that he and David had different approaches to art museums. Patrick liked to read the placards about each painting, circling each room methodically as he went from painting to painting. David liked to take it all in for a while from the middle of the room before deciding which paintings to approach for a closer inspection, stepping forward and back as he looked for the best viewing distance. His failure to study the text about each painting didn’t mean he didn’t know things about them, Patrick quickly discovered.

“I love this one,” Patrick said as David approached from behind him.

“Mm, I knew you’d be a Hopper fan. What do you like about it?”

Patrick studied the sewing woman’s shoulders, the way her dress bunched, the prominent veins in her hand. “I don’t know, I just like it.”

David was waiting for him to say more, Patrick could tell.

“She looks delicate but also, look at her back and her arm. She’s strong.” Patrick glanced at his husband. “She reminds me of Alexis.”

David pinched his lips together, which could mean he disagreed, or it could mean he agreed but didn’t like that he agreed.

Patrick squinted at the painting again. “So what’s the meaning behind it?”

David waved his hand at that dismissively. “It’s something to do with the post-World War I isolation of the early 1920s, I seem to recall. But it means whatever you want it to mean.”

In the next room, Patrick gravitated toward a couple of strikingly colorful oil paintings of factories, criss-crossed with lines that carved out contrasting geometric shapes on the canvas. As he was reading the name of the artist, David joined him.

“Charles Demuth was gay, you know,” David said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm hmm. He started out doing watercolors of flowers and men in Turkish baths in the nineteen-teens and twenties. Then he switched to painting…” He gestured unhappily at the works Patrick had been admiring. “This.”

“You don’t like these,” Patrick said, although the answer was obvious.

“There’s a theory that he was attempting to shrug off the stigma of being an effeminate man with these Lancaster oil paintings. Also, the art world didn’t take his watercolors that seriously,” David said, twisting up his face like he smelled something bad, and… right. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why David wouldn’t like these paintings.

Patrick nodded, and stepped over to put his arm around David. “Do they have any of the Turkish bath paintings here?”

“Sadly, no,” David said with a smirk, still gazing at the oil paintings. “There’s also a theory that all those smoke stacks are just dicks.”

Patrick barked out a laugh.

Leaving the museum, they went to a nearby café to wait for Alexis. They sat at one of the outdoor tables, a wrought-iron railing topped with pots of white and purple flowers separated them from the foot traffic on the sidewalk. While they waited and David munched on a pastry, Patrick texted the picture he’d taken of Central Park from the hotel room to his parents, telling them that they were enjoying the trip. Then he texted a couple of the photos he’d taken of paintings in the Whitney to his cousin Justin. Justin usually didn’t respond to Patrick’s texts, but occasionally he did.

Justin 🌈: You should have gone to nyc in june for pride

Patrick realized that was a topic he’d never talked to David about. “Were you ever here for the Pride parade?” he asked.

David looked up from his book, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Sure, lots of times. I mean, I wasn’t down in the streets with the heaving mass of humanity, but I could usually get an invite to a party along the parade route, back in those days.”

Grinning, Patrick repeated, “Heaving mass of humanity?”

David scoffed. “You know how I feel about crowds.”

Patrick turned back to his phone. David doesn’t like crowds, he typed. I did learn today about a gay artist who painted a bunch of smoke stacks either to seem less gay or possibly to be super gay. Jury’s out on which.

Lol, Justin responded.

Patrick smiled at the fact that he’d achieved a successful interaction with his cousin.

“David Rose?” a voice called out, and Patrick looked up to see who was speaking. He got a quick impression of an attractive woman with a stylish haircut and clothes before he looked toward David to gauge his reaction to the approaching woman. As he watched, David put on a simpering smile, the one he used with difficult customers, and held out his hand.

“Eloise,” he said flatly. “What a surprise.”

“David, how dare you not tell me that you were going to be in town?” she said, ignoring the offered handshake and sitting down at their table without invitation. “Oh my god, how are you.” She phrased it as a statement, and Patrick doubted if she cared how David was.

“I’m very good — in town for a few days to visit Alexis.” Patrick felt David’s hand settle on his shoulder, scratching absently. “This is my husband, Patrick. Patrick, this is Eloise; she’s an old friend.”

Eloise’s eyes widened as she took Patrick in. “Hi, nice you meet you,” Patrick said.

“I feel like maybe I heard that you got married? And I didn’t believe it. David Rose wouldn’t get married, I said. No way.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I did. Two years ago.”

“But you’re not living in the city? Surely you’re not still in… where was it? Somewhere in Canada?”

Here it was, the thing that still nagged at Patrick every time David expressed displeasure with Schitt’s Creek. Every time he acted disgruntled about the lack of restaurant options, or grimaced at Jocelyn’s opinions at a social gathering. Because the reason they were ‘somewhere in Canada’ was that was what Patrick had wanted.

“Our store is in Canada, yes, so that’s where we are,” David said, and to his credit he didn’t look the least bit ashamed of that fact. His fingers continued to move over Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick and I own a lovely cottage on quite a large plot of land out there for a fraction of the cost of a one bedroom apartment here. We love it.”

“But the culture, David. How do you live without the culture?” Eloise asked.

David smirked. “How much culture did we really take in back in the old days, Eloise? The VIP section at the hottest club of the season isn’t exactly the Guggenheim. Besides, we get back here to visit Alexis regularly.” Regularly meaning once in two years, Patrick thought, although they did intend to visit more often in the future, now that there was more money coming in from their online sales.

Eloise immediately started talking about herself, about parties she’d been to or people she’d seen. Patrick tuned her out — she hadn’t shown any interest in him and the feeling was mutual. He watched people passing by on the street, walking dogs or going quickly to jobs or moving slowly and hesitantly like tourists. Eloise quickly seemed to run out of steam, maybe because David wasn’t hanging as desperately on her every word as she wanted, and she stood from the table.

“I’ve gotta run, David, but how much longer are you in New York? We really have to catch up.”

“Absolutely,” David said, standing with her. “I’ll text you.”

They kissed in the vicinity of each other’s cheeks and Eloise loped away, her attention mostly on her phone.

David dropped back into his seat with a puff of air.

“Nice lady,” Patrick muttered.

“She’s a monster,” David said. “I’m not texting her.”

“Uh huh, I cracked that code.”

David laughed softly. “Wow, she was boring.”

“Probably not as boring as your husband, to be fair.”

That made David’s eyes flash. “You aren’t boring.”

Patrick chuckled, fiddling with a spoon on the table. “Yeah, I’m super interesting. Is it my knowledge of tax law or my books about baseball that do it for you?”

David looked a little bit hurt at that. “Everything about you does it for me,” he said seriously.

Alexis arrived at that point, interrupting them, and Patrick rose from his seat to accept her cheek kisses. David excused himself to the restroom.

Watching him go, Alexis said, “Is he okay?”

“Oh, some old acquaintance of his was just here.” He frowned; that wasn’t what had bothered David. “Actually, I think it’s me that’s been making him anxious.”

“Well, don’t do that, Patrick,” she said with a frustrated groan and a birdlike bob of her head. “Surely you know how to manage David’s anxiety by now.”

“No, I do, but…” What should he say? That he couldn’t exactly be the guardian of David’s emotions when he was struggling with his own? That he swore once, standing with David for the first time in front of their house, to make David happy, and that now he was doubting his ability to do so?

“Anyway, did you guys have fun today?” Alexis asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.

“Yeah,” he said, because he had. “David could have been an art museum tour guide in another life.”

Alexis nodded. “Because he talks too much and thinks too highly of his opinions?”

“I was going to say because he knows a lot about art, but sure, that too.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t wear yourselves out, because Mom and Dad have plans tonight and so we are going to go out and party like the young and vital people that we are.”

Patrick felt exhausted at the prospect of such an outing. “I mean, some of us are getting close to forty; I don’t know if young—”

Alexis flapped her hands. “Ugh, just David. You and I are young still.”

Laughing, Patrick consciously relaxed his shoulders. He could go with Alexis’s flow, surely. He was on vacation, after all.

Which was how he found himself a few hours later, a tiny bit drunk and grinding against David on the dance floor of a gay bar that Alexis had dragged them to. It was ridiculous and they were maybe too old for this and yet he loved it, loved getting to have this experience that he’d been robbed of by not figuring himself out sooner. Loved being sweaty and a little dizzy and watching a man with criminally nice arms dancing just over David’s left shoulder while David grinned at him.

“I love you,” Patrick shouted over the loud beat, euphoria swelling out from the bubble around him and David to encompass the other people on the dance floor and the DJ and Patrick’s sister-in-law, who appeared to be flirting with the woman tending bar.

David squeezed his ass in answer. “I’m glad you’re having fun,” he said against Patrick’s ear.

“I am,” Patrick said honestly. At a time like this, unhappiness seemed impossible.

(Chapter 4)

[that-nonbinary-ass]

Stars

I got the inspiration from an avengers oneshot

Have some patton angst

1 year before death 

Dear diary: I believe that stars shine brighter when your about to die i had always believed that, but now that i am actually closer to death then ever before, nothing could be more true

Only 2 days ago i found out that i have an undiscovered disease that could kill me very soon if they don't find a cure. I have surprisingly come to terms and accepted the fact that I might die, it's not like I want to die, but I guess there is no way to avoid it, I just have to hope that they find a cure so i don't have to die 

I'm not going to tell anyone yet, not until its definite that im going to die or not. I really hope I don't die because virgil (my boyfriend) his mum died the other day and I don't want to hurt him even more

The doctors don't know how fast this disease will kill me or how fast its spreading

Patton~ 

11 months before death    

Dear diary: The doctors haven't said anything about my illness yet, but that's fine, I believe they are doing their best!

I think the others notice i'm acting more secretive lately, i need to learn how to act better. Every time they come up to me and ask what's wrong i just assure them that i'm all good 

Is it good to lie to them? Am I being mean by not telling them? Or am i just sparing their feelings?

Patton~ 

9 months before death 

Dear diary: The doctors still haven't said anythig but im not giving up hope, I believe they can do it 

I think ive finally managed to convince the others that i'm fine because they have stopped asking me but they do have this weird look in their eyes when they see me 

Me and virgil went on a date last night and we had loads of fun. We went bowling then we went to the super fancy restaurant across the road then  we went to the arcade and played games till about 2am. I don't think im going to tell him yet ...I don't want to hurt him

Patton~ 

8 months before death 

Dear diary: I refuse to give up hope, so what if the doctors haven't gotten back to me yet, maybe they're still too busy with the medicine, but I am having doubts, I want to believe that they are trying to help me.

The others are starting to get worried about me but I always tell them to not worry, they don't believe me though, I think their thinking of getting me to the doctor to see whats wrong. I don't know what to do because I don't want them to know, I don't want them to pity or treat me any differently then I am now.

Now days my gut always feels weird, like im always sick, it's a little worrying but i have to push through and look after my kiddos and boyfriend 

It's a bit like acting now, i always have to act ok, like my gut isn't telling me to stop what im doing. Oh well, I hope the doctors find a cure soon

Patton~ 

6 months before death 

Dear diary:  Things are starting to get bad, it has gotten harder to breath and i now have blood patches showing up on my skin on my stomach, I always feel like im going to throw up and it's making it really hard to sleep at night. I went to the doctors to ask what's happening, they said that my stomach was internally bleeding and that they are trying really hard to find a cure. I really hope they do because i'm getting really scared, i don't want to die 

I’ve started going out at night and looking up at the stars just admiring their beauty. Any day now feels like my last day, and that just makes me appreciate the memories more, i try not to cry but it's so hard, the thought of leaving life and making your loved ones hurt, its heartbreaking 

I still haven't told anyone, i don't want to worry them but i will have to soon because i don't want to die and them not to know how i did

Patton~ 

4 months before death

Dear diary:  Everything has gotten hard. breathing, eating, sleeping, talking and even walking, it sucks, i think i might tell someone soon. They all know there is something wrong with me. I've got blood patches all over my skin i am always sleep deprived and pale.

I think i’ll tell virgil, i know that he is the most anxious but i trust him the most, he is my boyfriend after all

It's all very scary. Not knowing what will happen. What it's like after you die, i feel like i've given up hope on the cure. I should just accept death and move on, but I can't, it's not that easy, i wish it was though 

Patton~ 

2 months before death 

Dear diary: I told them all a month ago. I told virgil first he sat there and stared off into space with constant tears in his eyes and traveling down his face, he looked so heartbroken. After about 3 minutes he tackled me into a hug and sobbed into my shirt 

I told roman next he instantly started sobbing and hugging me. He kept telling me he didn't want me to go. I told him I didn't either but it was inevitable.

I told logan last, he looked at me and did the unexpected he started crying. The emotionless logan started crying. He hugged me and told me that they will all look after me until the final day 

It makes me feel so happy that they are all there for me 

After I told them all we went out and layed on the grass looking at the stars talking about past memories and how it all changed. I eventually fell asleep outside with them 

Patton~

1 month before death 

Dear diary: I am basically bed-ridden. I can hardly walk anymore and i makes me so sad that I have to rely on the others to do my things for me 

Nowadays I'm always in pain. Just moving my arm up brings me immense pain, like someone is repeatedly stabbing my arm or burning it over a naked flame. It's not fair what did I do to deserve this? Nothing that's what. The universe is just cruel. Making people go through pain any form of pain is mean 

The doctors said that they won’t be able to find the cure fast enough to give it to me and let me live they said they were very sorry. Them telling me that put it all into perspective. I'm going to die. And that fact is absolutely terrifying. I cry myself to sleep each night because im that scared 

Patton~  

Death day

Dear diary… Today is the day, I can feel it. I'm going to die today. I've gone back and marked the dates of my previous entries, I've written my goodbye notes and im now ready to go with the people I love around me I have accepted the fact that I will die. But it won't be a peaceful death. It's going to be painful, well i think it is because thats what im feeling right now, pain, more then ever before, it feels like my body is being ripped open and chopped into tiny pieces and i can feel it all. Its torture.

So here I lie under the stars with all my loved ones watching them as they sparkled in the sky. I felt my end coming closer as i watched on and i can prove the theory that stars do shine brighter as your about to die.

They looked like a million little fireflies in the sky and it was hypnotizing making me forget everything that has happened over the past year, if only for a second.

If you're logan roman or virgil reading this after I die. Just remember i love you so so much 

Goodbye

Patton~ 

Virgil finished reading patton's diary and he felt so empty. it's been a whole year since patton had past and he was going through his old stuff when he stumbled across patton's diary, he read it and felt so bad, he didn't know the pain patton was going through, he hid it well, tears fell down his face as he thought of all the good times they had together, all the late night cuddles, all the cookies and baking lessons, everything and virgil missed it all, pattons smile, his laugh, the way he stumbled over his words when he was nervous. But he was gone and he couldn't bring him back, no matter how hard he tried.

He closed the book and put it back in the box, got up and went outside and curled up in patton’s sweater and fell asleep under the stars, thinking that patton was up there watching over him, like his own guardian angel. 

But all he wanted was patton back 

But The universe doesn't always give you what you want.

[youremarvelous]

Hello yes I am always down for sickfics 😍 If you want a prompt, might I request a sick Victor doing his best to coach Yuuri but it's obvious he is unwell and should be resting?

Viktor’s initial mistake on the dawn of his first hanami is leaving Yutopia early enough to scope out a perfect for him and Yuuri with a big blanket, a cooler of sakura-flavored alcohol and snacks, and no sunscreen in tow. His second mistake is getting drunk off the dual influences of Asahi Sakura beer and locals asking for pictures, not because he’s Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive gold medalist, but because he’s that eccentric foreigner dating the Katsuki boy.

By the time the sun is setting and Viktor’s day-long bender is wearing off— leaving a dull headache and loose-limbed contentment in its wake—his skin is stinging and dry but not unbearably so. He doesn’t even really notice it until he playfully hip checks Yuuri on their walk back to Yutopia and Yuuri retaliates by pinching the sensitive spot on Viktor’s nape.

Viktor throws his head back with a pained hiss and Yuuri snaps his hand back, cradling it against his chest as if he had accidentally thrust it into burning stove coils. “You okay?” He asks, concern creasing his forehead.

‘Fine—” Viktor waves off his worry with an easy smile—“you just surprised me.”

It isn’t until they’re bathed in the artificial light of the inn that they realize Viktor is about as fine as a boiled lobster. Every inch of exposed skin is searing red, so bright it appears to be glowing against the porcelain white of his normal, healthy complexion.  

“I should’ve brought sunscreen,” Yuuri frets for the tenth time that night, rubbing aloe into the hard to reach spots on Viktor’s stripped nude body.

“It’s not your fault, dove,” Viktor says into his pillow because moving is too painful. He’s turned red before from the light streaming through car windows, gotten burned after five minutes in a tanning bed. He’s well acquainted with his limits as a melanin deprived individual and if it’s anyone’s responsibility to account for his evolutionary deficiency it’s his. He’d tell Yuuri as much if the effort required for doing so didn’t spin the room like an off-kilter carousel and flip his stomach into his throat.

The pain is worse the next morning. Viktor groans when his alarm sounds after a fitful night of trying to get comfortable without setting fire to his limbs by, well, moving them. He peels himself from his aloe-dampened sheets and has to pause on the side of the bed with his head bowed over his knees when the movement makes his pulse knock angrily against his temples.

He should probably call the day a wash and spend his Monday prone in bed, soothing his sun-roasted body with icy washcloths, an artillery of fans, and Yuuri’s fingers, combing comfortingly across his scorched scalp. He should, but he has his duty as a coach to attend, so he invokes Yuuri’s stubborn influence and pushes himself up from the bed and toward the closet.

Viktor doesn’t remember dressing ever being so painful, and he’s been known to suffer for fashion in the way of waist cinching tops and six inch heels. The fine fabrics comprising his wardrobe—normally soft and comfortable against his sensitive skin—feel like sandpaper ripping up his stinging flesh to a bloody pulp. The mental image makes his stomach roil so he pushes it out of his head with choreography reviews and staggers to the kitchen on stiff limbs to keep his clothes from shifting against him.

Yuuri is already there when he reaches it, his arms piled high with ice packs and water bottles. “What are you doing up?”

“I was going to ask you the same.” Viktor puts a hand on the table, uses it as leverage to lower himself slowly into a chair like an old man with a bad back. “Turning over a new leaf as an early bird?”

“No, I mean—you should be in bed.”

Viktor leans an elbow against the table to keep his burning back from grazing the chair. “Is that a proposition?”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says pointedly, depositing his armful of sunburn treatments on the counter.

“I’m okay.” Viktor straightens up to prove it. He barely manages not to cringe when the movement scalds his shoulders with fire and makes his gut bubble and surge like the ocean during high tide. “Sore but okay.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to argue but Viktor cuts him off. “I won’t even get on the ice. I’ll just watch you from the bleachers.”

Yuuri cocks his weight into one hip, chews his lip uncertainly.

“Let me stay by your side, right?” Viktor says, which is an unfair final blow but a successful one. Yuuri gives in begrudgingly, though insists on having Mari drop them off at the rink in lieu of their usual jog and shielding Viktor with his Mom’s parasol on the short walk from the inn to the car.

Everything is fine at first. Yuuri manages the best run-through to date of his new FS and Viktor sits rinkside with uncharacteristic slumped posture, basking in the residual chill of the ice while the triplets entertain themselves by pressing words and drawings into his inflamed skin with their fingers.

It isn’t until he stands to correct Yuuri’s form that the reality of his singed, dehydrated state sinks in again, blacking out his vision at the edges so he’s forced to sink back on the bench or else risk face planting into the boards. Sitting doesn’t help like he wants it to. His head spins in time with his stomach and he feels more than hears the rattle of the triplets moving out of the splash zone in case his breakfast decides to make a reappearance.

Viktor waves a hand over his head to indicate he’s fine—more to alleviate their fear than anything—but his skin is pulsing with molten heat and he’s starting to think lying on the ice might not be a bad idea. It’s like a full body ice pack—a lake-sized cooling balm for his pounding head and throbbing limbs. Maybe that’s why Yuuri falls out of his jumps with surprising regularity considering his skill, he thinks, to keep this frozen spring of eternal youth and sunburn healing to himself.

He doesn’t register fully losing consciousness, but it must happen because one moment he’s sitting on the bleachers with his head hovering precariously low between his knees and the next he is sprawled out on the floor, something cold pressed against both sides of his neck and under his armpits and Yuuri’s frightened, handsomely tanned face hovering over him, fanning him with a tissue box. It’s been a while since Viktor’s contemplated his demise, but on the list of ways to go, swooning into the arms of a beautiful man like one of those delicate ladies on the covers of his favorite romance novels is very near the top.

“Is this heaven?” Viktor asks. He means for it to rinse away the look of frenetic worry lining Yuuri’s features, but the words come out rounded at the edges—stuck on his dry lips— and have the opposite effect.

“Mari’s on her way to take us to the hospital,” Yuuri informs him, tracing Viktor’s jawline with his cold fingers, gently thumbing stray hair behind Viktor’s ear. “Do you think you can drink some water?”

Viktor nods. He has a mind to make a comment about how he’s already enjoying the tall drink of water in front of him, but when Yuuri helps hoist him up into a seated position his stomach jumps to his throat and all that comes out is a dry heave.

Yuuri rubs Viktor’s thigh—one of the few spots that aren’t glowing crimson—and doesn’t say, “I told you so,” which is nice because Viktor thinks he might’ve by now. The sentiment does manage to creep its way into his hands—clasped together in his lap—when Viktor is safely set up at the hospital with an iv and prescription strength burn cream and is starting to feel more like a human than a molten magma monster.

Yuuri doesn’t scold Viktor, even when he’s released from the hospital that evening with strict instructions to stay hydrated and rest and Yuuri spends the night in Viktor’s bed with him, as close as he can get without hurting him, carefully massaging cooling balm into his burns whenever the pain and the heat stir him from sleep.

He does load Viktor down with no less than ten bottles of sunscreen by the time the next spring rolls around, setting hourly timers so he won’t forget to re-apply no matter how distracted they get by sakura wine and the sight of one another in their robin’s egg blue coordinating couple’s outfits.

“I guess this is what I get—” Viktor tilts his head back to smile at Yuuri who is busy rubbing cold sunscreen on the back of his husband’s lily-white neck—“for falling in love with a man who’s so damn hot.”

                       send me a prompt  |  my yoi drabbles  |  kofi ♡  

[staple-soap-blog]

Jiangshi - IV

Jiangshi Masterlist |

Genre: Drama/Noir | Mafia!AU

Word Count: 1896

The sky was pitch black by the time you had finished your shift, and the only light outside the hospital were the lamps on the streetlights scattered around the parking lot. You pulled your coat tighter around you as you stepped out onto the asphalt and away from the lights of the hospital. You checked your phone. 3:15 am. You sighed and accelerated your walking pace, desperate to get home as soon as possible so you could collapse onto your bed and get some well-deserved rest.

As you walked along the sidewalk, your figure was illuminated by the streetlights and then plunged into darkness at equal intervals. Usually, you felt quite safe walking home. Your neighbourhood wasn’t a bad place, but you felt your heartbeat quicken when you finally noticed the sound of shoes being scuffed against the ground, gradually getting louder from behind.

You were too scared to look behind. Dread filled your chest and your mind ran through every possible worse case scenario, only adding to your anxiety. Your footsteps quickened. Your fingers reached into your coat pocket, wrapping tightly around your phone. If you couldn’t call for help at least you had something solid to throw at anyone who intended to harm you. The scuffing noise drew closer, and you could sense the presence of a body approaching.

Goosebumps prickled your skin when you could hear the sound of breathing, and soon enough, an arm brushed against your own, making you gasp in shock. You watched as a tall figure appeared in your line of vision, dressed in camouflage pants and a black hoodie which was up, concealing its face. You let out a sigh of relief as the person passed by you and continued down the street.

“Just relax,” you told yourself. Your sleep deprived mind was playing tricks on you, and there was still another good 15 minutes before you reached your apartment. Spotting the convenience store that you always passed up ahead, you decided that it wouldn’t hurt to buy some cheap coffee or energy drink. You would probably fall asleep when you got home regardless, and the motion of drinking something should be enough to keep you focused.

You pushed open the door to the convenience store and a doorbell like noise sounded, alerting the register boy of your presence. The poor employee had been sleeping soundly, his head propped up on his arm until you arrived. You felt kind of bad. He sent you a mildly irritated glare as he scanned your bottled iced coffee. You gave him an apologetic smile, thanked him and paid before leaving.

As you stepped outside and continued down the street, you noticed a car had been parked on the side of the gutter. The front tires were turned and half the car had been driven up to the sidewalk. Whoever parked it must have done so in a rush. Then, you heard the banging of metal and hushed voices coming from the narrow alleyway you always passed. You figured it must be someone from the apartments overhead taking out their trash, but when you passed by, you were greeted with an unusual sight.

With the dim street lamps as your only source of light, you could make out two figures next to a dumpster, tossing in what looked like a mannequin. You couldn’t be sure though, you saw the object for a split second before it disappeared from sight. The two men grunted as they released the object, and it hit the bottom of the dumpster with a dull thud, rustling the garbage as it landed. They quietly shut the lid and turned to leave the alleyway, but then, they spotted you standing by the entrance.

The two men froze just as they had stepped into the light of the street lamp. You could see them more clearly now. Both adorned black trench coats and leather gloves. You couldn’t be sure, but from what you could see, they were most likely wearing suits deduced by the single perfect crease in each pant leg and the lustre of their shoes. Their outfits would’ve looked pristine and expensive if it weren’t for the dark stains on each of their coats as well as the dirt on their faces. Was it dirt? It looked more like…blood.

Oh no.

You tensed when you made the horrifying conclusion which did not go unnoticed by the two dangerous men standing in front of you. Your foot instinctively took one step back, and the two men glanced at each other with seemingly expressionless looks, but their eyes were filled with concern. One man looked back at you and reached into his pocket, and you saw the shape of a long, blocky object stretch the fabric of his coat. The second man’s eyes hardened, and he advanced towards you.

You backed away in fear just as he pulled the black gun - fitted with a silencer - into view. You were meaning to turn and run for your life, a scream ready to erupt from your throat, until a stiff body collided with your back. Whipping around, you noticed the hooded figure from earlier. HIs eyes were barely visible underneath his hood and the rest of his face was covered with a mask.

The scream worked its way up from your throat, but the sound was muffled from the hooded figure’s gloved hand. Another arm tightened around you, pressing you against the figure’s body. Fear and panic flooded your veins as you ride to wriggle your way out of his hold, but he was incredibly strong.

You saw him flick his head to the side, and you heard the footsteps of the two men as they walked around you, got into the badly parked car and drove away. You had stopped screaming and struggling at this point as you were busy trying to process this situation. Your answer was provided when the figure peeled back his hood, and two familiar cat-like eyes appeared in the dim light.

“You,” you breathed, both relief and apprehension lacing your voice. It was the mysterious blonde from before who always showed up with the most unusual and borderline fatal injuries. Although, you couldn’t call him the mysterious blonde anymore as his hair was now dyed an ashy black.

He tugged down his mask and it confirmed his identity. “You sure have a way of attracting dangerous people,” he stated, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“It’s not like I’m asking for it,” you replied stiffly.

A chuckle slipped past his lips. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you then. I can’t have my favourite doctor getting into any trouble with the mob.” As he said this, he tightened his hold, and you realised he still had his arms around you.

Blushing, you stepped away and slipped out of his hold. “So, are you some kind of…mafia boss?” you asked uncomfortably.

“No, I’m just a hitman. Nothing special,” he answered, a smirk resting on his face. You nodded, too anxious to ask any further questions.

This man was incredibly dangerous, and you were regretting ever helping him, but at the same time, you were glad that you did. This mysterious man was oddly intriguing, and you worried about him more than you’d care to admit. Somehow, your mind always wandered back to him, wondering if he had received any new injuries. As you thought, you shuffled your feet and let the silence envelope the two of you.

“I should go. But can you do me a favour?” he asked.

‘What is it?”

He took your hand and pressed a single gold coin into your palm. “The Cleaners will be coming any time now. Give this to them and say it’s from the Jiangshi.”

“Jiangshi. Is that your code name?”

He gave you a weird look. “I have quite the reputation you know,” he said monotonously. He suddenly leant forward so that his lips were just by your ear. “But for you, just call me Tao.” His name rang through your mind. “Now don’t go telling that to people,” he breathed, pulling back.

“Or you’ll kill me?”

He smiled. “No, but I’ll be disappointed. Tao adjusted his mask so that it covered his nose and mouth before pulling up his hood. “Goodnight Y/N,” he said before walking away.

Your eyes widened in slight surprise. “How do you know my name?” you asked aloud, but you heard him laugh before he disappeared into the shadows of the night without a trace.

You were left alone on the sidewalk, the early morning winds biting at your legs. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself and looked at the circular object in your hand. The coin was larger than normal currency, about an inch in diameter. There was some sort of sigil pressed into the gold consisting of a man holding a shield surrounded by olive leaves. The words Ex Unitate Vires decorated the top of the design. You flipped it over and depicted was a lion standing in front of a shield with the words Ens Causa Sui above. The coin felt heavy and of great value.

A van suddenly pulled up to the sidewalk and its engine shut off, but the headlights were left on. The words Joe’s Cleaning Company was printed on the side in large blue lettering. The door was slid open, and two men in white hazmat suits, each carrying a large duffle bag. Another man exited the driver’s seat. He looked old, in his early 60’s maybe. A Gatsby cap adorned his head, hiding silver strands of hair. The old man gave you a curt smile before you turned to look at the others.

Your jaw dropped in shock when the two men in hazmat suits pulled a body out of the dumpster and began wrapping the corpse in newspaper. One pulled out a roll of clingfilm, and the two worked together, tightly binding the body with the clear plastic until it resembled an ancient Egyptian mummy. They worked quickly, like they had done this a thousand times before. Soon enough, the body was carried into the can, and the dumpster was thoroughly cleaned with chemicals.

“Have you got our payment, love?” asked the old man with a smile, just as the hazmat men had finished packing away their equipment.

You held out the coin and dropped it into his outstretched hand. “It’s from the Jiangshi,” you said, remembering what Tao had told you to say.

The old man seemed to freeze at the name, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Well, he’s been quite busy hasn’t he?” whispered that man, mostly to himself. He eventually snapped out of his trance and bowed to you, mumbling a goodbye before re-entering the van and driving away.

You stood there in a daze, trying your best to process the events of the night. It was too surreal for you to completely understand. Your mind swam with thoughts of Tao and what kind of world he was a part of, as well as how it involved you. Were you now part of this hidden, underground world?

By the time you reached your apartment, the sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, and your thoughts clouded together in a white haze before you passed out onto your bed.

A/N: This is for that one anon who loves the series enough to send me an ask telling me how excited they were for the next part. So here you go. See guys, I just need a lil bit of encouragement <3

And thank you to everyone who actually reads this series.

[insomniasix]

Tragedia Coram Amandum Quae |Part IV|

A/N: This took forever.

Words: 2116

OCs: Six Ulric , Morticia Blackwell (Mentions) , Valeo Vult (Mention)

Warning: Swearing (As always) , Nightmares 

Part III

The magic of Ignis’ long awaited kiss faded at the sound of Cor clearing his throat. Smooth, boss. I thought turning around, but the look I gave made him take a small step back.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Ulric.” He said. Ulric. It sounds so different coming from him. Respectful even. Everyone in jail said it as an insult –and I gracefully took it as one. But Cor was always nice to me, respected, trusted and cared for me; even when I gave him every reason not to. He told us we should be on our way to meet with the guy who was going to accompany us, saying it would be a good idea to get out gear ready as well.

“That ass’s not gonna let me train is he?”

“I’m afraid no.” he gave me a faint smile, crossing his arms at his chest.

“We will have time to hone your skills.” Ignis said lowly.

“I was hoping to do other things, instead of training.” I winked at him, melting as he smiled.

“We will have time for that too.” His deep voice always made me weak on the knees, something that Cor caught right away, clearing his throat as his scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

“When are we to depart?” Ignis asked, placing a hand on my lower back and sending shivers down my whole body.

“First thing tomorrow.” His voice was filled with… disappointment? No, worry. Well, I was never really good at reading people. The failed first marriage and the Kingdom I work for should be enough of an explanation.

“He’s throwing us into the mouth of the behemoth.” Ignis thought out loud, getting close enough to me that I was able to feel the heat, radiating from his body.

“My offer still stands.” Cor said simply and I was taken by surprise when Ignis was the one to take the words right out of my mouth.

“We appreciate it, Marshal. But we shall do what we’re supposed to. We are not running away.”

I felt so proud of him. Of us. Doing what’s right, even when we both know how stupid it is.

Cor nodded and started for the barracks, where the man was waiting for us.

Reaching the shooting ranch we saw him. Kinna short and not so build. He looked like a child from where I stood. His blond hair looked like a chocobo’s butt and his eyes… he looked so tired. Someone had sure deprived that kid some sleep. He had a… thing… on his chin. It looked like a goatee; a weird one. Maybe it’s not fully grown, I thought when he came closer, not sure if I was talking about the hair on his chin or the boy himself.

“Heyas!” he waved at us with a smile.

I knew him! Prompto Argentum, the Marksman of the Faint Smile. Funny name. “Argentum, right?” I said, moving inside his personal space, snatching his gun off its holster and examining it. Great craftsmanship is rare in this Kingdom, but this was amazingly created.

“Children shouldn’t play with guns.” I said, not taking my eyes off the masterpiece in my hands.

“Who said I was playing?” he asked, moving to his target and bringing it closer to me. All headshots! The hole in the paper was thin enough to be made by one bullet only, but judging from the loud noises I was hearing on the way here, he’d shot at least five times before he stopped to greed us. Nice.

“Your reputation presides you, sunshine.”

“Don’t call me that.” I swear his eyes fell for a second, but he recovered quickly; smiling again and greeting Cor.

“Prompto, these are the people the king has you escort.” Cor explained.

“Right, King Regis said I should keep an eye out for the assassin.” He said looking at Ignis, probably trying to understand why his eyes were milky white.

“I’m the assassin.” I said simply and Ignis huffed a laugh at my tone. I won’t lie, I was kinna offended.

“You’re the assassin they hired?” Prompto was taken aback, looking at me from head to tows “I figured you’d look more… threatening.”

Alright, I take it back. I’m not even mad. That was correct, to say the least; but a year in jail tents to make you look like an old hag. “Touché.” I’m kinna proud of what he pulled off me. Nice going.

“King Regis –“ he started and I’ve already had enough of listening about him.

“King Regis is an ass who terrorizes people.” I cut him off as Cor took a look around, making sure no one listened to my big mouth “I know. I’m the one doing it for him.”

“Wait” he said, suddenly realizing who I was, did I really look that bad? “You’re Six Ulric!”

Shocking! “I’m Six Scientia now. Don’t you see my clothes?” I pointed at… well, all of me.

“No, I mean –“

“Yes,” I let out an exasperated sigh “Nyx Ulric is my father.”

“Sorry.” He answered simply, scratching the back of his head.

I believed him. “Don’t be. He left to join Lady Lunafreya because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.” I smiled giving him back his gun “I just paid the price.”

“If you’re done with the drama, we should move on.” Cor interrupted. In a way, I think he did it more for me; so I wouldn’t have to talk about it again.

I nodded, silently thanking him and we all moved to get our gear. Ah! My sword! I missed this blade. Ignis can tell as I stare up at it in adoration.

“You wanna keep staring at me, beautiful?” I smirked, not taking my eyes off the blade until the last second “Or do you wanna kiss me?”

Ignis moved closer to me from behind, placing both his hands on my waist and pulling me close to him as he whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending tingles down my every cell.

“I’m afraid” he whispered in a deep voice “if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

God-damn-it!

Stay cool.

Fuck, that was hot.

“That’s gotta be the lamest pick up line ever, Iggy.” I laugh as I move away, now was not the time to play games. I hadn’t been touched in a year. I was dangerous! And there were people around –not that it mattered before.

“Don’t worry.” He smirked “This was only my first plan.”

“What’s the second, Advisor?”

“Kidnap you.” the words left his lips like it was the most obvious thing in the world and I have to admit, I wondered for a second if he was serious.

“Hey boss?” I yelled back at Cor, who was standing on the other side of the room talking with Argentum; my eyes never leaving Ignis’ as we both smirked devilishly, thinking of the same thing.

“Yeah, Ulric?” Cor knew too.

“Is there anything else? Cause we really need to go.” I said, glancing down at Ignis’ crotch and biting my lower lip “Something came up!”

“Fine” he breathed. Iggy grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the room and towards our apartment, I managed to hear Cor saying something about being there bright and early so Morta could bless out mission and blah blah. I didn’t pay much attention.

…

I woke up in the middle of the night, entangled inside his arms. I could feel his steady breath on my hair as he held me close. That feeling is worth everything we’d ever been through.

I moved slowly out of Ignis’ embrace and found myself sitting on the kitchen table –like, ON it. With all the fluffy rugs on our floors, the table was the hardest surface I could sit my ass upon.

I was hunkered down, my legs crossed at the calves, taking in my apartment. I used to hate how small it was. The kitchen being one with the living room; I hated that the apartment only had three doors, one for the bedroom, one for the bathroom and one for the exit. It wasn’t all bad though, the large windows looking out to the City were amazing.

I remember begging Ignis to get a bigger one, somewhere closer to the City Square; but now; after spending a year in the Citadel’s cells –that looked a lot like my small bathroom; the only difference being the bed that was way too close to the toilet for my comfort –now, my apartment looked like a castle.

Deep into my thoughts, I hadn’t realized Ignis had woken up. He’d silently made his way to the kitchen and tried to wrap his arms around me. I jumped up as the small wave of air his movements made hit the back of my arms. I fell on him, stranded him on the floor as I already had a knife against his neck.

“It’s me!” he managed to say, drawing me back to reality.

“Ignis? Oh, Noct… what am I doing?” my breath picked up as I threw the knife into the wall next to us. Ignis made quick work of my emotion and hugged my tight as I tried to wrap my head at what I’d done.

“It’s alright. I am right here.” He whispered, caressing my hair.

I got back on my feet and helped him up in silence, not even looking at him as I was… scared. The things I could have done if he hadn’t managed to pull me back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, placing both his hands on my shoulders and looking into my eyes.

“Me?” I wondered “I just tried to kill you and you care if I’m alright?” I don’t know why, but I was pissed at his concern at the moment. It looked… unnecessary.

“It was not my intention to scare you. I know what you’ve been through in there. I should have been more careful with my approach.” He said and the only way I could cover the tears falling from my eyes was hug him for dear life.

I kept crying in his arms for a few more minutes as he caressed me silently, his touch making everything better. I hated the fact that I was so vulnerable. A year in jail wasn’t supposed to be something I couldn’t handle; but being in there, with every soul I had condemned was unbearable. Every day was a fight for my life! The others, they were people I had incarcerated, they were people seeking revenge for being there –for me putting them there. Each finding a way to make my days a living hell.

I hated that Ignis knew. I know it must’ve killed him inside; being unable to help.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep, my love? Tomorrow will be the beginning of a difficult journey.” Ignis said, moving a strand of hair behind my ear when I was finally calm.

“I don’t sleep.” I answered, debating whether I should make this his concern as well or not; but he pressed on the matter gently, as he always did.

“What’s the matter?”

“My mind has the capability of being dark and demented.” I huffed a weary smile.

“You are afraid of your dreams.” He said; it wasn’t a question. He’d gotten the point even before the cryptic words had left my lips.

“Yes.” I nodded silently.

“Alright,” he answered, getting hold of my hand and gently pulling me to the couch in front of the TV “Let us watch some television then, there’s bound to be something entertaining.”

He wasn’t wrong. No, there was nothing on TV, but Ignis had fallen asleep a few minutes later. His head on my legs as I caressed his hair. His relaxed breathing and the way he kept running his fingers along my thigh even when he was sleeping. This was my kind of entertainment. The kind I wouldn’t change for anything in the world.

Someone in my profession is not supposed to be sentimental. But I swear, I will end anyone who tries to come across this feeling. Anyone who tries to get between us again.

I woke up in the morning with a note stuck on my forehead.

There is breakfast on the kitchen table.

We are to meet with the King and High Priestesses for the blessing.

A young hunter by the name of Valeo Vult will be joining us. They are in need of help and the Priestess has asked for us to help.

I will see you at the Barracks at 9.

I adore you, my light.

Love, Ignis.

Shit, it’s already 8:30!

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[cosmosogler]

hi guys. today cleo woke me up before 5 am. 

i had fallen asleep sometime after 1 so i was Not Happy. mom asked me what i  was doing up and i don’t remember if i actually responded or not. i let the dogs outside. wiley was a hassle to get back inside because it was kind of nice out. then as soon as i closed the door behind me and turned around diogi wanted to go outside, because she hadn’t wanted to go outside ten minutes previously. by the time i herded her over to the grass and blocked her off from wandering around the pool the sun was up. 

i went back to sleep even though my body was awake. i think i had craig dreams but they only made me mildly angry. i was mostly frustrated with the people around him. which has been happening in those dreams the last few times i’ve had them over the last, like, year and a half. 

then cleo woke me up by shrieking at 8, and also my alarm went off for some ungodly reason. i booted everyone else out of my bed and out of my room and closed the door. then cleo spent the next literal hour rattling my door and howling. i didn’t want to hurt her or anything, but i did want to cry. by the time she went downstairs to wake someone else up my alarm went off again. i slept in an extra 45 minutes despite the rattling starting up again sometime in the last 15 minutes of my “nap.” 

i was really too tired to do much today. i caught up on some comics, i watched a lot of not-video-game youtube videos, and i started looking up some resources for group-based activities around town. there was something that looked really cool that meets next tuesday... i think it’s all day, or in the evening, so it won’t conflict with therapy.

i had more pesto leftovers with mom. this time i let her start eating way before me so by the time i sat down her concert of disgusting vomit-inducing mouth noises was almost finished. in hell everyone communicates by chewing with their mouths open. the lip-smacking asmr videos make me want to scream and throw my computer.

i don’t actually, like, go and listen to them or anything. but it’s come up before.

sleep deprivation for this many nights in a row (5 i think? 6?) has reduced my patience level to approximately absolute zero. i was having trouble sleeping all year but the last week has been... something special.

i washed my siblings’ bed sheets today instead of dusting. mom wants me to wash all of the sheets every week. i don’t know if that’s really the most efficient use of our water, considering every advice site i’ve looked at has said something along the lines of “washing your sheets every two weeks is great, but once a month or so is also good.” 

maybe there’s no drawbacks to washing your sheets that often. i just don’t know how fast they wear out.

this is bad, but despite telling oz i was too tired to watch a movie, i sat and watched a really long critique of the bbc sherlock show in the late afternoon. i guess part of it was watching something that long by myself i didn’t have to also talk to anyone... 

about halfway through i paused to greet my brother and father as they had returned from their mud run, feed the dogs, and get some thai food with mom. i think i hurt myself trying to eat food that was too spicy... i felt really sick afterward and my stomach is still kind of grouchy with me. even though i am also hungry again because i wasn’t actually full when i stopped eating, i just couldn’t deal with my nerves disintegrating any more.

i keep getting spicy food hoping i’ll develop a better tolerance. i’ve got enough of one to tell different kinds of spices apart and appreciate different “flavors” of “OH GOD WHY IT’S SO HOT IT HURTS” and not get that sick. but the legendary Thai Hot seems to be forever out of my range. Double Thai Hot exists only in rumors. i saw jay get Double Thai Hot once. he caught on fire. and also cried.

i really love the soups that this place makes, but mom doesn’t like the very unique flavors so we didn’t get any. i wouldn’t have ordered the most spice that the cook is willing to give white people if we had gotten soup haha...

ehh, i boxed the leftovers for later. it’s not as good reheated, but i have a strong need for pahd thai and one sitting isn’t going to satisfy me.

oh yeah! around lunchtime i went out and blasted the dogs with the hose. i didn’t brush them afterward because there are five dogs and i didn’t want anyone to get sat on trying to get my brush’s attention. i didn’t take anyone to the mail box today though because it was over 100 even after the sun went down. even i didn’t want to walk the 2 minutes over to the mailbox.

and i maybe figured out what i’m gonna do with that gold bottle cap. i’m gonna slap it on a shiny magikarp and ship him off on the wonder trade. since it has a... less helpful nature (but not as bad as the other two) and no good ivs it will benefit the most from a gold bottle cap, which boosts all your stats to the maximum. all of the pokemon i am hyper training only need half their stats boosted. it’s not too hard to get 3 regular bottle caps, it just takes a while, especially if i am not using the fishing hole because i can’t be bothered to split my attention between film theory and watching my 3ds screen for a 1-second alert that i have to react to.

tomorrow... i gotta email my apartment complex or see if i can find the bed size myself so we can do the new sheets and stuff. and i gotta contact my relatives about my graduation party near the end of july. i think it’s the 23rd. and maybe i will check out one of the social activities available this side of town if i can find one that meets on sundays and is also interesting and/or small enough that it won’t be overwhelming. i would also like to maybe finish the owl picture since i have not worked on that in basically a whole week. and i gotta get this grody nail polish off my fingernails. it can stay on my toenails though because it still looks nice and is also maybe hiding a crack from when i accidentally stomped on my own toes while walking wiley.

it’s kind of weird but i make a very specific series of noises when i am hurt. i think being angry and then disappointed helps me get over the fact that it hurts a little more quickly. like when eve or diogi step on me with their claws, or when i bang my shin against a corner, or when i step on my toes and crack the nail. or burn my hands because the sink water is extremely hot for some reason.

i think... maybe tomorrow i will also try to do one thing from my to-do jar for the first time in over a week. i’ve done most of the major dusting so i will probably only need to devote about 5 minutes to that tomorrow. or maybe i could wipe down the window shades since the duster doesn’t do anything but kick up the dirt.

oh, also marisol is getting back in tomorrow evening so i can finally return her angle and hre devil. whiskey is a good boy. he likes to be picked up and cuddled with, and he is also the size of a small floppy pillow. and also he doesn’t SCREAM AT 4:30 IN THE MORNING WHICH IS A GREAT PERK!!!

it’s about 10 minutes early, but i think i am going to stop soon and get ready for bed. maybe i should take the dogs outside so cleo will wake me up at 6 instead of before 5.

one thing that just occurred to me is that i didn’t feel as depressed today. i mean yeah i felt extremely lethargic and nauseous and i had a headache for literally the whole day no matter how much water i drank. but i also just didn’t put much time into thinking about how bad i feel. i think that is about as good as it gets for me. i don’t know if that’s healthy or not though. since it might just be holding them in instead of dealing with them? i can’t tell if i am avoiding my bad feelings or successfully coping with them. tomorrow i might make some oatmeal cookies... our mixes and doughs are starting to creep up to their expiration dates. asher is getting back in about a week, so i will bake the snickerdoodles around that time. i will have to check for nuts in the mix though. like “this product was made in a facility that also processes nuts” or whatever.

i think maybe trying to jump back on the “doing things” wagon will help me go forward again. and maybe find a goal, since my first one of “learn better cognitive skills to deal with incoming anxiety” got smashed with the whole “you’re not working hard to get better” thing. i guess doing things isn’t working hard. but it keeps me in a better mood than not doing things.

i have ranked my goals in order from “short-term” to “realistically attainable at some point in the future when broken into smaller steps” to “life goals” to “optional bonus round.” well, i don’t really have a lot of goals to put into any of those categories, but i feel that it will be a useful ladder to use if i do find some goals to have. maybe that will help me draw a picture of “who i want to be” which will give me some kind of vague idea of what i should look like in the future? what philosophies are important to me? how do i want to treat other people? what do i think about these and these issues and what am i going to do about them? 

i will try not to overwhelm myself right away and just kind of pick things up as i walk by them for now. and i will keep doing a few stretches during the day. 

maybe, starting on monday or tuesday, i will put some time into trying to feel invested in my writing again. i still remember where a lot of “following that train of thought” needs to happen. after i get everything down for real this time i can start cutting unnecessary things out and making an actual next draft. that’s always the REALLY hard part for me. 

i think i could do that on tuesday. ask for some input from my therapist in specifically feeling more interested in things i create.

ok, now it is just after 12:25. i have now made full use of my allotted journal time and i feel like i maybe got somewhere with it which is nice. now i just gotta pick up all these beans and play the lottery.