#would try to fill the silence by talking a lot either to brad or himself just to keep his brain occupied and like Sane

[sorrelpaws]

>be me >make a friend >hang out with him >he gets hurts due to hanging out with me >mfw my only friend might die because of me

[odos-bucket]

In Which Each of Bruce’s Kids Come Out to Him

and then he comes out to them

Dick

They’re working on opposite sides of the coffee table in one of the manor’s more habitable sitting room’s. It’s become a regular part of their weekday routine: Bruce finishes up whatever office work he has to do, while Dick does his homework, and talks about his day. Usually there are snacks involved. A parenting book Bruce had read recommended trying to get their work done together. It’s a good way to keep connected with their increasingly busy schedules.

“So anyways��” Dick’s story is starting to slow down a little bit, and the shift in tone has Bruce glancing up from his paperwork. “I should probably tell you, since, well, everyone knows at school now.” His voice is still conversational, and relaxed, but a little distracted.

Bruce shifts him his full attention.

“See, what happened was Cameron Josephs in my third period biology class came to school with nail polish on today, which I noticed with my clever detective skills, and promptly dismissed as unimportant, and everyone else noticed with their nosy pre-teen skills, and promptly lost their shi- I mean, minds over. And that was Mrs. Horton’s class, and she has absolutely no control over her students, so it sort of became this whole big thing. Kids were making fun of him, and other kids were yelling at them to knock it off, and he was just trying to do his work, but the rest of the class got into a big fight. And then Brad Cormick- he’s on my basketball team- made a homophobic joke, and we were sitting at the same table, and I could tell that he wanted me to laugh at it. So I told him to shut up, and said that I was bisexual, not that any of it really had anything to do with anything else that was going on, but it did get him to shut up, which was good. Except that I think it may have been because I have more friends than Cameron does, which is totally unfair, and everyone should just be nice to everyone else no matter what, but also I guess not really the point… The point is, yeah, I’m bi. Oh, also frog dissection got moved to tomorrow because one kid threw up.”

Dick takes a deep breath (finally) and a long sip of his juice, before immediately returning to doodling athletic stick figures in the margins of his algebra homework.

Bruce studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what kind of response is expected of him, what would be helpful for Dick to hear. He’s really not very good at this kind of thing.

He’s saved from the risk of putting his foot in his mouth when the science class story continues.

“Are frogs really that gross? I don’t think they are. But I guess our basement is filled with guano, so maybe my tolerance is heightened by regular exposure to the substance most frequently equated with insanity.”

Dick hadn’t seemed nervous before coming out, or relieved after. And if he’s not going to make it into a big deal then neither is Bruce, even if a part of him feels pleasantly warmed by the casual show of trust.

Jason

Bruce loves picking up his kids from school. It’s not something that his schedule allows him to do very often, and Jason- as Dick had been before him- always seems pleasantly surprised to see him. It’s a little thing in the grand scheme, but it’s just nice, normal. And he would never say it out loud- he’s not sure why, he knows he should- but he cherishes the little bit of extra time spent with his boys.

But today Jason isn’t happy to see him.

Bruce pulls up to the curb, and only has to scan the crowd of teenagers for a few seconds before spotting him. He’s on a bench with another student, their shoulders pressed together despite wide swaths of free space available on either side of them. Jason’s pointing out something in a textbook, while the other boy plays with his free hand.

Bruce pulls slightly to the side to let another car drive around him, figuring he’ll give Jason a few minutes to finish up, and notice that Bruce is there, rather than call out and risk embarrassing him.

It’s not even a full minute before they make eye contact across the lot, and immediately something in Jason’s expression changes. His eyes go wide and startled, his posture suddenly tightened. In one fast motion he shuts his book with both hands, muttering something to his friend as he practically throws himself off the bench.

Now feeling on high alert, Bruce sweeps an intense gaze over the school yard for anything that could have upset his son. He doesn’t manage to spot anything before Jason arrives at the car and pulls himself into the backseat (where he never sits, unless the front is already occupied). He starts talking before Bruce can ask what’s wrong.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

Bruce frowns, and looks over both Jason and the area in front of the school in an attempt to identify something that isn’t like how it looks.

“He just-“ Jason flinches, seemingly realizing something wrong with whatever he’d been about to say, and cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “I mean-“

Feeling lost is by no means a new part of parenthood for Bruce, and he’s sure it’s something he’ll experience many more times going forward. But, god, he really hates not understanding what’s going on, not knowing what to do, and he doubts that he’ll ever get used to it.

“Jason,” he tries. “Slow down.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason answers automatically. “Sorry.”

It’s been over a year since Jason’s called him ‘sir’ and the sudden reintroduction of the honorific sends a cold chill down Bruce’s spine. For a second they just stare at each other, with what Bruce is pretty sure are matching expressions of partially concealed horror.

“Jason,” he says more quietly.

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I’m sorry. Please-“ He stops himself, covering his mouth before he can finish the thought, and then just as quickly lowering the hand back to his lap.

Another silence follows, short but harrowing. Then finally Bruce makes a rare admission

“I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

Jason stares at him, and the wider his eyes get the younger he looks, and the more Bruce wants to scoop him up into his arms. But he just waits, and tries not to look too expectant.

“I-I was holding hands with Derek,” Jason breaths out.

“…Alright?” He’s heard that name before. Jason doesn’t have as many friends at school as Dick had, so they’re a little easier to keep track of, even if Bruce has only ever met any of them in passing. “Is this someone you’re worried I’ll embarrass you in front of?” He asks after a brief pause.

Jason keeps staring at him, expression crinkling as his breathing grows erratic.

Bruce finds himself automatically exaggerating his own inhales and exhales, resting the side of one hand against his sternum, to remind Jason of some of their breathing exercises.

“That’s it, chum,” he says as he sees it slowly begin to work. “Everything’s okay.” For all he knows- or doesn’t know- right now it might not even be true, but dammit for his kid he will make everything okay.

“Everything’s okay,” Jason obediently echoes.

Bruce takes his hand off his chest, and starts to reach towards him. But Jason flinches away from him, not as violently as he had back when they were still new to each others’ lives, but it’s enough to make Bruce feel sick. He can practically feel the wrongness of it squeezing his heart into shards as he slowly withdraws his arm back into the front seat. He had truly thought that they had gotten past this.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” he says softly, a small concession to the part of himself that wants to beg his son’s forgiveness for whatever he’s done to make him afraid. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason’s not looking at him anymore. His head is down, and his gaze is fixed on his knees.

Bruce hesitates.

“I’ll never hurt you.” It’s a reassurance he had thought they were past the point of needing, but if they aren’t he’ll say it as many times as he has to. “Never.”

“Are you mad?”

“Is there something particular that I’m supposed to be mad about?” Bruce asks carefully.

“... That I was holding hands with a guy,” Jason elaborates, after a steadying breath.

Oh, Bruce is an idiot. What kind of detective is he if he can’t even- He cuts himself off, realizing he can’t wait too long to respond to that.

“Of course not. That’s what this is about?”

“I never meant for you to find out,” is the response he gets. And doesn’t that just hurt like hell to hear?

“That you like boys?” Bruce confirms.

“And girls, both. But I didn’t know what you’d think, so I figured if I couldn’t be sure it was better to keep it to myself.”

Bruce closes his eyes, taking a second to calm his own breathing.

“I never want you to feel like that,” he says. “About anything. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I love you, Jaylad, that isn’t contingent on anything.”

I wish I could have protected you from whatever it was that made you feel like this was something you had to hide. He doesn’t say it.

Jason is finally looking at him again, gaze thoughtful and careful. A long moment passes, before he surprises- and momentarily terrifies- Bruce by getting out of the car. But before he can react to that, Jason’s climbing into the passenger seat, and after a second of hesitation, leaning into Bruce’s side.

“Okay,” he says quietly, sounding a little choked up.

Bruce puts an arm around his shoulders. The closeness is a balm after the pain of having his son flinch away from him.

Tim

Tim isn’t supposed to come over today. His parents are in town, and Bruce had made a point of hiding his reluctance when he’d given Robin the week off, chastising himself for the empty nest syndrome he has no right to be experiencing- at least in regards to this particular child.

So he’s surprised when he hears Alfred’s throat clear, and looks up to see both Alfred and Tim lingering in the doorway to his office. It would be odd to see him here at this time of day even if they had been planning to go on patrol; sunset is still a few hours off.

Bruce immediately has a bad feeling. He knows it’s commonplace for the Drakes to disappear unexpectedly partway through whatever length of time they were meant to be spending at home. As Batman it’s made his life easier numerous times. As a parent it’s beyond his comprehension. If he still had his boys at home- but he can’t think about that, not without breaking down, and if Tim’s just been abandoned that’s the last thing he needs.

As he approaches the door, Alfred’s pointed look, and Tim’s vacant expression confirm that he’s right to be concerned.

“Tim.” He keeps his voice neutral. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

He picks up on Alfred’s glare a fraction of a second too late to realize that he’s said the wrong thing.

“I’m sorry.” There’s something miserable in Tim’s voice, that makes Bruce want to bundle him up in a blanket. Before he can assure him that he has nothing to apologize for, Alfred cuts in.

“I told Master Tim that he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he needs.”

Bruce nods automatically, looking down at Tim, who’s glassy expression looks a million miles away.

“Tim,” he says gently, eventually drawing the boy’s gaze, but feeling disconcerted by how delayed the response is.

Alfred leaves with a comment about putting a kettle on for tea, closing the door firmly but softly behind him. The sound it makes as it pulls all the way shut still makes Tim twitch.

“Do you want to sit down?” Bruce offers.

Tim stumbles a bit on his way to the couch. He’s so out of it; He won’t be patrolling tonight, even if his schedule’s suddenly open for it. Bruce sits down on the other side.

“Are they gone again?” He asks, trusting fully that the vaguely worded question will be completely understood.

There’s a worrying delay before Tim shakes his head, giving Bruce ample time to wish for Alfred back before he can register the response enough to be surprised by it.

“So...“ he begins uncertainly, before being cut off.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again. “I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You aren’t a bother, Tim.”

The- admittedly somewhat monotone- assurance just gets him a shrug.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He tries.

“Do I have to?” Tim asks after a long silence. “Can’t I just stay here?”

Bruce frowns.

“Of course you can stay here. But I think I really need to know what’s going on.”

Tim stares at him, eyes shining, mouth opening and closing several times before he speaks.

“Can I- Alfred says I can tell you something, and you won’t get mad?”

“Well, that depends on what it is,” Bruce says, thinking back on every time a robin has had something to tell him, but first wanted confirmation that he wouldn’t be angry.

Tim seems to shrink at his words, his breath catching audibly as he curls in on himself. Fuck, Bruce is bad at this.

“What do you have to tell me?” He asks.

“Well now I don’t know if I want to!” It almost comes out as a yell, strained by the sound of held back tears, and Bruce is a little taken aback.

“I’ll probably find out at some point,” he reasons.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tim chokes on something that sounds like a suppressed sob.

No, no, no no. This isn’t supposed to happen. Bruce reaches out for him in an awkward and hastily aborted movement.

“I can’t,” Tim says after a minutes, tears streaking over his pale cheeks. “If you don’t-“ His voice catches. “I need you to let me stay here.”

Bruce’s heart hurts as he scooches a little closer, reaching out to rest a hand- hopefully not too awkwardly- on Tim’s shoulder.

“Of course you can stay here,” he reiterates. “I told you you could stay here. Even if I’m mad at you you can stay here. If you-“ He searches for a moment. “-Took the batmobile out on a joyride, and drove it into the harbor, I’ll be mad at you, but you’ll still have a place here. One will never have anything to do with the other.”

Tim makes a noise that’s over too quickly for Bruce to be able to tell if it had been a laugh, or just more crying.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dick,” Bruce corrects.

This time Tim definitely snorts, which has Bruce smiling in spite of himself.

“Did you do something worse than that?” He asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but Tim makes an unhappy face at the question.

“I- no!” He says, defensive, but confident. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Bruce gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing it.

“Then why would I be mad at you?”

The humor that had begun to make its way into Tim’s expression disappears again, and Bruce curses himself.

“Mom and Dad were mad,” he says quietly.

Bruce scowls. He tries pretty hard not to let his dislike of Jack and Janet show around Tim- though he’s long suspected the young detective can tell- but it’s harder to hide sometimes than others.

“You said they were still home,” he remembers. “Tim, did they kick you out?” He does his best to keep the anger out of his voice.

And then he finds himself doing his best to keep the anger off of his face when it takes Tim a moment to answer the question.

“I don’t think forever,” he says uncertainly. “Just- They said they needed time to think about it, to d-decide what to do.”

The slight stutter puts him over the age, and fury starts to trickle into Bruce’s voice.

“To think about what?” He demands. Hell, that place is more Tim’s home than it is theirs. They have absolutely no right to ask him to leave! And where the hell do they expect him to go? Bruce forces himself to clench his jaw, and take deep breaths.

“...I’m gay,” Tim finally says.

Bruce stares at him for the second that it takes for the words to register, and connect back to the rest of the conversation.

“That’s it?”

He’s wincing at himself before the question is all the way out of his mouth, immediately convinced that he’s said the wrong thing again. But then, to his immense relief, he realizes that Tim has started laughing. It isn’t deep, or sustained. His voice is still a little weak, and his eyes are still a little red. But he’s definitely laughing, and Bruce realizes vaguely that a robin laughing is still his favorite sound in the world.

“That’s it,” Tim confirms, on the tail end of his laugh.

“Oh, Tim.”

Bruce doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess the motion before he pulls the boy into a hug, satisfied that it was the right course of action when he feels Tim melt against him.

“Of course I’m not mad, of course I’m not mad,” he repeats like a mantra. “I’m sorry I let you think I would be. You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass, and he realizes there’s a wet patch at his shoulder where Tim’s face is buried. Bruce freezes, totally unsure of what he’s done wrong this time.

“I’m sorry,” Tim breaths out. “I- thank you. Thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if- I- I don’t want to be alone!”

“Not alone,” Bruce promises. “You’re not alone. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Tim presses closer, and Bruce takes it as a cue to tighten his hold.

Alfred finds them like that a few minutes later, Tim curled up in his arms, while Bruce cycles through reassurances. The look they exchange is enough to confirm that they’re both thinking the same thing: this kid is ours.

Cass

One day Cass hangs a little pride flag up on her door. Later in the week when she catches Bruce glancing at it, she comes up to him, gives the flag a meaningful nod, before just saying, “Girls!” in a happy voice, giving him a hug, and disappearing down the hall.

Damian

Bruce can identify every member of his family by their knock, but Damian’s is particularly distinctive. Not just because it tends to come from a lower part of the door, but because Damian has cultivated a strong knock, the way businessmen cultivate a strong handshake. It’s a very confident and determined sound, that he often finds himself stifling a smile at, knowing that that isn’t at all the intended reaction.

“Come in,” he calls, and there’s no pause before Damian strides into his office, confident as ever. When he speaks however, the undercurrents of his voice tell a different story.

“Father, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” There are a few hesitations, that don’t quite manage to turn into stutters in his voice, ones it’s unlikely anyone outside of their family would notice.

Bruce doesn’t comment on them, just nods for Damian to sit down and continue.

His legs don’t fully reach the floor. Something else that Bruce has learned not to let himself smile at.

“Grayson says…” he begins confidently, before trailing off.

Bruce just raises an eyebrow for him to continue, not feeling like he has enough information to put anything together from at the moment.

“Richard says,” Damian continues more carefully. “He came out to you as bisexual when he was around my age?”

Bruce nods. He has a feeling that he knows where this is going this time.

“He did.”

“He said that you were okay with it?”

Bruce nods again.

“Dick is my son. My love for him isn’t conditional, certainly not on that. There’s nothing wrong with not being straight.”

Damian had broached the topic using Dick as a proxy, so Bruce had followed his lead and assumed that Damian would know to automatically apply the assurance to himself. But Damian’s face just falls into a puzzled frown.

“So why…” he begins, before changing track. “Richard isn’t your biological son.”

Bruce frowns back.

“Damian, you know that doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t love your siblings any less because they’re not-”

“I know,” Damian cuts in. “It isn’t about loving us differently.” He says it very matter of factly. “I have the ability to carry on your bloodline, whereas they do not.”

“That ability isn’t an obligation,” Bruce says, wondering why his kids never seem to be able to just worry about normal things. “And it’s certainly not something that you need to be thinking about at thirteen years old.”

Damian nods slowly, staring down at the desk with a look of intense concentration, before slowly raising his gaze to Bruce.

“Mother and Grandfather said that you wouldn’t like it, if I wasn’t interested in girls,” he says quietly.

Bruce sighs. of-fucking-course they did. He gets up from his chair, and moves around the desk to kneel in front of Damian.

“Well they’re wrong,” he says simply. “And they had no right to lead you to believe that it would make any difference to me. Just like I don’t love your siblings any less, my love for you is no more conditional. Understand?”

It takes a moment, but Damian nods.

“All right. In which case, I suppose... I’m gay.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Bruce says, before pulling his son into a hug.

Bruce

Bruce looks at his assembled family, and begins to feel a strange sense of trepidation tickling at the edge of his consciousness.

They’re all here. Trying to get the whole family together all at once is like pulling teeth. But he told them it was important, and they all came. There have been plenty of points over the course of the years when that wouldn’t have happened. And even though they’ve all been pretty settled with each other for a while now, he never wants to take for granted having his whole family together- not that he thinks the part of him that only seems to settle when he has all of his children within arm’s reach would let him.

The comfort of having them all be together is overwhelming, but the trepidation is still there, just like it probably always will be any time he manages to round up the courage for anything resembling feelings talk.

They’re all in one of the living rooms, sprawled in a comfortable half circle across various couches and chairs.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you all,” Bruce starts to say.

“Are you dying?” Stephanie asks casually.

Beside her, Cass freezes, looking horrified.

“I’m not dying,” Bruce says quickly.

At the same time Steph rubs a hand up and down Cass’s arm and assures her she was kidding.

“Not like he’d tell us if he was,” Dick says.

He knows it’s meant to be a joke, just like Stephanie’s question had been, but it still sends a chill through him. Mostly because he can’t say for sure that Dick is totally wrong; it’s the kind of thing he easily could have kept to himself. But then he sees the uncertain frown that Damian is giving him, and Cass’s wide, anxious eyes, and decides that he has to be wrong.

“I’m not dying,” he repeats, reaching out for Tim who’s sitting closest to him, and who’s been staring very intently at the floor since the topic came up.

Tim leans into the touch without shifting his position.

“And I would tell you,” he adds seriously, feeling absolutely wracked with guilt over the fact that up until this moment he doesn’t know if he would’ve been able to claim that with any certainty.

“I swear, if there’s anything wrong with me, all of you will know as soon as possible.” By the time it comes out of his mouth, he knows he means it with total certainty.

“I think we’re all pretty tuned into the fact that there’s something wrong with you,” Jason offers, and the tension in the room breaks.

Bruce smiles despite himself. That was agonizing. Compared to that getting on with the conversation he’d previously been so apprehensive to have will be a relief.

“What did you want to tell us?” Duke asks.

“It can be… difficult for me to articulate what it means to me whenever one of you trusts me enough to share something about yourself. I thought that I owed it to all of you to return the favor, and share a… recent discovery of mine.” He stumbles through it as awkwardly as he’d expected to.

“This is weird,” Stephanie stage whispers.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce admits.

“Bruce!” Dick says excitedly.

“Unacceptable,” Jason cuts in. “We already have enough of that nonsense in this house!”

Tim kicks him in the side.

“Well, seeing as it’s an option, I for one prefer the idea of you pursuing romantic entanglements that bear no risk of resulting in pregnancy.”

“Noted, Damian.”

“I’m happy for you, B,” Tim says. “It can be hard figuring yourself out.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“Is that it?” Duke asks. “I mean, not that it’s not a big deal- and I’m happy for you too by the way- it’s just that most of our family meetings involve addressing some kind of crisis.”

“That’s it,” Bruce admits.

“Perhaps- seeing as we’re all here anyways- we could take this opportunity to have dinner together as a family for once,” Alfred offers.

[alldayangst]

love someone for loving you (Peter Parker)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Soulmate and uni AU.

PAIRING: Peter Parker x reader, Brad Davis x reader (for like, a second)

Warnings: Makeout sessions. Characters drink but they’re of age to do so in this fic. Peter says ACAB and if you disagree with that & can’t have a mature convo about it, then this isn’t the blog for you. This fic isn’t all the way accurate to the MCU timeline. Harry [Osborn] and MJ live in Queens. Betty, Flash, Ned, Brad, Peter and reader all attend NYU in Brooklyn.

Thank you for reading if you make it all the way to the end! Word count: 4.2K words.

Happy reading!

“You’re so fucking hot, y’know that?” You were making out with Brad in your dorm room, with the lights off. Brad was a nice enough guy. Had taken you out on a few dates. Told you your hair was pretty. Said he’d like to get to know you more. But you’re not as eager to take things further because something in your heart just knows he’s not your soulmate. And you’d like to wait a little while for the novelty to wear off before you did something you regretted and entered a relationship you’d known was doomed from the start. “So fucking hot.” Brad kissed along your neck, big sloppy wet ones that left saliva trails from his lips to your neck. 

You didn’t like that kind. 

And that was another reason you knew you and Brad weren’t destined, because your soulmate would just know what you like, know you like the back of their hand. Right? Right.

It’s then that Brad tries to take your jumper off, but your soulmate tattoo is on your ribcage, and in this world, letting someone see your soulmate tattoo is probably makes you more vulnerable than getting naked in front of them. You try to pull your jumper down, but Brad doesn’t get the hint and tries again. You place your hands on his chest. “Not today, Brad.”

You don’t see Brad again. And maybe Brad was your soulmate because he led you to Peter. But Peter definitely wasn’t your soulmate, and I’ll tell you why you know that.

“Y/N!” Betty waved as you stumbled back into the party, shoes placed on improperly and no part of you subtle to what you’d been doing with Brad in your room just a few minutes ago. “Not you out of your room so early!” Your room door slammed behind you as Brad left your room, jacket in hand.

“Didn’t get any?” Betty made a fake pout at you, smoke breezing past her face as you stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do as you found yourself in a circle with two of Betty’s friends she’d had yet to introduce you to. Sometimes, you wished Betty was your soulmate, but Betty made it clear before you signed the lease that you weren’t her type and truly, you couldn’t see yourself being anything more than friends. And you were the best of friends. Meaning she’d always be the first to comment heart eyes under your pictures and tell you to get that outfit because your booty was doing the thang in that pair of trousers. 

Things would just be easier, if they were easy.

But things weren’t handed on a silver plate for you like they were for others; where they’d been friends with their soulmates since childhood, or lived up the street from them or their soulmate saved their life or something else blindly obvious. And, desperate to find the gold in the treasure chest, you moved upstate to school at NYU. Because great minds and all that. You stood in perfect silence for a minute, chaos never ceasing to happen around you, before Betty decided to make the strangers next to her strangers no more. One shook your hand and said, “I’m Ned.” Oh. So this is who Betty had been raving about? Betty grimaced and placed her hands together to plead with you not to expose her consuming infatuation with her new boyfriend. In a bid to divert the focus, Betty patted the back of the slightly taller one next to Ned, with wispy brown hair and eyes like fresh, raw cocoa. “I’m Peter, nice to meet you.” He shook your hand.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you guys.” You sway your attention back to Ned with a smirk on your face, Betty clutching her solo cup a little too hard, her inner monologue begging you to knock it off. You knew Betty was going to get you back for this, but you needed somewhere else to fixate your gaze since you weren’t sure you could trust yourself not to ogle at Peter. With Brad’s saliva on your neck and having only known him for all of twenty seconds, you weren’t sure if Peter would take to any romantic advances. You weren’t even sure if he’d met his soulmate. “So, I’ve heard a lot about you, Ned.”

“All good I hope.” Ned replies and the room glints with his boyish grin.

“Well-” You didn’t get to finish your sentence, and it was probably for the better. Betty grabbed Ned’s arm, vodka making tiny puddles on the floor, with a huge fake smile plastered on her face. In turn, that only gave you a great, genuine smile, loving to tease your friend. “Baby! We should go to another side of the party!”

“What about Peter?” Ned’s voice was getting lost in the jungle of party goers. “Peter can come.” Peter turned to go follow his friend, but not before mumbling a low, “See you around, Y/N.”, snaking his arms around your back, pulling you in for a quick hug. “See you around, Peter.” 

He didn’t reply. Peter could only give you a thin lipped smile, packaged with a lazy half-nod before he was absorbed by the population around him, just as his friend was. And you cursed yourself that night for not taking your chances and saying more.

History was an 8am class, your only class in the morning. You woke with a a dull ache in your head and a dark mark on your neck that lasted longer than your relationship with the guy that gave it to you. The last thing you wanted was to run into Brad. But destiny offered you the next best thing.

“Oh. Hi, Flash.” You attempted to cover your face with your copy of Romeo & Juliet - if your soulmate was here, the last person you wanted them to see you with was Flash Thompson. Flash was walking backwards as you were walking forwards, unamused by his efforts to corner you. “Can we talk, Y/N?” Flash was Brad’s best friend, so you knew you were in for trouble.

“Can’t Brad speak to me himself? His mouth was working last night.”

“I can see that Y/N. Nice hickey.” You cringed, and Flash could tell he was running out of time to bemuse you. “Brad doesn’t want to bother you if you’re not interested-”

“Oh, so you decide to bother me instead.” You remark, and hop over a couple of steps so Flash had to awkwardly speed up.

“I just wanted to ask where you and him stood. Like, are you breaking up with him? I thought you had a pretty good thing going on.” His pace started to slow again as you slowly ascended up some of the last sets of steps. “I mean, seriously Y/N? What if you guys were soulmates? I wouldn’t wanna give up so easily.”

“That’s true.” You looked down at your sneakers. You hated this version of the world you lived in. Everything was driven by concepts, whether it be the concept of soulmates or the concept of time that left your campus filled with students five years older than they really were, or the concept of good and evil that spawned superheroes who you weren’t sure did more damage to the world than they gave back.

Overall, the concept of fate was once you had to always wrestle with. And you thought that maybe yours was standing at the top of the steps to rescue you from this conversation, ready to make Brad feel the trip of the guilt he and his friend tried to make you feel for not feeling the same way. “Y/N! We have class, c’mon!” Peter waved his goggles at the top of the steps, a knowing smile on his face as Flash looked up at him and glared. 

Peter just had to steal his thunder on a sunny day.

You ran to meet Peter at the top of the steps. “Thank you for bailing me out. You’re a hero.”

Peter was startled. “Who, what, when, where, me?” He scratched the back of his neck and gave you an uncomfortable, stammered loop of laughter. “Hero? Not me. I’m just good ol’ Peter.”

You chuckled as you breathed out another ‘thank you’ and returned the hug Peter had left un-exchanged last night. “I’m guessing you have bio?”

“Guilty as charged. So what’s your major?”

“English Lit.”

“Oo, how long are you planning to work at Starbucks?” Peter remarked as he held to the main door open for you. “Peter?” He hummed in response. “Fuck you.”

You sat next to Betty in History, the professor droning on about something that made you question why you continued to take History, but as your best friend snatched your book from you, you were reminded. “Star crossed lovers, eh?” Betty skimmed through the fights and the love scenes that all culminated to the uncertainty whether Romeo and Juliet were even supposed to be together. 

“Seems like you and Ned these days, huh.” You couldn’t believe that it had taken Betty three months to allow you to meet Ned, nevermind his cute friend. Ever since the ‘boyfriend’ label had been slapped on their little love affair a month and a half ago, you were beginning to see less and less of your best friend. It felt like two people paying for a single household, and with your lease ending in a short time, you worried Betty would almost evaporate from your life completely.

“Almost.” Betty tried to keep it hush, sheepishly grinning, but gave in completely in record time. “We said we’re gonna show each other our tattoos tonight!” She squealed, another student shushing her from the row above.

“Woah, that’s big!” It genuinely felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you. You realised you’d never gotten as far as Ned and Betty without either you or you partner showing your soulmate tattoo; and when they were never the same, you broke it off. “What if they’re not the same?”

“They will be.” Betty smiled. “I’m sure of it.”

Two loners getting together was never a recipe for success. Betty had given over your number to Ned, who handed it over to Peter, who’d texted you asking for you to come over: ‘wanna make it up to me for this morning at the steps? my bestie is with your bestie, so u wanna get pizza? do you like pineapple?’ 

Sure enough, you were over at Ned & Peter’s within ten minutes, Peter swinging the door open dressed in a tight red and blue top, a hoodie sparsely covering it, with an overexcited greeting of “Mi casa es su casa!”

The energy wasn’t returned. Not just yet. You had to be sure of something first. “Don’t tell me that there’s an American flag top under that hoodie.” Peter looks down at his Spidey suit which he’d completely forgotten he had on between scaling the ceiling in anxious anticipation of your text back. “Having such a boner for the USA is kind of a turn off.”

Peter started cussing under his breath and quickly turned to zip his hoodie all the way up. When he turns back to you, it’s word vomit. “I’m not saying I don’t love this country, I mean, I love Queens. I mean-”

You raise your eyebrows, curious to see where Peter would go with this. “The NYPD fucking hates me,”

“And what would they want with your little ass?” You walk into the apartment. He’d never admit it, but Peter kind of likes the way you bust his balls. It puts him on the spot, makes him want to tell the truth to you about who he really is.

“I mean, I can’t really say-”

“OK. I don’t wanna be an accessory to anything so,” You laugh. “I won’t push. ACAB.” There’s a thud that follows you closing the door. 

“I agree. ACAB.”

A few hours pass with Peter and he’s beginning to unravel. He shows you the photos he’s taken over the years, several of them featuring a fair haired boy you’d never seen around campus before. “Is he your soulmate?”

Peter nearly chokes on the coffee he’d prepared for himself. “No. Harry? In his dreams.” He sets his mug down. “No, uh, that’s my friend. He lives back home in Queens.”

“You say back home like Queens isn’t a 10 minute drive from where we are.”

“Yeah. But it’s not right here.” You weren’t sure if you’d bruised Peter’s feelings, so you move onto another photo. There’s a polaroid that makes a thin pile with another on the table.

It’s the New York City skyline, from all the way up.

“How’d you get a photo from all the way up here?” Peter grabs the photo underneath it, but not before you catch a glimpse. The glossy paper is adorned with an image of a beautiful girl, black necklace around her neck, the scribbles underneath her photo reading ‘MJ, Pre-blip’.

You think this girl is too gorgeous to just be a friend.

But judging by the way Peter reacted when you suggested Harry was the same, you kept quiet. He didn’t want you to see it anyway. 

“I’m really sticky and I climb up walls.” Peter being Peter is relieved he told you the truth, even if you didn’t know it.

“You’re weird, kid.” You thought you were being smooth, but you couldn’t help the way you look at his lips like they hold the answer to every question you’d had in your life.

“Uh-huh. But you like a bit of weird. Maybe Brad was too square for you.”

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

And then when you and Peter kiss, you suddenly understand what poets mean when they call your lips jigsaw puzzles, because yours and Peter’s slot perfectly together. And you get why there’s all these love songs on the radio, and you feel the Earth shift in your mind and you just know this is the unmistakeable indicator that Peter is your soulmate. Another reason you and Peter are destined, when he goes to kiss your neck, it’s like soft little hot touches. 

You liked that kind. 

And a soulmate would just know that, know you like the back of their hand. Right? Right.

Peter rests his forehead on your own, lips swollen. “I don’t want to go anywhere, don’t wanna do anything you don’t wanna do.”

You and Peter cuddle for the rest of the night on his sofa, Ned and Betty doing the same on yours. And the novelty picks back up like clockwork.

“Peter? What if we aren’t soulmates?” you groaned, Peter’s hand on your head, keeping you snug to his chest. You and Peter had been dating close to two months now, Ned and Betty moving to five. In any other relationship, you would’ve called this phase The Ticking Time Bomb. You toyed with the black dahlia that sat perfectly between his pecs. Peter had been to Queens last week. He’d retrieved his necklace from the girl in the photo, MJ. She was an old friend, he said. Him and her? Not meant to be. Maybe in another life, he’d say. Another timeline. Then he’d gesture between the two of you. This. This is meant to be. Us.

Peter shrugged. “What if we weren’t?” Peter had an almost permanent bandage on his ribcage, exactly where your soulmate tattoo was. Where and how Peter got injured was a mystery to you, and he’d never dare tell you no matter how much you pushed. It almost made you wonder if he was keeping any more secrets from you.

You propped yourself up, both hands on his chest. 

“I couldn’t move back in with Betty. She and Ned are soulmates, they need their privacy.”

“Who said you’d ever to move back in with Betty?”

“I couldn’t afford to live by myself, Peter. Not everyone had a Stark internship in high school.”

“Who said you’d have to move out at all?”

“If we’re not soulmates-” Peter moved your hands from his chest and wrapped them around your waist, pulling you in for a loving kiss. “What have I told you? You and me, we’re meant to be. Us.”

But you didn’t have the tattoos to prove it. 

You and Betty were sitting in History class, ignoring the professor’s droning as per usual. Betty had this beaming smile on her face and you were sure if she didn’t say what was on her mind soon, she was going to explode all over someone’s Henry VIII’s notes.

“Betty?”

“Yeah?” She shrieked with scarlet cheeks.

“Spill.”

Betty let out a breath. “Well, since you insisted.” You couldn’t help but smile at your best friend. “I think Ned might propose tonight!”

“I feel like you should be taking me out to dinner before you dump all this load on me.”

Betty’s eyes glazed over, obviously too excited to contain her emotions. “What about you and Peter? The tattoos must match up since you’ve stayed around this long.”

“Actually, I-”

Betty makes an O face at you, which told you she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “C’mon. You haven’t played I’ll Show You Mine if you Show Me Yours?” Betty was in awe. “Y/N! You must really like him.” 

You did really like Peter. That was the issue. You weren’t ready to feel jaded if your tattoos didn’t match up like they all inevitably did in the past. You felt something different for Peter. Betty was right. That was why you stuck around this long. “Hey Betty, is my old room still my room if things between me and Peter don’t work out?”

“Of course, Y/N! I’m here for you til’ the end of the line.” Betty pulled you into a great, big hug.

“OK. Session dismissed.” Your professor echoed. “Everyone can go. Y/N and Betty, stay after please.”

You’d gotten kicked off of History, which was bittersweet. Seeing as History was Betty’s major, your professor had to keep her there - but he was sure ‘she’d flourish once you two were separated.’  

You and Betty walked out of the main entrance, Ned and Peter both waiting for you under the shelter at the top of the steps. Seasons had changed. It was far from the summer day Peter had to spotted you on the way to class. “We’re gonna run in, drink some cocoa. We’ll catch you guys later.” Ned shivered as Betty re-engulfed him in his jacket she’d been holding for the scent. 

Love was weird, but you wanted so bad to be a part of it.

You turned to Peter beside you. “And what are we gonna do?”

“Swinging.”

“Peter, I don’t swing. I’m perfectly happy in our relationship.”

Peter held onto your waist, your head nuzzled into his neck, not daring to look down at the city below you. This was the first time you’d ever experienced something like this, no doubt, but Peter was getting a strange sense of deja vu.

“Y/N!” You didn’t move from your place in his neck, but he knew you could hear him. “I love you. I trust you.”

“You’re-” You didn’t trust yourself to speak. “Fucking.” You opened one eye just to be sure you weren’t dreaming. “Spiderman!”

“I’m something more important: your boyfriend.”

Leave it to Peter Parker to get all sappy with you in the middle of the sky. 

You opened both your eyes now. “What about my soulmate?”

“What?” Startled, Peter lost controls of his webs for a moment, and knocked his rib on the side of a building. Luckily for you, you were lower to the ground.

‘Injury detected,’ Peter’s AI, Karen, stated.

“Yeah, I know, Karen.” Peter stated.

“Is it right there, babe?” Peter nodded, sat on the concrete, and pressed the spider in the middle of his suit. You watched as it became loose.

Your eyes flickered to the bandage on his ribcage. Maybe you had your answers as to how Peter always seemed to be hurt, but you needed your ultimate answer. And it was behind the bandage. “Right here, are you sure babe?”

You were on edge. You weren’t sure what you’d do if fate didn’t allow this to be true. For the sake of your heart.

So you peeled back the bandage.

And you found nothing there but a series of bruises. Your heart was crushed. “Nothing, Peter. There’s nothing there.” You had tears in your eyes, and before long you were ugly crying. This wasn’t a case of the novelty wearing off. This was a case of the novelty being broken down ‘til it can’t function no more.

“That’s a good thing baby, maybe I just need to go to a hospital.”

“No, I mean it Peter! There’s nothing there!” You pull up your heart to reveal a half full shirt printed on your body twenty one years ago, this exact heart only belonging to one other person in the world. But it wasn’t Peter. Even though he had just told you he loved you. “Fuck!” Your voice became incomprehensible, drowned out in tears and squeaks of sorrow. “I’m so sorry, but we can’t see each other any more. T-there is someone out there for me. You need to understand.”

And, unsure if your legs would take you all the way, you made your journey to Betty.

When you made it to Betty’s, she stood in the doorway with a rock on her finger. You couldn’t see that, though, through your tear blurred vision.

“Oh, poor baby.” She immediately embraced you, with Ned circling to your side to group hug you. You sniff into her shoulder. “He’s not-we’re not-”

“My darling.” She pauses. “I’m hoping you got the first month’s rent.” She laughed and you laughed before she pulled you back in her embrace and allowed you to feel what you needed to feel.

It’s often underestimated how miserable you need to be in order to cry yourself to sleep. You didn’t even know you did until you woke in your old room, your old band poster replaced by a calendar titled ‘Ned and Betty Forever’ and you laughed because Ned and Betty hadn’t even known each other longer than than six calendar months.

And you missed your windowsill on which you’d perch and overlook the breathtaking view of Brooklyn, and the even more awe-inspiring view of NYU students hurling after one too many, especially after yours and Betty’s parties.

“Do you guys even clean this room?” You called out. “You got a serious case of cobwebs.”

Peter lowered himself to meet your view. You were about to draw the blinds on him, only to realise Betty and Ned had gotten them removed whilst you were living with Peter.

“Hear me out.”

“I have no choice.” You chew on the flesh of your cheek. “You took a while to find me.”

“You left me for dead.”

It was hard to beat that one.

“Peter, if you have something to say, say it.”

“I’m sorry.” he’s swinging upside down, side to side and it slightly amuses you to think he’s getting dizzy if the last three months were at your expense. “I know how much this soulmate bullshit means to you, and I kept you longer than you would’ve liked. I’m also sorry ‘cause I knew I wasn’t your soulmate from the start.”

You gasp.

“But I wouldn’t in a billion years say that either you or I belong to someone else. MJ is my soulmate, yes. I love her with all my heart, but I believe destiny can change in the same world where people disappear for five years. MJ moved on. I’ve moved on. Who cares about a stupid tattoo? People go to parlours and give themselves their own all the time. People get them removed all the time. I’m getting my black dahlia erased.” Your face softens a little bit at that, you guard slightly down, but you refuse to wave a white flag without first making your point.

You rubbed your rib cage. “I care.”

“Y/N, you’re smarter than to deny what you feel. You’re an English major, studying Romeo and Juliet. You understand the world better than I do, and I’ve been to 600 different versions of it. You have a heart half full on your ribcage and I have half a flower on my foot. Tell me, would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?” 

You know the answer’s the same one Betty gave Ned tonight when he got down on one knee, the same response you’d give Peter if he was to ask you the same question, what you’d tell anyone if they queried if you’d go through what you went with Peter all over again.

You pull down his mask, and look deep into both of Peter’s eyes, and still him from swinging. “Love someone for loving you for a change.”

And you don’t have to say it, Ned and Betty hiss it out for you not so subtly from the windowsill in the livingroom. “Yes!”

So when you and Peter kiss, it’s not about novelties or concepts, fate or tomorrow, it’s just the beautiful bliss that is love, in this moment.

The unmistakable indicator that you and Peter are meant to be.

Fin.

Credit for the gif goes to: @/tomhollandnet

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Social Media AU - Richie Tozier comes out during a show

I decided that this AU works better with a written headcanon to go with it, and so I’ve included it underneath the cut. It’s a little rough because it’s been a LONG time since I sat down and properly wrote something, but I tried!

Enjoy!

Holy shit.

He couldn’t believe he’d done that.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His manager was talking shit in his ear, prowling after him like fuck knows what, talking about “there’ll be backlash for this” and “not part of the plan”, and even “you’ve ruined your whole fucking career”. The usual stuff, really. Richie couldn’t bring himself to give a shit though, not right now. His heart was pounding ridiculously loud in his chest, blood rushing through him and making him feel dizzy – adrenaline mostly, but also some anxiety too.

Somehow he found himself in his backstage dressing room, manager still nagging him and furiously demanding answers. Pull it together, Tozier, pull it together.

“What in God’s name were you thinking?!” Brad hissed, slamming his hand down on the dressing table; the bottle of water next to the mirror topped slightly from the force of it. “This is a PR nightmare!”

“I don’t give a shit,” Richie said simply, giving a shrug. “What can I say, man? Gotta be true to myself.”

A vein seemed to throb in his manager’s forehead. “You just announced that you’re gay in front of hundreds of people, Richie, most of whom are within the demographic that are the least accepting of homosexuality! You think you’re the first gay person to be in this position? Because you’re fucking not, okay, there’s a reason PR is a thing! Your image is going to be ruined within just a few short hours of all of this!”

“So you want me to lie about it?” Richie snapped. “I’m done lying, okay? I’m done with the dumb girlfriend jokes, I’m done with the misogynistic shit that I’m having to recite, I’m fucking done! I shouldn’t be ashamed about this, it’s 2017 for fuck sake!”

“Alright, sure, it’s a more accepting time, but your fan base...in case it escaped your notice, you have a certain demographic, and it’s not ‘woke’ gay people. The people who came to your show tonight wanted to see the Richie Tozier they know and love, they wanted those jokes and that humor - not your life story and an impromptu coming out!”

“Well, tough shit to them - like I said, if I’m doing these shows, I’ll do it with my own jokes, not hiding who I am anymore.”

“Richie, it’s not that simple-”

There was a knock on the still-open door; a stagehand gawked at them, a little nervously, before clearing her throat. “Um… I’m sorry to interrupt, I… Well… These guests have VIP passes, and they wanted to see Rich- I mean, Mr Tozier right away.”

Behind her, Richie could see the rest of the Losers Club waiting awkwardly, clearly trying not to look at him or his manager. He cleared his throat and gave what he hoped was an at least somewhat polite nod. “Yeah, they’re friends of mine. Thank you. Brad,” He turned to his manager and gave him a meaningful look. “Some privacy please?”

Brad straightened his blazer but nodded too. “Of course. I have...things to try and fix. We’ll discuss this later, Richie.”

He waited until both the stagehand and his manager were out of earshot before gesturing for his friends to come into the dressing room; all of them looked nervous, clearly trying to pretend that they hadn’t overheard the argument, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind - he was just so glad to see them all right now.

“So…” He said, closing the door behind them and trying to look like he was holding it together. “What- What did you think?”

“You were great, Richie,” Bill said sincerely - and that seemed to make the others more comfortable too, judging by how they all started to smile and rush to embrace him.

“You did a wonderful job, Richie,” Beverly told him, giving him a squeeze and beaming at him. “You had us all laughing the entire show.”

Ben was grinning widely. “Far funnier than any of your old material, that’s for sure.”

“You were actually funny,” Stan said, though he was smiling fondly. “Never thought I’d say that, Trashmouth, but it’s true - if only you were that funny when we were kids.”

“Ha, fuck you too, Stan Urine,” Richie joked, but he was unable to stop himself from exhaling in relief. “I’m glad you all enjoyed the show - was kinda worried it wouldn’t get the same laughs as my old stuff.”

“Your old stuff was fake,” Mike brushed off, giving him a kind smile. “We could see it was really you up there, being yourself.”

Richie felt a little dazed by all the attention; he was briefly aware of Bill and Mike both patting him on the back, of Stan and Patty sharing a small laugh as they recounted something he’d said during the show, Audra congratulating him and saying how happy she was to finally meet all of her husband’s friends, Ben grinning widely, Beverly holding his arm and stating that she was so proud-

Eddie.

Fuck.

“Has anyone seen Eddie?” He blurted out, unable to stop himself. Everyone else fell into silence. “Oh shit. Fucking shit-”

“He just went out for some air,” Beverly said quickly, though she looked uncertain. “I think it’s just...a lot for him.”

“I gotta go find him,” Richie muttered, immediately heading for the door. “Fucking fuck...”

Ben’s arm stopped him before he could touch the handle. “Rich, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“No, I need to apologize to him, I need to explain-”

“Richie,” Bill said quietly. “You just said you’ve been in love with him since we were kids, in front of hundreds of people. Everyone will know by tomorrow, even if they weren’t at tonight’s show. It’s a lot for him to take in.”

Something anxious and vile reared up in Richie’s chest, making him feel like it was difficult to breathe. “I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked this up, oh fuck...I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Richie-”

“It’s okay, Richie, don’t panic-”

“Shit, what’s he gonna think?! Fuck, I’ve ruined our whole friendship, what the fuck is wrong with me?!”

“You haven’t fucked anything up, Richie.”

“Rich, please just breathe, okay?”

He was only somewhat aware of Beverly’s hand in his arm, gently pulling him over to the nearby chair and sitting him down. “Richie, honey, have some water and just focus on breathing, okay?”

Knowing he had no choice in the matter, he took a gulp from the water bottle she passed him, focusing on her voice and doing his best to push his fears away. Tonight was supposed to have been the opposite of this - he was supposed to be brave, to stand tall, to not be ashamed of who he was. Instead he was terrified, filled with regret and uncertainty.

A part of him was briefly aware of someone (Bill, he figured) saying they were going to find Eddie before stepping out of the room. A minute or so later, he noticed the others starting to filter out of his dressing room, muttering that they were going to give him some space to breathe and not overcrowd him - they’d wait for him outside. He could only hope that security had managed to get any fans waiting out back to go away - normally he didn’t mind signing autographs or saying hello to people, but after tonight’s show...no. He couldn’t.

You’ve really fucked this up, Tozier.

---

Beverly walked with him as they left, her presence welcome and calming; she didn’t speak, and he was grateful for that - he just knew that she understood, that she was on his side no matter what was to come. Then again, he was sure all the Losers would be there for him no matter what - they were like a family, he sometimes thought, a family of misfits and nobodies that found each other, found a group where they could be themselves.

Fuck, he loved his friends so much.

“You want me to drive?” Beverly asked finally when they reached the car park, looking around; the others were nearby, crowded together and talking amongst themselves. “Or do you have a limo these days, Mr Comedian?”

“Hilarious,” He said dryly. “No, but I have a driver sometimes. I can call him and tell him to head home for the night though.” 

They had nearly reached the others before Richie realized that all of his friends were there.

Eddie was there.

His throat closed up. No, no, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t-

“Eds,” Beverly said softly, giving him a kind smile.

Eddie gave a small nod, hands in his pockets and suddenly looking awkward. “Yeah… Erm… Hi, Richie.”

Everyone was silent. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife as they all debated what to do, none of them clearly sure of what to say in this situation. Richie tried to meet Eddie’s eye, only to find the other man staring at the floor resolutely; anxiety and worry gnawed at Richie’s insides at the sight. 

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of awkwardness, Mike cleared his throat and looked around at everyone. “How about we go grab a drink?” He prompted. “You know, to celebrate.”

“Sounds like a good idea, Mikey,” Bill sighed with relief, quickly glancing at Richie and Eddie. 

“We’re all booked in the same hotel, right?” Beverly decided quickly, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “How about we go for a drink at the bar? That way none of us need to worry about driving or trying to find our way home.”

The others murmured in agreement, though it was clear that things were still awkward. As they started to make their way out of the car park, Stan and Bill navigating and leading the way, Richie noticed Beverly’s hand leave his arm; before he could question her, however, he found himself face-to-face with Eddie - immediately his throat felt dry, voice mysteriously gone for once in his life.

“Richie.” Eddie’s expression was hard to read; he didn’t seem angry but he didn’t seem happy or pleased either, just...carefully neutral. “Look, we need to… We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” Richie managed. “I guess so.”

Eddie hesitated for a second or two before turning to call to the others over his shoulder. “We’ll meet you guys there.”

None of the other Losers commented on this; instead, Bill merely nodded and gestured in the direction that they were heading. “Sure. Take your time.”

As soon as their friends were far away enough not to overhear, Eddie looked at Richie pointedly. “Is there somewhere private we can go or…?”

“Err… Dressing rooms might still be open?” 

“And we won’t be overheard?”

“No. I have a private dressing room, dude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at this but gestured back towards the theatre. “Alright, fine. Lead the way, Trashmouth.”

Weirdly enough, the nickname made him feel more comfortable - it was almost like nothing had changed, like he didn’t just admit in front of hundreds of people that he was in love with this man, like he didn’t admit it in front of said man. For a moment, Richie allowed himself to think that everything would be fine; they’d talk it out, maybe be able to laugh it off, and it would be good. Not great, to be honest, but better than this hiding and lying.

---

Thankfully security had allowed him to go back to his dressing room, under the guise that he had “forgotten” something, and they didn’t ask about Eddie accompanying him - awkward questions would have made it much more humiliating for all parties involved, he thought. Richie wasted no time in opening the dressing room door to let Eddie in before closing and locking it for good measure, just to be sure that they wouldn’t be interrupted.

“Here, urgh… You take the chair, I can sit on the table,” He offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie brushed off, crossing his arms and suddenly avoiding his eye. “I’m kinda too nervous to sit.”

“Oh. Thank fuck, me too.”

He noticed Eddie’s lips quirk upwards, as if he was trying not to let himself smile - that was definitely a good sign. He waited for the other man to speak first, partly to be fair but also because, frankly, he had no idea what to say.

“So… Congrats on coming out?” Eddie finally offered - and then they both burst into laughter. “Fuck, that sounds so dumb.”

“Yeah, but it’s kinda cute,” Richie chuckled before he could stop himself - and then he froze up again. “I mean… I don’t mean…”

Eddie seemed to realize what he meant and his smile faded. “Right. That.”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Richie said quickly. “I should have told you in private or something, not on a fucking stage in a stand-up routine. I mean, I was going to imply that I’m gay as fuck, that was planned, but I wasn’t going to just put it out there like that, it just happened. And shit, I wasn’t even intending on saying all that about you, but I saw you sitting in the front row and… Jesus, Eddie, I just saw you laughing and I-”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupted, and the other man fell silent. “Look, man, this is all… Okay. Alright.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before speaking again. “What you said during the show about me…about how you feel...you meant it.”

Richie swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I meant it.”

“Since we were kids?” Eddie continued, waiting for the other man to nod. “Okay… Richie, I swear to God, if this is some practical fucking joke or whatever - something for you to get laughs or make fun of me or whatever dumb shit goes through your head - then I will punch you in the face right fucking now.”

“What? No, no this isn’t a fucking joke!” Richie retorted, almost offended by this accusation. “You think I would say all that shit on-stage in front of hundreds of fucking people just for a joke?! Fuck off.”

“Okay, okay, I know, I’m sorry, I just… It’s a lot to take in,” Eddie muttered. When his friend didn’t say anything, he cast a look at him, seeming to study his face, before sighing. “Rich, I’m not about to turn around and start screaming slurs at you just because you had a crush on me.”

“I didn’t-”

“I can see it on your face, dumbass. Richie,” He leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my friend - one of my best friends, actually. Nothing you say could make me hate you...well, not anymore than I do already.”

Richie gave a small, pained laugh, though the relief was evident on his face. “Right. Yeah. Thanks, Eds.”

For a long moment that seemed to stretch on for a lifetime, neither of them said anything else; Eddie’s hand remained on Richie’s shoulder, the taller man just looking at him gratefully. There was still a nagging feeling within him, something eating up at his insides and wondering if Eddie was just hiding any anger or disgust, maybe he just didn’t want to ruin a good night; they still hadn’t really addressed the whole “hey, I’m in love with my best friend Eddie” thing either, that could be awkward-

“Me too.”

Richie blinked. “What?”

Eddie’s hand fell away, and he merely just shrugged as he looked away from Richie. “Me too. I’m...I’m gay.”

“Oh. Oh. Eddie…”

“During the divorce proceedings with Myra, I...I started to think,” He continued, almost to himself. “Actually, it was before that, before I even left Derry. I would hate myself, you know, for every time I looked at a cute guy too long, every time I thought they were handsome in their best clothes or whatever. I’d push it away because I’d think it was not okay, that I was being disgusting or dirty or…”

Richie was stunned by this, suddenly at a loss for words. “Dirty? Come on, dude, you’re like the cleanest asshole I know - there’s not a microbe of dirt or whatever the fuck on you.”

“Hilarious. Really.” But Eddie wasn’t smiling. “Look, ever since the day we...we defeated IT, I’ve thought about it. I have. I thought about you helping me out before that fucking nightmare of a house collapsed, thought about you dragging my ass to hospital and demanding I get immediate attention, about how brave you were that day. After that I decided that I wanted to be brave too - you made me want to be brave and stand up for myself.” He paused. “That sounds cheesey as fuck, I know, but it’s true. And tonight, when you were telling your own jokes, stuff you’d written and worked hard on, I realized it again - that I want to be brave. I don’t want to be scared to admit it.”

“Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. But there’s something else, Rich...the only person I told before now is Bev, and that’s because she guessed, you know? She could tell, but I also knew she’d listen and not judge.” He took a deep breath. “When I was in the hospital, every time I woke up, you were there - you refused to leave me. The others would be there too, usually taking turns, but you didn’t do that - you were always there. And before that, when we were stuck in that fucking thing’s lair, I saw you…” His voice failed for a moment, and he hurriedly looked away. “Fuck, Richie, you were under the deadlights and I...I thought I was going to lose you. I couldn’t bear it, Rich - I just couldn’t. I had to do something, I had to save you even if it meant putting myself in danger.”

“Well…” Richie wasn’t sure what to say - this wasn’t how he imagined this conversation going at all. “It worked. I’m not dead.”

“No, I know. But do you get what I’m trying to say, Richie?” Eddie asked anxiously. “Why I’m telling you all this?” 

“I dunno, man,” Richie said dazedly, trying not to get his hopes up - he couldn’t, he couldn’t let himself think one thing and be brought down when it was not true, not if he could help it. “This whole night has been a clusterfuck for me, and I’m not entirely convinced I’m not high and hallucinating right now.”

It wasn’t true - he hadn’t been high in nearly five years, and he’d given up excessive drinking after reuniting with the Losers. He knew Eddie knew that already, but it was the first excuse he found himself latching onto.

“Jesus Christ, Richie.” The smaller man rolled his eyes but remained otherwise serious. “I’m trying to say that I’ve...I’ve liked you since we were kids too. Loved you, actually. God knows why since you’re an idiot who annoys the shit out of me, but damn it, I love you, Richie Tozier.”

“…Fuck.”

“I was never going to tell you,” Eddie admitted, folding his arms and looking rather uncomfortable. “Even though I decided I was going to try to be brave, that I wasn’t going to keep up with a sham of a marriage, I thought that you weren’t…you know. And I thought that even if you were, then I’d be the last one you’d want to be with.” Strangely, he gave a smile. “Fucking dumb, right?”

Richie nodded. “Very fucking dumb. Jesus, Eddie, do you not see the way I’ve been looking at you? Fuck, there’s been days you’ve given me boners in public just because I was thinking about you.”

“Urgh, too much information, asshole,” Eddie huffed – but the affection behind it was obvious, his facial expression softening. “So…where does this leave us, Richie? What happens next?”

“Next?” Richie considered this. “Well, being honest, I’d love to take you out and do this shit properly, but…”

“But?”

He hesitated, giving the other man a surprisingly serious look. “But that’s your choice – if you wanna stay friends, I respect that.”

To his surprise, Eddie huffed before stepping forwards; before Richie could say anything else, he was being kissed firmly on the mouth, hands cupping his face and pulling him close. He wasted no time in closing his eyes and kissing him back, his heart soaring as his entire body came alive.

For the first time all night, the panic and anxiety that had set him on edge flowed away completely: all he felt was exhilaration and relief – and love, love for this man in his arms. Suddenly it didn’t matter about what anyone else thought – whether ‘fans’ would send him hate online, how this could impact his entire career, his manager hounding him with how much he’d regret this – because none of it was important, not as important as this, as finally being able to hold the person he loved, who he’d always loved, and being able to be open with himself as well as those closest to him.

Yeah, Richie thought to himself blissfully, he didn’t regret his decision in the slightest.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Gratitude: I Do Now - Orson Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

Authors Note: ...Yeah, that GIF will do! Okay, so this one went through the works for reasons that don’t even matter anymore, and I wrote it anyway. Due to the nature of the original anon request our reader here is definitely gender neutral. This Is The First Thing - You Me At Six  / I Do Now - Brad Paisley Disclaimer: I own nothing but did write all the words. Premise: Relationship problems weren’t unusual, but this scenario is completely new to him. Trying to think on the good vs the bad, Krennic realises he’s got a lot to be grateful for... Words: 1811 Warnings: drinking  

_______ This is the first thing I thought This is the last thing that I want You were the first one I loved You were the first love I lost

You left it too late To change the way I think I'll never say never again Those words will never ever pass my lips --- I never knew how people wound up in a bar In the middle of the day Broken souls or broken lives From the choices that they made I didn't know how much I had to lose When I threw it all away But I do now, I do now Oh, I'd give anything If I could just go back in time somehow I wouldn't break your heart, I wouldn't break those vows ---

noun

the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.

I’ve never understood how people end up in a bar in the middle of the day...

Krennic watched the ring spin again; an endless loop of gold metal - the way even though he knew its size and shape it seemed to twist and break. Fitting for the situation, he thought and sighed. It slowed, the loops changing from entwining into one, to the single gold frame that declined to balance on its edge and fell with a clear sound - refusing to give up for a few seconds more before lying still.

He took another sip of alcohol; the kick sending a shiver to his system that he liked as he picked the ring up between his fingers again, and with a delicate spin started the whole process again.

I do now...

 *

You. Not that he would ever do this to forget you. On the contrary the more he drunk the more you filled his head. A book full of life lessons - some of them hard - could be written on what had gone on between the two of you. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Both submissive to everything he said, and controlling when you wanted to be. You broke his heart as much as you made him love you - as much as you fuelled an obsession he couldn’t fight and didn’t ever want to stop. And he hurt you too, because he could. Because he got jealous, possessive… because sometimes he had a quest for revenge and took it too far.  One endless circle, like this ring.

 So why was he here? In a little bar on some planet he didn’t much care for, let alone remember the name of. And why was Krennic trying to think of things to be thankful for? Because he simply had a lot to be grateful for when it came to you. Because as much as you fought, and drove each other crazy, you loved each other. At least, he hoped you did. And when Krennic was like this he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He leant his head in his palm and spun the ring again; the sound of it scratching across the surface of the bar as it twirled in place likely driving the other patrons crazy, but he didn’t care. One more sip and the drink was done; but he didn’t pass his glass to the bartender, merely held it out as the liquid was replenished. 

Gratitude.

Hard to show. Even harder to feel? Even cursing your name Krennic didn’t feel like it was hard to feel. Because he felt he always went about showing it wrong. Every time you’d picked him back up after a hard day, or being shouted down, every time you’d stayed and listened to his ranting, every time you’d loved on him to make him feel better... or feel something... you’d taught him so much that he couldn’t even think right now about how innumerable this list actually was. The way you would kiss him exactly when and where he needed it without him even having to ask. And the way you never made him say thank you; because you knew he was...

Krennic never thought he’d be grateful for fighting with anyone before you either. Long, passionate arguments - that never got physical, but with the sharp, brutally painful blows you often dealt each other, it sure would feel like it. But he learned how to wait it out, how to say just the right snarky thing at just the right time. How he wouldn’t even need words, just exactly the right look and he could finish and argument and win it. And Stars, how he needed that at work.

You also had a habit of sharing information with him. Information that was so vitally important in your remit of work. Both of you were in intelligence, and in that crisp white uniform. Of course, that on occasion led to you both turning up to work in jackets a few sizes different to usual. But that didn’t often matter, because you got to be surrounded by each other all day.

The secrets that otherwise passed between the two of you were each other’s to keep. And as far as he knew you both did. And with some of the things that had passed between you, he was surprised. Staring at that ring hard as this time it refused to fall; as it stilled it remained upright - and he spun it again, recklessly, to make sure it fell. With what you knew you could tear him down brick by brick. And he knew he’d never get up again from that. Dead and buried - if not even literally.

 Krennic mused this for a long while; how his gratitude was boundless... but his words were not. How he would think saying something like that would show weakness. That would be exactly why he was where he was now. By design caring gave you a bonded strength. In numbers, even if his first thought would be he was better off alone. Perhaps not on the battle field; but secretly he would always hope to not see you there. Protecting you could come at too great a cost...

 As soon as he felt a presence in front of him, he placed his hand over the ring and slid it from the counter. You didn’t see that the action attempted to say - even if he’d been doing the same thing over and over for hours... He bit his lip gently, followed by a small tongue roll and his sorrowful blue eyes raised from the dark wood to your face. Your arms folded, even though you wore a frown your expression was intrigued. You nodded to the counter “Someone special?” “That would be of very little consequence to you...” “Better than me?” He almost smiled; “They’re alright, yeah.”

It was good enough for you, for now. “Seems like an awfully lonely place to find yourself, Director...” you looked around, a couple of people who looked like they belonged here sat at a table at the back. A few other patrons scattered made him 1 of 5; and the only one sitting at the bar. He rose from his seat, finishing the last of his glass; “Perhaps. That doesn’t make me any less deserving of it.” “I think you do yourself a disservice...” “As do I.” But those blue eyes were still staring at you, so he wasn’t talking about himself. He paid his tab without even attempting to find the bar tender again and walked slowly along the length of the bar. You fell instep - but that physical barrier between you felt like the one you were really both putting up. You supposed you both had your reasons. If the rules of the Empire weren’t reasons enough...

You slipped under the end of the bar as you both made for the exit, both in silence and with the lack of a physical barrier you still maintained the gap between you. There were things you wanted to say to him. That you thought would slip away forever if you didn’t tell him now. But you couldn’t; so maybe they would have to. He was like having a mentor - and in a game you were both playing he was the only person you could trust.  You had much to thank him for; as much as enough political backstabbing to actually want to run a dagger through him yourself. But you forgave him for that; because you got to watch him shine... and Orson Krennic was at his best when he was shining. (Without noting that you also got to pull all the strings here too...)

 Outside the sun was shining and you both had to shield your eyes against it from the dingy little bar you’d both just spent time in. You noticed the ring hadn’t quite made its way back to his finger yet. “I would advise against the Empire finding you day drinking... Director.” He huffed; “Am I supposed to be grateful you did?” You gave a shrug, he was still just as mad at you as he was himself. “Better me than Tarkin...” Orson scoffed and turned back around “I don’t have enough in my system for this.” “I just don’t want to see you in trouble.” He paused at the honesty and his eyes flicked to yours - with heartfelt clarity. He could be, and bring out, the best of times and worst of times. But it was a balance. And it worked out for the both of you; somehow. You cared. You did it because you cared. And that was as much his reasoning too... he just hoped you knew that.

Krennic looked back to the door and swallowed hard; you weren’t going to move; he knew you were waiting for him to make his decision. And he couldn’t let you watch him do this to himself. He sighed, defeated and took a step back. But it was only a step, and his head bowed and his eyes cast back to the floor. So now you would wait for him to move. Still downcast his eyes traced back to you; and somewhere he found the courage to actually say it. “Thank you.” Your eyes widened a little in shock; what for? Dragging him out of a bar?  “... for your love...” Oh. Surprising. “...it is... the best and worst thing that ever happened to me...”

His hand delved back into his pocket and the gold band glinted in the sunshine; “you give me so much to be grateful for... I can’t ever say it enough...” Orson slipped it back onto his left hand and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers for a minute; “to the point where I think I just can’t say it...” he turned his body to you, and inclined his head; “So this might be that one time that I must.” His eyes met yours “I thank you...” but even yet, he turned away “but it may be a while before I am ready to return” his eyeline flicked over his shoulder; “enjoy your day, Y/N.”

And so you had to watch him walk away, with a smile and a shake of your head. You respected his feeling towards this enough not to follow. Thank you - it resounded in your head a couple of times. He said he didn’t say it enough. But he didn’t have to, because you knew. Of course you knew. It was always in his actions, always, even if he couldn’t see that. You turned to head in the opposite direction, with a quiet laugh to yourself. And in the same way he just had, you ran your thumb gently over the gold band that matched his;

No Orson, thank you. --- SIX Virtues down. SIX. Guys and Gals! We’re almost there!

2 Sins in the works...! @dennismitchell @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad. (With one changed username ;) )

[brickbled]

at graduation, laura dannon shows up next to his new car.

the car in question is a sedan whose brakes squeal every time he applies more than the barest hint of pressure and a brake light on the verge of going out. despite all that, it’s a graduation gift from his mother, and maybe the last thing between them that’s understandable to both parties involved. it explains plenty, too - the extra hours, the papers she kept trying to hide from him. even shredded one, which was frustrating. for a bit he thought they were going to file for bankruptcy.

but no. a car, whose hood is now occupied by laura. she perches there, legs crossed, delicate, a black beret tilted jauntily to one side on her head and her eyeliner perfect. he approaches. he showed up to get his diploma from the line. no reason for the ceremony. it’s for the family, and he’s got one relevant family member who was working this morning. 

“we’ve got nothing to say to each other,” brendan says, manila envelope tucked underneath his arm. he circles past her, or tries to. she extends a leg to get in his way, and he stops to look at her.

laura still smiles the same way. she looks a little thinner. dark circles under the eyes. juvie’ll do that to you. he wonders if she saw jerr in there. she must be out on good behavior, the long game for her. “i disagree, brendan.”

“keep my name out of your mouth. i know you’re not kara but you’re close enough, which means that now that i’m done with all this, we’ve got nothing to do with each other. different circles, right? sure, upper crust won’t want to look sideways at you right now, but you’ll worm your way back in soon enough. good behavior.” he scoffs, newly earned diploma folding slightly under his grip. “knew you’d act the part long enough to get out.”

laura reaches out in the same way kara might, fingers reaching for his jaw. he pushes her arm away a little too hard, maybe. “still angry about emily?” she asks coolly. it’s not really a question. they both know he’s still angry. “or —”

she doesn’t get to finish the statement. he slams the damn envelope down on the hood next to her, his hand on top of it, and it’s enough of a noise to make her still and stop mid-sentence. good. he doesn’t trust anything she says. can’t, even if he wanted to. the sun is reflecting off the hood of the car. makes his eyes ache. looking at laura makes his eyes ache, back how his whole body ached ached during everything. “you want to talk about her? sure. you can. she’s dead. no way to harm her any more than you already did. but you aren’t talking about her to me.” 

they linger there in silence for a moment. with her position on the hood of the car, they’re eye to eye, and he breathes out, leaning back.

it’s going to be a little while longer before the ceremony’s actually done. laura has some time before the parking lot starts to fill up with ex-students on their way to college and the rest of their lives. she’ll want to be out of there before then. he gives this conversation five minutes before she slips away into her car, parked in the far corner of the lot, and drives out towards the wealthy edges of san clemente.

“saw jerr in there.” laura’s fingers fumble for a cigarette. “have a lighter?”

“you know i don’t smoke. so no. i don’t have a lighter.” they tilt away from each other as if on instinct. he watches as she slides a cigarette out of the box. not her usual brand. maybe she was looking to change up something, shift the field of play with all the little gestures. 

“your car does.”

“i’m not letting you in my car.”

“why? what’re you so worried about?” she toys with the cigarette, watching him. 

“you, generally.”

“mm.” laura leans back a little, tilting her head back and her face towards the sun. must be nice to get that much unadulterated sunlight again. “jerr still believes you were his friend. you know that? i can see why you decided to give him up to the bulls. he’s nice. reminded me of brad, just a little. more your speed than mine, though. easy to play.” her gaze drops back to his, eyes wide and doelike, as if there’s any truly tender part of her. “i’m curious — are you still playing, brendan?”

he can see what she’s doing. the lines she’s trying to make, the web she’s trying to weave. “i’m not like you, laura.”

“really? emily was terrified of you too. of what you would do for her, not to her, but the same feeling. did you know that?”

“she came to me for help.”

“when she thought she was all out of options.”

“i’m not relitigating this with you.”

“and you’re not proving me wrong, either.”

he spits a curse under his breath and snatches up the envelope, maneuvering around towards the passenger side of the car. the envelope ends up on the seat, tossed in haphazardly, and he slams the door shut hard enough to rock the car a little. laura puts down one hand on the hood to keep herself steady and waits for him to circle back around.

“so you’re out,” she says.

“that’s about the way of it. keeping my head down.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“not for you to believe or not. it’s for me.”

laura smirks. “brendan frye, doing something for himself? i doubt it. but i imagine that you’d be done with all this, at least.” her unlit cigarette sweeps towards the bleached white building called san clemente high school. for one blissful moment he imagines the whole wretched place could evaporate under her touch. maybe it would. “you were always above all of it. could’ve run it all if you wanted to. but i guess you just didn’t want to be seen — once you got out from under kara, anyway.”

“uh-huh.” he slips between his sedan and a worn-out suv in order to reach the driver’s door. not a lot of room to open the door. 

“so where’re you going?”

he knows what she’s asking. instead, he yanks open the door a few inches. “home, most likely.”

laura turns on the hood of the car, her heel hitting the tire. “cute. you know what i mean.”

“give it a few months and i’ll be heading to college,” he says, settling into the seat. 

before brendan can even turn the key in the ignition or reach for the handle of the door, laura has draped herself over the open door, stopping him from doing it without smashing in her forearms. and maybe he should do it, just to spite her. but as he reaches for the handle, laura’s voice rises up again. still soft, but it’s easy enough to hear with how quiet it naturally is. “we could’ve done a lot together, you know.”

“i’m not brad.” it’s something he’s said before. 

“i know,” she says. “that’s the thing about you. you aren’t like anyone.”

she smiles. no lipstick. that’s the thing about her. she’s different than kara in how she presents herself. there is always something abjectly delicate about her, like she’s attempting purity. then he thinks of emily’s shoes in that drainage tunnel, the limp blonde strands of her hair damp in the water. her fingers. the cheap blue plastic bracelets on her wrist, clicking and clattering as he lifted the body. 

“maybe,” he says evenly.

laura’s arms move away from the door. she smiles even wider, a flash of white teeth. “be seeing you, brendan.”

“i doubt that,” he says, reaching for the door and yanking it shut the second her fingers are out of the way.

in the stuffy silent heat of the car, he watches her walk across the parking lot. a few rows away, he sees her dig a lighter out of her pocket and light her cigarette, smoke curling away from her up into the blue sky.

he fiddles with the radio for a moment, trying to keep himself busy until he watches her car pull out of the space and pull out onto the street. as if on cue, people begin to spill out of the gymnasium in caps and gowns.

watching them, he’s not sure that he’s ever felt more distant before. different worlds. different people. he still loves this miserable town more than anywhere else in the world.

that doesn’t mean it’s any good for him, or that he’s any good for it either.

[nostalgicatsea]

This is my second go at filling out the year-end writing meme that @sineala​ and muccamukk did on Dreamwidth because my computer freaked out and shut down on me without warning while I was writing and my entire post was lost. I was almost done with it so you can imagine how upset I was.

So here’s my reflection on my writing in 2018! This is going to be long. You can read it in full here on Dreamwidth as well.

All of these stories are Steve/Tony unless stated otherwise.

April

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin (MCU) - Post-Civil War soulmate AU, 18,611 words

May

The Great Silence of Loss (MCU) - Post-Infinity War fic about grief and hope vs. despair, 1,075 words

Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude (MCU) - Tony thinks about his relationship with Steve while they wait for a train, 844 words

June

Signals Between Two Satellites (MCU) - Post-Infinity War angst and hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony seeing each other for the first time after the snap, 2,290 words

August

Hidden Declaration (Generation Kill, Brad/Ray) - Ray tries to convince Brad to get matching tattoos with him, 728 words

You and Nothing Else (MCU) - Steve doesn’t like seeing Tony stressed out and unhappy over their wedding plans, 785 words

Every Last One of My Demons (MCU) - Post-Infinity War emotional hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony talking after having nightmares, 1,705 words

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction (Avengers Academy) - Steve bids on Tony in their school’s charity auction, wrongly assuming that he’s auctioning off a date, 2,727 words

December

A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars (MCU) - Endgame trailer fic about Tony reflecting on how he’s come full circle from Afghanistan in a way, 2,732 words

Last year I wrote and posted:

Nine stories and 33,333 words, including the 1,836 words I wrote on New Year’s Eve for a Cap-Iron Man comm gift fic but didn’t submit because I wasn’t happy with it.

Overall thoughts:

Last year was a productive writing year for me! My 2018 New Year’s resolution was “to build on my progress and write even longer pieces and more works that I’m proud of.” Suffice to say, that happened. In the past two years, I went from writing one or two fics a year that were at most 1-2.5k to writing my longest fic at the time I wrote that New Year’s post (Multitude of One (4,277 words)) to the number of words and fics above.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would last year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

I didn’t have a specific goal, but nine fics is more than half my fic count on AO3 and the other eight were posted over the course of four years so yeah, WAY more than I thought I’d write. I don’t know how that happened especially as I get stuck while writing all the time.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

Brad/Ray and Gen Kill. I never thought I’d write a GK story because just the thought of doing so is intimidating. Ray Person is intimidating. I love him, but he’s so easy to get wrong and I’ve seen people get him totally wrong or get close but still fall short. I didn’t even want to bother trying until @luxover​ gave me a Brad/Ray prompt and I wrote Hidden Declaration. Just to make things both harder and easier, lux is a good friend so I hoped she would be gentle even if she hated it lol, but I wanted to make her happy because she’s my friend. She’s also the only person I know who writes Ray perfectly so, you know, no pressure. But I wrote a thing! In a fandom I didn’t ever expect to write in!

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

A toss up between “angst with catharsis/grief and healing” and “post-Infinity War.” Or maybe “I never thought I’d write this.” It’s funny because after Infinity War came out, Alanna (aslightstep​) and I talked about how it didn’t fill us with the desire to write any fics based on it, and three of my fics from last year are post-IW ones (four if you include the one based on the Endgame trailer).

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin hits all three things.

What's your own favorite story of the year?

Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?I’m not sure it makes me the happiest, but it’s definitely the fic I’m proudest of and it so happens to be my longest and most popular one: Leaving Promises Against Your Skin again. LPAYS was the sequel to Multitude of One which, until I posted LPAYS, was my longest fic. I knew it would blow MoO out of the water, word count-wise. That was one of the reasons I was too afraid to write it because I didn’t know how to write long fics nor do I know how I wrote this one now that so much time has passed since I finished it. I’m proud of it not because it’s perfect and I love everything about it (a few things bother me about it actually) but because writing it was agonizing. I wanted to give up so many times.

The only reason I kept going was that I didn’t have that much of an option to do so as it was a STH fill. I’m proud of sticking with it. Once everything snapped into place, the words kept flowing…and flowing and within days, I wrote several thousand words more than I had expected the fic to be. This is how I felt once I was done. For the first time ever in all my years of writing, I got choked up over my own writing lol. I understand how great it feels to finish a long fic, write the scenes you had in mind for so long, and get to the ending that you envisioned from the start (I had the ending of LPAYS in mind while writing MoO even though I kept mum about it when people asked me what happened after the ending of MoO). I got so happy that I made my first photoset! That’s another unexpected thing that happened last year.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

A lot!

- I mostly write angst and never thought I would ever write unadulterated fluff with zero angst and I did so twice in 2018 with my first Avengers Academy fic, which also has a dash of humor (“humor”? I’m not really funny), and this wedding preparation fic, which also is an established relationship fic about marriage. I never thought I’d write those things either especially because wedding fics tend to bore the hell out of me and I never seek them out.

- Both of those fics were prompt fills (I filled four in total). I never take prompts because I get stuck and stressed out that I have writer’s block, but it worked out fine which I’m happy about as the prompts for the two fics were out of my comfort zone. I had no idea what to write for the cheese one, but I was determined to fill it. I can’t recognize myself. Fluff? Humor? No angst? Established relationship? Wedding preparations? Prompt fills? ME? What?!

- Long fics! I wrote my first one because eh, 4k doesn’t count as long even though it was long for me at the time.

- MCU Tony POV. MCU Tony scares me from a writing standpoint, so I avoided writing from his POV until LPAYS and now I have two fics with his POV.

I learned that what may seem or be impossible to do doesn’t stay that way and that trying to get out of my comfort zone can be incredibly rewarding. It’s worth a shot even if I fail because I gain more experience, and it makes me feel hopeful about growing as a writer. It’s hard to think that you’ll ever improve or be able to write things you can’t write when you’re frustrated or not feeling great about your writing.

My best story of this year:

I don’t remember what I put the first time around.

My most popular story of this year:

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin

had the most bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos. Not surprising because it’s a sequel to my most popular fic and it’s a soulmate AU which tends to draw people in.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Hidden Declaration has the fewest bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos without contest, but considering the size and lack of activity in the fandom (which is why I don’t care that no one has read it, but I generally don’t obsess over those markers anyway especially if it’s a gift like this one was), I can’t exactly say it’s underappreciated by the universe.

You and Nothing Else had the lowest comments to hits ratio, but it performed well on Tumblr where I originally posted it, so I have to pick Every Last One of My Demons which had the lowest kudos to hits and bookmarks to hits ratios of ALL my fics from 2018 and went a bit under the radar on Tumblr too. I thought it would do better because hurt/comfort! Post-Infinity War! Oh well.

My least favorite story this year:

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction. I’m not good with humor, and the words kept coming but kind of in a “oh no, I can’t stop word vomiting” way. But hey, I never write dialogue-heavy fic so there’s that. And it’s a silly and fun fic for a silly and fun prompt (“cheese wheel”...I almost ended up ignoring the prompt because cheese wheel?) and universe. RIP soon, AvAc. You’ll live on in our hearts and in fandom.

Most fun story to write:

Hidden Declaration! Ray was super fun, which is a big surprise as I said he’s scary to write. There are one or two lines in the story hat I want to tweak because I think they toe the line in being “too much” (as I said, he’s very easy to get wrong, and many people go overboard with him), but he’s really fun to write and I love him!

Story with the sweetest moment:

You and Nothing Else. The part where Steve tells Tony he doesn’t care about what their wedding is like and Tony not only gets what he means, but he meets him halfway because what he ultimately decides on reminds him of Steve.

Story with the single sexiest moment:

Haha I don’t have any sexy moments. The closest would be Hidden Declaration, where Brad imagines Ray beneath him with a tattoo that matches his (he totally learns how to tattoo so that he can ink Ray himself).

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

None. I didn’t do anything that’s more horrible than what I usually do.

Most overdue:

LPAYS. It took a year for me to post although I only seriously thought of writing it and began writing it months after I posted MoO.

Most eye roll-worthy title:

A tie between Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction which is awful, but I got stuck on a title for that one, and Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude, which is so pretentious (that colon!) and long for such a short fic about nothing. I couldn’t decide between the two phrases separated by the colon, so I used both.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

LPAYS. It’s written in Tony’s POV, but it helped me explore Steve a bit and feel better about him. A lot of people, including me, were upset with Steve after CA:CW and hated his letter because it made little sense (I still think this way). I also kept thinking about the line “I can see now I was really sparing myself” and tried to figure out what he meant by that. For once, Steve was selfish and it led to disastrous consequences, but his selfishness came from losing so much in his life and not wanting to lose more and...I really do think he didn’t want to lose Tony and was afraid he’d lose him and that Bucky would fall out of his grasp again. He was a coward, but because he cared too much, not because he didn’t care at all.

Hardest story to write:

LPAYS again! I knew what would happen after the ending of MoO and had the ending of LPAYS in mind too while writing the ending of MoO, but I kept mum about it even though people wanted to know and asked me about it. I couldn’t figure out what scenes to write other than one BARF scene and the ending which I desperately wanted to get to. I couldn’t figure out how to deal with the idea of forgiveness, how Tony could ever heal, and how Steve could earn back Tony’s trust again. It was so, so hard and I was miserable until things clicked and then 8k became 10k...which became 12k. I thought I’d stop there, but then it became 18k. I couldn’t stop which felt so liberating, fun, and rewarding because it had been so difficult to write until that point.Thank you to everyone who listened to me, brainstormed with me, and held my hand through the process as I whined and suffered.<3 I couldn't have written it without you.

Biggest Disappointment:

I couldn’t write a comm gift fic that I was happy with in time, and I wanted this year to be the year that I finally wrote one. Hopefully I’ll be able to participate in another writing-related Cap-Iron Man event this year! Oh, and I didn't write that other soulmate fic that's been on my mind for years.

Biggest Surprise:

Everything under the “writing risks” part. Um...that LPAYS did so well. There’s a risk with long sequels; the longer a oneshot fic is, the less likely it is to get as much feedback as say, something that’s in the 5-7K range (I forgot the exact range, but someone put up stats about this), and if it’s a sequel? People back out because they think they won’t know what’s going on unless they read the first story. I was that “Troy from Community enters a room on fire with a pizza box, smiling and then alarmed” gif when MoO did incredibly well, and I sort of feel like that with LPAYS, even if MoO has double the bookmarks, comments, kudos, and hits.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story:

I don’t know.

Favorite opening line:

I’m not extremely fond of any particular opening line from last year. This is easier with opening paragraphs. If I had to pick, though, it’s “They were like bedtime stories, his nightmares” from Every Last One of My Demons.

Favorite closing line:

The one from LPAYS and the last four paragraphs of that are my favorite closing lines ever, but they’re spoilery so I’ll pick something different. My favorites have to be from Every Last One of My Demons, Signals Between Two Satellites, and A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars. I’ll pick two.

Favorite in terms of meaning: Hope, he thought as Tony turned to look at him, exhausted and afraid and beautiful from Signals.

Tony is the embodiment of hope for Steve!!!! I honestly think that Tony embodies that for the Avengers and especially Steve in so many ways, even in the MCU; it’s not as apparent as the other universes, but if you think about what Tony did for Steve in all their movies together and in Infinity War, which they aren’t in any scenes together, it makes sense.

Favorite in terms of writing/prettiness/mood: “Tony,” he heard the voice whisper again, and it was all their voices all at once, calling him to them from here and beyond, all with him as he drifted off, into the boundless darkness, into the stars and the lights he had loved and then feared and loved again from A Long, Final Rest.

In conclusion:

I’m proud of myself.

Fic-writing goals for 2019:

I’m not going to try to top what I did in 2018. I don’t think that’ll be possible. What I hope to do in 2019, other than write my MTH fill for @sabrecmc​, of course, is to finish the two fics that have been on my mind for years: the reconciliation/reunion fic and the one that everyone must have heard me complain about by now as I’ve been whining about it on and off for about 4.5 years. Yes, that one. That soulbond fic. The one that I tried to abandon, but even if I put it aside for a long time, I can never actually let go of. It haunts me. I WANT TO BE FREE. I WANT TO BE FREE. If you’re curious, the two fics are the second and third fic on this post. I have some other stories I want to write, but those two are my only priorities. PLEASE, I WANT TO WRITE AND POST THEM EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW HOW.

Anyway, happy 2019. One more year until 2020! What a scary thought. I wish you all a prosperous, joyous, creative, and prolific year.

[andthest0ryg0es]

Do You Really Want Me - Chapter 28

Shannon meets Jared at Izzy’s place. The back of Jared’s SUV is overflowing with boxes, bags and baby items that the brothers unload into the house.

“Did Kate ask where you were going in the middle of the night?”

“They were asleep when I left. I left her a note,” Shannon tells him, dropping the last of the bags in what was Kate’s room.

A look of panic crosses Jared’s face. “You didn’t tell her what we’re doing, did you?”

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid. She’d kill me if she knew I was helping you,” Shannon responds. “I’m really impressed, bro. Giving her this is a big deal.”

“We can move everything to my place if she ever forgives me,” Jared shrugs.

It takes the guys nearly all night to finish unpacking everything and setting it all up in the room. Jared stands in the middle of the room, staring at the crib. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I know you two didn’t…I don’t know what I was thinking, but that asshole Brad just gets under my skin. It’s like he’s just waiting on me to fuck up with her. He has enough fucking kids. He’s not getting his hands on mine.”

Shannon laughs, “You’re a fucking moron. She’s not ‘with’ Brad, you idiot and I know damn well she told you that. If you’re not going to trust her then trust me, the girl cries herself to sleep in my fucking wife’s arms every night because of your sorry ass. Kate made Izzy get out of the house. They went shopping and to lunch. Brad ran into them at lunch. He apologized to her for that shit back in New York and then he proceeded to congratulate her on getting married and she burst out in tears. The man wrapped his arms around her to protect her from the fucking cameras that instantly surrounded them. They weren’t fucking kissing.”

“Married?” Jared says sarcastically.

“He had misinformation,” Shannon spits at his little brother. “She cries herself to sleep every night and she cries when she’s sick and I help her. She wishes it was you. She doesn’t say it but I can see it. I know she loves you and I know she’s stubborn as hell and I know Kate will do anything to keep her safe but she also will do anything to see Izzy smile and I know that I would love to be able to fuck my wife and that’s hard to do with Izzy in my bed every night. Go home, get some rest so that you’re not tired when you see her later,” Shannon orders as the guys gather the boxes, taking them to the dumpster around the corner.

***

Izzy hasn’t been home five seconds when Kate calls. “Are you okay?”

“Kate, I just walked inside. I’m going to take a bath. I love you but please go enjoy some time with Shannon.” She promptly disconnects and turns her phone off. She starts up the stairs but a knock at the door stops her and she reluctantly turns to answer the door. She’s surprised when Jared is staring back at her. “Jared?”

“Can I come in?” he asks her softly. “I need to talk to you, Izzy, please.”

“Jared, I was just going to take a bath. I just got home,” she says, trying to find an excuse for him to leave, when he grabs her hand.

Izzy looks at his hand holding hers and looks up to see him pleading with her with his eyes. “Iz, please. I know you’re mad. I just...I’m sorry.”

Izzy pulls her hand away and closes her eyes. “You’re always sorry,” Izzy bites back. “You’re sorry for leaving. Kate’s sorry for making me go out with you in the first place. Shannon’s sorry he’s not you. I don’t need more sorry’s in my life.”

“I know. I know, Iz, please.” Jared says placing his hand on her arm and wedging himself through the door inside. “You don’t know anything. You think I’m mad. I’m not mad Jared,” Izzy says, closing the door and turning. Jared’s walking up the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“To turn the tub on for you,” he says. Izzy huffs and follows him up the stairs.

“I don’t need you to turn the tub on. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself,” Izzy insists, following him, this time she grabs his hand and stands firmly on the step beneath him. “You’re not listening to me, Jared! Please, just go. I’m not mad. It’s over. I just want my baby to be happy and loved.”

“Iz, please. I just want to…please let me fix this,” Jared’s voice crumbles and he scoops her into his arms desperate to hold her close. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I miss you. I love you...I…”

“No!” Izzy cries, prying herself from his embrace. “I can’t do it anymore. What happens when the baby is here and you leave us again? How will I take care of our baby when I won’t be able to take care of myself?”

“Iz..I swear to you on my life, I’m not leaving. I never meant to walk away, I was angry and confused and needed a minute to think, that’s all. I swear. Please, you gotta trust me,” Jared begs, reaching for her again.

“Please go. I’ve thought a lot about this. I spoke with Emma and gave her all the details on my next appointment. You’re welcome to be there if you want. That’s your choice. I’ll never keep you from the baby but I won’t let you hurt us either,” she cries, refusing to look at him. She pushes past him up the stairs and closes her bedroom door behind her, locking it. She falls to the floor in tears, fully expecting him to start yelling, chasing her up the stairs. His yells never come. The door never slams.

After a few minutes Izzy stands up and opens the door, wiping her tears away. The door is cracked in Kate’s room and the light is on. She closes her eyes and wipes another tear away, knowing Kate isn’t there, but mindlessly crosses the hall to turn the light off. A dimmer light coming from inside catches her eye and she opens the door. The room is completely transformed- a perfect nursery. “Jared,” she cries to herself. She steps further into the room, taking in a deep breath. Everything is perfect, exactly the way she would do it herself, and she breaks again, falling to the floor, the reality of raising this baby without him sinking in. “Jared,” Izzy cries out, mumbling to herself through her tears, knowing he’s gone. “I don’t wanna do it alone. I do need you...please. I’m so...”

“Iz,” Jared’s voice fills the room as he enters. Izzy looks so small, vulnerable, reaching for him.  “I’m here,” he tells her, joining her on the floor in the middle of the room, cradling her in his arms. “I didn’t leave. I’m here.”

“I’m so scared,” she cries, fisting his shirt. “I don’t really want you to go. ”

“I know. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m here. Baby, I’m not going anywhere. I swear to you. I swear to our baby. You’ll never be alone,” he assures her, holding her tight as she sobs into his chest. “I’m so sorry. I never should have walked away at the beach. I should have known something was wrong. I should have known you weren’t just sick. I should have… marry me, please Iz,” he blurts out in the middle of his desperate plea. Izzy freezes and they stare at each other in complete silence.

“Izz!!!!! I’ve been calling you. I can’t believe you turned your phone o…” Kate stomps up the stairs and walks into the room, interrupting Jared’s proposal.

“Izzy, marry me,” Jared insists forceful, trying to hold Izzy’s attention now that Kate has entered the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you here? Why is she crying again?” Kate fumes when she examines the room. She marches right up to Izzy and Jared, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him away from her by force.

“What did you say?” Izzy asks Jared, confused and a little shellshocked, ignoring Kate’s rant, despite the look of panic on Jared’s face as Kate yanks him from her arms. “Kate, stop!” Izzy orders, grabbing Jared’s hand and pulling him back down. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

“You’re not. You’ve got me and Shannon,” Kate tells her but Izzy never takes her eyes off Jared. “Iz! He left you when you needed him.”

“Kate, there’s a reason you and Shannon never planned to have kids. And this baby isn’t yours or Shannon’s. It’s not your responsibility,” Izzy reminds her. “I’m not that selfish and I do need him.”

“You don’t have to do this just because he’s the fucking sperm donor,” Kate sneers in Jared’s direction. “This is L.A. not Louisiana.”

“Kate,” Izzy mutters. “I miss him. I want him here. I need him.”

“He put some baby shit in a room and asks you to marry him and that’s supposed to make everything he did to you just go away?” Kate spits, stomping her foot and rolling her eyes in disbelief. “Izzy, he left you on the beach alone in the dark. Did you forget?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Jared offers lamely, his fear of Kate overwhelming his desire to make her understand right this moment.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? You abandoned the mother of your child, and that fucking child, and called her a whore, not for the first time, by the way, and now we’re just supposed to think you’re going to show up and be there and…” Kate’s face is red with rage and she shakes as she screams at him but she can’t keep going when she sees the anguish on Izzy’s face. She pauses just long enough for Jared to speak up.

“Kate, this isn’t any of your business!” Jared starts raising his voice defensively as he stands.

“You know what, that was always your problem. Izzy is my business. I would do absolutely anything for her, I would die before I hurt her. Can you say the same thing?” Kate questions him, not backing down. Izzy sits on the floor too paralyzed by fear and indecision to move to intervene. She pulls out her phone and texts Shannon, hoping he drove Kate here or is nearby.

“That’s why I walked away!” Jared roars at Kate. “She kept this from me and I could have hurt her because I didn’t know. How am I supposed to take care of her when she’s too busy running to you to tell me anything? And what the hell were you thinking letting us tie up my pregnant girlfriend and do all that?! There have always been three people in this fucking relationship and I shouldn’t have to be her second thought.”

“If you took care of her I wouldn’t have to!” Kate shouts back in his face. “You think I wanted to have to clean up your mess on my goddamned wedding night? I thought because you were Shannon’s brother you’d be as good for her as he was for me. I can’t believe how fucking wrong I was. What happened to all that “you’re a Leto, you’re family” bullshit, huh? She’s carrying a Leto and you didn’t give a damn.”

“I made a mistake and I’ve said a lot of shit I didn’t mean in anger, but I’m trying to fix it. It would be a hell of a lot easier to fix if I didn’t have to fight my way through you every time to get to her. You’re my sister now, Kate. You are family. And so is Izzy. I would consider her family whether she was carrying my baby or not. I love her. I’m not going anywhere,” Jared insists, trying desperately to calm himself even as he braces for a bigger fight with Kate.

“Okay, I think we’re done here for today,” Shannon interrupts, pulling Kate away from Jared and into his arms despite her fighting him. “Iz, you okay?” he asks the crying girl on the floor, who nods in response.

“Fuck, Iz, I’m sorry,” Jared rushes to hold her again, cradling her head in his chest while she tries to calm down.

Shannon drags Kate out of the room, grateful for once that he’s stronger than her. ��Get in the car, Kate,” Shannon orders when he releases her in the hallway. Kate crosses her arms and refuses to descend the stairs. “Babe, you’ve got to let them do this. Please trust me and know that I wouldn’t have helped him set that up or let him be here unless I really thought he was ready to fix this. I love Iz just as much as you do, sweetheart,” Shannon assures his wife.

“You helped him?!” Kate starts to shriek at him and Shannon picks her up off her feet, rushing down the stairs and out the door with her as she flails angrily in his arms. Shannon sets her down outside his jeep, trapping her against the vehicle with his arms on either side of her.

“They have enough problems to work out as it is. I love you, but you have to stop meddling in their relationship. My brother isn’t a bad guy, he’s just clueless. Izzy trusts you implicitly and if you don’t give him a chance she will never let him in. Jared has done nothing but try to be what she needs from the beginning and he’s sabotaged himself plenty of times but he loves her. Let him love her,” Shannon pleads.

“He…” Kate starts and is quickly cut off.

“He is never going to fuck up this bad again, I guarantee it. They need each other right now. They’re having a baby together! At least give them a chance at being a family,” Shannon begs.

“You’re right,” Kate grumbles. “I hate it when you’re right.” Kate starts to move towards the house but Shannon holds her in place.

“Where are you going?” he asks, squeezing her in a bear hug.

“I want to go hug them,” Kate tells him, pouting when he doesn’t release her. “He asked her to marry him. I need to…”

“Later, baby. Let’s give them a little time to talk,” Shannon insists, helping Kate into the car and checking she’s buckled in.

Tag List: : @msroxyblog @bradlea23 @babiiface16 @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious @snewsome756 @missechelon @iridescxntsolitude @meghan12151977  @jletos-guinness-girl @flowhi

If you’d like added or removed from the list please let me know!

Hey look! I remembered the tag list this time! THANK YOU guys for all the RTs and messages on the last chapter! We hope this chapter makes you feel a little better now. <3′s

Thank you @jletolove4eva for being the evil mistress that you are!

[hufflepuff-morganne]

someone like you: maxwell x mc

okay so I was jamming to adele on the way to work a few days ago and thought of this?? this is the first time I’ve written fan fiction so I don’t really know what I’m doing, but like Brad (daniel radcliffe) from SNL said, “I tried and therefore no one should criticize me!” Hope you all enjoy this!

Rose hasn’t been back to Cordonia since the day after the Coronation Ball three years ago, but today is a very special occasion. It’s Hana’s wedding day and she is the maid of honor.

It is also the day that she will see him again. Her heart suddenly dropped. She has heard bits and pieces about his life from her friends, but she hasn’t seen him since the night of the Coronation Ball. The night he shattered her heart. She had been willing risk everything to be with him and she thought he felt the same way. She was wrong.

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During the competition, she told him that she was falling for someone else. She swore she saw a glimmer of joy in those sweet blue eyes of his before he put on his mask again and insisted that she was there for the prince.

The night before the Coronation Ball, he came to her room to do some last-minute preparations for the event. He was wearing his classic, chipper Maxwell smile, but she could tell he was stressed. Unfortunately, what she had to tell him was probably going to give him a mini heart attack. She told him that she told Liam to pick someone else. He freaked out and started pacing back and forth, rambling about how Bertrand was going to kill him and how they could still fix this situation. She calmed him by gently putting her hand on his face. The tension immediately left his body. She looked straight into his eyes and said, “Maxwell, I’m falling for you.”

He was frozen, torn between his responsibility to his family and his love for her. Suddenly, he pressed his mouth to hers with passion she had never felt before. Her hands tangled in his hair and she pulled him closer. She couldn’t get enough of him. He stopped for a moment and before she could complain, he took a deep breath, looked into her eyes and said, “Rose, I’m falling for you too.”

He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. They spent the night together, and it was more than everything she had imagined. She woke up with her arms wrapped around him not wanting to let go. Her head was resting on his warm chest when she looked up at him.

“Good morning, little blossom,” he whispered.

God, she’d never been so happy in her life. But she didn’t know that this was going to end as quickly as it had begun.

That night they danced together at the ball like there were no worries or cares, because there weren’t anymore. Everything was perfect. She asked him to sneak out with her later for a cronut run and he agreed.

She could tell right away that something was wrong when she saw him standing outside the pastry shop. To anyone else, he looked like he always did, but she could see that he was wearing that same mask that he had worn throughout the whole competition.

“Hey Rose! Ready for cronuts?” he asked.

“My answer to that question will always be yes,” she replied.

They got one of every kind of cronut they had because they couldn’t decide. They walked down the boardwalk with their bag of cronuts and she looked at him. Why did he look so anxious? Suddenly, he stopped.

“Rose, we should talk,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“We can’t do this,” he said.

His voice was shaking.

“What are you talking about? Liam chose another suitor and he’s happy. What else is standing in our way?” she asked.

She knew what the reason was, but she needed to hear him say it.

He started to give an excusing saying, “It’s just best for both of us if we go back to our normal lives. You have your whole life in New York and –“

“I don’t care about my life in New York. I can build a life anywhere as long as it’s with you. Are you going to tell me the real reason?” she snapped.

He took a deep breath and said, “I have to think about what’s best for House Beaumont.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She knew exactly what he was saying. He couldn’t marry a common waitress from New York with no connections. It had probably come from Bertrand, but it still felt like a punch to her gut. She expected Bertrand to view her like that, but she never thought Maxwell would too.

“So Bertrand found out about us? He doesn’t approve of you being with some commoner from New York? Why do you listen to everything he says?” she yelled.

He was silent, looking at the ground not wanting to admit that she was right.

“Don’t we deserve to give this a chance?” she asked quietly, tears starting to drop down her face.

“You deserve everything, but I can’t give that to you. The rules are different for me –“ he began, trying to explain himself again.

She interrupted and said, “that’s not true, you’re just too scared to take a chance on us.”

“Rose, I need you to know that this was real for me. I wasn’t pretending when I was with you. In fact, the only time I could let my guard down and be myself was with you. I feel so real when I’m with you. You mean everything to me,” he said with desperation.

She could see the helplessness in his eyes. He was so desperate for her to believe him, and she mostly did. She believed that what they had was real and that he felt like he didn’t have a choice, but he was wrong. He did have a choice and he was choosing wrong. If she really meant everything to him though, this wouldn’t be happening.

“If that were true, we would be together,” she replied coldly.

There were tears in his eyes. It hurt her to see him like this, but he couldn’t expect her to comfort him when he was the one who was crushing her heart.  

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice still shaking.

“Me too,” she said.

That was the last time she saw him. She went to the palace and packed her bags right away. The plan was for Maxwell to fly back with her to New York, but she couldn’t face him again.

She stopped by Hana’s room to say goodbye because she couldn’t leave her best friend without a goodbye. Hana could tell something was wrong, but Rose put on her tough face and told Hana she would call her when she landed and tell her everything. They promised to keep in touch and Hana gave her a tight hug and whispered, “Everything is going to be okay.”

Rose let a tear fall down her face and managed to choke out, “Thanks, Hana.”

Then she disappeared into the night, leaving the place she thought was going to become her home. Leaving the person who felt like home.

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The wedding was so beautiful. Hana and her wife Grace looked absolutely stunning and everything had gone perfectly. Now it was time for Rose to dance her worries away. When she saw Maxwell, her heart dropped, but she took a deep breath. She could do this. She couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be standing on the sideline of the dance floor which was not how she remembered him. When they had gone to that bar on Drake’s birthday, he danced his little heart out. Now he just looked…cautious?

Drake was resisting her attempts to get him to dance when Maxwell finally walked over to them.

“Lady Rose, may I have the honor of this waltz?” Maxwell asked with a small smile on his face.

“It is I who would be honored,” she replied, remembering the first time they waltzed together.

They began to dance together, but they could both feel the tension between them. As she twirled, he drew her closer and she said, “Isn’t this a little scandalous for the ballroom?”

He drew her in even closer and whispered in her ear, “Meet me tonight at the boardwalk.”

After the waltz was over, she walked back over to Drake.

“Everything okay, Monroe?” he asked.

Her heart was pounding. She didn’t know if it was a good idea to meet Maxwell tonight, but she knew she was going to do it anyway.

“Everything is fine,” she lied.

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

She walked down to the end of the boardwalk and saw him waiting there. He smiled softly when he saw her.

“You showed up!”

“I did. And you brought cronuts!!”

“Of course! There were more but, you know…”

“You ate them.”

“You know me too well.”

They sat there peacefully eating cronuts for a moment before he spoke.

“So…how have you been?”

She didn’t want to be super honest about how much of a wreck she was after she got back to New York, but she didn’t want to lie either because he would see right through her. Plus, she still had her pride, right? She decided on a half-truth.

“I’m doing great! I’ve been pretty busy with work lately. I finally got my foot in the door at National Geographic. I’ve been a photographer for a lot of smaller stories, but they love my work and I’m actually about to start a pretty big project in a few weeks.”

“That’s so great, Rose! I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. So… how about yourself? I hear you’re married now!”

“Yeah, I met Lily a couple years ago. Bertrand set us up because she is of House Elswood and he thought it would be beneficial for our family if I was with someone like her. I figured it would be a total disaster, because you know how Bertrand is. He cares about influence and money more than anything else. I expected her to be some snooty noble, but it turns out she is really cool and she was actually just as reluctant to be set up as I was. We just got married a few months ago.”

“I guess she gave you things I couldn’t give to you.” 

So much for playing it cool.

“Rose, I—“

“—had to think about what was best for House Beaumont. Yeah, I remember what you said that night.”

She turned her face so he couldn’t see her eyes begin to fill with tears. She calmed herself. He does not get her tears.

“I was hoping you’d see my face and realize it wasn’t over…not for me anyway.”

“Rose, I can’t.”

“I know.”

And they sat together in silence for a while, thinking about what-ifs.

They got up to walk away and she gave him one last hug. This time she knew it was going to be the last one, so she tried her best to memorize everything about it. How her face felt against his chest. How warm he was. How his arms felt tightly wrapped around her. And finally, they said goodbye and went their separate ways.

Never mind I’ll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you two

Don’t forget me, I beg

I’ll remember you said,

“Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.”

[pcndemoniums]

VERSE: KNOCKED UP CHARACTERS:  SURI MORRISON YEAR: SPRING 2004 LOCATION: ADDICTION RECOVERY CENTER FOR TROUBLED TEENS, NYC

In 30 days you’ll be fixed. By 29 days she’s already counting down. Even when in school Suri had never found much use for a calendar. Rarely did she wake up in the morning realizing that it was her birthday or Christmas or some other stupid Hallmark holiday. Despite this, there are 24 days to go and she still remembers. “Honey you have to sign your name on the line for me.” Suri sighs and reluctantly grabs the blue erasable pen out of the nurse’s hand. This is her first week of rehab but the withdrawals as not as bad. Not with methadone anyway. “Here you go, sweetheart.” The nurse hands her a cup with a small round white pill inside it for her to take on the spot. Then back to her room. Suri doesn’t mind being alone so much. She’s never really alone anymore, anyway—there’s a constant barrage of health nurses, therapists, and parole officers, social workers, group homes, and foster mothers. And on Tuesdays, from 5:30 to 7:00, there’s Dr. Kearning, with his disgusting fat rolls in his armpits.  Everyone else around here is dynamic, non-permanent, mere visitors coming in and out of her life. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy. But when it does, it’s vivid. There are creatures. Gnarly rows of snapping teeth and muscles that could give a pro-wrestler a run for their money. Day 21 is where the panic sets in, and she realizes– with more unavoidable clarity than before– that yes, she will be out of this hellhole in 21 days, and she has no idea what she’s going to do. Avoiding temptations is easy when they are not in your face all the time. And she doesn’t want to go back to that school where everyone thinks she fucked the math teacher. Her mom mentions in one of her calls that they might be moving away. She mentions California or Washington State. That her father might be landing a job in either San Francisco or Seattle. All up in the air.  

“…and then I went through this trip in my mind where he and I were fetuses. After opening my eyes I saw that we were coated in this kind of fleshy sack and when I broke free and fell on the floor it felt like I’d given birth to him and me. I had both pissed and puked all over myself. I started to panic and that’s when I realized that I had a serious problem.” Applause. Everybody always applauds except for her. “Suri? Are you sharing with us today?” Her silence says it all. Suri still has trouble with the idea of this so called circle of trust. Every single time she comes here there’s someone with some crazy story about running around naked or waking up next to an inflatable clown in the middle of a parking lot. They expect her to share and part of her wants to feed them some bullshit and be done with it. Maybe next time.

A palette of leaves crunch under her feet as Suri makes her way across the garden, trying to find a good place to hide and have a cigarette. Is not that hard to get one from other patients around here. It feels hot between her fingers as she takes a drag, smoke rolling off her tongue like melted sugar. It doesn’t take long for her to find a bench and sit down, closing her eyes to listen to other patients wandering by. “It’s not that bad you know?” She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice him when he seats down beside her. “What?” Some guy from group. Her eyes recognize him but she doesn’t know his name. Sure she’d heard it at some point or another. Gelled hair and leather jacket; perfect white teeth and a gruff southern accent. “Group. Talking. It’s not that bad. I know it ain’t easy but it helps to get all of that shit out.” He offers a sympathetic gaze, but Suri doesn’t feel like talking or sharing. Not during group therapy. Not to Dr. Kearning. Not to this guy. She just wants to swallow that pain until it starts eating her insides.

“I wasn’t too keen with the idea of telling my story either when I first got here. Thought it wasn’t their business to know. It’s not about them. It’s about being able to express your pain with words instead of drowning them with vodka or … whatever it is you do.” She wants to tell him to fuck off but deep down she knows he has a point. She’s here because she’s addicted to drugs but her problem is deeper than that. If she’s going to get any better and really fix herself, then she needs to stop running away from her pain. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Leave you to it. I’m Brad by the way.” The entire time he’s talking Suri just keeps her gaze towards the lake in front of her bringing her cigarette to her lips acting like she isn’t listening. Suri tosses the cigarette butt on the ground and crushes it under her sneaker. When he introduces himself she finally meets his eyes. Blue. They say blue eyes are the devil’s door. “Suri.” He smiles, showing her his pearly whites once again before getting to his feet. “I know.”

The day gets easier for a while, because really, that’s the only direction things can go in. She hits her lowest – the long, tear-filled hours that follow– and then start moving back up, up, up. Hit something. Fall. Get back up. Again, only one direction things can go in. There will be no making things too easy, too good, because that would spell disaster. Especially for her. She wouldn’t be able to take it a second time. Sometimes Suri thinks she has lived her whole life in a box.