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#i am scared now. are they gonna go with the hoo gods' parenting where they are awkward parents and not shitty deadbeats?????

slightlyaboveaverageiq · 1 year

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The Whisperer: Part 11 (Wally Clark Fic)

A/N: I actually hard core ship Wally/Maddie I love Maddie. I do call Maddie a bitch in this but Mori’s emotions are running high. I don’t think that Maddie is actually a bitch.

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

I honestly can’t believe they’re asking me to do what they just did. I stared around the circle at my ghosties and sure enough they were being completely serious. They really wanted me to scare the shit out of Maddie’s ex boyfriend, his side bitch, and her friends to figure out who had killed her. After I specifically said when I first met them this is why I ignore the spirits.

“So when I specifically said this is why I act like I can’t see you did that go over your heads? Maddie I’m sorry you don’t know how you died, and I hope you can figure it out. But I am not implying to anyone that I know you’re dead nor am I going around telling those 4 people I can see and talk to spirits and that your spirit has come to me asking for help.” I didn’t realize that I had gotten louder over the course of my speech and I was now nose to nose with the girl that was asking me to do the very thing I told everyone else I wasn’t going to do and she was acting like I was a villain for it.

“You’ve got this great gift where you could help people talk to their dead loved ones, you could help me solve a murder and you’re too fucking scared that someone’s gonna call you crazy to try to find out who killed me?” Bitch if you do not back the fuck up I swear to god I will punch you into next week. I don’t give a damn if you’re already dead or not I’m sure it will hurt. Wally got up and tried to step between the two of us but I just scoffed and stepped away.

“A gift? You think it’s a fucking gift? No a gift would have been I stayed dead and my parents lived, a gift would have been whatever power there is not sending me back because I was so fucking special, a gift would have been I could tell my siblings that my parents were at peace without them thinking I wasn’t crazy. It’s not a fucking gift Madison, and honestly I would trade it away just to be normal even if it meant I never saw any of you ever again.” I didn’t even leave anyone time to process what I said before I grabbed my bag and stormed off. When Wally had said he wanted to talk about something I thought maybe he wanted to talk about his death a little more, not try to sweet talk me into helping Maddie.

Wally wasn’t a flirt he was just a fucking playboy and he knew it. He came to check on me when I was sick yesterday so he could weasel his way in and he could ask me to talk to Maddie’s friends. I could see the way he was hanging onto her every word and how excited he was to try and help her. He wasn’t that fucking happy to try and help me.

“Morrigan, hey wait up!” And since when the fuck is my name Morrigan? I mean yes that’s always been my name but Wally has never called me that, none of the ghosts have ever called me that. Stupid fucking Maddie making everyone feel sorry for her because she doesn’t know how she died. Boo fucking hoo maybe it’s a good thing she doesn’t know.

“The fuck do you want Wally?” His steps faltered as he watched my angrily wipe my tears away. “What wanna come ask me to help precious Maddie some more now that I’m not screaming at everyone?” He didn’t say anything and just pulled me against him while rubbing his hands up and down my back.

“Mo. Hey Mo, no one meant to hurt you like that. Maddie feels like shit and so does everyone else. We wouldn’t have asked if we had known.” I rolled my eyes and pulled away from him.

“but you did know, I specifically said I wasn’t going to do that. And you didn’t even respect me enough to respect the fact that I didn’t want to do it.” His face looked heart broken and I wanted to make him feel better but I wasn’t the bad person here. Really none of us were but they deserved to feel like shit for awhile too.

“Why don’t you go home and just breathe? I’ll come visit you later.” I bit my lip and shook my head.

“I don’t know if I want you to come and visit tonight.” There was a moment of silence before he answered.

“I’ll be there tonight, and you can decide if we visit or not.”

#wally clark #maddie nears #rhonda #school spirits #fanfic

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

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Strangers (Part 5)

Summary: After dinner with Dean’s parents, he’s a little off and the reader attempts to make him feel better but discovers something in the process that sets her on edge...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x patient!reader

Word Count: 1,600ish

Warnings: language, mention of surgery/injury/death, angst

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Final part coming soon!

____

“That went well,” you said after dinner as you helped wash up a pan. “Your parents seem nice.”

“They were excited to see Sam,” said Dean.

“You sure you didn’t want to go out for a drink with them?” you asked. He shook his head and you set the pan aside, wrapping your arms around his waist. He let out a sigh and you hugged him tight.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I’m okay.”

“I think Sam wants to stay here even though your parents offered to let him stay with them,” you said.

“I know he does.”

“What’s wrong, babe?” you asked, resting your head against his back. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Kid in my last surgery died on the table,” he said. “His parents...it was routine and he died. His dad...it's the worst part of my job,” he said.

“Did you try your best?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you did everything you could.”

“I know. Can we just lay in bed tonight?” he asked. You nodded and followed him back to his bedroom. You went to your drawer and pulled out some pajamas, wide eyed when you saw Dean take off his shirt.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping the clothes. He tried tugging his shirt on but you took it, Dean trying to cover the marks on his arms, showing one on his ribs. “Did the father…”

“He was upset and he shoved me. It’s really not a big deal,” he said.

“It’s a big fucking deal,” you said, resting a hand on his ribs. “You’re hurt.”

“His son died. He was a tad upset. I don’t blame him,” said Dean. “Parents are devastated when I have to tell them that they will never see their kid alive again.”

“It doesn’t give him a right to be violent with you.”

“It should have been an easy in and out procedure,” he said.

“But it wasn’t. Something was wrong and it’s not your fault.”

“It’s my job to save them, no matter what shape they come into that room.”

“What happened, today what happened,” you said.

“He came in for gallbladder removal. He had a heart attack. There was an unknown hole in his heart, a murmur. The anesthesia fucked him up and he had a reaction. It was too much for his body.”

“He had a hole in his heart no one knew existed. That kid probably was past saving.”

“The entire surgical staff said the girl with the destroyed digestive track was past saving but we got her-“

“Dean. What do you mean we.”

He shrugged and put his shirt on, your hand catching his arm.

“What did you mean.”

“I was working in the ER the day you came in. The whole ER heard you come in. God, I have nightmares about that sound,” he said.

“I don’t understand. I don’t...I didn’t meet you until the vending machine.”

“I never saw your face but I was in the OR for a bit. All of us were. An intestinal transplant requires a lot of hands,” he said.

“So you hadn’t just heard of me. You held the intestines currently in my body. Did I get that right?”

“Are you seriously pissed at me right now?” he asked, scrunching up his face. “For what!”

“You know I have a hard time trusting people now. It makes me question if you pitied me and that’s why you dropped by my room that day. I don’t want your pity, Dean.”

“I don’t want yours! A kid died. His dad shoved me. Fucking get over it. It’s my job. I got over that shit long before you were around,” he said.

“Do not yell at me for caring about you.”

“Don’t yell at me for brining up something so insignificant-”

“It’s not insignificant! I literally met you because of this,” you said as you put your hand on your stomach. “I’m alive because of that surgery. It’s a big deal to me. I’m not mad that you were in the surgery. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me because that makes my head not want to trust you.”

“Then don’t. Why don’t you just take your crap and leave,” he said.

“I’m not walking out. You’re having a bad day and-”

“And you’re overreacting to the stupidest shit.”

“I’m sorry that I have trust issues with people now. I’m sorry that my head is trying to be logical-”

“Logical? What the fuck is logical about this?” he asked.

“The last boyfriend I had tried to kill me when I didn’t trust him so I’m fucking sorry for having PTSD!” you shouted. “I was trying to say that my head is saying that but-”

“You know, I don’t really want you to stay over tonight so can you just go home to your parents. Please,” he said.

“I am-”

“Boo hoo, they’re overbearing. Suck it up,” he said.

“Fine,” you said. You left your pajamas behind and grabbed your bag by the door, driving home quickly and slamming the front door shut on your way in.

“First fight?” asked your dad from where he was reading the family room.

“Like you fucking care,” you said. You went upstairs and slammed your door as well, plopping down on the bed and curling up with your pillow. The door creaked open and you felt the bed dip behind you. “I’m sorry. Please go away.”

“Apology accepted but no can do on that second part,” he said. “What happened?”

“My PTSD acted up and I got scared for a second and Dean had a bad day so we took turns yelling at each other until he told me to leave.”

“You love him still?” he asked. You looked over your shoulder and he smiled. “I know you love him. Mom and I can tell. He’s one of the good ones. PTSD isn’t going to just go away like that and with his job, his bad days aren’t going away either. So. You want to put up with nights like this every so often for him?”

“He wouldn’t let me tell him that my head got scared but the rest of me didn’t. I know he would never do a damn thing other than protect me.”

“That’s why they call it a post traumatic stress disorder, honey. After a trauma, you may have a slightly different reaction under stress than you used to,” he said. “Dean understands that.”

“I wish I hadn’t freaked on him.”

“Well I wish I wasn’t a dick,” said Dean. You sat up and turned towards the door, Dean giving you a half smile as he stood there in his pajama bottoms and coat. “Your mom let me in.”

Your dad excused himself and Dean took his spot on the bed, placing his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said as you felt the words leave your lips. “Y/N, you have every right to get paranoid when you think I’m not telling you something. I understand, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t like that you felt you couldn’t trust me and it was fuel on the fire.”

“I was going to tell you that my head might have freaked but how I feel about you didn’t. My head went danger and my heart was busy telling it that it was being a dumbass when we started fighting,” you said.

“How do I help you trust me?” he asked.

“Be honest...and call me out when I overreact. I know you don’t pity me, Dean. It’s like my body. It’s one of those things that’s gonna take me time to recover from.”

“I don’t mind waiting with you,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. It was wrong and I took out a bad day on you. I’m happy you care about me and get concerned. But I used to hate myself whenever I lost a patient. Absolutely hate myself. I’m still learning that I can’t do that anymore and I just ask that you’re patient with me when that happens.”

“Of course,” you said, taking his hand into your lap. He smiled and gave you a nod, glancing down. “Can I see your bruises?”

“I’m okay,” he said.

“Please?”

He sighed and took off his coat, shrugging out of his shirt and your eyes went to his ribs again.

“Here,” you said, getting out of bed. You went over to your desk and dug through the bin on top, pulling out a extra long bandage. “They broke a few ribs to do my surgery. I wore this sometimes. It helped with the pain.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said, raising his arms so you could wrap it around him. He winced a little and you tucked it in, Dean putting his shirt back on. “Wanna come back to my place?”

“Okay,” you said. “Survived our first fight.”

“I’m sure we’ll survive the rest too,” he said. “Let’s head home, sweetheart.”

_____

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

#spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn fanfiction #doctor!dean #au

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musical-chick-13 · 3 years

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And Theon bc I love him

WHAT A COINCIDENCE I LOVE HIM TOO (this answer is gonna be a combination of books and show)

Send me a character and I’ll tell you the following:

• Did they live up to their potential? / In what ways was their potential unachieved?

-I would say yes. The only negative I have about his general arc is his death (which, see below). But Theon from the very beginning was, though not a particularly nice person, still relatable. Feeling othered, wanting to be accepted by an immediate environment that doesn’t accept you, isolated from and ostracized by your family, and the tension that comes between serving the different types of familial relationships in your life. Theon has no idea who he is, tossed aside by his blood family for not growing up with them and being “soft,” aka sort-of moral and having emotions that aren’t selfish rage or smugness (which, yep, that second part is a mood, see: my entire childhood and how no one wanted to be around an “emotional” “soft” child). And from there, he spirals out of control in a way that, while certainly not admirable by any stretch of the imagination, is still understandable in the context of the narrative and his characterization. And from there, after going through hell and quite literally losing himself (even to the point of straight-up denying rescue), he builds himself back up gradually, to the point where he expressed extreme regret for what he’s done, helps an innocent woman escape a truly horrifying situation, acknowledges that his family is generally garbage, and (in-show b/c again books aren’t finished), helping to restore his sister to power, rescuing her after his PTSD relapses while confronting Euron, and ultimately opting to protect the Starks come hell or high water in order to genuinely atone for what he’s done. He is no longer conflicted because he wants to do the right thing, and that right thing is defending the kingdom from the White Walkers and making sure Sansa and Bran are safe. And it’s no longer about fulfilling a duty or finding a family to fill the void. Because now he has found himself. I will contend that Theon has one of the best, most nuanced, most organic redemption arcs of all time. I will forever be grateful that I got to see that piece of storytelling unfold.

Although, I would love to know what he thought of Dany. A missed opportunity, that.

• How they negatively and positively affected the story.

-Positive: His arc of identity and finding where your loyalties lie ties into the overall theme of “How do you find yourself in a world where goodness, authenticity, and honesty are often punished and increasingly rare?” And it proves that governmental politics aren’t the only defining factors in decisions: familial politics can be just as difficult and dangerous, which adds yet another rich, complicated layer to the overall story. He has a genuine, honest-to-Drowned-God redemption arc, which is...not really present anywhere else in the story (no, Jaime is not on a Redemption Quest, I will die on this hill). But I think the biggest draw of Theon’s presence is that it deconstructs the whole “Character Revenge Fantasy” idea. He does bad things. We want him to be punished. But not like that. No one deserves that. How far is too far? What does retribution really look like? Given how easily that idea can be abused and go off the rails, is retribution even something to strive for? What is the point of using extreme violence/torture/mutilation/breaking someone’s psyche when it doesn’t really accomplish anything? Isn’t atonement and genuine justice a better option? It certainly was for Theon. He could only piece himself back together and do anything meaningful once he was out of his abusive environment. All of these are imporant questions that are posed by his existence in the narrative.

-Negative: Idk if I have much to say here. My biggest problem is his death (see below), but that’s not really a negative story effect so much as...being disappointing and narratively irrelevant. I gotta say, his introduction via his sister was...really weird. I genuinely have no idea why GRRM wrote that. It never came up again or had any kind of narrative ramifications and kind of cast a strange, uncomfortable light on his relationship with Asha/Yara for the remainder of the story. I can ignore and enjoy their later relationship it if I don’t think about it too hard, though, so I guess I’ll chalk it up to GRRM having a Bad Idea.

• What my favorite arc for them is.

-All of it?? Theon’s journey is kind of...one big arc, which is why I think it works so well. He has this overarching redemption plot which spans the entire series and informs every decision he makes (for good or for bad, depending on where in the aforementioned journey he is). The redemption arc isn’t bogged down with side plots or other pieces of narrative clutter, meaning it has time to grow and, thus, be gradual and realistic. If I had to choose a specific point, it’s probably when he tries to reintegrate back into society via supporting Yara. Gaining the Iron Islands’ support for her ruling, spiriting away with Euron’s fleet, and ultimately rescuing his sister after her capture. He can’t just go back into society. He’s scared. He has really bad PTSD. But he recognizes that putting his home in good hands is something bigger than just him because it’s Yara’s home, too. I just...I really love family relationships, y’all.

• What I think of their ending.

-I’m not really sure how I feel about this one. I get that the series is GrimDark™ and that people who make the right choice and fight for good die all the time, but Theon dying just felt...wrong. To me.

And, like...I get it. It makes sense to parallel his original descent into villainy (cemented by executing those two boys and pretending they were Bran and Rickon) with him dying to protect Bran himself. It ties into the whole very common trope of completing a full redemption arc by committing a completely selfless act at great personal cost. It’s kind of like the whole Missy thing in Doctor Who (which...hoo boy, that post is coming, make no mistake), where selfishness is directly opposed by making the ultimate sacrifice with no motivation for personal gain. And the fact that the last words he ever heard were “You’re a good man?” I cannot even begin to describe how much that makes me sob. But...honestly, I’m really tired of this idea that redemption has to end in death in order to be achieved or “complete.” I think it’s much more poignant to have a redeemed character live to help build a better world. Because what’s the point of telling people to be better if the “reward” is death? No one’s going to want to reform themselves if they think that’ll be the result.

I think the thing that Bugs Me™ the most is that Theon never really got to have a moment of peace when he was alive. Sansa gained the North’s love and at least had a secure childhood. Ned and Cat were happily married for years. Arya had parents who loved her and a good relationship with Jon. Jon fell in love with Ygritte and found his Night Watch Bros, and Robb (in show verse) had some very happy moments with Talisa. Davos put great stock in what he considered fulfilling friendships with Stannis and Shireen; Brienne was treated respectfully by Renly, Catelyn, and Sansa; Missandei and Grey Worm had each other and their friendship with Dany, who herself had many personal successes in her quest for the Iron Throne and saw the death of her abusive brother. Cersei even had moments with Jaime (who himself had several notable military victories and at least some time with Myrcella, as well as being gladly and deeply in love, however dysfunctional that love was), times when she successfully fought off enemies (including her dad), and some sweet moments with Tommen, as well as a huge victory via blown-up sept at the end of season 6. Theon was treated as a second-class family member by the Starks his whole life by being “traded” to them as a condition of war resolution AS A BABY, is immediately disparaged and mistreated by his immediate family when he tries to return to them, makes terrible decisions that almost cost him his conscience completely, is brutally tortured by Ramsay, is on the run with his sister from Euron almost immediately after, and has a PTSD attack that ultimatly results in him having to launch a rescue mission. And then he fights ice zombies. And then he dies. He never really...got to be happy at all? There was never any kind of “win” for him. Not even survival. The narrative couldn’t even give him that.

TLDR: Theon’s death seemed less shock-value-y than others (like, for example, Shireen or Missandei or, heck, Melisandre even), and it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It’s narratively-informed and it makes sense as an emotional through-line, but, ultimately, Redemption Cemented By Selfless Death is a tired trope, and I honestly thought this story (which...you know...serves as a deconstruction of common fantasy tropes/book tropes in general) was better than that.

• When I wish they had died. / If I think they should’ve died.

-So here’s where we get personal™ kids.

So, it’s no secret that I am...severely mentally ill. I’ve talked about expression/presentation of mental illness in regard to Cersei a lot on this blog, and how that (as paradoxical as it may seem) helped bring a sense of comfort and emotional resonance to me. Theon, post-Ramsay, has, I think, a very clear case of PTSD. Theon is one of the few characters I’ve seen where his mental illness isn’t the cause of the bad, violent, dangerous choices he makes. It only takes root after he has made the decision and conscious effort to better himself, and it, rather than demonizing him, serve to humanize him. His trauma didn’t define him. And although a PTSD attack led to him unintentionally losing Yara to Euron’s capture, he makes every effort to rescue her, a goal he does end up achieving. It is so rare I get to see a character who goes through these things, successfully fight them and come out with positive qualities at the end. Like...switching topics a bit here, Jaime going back to King’s Landing to (try to) escape and ultimately die with Cersei made sense to me because, as Jaime says, he is a hateful man. He never made much of an honest effort to be anything else. And he never truly wanted to be good; he just wanted to be liked. He wanted to adopt some personality that would make him feel less disconnected from the rest of the world. But Theon...genuinely feels remorse for everything he’s done. He makes a concerted effort to do everything in his power to improve the lives of people he believes are good and deserve to be safe. So, just...killing him off in a Completely Selfless Sacrifice (like...you know how a lot of mentally ill people put themselves through suffering-like OCD rituals, bottling feelings, self-harm, even suicide-in a misplaced attempt to “help” or “protect other people”) seemed antithetical to everything we saw of his arc.

Ultimately, with such a humanizing, empathetic portrayal of trauma and mental health struggles, seeing Theon be killed off just...pissed me off. I am so tired of seeing mentally ill characters die. I really want to believe that I can live through and thrive in spite of the things that afflict me, and I get example after example of characters not being allowed to do that. It feels awful, quite frankly. And it makes hope that much harder.

I also just feel like...there was nothing the story gained from his death? I get the thematic parallels as mentioned earlier, but it didn’t really move the story forward in any significant way. It didn’t motivate other characters to do anything, it had no political ramifications, it didn’t serve to contribute to any kind of happy ending or commentary on society, it just...was sad. Again, I thought this story was better than that.

#theon greyjoy #got #my son #mental illness in media #meta #redemption arcs #tw: self harm mention #tw: suicide mention

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indigocloudofnarcolepsy · 4 years

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I got tagged by @tough-girl9 to list my top 7 comfort films which turned into a top 8

I'm more of a comfort song type, so that was a tough (girl) one

1.: Treasure Planet

I adore this movie! I loved it when I was smaller and I love it now. The only reason I didn't watch it to death was the fact that I lost the DVD. It's gorgeous and although the main premise is space pirates thanks to the focus on the characters it feels grounded and easier to relate to or to feel simpathy towards them. Besides Jim Hawkins being a childhood crush I could always relate to him. The feeling of being lost, aimless and the words

"- I can't watch you throw away your future like that!

- What future?"

always spoke to me. It's not an edge and teen angst fest tho, John Silver and his speech is both in character and always chokes me up and gives me hope that there are pathes that could lead to the future I want and that I wasn't abled to see.

It's the perfect movie for those who feel lost or confused and want to sail to far away planets from their current situation, those who want to be understood and given hope to.

(I could gush about the art and animation and characters for hours, but this is not the time)

Amazing background music and the songs fit well with the steampunk-ish style of the movie

2.: Ratatouille

A family classic. We even have the ps2 game and it's one of those rarities which my family could watch anytime. Besides being beautiful and having a 10/10 aesthetic (and a huge dose of food p0®π) it's a grounded movie.

The premise is as feaver dream-y and goofy as it gets. A rat learns english (or french? The movie takes place in Paris but it's either confusing or I'm just a dum dum) and thanks to an imaginary friend version of his chef idol ends up in his restaurant and makes a deal with the garbage boy of whom the chef thinks can cook and reluctantly agrees give him another chance to make the soup that was actually made by (fixed by) the rat aka Remy. So the boy Linguini and Remy has to team up where it seems like Linguini is making the soup but he is actually in Remy's control.

But the movie is actually about being an artist and coming from an unexpected place and being surrounded by people who don't support you or believe in you even if they were just trying to protect you or think that it's the best for you.

Fellow artists could definetly appreciate the movie. Whether you croche, draw, animate, sculpt, dance, act or do any kind of art I would absolutely recommend.

Le Festin is great and is on loop during dinner

Warning: get food ready because you WILL get hungry. Even if it's just bread this movie will make it taste like garlic bread just you wait

3.: Strange Magic

It's one of the controversial ones. Not everyone likes it and a lot hate it but that's okay.

It's one of those films where either you praise it to death or wonder which deeper layer of hell did it crawled out of. There is no in between. I'm one from the first category. Even my IT teacher called it a classic and I roped most of my friend group into the SM cult.

It has a certain tumblr aesthetic and feels like a fanficrion the best way possible. One of those where altho something unsuspected happens it's written well, the characters are in character it's finished and the grammar is proper as well.

It's a jukebox musical which is one of my fauvorite kind of musical, the covers are amazing and damn they can change up the originals songs aesthetic to it's opposite so damn well (Trouble - Elvis Presley)

It centers around love and I ain't no shipper nor romantic but even I was gushing over the main couple which is spoiler alert so that's all you get

I absolutely adore how the characters express themselves with their wings and body! I'm all about feelings and expressions!

So try it out and even if you don't like it you're allowed to stop. And if you like it: welcome to the fandom in this house we respect Marianne, the Bog King is a snack and must protect Dawn at all cost!

(this is a pick me up movie for me the other two more of a shoulder to cry on)

Speaking of crying

4.: The Little Prince

Not gonna lie I was extremely suspicious of this movie. I immediately categorised it as a cheap cash grab which only use sonething known and beloved because it's known and beloved so people will buy.

I expected the Emoji Movie, I got the LEGO Movie.

This movie. Hoo boy, this movie. You know, it's nothing, I only cried 4 times after all!

It's so respectful towards the material it's given. So heartfelt and creative and artistic! It's the Little Prince sequel that fits well in modern times.

In this film the Little Prince is a story that an old man tells his new young girl of a neighbour. Both of them needed a friend and it's one of those unexpected duos where the girl is forced to be mature way too early and the man is way too childish so they balance each other out and the man gives the girl (I can't remember their names god damn it) the breath of fresh air she needed.

This movie is so damn cute! I mentioned a shoulder to cry on movies and pick me up movies, this one is both! It's a bittersweet dream!

You are going to cry. So get ready.

5.: Hunchback of Notre Dame

Oh man oh God oh man oh God oh man

I'm obsessed with this movie (and musical)

It's dark and mature and definetly a-shoulder-to-cry-on movie. I love and relate to Quasimodo. Altho I'm not deformed I was always the weird girl everyone picked on and hated and I still can't understand why. I think I'm a perfectly normal person but when my mom calls me a freak/eccentric behind my back and my aunt gives me a gift with the words "since you looked nothing like the other girls on your prom..." I... I'm just more confused honestly. I'm always so damn tired and basically a hermit so thanks to that Out There hit way too close to home.

Esmeralda is a 10/10 role modell. She is a beautiful soul inside and outside. And she's romani. Which is the most hated minority in my country.

The movie deals with lust, abusive and manipulative parents, racism, religion, "ugly"ness, lonelyness. These might sound repelling but to see something similar happen to you/a character looking/being/sounding like you is worth more than life, honestly. Unless you can live through this kinship with a character, you have no idea how needed this is.

(I cried so hard watching The Grinch (2018) since I used to have Panic disorder and I'm an anxious person to see him being scared the way I do and to fiddle with his fingers and think like I do was the most comforting thing I felt in my life)

This movie is so damn gorgeous. I know I said that to almost every movie in this list but this is a biblical epic gorgeous. And of course, Hellfire is THE best Diney villain song FIGHT ME I'M RIGHT

The musical is even darker and more serious but damn it's worth a watch. It's on youtube.

6. Brother Bear

This movie is *drumroll* gorgeous. Each movie on this list is gorgeous in different ways. This is nature-gorgeous.

Pick me up movie, definetly. It's mostly adorable but they tap into some meaningful things and there are tragedies happening, my dude!

Like Hunchback of Notre Dame the main subject is "who is the monster and who is the man?". This movie shows some perspective, I tell you!

7.: Coco

I know the hungarian translation by heart

It's very family oriented, so if you don't have any or have a bad realtionship with it, this movie will give you a heartache

This movie takes place in Mexico and explores parts of mexican culture.

I adore and am interested in different cultures, folklore, tradition and religion so I was head over heels really quick with this movie!

Gorgeous imagery and music. Heartfelt, that last Remember Me WILL get you

8.: The Croods

Y'ALL

I know, it looks like a movie that made only for kids. But dude! It's about family, change and how people deal with it. It takes place in an alternative world, where animals we know are mixed together (MOUSELEFANT!! CROCO DOGGO!!) the most adorable way possible and it takes place in prehistoric times.

Oh god, this movie is full of feelings and gorgeous imagery! Pick me up, definetly! Of course, it's full of jokes but they are so witty to me!

Sorry, I got impatient by the end of it

I would tag people if I would know anyone well in this site. The 2 people I want to tag: is already tagged me and the other one is probably too busy

#treasure planet #ratatouille #strange magic #the little prince #the hunchback of notre dame #hunchback of notre dame #brother bear #coco #pixar coco #the croods #top 7 comfort movies #comfort movies #my comfort movies

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Blessed Part 5

The Peace Like a River Sequel

Summary: Gwilym and Y/N are married. Violet is six years old. Baby number two is on the way. There are still some shadows that plague Y/N in her marriage to Gwil, and Violet is suddenly resentful of her parents. The Lee family tries to stick together.

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @readinghorn, @riddikuluslypotter, @doingalrightt, @misslolasworld, @lemurian-starship, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80, @imgonnabeyourslave, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @ixchel-9275, @sincerelygmg, @lv7867, @unicorn-princess-1999, @delilahmay39, @chlobo6, @dragon-out-of-water, @radio-hoo-ha, @agentmalfoy24601, @thigh-your-mother-down, @im-an-adult-ish, @anotherhystericalqueen, @anincurablefangirl

A/N: The finale! Time for baby Sybil! Thanks again for coming on this journey with me and showing this fic some love. I hope you have all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it! There’s no epilogue for this one since it’s a mini-series, and I’m satisfied with this ending :)

Haven’t read Peace Like a River? Start here!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 5 here we go!!!

Gwilym stirred awake after hearing a loud groan beside him. It was pained, but swift, as if you were trying to keep yourself quiet. When he registered it was you, his eyes snapped open. He whipped around to look at you and he heard you wince with the movement of the bed.

“Y/N?!” he gasped.

You were drenched in sweat. Your forehead gleamed with it under the moonlight coming through the window. Your hair was plastered to your face and neck. Your hands had death grips on the comforter, which was also stained with sweat. You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood and tears were streaming down your cheeks. Even in the low light, he could see your face was red with the strain.

“It started about three hours ago,” you panted.

“Are you -”

He cut himself short, getting to his knees and gently prying the comforter out of your hands and away from you. He saw the dark stain between your legs from where your water must have broken. He looked up at you, astonished.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he wondered, scrambling out of bed. He flicked on the light and started putting on his jeans. “Christ, Y/N, we should have been at the hospital hours ago!”

Your lip trembled and fresh tears spilled down your face.

“I’m sorry, Gwil,” you whimpered. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, and walked over to your side of the bed to kneel next to you. “I’m not angry. I’m just worried about you.”

You nodded.

“I was just scared, I’m sorry,” you said again.

He cupped your face, a gentle smile on his lips. But his brow quickly furrowed at the heat of your skin.

“You’re burning up,” he said.

“I might have a low grade fever,” you told him. “I think that’s pretty common.”

“Mhm,” he replied with a nod. He looked hard at you. “You alright while I put a shirt on?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Sorry.”

He just kissed your forehead before finishing getting dressed. Once he was squared away, he went to you, helping you get on fresh underwear and a loose dress to wear to the hospital.

“How far apart are the contractions, darling?” he asked.

“I dunno, maybe eight minutes or so,” you guessed. “Sorry about the sheets.”

“Y/N,” he said, taking your hands. “Please stop apologizing. You aren’t putting me out. You’ve done nothing wrong. You are having my child, and I could never, ever think that some linens are more important than that.”

More hot tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yeah,” you said weakly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he returned warmly. “You and Violet and Sybil are everything to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you sighed.

“Hold tight,” he said. “I’m going to wake Violet and we’ll all head to the hospital.”

You nodded. Suddenly, a contraction hit, and you bit down on your lip again, sucking in a sharp breath. Gwilym stopped and came over to you.

“Gwil,” you choked out. “Hold my hand.”

He grasped your fingers and you held on tight as the pain overtook you.

“Yell if you need to, darling,” he said, using his free hand to push your hair back off your forehead.

You shook your head, releasing your breath as the contraction passed. You relaxed again.

“Go ahead and get Violet,” you said, panting. “I’ll be right here.”

His eyes roved over your face, searching for any indication that you might start hurting again, but it didn’t happen. He kissed your hot forehead and left the room. You heard his footsteps going softly down the hall to Violet’s room.

Gwilym’s heart pounded. The hallway seemed to be so much longer now that there was an emergency and Sybil was coming at last. It seemed unreal that only hours ago, he had gone to the therapist with you and rebuffed an advance from her. That was a whole other world away now. The only thing that mattered now was your safety and the baby’s.

He entered Violet’s room. Swiftly, he strode to her bedside, kneeling down beside her. Her nightlight was a soft yellow, warming her complexion. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she stirred.

“Daddy?” she said through yawn.

“Wake up, lovie,” he said gently. “Your sister is coming.”

She sat upright. “What?!”

“That’s right,” he chuckled. “Get dressed now. We’ve got to get your mum to hospital.”

“Okay!” she cried, clamoring out of the bed and running to her closet.

“Need any help?” he offered.

“I’m not important right now!” she returned. “You need to go help Mommy!”

He laughed, kissed her head, and departed back down the hall.

“Alright,” Gwilym said as he re-entered the bedroom. “Violet’s getting dressed. Let me help you out of the bed, love.”

“O-okay,” you returned shakily, holding out your hand.

He grasped it, and your upper arm. You started to move your legs to the side, but winced. It hurt. A shooting pain reached from your back all the way down your legs.

“What’s the matter?” he wondered.

“It’s painful,” you breathed. “I dunno if I can walk.”

Gwilym panicked, but kept a straight face for your sake. He wouldn’t be able to carry you to the car on his own. He settled you back into bed.

“I’m going to call Dr. Tate,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.”

“Alright, honey,” you sighed.

Gwilym opened the door to find Violet standing there, preparing her hand to knock. She grinned up at him.

“I’m ready to go,” she said.

“Just a minute, lovie,” he returned. “You can go in and sit with Mum if you like.”

She nodded and then skipped into the room. Gwilym stepped out. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Dr. Tate’s cell phone. She had given you that number in case of an emergency. He definitely considered this an emergency.

“Hello?” came a groggy voice after about four rings.

“Dr. Tate?” Gwilym replied. “It’s Gwilym Lee.”

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said, sounding more alert now. “Is everything alright?”

“Y/N’s gone into labor,” he said.

He explained to her how you’d been in labor for hours now, but had not woken him, and things were quickly becoming more serious.

“She can’t walk,” he went on. “She’s in too much pain.”

“Have you called an ambulance?” she asked.

“No, honestly, I didn’t even think of that,” he replied.

His brain felt sort of fuzzy. Why on earth had he forgotten about an ambulance? That should have been obvious. But every ounce of logic was clouded with one thing - his daughter was being born right this second. He had a brutal urge to just step outside and shout into the air. That was what he was feeling.

“That’s alright,” Dr. Tate assured him. “I can call one for you. Or, if you don’t want to move her, I can come to your home and deliver the baby there.”

Gwilym’s heart leapt at the suggestion. So, he assumed it was the right thing.

“Yes, please, let’s do that,” he said.

“Alright,” she replied. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He said goodbye and hung up. He didn’t immediately go back to your room though. Instead, he took a moment to breathe. Every muscle, every cell in his body felt like it was trembling with anticipation. He observed his hands. They were shaking. After a few deep, calming breaths, he returned to you.

“So,” he began. “Dr. Tate is coming here. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

You chuckled, but even that hurt your back.

“God, I’m never gonna have a baby in a hospital, am I?” you joked.

“I wasn’t born in a hospital?” Violet questioned.

“No, baby, you were born in a closet,” you told her.

Her little eyes went round like an owl’s.

“Woah, Mommy...you’re a badass,” she said.

Gwilym frowned and tutted at her.

“Violet, where did you learn that word?” he demanded.

“Uncle Joe,” she answered.

“When did he -? Nevermind. Violet, that’s not a very nice -”

You cut across him. “Don’t scold her, Gwil. She’s right and she should say it.”

You all started to laugh together. For a fleeting moment, the fear of the situation disappeared and you were just sharing a laugh with your family. Then, another contraction struck. You hissed with pain and gripped your belly. Violet and Gwilym turned eyes on you, each of them taking one of your hands. You looked at your husband.

“Is Dr. Tate really coming?” you choked out.

He almost replied that it was a silly question. But it hit him that it was because of everything you’d been through. So much of your trust was broken, especially with the new people in your life. Just when he opened his mouth to reassure you it would be fine and she would be here soon, his phone rang. It was Dr. Tate.

“Hello?” he said.

“Mr. Lee, I’m so sorry,” she said. “My car’s broken down and I can’t even leave my house. You may want to call emergency services after all.”

“But, you still wouldn’t make it to the hospital,” he argued.

“Yes, but there are plenty of other doctor’s there to help,” she said. “The whole staff there is incredible, and -”

“But she doesn’t know any of them,” he said.

“I know, and I really am sorry, I was so excited to meet Sybil, but I just can’t get there,” she said, defeated.

“Let me call you a cab or something,” he offered.

“Oh, Mr. Lee, I couldn’t let you do that,” she refused.

“What’s going on?” you wondered after catching your breath.

“Dr. Tate’s got some car trouble,” Gwilym answered.

“What?!” you gasped.

Gwilym put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

“I could come get you,” he said to Dr. Tate.

“You shouldn’t leave Y/N in case anything happens,” she insisted. “Really, it’ll be fine if you go -”

“No, no more bloody let downs,” he said.

Dr. Tate sputtered for a response.

“Daddy, if you can’t go get her, why not ask Adam?” Violet suggested. “He’s Mommy’s assistant.”

“That’s brilliant, Vi!” he cried, kissing her head excitedly.

“What? No, we can’t bother him with this!” you interjected.

“Darling, please!” Gwilym cried. “Please! People are showing up for you today, alright? You’re giving birth, and believe it or not, we all love you and truly, genuinely want to help. Including Adam. So please just let us.”

Your eyes brimmed with fresh tears. You smiled.

“Okay,” you conceded. “Do what you need to.”

“Dr. Tate, we’re sending Y/N’s assistant to you to pick you up,” Gwilym said. “His name is Adam. I’ll just need you to send me your address so I can send it to him.”

“Okay, then,” she agreed.

Gwilym called Adam to ensure he was awake. He was, and immediately agreed to go and get the doctor. When Gwilym hung up, he returned to you.

“Turn on your side, love,” he said, reclining beside you. “I’ll rub your back.”

“You’re an angel,” you replied.

You needed his help in turning over, which he was happy to do. Violet climbed on the bed between you and added her hands as well. Gwilym showed her how to apply just enough pressure to relieve the pain.

An hour passed. Your labor had progressed now to where the contractions were less than two minutes apart and your pain had increased to a near unbearable amount. You were in tears and clinging to Gwilym for dear life. He had returned you to your position on your back because he feared at any moment, the time to begin pushing would be upon you. He checked his phone but there was no word from Adam or Dr. Tate, despite the numerous calls he’d made.

“Come on, Adam, pick up,” he muttered, calling once again.

He got Adam’s voicemail and nearly screamed.

Then, you let out a cry like nothing he’d ever heard before. It was strangled and broken as you threw your head back into the pillows. Your sweat-coated chest heaved and you sobbed.

“Aaaaahhhhh, Gwil!” you shouted. “It’s starting!”

“Oh, God, really?!” he cried.

He moved so he was sitting on his knees, between your legs. Violet stood up by your shoulders, crying silently. She was holding your hand.

“I CAN FEEL HER!” you shrieked.

Gwilym looked. He couldn’t see the head yet, but he didn’t doubt that you felt it. Terror rushed through him. He swallowed, trying not to let you see how scared he was. He knew nothing about delivering a child, and he didn’t want to mess anything up. He looked desperately over at Violet.

“Violet, I think we’re on our own,” he said. “Go to the closet and get as many clean towels as you can. Then you need to go to the kitchen and get a bowl of hot water. As hot as it will go, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said with a firm nod.

She left the room, and started down the hall to the linen closet. He heard her struggling with the towels and he started to go and help her, but then the doorbell rang. It wasn’t just one ring, either, it was several frenzied rings like someone was pressing it rapidly.

“I’ll get it!” Violet called.

Gwilym looked at you. You reached for him and he gave you his hand.

“She’s coming,” you said thickly. “She’s nearly here, Gwil, I - oh SHIT!”

You writhed against the bed, squeezing his hand so hard he swore the bones cracked. But he didn’t show one ounce of discomfort. He just whispered soothing words into your ear.

Violet burst back into the room, followed by Adam and Doctor Tate, who both were red-faced and winded.

“What the hell took you?!” Gwilym demanded.

Dr. Tate didn’t answer, she just got straight to work, throwing a sheet over your legs and pulling several tools out of her bag. Adam heaved like he might vomit, but didn’t. He took a deep breath.

“There was a - holy shit,” he panted. “There was a roadblock. The GPS said it was going to be a three hour delay, so we pulled off, parked at a store, and ran the rest of the way here.”

“You ran here?!” Gwilym repeated, astounded.

Before Adam could answer, Dr. Tate interrupted.

“Okay, we’re about to start pushing,” she said. “Adam, could you take Violet and -”

“No,” you said weakly. “They can both stay.”

“Are you sure?” Dr. Tate asked.

You nodded. With that, Adam scooped up Violet, and sat in a chair by the bed. By your head so they wouldn’t see anything too intimate. She placed her little hand on your shoulder and it was such a comfort to you. You started to thank her, but a whimper came out instead.

“Okay, Y/N,” said Dr. Tate. “Are you with me?”

You looked at her. Gwilym stood beside her, holding one of your legs up.

“I am,” you sighed.

“You’re so strong,” she said. “I just need you to keep being strong for a little bit longer. It’s too late to administer drugs, so this won’t be easy. Just remember you’ve done it before. You got this. I need to give me a hard push in three...two...one, PUSH!”

“AAARRRRGGGHHHH!” you cried, putting every ounce of energy you had into pushing.

Gwilym watched, amazed, as the baby’s head began to emerge. You fell back against the pillows and prepared to push again.

Hey you, you're a child in my head

You haven't walked yet

Your first words have yet to be said

But I swear you'll be blessed

I know you're still just a dream

your eyes might be green

Or the bluest that I've ever seen

Anyway you'll be blessed

And you, you'll be blessed

You'll have the best

I promise you that

I'll pick a star from the sky

Pull your name from a hat

I promise you that, promise you that, promise you that

You'll be blessed

I need you before I'm too old

To have and to hold

To walk with you and watch you grow

And know that you're blessed

Finally, with a healthy cry, Sybil Audrey Lee entered the world.

***

In the coming weeks, you and your family had a ton of visitors. Gwilym’s parents stopped by pretty frequently, but they were always careful that Violet received attention along with Sybil. You had never appreciated two people more.

When Sybil was three weeks old, Joe, Rami, and Ben all made it over to see her. Joe was holding her and giving her a bottle while Violet sat on Gwilym’s lap. They all listened as Gwil told the story of the birth once again.

“Damn,” Joe said. “That’s so intense. How’d you get through it?”

You took Gwilym’s hand. “I couldn’t have done it without Gwil. Violet wasn’t as stubborn about coming out. Sybil was apparently very comfortable in there.”

He laughed, kissing your temple.

“You did it, darling,” he said. “I mostly ran around and panicked.”

Joe threw the burping cloth over his shoulder and adjusted Sybil so he could begin patting her back.

“How are you, Violet?” Ben asked. “Are you helping Mum and Dad?”

“I am!” she returned. “I don’t know how they get on while I’m at school because I do a lot. I feed Sybil all the time, but Mommy or Daddy burps her. I’ve even learned how to change her diapers.”

“Actually, Violet has been incredible,” you admitted. “She helps out with the cleaning as well.”

“Well, Grandma showed me how to do everything, so you guys can sleep!” she said.

“You’re the backbone of the household, lovie,” Gwilym told her. “Just remember to be a kid too.”

The rest of the visit was similarly pleasant, and they agreed to return the next day to take you all to lunch somewhere out of the house.

One thing had not changed since Sybil’s birth. Gwilym still read to Violet every night before bed. No matter how tired he was or what was happening. He refused to let that tradition change. In doing so, he showed Violet that she was still a priority.

Somehow, with Sybil, Gwilym was a natural. You were frequently asking him told take her so you could pump or switch out bras, or put her down so you could close your eyes before having to feed her. He was truly all you could hope for in a father for your child. Since Sybil’s birth, you had not hesitated once to ask him for help. And you stopped apologizing when you did. You had no idea what flipped the switch. You were just glad to be fully a part of a team.

That night, as you placed Sybil in the bassinet, you reflected on the breakthroughs you had made. You felt so lucky. To have a child as sweet as Violet who, even though her feelings still got hurt sometimes, she was becoming very understanding. To have a husband as wonderful as Gwilym, who had fought so hard for the birth of Sybil to go just right, even though it derailed quite a bit.

Gwil joined you after putting Violet to bed. You watched him go and kiss Sybil gently before climbing into bed with you. You smiled and hummed happily.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was just thinking how wonderful it is that Sybil has you and Violet in her life,” you said. “She’s very blessed, you know.” You leaned over and kissed his lips tenderly. When you pulled back, you held his gaze.

“And so am I.”

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incorrectquotes-randomthoughts · 4 years

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(This is so long I’m sorry but I had to rant cause honestly I’m scared )

I literally made a post the other day about how we have to welcome in new fans and treat them equally but truth be told? I’M. NOT. FUCKING. READY

Bitch bitch bitch I mean I’mma have to stand this kids hardcore shipping Luke x Annabeth ???? Or Luke x Thalia ???? SIS they’re SIBLINGS wth Annabeth realized it later on it changed there was an arc.

Like this fandom closed the discussion on Luke’s redemption arc and the way he is and his motives we agree we have opinions but we’re FINE. Are you telling me ma boy is gonna be played by some hot teen (he is older) and 12 y/o’s are gonna be biased and I’m gonna have to yell at them across a screen cause they’re gonna act like Luke is a saint !!!!??

THE SHIPS. FUCKFUCKFUCK. BoTL Percy spent worried about Nico and if it’s done properly we’re gonna have all that worry face first and no one’s gonna be able to ignore it like the AMOUNT OF PEOPLE who are gonna say that’s OTP. I mean SHIT.

I haven’t even been in the [internet] fandom for that long like how I’m I supposed to go against this people who were here before me I mean they LEFT but what arguments do I have !?!?

The amount of people who only read pjo and went BYE like I can’t bring HOO up in discussions wdym????? How I’m I supposed to talk development and change and character arcs and what would they do in certain situations if you’ve never heard of them ????

I’M NOT READY

Y’all wanna know something terrifying? The maze runner fandom. Because there’s so little creators out there who actually love it the way I do and so much of it is obsessed with Thomas Brodie-Sangster and Newt I haven’t been there since I finished the books I couldn’t stand it. And I can’t stand the fact that our Percy actor is gonna be good-looking and I’m TERRIFIED of the amount of people who are gonna be here for what the actors look like you can’t understand this.

I MEAN all them debates are coming back up I can’t do this. This is such a fantastic fandom (and I’m in many, trust me) like we’re all at peace there’s no arguments you can literally come by and just vibe.

OH FUCK ANOTHER THOUGHT. So since we’re getting official characters and stuff I swear if ONE IDIOT hates on viria’s or Livibis’ or Markiehh’s art (they’re the one’s at the top of my head) because it’s “inaccurate” or “far off” from what they look on screen they better watch the fuck out because they have no idea the fandom they’re messing with.

OH AND SHIT I know this has been brought up but the way we treat Nico??? All baby and soft and all that and how our fanon Nico is just so different from the actual canon kick-ass Nico, ya know? But we kinda understand how powerful Nico is but we still love him cause poor kid was 10 and then all of it happened and he was 13/14 (?) during tlo and the PTSD so we’re chill with that BUT. There’s the fact that our son is gay and god the amount of people who are gonna come in (cause there’s obviously gonna be foreshadowing) and be like “ooh gay baby look at him” that’s badly explained but I know you guys understand. And specially if we get to HoO and the horrors getting to ToA would be. Like we already have our fanon Nico but if someone DARES to even IMPLY that Nico can’t kill you with a thought the entire fandom know better and will prove them wrong. But the new fans what would they know.

You know what’s going to be fucking horrible ???? PARENTS. I mean UGHHHHHH. My parents only know I’m reading what I tell them I’m reading (“a book about Greek mythology”). Like I’m terrified of my mom picking up The Burning Maze sitting on my desk or any Cassandra Clare book cause the homophobia in this household is astronomical. (Don’t know how many of you will understand but the PANIC I went through reading the red scrolls of magic? God knows she would check every book I get form the library from the on) Back to the point sorry. But y’all pjo is mostly safe but Rick already talks about how parents complain about adding a Genderfluid character to a Norse mythology book (I mean Ma’am go educate yourself) and how his books “would be more successful without [gay] characters” ???? What if we get Kane Chronicles some asshole is gonna come up about Sadie being polyamorous, Alex and Magnus are gonna be a problem, Will and Nico, House of Hades is gonna make Karens riot because of one scene.

You can see how Disney treats Seblos (hsmtmts) compared to the other couples on the show. You can see how not even half of Andi Mack is actually on Disney+ (after getting brutally canceled) you can see how Diary of a Future President hasn’t been renewed when it’s reviews are 100% for both critics and public. How the Love, Simon series was removed (now on Hulu) because it wasn’t a good mix with “the family-friendly content on Disney+” (underage drinking + s*x are brought up in discussions but the show isn’t out yet and we have no idea). So pardon me for being scared of how this is going to be treated.

Back to the new fans. I’m gonna say the topic that’s the most brought up that causes discussions is Leo (?) Tbh I’m still lost on the Leo x Echo thing that everyone else seems to understand. Plus the hate on Caleo is probably the biggest issue in this fandom. (Which is like saying the biggest problem in a perfectly written essay are some barely noticeable erase-marks, but still). Anyways a fair amount of people dislike Leo for reasons I kinda comprehend. I know a kid and he’s the exact definition of Leo, (I’ll probably talk about this in an individual post) and people don’t like him, I know most of you would avoid him. I know he’s great but people just don’t seem to like him.

(wOw i’M sO gOOd aT sTaYInG oN tOpiC)

I don’t think I’m gonna be able to survive hate on characters that probably WILL come.

Solangelo is called rushed a lot and I would want to see this two fall for each other and Nico let down his walls and talk about his PTSD from Tartarus (which friendly reminder Percy saw for a few minutes the way Nico saw it the whole time and it was the worst part of his entire experience there). But I mean there WERE six months between BoO and ToA, I am pretty sad we didn’t get to see them.

oH JESUS follow-up on Nico earlier; the fetishization, or Apollo, or Will.

Ok... ha, this is fun....

OH WAIT NEW THOUGHT SJDJDJD On the topic of Luke’s redemption arc... BIANCA,, they better do my girl properly who thought she had stayed months at the Lotus Hotel babysitting her lil’ brother and then was put into a school where they were outcasts and she probably knows as much as Nico about mythomagic from his rants and she thought he was gonna be safe and she wanted freedom and be her own person so she joined the hunters. And as a fandom we’ve talked this out but what about the new fans, they better not try to act like she did anything wrong cause that’s just not-

OH AND no one better hate on Clarisse cause yeah she’s the minor antagonist but she’s a very well-written character who doesn’t change the way she is but is kinda less of an ass towards Percy. And she and Silena are good friends and she and Chris are dating and she is a human being with valid feelings. She was terrified for Chris in BoTL and cared for him and nurse him back to sanity and stayed with him. She throws Percy and Annabeth into the lake which so it’s prove she and Percy are more in the friendly banter I-won’t-admit-how-much-I-care-for-you-if-it-meant-my-life relationship. Then this doesn’t happpen until the last two books (seasons?) so we can’t actually go around saying it? In SoM we learn about how Ares treats her which is SO important so I guess S1 comes out and we sit here telling new fans “You’ll know next season” cause we can’t directly spoil it and then we’re like “You gotta wait for seasons 4 and 5” ugghhhhh this is too much.

Ok I’m done for now I’ll reblog this with any new terrifying thoughts when if they come.

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thethirdwheel404 · 4 years

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Med Series Rewatch (#12)

S3 E12: Born This Way.

Episode description: Dr. Manning and Dr. Choi are faced with a tough decision.

Literally when are they not.

Okay, last episode ended with the first Ava/Connor kiss, so this episode should be a rollercoaster of emotions.

let’s get into it.

- okay, already we’re starting in connor’s apartment, so cue ava walking in bc they slept together?

- i think its hilarious that her casual clothing is.. a flannel. like lmao idk

- it is so unbelievably funny and stupid to have a one night stand with someone you work closely with. i mean come on

- never forget that dr. ava bekker has a fish tank

- this is exhausting. the tentative back and forth is so fucking exhausting

- another bit of evidence. ava is never not confident, and especially not to this extent, and she never follows connor’s lead. so, the fact that she is standing back and waiting for him to make the decision? stupid.

- it screams that she is having a moment of anxiety, which is why she isn’t up to make the decisions in the exchange.

-to be clear: what i’m claiming here is that the only reason ava actually got with connor was bc she was having a moment of anxiety because he was the only person she had built a relationship with after living in this city for six months.

- when connor says that he has plans you can see her fold in on herself. this stems from a place of anxiety

- remember when they did surgery on the panda? that’s when the show peaked

- ava in her lab coat will never not get me. especially with the gloves, running towards a patient (very hot)

- connor still looks kinda looks like a mess but ava is immaculate here like what dude out of your league

- ava asking the family questions (ik this is standard doctor stuff but showing worry, interest, all that jazz)

- okay, see here! here! ava calls connor out, saying that his procedure is too invasive. before, ava’s procedures where invasive, which everyone used as evidence to her being super cold, but now, we see that she purely does what she deems best for the patient at hand

- also, once again, the concern ava feels. you can hear it in her voice. we forget this part of her way too often

- the smile on ava’s face when she gives the family good news. god wept

- and then more concern when connor tells her they need to put him on ecmo

- the reason that ava is frustrated that connor didn’t go with her decision for their patient care is because she truly believes that if they don’t go with her treatment, he will die. don’t make it anything different. don’t argue she’s frustrated because he’s not listening to her. don’t make it anything about their relationship. she puts their patients care first and foremost

- there’s a stark shift in her demeanor when in the room with the parents vs. her alone with connor. in the room, you can see she’s stewing. she’s sucking on her teeth, she’s holding her emotions. she has control, she’s a professional. out of the room, she has full reign to be as mad with connor as she wants, which she does.

-AVA RAN INTO THE ROOM AGAIN WITH THE LAB COAT AND GLOVES AND IDK IT JUST HAS ME FEELING SOME KINDA WAY

- the way ava acknowledges everyone in the room (the nurse just informed them that the drug was running, ava nodded. just a little thing but yk)

- ava shaking her head at this sad, sad man (connor, who is floundering for a solution and misplacing his anger)

- their entire relationship is misplaced anger

- the fact that the last shot of the scene has connor in the foreground looking over the bed and ava watching from the door but ava is the one in focus - some cool cinematography points

- IS THIS THE EPISODE WHERE MAGGIE GOES TO JAIL

- med really went all over the place

- JUST THE AMOUNT OF CONCERN ON AVA’S FACE. im gonna say it again. look me in the eyes and tell this women is a psychopath. the med writers are fucking insane

- and when the parents ask ava if she disagreed with connor’s treatment decision, she has every opportunity (and right, frankly) to throw him under the bus and undermine him. but still, she says “it’s a complicated situation.” like. she never ever makes it personal, or loses her head. especially not to a patient. and she doesn’t have to defend connor. he’s made a lot of mistakes, and taken it out on her a bunch of times. yet she’s still nice to him, when he’s not even in the room

- it’s insane

- this is also the legendary scene where she comforts the family. there’s not a lot that i haven’t already said. this is the scene that most exemplifies ava’s humanity, the way she seems to feel, at least residually, what these parents are going through (since she obviously hasn’t gone through anything like this herself [unless.]). the way she kneels down, and gets on the family’s personal level.

- I... okay listen. I absolutely HATE the parallel they pull her between the line “I believe whenever you do something out of love, it can never really be wrong” and connor. especially because they show him when she says that line. and yeah, there’s obviously a connection that can be drawn between the meaning of that line and her sociopathic behavior in s4 and s5.

- it honestly feels like when writing s4, the writers hit so much of a wall they just googled the most ‘iconic’ ava moments and thought ‘how can i use these in the worst way possible?’ That’s honestly probably what they did (ava’s first interaction with connor - ‘you better watch yourself,’ this moment). There is no nuance to her character in s4. it is astoundingly terrible.

- lets move on

- THE WAY CONNOR LOOKS AT AVA HER MAKES ME FUCKING SCARED. HE HAS NO EMOTION ON HIS FACE. I know that we’ve been screen capping ava throughout this series but can someone find pictures of connor looking at ava bc, i need yall to remember how weird he looks

- like, no shade to connor, but just the emotion is undecipherable, but it is in no way a good one

- ava getting concerned (and looking slightly embarrassed) when she sees connor watching her by the door. obviously yeah she’s gonna feel weird you just caught her in a very uncharacteristic moment, outwardly expressing comfort. fucking back off

- i am so fucking protective of her and i demand he no longer look at her. it’s banned

- sam abrams looking at sarah’s dad’s head ct and asking if he’s a criminal. oh boy

- from a writer’s perspective, the storyline with sarah’s dad is actually pretty good

- ava ran into the room with gloves and lab coat again, if anybody wanted to know

- for the record, want it to be noted, ava was the one who realized that it was an issue with the machine again, so you could say she fixed connor’s mistake, again. so.

- connor making a big deal about handing the reins over to ava (if he really was selfless he wouldn’t have made a whole big thing, he still has an enormous hero complex)

- handing off control was very hard for him. boo hoo get some fucking humility I think they sell it at walgreens

- sarah fucking walking across the ed like she’s going to war. dramatic

- med really said pedophiles deserve rights with this ep huh

- anyway

- the way ava smiles

- the way she smiles when she turns him down. CAN WE TALK ABOUT THAT? SHE TURNED HIM DOWN. in the aspect of the story i cannot remember why she turned him down, but hey, i’m happy

- and it only further proves my story that the hook up came from a place of anxiety, and this is her realizing how silly that decision was. and her smiling was her laughing at herself for making such a stupid decision

- ALSO. LET’S TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT THIS DECISION, THE DECISION TO TURN HIM DOWN, HAPPENED IN THE SAME EPISODE WHERE SHE SAID ‘IF YOU DO SOMETHING FOR LOVE, IT’S NEVER REALLY WRONG’

- like she literally says ‘last night was a mistake.’

- honestly, it’s fucking hilarious. connor deserves nothing

- and the confusion on his face when she walks away. hilarious

- if you wanted to take this the reesker route you could argue that the idea of ‘a decision of love’ was ava coming to terms with her slight little crush, though i don’t know how clean it would be if you argue that she panicked and told herself those were feelings meant for connor. idk, i’ll have to think about it further

- watching sarah let herself be betrayed by both herself and the people around in the story surrounding her dad will never not be hard to watch

This was a very good episode, character wise, for all the reasons stated above. It just hammers home the point of how strong a character Ava was. Key word, of course, being ‘was’. My conclusion over the last two episodes is that this specific sexual encounter with Connor was born out of a moment of anxiety from Ava. I suggest that over that last few weeks or days she has been experiencing some amount of anxiety out of having been living in Chicago for six months and only having one interpersonal relationship. So, that idea kind of built where she told herself the reason she only had one relationship was because she was in love with him. Then. after going through the story with this kid and comforting his parents, she realizes that she never actually loved Connor and maybe has a thing for someone else. I’m glad that I keep coming up with more ideas for this character, I was afraid the initial theory was somewhat of a one-off, but this only proves the idea of the complexity to Ava’s character.

I’m sure it’ll get worse from here, though.

as always, thanks for sticking through

read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Extra

#chicago med #med rewatch series #ava bekker #mine #born this way

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your-localghost · 4 years

Text

so um who wants to read a 50 page essay of me and my mom's journey through the IT movies?

too bad you're reading it

so like i saw this goddamm clown, and i, also being a clown, said to my mom, also a clown, "lets watch this clown movie lol" and she said yes. and in the like first five minutes we are already awwing and stuff because??? omg georgie and bill are so cu- oh. oh my god. oh this us not what we thought at all-

so enter Losers. instant RELATE i am also a LOSER hellO?? hAh look at these 2 idiots theyre bickering like an old couple an- oh my fucking GOD of course there are bullies. one of them looks like draco malfoy??? guYs did draco malfoy play in this movie we see him like 2 times-

oh my god oh no poor bill he is trying to find his brother :( but alsO BEV IS SO PRETTY??? IM SO GAY???? and yeah i really feel the New Kid On The Block like same man i didnt even get to meet a pretty girl and a buncho losers who will go jump into lakes with me

OH and the lake scene? it bites me in the ass later. i fucking passed it off as a "theyre bonding" moment and then it transforms into a feelings plane and crashes into my house

me: they just keep leaving their bikes

mom: well It takes kids, not bikes

fastforward and??? the fight secene?? the fuckijgn fi Ght SCE ne??? o H M Y GO D

bill was so desperate to find georgie?? richie was so scared he would die??? beN BEING SCARED HIS FRIENDS ARE GONE?

i AM ALL OF THESE FUCKERS

and oh?? bev's dad??? hate the vibe this dude gives to me. like this dude def did more than mentally abuse her and im so glad she beat him up

uhHHH??? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT EDDIE STANDING UP TO HIS FREAKSHOW OF A MOM??? HOW HE WAS SO MAD????? HE THREW HIS PILLS ON THE GROUND HELLO, HE STRAIGHT UP YEETED HIS FANNY PACK??? MAN the things a gay goes through for his friends

bill's speech on georgie, like, dude just fucking stab me it will hurt way less

fastforward more, the oath??? how scared stan was??? like i ddint really feel any connection with stan other than his actor played my fav character, stan, in ianowt, but uHm? i still love him??? so mUCH???

oOOOH i just realied i didnt talk about mikey

ahem

THE ROCK FIGHT THE FUKING ROCK FIGHT THE ROCK FIGHT OH MY GOD

THESE LOSERS ARE SCARED SHITLESS OF THOSE SHITBAGS BUT THEY SEE ANOTHER LOSER AND THE FIRST THING THEY DO IS THROW R O C K LIKE FUCK YEAH YOU FUCNKY LITTLE MIDDLE SCHOOLERS STAND UP FOR YOUR FELLOW BULLIED I LOVE MIKEY SO M7CH OH MY GOD

so between the 2 movies we realized it wasnt on netflix and went on various websites to watch the 2nd movie, got progressively angrier until i got my laptop and just watched it blindly because we are both blind

okay heres the tea yall

they completely erased bev's character in the 2nd movie. in the first it was emphesized SO MUCH just how brave she was compared to the others. she took the first step, she wasnt afraid to go into the house she fought her abusive dad and in the 2nd movie it was all gone. i really liked the fact that bev wqsnt a damsel in distress until in the 2nd movie she was. while in the 1st movue you forgot that gender roles existed in the 2nd it really seemed like they wrote bev as a "woman" rather than "bev" you dig me??? okay rant over. basically fuck the 2nd movie bev and im not just saying this because her 1st movie actor made me realize i was a lesbian. on to the movie

oh mY GOD HOMOSEXUALS??? WILL THEY HAVE A PART IN THIS STORY OH MY IM SO EX- oh. right. oh hey theres mikey :D

___

me: who's this??

mom: its bill look, its his surname

me:

me: you remember bill's surname but not richie or ben's names?

---

oh theyre all grown up!! oh bevs fighting an abusive man again and uh

___

mom: i have a feeling stans gonna kill himself

me: hah can you imagi

---

STANLEY??? BABEY BOY OH NO???? and also are we gonna let the spider with the baby head thing pass?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY DONT REMEMBER ANYTHI-

"this is like a virus its been eating us for 27 years!" YEA MIKEY ITS CALLED PTSD YOU FOUGHT A FUCKING DEMON AND DIDNT SEE A THERAPIST????

also the whole tribe thing seemed really out of story and like it didnt belong there at all? idk maybe its just me but i dont wanna believe that bill's 3rd eye opened after he got drugged by his friend idk

so like hightlights because ive got many rants about the 2nd movie

what the fuck do you mean bev got out of jer specilized hell after ben recited 1 fucking poem are you kidding me are yOU FUCKING KIDDING ARE WE REALLY DOING THE SAVED BY LOVE BULLSHIT AGAIN OH OKAY

OH OKAY FUCK YOU

SO BEV GETS SAVED IN THE FIRST MOVIE AFTER BEN KISSES HER WHEN AT THE TIME HE PRIBABLY THOUGHT LOVE WAS AT ITS PEAK WHEN YOU GAVE YOUR 2ND GRADE CRUSH A BADLY WRITTEN POEM

AND UFKCING HELL IT HAPPENS IN THE 2ND MOVIE TOO??? DOES PENNYWISE JUST THINK "oh these bitches hetero bettet keep them alive" BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS WOULD ALL BE OKAY IF

IF EDDIE LIVED TOO

FUCK I RELATE TO RICHIE SO MUCH??? HIS FIGHT WITH HIS PEERS AND HIS FIGHT WITH HIMSELF OVER HIS YEARS LASTING CRUSH ON EDDIE?? OH MY GOD IT WAS SO OBVIOUS THIS MOTHERFUCKER WAS GAY AND I DIDNT REALIZE UNTIL THE 2ND MOVIE WHEN HE HAS A BREAKDOWN BECAHSE HIS SOULMATE GETS STABBED BY HOMOPHOBIC FORTNITE DANCING CLOWN WHILR HE TRIES TO SAVE HIMA DN THEN FUCKIN G DIES EVEN THOUGHT THESE 2 IDIOTS HAD MORE CHEMISTRY THAN BILL+BEV AND BEN+BEV COMBINED OH MY GOD IM SO MAD THE HETEROS GET TO LIVE BY TRUE LOVE BUT THE GAYS DONT AND UG G H H G G HH "hes dead" NO HE FUCKING IS NOT THIS ISNT FAIR I LOVED EDDIE SO MUCH

well uh now that we got my love for richie on papet um

the lake scene

i cried and i had to watch heteros kiss underwater while wiping my tears. its only cool when percabeth does it guys

the lake scene aside i full on BAWLED LIKE A BABY at the ending because i felt so bad that stan died already and i felt bad that not only was richie facing years if bullying and homophobia anf the loss of his friends it finally is confirmed that richie had a crush on eddie and i

i just cried man? it hurt me so much as it weighed on me how many jokes richie made, how scared he was when he saw the missing paper of himself, his flashbacks to people calling him names, his speech to eddie and that he had to get dragged out because this fucker obviously couldnt let go of his feelings. and between all of that and stan's letter my brain blocks out everything and focuses on one

R + E

oh my god

OH MY GOD NO

NOW i dont really like watching movies. as a writer myself im really critical of everything involving the world building, the characters, the plot and all that jazz and usually the acting is so bad that i dont feel for the characters but THIS ONE. T H I S O N E

my mom turned to me and was SO SHOCKED to see my flat out CRYING because i just dont do that man, and she just asked my what made me cry and i just made a noise like "hhhnnnn" and she nodded and went "richie's love story" and i, still crying, went "hhhnnnn" but in a higher pitch

and im just so mad? that eddie didnt get to live?? we didnt get an "i love you" or even a "im gay" from richie??? we didnt get to see them holding hands and letting go of their trauma together and being gay and happy yet

yet the fucking bad-writer-white-boy and boo-hoo-i-had-no-friends and not-bev get happy endings??? mike can get a happy ending because he is a well thought out character

thESE 3 ON THE OTHER HAND OH MY GOD

bill had to change his endings which really makes me angry because ima writer yada yada

bill has been bullied his uh what whole life? he got told his opinion didnt matter and from what i remember even his parents shut down his ideas and i feel like he should have made the endings how he wanted instead of changing to what the public wanted. thats what he defended as a kid, thats why he was in the losers club unwilling to change, because they were losers. yet he changed.

ben should have stayed fat or at least have abnornal weight because that also defeats his story with bev. it makes it seem that suddenly and magically when ben is hot bev can BEGIN to consider that she loves him.

i already ranted about bev.

mike is decent i guess? i like that he didnt stay with whoever the fuck that was in the first movie because he seemed very aggreasive to me. im glad the chose to research into pennywise because others were too stupid not to (RICH AND EDDIE GET A PASS AGAIN BECAUSE THEY SHARE HALF A BRAINCELL AND I LOVE THEM)

well stan is just tragic

___

me: who the fuck is afraid of spiders why do they keep showing up

mom: its stan?

mom: he brought the hair things and all

me, about to cry: oh m y god

---

so TL;DR: we really liked the first film! the acting, the plot, the creepiness is overall better and you get to relate to a bunch of Losers who get abused by their parents

the 2nd film doesnt exist. i refuse to acknowledge it exist EXCEPT for the ending where stan writes a letter about how he would like to meet hks friends again while BREATHING and richie and eddie carve their initials on a piece of wood and get to be gay.

if your name starts with B your opinion is invalid in the 2nd movie

also can anybody give me fanfics where the fortnite dancing clown doesnt exist and richie goes to therapy to heal from the bullying and once he gets over his homophobia he gays with eddie??? specific i know but im willing to write it if it doesnt exist

#ghost reviews movies #i guess?#it (movie)#it (2017)#it (2019)#spoilers #tw abuse mention #tw homophobia mention #tw suicide mention #this is a #rant #AND A #vent #BECAUSE OF RICHIE AND RICHIE ONLY #long post

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lovelylogans · 5 years

Text

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter nine / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: hospitals, needle/ivs, coughing, fever, sick stuff, pneumonia, arguing, classism, pregnancy scare (in a flashback), mentions of dysphoria, death mentions (only mentions, don’t worry!) please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: moxiety, logince

word count: 22,124

notes: hoo boy this chapter was a DOOZY and i’m v curious to know how it’s gonna go over, so, fingers crossed y’all like it!

virgil hates hospitals. well, arguably, patton hates them more, he always hates going to the doctor even if it's just for a check-up, but the fact that patton is alone back there and delirious and in a place he's afraid of without anyone who knows him to comfort him kind of makes virgil want to put his fist through a wall, so he doesn't think about that, and instead he keeps pacing this stupidly tiny waiting room, clutching his hoodie, not even putting it on properly, because he'd given it to patton when he started shivering and shaking and succumbing to his chills and not breathing a word of complaint about the cold he must have been feeling and virgil had given him his hoodie and patton had sniffled and looked at virgil like he'd made everything okay, so he can't put it on until everything's okay again. right? (it makes sense to him.)

he keeps thinking about patton. not even worrying about him, though there's plenty of that, but memories keep flashing through his head, and it's almost unbearable, to think about patton happy and healthy when the memory of patton lying on his face in his dark house is right there and virgil left him, he left him—

("i've figured it out," patton says triumphantly. he's twenty-two, and virgil's twenty-eight, and logan's freshly six, on his way to the diner to meet with patton after school, when he'll decide if he wants to stay and do homework at virgil's or go with patton to the inn.

"figured out what?" virgil asks, amused despite himself, seeing how smug and satisfied with himself patton is right now.

"The Hugging Problem," patton says, and his grin grows wider. "i've figured it out."

ah, yes. The Hugging Problem. it had been discussed between virgil and patton so often that it warranted the capital letters. The Hugging Problem was that logan had decided he was a big boy now, and didn't need hugs or comfort, even when he was upset and clearly really, really needed a hug and some comfort.

"you did?" virgil says, intrigued despite himself. "how?"

patton taps his finger to his lips, grinning. "that'd be telling."

"patton," virgil whines, "you can't just tell me you have a solution to The Hugging Problem and not tell me what it is—"

"well, i can't just tell you the solution to The Hugging Problem," patton says conspiratorially. "i'll show you. when he needs it.")

"virgil!"

virgil pivots, then, to see logan, in an exquisite, bespoke, expensive suit, rushing toward him, face drawn and tight and worried.

"is he—?"

virgil's already shaking his head, crossing his arms tight over his stomach. "no news. they took him back there to run some tests, or get the fever down, or both, but—"

logan's nodding, and then brushing past him, immediately, to the welcome desk, staffed by a nurse or at least a someone in scrubs.

"excuse me," logan says, voice threaded through with a sense of authority that reminds virgil so strongly of the first time he met emily sanders that it sends a chill up his spine, "my father's been admitted here, patton sanders, would you happen to have any information on him, a room number, maybe, or what tests are being run on him?"

the nurse checks something, glances at virgil (who'd filled out patton's paperwork when they'd gotten there, and he knows all of patton's insurance info because virgil helped him set his up back in the day and virgil's been his emergency contact since that time patton thought he had appendicitis but it was really just a terrible stomach ache because he got food poisoning from al's pancake world) and nods.

"i'll have someone check on that for you," she says, in the tone that means maybe, eventually.

"do," logan says tightly, and comes back toward virgil. virgil reaches out and carefully squeezes his shoulder. for some reason, he feels like something is missing. he dismisses that thought, because the something is probably behind the doors he's forbidden to cross into, it’s the something that he just left behind and he can't—

"hey," he says, and squeezes again. "look at me."

logan looks him in the eyes—tormented and worried and anxious in a way a kid never really should have to be, ever.

"your dad's gonna be fine," he says, trying to make his voice sound gentle, but with some kind of authority.

"you can't know—" logan begins, adam's apple bobbing.

"logan," virgil says, holds both his shoulders now. "look at me. i'm saying that. me, who always thinks every worse scenario is one thousand percent guaranteed to happen. i am. and patton's gonna be okay."

logan takes in a shuddering breath. "but—you're panicking."

"i'm always panicking," virgil says softly. "and i'm panicking right now because we don't know what's going on, not because i think there's any chance of something happening to your dad."

logan surveys him for a few seconds, eyes sweeping up and down his face, staring into his eyes, and virgil's expression must present the answer he's looking for because he relaxes, just a little, slumping into virgil's touch, and virgil knows better than to pull him into a hug right now so he just compensates by squeezing his shoulders a little harder before letting go. logan's arms cross in front of his stomach, too.

"not because i think anything's—going to go wrong," logan says, haltingly, "but... dad has a will, doesn't he?"

"yes," virgil says cautiously.

logan licks his lips nervously, before he says, "if something—if dad didn't—look. i'd want my guardian to be you."

virgil's arms drop from where they're wrapped around his stomach, and he turns to face logan more fully, mouth hanging open in awe, just a little.

"it has to be you," logan says. "if something happens."

"nothing's happening."

"i know," logan says, and he sounds like he really does know it, the way he knows nellie bly had her pencil confiscated from her in blackwell's and was told she never brought one, the way he knows anne royall blackmailed president adams into an interview by catching him skinny-dipping, the way he knows the new york times printed, the day after the launch of the apollo 11, a retraction of an article about no rocket conceivably leaving the atmosphere and reaching the moon. just fact. "just... so you know."

virgil swallows past the sudden lump in his throat.

(—dead on his feet, even as patton pushes a mug of (plain) coffee into his hands, leaning against the counter.

"thanks for helping me with him," patton says wearily. "i love him, he's so smart, he just gets so... nervous. you know?"

"i know," virgil says dryly, and patton winces a little. virgil waves it off. "and you don't need to say thank you, anyway, not when it comes to helping logan. i'll always try and help him. i know he's yours but—" barely a pause, and then, a sleepless tumble of a confession—"i always thought he was a little mine, too."

patton doesn't take offense. he just smiles, a secretive little thing, and takes a sip of coffee.

"well," patton says. "of course he's a little yours. you're a little ours too, you know.")

"yeah," virgil croaks, and clears his throat. "yeah, okay."

"good," logan says stiffly.

"right, good," virgil echoes.

they'd probably stand there saying "good" "good" back and forth and back and forth until a nurse finally appeared to wave them back into patton's room if it wasn't for the burst of noise a good way down the hall.

"but why can't i see him?!"

"they're running some tests."

"well, we would like to meet this doctor who's testing him."

"you will."

"some strange man is working on our son, we have a right to meet this person!"

"you will."

"and i want to see the room you're going to put him in."

"you will."

"and stop saying 'you will,' put together a proper sentence, for god's sake!"

"ma'am, sir, please just wait here."

—and a harried nurse leads emily and richard sanders into the waiting room.

oh. great. just what he needs. patton's fucking parents.

(—patton's eighteen, virgil's nearly twenty-four, and logan's nearly two, and patton has given logan over for virgil to babysit for a while with a written list of instructions and a packed bag, and virgil's only a little terrified, partially because logan's never spent the night at virgil's before without patton there and partially because logan is pre-emptively putting the terrible in 'terrible twos' and partially because patton got his top surgery today and he's being looked after by his parents, and virgil certainly has some Opinions after hearing about the way patton was raised and the environment that surrounded him until he ran away to sideshire.

everything's going fine until virgil realizes that logan's favorite jupiter toy isn't in the bag.

he has seen the meltdowns logan has without that thing. he needs to get it. he can only really hope that the room's empty and he can go right in, go right out, and logan will be reunited with his toy and no one will be any the wiser.

fucking alas.

he walks into the room juggling logan and the duffle bag and the spare key maria gave him, because patton had panickedly rented a room rather than let his parents have any idea about him living in the poolhouse, only to walk in to two very finely-dressed people turning from the bed where patton's lying to see the door.

"papapapapapapapapapa," logan babbles happily as soon as he sees patton, reaching out and opening and closing his chubby little fists, as if to say to virgil hand me over immediately! and virgil can't help but smile a little at the sound of it. logan's been doing this thing lately where he adds thirty more syllables to a word than is necessary, if he's excited about it. it's real cute.

"who are you?" demands the woman suspiciously, the woman who must be patton's mother. patton looks nothing like her. or the tall man with the tie on, who must be patton's father.

"virgil danes," virgil bites out. "i'm babysitting logan, just need to grab a toy of his, so. i'll be right out of your hair."

"oh, well, that's not necessary," emily says briskly, walking forward and holding out her arms expectantly. "we can look after him."

without thinking, virgil shifts so that he's more clearly between her and logan, so that she would have to step around him to grab logan. her eyes narrow.

"yeah, well, patton told me to watch him," virgil says. "so i'm gonna watch him."

"papa," logan says, and tugs at virgil's hoodie. "virgil, papa."

virgil winces. "i know, kid, sorry. he's taking a nap right now, okay? we gotta be quiet. shhhh."

logan frowns at him. if there is one thing he doesn't like (the things logan doesn't like are very numerous) it's being told to be quiet. which is fair, really, virgil doesn't like it much either.

virgil spies the jupiter toy, half-hidden under the wardrobe, and goes over to grab it, handing it over to logan, who takes it with a pacified, cheery little babble and immediately sticks it into his mouth. god, virgil dreads the day a toy won't work as a distraction for him anymore.

"don't be ridiculous," emily tells him. "he's our grandson."

"no offense, lady," virgil says, "but you could be the queen of england. patton told me to watch him, so i'm gonna watch him. end of story. besides, patton's going to be a handful medicine-wise and i don't particularly trust you very much anyway."

"i beg your pardon?!" richard says, flabbergasted.

"consider it begged," virgil says. "and to be perfectly honest, knowing you're patton's parents doesn't endear me to you, like, at all, knowing what i know, so."

"how dare you," emily snarls.

"yeah, i'll dare, because your son is one of the best people i've ever met, and you don't seem to understand that whatsoever—")

virgil's violently yanked from his reverie when emily starts up, again.

"my great-uncle founded this hospital! his portrait is hanging in the lobby, go look, it's right above the sign that says 'founder!'"

"holy shit," virgil says, and quickly steps between emily and the nurse that she's harassing. "i'm so sorry about her, seriously, you're doing a great job and any news whatsoever would be appreciated, please ignore her."

the nurse spares a look for emily, gives him a grateful look, and they hurry off.

"ignore me?!" she fumes. "ignore me?!"

"yeah," virgil says, pivoting, "i know you're pretty good at ignoring any of your kid's boundaries, but you also seem to like flooring over them without any regard for his welfare, so i'm sure treating people like they're actual people instead of like they're scum beneath your shoe is gonna be a great big moral dilemma for you. i'd say i live in hope that you'll let people be on their own, but you seem to have a lot of trouble letting people exist on their own terms, so."

oh shit. okay, so, he's started it. fuck. patton's gonna hate that.

"how dare you speak to my wife in that way," richard begins indignantly, puffing himself up like a bullfrog.

"yeah, i got plenty for you too, buddy," virgil begins heatedly, but he sees a flash of a brand new, costly suit, and forces himself to fucking cool it, jesus christ, "but that's not helping right now, none of this is helping, i get that i snapped and i'm a hypocrite, my bad, but can we put aside tearing each other apart the way i know we all want to until we know what's wrong with patton?"

virgil punctuates it with a very significant glance toward logan, who was not old enough to retain and remember the first round of this particular throwdown. emily seethes, richard glowers, but they cluster off together, in their own little corner.

emily reaches to make logan a part of that, make it sanders family vs random diner outsider, but quicker than a flash and slicker than oil, logan slips from her grasp and goes to stand at virgil's side. sideshire vs grandparents.

and suddenly, virgil's brain catches up to where logan's made the logical leap. patton has a will. he must have outlined who logan's guardian or guardians would be in case of his untimely demise. and since patton asks him whenever he involves virgil in anything legal—being made an emergency contact, for example—and he'd definitely ask virgil before penning him down for something so significant without so much as virgil's say-so.

and if virgil wouldn't be logan's guardian...

"and for god's sake, don't harass them for doing their jobs," virgil can't help but tack on, and turns to look away from—them.

("—virgil, did you, um?"

"yeah?" virgil asks, struggling to hand over logan, the duffle bag, and patton's to-go order of hot cocoa/coffee without spilling or dropping anything or anyone. logan's really mostly squirming to get back to his dad, anyway, and patton quickly takes him before he can squirm himself straight to the ground.

"i just," patton says, and frowns, shifting logan so he's on his hip. "i thought you came over when i was recovering. i dunno, it was probably an anesthesia dream, or something."

it wasn't, virgil thinks, but, well. what good would that do? he dressed down patton's parents, they tried to dress him down back, patton had cracked his eyes open enough to, in his drugged haze, coo at logan, who bopped him softly on the nose with a closed, slobbery fist, before virgil booked it before the sanders' shouting could wake patton up permanently. what good would it do to tell him all that? he'd hate that he was being argued over, anyway. so virgil just makes sure that everything's all handed over and doesn't say anything about it.

"you recovered all okay, then?" virgil says.

patton puffs himself up proudly. "yep," he says happily. "all cleared to work and lift logan," he tilts the hip with logan on it, trying not to wince, as logan has started tugging his hair, "as long as i'm careful about it."

virgil smiles. "good."

"it is, isn't it?" patton says, looking down at his own chest, finally flat without any help from a binder, and virgil reaches out to clap his shoulder. logan takes the opportunity to start babbling for attention at virgil, tugging his hoodie sleeve, as if virgil hasn't been waiting on logan's every whim for the past three days.

"lookin' good, man," virgil says, sincere, and patton beams at him. it just solidifies the belief virgil's had since the first night he met him: that patton's parents don't deserve him.)

"patton sanders?" a nurse calls, and, identically, all four of them advance on him.

"we've gotten the fever down to a point where seizures are less of a concern, but he's still pretty out of it," the nurse says, brusque. "he's in a test room right now, but we'll take him to his room shortly. we've run an x-ray and we're waiting on those results and some culture results before we—"

"pneumonia," logan says hollowly. "you think it's pneumonia."

virgil hadn't known what any of it could be, hadn't even remotely thought to prepare himself for it, but it still hits him like a blow to the chest.

("—they could give you some medicine to keep that fever down," virgil says. "make sure it isn't anything worse."

"virgil," patton says patiently, "it isn't anything worse."

"how do you know?"

"because i just feel sick, not like i'm at death's door," patton says, and sneezes into his kleenex. "crummy but not crumbling—")

i am literally never listening to your refusals about going to a doctor to see if it's anything worse ever again, virgil thinks, half furious, half scared-out-of-his-mind. left him, you left him, something in his brain hisses at him, accusatory, he’d left patton and now he’s in the hospital with fucking pneumonia—

"it's the most likely result, but it hasn't been confirmed yet," the nurse says. logan sways a little.

"can we see him?" virgil asks, putting his hand on logan's shoulder again, trying to steady him.

"we're still running a test, but once that's done—"

"well, can we see his room, then?" emily says.

the nurse gestures them forward, and virgil's about to follow when logan swivels to face him, eyes wild.

"i need to do something," he says.

"do what?" virgil says stupidly.

"i don't know, anything," logan says, clearly about .05 seconds from tearing his hair out. "get coffee or make phone calls or do something that isn't just—standing here."

"okay," virgil says, getting it, a little. logan's not exactly patient, virgil's known this for years, and logan's about as well-suited to fretting as he is to smiling and demurring during a debate (that is, not at all.) "okay, um—you got your phone?"

logan nods.

"call some people at the inn and let them know that patton's gonna be out sick for a bit. after that, get some—" he nearly says coffee but he takes stock of himself and how fast his heart's racing and also remembers half of patton's favorite drink and can't, "—tea, peppermint, preferably. and then go get a paper."

logan's brow creases in confusion, and virgil tries for a smile.

"every morning at breakfast, your dad's been complaining you're not there to interpret current events for him," virgil explains. "he likes it when you do that. maybe get something with a comic section, he likes those."

logan breathes, shoulders slumping a little with the relief of a series of set tasks. "okay. got it."

"right," virgil says. "i'll text you the room number as soon as i've got it, okay?"

logan nods, and sets off at a brisk pace down the hall, woe betide anyone who gets in his way.

virgil picks up the pace so he can catch up, and spots the nurse, who bustles after him, looking even more harried.

"where's...?"

"your in-laws are currently seeing to it that your husband gets the room with the good view," she says, and virgil shakes himself.

"oh, he's not my—"

then something catches up to him and he realizes that if they think he's patton's husband, he'll have the same family visiting rights as the rest of them.

"—uh, i mean, sorry. yeah. how long until they bring him back?"

"very soon," she promises. "i can appreciate that this is hard for you, sir."

you have no idea, virgil thinks, catching onto what kind of wrath emily sanders might bring down upon this hospital if she realizes that the nurses think her son's married to someone without the right pedigree or a summer house by the coast or an aspiring career as a senator or something.

"thanks so much for all your hard work," virgil says instead.

emily sweeps down the hall, nearly bowling over some poor man on a gurney.

"we've secured him the room but those pillows are completely unacceptable," she declares. "i'm going to see if i can find him some down ones and some slippers, richard is ensuring the room stays private—" she frowns, as if realizing he's the sole member of her audience right now. "where's logan?"

"he wanted to be useful, so he's going to get his dad a paper and call some people," virgil says. "is patton in the room yet?"

"they're bringing him back very soon, which is an incredible indefinite timespan," emily says. "i'll be back."

off she goes, and virgil thinks down pillows?! with only a slight amount of hysteria. he turns back to the nurse. "which room?"

"202," she says, and he texts logan the room number on the way there, and—

oh, huh. it does have a nice view, all lit up at night like this. there's no bed in the room, though, which virgil thinks is kinda weird, and richard's standing silently at the window, which virgil thinks is also kinda weird.

virgil coughs awkwardly to announce his presence.

"oh," richard says, "it's you."

"uh, yeah," virgil says.

"emily went to get pillows."

"i ran into her on the way here," virgil says, and offers, "logan went to get some tea and a paper, i can text him if you want coffee, or something."

"oh," richard says. "thank you, but no. that won't be necessary."

("—dad wants to take logan to some kind of take-your-kid-to-work-day thing next week, so i'm guessing we'll probably be in here for an early breakfast before i drop him off."

virgil spins patton's plate so that his untouched pile of leafy greens is now directly in front of him. he hopes that logan's eating whatever balanced meal isadora prince has decided to cook up for her son and his new bestest friend without too much complaint.

"what, seven’s just the right age to be introduced to the thrilling world of the insurance business?"

"i guess," patton says with a shrug. "i dunno, dad's always been very—" he adopts a sterner facial expression. "go to work, come home, read the paper, go to bed kinda guy. whereas i, you know. snuck out the window as soon as he was distracted."

virgil hands patton his fork. patton rolls his eyes and obligingly stabs his salad.

"he lives his life the way he thinks he's supposed to," patton says. "worked hard, bought a nice house, provided for my mom. very by-the-numbers guy and i've never been good at numbers. think it gave him the shock of a lifetime that i ended up, well. the way i am."

"but you get along with him better than your mom?"

"dad's disapproval tends to be a lot less shouty than mom's," patton says, with a little sigh. "but yeah, i guess i get along with him better than i get along with my mom.")

"your meatloaf was quite good."

virgil startles, grabbing for the hoodie he's tied around his waist like it's falling to cover for it.

"oh," virgil says, remembering logan's phone call that feels like a century ago. back when patton was healthy enough to pop by the diner and he was conscious and before virgil left him alone when he was sick. "um. thanks. i guess."

richard peers at him. "i know we've met before all this, but i can't quite recall when."

"uh," virgil says. "i mean, i egged your car."

("—oh. it's you."

virgil's spine stiffens, and he turns from where he's been handing over a coffee at the stall of the town-wide easter festival.

"yep," virgil says to emily and richard fucking sanders, who have parked their very fancy car right over there and have decided to come to his stall. "it's me. is there a particular reason you're here, or...?"

she sniffs. "patton said to meet him and logan by the gazebo." she gestures to the gazebo, just to the right of his stall, where the railings are lined with pastel wicker baskets of fresh-painted eggs are waiting to be hidden for all the kiddos to run after and hunt.

"right," virgil says. "well. i've got work to do, so."

"we can wait," richard says.

they wait for about a minute.

"so, you're still acquaintances with my son," emily says, and virgil scoffs without meaning to.

"if you mean we're best friends, sure," virgil says, stacking cups and wondering if he should send one of the part-timers back to the diner to get some more. "then i'm acquaintances with your son."

"don't you think that logan should have a," richard says, casts a discerning eye over virgil's stall, "a better role model?"

virgil, calmly, sets down his cups, and says, "what do you mean by that?"

"well, it's all well and good he comes by the diner sometimes," richard says. "but don't you think he, well."

"don't i think he what?" virgil asks, interlocking his fingers and calmly, calmly presses outward, cracking his knuckles.

"don't you think you might influence him to a, well," he says, "substandard way of life."

virgil's blood's roaring in his ears. "substandard," he repeats.

"well, patton's has done an all right job with him so far, but logan certainly has enough negative influence on that side of things," richard says.

"what, you think patton is a bad influence?" virgil asks disbelievingly.

"when it comes to certain delinquent behaviors, yes," richard says. "he has a history."

delinquent. virgil wants to grab him by his fancy bowtie and yank him close and and choke him, how could he possibly think that patton, whose idea of a fun past-time is walking rescue dogs at the local shelter, is a bad influence?

"so," virgil says, "let's get one thing straight. you know nothing about me, and you know nothing about the influence that patton has on logan, because logan's a good kid and patton is a good man."

virgil's eyes slide to the nearest pastel basket. almost as an afterthought, he snags the handle, which has a pretty ribbon woven around it.

"but you know what? you think i'm some kind of devil on logan's shoulder, pushing him to become a delinquent? i can show you fucking delinquent."

before he can even think, he has two of the eggs in his hands, and with an aim he didn't know he possessed, he lobs them both straight for their fancy, fancy car.

they smack and shatter against the windshield with a satisfying thwack. they aren't quite as messy as regular eggs, being hardboiled, but the paint smears, and the egg remnants litter the trunk of his car, and virgil can't help but laugh at the looks on their faces, and he grabs another egg and throws, and again, and again—

"cool!" logan shouts, from where he's emerged from the prince studio, roman in tow, and patton stares, slack-jawed, and it startles emily into wailing into action.

"richard—richard, stop him, richard—!")

"oh," richard says. "oh, dear me."

virgil's not sure what richard's going to say—i'll send you an old receipt for the cleaning, how did such a delinquent continue to be friends with my son, what kind of example are you setting for my grandson—when the door opens, and there's a rattle of wheels, and—

and there he is. there's patton.

the absence of a bed makes sense now, because they're wheeling him in on one—he's all tucked into too-white, too-starched sheets, with a feeble little blue fleecey thing tossed over the top. he's wearing one of those hospital shirts with the blue dots, and he has on an oxygen mask and an iv and one of those things that clamps down on his pointer finger, and he's—

"is he okay?"

virgil's somehow right beside the orderly, staring down at patton's face. when had he moved?

"he's out of it, right now," the orderly says patiently, "he'll be groggy when he wakes up."

"when's that going to happen?" virgil asks, voice a bit too high-pitched. "the tests? did the tests end up—?"

"the doctor's going to have to tell you that, i'm just the transport guy," the orderly demurs, parking patton's bed and checking on his iv and god, patton looks so pale, so small, the bags under eyes massive, his skin too pale for comfort with the only exception being the flush of his fever high in his cheeks, sweating, his his curls tousled and somehow flatter than usual.

"when's the doctor coming?" virgil asks, digging his fingernails into the hoodie at his waist to keep himself from reaching out and touching patton, from getting in the orderly's way.

"i'm not sure, but she'll come right to the room when she gets here," the orderly says, and, with one last check of patton's vitals, he's off, and virgil—

"i'm going to go find emily and logan and tell them he's here," richard says, and virgil just barely manages to tear his eyes away from patton's face to look at him.

richard looks—faint, he guesses, would be the right word. pale and unsettled and spooked, generally. virgil guesses he understands—if he had to see logan or roman in a hospital bed, he'd be pretty spooked, too.

and not in the way he likes to be spooked. not in the fun halloween way of spooking. the genuinely really fucking scary kind of spooked.

"right," virgil says, and turns back to patton's bed, staring at him. he wants to push his hair back. he wants to hold his hand. he wants—

"i'll, um, i'll be here."

you weren’t, the voice in his head rumbles, you weren’t here, you weren’t here, now look at him—

(and now we hit rewind to see what logan has been doing in the hospital. in a tv show this would be cut scenes, but this is a fic, so. you're getting it in a big chunk.)

logan, meanwhile, has skulked the halls of the hospital. he has been successful finding various newspapers with a funnies section (six separate editions, actually) and successful in finding virgil's tea, but it's—

well, it's the phone calls that are giving him trouble.

see, first he called michel, who's the... you know what, logan's not fully sure what michel does at the inn, he just knows that he's the one who presents dour disapproval to any troublemaking clients and employees who aren't quite up to snuff. he's the bad cop to patton's good cop. michel, unsurprisingly, does not answer. logan really doesn't know what he expected.

then he calls sookie st. james, who's the chef at the inn, and waits impatiently for her glad tidings of a good holiday and at her "how's it going?" he says "dad's in the hospital with pneumonia," and then he has to try to comfort her, which is... something he's Not Good At.

then he calls drella, the harpist, for most of the reason that drella is the only person at the inn scarier than michel, and somehow michel picks up her phone, which is something he doesn't want to contemplate, so he hangs up immediately.

and then...

"you've reached roman prince. i'm so very sorry that you're going to have to settle for my recorded dulcet tones, but leave a message and you'll get the live rendition soon."

"um, hey," logan says, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "i know that you're—that you're probably at the first show of the nutcracker. i nearly forgot that it's still thanksgiving. good luck on all that, by the way, not that you need it, i'm sure you're doing wonderfully. or, well, by the time you listen to this, i'm sure you did wonderfully, but, um, i—"

he takes in a deep breath, glances around to ensure the hallway behind him is still empty, and presses his forehead against the wall.

"dad's in the hospital," he says, and his voice wobbles, just a bit. "i—my dad's in the hospital, roman. they think it's pneumonia. virgil found him on the floor and he couldn't breathe and i just—" he forces himself to breathe.

"i just—dad's going to be back at the room any minute, but i haven't seen him, and i just. can't. so i'm calling people as an excuse not to. which is—foolish. i'm going to have to see him eventually. he'd be confused and upset if i just refused to see him. and it's foolish that i'm leaving you such a long message at all, but i just... i don't know. i don't know, roman."

i don't know what's happening, he doesn't say. i don't know what happened to him, it was a cold, i don't know what happened when he was unconscious, i don't know how he's going to recover, i didn't know until virgil called me, how could i have possibly not known?!

i need my best friend, he doesn't say. i need you. i want to hear your voice.

what he does say is, "but, um. call me back, whenever you can? you can tell me all about the performance, and i... i don't know what i'll do."

i don't know what i'm doing right now, he thinks to himself in a kind of hiss. what benefit can come from this?!

"sorry," he blurts out. "i'm—apologies. i know you can't do anything about it. i—i'm going to hang up now. bye."

logan removes his head from the wall, "accidentally" spills virgil's tea, and goes to find him a new cup. as well as a snack. and maybe another newspaper.

just. just to be prepared.

(and now we're back to a hospital room where virgil's dragged a chair by patton's bedside, and sits hunched over and staring and worrying the sleeve of his still unworn hoodie between the fingers of one hand and holding patton's hand in the other, pressed against virgil's chest, and he waits and waits and waits to see if he'll wake up. patton doesn't do much more than wrinkle his nose and make soft snuffling noises in his sleep and try to knock off his oxygen mask.)

there's the sound of footsteps behind him, and virgil doesn't turn to look.

"has the doctor come yet?" richard asks.

"no, not yet," virgil says, squeezing patton's hand. they've never actually held hands before, he doesn't think. he wishes this was happening under a different circumstance. it's kind of funny and kind of terrible, when he thinks about how he's known patton for sixteen goddamn years and has only ever held his hand once.

"richard, i've gotten joshua on the way," emily says, and then they fall into talking about joshua, who is—god, virgil doesn't know, some kind of family doctor or physician or something, but if this joshua dude is going to be able to help patton virgil is absolutely ten thousand percent for joshua getting here, go joshua, go rich people stuff, as long as patton recovers as quickly and painlessly as possible.

patton has fluid in his lungs right now. or something. virgil's not super clear on what pneumonia actually does, but he's pretty sure fluid in the lungs is part of it, and he does not want that for patton. he doesn’t want patton to be here, in a hospital bed, right now. he wants a time machine to be able to go back and slap himself for leaving patton when he was so clearly sick.

virgil's fully resigned to whatever rich people nonsense has gotta happen for that to no longer be anything close to what's going on with patton's health. god, virgil should really learn more about this. which—

virgil turns enough to see patton's parents. emily has set two pillows on a counter, but they're standing close next to each other, still in their holiday best, and virgil feels absurdly out of place in his jeans and t-shirt and abandoned hoodie. he asks, "have either of you seen logan?"

they exchange looks—one of those Married Couple looks that is so clearly a conversation that no one else in the room can understand—and richard says, "i believe he was going to find some more newspapers."

something in virgil's brain wars with leaving patton alone with these people, the way it did fourteen years ago, or leaving him at all, when the last time virgil left him it turned out like this, but the same thing wins out that won then. the same someone, really.

he clears his throat, getting to his feet. he squeezes patton's hand, hard, before carefully lying it back down on the mattress.

"i'll get him," virgil says. "just—let me know if there's any change. text logan or something."

"right," emily says, and virgil walks out of the room, trying his hardest not to glance back at him over his shoulder.

he doesn't succeed.

...

patton's nose. has something. on it. he snuffles experimentally and when that doesn't move it, he reaches to move it himself.

"oh, for heaven's sake," a familiar voice tuts, and a hand closes around his wrist.

patton blinks, and narrows his eyes. ugh, it's so bright.

wait. it definitely hadn't been bright the last place he'd been. he'd been... home. hadn't he? he'd been home. he'd been hot and it had hurt and he'd wanted hot chocolate and he'd been home. and he's not now. so where is he?

he tunes in with the rest of his body, then. head like a bowling ball, chest like a whole rack of bowling balls is resting on it, thoughts... for some reason not really able to keep a thread. or keeping too much of a thread. bowling balls. weird. he's so sweaty and uncomfortable that he figures he'll give himself a bit of a pass on making much sense, though. it's probably the cold medicine. oh, a cold shower sounded wonderful, get him all nice and cooled down and get rid of all this sweat and—

ugh, he's so... icky.

"oh," the voice says, startled, "oh, richard, he's waking up!"

and patton swivels his head a little to squint at where his mother is standing, his father bustling in to stand beside her.

"where?" patton rasps at his parents, and his mother sits on the edge of his bed, wide-eyed.

"you're at st. luke's," his mother says. "joshua's on his way, so is the doctor here, and dr. reynolds, you remember her."

gosh, joshua plus dr. reynolds plus the hospital for a cough? that seems kinda excessive.

"mkay," patton murmurs, and closes his eyes again.

"patton, do you think you can lift your head at all?" his mother asks. "i found you some decent pillows. they're not down, but they at least give a little."

ooh, pillows. patton likes pillows. virgil keeps joking that he collects them. virgil doesn't understand interior design. they give pops of color.

there's a cool, moisturized hand at the nape of his neck, though, urging him up, and ouch that rack of bowling balls on his chest, before he's settled back onto the nice new cool pillow.

"better, yes?" his mother asks, and patton hums sleepily. he's ready to go back to sleep. sleep sounds awesome.

"and one more time."

ouch oh ooh nice.

"now if we could just find you some different sheets," his mom says.

oh. these sheets are kinda nice, though. a bit stiff but not bad. he doesn't wanna move. and if she gets him new sheets he's gonna have to move.

"s'okay, mom," patton murmurs.

"maybe you could get dava to bring some from home," his dad suggests.

"s'really okay," patton says.

"oh, of course," emily says. "why didn't i think of that?"

"don't need new sheets," patton tries to insist.

"they're completely unacceptable," emily says.

oh, now she's done it, patton's gotta open his eyes now.

"the sheets are fine," patton says, a little louder, or he tries to, because he breaks down into coughs when he says fine, harsh and loud, and patton tries to sit up or curl on his side but that same cool hand's at his shoulder, fluttering nervously, before he sucks in a breath and there's that pain in his chest that's been there for the past—however long?—and patton tries to catch his breath.

"—call button must be broken or something—"

"m'okay," patton wheezes.

"don't be ridiculous," richard says.

"i'm not," patton says. "m'an adult, i can handle it."

"it's the fever talking," emily says. "they really don't have that down, whatever that nurse said, feel how warm he is."

a different but still-cool hand, dry and wrinkled, rests on his forehead.

"i don't have a fever," patton sulks.

"you were at risk for seizures," his father says.

sounds fake, but okay.

"i really am okay," patton murmurs, eyes slipping shut again.

"no," emily tells him. "no, you are not."

"i'm fine," patton says, and yawns. "you can go home, you don't have to deal with me anymore."

there's a silence but it doesn't feel like the end of a conversation. patton doesn't wanna open his eyes again, though. he's so tired. but he can't go to sleep yet. but he really wants to. so he'll just let his eyelids rest. that'll work. right? he'll just keep his eyes nice and closed and explain it and they can get on home.

"fine?" his mother repeats, strangled.

"it's just a cold," patton mumbles.

she sighs, irritated. "patton—"

"know we fought last week," patton says, trying to talk as loud as he can without risking a cough, or without having to breathe too deep. "and m'sorry i made life so hard on you then, n'm'sorry i'm such a disappointment, an' i'm'sorry i took logan away, an'—"

"oh, patton, hush," his mother says, sounding a little strange. "it's hardly the time for all—"

"and i'm sorry, okay," patton insists, cracking his eyes open, because that's important, "m'sorry i can't fix it. but m'an adult now and i can handle things and stuff. so you don't gotta stay jus' for a cold."

"young man, you have pneumonia," his father says gruffly.

"oh," patton says, startled. "do i?"

"well, we're waiting for the doctor to confirm it."

"oh," patton repeats, quiet. pneumonia. that's not good. that's always the illness that kills people in old timey books. that's the illness that they always look out for when things go bad for old people. that's... that sounds serious. really serious.

that's scary.

"patton?" his mother asks, sounding slightly alarmed, and patton tries to inhale a shaky breath, and then another one. he might be panicking, he thinks.

"i—" he swallows, hard, and says, "is logan okay?"

"what?" she asks, distracted. "yes, of course. he's getting some newspapers and some tea."

"are you sure?" he asks, because logan has to be okay—logan has to be okay. logan's got to be taken care of, he has to be okay.

"yes, of course i'm sure," she says.

"you have to make sure he's going to be okay," he insists.

"he's fine."

"logan's—logan always acts fine, that's his default state," patton says. "but he always hides his emotions. so he'll always get snappy, and sometimes you just have to let him let off steam, and sometimes you kind of have to poke him into it, but after he rants for a while it helps calm him down enough that he can talk about what's really bothering him and—"

"patton," she says, awkwardly, a little helplessly, and patton swallows hard.

"he always overworks himself," he tells her intently. "so you gotta lure him out with new books, or an opportunity to shred the courant or just a newspaper or a publication in general, or a trip to a planetarium or a museum, preferably a science one but if he goes with roman he likes art ones too, or you gotta sit him down with a crofter's jam sandwich and tell him to take a break, because he always ignores it if he needs a break, because he thinks he's a lean mean study machine who doesn't need to do fun things, but he does, because he's—"

"patton, you don't need to tell us all this—" his father tries to intercede.

he ignores him. they need to know these things about him, in case patton isn't in a place to take care of him, they need to be able to take care of him.

"—i know that you know logan pretty well, especially over the past couple months, but i think that virgil's the best source on all things logan, especially if he's ever confusing or if he's moping or needs anything, so if you're ever lost, and i know you've had your differences, but virgil knows logan just about better than anyone else, except me, and virgil's always happy to help logan, and sometimes logan just needs to talk to someone who isn't related to him so he'll usually go to virgil or roman and that's a-okay, because they're his best friends, and you have to make sure that he gets to stay in contact with them because i never ever want logan to feel lonely or unloved, never ever ever, and if i die—"

"patton, stop!" she snaps, and patton shuts his mouth, immediate, shrinking into his pillows as she looms over his bed.

"now," she says, "there may be many things happening in this hospital tonight, but your dying is not one of them, am i clear?!"

"i—"

"no!" she snarls. "i did not sign onto your dying when i became your mother, so it is not going to happen. not tonight, not for a very long time. i demand to go first. of all the things you have done to us, you will not put us through burying you first, do i make myself clear?"

patton stares up at his mom, and oh. oh, this isn't just scary for him. this is scary for all of them. and patton freaking out isn't helping things.

"okay," he says, very quiet. "okay, mom. i promise i won't die."

she nods, swallows. "good."

patton reaches over and, hesitantly, takes her hand. her free hand flutters up to her mouth, and his mom looks like she's about to cry, and patton squeezes a little, and closes his eyes. things drop off and go a little dark and blurry around the edges before everything goes dark and blurry and—

...

this hospital is a maze, but it doesn't take him nearly as long as he thought it would to find a mostly-empty hall containing just who he's looking for.

"hey," virgil says, coming to a stop next to him, and logan shudders out of whatever train of thought he'd locked himself into.

"hi," logan says, and passes over a to-go cup. "tea. peppermint, even. i found some newspapers and i called sookie. well, i called michel too, but he didn't answer, and then i called drella, and then michel answered. did you know that was—?"

virgil's already reflexively pulling a face.

"thought not," logan murmurs. not quite as smugly as he might be on a normal day after figuring out some kind of secret.

"okay," virgil says. "well, thanks. they brought your dad back and a doctor's due at any minute."

logan nods. virgil hesitates, before he fiddles with the little heat-protecting cardboard ring on the cup for something to do with his hands.

("—hate doctors, hate them, hate them, hate them," patton says, pulling a face.

"i'm the one going to a doctor," eight-year-old logan eludicates. "and it's just a check-up."

"and i have hated going to all of your check-ups since the time you were born," patton says, ruffling his hair.

"he has," virgil says dryly. "i've heard this series of complaints since your six-week check-up. eat your eggs."

"tell him he could just wait in the waiting room," logan says, but he spears some eggs on his fork anyway. "i keep telling him to stay in the waiting room."

patton looks aghast. "and miss any health updates?!"

"but you hate the doctor," logan says. "wouldn't it be better if you just... didn't? since all of that scares you?"

"me being scared isn't the point," patton says. "it's about me being there for you."

"you don't need to be," logan says.

"yeah, but i want to be," patton says. "that's what a dad does—")

"you can't avoid going in the room forever," he says gently, and logan rears back.

"i'm not," he says.

"it's okay to be a bit freaked out right now—"

"i'm not."

"logan," virgil says, keeping his voice gentle and soft and calm.

logan slumps. just a little.

"thank you for getting tea and making those calls and getting all those newspapers," virgil says, making his voice keep the same tone. "but your dad's in the room now and the doctor's due any minute. i know it'll probably make you feel a bit more at ease to hear what's going on. right?"

logan hesitates, before he nods.

"okay," virgil says. "so. if you really really want, you can wait outside the room until the doctor gets here. we just want to know where you are."

logan nods, and then he follows virgil back, where he comes to a stop just by the door.

("—not scared," twelve-year-old logan sulks at the counter of the diner. "honestly. me, scared."

"well," virgil says, leaning forward on his elbows, "it'd be okay if you were scared of snakes, you know."

"roman's not scared of snakes," he says. "it's not about me being scared, anyway, it's about—"

"why are we talking about snakes?" patton asks, sitting back down in his counter chair.

"tell your son it's okay to be afraid of snakes," virgil says.

"it's not about me being scared, which i'm not," logan says. "i just don't want to hold a massive boa constrictor on the field trip."

"and no one can make you do anything you don't want to do," patton says firmly. "if a teacher bugs you about it at the zoo tomorrow, you tell them i said that—")

"you sure?" virgil checks, and logan only holds out a pile of newspapers for virgil to take in.

he sighs but takes them and goes in, to where emily is sitting on the bed and caressing back patton's hair with—

it shouldn't shock virgil that she's doing it with maternal fondness. patton is her son, after all, but after all these years of seeing their fighting and patton falling apart after each of them, it feels like... virgil doesn't know. it feels like she should be just as stern and cold now as virgil knows she can be.

"he woke up," richard says, and virgil's eyes snap to him, and to the now-definitely-unconscious patton. "just for a little while."

"was he—" virgil struggles to find words. of course something happened when virgil left. of course. but at least this one seems to be a good thing.

"not quite lucid," richard says.

"a bit more lucid than we'd like him to be, you mean," emily says archly, and turns to frown at virgil. "where's logan?"

"just outside," virgil says. "keeping an eye out for the—"

"—but he's going to be here for how long?" logan asks a doctor who comes in with a short little man in a suit, and virgil can't help but take a step closer.

"well," the doctor says to the room at large. "the cultures we took and his chest x-ray came back, and i'm afraid that it is pneumonia. he'll have to stay at the hospital for a couple days to ensure that fever stays down and to get him started on some antibiotics."

"how long?" logan repeats.

"difficult to say at this point," she says. "two or three days, at least, maybe longer if it's necessary. but," she says, and turns to virgil. "i believe you managed to catch him before his condition could have gotten much worse. you certainly brought him in before the fever could do any permanent damage."

virgil does not feel like this is particularly praise-worthy. it had mostly just been a terrifying experience. if virgil hadn’t left patton never would have gotten to this state at all.

"but he'll be just fine," the doctor says. "i'm sure it was a bit of a scare, but once he gets started on antibiotics, he'll be okay."

it's like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief.

"now," the doctor says, "i hear he woke up?"

"a little while ago," emily says, and moves aside a little so the doctor can get a closer look at patton. "he went right back to sleep, though."

"that'll be common," she says. "he'll be in and out of sleep, at varying levels of lucidity—"

virgil sees the flash of a bespoke, expensive suit jacket flutter around the door frame.

("—logan," virgil gasps, and scoops him up into his arms. "oh, my god, we were worried sick about you, you can't just run off like that, buddy—"

logan blinks too-big, watery three-year-old eyes up at him, clutching at virgil's shirt contentedly. "didn't run off."

"yeah, okay, nice try, kid," virgil says, trying to hug him close without looking like he was hugging him close. god, that had been the most terrifying five minutes of his whole life. "when we tell you to stay somewhere and you do not stay in that somewhere, that's running off."

"didn't," logan insists, kicking his bare feet. "i was following—"

"logan!" patton shout-sobs, and rushes over, and before virgil can even make a move to hand him over patton crashes into them both, hugging logan between their bodies, hugging virgil by extension, and—

"oh, my god, honey, you can't do that," patton says, semi-hysterically, pushing logan's hair back from his forehead so he could lean in and kiss him on the forehead. "i was so scared something happened to you, you can't just run away like that!"

"didn't!" logan insists again. "i was following a star bug!"

"star bug?" virgil mouths at patton.

"logan," patton says, high-pitched, "if you want to go follow the fireflies, you gotta tell one of us, okay? something could have happened to you!"

"nothing woulda happened," logan says, and, with all the belief of a three-year-old, "virgil was lookin' after me, i was okay the whole time."

patton lets out a sigh, one of the we're not done talking about this but i'll accept it for now ones, and presses his lips against logan's head again, looking up at virgil as he did, and virgil tries to pretend like logan's absolute faith in him hasn't moved him to the core—)

logan's slumped against a wall, hand over his eyes.

"hey," virgil says, soft, and logan sniffs, standing up straight, trying to pretend like he wasn't five seconds from starting to cry.

"so, um, he's gonna be okay."

"yeah," logan says, and swallows hard, fiddling with his fancy new suit coat.

"they're gonna keep him for a couple days, but he's gonna be fine."

"yeah," logan repeats.

an idea occurs to virgil. a really fucking stupid idea.

("—you might have to see The Hugging Solution put into action today," patton says grimly.

"oh, god," virgil says, freezing and turning from where he's wiping down one of the booth tables. "what happened?!"

"apparently logan found out about the library of alexandria today at school," patton says, "and mrs. donnely called to tell me logan was really upset about it."

"how does a six-year-old even find out about—?!"

"picture book, i guess," patton says with a helpless little shrug. "but, just—play along, okay?"

"uh, okay?" virgil says, but then the door opens and a familiar tiny boy sulks his way to the booth, lip trapped under teeth, probably to keep it from trembling, and eyes watery.

another familiar tiny boy has followed after him, loyally toting two pairs of backpacks.

"hello, mister prince," virgil says, snatching both backpacks and setting them by patton in the booth, where—patton has slumped over, and he lets out an overexaggerated, sad sigh, staring forlornly at the grilled cheese he'd been eagerly eating thirty seconds ago.

"i'm supposta go home," roman says, "but logan was really sad boutta book so i decided to walk him here!"

"well, that's really nice of you," virgil says seriously.

roman puffs up his small chest. "m'bein—shiv-all—shiv-all-rus!"

"wow," virgil says, trying not to laugh. "that's really cool of you, roman. do you want an after-school snack?"

"please!" roman sings, and patton helps lift him into the booth so he's opposite logan, and then sits back down with another long, sad sigh.

"how about you, logan?" virgil asks.

"no," logan sulks in the corner.

"not even a crofter's sandwich?" virgil cajoles.

logan wavers.

"tell you what," virgil says. "i'll make one for you, and one for roman, and if you decide you don't want it, i can send it home with your dad for later, yeah?"

"...fine," logan says, arms crossed, still staring at the wall. patton, mimicking him, crosses his arms and stares at the wall, too.

"i'll let your mom know you're on the way in a bit, roman," virgil says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair mostly because of the tiny squawk of indignation when he does.

by the time virgil comes out with two plates of crofter's sandwiches, patton has progressed to sniffling with his head down on the table, roman petting his hair, and logan looking grudgingly curious from where he's still sitting with his arms crossed.

"okay, i've got two crofter's sandwiches here," virgil starts, but roman looks up at him.

"leave us alone, can't you see he's having a day," roman scolds.

"where'd you learn that?" virgil says, bemused, and roman grins.

"mrs. torres," he says—one of the old women who frequents the studio for sunrise yoga. "did i do it right?"

"you'd do her proud," virgil says, and remembers patton's play along, and pats patton's hair, too. "i know. he's been very sad since he got here."

logan's arms loosen. just a little. "he has?"

"he has," virgil confirms, somber as the grave.

"oh," logan says.

"mr. patton," roman says, still petting his hair, "is there anything we can do?"

"oh," patton says, and affects a mopey look on his face when he lifts his head from his arms. "well... mayy-be. but i don't know if you three would want to."

"we'll do it!" roman declares immediately.

patton sighs, and shakes his head.

"i dunno, it might be a little silly."

"well," virgil says, a little louder, conscious of how logan's staring, "i think a little silly's okay, if it makes you not as sad."

patton nods, and slides out of the booth.

"virgil," he says, and spreads his arms. "can i have a hug? to make me feel better?"

all at once, patton's plan coalesces in virgil's head.

"oh, yeah, sure thing," virgil says, when he realizes he hesitated a moment too long. he opens his arms. "get in here."

patton steps forward, and virgil wraps his arms around him, a little awkwardly—but patton's warm and soft and he fits neatly against virgil, and he smells nice, so it's not like it's the worst hug he's ever gotten. pretty far from it, actually.

he steps back, and pats patton on the shoulder, for good measure.

"did that help?" virgil asks.

"i think so," patton says, and turns. "i might need another—"

patton is very nearly tackled to the floor by a pint-sized blur of white and red and gold.

"isthishelpingmisterpatton?!" roman demands, and patton lets out a little "oof, gosh, you're so strong!"

roman squeezes patton harder, as if squeezing hard enough will get rid of all the sadness in the world.

patton pats him on the shoulder, and says, "that was very helpful, thank you. you should eat your crofter's as a reward."

"okay!" roman says brightly, and clambers back up into the booth.

patton crouches in front of the booth where logan's dropped his crossed arms at last, but is biting his lip even more ferociously.

"can i have a hug?" patton asks him gently.

"you've gotten two," logan sniffs.

"yeah, but i haven't gotten any from my favorite son, yet."

"i'm your only son."

"that too," patton says, and spreads his arms. "so? i'm feeling very upset, and i'd really like it if you gave me a hug right now."

logan hesitates, eyes darting to where roman is stuffing his face and to where virgil is standing. "this is a hug for you," he declares imperiously.

"of course it is," patton says, and as soon as he says it, logan squirms off the booth and straight into patton's arms, wrapping his arms tight around patton's neck and burying his face into patton's shoulder.

"hey, there we go," patton murmurs, shifting a little, and when he's sure roman isn't looking, he winks at virgil, who suppresses his smile the best he can and—)

so it's a stupid idea, but it's the only one he has.

virgil heaves a sigh, and resigns himself to looking like an idiot.

"i'm feeling very upset," virgil says stiffly, and lifts his arms a little. "i'd really like it if someone gave me a hug right now."

logan sends him the world's most withering glare. the effect is slightly spoiled by the way he sniffs, smears his hand under his nose, and looks away.

"i'm not six anymore," logan says, and redirects his glare at virgil. "that won't work on me."

"look, kid, this hug isn't for your benefit," virgil says, lying through his goddamn teeth. "i have had a hard day. i had a big family gathering and then i had to drive home for hours and then i found your dad unconscious on the ground and had to bring him to the hospital, plus i've had to deal with your grandparents. so."

he lifts his arms higher. "i am upset. i would like a hug."

"you're way worse at this than dad is," logan says.

"yeah, i know," virgil says, "you know one way to put us both out of this misery?"

"are you seriously trying to embarrass me into hugging you?"

"i can keep going," virgil bluffs immediately, even though logan knows full well about this social anxiety.

logan sighs, loudly. "fine," he grumbles. "fine, if it'll get you to stop."

so virgil steps forward and wraps his arms around the kid, heart panging—when did he get so big? virgil used to be able to practically hold him in one arm, just the space between his hand and his elbow. and now there's this young man, all gawky and gangly and still growing somehow, it's like he looked down and looked up and there he was, sixteen years flown by, except not really, because time was long, but also kind of really? being a parent person who watches a kid grows up is confusing.

he keeps rubbing a hand up and down logan's back, the way patton does when he hugs people. he's picked up a lot of things from patton, over the years. he couldn't say how many.

"he's going to be fine," logan says, and oh, god, his voice wobbles.

"i know," virgil whispers, and keeps rubbing a hand up and down his back. "hey, i know. i promised he would be, and now we know for a fact he is, right?"

"right," logan says, and sniffs, loudly, and virgil holds onto him tighter.

"it's okay," virgil murmurs. "it's okay, logan. it's okay."

it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, virgil says, choking up himself, vision blurry and then failing as he gives in to the hectic emotion of this whole day, but he keeps talking to logan, and he keeps saying it’s okay, logan, it’s okay and loses track of the amount of times he says it, it's okay, logan, and logan's shoulders shudder and virgil feels his shirt soak through.

"it's okay," virgil murmurs, sniffs, and keeps running his hand across logan's back. "there we go, l, it's okay."

"don't tell him," logan sobs into his shirt.

"oh, hey, i'd never," virgil says, as soft and comforting as he can. "patton can't know that we both lost it when he was out of the picture for one second, so it's our secret, yeah?"

"yeah," logan gasps, and draws back, smearing a sleeve under his nose, sniffing one last time. "yeah. our secret."

"okay," virgil says, and reaches forward with both hands to frame logan's ever-sharpening cheekbones in his hands, losing all that baby fat he'd been born with, swiping the tears off his face before starting in on his own face. "you okay?"

"yeah."

"you sure?" virgil checks, dropping his hands to logan's shoulders.

"yeah," logan says, and swallows, following the tracks of virgil's thumbs with his own hands, as if to make sure that virgil hasn't missed any. "yeah, i'm okay, i'm good. do i look like i've been crying?"

"nah," virgil says. “do i?”

"no. i don't want anyone to know i—"

"hey, our secret," virgil says.

(there is an eavesdropped neither logan or virgil notice. emily sanders frowns.)

"right," logan says, and scrubs at his face one last time. "this week has sucked."

if it was any other day, virgil would have laughed. logan hasn't used the phrase 'this sucks' since he was about nine. as it stands, though—

"yeah," virgil says. "i mean, your dad told me something really smart once, wanna hear it?"

"i have a feeling you'll tell me anyway," logan says, a solid attempt at a joke.

"even though today—or this week, i guess, in your case—has sucked, you wanna know the bright side?" virgil says, remembering patton's words from sixteen years ago, on the night they met. "i'll never have to do today again."

logan breathes, and says, "i never want to stay with them for that long ever again."

"i know," virgil says.

"i hated it there," he says.

(emily flinches.)

"i know," virgil says. "hey, we can tell your dad about the will thing once he's up and at 'em again, if it makes you feel better."

"it would," logan says fervently. "i fully understand why dad ran away now. you can't—you can't let me stay there anymore, virgil."

(emily flinches harder.)

"i won't," virgil says. "i promise, i won't. i mean, i know your dad only did it because it was a last resort kind of situation—"

"i know that too," logan says, and then, quieter, more miserably, "i yelled at him about it."

all virgil can say to that is "aw, kid," and tug him back into the hug.

"i yelled at him," logan repeats, voice waterclogged, like he's about to start crying again.

"hey, i know he's not mad at you," virgil says. "he gets it, you know? he gets that you yelled because you were upset at the situation, not at him. i bet as soon as we walk in there, it's gonna make his day that you're there."

logan snuffles, and virgil draws back so that he can look him in the face. "really?"

"really," virgil promises, and he's been promising logan a lot tonight, but the kid deserves some promises that things would be okay, okay, his dad's in the hospital, because virgil left him alone, it’s the least he can do to help the kid feel better. "you know your dad, he's the softest little puffball we got."

logan snort-laughs, snotty and kind of gross, and wipes under his eyes again. "yeah. yeah, he is."

"you're, like, his whole world."

logan shifts, uncomfortable with so many displays of emotion in such a close time span, but he's saved by his grandfather.

"oh, he's waking up," virgil hears richard say, startled, and virgil claps logan's shoulder.

"you ready?"

logan lets out a shaky breath, straightens his tie, and tilts up his chin—proud, confident, a little arrogant. looking a bit more like himself, then, virgil thinks, relieved. he gestures logan to go ahead of him, and they enter the room to see patton, who turns at the sound of the door opening, and patton—

patton lights up.

his face brightens, his dimples appear in full, he beams—hey, wait, was he supposed to take off the oxygen mask?—and he reaches out both hands for logan, as if logan's still little enough that patton can pick him up.

"hey!" he says. "oh, my gosh, hi!"

"hi, dad," logan says, approaching the bed, and patton's smile doesn't falter as logan takes one of his hands, hovering at his bedside.

"can i get a hug?" patton asks. "just this once."

logan hesitates. "if i hug you, won't it hurt?"

"what's life without a bit of pain?" patton jokes, and then, more seriously, "as long as you're gentle, it'll be okay, kiddo."

logan hesitates, and then, stiffly, bends so that he gives patton the softest, least-squeezy hug he can possibly execute, before sitting at patton's bedside again.

"i've missed you," patton says, picking up logan's hand to squeeze it again, "so much."

logan's lip quirks up, just a little, and virgil's heart feels lighter, seeing two of the people he loves most in the world all together again—all that's missing is an obnoxious teenage dance instructor.

"i missed you too, dad," logan says.

patton's smile is blinding, and virgil's knees go a little weak, to the point where he sits in the chair next to logan.

"okay, so," patton says, and pats logan's hand. "me and virgil have been dying without you to tell us everything that's going on in the world every day, let me tell you, dying."

logan's lips twitch. "don't exaggerate," he scolds.

"we aren't," virgil said. "i told you he'd want to hear you talk about current events, that's why i had you get all those newspapers."

logan rolls his eyes, and patton smiles at him, like logan's done something very charming and sweet instead of just made the quintessential teenage facial expression, and virgil can't help but smile a little, too.

"so," patton says. "tell us all about it. tell us about the news, and about your last couple days at chilton before the break, and how your week's been going, i want to hear everything."

so they listen as logan sticks to the safe and relatively unemotional topic of the news, explaining every headline he can, fishing example articles out of his newspaper pile when he has to, nearly crawling onto the bed in order to fully show the articles to patton. it reminds virgil of when he was little, so eager to investigate the whole world, so eager to show it off to anyone who would listen.

patton, even listening as raptly as he is, is still very sick, so can't help but slip off a little. which means that every time logan will trail off experimentally, staring to see if his dad's falling asleep, patton will start and grumble "m'wake, i'm awake, keep goin', i'm paying attention," and virgil will exchange a look with logan and logan will keep going until patton starts nodding off again.

eventually, logan keeps talking, and talking, and talking, even as he notices patton slip deeper and deeper into sleep until—

"i think he's finally asleep," logan says, hushed.

"i think you're right," virgil says. "good work, kid."

"speaking of sleep," richard says, "perhaps we should consider getting home."

"well, i'm not leaving," emily and virgil say in unison, who both jump and glare at each other.

"me either," logan says.

"you need sleep, you're a teenager, you need more sleep than a baby," virgil says.

"that's actually inaccurate," logan begins.

"okay, well, you still need to sleep," virgil says, frowning. "you should go home, to sideshire."

logan brightens at that, just a little.

what ensues is a solid bickering session: on if logan should go home to sideshire or back to his grandparent's house, on if virgil or emily should stay, on who would take which car and on who would bring logan back to visit if he wanted, and eventually it settled out to—

"bye, virgil," logan says. "thanks for looking after him."

"always do," virgil says. "i texted sarah, she's opening tomorrow, but would you mind swinging by the diner to let people know, just in case?"

"of course," logan says. "i'll even pick up breakfast there before i visit tomorrow."

virgil nods, and gives logan a hug goodnight, just because.

"you're sure you'll be all right?" richard's asking emily, in the background.

"i'll be fine," she says.

"you can call if you'd like me to come back, or if you need something."

"go," emily says, and kisses her husband on the cheek. "i'll look after patton."

richard smiles, squeezes her shoulder, and then logan and richard are gone.

an incredibly awkward silence descends on the hospital room.

emily sniffs, and drags one of the chairs to the opposite side of patton's bed. virgil settles into his—he notes, with slight relief, that his side does not show patton's iv.

"you don't trust me with my own son," she says, coldly, and virgil crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"was i too subtle, the first time?" he deadpans.

she sniffs again, and sits up even straighter, looking away from him. for a second, he thinks that might be the end of it, and they'll sit quietly in awkward silence until one of them falls asleep or the sun has risen.

of course not.

"i don't know what gives you the right—"

virgil sighs, loudly, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"oh, my god, okay," virgil says, and leans back in his chair again, worrying his hoodie between his fingers. "there are so many goddamn reasons i don't like you. i have a list in my head that's been sixteen years in the making. do you seriously want me to spend the whole night going through it?"

she arches a brow at him. that is literally all it takes.

"fine," virgil says. "i don't like your smug rich person attitude. i don't like the way you look down at me because i run a diner for a living. i don't like the way you think your privilege is a goddamn god-given right, like you're some kind of medieval king or something—"

"are you quite finished?"

"like i said, sixteen years, don't rush me," virgil says, kicking back in his chair and starting to tick things off his fingers. "i don't like your tacky rich people hair or your tacky rich people outfit. i don't like how you apparently think the bus is for drug dealers. i don't like most of the things you say about people who aren't as rich as you, actually, but that's a whole other thing. i don't like the car that you had that i egged that one time. i don't like how you think having a lot of money automatically makes you better than other people, i don't like the way you treat your son—"

"how dare you," she begins indignantly, loudly, and patton mumbles, shifting in his sleep. they both freeze.

"look," virgil hisses, "i am fully willing to fight with you, we just have to keep the volume low so that we don't wake patton up, clear?"

they both stare at patton for a few seconds. when she's satisfied that patton isn't waking up, she leans forward, and snarls, "how dare you," at a satisfactory volume.

"i dare because you and your husband are shit to him," virgil snarls. back, at a similarly quiet volume. "because you say fucking terrible things to him, and he's sensitive, and soft, and a good man, and he deserves better than you two jumping on him every time you get the chance—"

"you know nothing—"

"i know nothing?!" virgil snaps. "are you fucking kidding me?!"

"no, i most certainly am not!" she declares. "you know nothing about the way our lives have gone, you know nothing about the way our family works, and you have no right to pretend to know."

"oh, i don't?"

"no, you don't!" she says, strident. "it's none of your business how—"

"none of my business?!"

"it most certainly is not!"

"it is when patton shows up crying in my diner!" virgil hisses, fingernails digging into his hoodie. "it is when that's what's been happening after family gatherings with you for years! it's my business because sixteen years ago a kid holding a baby showed up and started sobbing in my diner and decided to stick around town, just because the first place he pulled into someone showed him some goddamn kindness for the first time in months, it is when you're messing with the life of my best friend and our fucking kid—"

"you are not logan's father—"

"look, i might not have contributed anything to logan's dna makeup, but that doesn't change that he's our kid," virgil says roughly. "patton's known that for years and logan has too."

there's a flicker of what might be surprise on her face, before she angrily sets her jaw.

"they're the ones whose opinion i care about, so i don't particularly give a fuck what you think about the fact that i've basically adopted your grandson," virgil says. "and i might not be one of logan's biological parents, but jesus christ, i'd never call him a disappointment, not in a million years. so all things considered, i'm pretty sure that makes me a better parent than you."

patton makes a soft snuffling noise in his sleep, and his head tilts a bit in virgil's direction. virgil tries not to feel too victorious about it.

"you have no idea what he did to us," emily says.

"yeah, i do," virgil says. "i was there. i saw how much it tore him apart. still does."

she stares at him, and says, quietly, "i wasn't just talking about him running away."

oh. virgil leans back a little more. right. patton's rebellious teenage years.

("okay, so, you gotta be careful when you try this, right?" virgil says, holding a shot of vodka a bit like it is a nuclear bomb. "drink it all down at once, then you drink this sprite right after or else it'll feel like your throat is burning—"

patton, freshly twenty-one, only stares at him, amused, and downs the shot like a pro, barely pausing to sip his sprite and grin at virgil, to the cheers of the other attendants of patton's fairly sparse birthday party.

"virgil," he says patiently. "this isn't the first drink of alcohol i've ever had."

"oh," he says lamely. "right."

patton snorts and pats him fondly on the cheek. "maybe when i get drunker i'll tell you all about my various teenage shenanigans."

"will it give me a heart attack?"

patton's grin turns a little vicious. "probably," he says. "i mean, it nearly did for my parents. would you say being a teen parent or riding along with chris when he crashed his porsche two hours after his parents got it for his sixteenth birthday is more heart-attack inducing? or the times i shoplifted from department stores? or my five separate fake ids? or maybe my boyfriend who referred to himself as 'the dragon witch' and got me an honorary place in a biker gang? or—"

"patton, oh my god—"

"i'm just warming up, here, we're not even in the good stuff yet," patton chirps teasingly.

"the good stuff? good stuff as in, like, bible study, right?" virgil says, trying to make it a joke to cover that he's about to hyperventilate, but patton laughs and accepts another shot from maria with a nod of thanks before he can get really into it, and then when he surfaces from that shot he demands the music be turned up so he can dance, c'mon, virgil, dance with me dance with me dance with me it's my birthday you gotta dance with me—!)

"okay," virgil says, "as someone who was also pretty stupid when they were a teenager—"

she narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes in return.

"you cannot seriously tell me you haven't done a few dumb things in life you regret," virgil says. "i hung around some kids who weren't the best influences—we called ourselves The Others, i know, it's stupid—and do i regret a lot of the stuff i did with them? yeah, i do. but i've bettered myself, i've moved on, and i've grown. patton has too."

"oh, he has," emily says doubtfully. "of course he has. suddenly, my eyes are open. you've delivered me nirvana. of course patton is no longer a teenager, why, i must have been confused because he insists on continuing to act like one."

"act like one?" virgil repeats cluelessly.

"it clearly isn't news to you that we and patton argue often."

"yeah, no, it isn't," virgil says. "i mean, patton's defending himself, but sure, whatever."

"through asking logan to treat us like lepers?" she snaps. "that doesn't strike you as immature behavior?"

asking logan to treat us like lepers, virgil mouths, and then, "you think patton asked logan to give you a hard time? are we talking about the same patton and logan?"

"well, why else would he—?"

"because logan is a smart, stubborn kid who hates the fact that patton has to sit through you two bullying him in order to secure money for his schooling, holy shit," virgil says. "because logan picks arguments like florists pick flowers, and if someone messes with one of His People it basically means free reign for him to fight back."

"well—"

"logan's literally a debate champion," virgil says. "you're telling me you think it's more likely that patton, your son, the same patton who didn't want to bother anyone when he came down with fucking pneumonia, that patton, you think it's more likely that that patton asked logan, who once got into a full-on argument with a four-year-old who told him that newspapers were stupid when he was fifteen, to be mean to you. you think that patton asked that logan to pick a fight? seriously?"

she crosses her arms and huffs, and suddenly, it clicks.

"oh, my god," virgil says. "you wanna know what your problem is?! you still think that patton's sixteen."

"of course i don't—"

"no, listen," virgil says, warming up to this theory. "patton runs away, and that sucks, i get it, i'm not arguing that. but the only times you see him after that until pretty recently are, what, holidays? so you don't see him on a day-to-day basis anymore. so you didn't see him grow up and grow up fast. and you still refuse to see him grow up, because he's your kid, and on one level i get that because logan becoming an actual adult scares me a lot, but on the other, seriously, lady, patton's thirty-two. he has a house and a good job and he's getting his degree and he has done a great job raising logan, who is, i think we can both agree, while being incredibly infuriating sometimes, is also one of the best teenagers on the face of this planet."

her nod is really more of a jerk of her chin.

"honestly, if anyone would be telling logan to pick a fight with you, it'd be me," virgil muses.

her eyes sharpen.

"you told logan to—" emily begins, and virgil rolls his eyes.

"no," virgil says, "because when i don't like someone, i don't tell a sixteen-year-old kid to pass on the message for me, god. i'm just saying that if it was between me or patton telling logan to pick a fight, it'd be me."

a pause, a sniff, a "well, that i can believe."

"in the interest of honesty, or whatever, i have been telling patton to not let you into his life anymore for years," virgil says.

the look on her face isn't what virgil's expecting. virgil's expecting her nostrils to flare, her jaw to clench, her eyes to ignite with fury. he's expecting a loud outburst. he's expecting rage. what flickers across her face isn't that.

virgil thinks it might be fear.

why would she be afraid of—oh.

oh, that's why patton won't hear about cutting them out whenever virgil brings it up. that's why patton won't hear about leaving them. because he did it once, didn't he? he did it when he ran away to sideshire.

"he won't listen to me, obviously," virgil says, refusing to acknowledge that he might be saying this to comfort her, but just to establish where they're at, in the fight. because, like, obviously patton wouldn't do that, but she clearly has a skewed idea of who her son is, so.

"but it's a whole routine. you all fight, you upset patton, patton comes to me, i tell him to cut you two out. he makes excuses. you two... i dunno, god, patton apologizes for whyever you chose to fight him, or he at least smooths things over enough so that you guys get together for the next holiday, the cycle starts again." virgil waves a hand. "he gets irritated if i bring it up too much, so i don't. he's entirely too optimistic about you."

she's quiet. virgil waits a few seconds, before he continues.

"and you realize that i'm definitely not the one who'd convince patton about cutting you out, but you know the one person he'd do anything for, even if it broke his heart?"

she's gone a little paler. "logan," she says.

"yeah," virgil says. "logan."

"logan wouldn't," she begins, but falters.

"if you keep fighting with patton like this, he might," virgil says. "logan hates it when his dad is upset. he hates it."

"he hates my house," she says, sharp. "he hates me and my husband."

virgil gawks at her.

"what?" she demands. "weren't you going to throw that in my face? weren't you going to lord it over me that he'd rather you be his guardian than us?!"

"i'm not that much of an asshole, jesus," virgil says. "i didn't—i didn't know you'd overheard that."

"yes, well," she scoffs, and fiddles with some of her bracelets. "when patton woke up, then, he kept trying to tell us how we could better take care of logan. even then he said that if we were at a loss, we should contact you."

"i," virgil begins, and shakes himself. "he said all that?"

"when we told him he had pneumonia, he seemed to be under the impression that he was—" her voice cracks. she does not have to say dying out loud—it's written all over her face.

virgil swallows hard, and looks to patton, slumbering peacefully, the beep of his heart monitor, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest. i left him, i left him, and he thought he was dying, he got so sick that he thought he might die because i left him—

"oh."

"he promised he wouldn't."

"he better not," virgil says hoarsely.

"hmph. yes."

"i—" virgil looks at her, then back at patton. "i mean, he's right. i do know a lot in the whole 'care and keeping of logan' thing."

"oh, i'm sure," she mutters sarcastically.

"i could make it a whole lot clearer, lady," virgil mutters right back.

she looks away from him, nostrils flaring.

"i just—look," virgil says. "you realize you have to stop fighting with him, right? all it does it push them both away."

she might be about to say something, but before she can, patton makes a mumbling noise. they both freeze.

patton's head nods down, sharply, before it tilts back up again. he squints.

"virgil?"

"yeah," virgil says, inching forward in his chair, itching to grab his hand again. "yeah, pat, it's me."

"mkay," patton murmurs, and yawns. "s'logan down for the night?"

oh, gosh, virgil hasn't been asked that question for at least twelve years. virgil figures he may as well play along, let patton get back to sleep faster.

"yeah," virgil whispers back. "yeah, he's out like a light."

well, hopefully true, when logan gets home.

"how many stories did it take?"

"oh, you know logan," virgil sighs, remembering how many storybooks logan would tug from his expansive, second-hand collection and stack them in his arms up to his chin, looking up at virgil expectantly, as if to say we both know you're a softie, you're going to read me all these, let's skip the argument, except virgil would pose a slight argument anyways and convince logan to let go of maybe three of them, because logan had always had virgil pinned on that whole softie thing.

"about a million. i made one up for him, too."

"was it about cecil the space pirate?"

"cecil the space pirate," virgil confirms, lips twitching. wow, the things patton's fever-addled brain thought up. virgil's nearly forgotten about cecil the space pirate, one of the only make-believe stories logan continued to tolerate even as he grew older and older and older. virgil's pretty sure that the second birthday story roman ever wrote for logan was about cecil the space pirate.

"mkay," patton murmurs. "i got work in the morning, don't i?"

"nah," virgil says. "nah, you get to sleep in tomorrow, lucky you."

"you'll be at the diner for breakfast?"

"'course i'll be at the diner for breakfast," virgil says. "i own it."

"want waffles," patton murmurs sleepily.

"if you're nice to me," virgil says.

"m'always nice to you," patton slurs.

"yeah, that's true," virgil concedes. "okay. if you're extra nice to me, how bout that?"

patton lets out what might be a giggle, but he's so close to dropping off again that it's hard to tell.

"get some rest," virgil murmurs, and hesitates, before he reaches over to brush patton's hair back. he promised he wouldn't. i’m not leaving you again. "you just go ahead and go to sleep, patton. i’ll be right here."

patton sighs, head tilting a little further into virgil's touch. he's not nearly as warm as he'd been when virgil found him, which is good, but still too warm for virgil's taste.

he can see emily, out of the corner of his eyes, looking a little more relaxed.

"i'm not finished with you, your days are numbered," virgil hisses in her direction.

patton hums at him quizzically, mumbles, "wha'?"

"i said, do you want some water?" virgil covers quickly, smiling falsely at him. it turns a bit more real as patton squints an eye at him.

"you don't gotta fuss 'bout my hydration all the time, you know."

"ah, but fussing's what i do best," virgil says gently, smiling at patton as he combs his fingers through patton's curls in a slow, repetitive motion. "go on, close your eyes again, there you go. go to sleep."

"you don't gotta fuss about how much sleep i get either," patton sighs, but closes his eyes obediently. his breathing evens out, soon enough.

she's silent. virgil's thought about this fight—how it might go, where it might happen, who would win—for years. exactly none of it has gone according to how his brain said it might go. virgil has a lot of opinions on emily and richard sanders and the way they treat their son—on days where they've been behaving themselves relatively well, he thinks they're stuck-up, snobbish assholes, and on days where they haven't been behaving well virgil thinks about the things that patton tells him that they say to him and thinks about how they're something that starts with "emotionally" and ends with "abusive," and how patton would be so absolutely in his rights to cut them off, and he has wanted to fight emily or richard sanders for years. and now it's here.

and now it's... off.

"we want the best for him," emily says.

"that's exactly what he says, yeah," virgil says tiredly, and runs his fingers through patton's curls again. "the trouble is, what you think is best for him and what's actually best for him are two entirely different things."

her lips twitch, with bitter humor. "that's exactly what he says."

and here's the crux of it: "but you don't agree," virgil says.

"no," emily says. her chin tilts up, proud. "no, we don't."

any sympathy virgil has toward her is gone. he kind of wants to reach across patton's bed and throttle her. they're in a hospital, they're in the right place for it.

"why the fuck not," virgil manages to hiss it and not shriek it. she's so close to understanding, so close to actually catching on and getting it and maybe, miracle of miracles, patching up her and her husband's relationship with patton, but now she doesn't get it?!

"because what he thinks is best for him is not the same as what is actually best for him," emily says.

"okay, then, what do you think is actually best for him?" virgil asks, with a twirl of his free hand he realizes with muted horror he probably picked up from roman.

so she lays it out for him. patton getting his degree is all well and good, but he should get it from a "better" establishment. patton being a manager is all well and good, but not in the inn business—if he adds a bit onto his degree, why, he could go into insurance too, and be a manager there soon enough. and patton having a little country home is all well and good, but he should move into a neighborhood more fitting for him—a house that would be closer to chilton. a house that would be closer to her. and, well, if patton stumbles across a few friends of hers—the sons of members of the dar, the kind of sons who have privilege and strong savings and investments and would be able to take care of him, and if they just so happened fit emily's bill of approval to a t—well, that certainly wouldn't be too bad for him, either. and with logan going off to an ivy soon, well, he might get lonely, it would be good for him to have someone, and maybe, just maybe, there could be other little perfect grandbabies on the way, and—

"okay, so, what i'm hearing is," virgil cuts in, "basically, you want to redesign his whole life."

"well, not his whole life," emily says.

"what are you leaving him from the life he's managed to build in this 'donna reed' style daydream, just logan?" virgil says incredulously. "a little small-town summer house he can escape to?"

she blinks at him. "that seems reasonable."

"that seems like patton would be miserable," virgil says.

she looks at him, blank. "why?"

"well, one," virgil says pointedly, "sure, patton's open to having other kids, but the only way they'd be biologically his is if he'd donate an egg. he never wants to be pregnant again, you do realize that's what messed up his brain to the point it did, back then?"

she looks at him, gobsmacked. "and how would you know that?"

(—patton's nineteen, and starting to go on the occasional date, which is kinda weird but patton's an adult and he can do what we wants, and currently he's going slightly steady with one of the businessmen who swings into town every other week or so, and it's going pretty well, or so virgil's heard and thought until patton careens into the diner one night, eyes huge and watery and gasping, and virgil's out from behind the counter before he can even think.

"hey," he says, and "hey—" and patton's face is crumpling up, and no, patton doesn't want to cry in the middle of the diner in dinner rush, so virgil says, "c'mere, c'mon," and puts an arm around his shoulders, trying to shield him from sight of everyone in the diner, quickly getting him through the back and patton bursts into tears as soon as the door to virgil's apartment shuts behind him.

"patton, patton, patton," he says, hushed, and patton, red-faced and crying, just holds out a shopping bag. virgil blinks, takes it, and takes out one of the three identical things that's in there and—

"oh shit," virgil says before he can really temper his reaction, and patton starts crying harder, and virgil curses, dropping the unopened pregnancy test on the ground, stepping forward and opening his arms in invitation and patton buries his face into virgil's chest, sobbing.

"i don't wanna be pregnant again," he gasps. "i don't wanna be—"

"okay, okay, it's okay," virgil says. "it's okay—do you know if—?"

"not yet, i was too—" patton gulps, and croaks, "i can barely afford logan, and i love him so much, but i can't—i can't do that again, i can't—"

"it's really rare for trans guys on t to get pregnant, right?" virgil says gently, and patton sniffs, louder, and nods.

"okay," virgil says. "okay. here's what we're going to do, okay? we're going to sit down on my couch."

they do.

"we're gonna get you calmed down," virgil says. "next, you're gonna drink some water, and you'll take it."

"and if i—?"

"we can talk about your options if the test's positive," virgil says gently. "but take the test first. okay? then we can cross that bridge if we get to it."

patton snuggles harder into virgil, hiccuping, and virgil runs his hand through patton's hair, over and over, until his shoulders stop shaking as much.

virgil gets him some water. virgil waits when patton goes into the restroom. virgil waits as patton comes back, buries his face into virgil's lap and curls up hard, hiding from the world.

"why do you think you're—?" virgil begins.

"i got really bad morning sickness, with logan," patton whispers. "migraines too. and i'm—i just, my period's been irregular since i started t, and it's mostly stopped, but there's been some spotting and i looked it up and that's a symptom too and i—"

"okay," virgil murmurs, trying to mentally sort what each of those might be—summer flu, dehydration, he admittedly doesn't know much about periods so he can't really say much about that—"okay. um. have you guys been, um...?"

"using protection, yeah," patton says miserably. "but apparently that's not very useful when it comes to me, so."

"huh," virgil says. "with logan?"

"condom broke, we think," patton says, and wearily runs a hand over his eyes. "or at least that's the most likely explanation."

"yeah," virgil says, and runs a hand over patton's hair again. he's about to ask patton if he's doing okay, except the timer goes off, and patton lets out a keening, horrible whine.

"i can't look," he whispers. "virgil, could you—?"

"yeah," virgil says, heart in his throat. impulsively, he kisses patton's head. "yeah, of course, i'll look."

he checks the guide. he takes a breath. he looks at all three tests. and then he double-checks them, and double-checks the guide, and he walks out of the bathroom to see patton hugging a pillow to his stomach, hunched over it.

"well?" patton whispers.

"well," virgil says, "i think you have the summer flu, or something, and you should probably make a doctor's appointment to ask about spotting, because you've got three nopes in there."

"oh," patton chokes out, and buries his face in his hands. "oh, thank god."

"yeah," virgil says, and goes over to the couch, hugging patton again. "yeah, buddy, you're okay."

"i just—god," patton manages. "i mean, i want another kid at some point, probably, but i can't—i can't be pregnant again. i can't do that. i mean, i love logan, i love him so much, but being pregnant with him—what it did to my brain, what it did to my mental health, i can't—"

he chokes up, and can't go on, and virgil's heart breaks a little.

"that's totally understandable and you do not have to justify yourself to me, or to anyone else," virgil says firmly. "hey, do you want me to get you a brownie, or something? i think you just put the 'scary' in 'pregnancy scare.'"

patton lets out what might be a giggle, a bit too hysterical to make virgil actually happy, but it's a giggle, nonetheless, and—)

"we talked about it once," virgil says evasively, fingers twitching through patton's hair as if to comfort distress that's thirteen years past. "look, just—none of what you just said would make patton happy, are you serious?"

"i wasn't talking about patton being happy, i was talking about what would be best for him," emily says.

virgil blinks. "i'm not following."

she lets out a long sigh, as if he is being deliberately obtuse. "it would make patton happy if he were able to eat nothing but waffles and pasta and sweets all day. it would be best for him if he ate fruits and vegetables and maintained a balanced diet."

"that's an entirely different thing," virgil says hotly, withdrawing his hand from patton's hair and starting to pick at a loose thread in his hoodie.

"is it?" she challenges.

"yeah, it is," virgil says, "because his life isn't as temporary as a meal. what's best for him in his diet is nowhere near the same way you should treat your life."

"that is where we disagree," she says, terse. "i believe what is best for him is not necessarily what makes him happy. there are procedures put in place, proper plans to be followed."

"doesn't what he want matter to you?" virgil says.

"what he wants is immaterial. sacrifices are often necessary in order to what is right."

virgil stares at her for a few moments, lets her words sink in, lets himself reflect on what following that might have been like, and—

"i am really indescribably sorry for you, right now," virgil tells her, and she sniffs.

"you hardly need to be. i was perfectly happy to follow the life i had set out for me."

virgil stares at her for a few more seconds, and she huffs.

"save your emotions," she says. "i've had just about my fill of them tonight."

virgil snorts. "finally, somewhere we agree," he mutters.

they're quiet for another long stretch of time.

"you genuinely think you know what's best for him?" she says, and virgil starts.

"i," virgil says. "yeah. better than you do, anyway."

"why?" she says, and then, derisively, "because you're in love with him?"

virgil doesn't quite reel back like she's smacked him, which is kind of how it feels, but he does pinch the fabric of his hoodie between his fingernails.

"no," he says. before he can say anything else, she plows over him.

"you look at him like he's a porterhouse steak!" she says, vindictive.

"i do not," he says.

"oh, please, you look at him like he's about to give you a lapdance."

virgil just about chokes on air.

"i do not," virgil insists, "and anyway, that's not what i was about to say, i wasn't about to deny being in love with him, of course i'm in love with him."

she falters.

"i was going to say that me being in love with him doesn't change that i know what makes him happy better than you do," virgil says.

"fine, then," emily says. "please tell me what you think would make him happy."

"his life, now, for the most part," virgil says. "living in sideshire, managing the inn. waiting for logan to get home from chilton, logan telling him about working at the courant, supervising roman and logan sleepovers. i think the biggest change would be if he got along with his parents."

she stares at him for one second. two.

virgil shrugs. "that's what would make him happy," he says simply. "that's what he wants. when he came home from lunch or brunch or whatever it was with you guys and logan and you guys managed not to fight the whole time, he was so happy."

she's silent.

"and i think that's what you want too," virgil says quietly.

she's silent for a long time—enough time for patton to stir again, and, slightly hilariously and slightly heartbreakingly, seems to be stuck firmly in the headspace of logan still being a baby, and virgil soothes patton's mumbled worries about how logan's colic should be acting up by now before patton drops back off again. and by then, emily seems to have gotten control of her emotions again.

"you haven't put yourself into that little scenario of yours," emily says.

"the way we are now makes him happy," virgil says simply. "and that's enough for me."

she snorts. "idiots. the both of you."

virgil snorts a little, too, ducking his head. he rubs his thumb and forefinger against the worn spot on the cuff of his hoodie.

her eyes zero in on it. "did you," she begins, and then, almost suspiciously, "did you make that?"

"oh," virgil says, and awkwardly, "um, i mean, i bought the hoodie. but all the extra stitching and fabric and stuff, yeah. i did that."

"hm."

"i gave it to patton when we were on the way here," falls out of his mouth before he can stop it.

she looks at him a little closer. "you did?"

virgil coughs, awkward, and redirects his glance back to the sleeve he's worrying between his fingers. "he was, um. he had pretty bad chills, and i kept turning the heat up in the car, but it didn't help. and he wasn't saying anything, but i knew he was cold, so i gave it to him, but the orderlies had to take it off before he could go back in the test room, but i—i haven't been able to put it back on since."

his mouth snaps shut, and he's fully aware of his cheeks burning, fully aware of her eyes on him, and he stares even harder at the little imperfect faded oval he's rubbed into the fabric over the years, rendering that section of cuff a shade lighter than the rest of it.

"stupid, i know," he mutters.

she's quiet, for a moment, before she says, "i haven't been able to bring myself to change any of the decoration or furniture in patton's room since he left home."

he doesn't really know what to say to that. it feels like... he doesn't know. if it was any other person than one of patton's two parents, he'd say it feels like an olive branch. but with them, virgil's so used to hearing about arguments and bickering and favors offered with full knowledge they'd be paid back in full later, so it doesn't. it feels like a business deal. or like one of the faeries in the stories that virgil used to read to logan, before he insisted he outgrew such things—the kinds of sneaky wishes that would come back to bite you, in some way. it feels like a rabbit's foot. it feels like a monkey's paw.

"he has a way," virgil says at last.

"he does, doesn't he," she says musingly.

"yeah," virgil says, awkward.

there's another pause, a long stretch of quiet. enough time for a nurse to come and check patton's vitals, update his data, smile benevolently at them both, and leave.

"not that i'm asking your opinion," she says severely. "but your... idea. of how patton would like to lead his life."

virgil looks up, blinking at her. "yeah?"

she lifts an eyebrow at him imperiously. "do you think it's possible?"

"oh," virgil says. "i think—i mean, i don't really believe in you all that much, but patton does, so. if you keep fighting him and don't, like, remove your head from your ass, you're definitely going to push him and logan away, you know that, right?"

she doesn't really respond, and virgil huffs out an exasperated breath.

"look," virgil says. "you know what would patch all this up?"

"what?"

"if you and your husband apologized," for once. "if you and him apologized to patton, he'd forgive you in a heartbeat, you know. because again, he's way too optimistic about you."

"well, i hardly—"

"holy shit, you started it," virgil says. "you always start it. you cannot seriously expect your son, who is bedridden with pneumonia, to put in his usual work of trying to smooth it over between you three, the way he always does. for once, can you please just fucking set aside your pride for five seconds and apologize?"

"what he did—"

"sucked, i know," virgil says impatiently. "it sucks that he ran away, he knows that, he regrets doing that to you the way he did, but jesus christ, it's been sixteen years. he's apologized, hasn't he?"

she barely inclines her head.

"okay, so," virgil says. "can you just see that this is kind of a special circumstance and say the words i'm sorry? just one time. and he'll forgive you basically instantly. even if you don't understand why, just say it, and then you can playact at being a big happy family again."

emily chews at her lip.

...

"you're quite certain you don't want me to stay the night here?"

"i'll be fine, grandpa," logan says wearily as they turn down the street to home, even as something in him delights at being so, so close to home again. "you should go back to your house, in case they need anything. you're closer to the hospital than i am here."

"well," he begins, about to turn into the drive, but he stops the car as the lights illuminate a familiar figure.

"who the devil," he begins, moving to lock the doors, but logan's flinging the door open before he can, unbuckling and nearly skidding on the icy driveway as he speedwalks to the front stoop, where the familiar figure is standing up, shivering.

"roman," logan says, and roman steps forward and hugs him tight, so tight, and logan closes his eyes, buries his face into roman's shoulder where he still smells like hairspray and the stage makeup he hadn't bothered to wipe off his face and sweat, still wearing the massive button-down he wears to cover his costumes while backstage at a show under his big, puffy winter jacket, and logan's home, he's home, and—

"oh my god, i'm so sorry i didn't call back," roman says, and draws back. he'd barely made a cursory smear of a makeup wipe on his face, so his stage makeup remains on his face, smeared with sweat. he still has purple glitter on his eyelids and sharp cateye eyeliner, and smudged, faded lipstick. "i didn't know what to do, i didn't know where you were, i didn't know if you were coming home for the night or not, so i just—"

"logan?" his grandfather calls, and logan turns, still holding roman in his arms.

"it's okay," logan calls. "it's okay, it's just roman. i'll see you tomorrow?"

richard surveys this, frowns, grunts a little, waves in farewell, and gets back in his car. logan opens the front door to the house, nudging roman in ahead of him and flicking on the light, turning back to lock the door. roman barely waits until he's turned the key until he's tugging at logan's suit jacket, and logan turns to face him again, and god, there he is, that's his best friend.

"is your dad okay?" roman asks, frantic.

"he'll be fine," logan says. "i—the doctors said it was pneumonia and he'll be at the hospital for a few days, but they said he'd be okay."

"god, logan," roman says, and reaches to hug him again. logan closes his eyes tight, and leans into it, hard. for once, he won't deny that he maybe needs hugs right now.

they draw back, and logan, a little in disbelief, picks at collar of roman's button-up.

"you came," logan says.

"well, yeah," roman says, like it's obvious. "you were upset, of course i came."

i love you, logan thinks.

"i mean, admittedly, it wasn't like, straight to the hospital, or anything," roman says. "i tried, but i wasn't sure which one, and—"

"i'm going back to visit in the morning," logan says, tentative. "if you'd—if you'd join me?"

"yeah, of course," roman says, and takes logan's hand. he tugs logan into the living room, where the detritus of one of his father's blanket nests is in an armchair. they sit on the couch, where a collection of empty mugs sits on the coffee table. there is so much of patton in this house. logan cannot look anywhere without thinking about his dad.

suddenly, he realizes that roman's been talking this whole time.

"—but oh my god, l, that must have been so scary."

logan wants to deny that it was scary. logan wants to lie. logan wants to say objectively, the risks of pneumonia are relatively low, here are the survival rates and here are the usual methods of treatment and here is what will happen, and here is proof that my dad will be okay, and here are all the reasons why it is illogical to be upset, because he will be okay, and i know he will be okay, because virgil promised he would be okay and the doctor said he would be okay and the family physician said he would be okay, so there is no reason why my brain is still stuck at a point where i should think that he wouldn't be okay, because that is not true, because he will be okay.

instead, logan's lip trembles, and he catches it between his teeth with a groan, pressing his elbows against his thighs and bending to meet his hands, sliding off his glasses to press the heels of his hands against his stinging, hot eyes.

there's a body against him, then, a cheek pressed to the back of his neck, arms wrapping around him again, and logan swallows hard.

"i've gotcha," roman whispers. "i've got you, logan. i'm right here."

and logan buries his face in his best friend's lap, and for the second time that night, he starts to cry.

...

there's a weight on patton's hip.

that's the first thing he's aware of, swimming out of the dark gray sludge of sleep, waking up slowly and not particularly liking it very much. there is a weight against his hip, and when at last he cracks open his eyes, the first thing he does is look to see what it is.

it's a familiar head. the face is mostly obscured by the hair flopping into patton's line of vision, but the hoodie that's been spread out over patton like a blanket and the t-shirt and worn jeans the familiar person is wearing are big enough identifiers that patton doesn't really have to wait for any of his reasoning skills to come back online.

virgil's got a hand close to patton's hand, where it's resting on the mattress, and an arm slung out across patton's stomach, not even pillowing his head. it's as if he'd reached out to make sure that patton would stay put.

patton's heart swells with a nearly unimaginable amount of fondness. he carefully moves the hand that virgil had nearly been touching to virgil's head. his hair, feathery and floppy and soft, is familiar under his hand. the hard curve of his skull is, too. patton doesn't get to touch him very much, but they're familiar anyways. he swipes an admiring thumb slowly down, tracing the line of virgil's jaw.

virgil nuzzles against patton's belly in his sleep. in doing so, a bit of his hair slips, and it reveals a bit of virgil's closed eye, bangs parting like curtains. the ever-present bags look slightly darker than usual. that must be why virgil fell asleep on him. well, patton certainly isn't complaining. as a matter of fact, he smiles, and covers virgil's hand with his own, feeling something in his stomach flutter.

he can go back to sleep, now.

when he wakes again, it's to the clicking of high heels, and a voice he's known all his life.

"—did you say he'd be here, again?"

another voice—familiar, beloved, feels like he's known him all his life.

"logan's text said 9:30, so they're probably just parking and getting up to the room now."

"hmph. or the traffic's acting up again."

huh. he must be dreaming. there is no actual world where his mother and virgil are being so civil.

"look, they said they'd be here soon. with roman, too."

"the dance boy? patton says logan has a crush on him."

"oh, yeah, logan definitely has a crush on him. but patton really likes him, he's practically another kid. he's my neighbor, plus he's logan's best friend, so. logan probably told him about it and roman wanted to come wish him well."

"he was very well-behaved at logan's birthday get-together," his mother muses.

"yeah, he can be a real little charmer," virgil says darkly.

"he's a prince, it's practically in the name that he's charming," patton mumbles, trying to complete the old joke.

"oh, right on time," his mother says, pleased, and patton cracks open his eyes.

his mother's standing, holding a to-go cup of coffee, and virgil's still sitting at patton's bedside, where he dimly remembers virgil being a few times he'd woken up before. his hand's under patton's, and patton squeezes before he can really help himself. he's never really held virgil's hand before—this isn't exactly holding his hand, just his hand over virgil's, but it's close enough that patton's kind of unreasonably excited

"what were you saying?" patton asks, shifting against the pillows, trying to sit up a bit straighter.

"logan, roman, and your dad are all coming," virgil tells him. "should be here any minute."

patton nods, and makes the mistake of looking down at himself, only to suck in a breath and look up at the ceiling.

"what?" virgil asks, alert.

"needles," patton says, strangled. "i can see it, virge. i can feel it."

ivs! are! the! worst! sure, he's a bit more used to needles now because of his shots of testosterone, but with those he can at least aim and then look away and jab himself, and it's over relatively quickly, but he can feel it now and it is Bad—

"oh," virgil says, scrambling, "um—"

"here," his mother says, and patton turns his head away from the arm that has tubing coming out of it, to see his mother holding out her silk handkerchief.

"oh!" patton says, and takes it, carefully draping it over the injection site as much as he can without looking at it, and risks a glance. yes, he can still see the tubing, and feel the iv, but as long as he doesn't move his arm and the handkerchief stays there, he should be... okay.

patton offers a tentative smile to his mom—she's been here, patton knows that, his memories are really fuzzy but he knows she's been here, but patton also knows that they've been freezing each other out for the past week, so. "um, thanks, mom."

she nods, once, and virgil says, "you doing okay, pat?"

"i think so," patton says uncertainly. "i mean, i still feel pretty—bleh."

"the doctor said you probably would be feeling pretty bleh for the next couple days, sorry," virgil says sympathetically. "but you're going to be just fine, patton. you're going to be okay."

a wave of relief sweeps through patton. he remembers, distantly, almost like it's a dream, the suddenly more aggressive and more pervasive fear of dying, but—but if a doctor said he'd be okay, and if virgil says he's going to be okay, then patton's going to be okay.

"okay," patton says, and nods, absorbing this. "okay. um, good."

"uh, so, i think i might go out to the waiting room, wait for logan and roman to get here, if that's... if that's okay."

no that is not okay why are you leaving me alone with her?! patton wants to ask, but virgil's giving him a Look, a it's okay look, so patton lets out a little breath, and trusts him. obviously. it's not even a choice, he just does.

"you can keep an eye on my hoodie for me," virgil adds, flicking one of the sleeves so it folds over patton's lap, and patton looks up at him, blinking.

"you sure?" he says, tentatively running his thumb over a worn little bit of hoodie that he's seen virgil run his fingers over, too. "you never take this off."

"i think i can manage to trust you with it," virgil says, amused. "besides, that way you know i'm gonna be coming back, right?"

patton weighs these options. he fiddles with virgil's hoodie again, runs his fingers over the white stitching, feeling the variance of textures under his fingers.

"okay," patton says. "yeah."

"cool," virgil says.

and then virgil and his mom share their own little Look. patton has literally no hope of unparsing it if he tried—they still aren't fond of each other, obviously, but they look... they look understanding, almost. almost. not quite. but like they've reached some kind of point of agreement, maybe. not necessarily that they entirely agree, but just one point of agreement.

well, that's more than they had, so. patton's all for it.

his mother takes virgil's abandoned seat, and scoots a little closer, crossing her legs primly.

"well," she says, and fiddles with his blanket, pointedly avoiding touching virgil's hoodie, pulling the blanket over him a little more snugly. "how are you feeling?"

okay, so this is... weird. but patton can go with it. at least it's not yelling.

"um," patton says. "not my best?"

her face tightens.

"what?" patton asks in a tiny voice.

"young man," she says. "you were brought into the hospital between having actually collapsed and being on the verge of another one, with a fever so high you could have risked serious brain damage if you continued to refuse to seek treatment, and a case of pneumonia so serious that you have to stay in the hospital for at least three days, and all you have to say is that you don't feel at your best?"

"well, you see," patton says, "i'm really not at my best."

his mother looks five seconds from lovingly smothering him with his own hospital pillow when the door opens, and—

okay, virgil seriously isn't mean enough to leave him to get yelled at while he was bedridden and couldn't escape, right? had he really annoyed virgil recently?

"hello, patton," his father says.

"um, hi, dad," patton says, trying not to fidget, in case it jostled his arm and he had to be reminded about needles again. "are, um. are logan and roman here?"

"virgil took them to get coffee," his dad says.

(actually, virgil is leaning against the wall just outside the door, out of sight of anyone in the room, monitoring this conversation just in case anything goes wrong, and what he said to roman and logan was "here's ten bucks, scram," and roman had wrinkled his nose at him and said "why?" and virgil said "privacy reasons, there's going to be an emotional moment," and logan had declared "gross" incredibly loudly and grabbed roman by the hand and dragged him in the direction of the hospital cafeteria, roman looking a bit too excited about logan holding his hand to really protest, but sure, the sanders' could all think that virgil took the kids to get coffee.)

richard pulls up a chair to sit beside his mother, and patton—patton is very suddenly reminded of the two other times in his life where he had to stay in the hospital for a period of time, when he gave birth, and when he had top surgery.

they were both there then, too.

neither time, though, had they had a fight quite as bad as the one they'd had last week.

"you don't," patton begins haltingly, and twists virgil's hoodie in his free hand. "you don't have to stay, you know."

they look at each other.

"it was very nice of you to drive roman and logan here," patton says to his dad, quietly, "but i don't—you two don't have to stick around, really. i'm going to be fine, and i can patch things up when—"

"we wanted to apologize," his mother says stiffly, and patton's mouth snaps shut.

"you," patton says, and swallows hard. "you, um. you what?"

"we wanted to apologize," his dad says. patton kind of wants to clean out his ears, and ask them both to repeat themselves one more time, or maybe page a doctor, please, because he thinks he might be hallucinating, but—

"we were out of line," richard continues. "i was out of line. i shouldn't have come down on you as hard as i did—for reopening an argument we've had before."

"oh, dad, that's not—" patton starts.

"will you be quiet and let us finish?" his mother says, snappish, and that almost kind of soothes patton, because if his mother's snappish even if she says she's in the middle of an apology it means his parents probably haven't been bodysnatched, so that's good.

"we are sorry," his mother continues, dignified and refined, and not particularly heartfelt, but that's actually kind of okay, because this was already so weird that if his mom started being the emotional one patton would—well, he doesn't know, really, he just knows it would be very strange. "we are sorry that you were upset, and we are sorry that we upset you further."

"please consider forgiving us," his dad says formally, and patton quashes the urge to giggle. please consider forgiving us in the same way he'd say please consider opening an insurance policy with our company to a client.

"yes," emily says. "we are sorry for yelling at you, and for aggravating you when you were clearly upset and needed support, and for—"

she hesitates. she adjusts her jacket sleeves.

"and for putting you down," she says, and makes a slight moue of distaste. "for... bullying you."

patton, who is very uncomfortable, cannot help but laugh awkwardly. "i—i mean, i wouldn't say—"

"what else would you call telling you your reasoning wasn't good enough and saying you were a disappointment?" richard asks wearily, and patton shuts his mouth, directing his glance to his lap. he's fisted virgil's hoodie into a bunch he keeps curled in his free hand, with a white-knuckled grip.

"i," patton says, and swallows hard, trying to stop his voice from trembling. he can't say anything at all, and it reminds him unpleasantly of the argument, where he was lost for words, and he couldn't say anything, and he tried so hard to say something and when he did it wasn't good enough, and he swallows again, trying to search for something to say—

"you did nothing to deserve that," his dad says, and patton looks up, then, and oh. oh, his dad's eyes are... suspiciously shiny. "you did nothing to earn that."

"dad," patton barely manages to say around how choked up he is. the only time he ever saw his dad shed a tear was at his grandfather's funeral—and even then, it had only been a few, before he'd wiped off his face and continued stolidly onward.

"i was being unfair," he says, rigid and unyielding. "i shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you, much less in such an extreme way. i lost my composure."

"yes," emily says. "so. we are sorry that we were upset, and we made it so that you were upset you, too."

it dawns on patton, then.

they're so bad at this. like, genuinely, they're terrible at apologizing. they've hit almost everything on the stereotypical "what not to do while apologizing list." they apologized that he got upset, not for the things they said that made him upset. they've been snappy and irritable, and sure, a little emotional, but he's pretty sure telling the person you're apologizing to to be quiet is also a thing not to do. they've been uncomfortable, not with their past actions, but with the words they're saying now.

but honestly? it's the first time they've apologized to him. so no wonder they're bad at it. baby steps, he supposes, and this is a big one. it's the first one. plus, being bad at being humble and nice is kind of quintessential to the way the elder sanders' are. it's comforting, in a really weird way.

"why are you smiling like that?" emily says suspiciously.

patton smiles wider. "nothing," he says reassuringly.

"well, you're certainly smiling for some reason," she says peevishly. "the least you could do is sit and listen politely without looking like the cat that's gotten the cream, patton, for goodness' sake—oh!"

the reason she's said oh! is because patton's leaned almost all the way off the bed to hug her around the shoulders with his free arm. he sets his chin on her shoulder.

"i love you, mom," he says sincerely.

"oh," she says, and her hand flutters uselessly somewhere along his shoulder blade. "oh, well, that's—how nice."

patton grins even wider, because it's just such a mom thing of her to do, to be so at a loss during an emotional moment. he draws back, and grins at his dad. "i won't hug you, but i hope you know i'm thinking about it."

"it's appreciated," his father says solemnly.

patton settles back on his pillows, cheeks hurting. "i forgive you, by the way," he adds. "if it needs to be said."

"well, good," emily says, self-satisfied, as if she's succeeded in auctioning for a particularly rare piece of antique furniture. or, well. as if she's the cat that got the cream.

"how was it?" he asks, curious. "having logan spend the week over."

richard and emily exchange a glance.

"eventful," emily decides, and richard nods in agreement, before he reaches to take one of the abandoned newspapers from the pile logan's compiled for him, and patton almost laughs.

it doesn't take very long for the kid in question to show up at the door, with a diner owner and his best friend in tow, virgil adjusting the chairs in patton's room, before taking a seat himself.

virgil reaches out and takes patton's hand, like it's habit, before he freezes. patton smiles at him, though, and squeezes back, flipping their hands a little so that he can stare at virgil's hand.

he guesses they must have held hands for the first time last night, when he was too feverish to really tune into it. but he takes the time now to marvel quietly at virgil's hands.

logan and roman start talking about roman's opening show of the nutcracker last night, so everyone else is paying attention to that, and patton's absorbing the information, really, but he's a bit preoccupied with virgil's long, bony fingers, his expansive palm, the way he keeps stealing looks at patton out of the corners of his eyes, like he's checking that patton's alright.

there's dozens of tiny little shiny white burns dotting his fingers, from points where the heat must have leaked through a mitt or he'd forgotten a mitt altogether, or something. there's a longer one, along his wrist. it kind of surprises patton, because he knows how cautious virgil is with heat in the kitchen. he's got calluses and his hand’s a bit sweaty, but warm, and patton squeezes his hand again—an it's okay, an i'm okay, an everything's going to be okay, an i'm really happy you're here right now. a thank you. an i love you.

and virgil squeezes back.

#my fic #wyliwf #moxiety #logince #sanders sides fanfiction #text #my post

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summerseachild · 5 years

Text

Summersea’s GoT Season 6 Tumblr Spoiled First Time Watch 2019: Part 1

So I was going to rename this a “hatewatch” now that I’ve gotten to a whole season I hadn’t seen before, but let’s be honest. If you’ve seen me reblogging things from later seasons, it was never going to be that. There are things that I knew I was going to enjoy VERY MUCH, and I wasn’t wrong. There were also things that, if I let them, would have had me frothing a the mouth in rage.

But then I reminded myself that I’m vacationing in Castle Not Giving a Shit while I watch the back half of the show, and things were much better after that. I’ve mostly left my in the moment reaction except where I’d had too much wine to be coherent.

Season 6

Hot on the heels of season 5 i still have a third of a bottle of Chardonnay left let’s DO THIS

6x01

1. Lol it’s still in the credits so they continue to pretend like they care about Dorne????

2. Ghost howling 😢😢😢

3. So Davos went straight from staning one dour person to another... he has a type.

4. Some dude in the night’s watch re Melisandre: who’s she? Davos: oh just some lady Who spat a shadow out of her vag once LETS TRUST HER

5. Wow Olly aged a lot over the past five minutes since he killed Jon!

6. Edd please don’t die here. I don’t remember how you go but don’t let it be here

7. Boo hoo poor little psychopath lost his gf. No one cares, Ramsay. Myranda deserved what she got AND SO WILL YOU

8. My soul left my body like three times during that chase scene where Theon and Sansa are running from the Bolton men. POOR COLD BBS

9. That hug where they’re just CLINGING TO EACH OTHER THIS SHOULD NOT MAKE ME SHIP IT BUT HERE WE ARE

10. THEON SHOWING HIMSELF TO TRY TO KEEP HER SAFE I CANNOT HE KNOWS WHAT IT MEANS IF THEY CATCH HIM AND HE DOES IT ANYWAY SO SHE MIGHT HAVE A CHANCE

11. IT’S BRIENNE OF MF-ING TARTH OMG YAY

12. Also go Theon killing that dude

13. UGH THE SWEARING FEALTY SCENE WITH SANSA AND BRIENNE AND ALL OF THEIR FACES AND SANSA LOOKING TO THEON BEFORE ACCEPTING AND POD REMINDING HER OF THE WORDS IT IS PERFECT

14. Give me the AU where Theon lives and stays at Winterfell because he wants to be near her and they understand each other and Brienne is in her Queensgiard I AM NOT ASKING MUCH

15. Meanwhile in other trauma hi Cersei

16. UGH LOOK HOW SHE RUNS ACROSS THE COURTYARD TO SEE HER DAUGHTER

17. So... that scene with Jaime and Cersei where they talked about seeing Joanna’s dead body and she... Doesn’t blame him??? For Myrcella? Like I thought she would??? And she tells him about the prophecy??? And they hug??? Yeah that’s in contention for my fav Lannister twin scene ever? Top five at the very least. (And another member of the “Jaime writes his siblings’ dialogue” club.)

18. For all of his false kindness and gentleness the High Sparrow is just as bad as any of them, and When I’m not seething with anger I can appreciate how nuanced Jonathan Pryce’s performance is.

19. Wtf Ellaria and Tyene murdering Doran.

20. OMG TRYSTANE and I call Sand Snake Character Assassination here they are just SO BITCHY and without honor and the Dorneish are SO HONOR OBSESSED ugh why I hate it Also was that Myrcellas ship? Are there two bitchy Sand snakes just chilling in king’s landing now??

21. Tyrion and Varys among the people is kind of fascinating. Also what’s up with that Red Priest? Another who thinks the lord of light chose Dany?

22. Oh no the ships... Varys and Tyrion running TOWARD trouble says a lot about them.

23. Did the showrunners... forget Jorah would know the word Khalasar? Why would he say horde?

24. At least the Khals believe Dany is Drogo’s widow?

25. Ok so the waif is fascinating and her movements are just so... Succinct. A++ physical acting or whatever the word is.

26. Whoa that’s Melisandre without the necklace?? Cool story bro but why did she choose then to take it off? What does that tell us about her as a character or her powers? Just wanted to show some crone boobs? IDEK that was a weird ending.

6x02

1. The trailer reminds us that BRAN IS IN THIS SHOW

2. Remember this kid? He’s a Stark! He’s VERY IMPORTANT! He’s GONNA BE KING, but he wasn’t in all of season 5. He matters WE PROMISE.

3. The older generation of Starklings!!! I would be lying if I didn’t say seeing Lyanna and Brandon and Ned and Benejen And Nan and bb Hodor didn’t give me a LOT of feelings. (Also Bloodraven is the Worst Ghost of Christmas Past Ever.)

4. Cross fandom wish: I want to see Hodor, Groot, and Rocket have a conversation where everyone understands every word.

5. So... Meera and Summer have been hunting so that they all stay alive, right?? Otherwise WHAT ARE THEY EATING

6. Ok I take back what I said about them only having the Children once, but that was WEAK. “Help Bran, Meera. Because I said so and I’m a creepy magical person whose motivations are unclear”

7. YEAAAAAH WUN WUN SMASH THOSE TRAITORS. Good on you too Edd for taking charge.

8. Ugh every bar has one like that asshole talking about Cersei. And I don’t think he’s long for this world

9. I LOVE BEING RIGHT HI GREGOR

10. Why would Tommen keep Cersei away from Myrcella’s funeral. OH GODS HE WAS TRYING TO PROTECT HER.

11. Ugh Jaime is tired of keeping vigil over his dead family members GIVE HIM A BREAK

12. Also Jaime promising never to let Cersei be in a cell again while he’s there AAAAHHH YES 🦁 ❤️

13. There’s nothing more dangerous than a fanatic who fears nothing, Jaime. But him threatening the High Sparrow was made of sex.

14. SEVEN HELLS did Tommen just give Cersei the idea to blow up the sept

15. Dany’s council meeting in absentia is kind of neat. I was wondering how those crazy kids were doing.

16. Lol I drink and I know things is ABOUT TYRION KNOWING ABOUT DRAGONS 🐉 I DID NOT KNOW THAT AND I LOVE IT

17. Tyrion being like “please DO NOT EAT THE ALLIES (me)” to Viserion and Rhaegal is amazing

18. Viserion is all ME TOO LET ME GO HERE’S THE CHAIN SMALL HUMAN when he shows Tyrion his neck.

19. That was a rough test Jaqen

20. Yes Ramsay please march North I dare you

21. Roose KNOWS what Ramsay is and tries to steer him out of it but I don’t think he truly understands how deep the crazy goes

22. HOLY SHIT RAMSAY JUST STABBED HIS DAD and everyone either is too scared of Ramsay to do anything about it or was in on it. LOOKING AT YOU KARSTARK ASSHOLE

23. Oh Walda you sweet trusting soul he is going to feed you and your baby to those dogs isn’t he. I DON’T like being right. Have I mentioned that?

24. Brienne recognizing Sansa’s choices were hard ❤️❤️

25. Ugh Theon talking about all the things he’s done and Sansa hugging him anyway aaaaah my soul

26. It’s hard to hear someone else say they forgive you you when you don’t think you deserve forgiveness, and he’s definitely not ready to hear it from Jon. (But he’s ready to hear it from Sansa because of what they’ve been through together? I like that explanation and I’m sticking to it.)

27. Oh right Pyke exists the show doesn’t remember that unless it’s convenient.

28. HOW DARE YOU REFERENCE THAT PINECONES LINE SHOW YOU HAVE NOT EARNED THAT

29. Ok at least Yara cares about her people and we get to see it.

30. OMG Euron? He’s the one who kills Balon?

31. ...and he’s kind of got delusions of Grandeur? “I am the drowned god” wtf sir.

32. Gotta admit Iron Islands burial customs are kinda neat

33. We get the Kingsmoot? I’m listening, show... you’re on notice but I’m listening.

34. Depressed Melisandre is depressed. Wait... has she never done the raising from the dead thing? SEVEN HELLS SHE HASN’T.

35. A pep talk from Davos might snap me out of my crisis of faith too.

36. Thoros can do this in the language of Westeros, but I guess if Valyrian works for you...

37. I love Tormund peacing out of the room with Mostly Dead Jon like “I have had enough of this south of the wall bullshit”

38. Did Melisandre reach the lord of lights answering machine and it took him a while to get back? “If you would like to leave a resurrection request for R’hllor, please press one...”

39. Ghost’s eyes open AND SO DO JON’S hey bro

6x03 this episode is called Oathbreaker ARE WE ABOUT TO GET TO SEE THE FLASHBACK TO JAIME KILLING AERYS PLZ TELL ME

1. He liiiives! Poor Jon... what did you see while you were gone I wonder?

2. Oh jeez it was nothing. At least he has the most comforting sensible person in this series to help him through.

3. I like that Jon gets to come downstairs and HUG TWO OF HIS FRIENDS and none of the nights watch or the wildlings bat an eye or seem to think less of him for it. LET MEN HUG.

4. Oh jeez Sam’s taking Gilly and the baby to Horn Hill? Do we get to meet his mom? (No one cares about Randylll but I think we might get to meet him too?)

5. BB Sam is SO CUTE HE HAS HAIR NOW.

6. Wait is Gilly pregnant again?

7. That is the Tower of Joy and I AM NOT READY

8. HOLY SHIT HOWLAND REED KILLED ARTHUR DAYNE?

9. Sword of the morning indeed WHAT A BADASS (somewhere in my soul Jaime is waving an “Arthur Dayne Rocks” banner) there’s no way Ned could have won that fight without help and now Bran knows that??? I don’t really have anything interesting to say here I just love the idea of a kid getting to see the truth of a family story that’s radically different from what he thought he knew.

10. Past Ned HEARD BRAN? FASCINATING?

11. Oh right Dany is about to meet all of the other widows of the Khals this could be cool but knowing d and d it won’t be because it would involve treating WoC with nuance.

12. Not impressed so far.

13. So this girl Varys is meeting with is in league with the Sons of the Harpy? Good my memory is intact.

14. all this with Varys actually TRYING to take care of Meereen is fun...

15. Tyrion being like OMG I AM BORED PLZ TALK ABOUT SOMETHING to Grey Worm and Missandei is the most him thing ever. I feel you Bro. He’s a people person deep down and just wants to be friends so badly.

16. Qyburn with all of Varys’ little birds and making kids’ abusive parents disappear is PRECIOUS.

17. Don’t poke the Mountain, Jaime

18. LANNISTER MUSICAL CHAIRS PART 2 also Jaime is ON THE SMALL COUNCIL NOW??? Who gave book!Cersei three wishes??? Him actually being in her corner and working with her as a team must be like a wish come true...

19. “Grand Maester Pycelle would you sanction that starement?” 😂 Lena’s delivery of that line made me laugh so hard we had to rewind to hear the dialogue.

20. No no don’t leave the three of them together they’ll plan murder. Well, Cersei and Jaime will. Gregor will nod.

21. Tommen confronting the high sparrow fascinated me. He has some of the I WILL KILL YOU family traits on display here but it’s understandable given what his family has gone through at the high sparrows hand. I’d be threatening murder too if I were him.

22. What are you playing at mr high Sparrow? Because I don’t trust you farther than I can throw you, and I don’t even have a good arm.

23. The Hound was not on her list any more 😢 that whole scene with Arya recounting her life and learning to fight blind is NEAT.

24. Wait faceless men are immune to the poison in the water?? Cool.

25. Is that supposed to be Greatjon Umber’s son who refuses Jon? What an ass.

26. My wife adds, “THESE LOSERS are the people Sansa is supposed to be queen of?”

27. OH SHIT OSHA AND RICKON AND SHAGGYDOG HOW DID THAT EVEN HAPPEN? (Please let Sansa Find out who did that and who helped and give them what they deserve... there’s no way anyone took down that wolf alone.) I HATE THAT WE ARE NEVER GOING TO GET CLOSURE ON THAT PROBABLY.

28. Oh shit Jon has to hang the traitors that’s gonna be hard on him.

29. At least Alliser is consistent.

30. Jon did what he had to do... just like Ned in the first ep.

31. Wait WHAT did you just hang those men and then LEAVE? Isn’t leaving just as damaging to the order as killing the lord commander? That seemed overly quick and weird but ok????

32. Guess Jon was the Oathbreaker.

6x04

1. If anyone deserved an I JUST DIED crisis, it’s Jon. Also, the vows say, “it will not end until my death...” so technically...

2. Brienne got them up to the Wall QUICK. She is nothing if not efficient.

3. Sansa and Jon are like, “so... how cool are we going to play this? NOT COOL AT ALL LETS HUG” so sweet.

4. “Where will WE go?” Yes stay together Starklings because family is important certainly don’t scatter to the four winds or anything 🙄

5. I kind of love that Sansa’s the one who insists on taking back Winterfell and is all “help me or not I’m doing it”

6. I’m Brienne of Tarth and I HAVE A LONG FUCKING MEMORY. Wait... wrong show. (She DOES, though...)

7. Wow Petyr lying about Sansa being forced to Marry Ramsay... he’s playing the lords of the Vale like a fiddle.

8. That’s a lovely bird he got Robin. What a pretty boy.

9. Missandei staring daggers at Tyrion is Excellent Content. The “Tyrion tries to be a little more diplomatic but this involves dealing with slavers” problem is... a bit oversimplified, but at least they’re addressing it? Still not great.

10. Jorah and Daario are off on a secret mission and I cant stop hearing the Galavant song.

11. The older widow of the Dosh Khaleen is more interesting than the show will let her be.

12. Is that Lazareen widow Dutch from Killjoys? IT IS!!!!

13. Guess what high Sparrow NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR SELF RIGHTEOUS CONVERSION STORY LEAST OF ALL ME (guess who has some issues with organized religion it’s meeeee)

14. Way to act your heart out, though, Jonathan Pryce.

15. So idk if I’ve made a big deal about this but I’m SUPER QUEER and seeing Loras broken like that made my heart stop for a second.

16. “Not setting off” fanatics, huh Pycelle? I think Cersei has other ideas 😈 🔥

17. Tommen is TALLER THAN CERSEI NOW

18. Cersei and Jaime trying to get Olenna and Kevan on their side against the High Sparrow is... smarter than I thought it was going to be when they walked into that room. They had a united front, they were clearly working together... WHAT IS THIS I LIKE IT

19. Theon looks like a ghost of himself. :( And Pyke looks all creepy.

20. Jeez Yarra go easy on your little brother his psyche still has cracks in it. I guess it’s understandable that she’s pissed given the failed rescue and the timing of his arrival. I kept just waiting for him to say “I want to be home,” when she yelled WHAT DO YOU WANT but he didn’t and that makes me sad. (Home should have been Winterfell or wherever Sansa was just saying.)

21. Oh Osha don’t try it... shit. Well, you tried

22. And Tormund’s epic crush on Brienne begiiiiiins

23. SHIT RAMSAY TELLS JON HE HAS RICKON

24. Sansa insisting on reading the rest of the letter from Ramsay is... made of steel. I’m here for her being the driving force behind this attempted rescue.

25. I didn’t realize that so many Dothraki knew about how Dany lost the baby and Drogo.

26. DID DANY JUST KILL ALL OF THE KHALS? Girl knows how to make an entrance? The optics here are sooooo problematic but she looks DAMNED impressive the plan in and of itself is sound - gets rid of the men who don’t respect her and shows herself to be indestructible in one power move...

6x05 OH NO THIS IS CALLED THE DOOR I THINK I KNOW WHAT IS COMING

1. Is it just me or are d and d writing more and more episodes themselves?

2. Sansa has had enough of Littlefinger’s bullshit. Making him face up to what HE LEFT HER TO WHEN HE MARRIED HER TO RAMSAY AND ABANDONED HER YES GOOD.

3. When he says “did he cut you” and Sansa talking about Ramsay not caring as long as she could give him an heir... does that mean what I think it does? FGM? I hate that I even wonder. (Still not sure about this, but I don’t put it past them to imply something horrific like that and then not come back to it.)

4. The more I see the waif fight, the cooler she gets.

5. Faceless men founded Braavos? Right I KNEW that.

6. Ok the play is fun... complete with sound effects. So interesting to see what people in Braavos think of everything that happened.

7. So... I would Lady Crane’s voice anywhere. Hi Phryne!

8. Oh wow look at all the CotF

9. THEY MADE THE WHITE WALKERS I did not know that and for YEARS before this season came out we had an au idea where that was true and I AM SCREAMING

10. AND THEY DID IT TO DEFEND AGAINST THE ANDALS AND WHAT THEY WERE DOING TO THE TREES

11. Yara’s speech was lovely, Theon supporting her was sweet, but Yara shouldn’t have needed a dude’s support to get that reaction from the crowd. She’s been on Pyke and being badass ALL HER LIFE. That being said, I like to think Yara would have been Queen in this version of things if Euron hadn’t showed up. What a Dick.

12. How does Euron go from wanting to marry Dany to allying with Cersei? I guess I’m about to find out.

13. Damphair knows cpr, idiot showrunners. don’t just let Euron lie there.

14. YES GET AWAY YARA AND THEON AND... a lot of the fleet? Good on them.

15. Jorah trying to leave Dany and her not letting him and commanding him to find a cure aaaahhhhh my feelings 😢

16. In the real world Tyrion would have been a great campaign manager.

17. If they wanted someone local... why get a red priestess from Volantis? Is this supposed to be the same woman? Do any of the people of Meereen even follow the faith of R’Hollor?

18. Varys having no time for the red faith’s bullshit is SO GOOD. It’s ok Varys you’re probably the most famous eunuch in the world right now. And whoop de doo a sorceress knows a story about a sorcerer it’s a small magical world don’t let her cow you.

19. ...whatcha doing, Bran???

20. Well that’s not creepy at all. Soooo many wights. Were there only... four white walkers including the night king? I’m so confused.

21. “The Umbers gave Rickon to Ramsay they can hang” YES SANSA

22. Why did she lie about getting info from Petyr? (And GOOD ON BRIENNE calling her on it)

23. Brienne calling Jon “a bit brooding” is the most hilarious thing ever. Somewhere Jaime Lannister is laughing his ass off.

24. Yes wolfy clothes for everyone.

25. Awww Edd forgetting he’s acting lord commander is hilarious.

26. SO MANY WIGHTS DON’T DIE MIRA

27. Why are the children and the white walkers on opposite sides? Are these just about rogue CotF? EXPLAIN SHOW EXPLAIN

28. Cool visuals though... the night king walking through that fire was AWESOME.

29. Rickard LOOKS like a stark in that flashback.

30. RIP Bloodraven... glad you didn’t have to see how pointless all of this was.

31. Wait wait plain old wights can KILL THE CHILDREN? Dumb.

32. SUMMER NO I AM NOT OK WITH ANY OF THIS not Leaf either she’s a nice little tree person even if her motivations are unclear.

33. So Bran warging into Hodor in the present and in the past at the same time is what messed him up? Or something about the time folding and Bran BEING THERE?

34. That was upsetting as fuck about Hodor and I AM SAD EVEN THOUGH I KNEW IT WAS COMING

And... tumblr won’t let me post the whole thing. I had A LOT to say about some later episodes. Remember when I was going to keep this to three bullet points for each episode? Yeah me neither.

#summersea got rewatch 2019 #castle not giving a shit #summersea has feels about got #not actually a rewatch

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theabominableblogger · 6 years

Text

My Reaction to “Gotham” S2E19

Yep. Told ya I’d get this one up.

AN: I managed to record my reactions to this episode and hopefully I can transcribe what I said into this post.

Whoa....

What the....

“Has there been any improvement since he [Theo] woke up yesterday?” “No. But he's wonderful, isn't he?“ I... I wouldn’t say that...

“The Will and Order of St. Dumas.” What?

*Jim stops by Arkham* Oh SNAAAAAPPP!

“Pinewood Farms was started by Thomas Wayne in an attempt to cure humanity's greatest ailments on the genetic level old age, disease, even death.” “But that's not what happened, is it?“ *snaps sassy Z-line in the air* No it ain’t!

“Karen said the program tried to play God, and you [Hugo] ended up creating monsters.” “I was just a researcher with no knowledge of that until it was too late.“ Uhh, ha ha, no.

“I’m [Jim] not here for a therapy session, Professor.” Thank you.

“No. It’s more like an interrogation by a man who is no longer a police officer.” Ohh!

“[Jim] You're trying to make up for the sins of your past, and you believe that this case will somehow bring about your own personal redemption.” *grimaces*

“Victor Fries is dead, Mr. Gordon.” Well that is a lie.

“Really? I saw him last night.” Thank you!

“I [JIm] can read tells, too. [Hugo] You’re lying.” *claps and points at screen* Yeeess!

Oh there it is! There’s the theme!

*Ed explains to Aaron that the other inmate’s personality is not him via pretending to scold the air AKA “Lucy”* OK, this is actually not a bad way to diffuse the situation.

Look at Ed being the negotiator when it comes to situations in Arkham!

*claps*

“Go to hell, Ed.” Thank you!

“Nobody beats me.” Really?

“I [Jim] did. See you never, Ed.” Hahahaha!

There’s the Jim Gordon I know!

“What has no hands but might knock on your door, and you better open up if it does?“ Fate?

“I [Ed] can help you [Hugo] take him [Jim] down.“ You better not!

*One of the inmates tries to lick Ed* EEEWWW!!

*Ed explains to Hugo how he manipulated the other inmates by simply listening to them and what they want* Holy crap, Ed!

This is the Riddler!

“Everyone has a story...” Azrael?

Ed, what did you do?

“We have got to give him [Theo] a great, heroic story.” “We need to give him a good heroic dose of Thorazine, but you're [Hugo] the boss.“ ...Yes.

Uhhh.... is this a good idea??

“Hello?” *in best Hugo Strange voice* It’s me.

WHOA

“Don’t you [Theo] feel a father’s love when I [Hugo] look into your eyes?” *in high pitched voice* NOT REALLY!

“No. No. There is another life. There is a sister, a high tower-” *puts hands on head in shock* Ohhh, he [Theo] remembers Tabitha!

Whoaaa ho ho hoooo... oh my gosshhh...

“This man [Hugo] ordered my parents' death? You're sure?“ Why would Hugo Strange order the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne?

“Bruce, I [Jim] know you're frustrated, but we need to do this the right way.” “The right way? And how many times did that fail with Galavan?“ HOOO!!

“We'll work on Barnes, get him to sign off on a warrant and put Strange away for good. The right way.“ Where are they gonna put Strange if they do arrest him? Blackgate? Probably not Arkham.

Is this immersion therapy [the St. Dumas video Strange is showing Azrael]?

AN: The video actually reminded me of the conversion video from the video game “Outlast” (and no, I’m putting a link of that video in because it is also a trigger video from a disturbing game- a game that I’ve only seen gameplays for and don’t actually plan on playing anytime soon).

“This Dumas character was made a saint, performed a lot of miracles and so forth. And one of the miracles was bringing Azrael back to life.” “I [Miss Peabody] still prefer Thorazine.“ Heeheehee!

What the heck did they do to Theo’s face? Was that from when they re-stitched his face back together after removing the umbrella from the back of his head??

*Ed watches Miss Peabody take Aaron down to Indian Hill* Oooohhh...

Oh my God, is this gonna be how Ed escapes? Please do not follow them!

Yeah, where are they taking Aaron?

Waaait, they’re taking him to Azrael! Oooohhhh...

Oh I like that shot of Ed with the rose-tinted windows behind him.

*Aaron meets Azrael* Oh. Snaaaappp...

“I [Hugo] am crafting your [Azrael’s] armor as we speak, but first, your skills must be tested.“ NOOO, he’s gonna kill Aaron!!

*gasps when Azrael knocks out Aaron with the briefcase*

“Not exactly what I had in mind, but good enough. Try opening the chest, my son.“ Hahahaha...

[It’s like in “Hercules”] “USE YOUR HEAD!” “Riightt...”

Hahaha, this is exactly what happened!

“The Sword of Sin. Your [Azrael’s] ally and instrument of justice, a vanquisher of evil for generations. She thirsts for blood.” How’d they get a sword?

“My lord, I [Azrael] am the Angel of Death. James Gordon dies... tonight.” Hooo!

Why would they [the GCPD] let the press anywhere near the crime scene? That is way too close!

Where is the tape? Where is the line?

“Listen, kid- Mr. Wayne- I [Barnes] don't care how much money or pull you have in this town. I'm through talking to him [Jim].” “Are you through listening to the truth?“ Whooo...

“What are you [Ed] gonna do with all this stuff, anyway?” That’s a good question...

“I think Professor Strange is hiding something. And I think that something is a secret way out of this dump. So I'm gonna use this stuff to find it.“ This is totally like Jim Carrey-level Riddler right here... and I like this better than the actual Jim Carrey Riddler!

I like the Riddler better than Ed. What’s goin’ ON?!?

“[JIm] You self-righteous punk. You think you have all the answers? Maybe you should run it yourself!” “Maybe I will one day.“ HE DOES!

*softly gasps when the precinct lights go out*

“Who’s there?” OH SNAP!

Here’s my question: how did Hugo Strange get all the armor for Azrael?

If this armor’s bulletproof, I swear to God...

WHOA!

Grab his [Azrael’s] cape!

*Azrael leaps out of the precinct* Whoa...

Masked man in a cape- Bruce, do not take any ideas from this for Batman!

“Calls himself Azrael. Wants to kill me [Jim]. We know Hugo Strange is responsible.“ Do you?

“Excuse me, Captain. I [Bruce] find your flippant attitude to be inappropriate.“ Hoo hoo hooo!

“I [Jim] can't make the moves I need to make if I'm worrying about you [Bruce]. You need to be at home, where Alfred can look after you.“ Bruce is like “...no... I’m never liking this. When has there ever been a situation that I liked?”

Whoa! Oswald, what the heck happened to you?

*gasps when Azrael gets flashbacks of his past life*

Whoaaa!

“I'm [JIm] not a cop anymore, remember? I don't need to follow your [Barnes’s] orders.“ No, but you’re a citizen now, technically.

Through the Looking Glass? We’re getting a sneak peek of Mad Hatter this season?

Dutch angle!

If Azrael tries to storm the GCPD to get Jim, I swear to God..

*The lights go out* Oh snap, are you freaking kidding me?

Yeah, that’s freaking him [Azrael]. Hooooly crap.

He’s gonna bust through that window-

*Azrael crashes through the window* Oooohhh!!

Oh he’s [Azrael] gonna do the superhero landing. Wait for it!

Oh he didn’t- THERE WE GO!

*claps* WHOO! Superhero landing!

How do they not recognize Theo’s voice?

*gasps when Azrael butchers one of the cops*

Whoa!

*Barnes knocks Azrael to the ground* Oh, go Barnes!

“We need a bigger gun.” *laughing* Yeah...

You’re gonna have to like nuke him!

Oh yeah, like a freaking pipe [wedged in the door handles] is gonna stop Azrael. When he can literally punch a hole through the door!

[Barnes] Do not go at freaking Azrael WITH A PIPE.

“Let’s dance.” *after a five second pause* Put on your red shoes and dance the blues... let’s sway!

*gasps when Barnes knocks Azrael to the ground* Oh snap!

He’s [Barnes] gonna see his [Azrael’s] face!

*gasps when Azrael stabs Barnes in the knee*

NOOOOO! NOOOO oh my God!

Nooooo!

*Jim comes onto the rooftop* Ohhh snaaaappp...

This better not the end of the freaking episode. I’m gonna riot.

“Come to me [Azrael], and I will show you [Jim] the way to hell.” “I know the way.“ Whoooo....

*Jim manages to shoot Azrael off the rooftop* OooohhhH!

*gasps when Azrael falls on top of the news van*

Nah, no no no no, Barnes ain’t freaking dying nope! We’re not doin’ this.

*Tabitha, Butch, and Barbara go through the TV channels* OH SNAP! They’re gonna see the TV!

What the heck...

“OK, she [Barbara] scares me [Butch].” Heeheehee!

“Do we have any limes?” HAHAHAHA!

Oh my God, Oswald’s gonna go after hiiiimm [Azrael] ...

*counts off with fingers* Wait, so Jim’s going after him, Hugo Strange is going after him, probably Tabitha’s gonna go after him to... teach him his humanity, Bruce is probably gonna go after him....

“Strange must be behind this.” He’s always behind this.

“What the hell is happening to our city?” That’s a very good question, Alfred! You should ask that every single freaking time!

*trying not to laugh* What the heck is this music?

*ends up boogie-ing to music while laughing* This music!

AN: It’s “I’m Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover” by Mitch Miller

Is Ed gonna encounter Azrael at the end of this episode? Hoooly snot!

Hiii Indian Hill...

“Oh my.” Oh my, indeed.

That’s a really good shot of Ed in the middle of the aisle

Oooooh, is this Jim’s leitmotif?

*puts hands around mouth* CGI TRANSITION PANNING SHOT!

*Azrael stands on top of the bridge overlooking the city* Oh my God... that’s a freaking Batman pose!

*Azrael brings about the end logo by flourishing his cape* YOOOO!!!

*about ready to lose voice* That was so much Batman! Before we even get Batman! Aaaaahhh ha ha...

*jams out to ending theme*

#azrael #Gotham #FOX #the blogger reacts #looked at the stars and considered a reaction #hugo strange #theo galavan #jim gordon #edward nygma #bruce wayne #batman #nathaniel barnes #SO MUCH BATMAN BEFORE WE EVEN GET BATMAN!#tabitha galavan #oswald copplepot

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subasekabang · 7 years

Text

Ticking of Hours, Lonely

Author: @zenellyraen

Rating: M

Word Count: 12300

Pairings: Background Shiki/Eri ; Josh/Neku hints (setup for more later)

Warnings: Pretty blatant discussion / reference to suicide, canon typical death talk, violence, slight to major self-doubt / unreality, hinted social negatives irt trans character, Joshua, all post-game spoilers in the house honestly

Summary: After all is said and done, Neku wakes up. A bullet wound to the chest. Memories fully intact. Injured, with no proof to any of the events that happened, that he remembers but can't explain. He has nothing from the Reaper's Game except the memories of a promise to meet up again, and even that he's unsure of, because after such a traumatic experience, how can he trust anything?

Can he even be sure that any of it actually happened?

Author's Note: HOO BOY. Okay so this is finally done! It's a complete fic in and of itself, but it mostly serves as set-up for another fic I want to do immediately after this. Deepest thanks and regards to the mods and participents of the subaseka bang! Y'all were wonderful and I really loved getting to be involved in this! Biggest love to my wonderful artist, @minisculelizard, who did an amazing job on his piece.

[.start.]

Brr-brr.

Pause.

Brr-brr.

Sleepily, Neku reaches out, fumbles slightly, grabs his vibrating phone from its habitual place on his pillow. He squints into the blue half-dawn light, taking in the time, the name flashing on the screen, and his heart constricts, then starts beating overtime.

03:06 AM

Call From: SHIKI

“Shit,” Neku mutters. He flips open his phone and holds it up to his ear as he sits up, wincing as his chest pulls painfully. His hands are shaking. Neku tries to put it out of his mind. “Shiki, what’s wrong, are you alright?”

There is a long, long moment, where Neku hears nothing but static, where he thinks maybe, just maybe, it’s an accidental call, though the thought is tinged with no small amount of hysteria because what if it’s worse. What if it's not Shiki at all, and he's just going to blink and his bedroom will fall away- And then there’s a quiet sob. Shiki’s voice is harsh and raspy with weariness, grief, panic, (Neku knows, he’s felt them all), and it takes her several, shuddering breaths in and out before she can finally say, “Neku.”

“I’m right here, Shiki. I’m right here, is everything okay? What’s wrong?” Neku murmurs, his free hand fisting in the bed sheets. Shiki doesn’t answer and doesn’t answer, only repeats his name over and over again between the quiet sobs. Neku keeps up his talking, trying to distract her from her own panic. “It’s gonna be okay, Shiki, just breathe. You’re fine, it’s going to be alright. I’m right here, shhh shhh, it’s okay.”

(As he does, Neku curls over himself, pulling his knees up to his chest with slow, agonizing movements, and hates the distance between them, the late hour, the fact that the trains aren’t running right now, everything that is keeping him from every modicum of comfort he can offer.

He’s still not used to not being able to touch her.)

Shiki draws a deeper breath than any she’s managed so far. Neku holds his.

“Neku, tell me it was real,” Shiki pleads, and Neku blinks furiously against a flood of his own tears.

His hand trembles where he has his phone held against his ear, and Neku leans his head over, his shoulder up, to brace it there instead. He wraps both arms around his curled legs, his fingers roughly digging into the soft blue blanket. “Shiki,” he says, “Shiki, it was real. The Game was real, it happened. You remember, right? You remember the Noise and the Psych Pins and meeting Beat and Rhyme and Mr. H and everything else.” Neku casts around for something else, anything else, gnawing his lip in the unfocused half-light. “You remember meeting me at Hachiko? Saving my sorry ass from being partnerless? Using your pig to fight?”

There’s a watery sniff. A deep breath. “He’s not a pig.”

Neku smiles. It’s a weak expression, but it’s a real one. “And you remember all of it, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“It was real, Shiki.” Neku sighs and leans back, forcing his muscles to loosen and relax against the cool wall, wincing as the injury on his chest twinges again. “Everything really happened. You’re not crazy.” He shakes his head. “None of us are.”

Shiki’s next breath is still shuddery and upset, but the one after is calmer. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I mean. How else would I have met you, right?”

“Exactly.” Heartbeat slowly calming down, Neku breathes in and out with Shiki, hoping to quell the still-anxious twist in his gut. He can't bring himself to close his eyes, scared that when he opens them again, he'll wake up in the Scramble. “I mean, you couldn’t have pulled down my shorts in the middle of a crowded street just to fix a button otherwise.”

She laughs, which is exactly what Neku wanted. He smiles into the air, curls up over himself again until he’s talking into the crevice between his thighs and torso, forehead resting on his knees, restless and unable to truly settle. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. God, for a second there I thought I had forgotten. Thanks, Neku." Shiki's words sound warm, just a little rough, and Neku’s heart aches for her, hates the distance all over again.

"Shiki," he begins, uncertain, "do you want me to call Beat and Rhyme? We can see when we all have off to go walk around Shibuya again."

"Mm, that'd be great. I miss you guys. Gosh, Neku, it's so late! Why did you pick up at this hour of the night?"

Neku huffs out a quiet laugh, and this time, he doesn’t even blink when his chest throbs with the sharp motion and the beat of Neku’s heart. "I'm always going to pick up when you guys call. Same way you'd do it for me."

Sulky and embarrassed now that the immediate panic has receded, Shiki grumbles, "Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I should bother you like that. You could’ve woken up your parents."

"Eh, it’s really not a problem, Shiki. I would have explained it to them. We’re partners, right? Just, like. Buy me lunch when we meet up, or something."

“Deal.”

They let everything fall into an easy silence then, just listening to the other’s breaths across the phone line, until Shiki sighs, heavy. “Alright. I’m going to try and go back to sleep. Make sure you sleep too, okay, Neku?”

“Got it. Sleep well, Shiki.”

The phone beeps as she hangs up, and Neku lets his hand fall to the side, and his phone slips from his limp fingers. He closes his eyes. It’s too early for this. Too late. Too something, where the edges of the world press in, unreal and constraining all the same. Nothing makes sense here anymore.

“Joshua,” he says into the space between his knees, so quiet he can barely hear it himself, “where are you?”

It’s not the first time the question has come to mind, and it probably won’t be the last. But the weeks after the Game have stretched on and on and with them, the Game has become something more akin to a nightmare than a reality. But it happened. It had to have, because if it hadn’t, then Neku wouldn’t have any friends.

Right?

If it hadn’t happened, Neku wouldn’t have the scar from a bullet wound on his chest and three weeks of missing time to keep track of.

(It’s hard to keep believing something when you have no proof it ever really occurred.)

Neku swallows past a heavy lump in his throat.

He does not sleep. It it not the first time for that either.

* * *

It goes like this.

Four different kids wake up in three different hospitals, muscles weak, lungs laboring for breath, and the startled, glad cries of their parents are foreign to their ears. They all look around, searching for something familiar, anything, and there is nothing. There are pale walls, white curtains, the sterile metal and plastic rungs of the beds they are laid in. There are no marks on their hands. There are no pins to be found. The Scramble is gone, their cell phones (when they finally get those back) are missing any mysterious texts or camera apps.

For all intents and purposes, it seems as though nothing happened. That everything was no more than a strange dream.

(Well, as it was, several things did happen. A car accident, a knife to the wrists, a mysterious gunshot wound.

But those are the things the four kids bear with them now in bodies they aren’t sure they remember. There is nothing from a period of three weeks where they had power over their own fates, fighting in a Game where the rules kept on changing.)

The kids are all alive.

Neku, alone finally in his hospital room while his mother runs to find a doctor to check him over now that he’s regained consciousness, looks down at his hands and wishes, for a long, despairing moment, that he had a Player Pin tucked into the folds of his palm. That on his other hand, there were the jagged, painful tick-lines of a clock that exposed the tender muscles below his skin, counting down to erasure. Something.

He doesn’t know quite what to do. There is still so much left that tells him he should already be on the move. He is wasting time.

“Sakuraba-kun,” the doctor says, walking into the small examination room. Neku stiffens and looks up at him, fists his hands into his blankets when the jolt it sends through his torso pulls hard at the bullet wound. “How are you feeling?”

Neku blinks slowly at him, trying to muster his thoughts through the medical cocktail currently seeping through his veins. “Like I got shot,” he says dryly, the hoarseness of his voice surprising him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his mother leaning forward. “You know what happened? Do you remember who it was or what they looked like?”

And Neku immediately shakes his head. “Just some kid, Mom. I don’t… remember anything.” When in fact, it’s a bit closer to the opposite, Neku’s memories clamoring loudly, gunshots and a frantic chase and a wide, wide grin. Neku breathes in, out. (It’s actually… a little strange to be able to reach back and remember anything at all. There aren’t any blank spots in his mind anymore, which is just such a change from the last two weeks that it takes Neku a moment to realize that the doctor is trying to get his attention.)

“Alright, Sakuraba-kun, just follow what I say…”

So Neku does, letting the doctor run him through a number of tests. He suffers through them all with ill, impatient grace until they finally leave him alone, the lights dimming as the sun sets and visitor hours end. Neku’s mother leaves with promises to be back tomorrow, and she’s so glad, so glad he’s alive and doing well, she was so worried. Neku pats her on the back as she clutches him to her and pretends that this isn’t all very strange to him.

He’s supposed to be dead.

Now that he’s alone, Neku leans back in the bed, chest aching aching aching, and closes his eyes. He needs something. Something familiar, beyond the pounding in his head and the dryness of his mouth. Anything. And with a stutter-start of his heart, he realizes that he does have something.

A promise.

A location.

Hachiko, a week after they wake up, though really, Neku is going to be there every day once he gets released until he sees Shiki, Beat, Rhyme, and -

Joshua.

Joshua, Joshua, Joshua, and Neku can’t even curl over himself with the force of his sudden panic, because there’s a bullet hole in him, tight and painful with each hitching breath, and he just wants to see his friends again and Joshua shot him. Again. He lost. Aren’t they all supposed to be dead? Confusion swirls around in his mind, over and over with no resolution in sight as Neku tries to put it out of his mind. He can find out later. He has to be able to find out later.

This is the first night that Neku falls asleep with Joshua’s name on his lips and the others’ not far behind.

It is not the last.

* * *

The sun shines high in the sky about a week later, and Neku has finally convinced his mother that it’s safe for him to take the train into Shibuya again, that no, he won’t stay out too late, that yes, he understands how nervous it makes her that he’s going back to the place where he got shot. It makes him nervous too. His is an excited kind of nervous, however, low and anticipatory and slightly nauseating. She only really agrees when he promises to check in with her every hour and that no, of course he’s not going alone. He’s meeting up with some friends. No, really, Mom, some friends from… school.

(If one could really count the Game as school, anyway. It taught a lesson. Surely that counted for something.)

He looks and looks for his purple shirt as well, for familiarities sake, for the fact that , maybe, this way they’ll recognize him. Sure, he wore other clothes those three weeks, he had to, but. Maybe it’ll be easier with the headphones and the outfit he wore the first time he met all of them. That’s what they know him as, how they remember him. He’s sure of it.

But he can’t find it.

He can’t find that shirt anywhere, and it’s distressing because where could it be? Where could it even be? It can’t have gone too far, he was in the hospital. Where-

Oh.

He.

He died in that shirt.

Neku very carefully places a shaking hand against the sore mass of tissue in his chest, pressing just a little bit to feel the blood pulsing under his hand, a little harder still. He takes a deep breath, swallows. Right. He died in that shirt. Even if he could find it, he couldn’t wear it. It would have blood and bullet holes all over it.

Neku sits down heavily in the center of his room, hands clenched into fists against his thighs, bracing himself there, and he just breathes in and out and in and out. He fights back the tide of hysterical laughter clawing up the back of his throat, but. He died.

He doesn’t even know if anyone else is alive.

He doesn’t know. Neku hopes desperately that they have been returned to life as he has been, but he failed them, didn’t he? He lost. He lost the last game between him and Joshua. He could not pull the trigger and do what Joshua had done to him. He doesn’t know if they’re alive. Maybe Joshua is just punishing him. Sent him back with this to be alone and to know that he failed. Maybe that’s all.

Neku takes another few deep, excruciatingly painful breaths, rubs harshly at his eyes until they are dry and sore.

And then he stands up.

He has no time.

If they’re alive, they’re alive. If they’re dead, he can mourn them then, but he doesn’t know. And since he doesn’t know, he needs to go to Hachiko; he needs to try and meet up with them. Which means, most importantly:

“Mom, do you know where my headphones went?” Neku calls.

* * *

He almost doesn't go.

Neku waffles around the station for almost half an hour. They never decided on a time or anything like that. They hadn't decided on anything at all. There was never time for it. Just a vague, nebulous concept of “Once this was all over.” Survival instinct, almost. Trying to give themselves something to look forward to when all else was hopeless. Mixed success, really, but Neku needs it now with a fervor buried deep within his skin. His headphones rest around his neck, and Neku straightens his unfamiliar shirt with shaking hands.

(“They found you there,” his mother said before he left, fretting, one hand pressed to her cheek, and Neku carefully didn't think about it. Didn't think about how loaded the location would be for him. The mere idea of the Scramble made his heart go wild in the worst way, sickening and strange, but-

but he had to go.)

And so, swallowing past his dry throat, Neku makes his slow, torturous way up the stairs and to the main station. People mill about everywhere, passing around him with almost no care in the world aside from their designated tasks. Some, more engrossed in whatever it is they're doing, bump into him, and Neku almost relishes the slight brushes of contact, because it's different. There, ahead, the statue of Hachiko. Neku joins the crowd of people and tourists awkwardly hovering around the monument. He can't bring himself to look away.

After all, what if he looks and no one's there?

What if no one comes?

What if-

“Phones?”

Neku’s knees almost buckle at the welcome voice, the more welcome nickname, and he turns sharply to see Beat standing there. He has his stupid beanie on, and there are bruises and abrasions all over his arm and one half of his face, crutches in his hands, and Neku has never been more happy to see him standing there. Beside him, Rhyme waves, excited, with her one good arm. The other is in a brightly colored cast, cradled close to her body, and god, Neku swallows back the urge to cry.

He does not, however, stop himself from hurrying over to them, skidding to a stop right before he hurtles into them. “Hey, Beat, Rhyme,” he says, breathless, and-

There are arms around him.

Two sets of them, or at least as much as Rhyme can manage as she squeezes herself between Neku and Beat. Neku blinks, his vision going blurry with something that he’s going to deny are tears, and he muffles a low, pained sound as he hugs them back.

It is too much and yet not enough.

They pull back, after what is probably an unseemly number of minutes spent holding each other and begin talking in low, excited voices. They're here and they're real, so everything else, everything else has to be real too and-

Neku blinks, turns around without quite knowing why.

Standing there, in a green cardigan and white skirt, is Shiki. Unfamiliar and familiar all at once, because this is not the body of the girl he got to know. This is not the face he knows. But she is the person, because the uncertain smile that crosses Shiki’s lips is exactly the one Neku saw for weeks. It is perfect.

She is perfect.

* * *

That time, they don’t walk into Shibuya. They get as far as the Scramble Crossing before Neku starts shaking, and the people running into them whenever they stop isn’t making it better anymore. They're too much, everyone is too much. He remembers being stuck here for weeks, waking up for only a few hours at a time like a dream, like a program turned on and off, being worried that he would be stuck here forever, and as much as he loved (loves?) Shibuya, he can’t do this right now. Neku opens his mouth, closes it.

He can't say it.

Beat suddenly turns around.

“There’s a buncha shops we can hang out at right next to the station and in the underground, right?” he says when Rhyme and Shiki look at him curiously. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I'm not into it.”

Tellingly, no one fights him at all.

(Neku breathes out a sigh of relief. It isn’t just him that can't bear to see Shibuya in all its questionable glory again. It'll never be just him again.)

It’s strange, though. Being there, that is. Shibuya is beautiful and cacophonous and vibrant and alive, but at the same time, the sick twist of panic, of reaching to tap a pin that isn’t there to scan the thoughts of passersby, of marking groups of people as Noise generators…. He can’t do it for long. It wears on him like a constant threat, like the smell of burning plastic lingering in the back of his throat. Neku feels razor sharp and worn thin.

But Shiki is there. Brunette, clutching her stuffed animal, beautiful. Beat is there, loud and irascible and wonderful. Rhyme, too, calm and quick-witted, snappy with her pointed remarks.

Neku, too, is there, and isn’t that a marvelous thing on its own?

So what does it matter if, despite its noise and people, Shibuya seems… subdued? Somehow… less than it had been before, even though it’s supposed to be fixed from the games Joshua was playing with it.

Neku has to be seeing things. There’s no other explanation.

* * *

The first time Neku takes his shirt off to change for gym class, there is a tight, collective inhalation from his classmates around him. He thinks nothing of it. It’s just these semi-strangers making noise.

Until, that is, one of them touches his shoulder.

“Dude, is that your scar from when you were shot?”

And Neku’s skin abruptly tightens, a sick twist of fear and embarrassment and, oddly enough, guilt chilling his stomach. Right. Of course. The scar is still there after all, still healing, though he’s been cleared for physical activity and it hardly even twinges anymore. But it’s still bright red and healing, and of course they’re going to ask. The Japanese school rumor network is robust. Of course they know he was shot. They probably knew mere hours after it happened. It shouldn’t surprise him that they want to see it. How many people get shot and live to tell the tale?

But they don’t, can’t, know it all, and that seals Neku’s lips faster than anything. Fighting off the urge to snarl and shrug the offending, encroaching hand is harder than it should be, but.

He’s better than that now.

“Yeah,” Neku forces himself to say. “Pretty gnarly, right?”

It gets the appropriate amount of attention (too much), and Neku tries to distract them all from prying too much, but. They’re nosy high schoolers. There’s only so much he can do aside from grit his teeth and hope that the coach comes in soon. After that, he makes sure to wear an undershirt, to never take that off in his school, because there are exactly four people who understand everything held within the pinkened scar tissue, everything it means, and exactly none of them are here.

* * *

They meet up every chance they can after that. Beat and Rhyme can't always make it, and sometimes Shiki doesn't show up either, but Neku is almost always there. Every Sunday, perched near the statue of Hachiko, and even if they end up lingering around the station underpass rather than proceeding further into Shibuya, well.

Who could really blame them? Even being this far in Shibuya's borders sends tingles of unease down Neku's spine. Things here are still rocky. Getting into the district changes the air itself, tinging it with desperation and despair and the faintest hint of death, but after a while...

After a while, it settles down.

Shibuya, as vibrant and crazy as it is, settles.

Neku tries to put it out of his mind, but that only half works when he’s constantly looking, the low buzz of something that isn’t quite panic running live currents below his skin. The crowd becomes predictable. Neku can look out and spot the stagnating trends, the uninspired and unmoving masses. Something in the air throughout Shibuya feels like Death. The unmoving, aching void that awaits everyone. In a place that was once both the center of life and death for Neku, the sight is... unsettling at best. That Neku can step into the crowd at the Scramble Crossing and not find the blank spaces in the crowd where he could have been.

(Steadfastly, he ignores the part of him that wonders if something might actually be wrong in the UG. Surely, Joshua is just-

Ignoring them? Changing the rules of the Game so Neku and the others can't see it anymore? It seems strange, but everything Joshua did seems like a fever-dream now. Neku's hands are tied. Something is wrong in the UG, but Neku is operating more than half blind at this point and there's nothing he can do. He isn’t about to die again. He isn’t sure, either, that he could do this again, no matter how much he wants to find Joshua and grab his stupid blue shirt and shake him.)

* * *

“Does anyone else notice that something in Shibuya seems … odd?” Neku asks as they linger near the statue of Hachiko, huddled together for warmth in the midst of Tokyo winter. The scramble crossing is so close and yet so far. The press of people is alright here, tourists stopping to admire the statue before moving on, and Neku feels oddly fond of these transient people.

“No, not really,” Shiki says, and Neku hums, ducking his face beneath his scarf. He has to put it out of his mind. He'll just... reinforce it if he's thinking about it all the time.

After all, thinking makes certain things true.

* * *

“Was it real?”

A question, repeated more often than not between them. Shibuya is so much less when the rhythm of the Game is gone, and Neku holds onto it as much as he can. He has a bullet wound in his side. A gnarl of scarred tissue that is impossible to explain except for the laughter in violet eyes, and it’s his certainty that keeps Beat and Shiki and Rhyme grounded. They’re more easily explainable. Didn’t go deep enough, got to the hospital in time. They make sense. They were in place, in Shibuya, for things to go south and still end up okay.

But Neku was shot, and there’s no explanation for that except Joshua.

So, like the spider’s hair leading them from hell, Neku bears their weight time and time again. He wouldn’t know these people if it wasn’t for the Game. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t be who he is, more open, someone who doesn’t need to hide behind his headphones and just watch, like an isolated island in the middle of the sea, if Joshua hadn’t been there. If they all hadn’t died and came back.

Different.

Better.

More aware.

“You know, if Joshua was a better person, I would think that he sets up the Game to make people learn to appreciate life more,” Neku says, his head pillowed on Beat’s stomach. They’re hanging out at Beat and Rhyme’s today, Beat’s standoff with his parents broken by the accident that still runs its angry claws across Beat and Rhyme’s skin. It isn’t perfect, but so very little ever is.

He feels Beat’s laughter in the contraction of muscles below his head. “Hah, fuck that. Joshua would never.”

“That’s why I said if, asshole.”

“We don’t even know why Joshua was running the Reaper’s Game to begin with,” Rhyme says thoughtfully. “What did he get out of it?”

They all think for a moment.

“Sick amusement?” Shiki offers.

“Yeah, probably.”

* * *

Neku sits with Shiki in the clinic, feet tapping on the tile. His fingers tighten around hers. The air in here is tense. Neither of them, probably, should be here, but it is important to Shiki, as she explained to him with quiet, shaking words, and so it is important to Neku. She needs to be who she truly is, after everything they’ve been through, she says. She can’t keep being jealous, hateful, and if this is what it takes, then Neku will fight everyone who looks at her sideways for it. He’ll be her bulwark against the rest of the world.

“It’s hard,” Shiki says, soft, nervous. “It’s hard and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even my worst enemies. But the struggle is something I can’t keep running from.”

Neku threads his fingers through hers and thinks he’s never met anyone braver.

This part is not his story. He will not tell it. But it is hers, and if she needs him to hold her hand every other week while a doctor carefully prepares a syringe, no force will keep him away.

* * *

It has been a year since Neku woke up in the hospital, alive and aching with pain, and today is the first day he steps into the Scramble alone.

This time, he makes it to Ten-Four before he turns back around, shaking the whole way. It’s not very far. There are still a lot of people, and Neku isn’t moving as quickly as he really should, but it takes him a long time anyway, because now, now he’s watching for blank spaces in the crowds, the heated and quiet conversations. He’s watching for people, heads down and brows drawn, who are likely candidates for Noise. He looks in the doorways of each shop, trying to see a tag there. He finds them, here and there, like wisps of smoke, but even so, the energy is … wrong. Something is wrong in Shibuya, in the acrid taste of something deeper than fear filling his mouth.

He knows that he’s trying to find something.

He just doesn’t know what.

(This is not exactly true. Neku knows what he wants to find, even now. A bright, mocking voice, a cutting laugh, violet eyes behind silver-blond hair, but Joshua is nowhere to be found. The Dead God’s Pad is too far for him to try to reach on his own when he can hardly make it through the Scramble without having a panic attack.

He just has to keep trying.)

* * *

“It was real, right?” Shiki asks, her thumb pressing against her wrist, where a thin white line is.

Neku takes her hand without disturbing her grip. “Of course it was. I’m right here.” He wets his lips. “What’s got you thinking it wasn’t?”

Because there’s always something. There’s always a way to doubt the Game. Neku isn’t even sure if they’re supposed to remember it, just that they do.

“I guess I just… don’t feel like I lived three weeks. I hardly feel like I lived the one I stayed awake for.”

And that’s the thing, really, isn’t it? Neku’s mouth firms out into a line. Between all of them, he and Beat are the only two who were awake the entire three weeks, and even Beat admits that there are days he can’t remember, which just leaves Neku. As always, slightly apart from the rest. Selected. Special. He sighs. “Shiki, it was very real. The Game happened. That’s why we’re here doing what we are. That’s why you’re going into fashion.”

“I was into fashion before,” Shiki says, and Neku hates the doubt he hears in her voice.

“That’s why you’re doing it with Eri. That’s why you two reconciled. That’s why she’s on her way here to Shibuya right now, isn’t it? Weren’t you going to talk to her about everything?” And when Shiki lifts uncertain brown eyes to Neku’s, he smiles gently, more when she mirrors the expression. “Because you want her to know that it happened.”

Shiki looks up and sees Eri making her way through the crowd towards them, and she smiles and she is beautiful, and Neku lets her go easily when she stands and hurries to her friend, when she reaches out with hands that linger a touch too long to be anything but intentional and holds Eri’s wrists.

He’s so glad to see her happy.

* * *

There’s nothing.

For months and months and months, there’s nothing aside from the slow burn of healing. Neku’s chest closes, the scar cooling from an angry red to a sullen pink to a whorl of scar tissue, still tender when he puts his hand on it. School is untenable because Shiki and Beat and Rhyme aren’t there, and-

The Game might have shown him the importance of reaching out and understanding everyone else’s views, it also created a wall. A high, impassable wall of shared experience. How is he supposed to connect to people now that he’s died? Now that he’s fought for three weeks for his life and the lives of his friends, how is he supposed to tell anyone about that and expect them to understand?

The most he can give people is a smile and a lie and Neku feels uncomfortably close to understanding Joshua after all.

* * *

“What do we have after this?”

Beat doesn’t even look up from his food. “A movie or something? I dunno, man, ‘s up to you.”

Neku lets out a quiet sigh, kicking his feet as he looks over [somewhere in shibuya]. People flow around them, moving in unplanned unison. It’s an odd connection, a magnetic awareness of other people’s bodies, and try though Neku might, he can’t find the odd spaces he knows should be there. There is no graffiti in the storefronts, despite the Noise Neku can still almost sense. He fingers a pin in his pocket, wishing not for the first time that it was his Player Pin, that he could Scan the area around him, that he could do something.

Leaning back, Neku takes his hand out of his pocket and sighs. “I just want to change something, you know.”

“Well, maybe you haven’t figured out what you wanna do?” Beat offers, mouth half-full of burger. Neku would tell him to wait and chew before he talks, but he already knows it’s a wasted effort.

“I know, though. I do know,” Neku says. “I want to be the next CAT.”

Beat levels him with a surprisingly serious look. “You know who CAT ended up being. You sure?”

Neku winces. Mister Hanekoma is still missing. His involvement with the UG and Joshua is completely undeniable, and Neku has the uncomfortable feeling that it goes deeper than he’s aware. But that isn’t what he meant. Not completely anyway, and Neku ignores the part of him that accepts the inevitability of the Underground, and to an extent, Joshua, in his life. Unlife. Whatever, he’s not talking about it. “I meant the art, Beat. The inspiration, not the rest of it.”

It sounds fake even to his own ears, and he can’t blame Beat for the skeptical look he gets.

Beat shrugs, but the action isn’t a defeat or acceptance. It’s a stall while he gets his thoughts together, and Neku watches him, waits. Beat sighs, scrubs at the back of his neck, pulls his hat off and puts it back on, all while Neku only crosses one ankle over the knee of his other leg. Beat hauls in a huge breath of air.

“Well, man, way I see it? I wasn’t ever gonna go to college anyway, right? An’ that little shithole sent us back for something.” He looks off long into the distance, sunset highlighting his face stark with red, his eyes turned molten. Neku blinks, watches the determination pull itself over Beat’s face. “And I ain’t letting another day go by without using it to the fullest anymore. New ideas, new inspiration, that isn’t really my thing. I’m not an artsy kind of guy.

“But dancing? Skateboarding? I’m good at that. I could do that. That’s cool. And it’s… inspiring, right? To other people?” Beat looks up at Neku, his brows drawn into firm, determined lines. “I could do that. People like it when I dance.”

Neku nods, quiet. “They do.”

“So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make it big dancing or some shit like that. Maybe Rhyme can help too, if she wants to. She’s good at dancing too.” Beat finally uncurls himself just a bit, leaning back away from his legs, and he grins, blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Maybe we could even make our own music to dance to or something. Mix it all together and just handle everything ourselves, showcase our talent.”

“That assumes you have any,” Neku says without any bite, and Beat elbows him, almost fondly.

“The world is all bullshit, okay? But we got this second chance and we got it together.” Beat holds out a fist, punching it towards the horizon. “I ain’t about to waste any of it.”

Neku takes these words, examines them. Puts them away for reconsideration later.

For now, though, he just snorts. “Way to sound like a kid’s show.”

“Hey.”

* * *

As it turns out, the active effort of giving a shit is exhausting to maintain.

Neku tries, really, he does, but the world simultaneously looks better than ever and worse than before, and he can’t always reconcile the two. It’s best and worst, oddly, in Shibuya. Everything here is already different. At least here, he can pretend to know why things are changing, why the world looks and smells strange, a half-step off from typical, even though the district still feels wrong. It’s better when Shiki is there, showing off her new designs on herself and on Eri, when Beat and Rhyme are there, dancing and singing, wildly alive.

Neku tries not to feel like he’s leaving something behind every time he steps on the train out of Shibuya. Like he doesn’t feel the brush of fingers against the nape of his neck, waiting and possessive and achingly familiar.

* * *

Neku graduates.

It’s a strange thing, when he never expected to live past fifteen, past sixteen, past-

When Neku never expected to live.

But now, standing with his scroll in hand and his parents’ proud faces out in the crowd, he’s here and he’s alive and he’s going to change the world, even if he’s missing a center point of gravity in his universe. The rest of the planets have aligned and he can’t wait for the sun to return just to keep moving forward.

Joshua would be angry, if he stopped. After all the trouble Joshua went through for Neku, he would be angry.

That motivates him more than anything else.

Another secret, carefully tucked between his ribs, pulsing with the beat of his heart, but Neku thinks this one, his friends will forgive.

* * *

This is what he tells no one else:

Neku can’t leave Shibuya well enough alone.

After high school, the weekly trips slow. They become every other week, then once a month, then, only when they have time. College is busy, the life of artists is unforgiving, and none of them can afford to slow down. They have to create and influence. They are too aware that life is terribly, unforgivably short, and they can’t pretend that they’re going to get another chance after this. They have to make a difference, and this means drowning themselves in their art.

But in those spare moments where Neku needs to surface and breathe, he goes to Shibuya.

It’s like trying to immerse himself in freezing water. He figures that he’ll just inch in, one toe at a time until he hits his knees and he’ll have to jump all in or nothing. There’s going to be a point where he’ll have to confront either Udagawa or he’ll have to face the fact that he can’t get to the Dead God’s Pad anymore.

Eventually, Neku will have to jump.

Until then, however, Neku goes to Shibuya and pretends he can’t taste his own blood. He pretends that he isn’t looking for Joshua, that he isn’t seeking the Game out because that would be ridiculous. He doesn't walk around and talk to the shopkeepers because they remember who he is. He doesn't stare at the empty storefront where WildKat used to be, looking for all intents and purposes like it's been abandoned for decades, like there was never a shop at all there. It doesn’t matter what Shiki says or the sympathetic looks she gives him when she sometimes finds out where he’s been because he can’t hide these things from everyone forever. He does tell them, just. Not all the time. He can’t explain it.

Shibuya is a disease, a scab, a scar, something he’s never going to get rid of but that he can’t resist going back in to prod at. He has to go to Shibuya, knows this with a certainty that no one else understands.

Even if-

No, especially if it terrifies him.

Neku can’t be afraid forever.

* * *

Neku takes a deep breath. It’s tinged with iron and the sharp, tearing taste of fear.

Coming here alone was a mistake.

Udagawa curls and rises around him, the clatter of trains nearby and people nowhere near loud enough to overpower Neku’s own heartbeat. Neku’s hand is on the railing, clutching it for support, because his legs can’t. They shake and tremble like an earthquake. Unsteady, setting him off-guard, and Neku- can’t. He can’t hold himself up. Even trying like this is too much, too hard. He’s jittery, and his entire body is quaking visibly.

The few people on the street around him scuttle away, like he’s poisonous. Their eyes crawl over Neku, judging him for this visible weakness, and Neku.

Well, Neku can’t hear or see any of them.

He can’t breathe.

It’s too much and too close, and even the sight of the mural he used to spend hours admiring makes nausea roil in his stomach. Neku clutches it, himself, one hand folding over the knot of scar tissue on his chest like he can hold himself together physically if he just tries hard enough, because he can’t fucking breathe and he died here what was he thinking coming back alone? He can’t have been thinking. He should have never come here, he should have never come back at all, this is worthless, what is wrong with him that he keeps coming back to Shibuya?

The pavement is closer. Why is it closer? When did he fall to his knees? When? Why did he come here like he expected to end up looking down the barrel of a gun again?

What is wrong with him?

There is the clattering of a metal ball against metal, the distinct rattle of someone shaking an aerosol can.

Neku looks up.

The world moves with him, settling out in nauseating fits and bursts. There, in front of the mural, is a boy. His shirt is yellow, and even from here, Neku can hear the music pumping through the large headphones he has over his ears. He shakes a can of spray paint, looking up and down the wall consideringly, bright red hair shifting as he bops his head in time with the beat. Then, without any further thought, he lifts the can and begins spraying.

Neku blinks. Something twists in his chest and he pushes himself up.

“Hey,” he says weakly, clears his throat, tries again. “Hey!”

The kid pauses. Looks over at Neku. Jerks his chin in a nod of acknowledgement, and turns back to the mural. Raises the can and resumes spraying again, large swatches of yellow.

Neku’s temper snaps. “That’s CAT’s mural! You can’t just-”

“CAT isn’t around anymore,” the redheaded vandalizer interjects. He nudges his headphones with his shoulder so they fall back around his neck before he looks at Neku again. “The wall is fair game now.”

“That’s not-” Neku starts, but falters. CAT is Mr. H, and Hanekoma hasn’t been seen in years now either, so the kid is, technically, right. “It’s not right. It’s his art.”

The kid watches him carefully, but shrugs a moment later, raising the can again. “Art evolves. I’m just here to help.”

There is silence aside from the continued bursts of paint from the canister. Neku can’t watch, stares at the ground as the source of his inspiration, the site of his death, is massacred.

A can is shoved into his view.

He takes it, confused, then blinks at the redhead, who shrugs again, an affected, too-casual lift of his shoulders. “Can’t beat it, own it,” he says, as though that makes any sense. “You know how to tag shit?”

“Sure, I guess?” Neku says, confused.

And the vandalizer gestures at the wall as though to say, “Be my guest,” and steps back. Skates back, actually, now that Neku is looking. Why is he wearing rollerskates? Neku shakes his head, returning his attention to the mural. Shibuya has never made sense and it isn’t about to start now. He lifts the can. His hands shake.

He presses down on the nozzle.

It’s an inelegant slash of orange, and the sight of it lifts the iron chains from Neku’s lungs. He stares at it, at the drips slowly bleeding their way down the wall, and starts when an elbow nudges him.

“Not bad. Here, if you really want to learn,” and next thing Neku knows, he’s learning how to deface his own favorite mural. But nicely, and it-

Honestly, it feels nice.

It feels like, somehow, he owns this space again, carved out the moment of his own death and replaced it with something new. It hurts, the way all new wounds do, but there’s a lightness, a relief in Neku’s heart that cannot be exchanged for the terror of before. Later, he’s sure he’s going to regret the fuck out of this, but right now? Now, it’s good. It’s… exactly what he needed.

There’s a sound, and the kid claps a hand on Neku’s shoulder. “Ever run from the cops?”

“What? No?”

“Well, it’s time to learn.”

“What?”

* * *

They run, and Neku doesn’t get the kid’s name, but they see each other around Shibuya every once in awhile and nod solemnly before defacing the city, and they run from the authorities and it’s good.

It’s good.

* * *

Reaching out and connecting to people is still difficult. Expanding the horizons of your world is, as Beat puts it, like building muscle. You have to rip it and let it heal, bigger and more painful in the interim because the only way to grow is to challenge yourself and Neku has never been good at that. It's like stepping off the edge of a cliff, but, they all reason, when you've died once already, life doesn't seem that frightening anymore. Neku still remembers the shopkeepers around Shibuya, and they remember him too, greeting him with smiles and by name whenever he drops by.

“This is Neku-kun,” [blank]-san says to a new hire one afternoon. “You'll end up seeing a lot of him. He's a good customer.”

The kid gives Neku a skeptical look from his spiked hair to his bright clothes, which are admittedly a bit out of place in [store], but really, there's no reason for that kind of attitude. Neku tucks his face behind his high collar, the style still his favorite, but grins instead of scowls. “I'll be in your care,” he says, jokingly formal, and [blank]-san laughs the way he meant them to.

“Mm, I was wondering when you were going to drop by, Neku-kun,” [blank san] says, as though suddenly reminded of something. “The owner of one of the coffeeshops around the area came by and asked where you were.”

That's odd, Neku doesn't say. “Oh? Who was it?”

“You know WildKat, right?”

Neku's heart takes off, breath frozen in his very lungs.

[So and so] waves an idle hand, busy looking at something on the desk. “Apparently, there are noises that it's going to open up again, and the owner was walking around trying to find his old regulars. I didn't know you used to stop by there. Any idea why it closed?”

“No,” Neku says with a dry mouth. “It. It was years ago. I have no idea.”

* * *

(Neku checks and the store front is still empty. There's nothing there, and Neku doesn't know whether to be upset or disappointed or glad or all of them, but he's just scared and hungry with a desperation that surprises him.

This is another thing he keeps close to his chest and does not mention.)

* * *

“Oh hey, Sakuraba?” his R.A. calls as he enters the college dorms, and Neku pauses.

“Yeah?”

“A guy, middle aged, looked like a barista, kinda scruffy, came by looking for you about an hour or so ago? He said he had a delivery for you, but didn’t leave anything behind.” The R.A., his plain, honest face scrunching slightly, squints at Neku. “You’re not getting involved in anything illegal, are you?”

Neku can hardly hear him over his own heartbeat. He’s aware that he shakes his head, that he makes his shaking excuses and goes upstairs, that he opens his door and drops his portfolio with an affected care. That his breath is coming too hard and too fast and he probably did come off like he’s getting in trouble when really, he’s trying to not panic at the news of Mr. H coming by his fucking dorm room like it hasn’t been almost five years.

He stops.

There, resting innocuously in the center of his low desk, is a plain box. No note is attached. It’s held closed by a single piece of unadorned tape.

It wasn’t there when he left this morning.

Carefully, Neku picks it up. There’s a solid weight to it, neither too light nor too heavy for its size. Shaking it makes no noise. Neku’s heart skitters and thuds into an ever-increasing inferno of noise that he can’t explain, his breath coming shorter and shorter. His palm stings in a way it hasn’t for years. Neku rubs it, at first absently then harder and then digging when he can’t feel the grooves of numbers ticking through to blood and bone.

He should just leave it.

(He should open it.)

He doesn’t know who it came from or how it got here.

(There’s only one person it could ever be, the only one that comes to mind, and Neku’s heart cannot calm down, cannot halt its tripping pace because of that name. And he knows exactly how it got here.)

Neku picks up the box. His fingers tremble, fumble with the tape, and Neku hisses under his breath, willing his shaking hands to steady long enough for him to get this damn box open. Finally, though, he slides a fingernail beneath the lear line and lifts and-

-a stutter.

A thunder as Neku’s ears roar with the sound of his racing heart, as he reaches within the box and withdraws a silver chain. It lifts, jingling faintly, and then, the bullet casing attached to it rises from its padded bower.

Neku drops it.

The sound it makes as it clatters on the ground is too-loud, shocking, and Neku realizes only then that his chest is heaving, that every breath is a dragging struggle, harsh and rasping and filling every void his heartbeat leaves behind and he can’t see, he can’t stand, the world itself isn’t real anymore. There’s no timer on his hand, and his side aches like it hasn’t since he was actually shot but the bullet casing can only be from one person because there’s only ever been one person who could even have it to begin with. Panic, like electricity arcs in his chest and arms, nauseating, and Neku wishes he could be anywhere, could do anything, could go back in time five years and stop himself from contemplating a mural that got two people killed.

His eyes, frantic for anything other than the faint gleam of silver to look at, fall to the box.

And the note, now revealed, within. With shaking fingers, Neku tries once, twice when they don’t quite manage, to pick it up. He turns it over once, then again.

The note reads one line only:

“Miss me, partner?”

And that’s it.

That’s what does it. That idle, flippant question as though Neku hasn’t been a compass that lost its North for years, looking for Joshua.

Neku finds himself curled over his own knees untold minutes later, mouth open in a silent scream. His cheeks and hands and knees are soaked with tears, his clothes damp and uncomfortable with sweat as the world shudders back into place around him. Trembling through the aftershocks of that, Neku pushes himself off the floor. He feels weak, like a kitten, like he’s going through Physical Therapy all over again, learning how to push through the ache in his muscles.

But when he reaches down to pick up the necklace this time, Neku’s hands are curiously still.

* * *

He wears it.

God knows why. He tries to not think about it too much; the whys and hows would drive him insane. It’s never on the outside of his clothes. Sure, the casing is innocent enough that most people he passed would pass it off as simple jewelry.

But those three that matter. The only people who truly matter.

They would know, and Neku wants this to be just his right now, no matter how bad of an idea it might be.

Just until I figure out what to say, he tells himself, pressing the lump of gunmetal against his sternum. It won’t be long. I just. Have to explain it to them, and I can’t if I don’t know how.

* * *

This is how it continues.

Time passes as it does, and those three weeks seem further and further away each time they are remembered, yet they dig and settle under the skin. Completely unseen. Absolutely unforgettable. Neku tries to capture something of this in his art, broad brush strokes on stark canvases, needle thin lines cutting across them, but the best way he can express it is on the walls in Shibuya, especially Udagawa, a shaken can of compressed paint and a mask pulled low across his nose and mouth as he defaces the city, paint dripping and spattering to the ground like so much blood.

He knows the back alleys. He knows this place with an intimacy that means the locals have already accepted him as par for course and pass over him. It’s easy. It’s comfortable.

It’s where he died, and he doesn’t know what to do about that. He tries to not look for the stains of where he was shot, the weight of the bullet that killed him hanging from his neck.

He is only sometimes successful.

They do ask. Of course they do. You share a secret with only three other people who you see for a few hours every other week, though you keep in almost constant contact through your phones, and they’re bound to notice the chain hanging around your neck when you don’t change much on your person anymore, still stuck to habits and comforts. Neku deserted his headphones years ago, but that never meant that he didn’t enjoy having them around still. They’re comfortable, a weight that he didn’t know he missed until he replaced it.

When she sees it, in one of their monthly meetings at an izakaya, Shikis stares at the chain, then at Neku, waiting for him to offer her an explanation that he doesn’t have, that he drowns in a gulp of bitter beer because this is what their meetings have sometimes turned into. Beat stares out over the crowd, half caught in other people’s conversations the way he always is, because that’s how Beat makes friends. Plus, he’s looking after Eri, her tall form moving through the crowd, and Neku knows without question that if someone lays a hand on Eri, Beat will be there living up to his name before a second has passed. Not that there should be any trouble. The izakaya is loud and raucous, in the way that izakaya full of Japanese college students usually are, but it isn’t trouble. Neku sinks into the noise as a way to escape the question.

Rhyme, sharp and perceptive and sly beneath that beatific smile of hers that has only gotten her and Beat a larger online following, doesn’t give him an easy out like that, though.

“What’s this?” she asks, reaching out to tap the lump the bullet casing makes against his shirt, and Neku flinches at the tap of metal on skin.

Carefully, he wets his lips. “It’s nothing. Just something I picked up.”

“I haven’t seen you wear a necklace in years. Not since your media player broke.”

“It’s just a necklace, Rhyme,” he tries.

“Where’d you get it?”

And that he doesn’t have a quick answer for. Even Beat has stopped staring at the crowd, returning his focus to Neku and the way Neku’s hands twist around themselves. “It was a gift,” he says finally.

“From?”

Neku wants to say that he doesn’t know, but he does. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, and Rhyme’s gaze turns gentle and oddly pitying before she pats him on the hand, stopping his nails before they dig in a bit too sharp.

“It’s okay, Neku.”

Eri gets back then, bringing a pitcher of water with her as she sits, and there’s an odd twist to her mouth.

“Are you okay?” Shiki asks, surreptitiously wrapping an arm around Eri.

“Yeah, but do you think we can go to a different bar next month? Shibuya’s been getting kinda dangerous lately, and I don’t like the vibe in here anymore.”

Neku clenches his teeth.

Beat hums, tapping a knuckle against the wooden table. “Yeah, I dunno. You’re right, Shibuya’s been feeling real weird recently. I dunno what’s up with that. This used to be a pretty damn good bar to stick around in and now it’s kinda fucked up.”

“It’s just a bar,” Shiki says, but her tone is doubtful.

Rhyme too, now, dragging her fingers through the condensation gathering on her glass of water. She never drinks, preferring to watch them all get red and tipsy and laugh at them. Actually, Beat never gets drunk either. He only nurses a single whiskey that he never finishes. It might actually just be Neku who drinks and he’s not sure what to do with that information except to take another sip of his beer and try to not make a face at it. “It’s not just the bar. It’s the whole city. Shibuya feels… weird. What if we met up in Odaiba or Asakusa next month?”

“It’s Shibuya,” Neku says, mouth numb.

Eri leans her arms, long and pale like the rest of her, on the table, her expressive mouth pouting, and Neku pretends that he doesn’t see how Shiki is distracted by it, fond. “Well, yeah, and I know you guys have… history here, but there’s a whole city out there.”

“But-”

“But nothing, Neku. Shibuya isn’t the same. It’s been what, almost six years now? Isn’t it time to move on? We have bigger and better things to do.”

Bigger and better than Shibuya? The district that brought them all together? Neku’s mouth curls down as his thoughts turn bitter and uncharitable, but he’s broken out of it by Rhyme tapping his hand again.

“He isn’t coming, Neku,” Rhyme says kindly, her eyes catching on where the bullet casing has swung past the collar of Neku’s shirt. “It’s been five years. I think it’s time we move on.”

Swallowing, Neku pushes the casing back beneath his clothes. He feels more grounded with it against his skin. “I don’t know. It feels like Shibuya’s dying, and I think it’s our fault and if I, we, stay here, I think-”

“We can’t fix it, Neku,” Shiki says, voice firm. “I’m not dying again to fix a problem that isn’t mine. Whatever’s going on here, it’s his problem, and he has to fix it.”

Neku’s mouth twists to the side. Quietly, he says, “I feel responsible.”

It explains everything and nothing at the same time, but when Beat suggests they meet up in Odaiba next month, Neku goes and pretends that he isn’t more anxious now that the familiar line of 104 is out of sight.

* * *

Neku isn’t wrong.

That’s the thing. He notices it a little sooner than everything else, but the world is stagnating and worsening. Not just in Shibuya, but everywhere around the world, things are getting worse. There’s a mad flourish of ideas, of creative Imagination (capital “I” and everything) to come out of it, like flowers blooming from decaying bodies, but it’s not enough to mask the smell of death, and Neku sees it everywhere he goes.

He isn’t wrong. The world is dying, and they’re all dying with it. It’s worse than before, when it was just Shibuya hovering on the edge of the brink, considering how far down it would be to fall and rise again.

He wonders.

Maybe-

Maybe this is why Joshua isn’t here. Maybe he’s busy elsewhere.

But no, Joshua wouldn’t care about anything beyond his district. Couldn’t, maybe, but even Shibuya suffers. Neku sees it everywhere, and every waking moment he has free of class, he’s in the district, wandering the streets. He sees the vandal sometimes, a familiar and welcome figure that he exchanges too-solemn nods with, and greets shopkeepers by name. He meets everyone and keeps an eye out for exchanges that promise to turn into Noise. Neku tries to keep Shibuya breathing, and when his own murals catch the media’s attention in place of CAT’s, he takes it for the victory it is.

He can’t leave well enough alone.

(Neku doesn’t know how to feel alive if he isn’t worrying over Shibuya.)

But the end of his college career is coming up, and the city is already skirting talking to him in a serious capacity, making his art on the walls of Shibuya a deliberate attraction. They’re talking about setting up a studio for him there, apprenticed to a more notable artist to get his foot in the door, and Neku has three other job offers from other artists, all wanting his skill under them, but this is the only one in his town and-

Something crawls in his skin, and Neku breathes in, breathes out.

He’s clicking on the ad for apartment listings before he really lets himself think about it.

* * *

“You what?” Shiki asks, only it’s less asking and more shouting, and Neku holds his phone away from his ear slightly before she calms down long enough to not make him go deaf.

“I bought an apartment in Shibuya,” he says again. Shiki’s response is muted the second time, but still incoherent. He’s pretty sure she’s yelling at Eri, explaining to her girlfriend what idiocy Neku has landed himself in this time. Neku wishes that his phone had a cord on it, just to give him something to do other than pace while he talks. “I just. I don’t know. I just want to be there. I want to be nearby. There’s a job waiting for me, and I just-”

She is silent for a while. Neku can see her chewing on her lip in his mind’s eye. “Are you sure? I mean, the place isn’t exactly healthy for us; I don’t think…”

“I know.” Neku breathes out hard through his nose. “I know. But I want to be there, all the same. I don’t think I can leave it behind.”

“We should be able to.”

“You only have to visit. You don’t have to stay there with me.”

“I don’t think I could.”

They’re quiet together for a long time. She does this while she’s organizing her thoughts, and it’s not like Neku has ever really known what to say. Even now, six years later, he has nothing that makes sense to him. He has no words to pull forth.

Eventually, she sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Neku barks out a laugh, short and sharp. “Me too, Shiki. Me too.”

* * *

It's like he's right there all over again with the bright edge of mocking laughter around every corner. Like the years spanning this haven't happened, like he hasn't finally learned how to walk across the Scramble Crossing without preparing for a fight, fingers resting against a pin that isn't the Player Pin but makes his heart calm its crazed beating anyway.

The gun cocks.

Shaking, Neku focuses on the bright white slash of Joshua's smile. The widened purple of his eyes. Neku's hands are steady as he lifts his own gun, but he knows already how this goes. He won't shoot, but Joshua will, and in doing so, they maintain the balance that keeps Shibuya thriving. That was how it was supposed to go, with Joshua too proud to do anything close to stepping down and Neku having cracked his shell open enough to want to protect one of the closest friends he's earned.

And then.

Joshua's mouth forms a word, two, three, and the gun lowers without the customary flash and-

Neku wakes up and swears that he can still see the barrel of the gun right in front of his eyes. It doesn’t scare him. How could it? He’s seen it a million times. He knows what happens, what could have happened, and it’s stopped being frightening and more of an object of curiosity than anything else. First night in his new apartment and he has a nightmare. The nightmare, if he's being honest; it's been haunting him with every change for the last six and a half years, and while this is the first time Joshua hasn't shot him, the rest of it remains the same. The gun can't frighten him anymore.

He can also see the violet eyes behind it. Those don’t scare him either. Not when Shibuya itself doesn't.

“Wait for me.”

Neku snorts. Like he's been doing anything else.

Little bastard.

But he rolls out of bed with a renewed sense of purpose, and pulls back the curtains to look over Shibuya, his Shibuya, and breathes in the city air and gets ready to take this place by storm.

* * *

Shibuya explodes with color at most times, more so around Christmas, and Neku settles into the hubbub with a sense of coming home. His art is everywhere now. He designs signs for so many stores in the area that he's getting a name for himself. His mentor is pleased with how much attention their studio gets, and the internet is ablaze with requests and orders, and Neku sees so many emails and comments about people who love his work (and, of course, people who don't, but even disagreement is understanding and expanding their world as long as they're not a douchebag about it), and it's like Shibuya appreciates that.

The city itself feels welcome, feels like home, and the others do come to give Neku a housewarming party, even if they don't stay for long. The long-twisting anxiety that has curled around Neku since the Game settles now that he's in Shibuya, now that he's trying to make the city live once again, and when he walks by an old coffeeshop on Cat Street to visit the Jupiter of the Monkey store, a white paper in the window stops him.

Neku pivots slowly on his heel, walking up to the door. Plain kanji and katakana on the sign read: “WildKat Cafe, Closed for Renovations. Opening Soon.”

A warm glow settles in Neku's chest. He nods to himself. As he leaves, continuing on his trek to the store, he knows, finally, that he's been doing the right thing.

* * *

Something here changes.

Shibuya is alive again. Slowly, surely, growing more and more each day, with a kind of vitality that Neku hasn’t seen from it in years. It's been two years now since he moved into the city, and it's been two years of challenging, tireless work, but Neku, as “Phones”, has been getting renown throughout the city, for his work in Shibuya, and he loves how the city has been responding to it.

“You know, most artists at least ask permission,” a dry voice says.

Neku almost drops the can. He whips around, eyes wide, because it can't be, it can't be-

But, standing right there, examining his work with a pensive look on his face, hands shoved deep into his pockets, is Mister Hanekoma himself. He meets Neku's gaze, and grins, lifting one hand. “Hey there, Phones. How's it been?”

(A piece of the universe shivers into place, and Neku's scar aches. Here's more proof, Neku wants to think. Here's the second biggest piece of proof of them all, because Mister Hanekoma has always meant the Game itself. Where there is one, the other isn't far behind.)

“It's been good,” Neku says once he remembers how to breathe. “Is...”

Mr. H shakes his head. “Nah, he's a bit wrapped up. Plus, you remember how hard it is to get him to do anything reasonable.”

“Is he okay?”

“That's an excellent question.” Hanekoma looks Neku up and down, then huffs out a quiet bit of laughter. “Man, you've grown, haven't you? Why don't you gather your friends and come by tomorrow for some coffee? We can catch up then.”

Neku nods before he really registers the motion, desperate for any connection. “Yeah, yeah, I'll get everyone together. No problem.”

“Good.” And that seems to be all he came by to say, because Hanekoma turns and slouches off, hands tucked into his pants, and Neku watches him as long as he can before he loses Mr. H's form in the crowd. If Neku blinks, he'll disappear. If Neku blinks, he'll lose the proof that this has happened. He'll have to accept that weight himself again, and he can't hold it up anymore. Not on his own.

Neku lets out a breath. Pulls out his phone.

[To: Group]

So you won't believe who I ran into just now.

[From: Shiki]

Who?

And Neku has to bite back a triumphant grin.

[To: Group]

How does everyone feel about getting coffee tomorrow? I know a place on Cat Street that's opening up.

* * *

“Mister Hanekoma,” Shiki says, with no small amount of surprise.

The man in question only grins and raises a hand, laconic and sarcastic as always in the face of pretty much everything. “Hey there, Miss Shiki! Glad to see you as yourself this time. And may I say, you're looking pretty nice. Good job.”

She flushes, her hands catching on the hem of her shirt as she tugs and resettles and can't fight the smile that crosses her beautiful face. Watching them, Neku feels himself smile too, sympathetically excited for this reunion. Mr. H and Beat shake hands, Beat taking up so much space in comparison. Beat has a few centimeters on Mr. H now, which is impressive considering how looming he had seemed when they were all younger. Rhyme bows, then gives that up with a giggle and enthusiastically hugs the man who saved her and her brother's lives, and Mr. H just smiles through it all.

“So,” Neku says, “are the drinks on the house, or?”

Mr. H laughs, a sharp bray of noise. “Who do you think you are, my boss? I'll give you a discount, but nothing's on the house. I gotta get this place busy, you know.”

“So same old Mr H, huh.”

“Like you expected me to change.”

And really, Neku didn't. Really, honestly, he didn't.

They get settled at a table, warm drinks clutched between their hands, and they're already chattering like they're fifteen and learning about how much larger the world really is than just them for the first time. Neku can't stop smiling, ebullient joy battering at his ribcage because he was right. He was never wrong, and his memory hadn't ever failed him, and somehow, knowing that he hadn't been insane lifts such a massive weight from his shoulders that Neku feels giddy with it.

Suddenly, during a lull in the conversation, the door opens, and Mr. H, behind the counter, straightens with a smile at first that falls into nothing at all as soon as he sees whoever it is behind them. Neku blinks at Mr. H, the words in his mouth drying up as he becomes… aware of a presence, waiting at the edge of his notice. The hair on his arms stands on end, a rush of electricity running through him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” Mr. Hanekoma says, a beat too late, the smile that slides back on a touch too wide to be genuine.

The voice that Neku wanted to hear for eight years chimes in, sharp and exactly the way that Neku has worn it down to familiar points in his dreams, “Really, dear, you should've known better than that.”

His heart pounds high in his throat. Everyone in front of him has gone quiet, staring, pale-faced, at the door. Tense, his hands clenched in his lap, it takes Neku several moments for his head to stop swimming. He can do this. He has conquered meeting an entire city. He has tagged every inch of its people for himself. He can see past the barrel of the gun now.

Neku turns around.

“We all know how stuffy business can be. It took them a while to get their heads in order. But don’t worry, I got let out early on good behavior.” Josh smiles, the expression a knife-cut across his face. He is small and fifteen, unchanged as ever with the same shirt and same orange phone resting idly, dangerously, in his hand. His violet eyes, dazzling and wide with something that is nowhere close to an actual smile, move from Rhyme to Beat to Shiki to Neku, where they stay.

He looks like no time at all has passed, and for all that Neku is twenty-four now and eight years have gone by since the bullet wound in his chest was anything other than a healing scar, Neku feels like he’s right back there. Fighting for his life, playing a game where the rules were introduced and discarded before any of them really even knew what they were. His palm aches like it's been cut down to the bone, and every thud of his heart rattles the bullet casing resting against his sternum.

Swallowing roughly, Neku finds that he can’t break the gaze between him and Joshua. Josh’s smile only grows.

“Did you miss me, darlings?”

#TWEWY #TWEWY Bang 2017 #zenellyraen

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ronaldreghan · 7 years

Note

1-104

bruh

1. You woke up naked next to the last person you texted, what would you say?

well that would be dani and i would be very confused. “why was i naked?” i would ask. i have no reason to be naked around dani. or anyone, for that matter.

2. What’s going on between you and the last person you kissed?

well i found out he was a trump supporter (rip) so i deleted him from everything. i still feel gross and its been almost 6 months.

3. If your boyfriend or girlfriend was into drugs, would you care?

honestly depends on the drug. weed? i dont care. shrooms/lsd/acid? id be a little iffy, but i ultimately wouldnt care. heroin/cocaine/opiods? id immediately try to help them get help.

4. Is your last name longer than six letters?

ya its 7 lol

5. Was your last kiss drunk or sober?

sober (unfortunately)

6. Have you ever wanted to have someone but you messed it up?

no? i dont think so

7. What does your last received text say?

“i like that color”

8. How many times have you kissed the last person you kissed?

idk we made out for like twenty minutes because i was too chicken to say “hey you were fun for ten minutes but id really rather be with my friends”

9. Where was your last kiss at?

some shitty halloween rave

10. When is the last time you saw your sister?

i dont have a sister lol

11. What do you drink in the morning?

water

12. Where did you sleep last night?

in my bed? where else am i gonna sleep? the dumpster behind my dorm? a clown car?

13. Do you think relationships are hard?

yeah. its constant work, but it shouldnt be annoying work, you know? its work thats hard but you enjoy doing it

14. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you?

ya i wouldnt spend so much money lol

15. You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, any problems?

YES GET ME OUT OF THERE AWAY FROM TRUMP BOY

16. Would you rather it be sunny or rainy?

rainy!!!

17. Do you know anyone with the same middle name as you?

nope

18. Are you wearing jeans,sweatpants,or pajama pants?

jeans

19. Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 years from now?

wish i fuckin knew. probably not.

20. Does anyone like you?

no i dont think so.

21. Have you ever kissed someone with a name that starts with an S?

nope

22. Is the last person you kissed gay?

fuck no

23. Is there a person you CANNOT stand?

the boy i last kissed

24. Have you ever considered getting a tattoo?

i already have one lmao

25. In the past week have you cried?

yeah i cried in the airport because i had to call my mom because i didnt have enough money for the uber home and i was freaking the fuck out

26. What breed was the last dog you saw?

i dont know! but he was littleand cute and i love him

27. Do you dry off in the shower or out of the shower?

out of the shower

28. Have you ever kissed a football player?

no all the football players i knew in high school were gross, and my current school doesnt have a football team

29. Do you think you’re old?

im not 20 yet so no

30. Do you like text messaging?

yes! i love texting! it makes it so easy to talk to my friends back home and also its so much easier to put things into writing

31. What type of day are you having?

eh, its ok. i met with my schools career service center and we talked about what i have to do to get my dream job, and also an actual job.

32. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced?

yeah, but i cant do piercings.

33. Do you prefer warm or cold weather?

WARM

34. Is there a person of the opposite sex who means a lot to you?

my dad! even though he annoys me sometimes hes still my dad and i love him a lot

35. Would you prefer a relationship or a fling?

a fling. i dont have the time, money, or desire for an actual Relationship rn

36. Are you a simple or complicated person?

id like to think simple, but i also know that my logic doesnt always make sense to other people, which can make me seem complicated so *shrug* idk

37. What song are you listening to?

im listening to the sabres/sharks broadcast sooooo

38. When you say you’re sorry do you mean it?

usually39. Is there a girl that knows everything or almost everything about you?

dani, anishka, brooke40. What made you start liking the person you like now?

well he plays for the sabres and hes super cute and i love him hes softe. he doesnt know i exist because why would he but i lov him.41. When did you last receive a text message?

well since i wrote the beginning of this post i have received two (2) texts, the most recent of which was 3 minutes ago42. What is wrong with you right now?

I NEED MONEY. I HAVE $6 IN MY BANK ACCOUNT AND I HAVE $100 IN FRATERNITY DUES AT THE END OF THE MONTH.43. How well do you know the last female you texted?

dani is one of my best friends lol44. Does anyone disgust you?

myself, mostly. but like, ACTUAL disgust? anyone who is alt-right.45. Would you date someone right now if they asked?

probably not46. Are you in a good mood right now?

relatively, yeah47. Who was the last person you talked to in person?

my roommates48. What color shirt are you wearing?

its a black parade mcr shirt...................49. Has someone recently told you something you didn’t want to hear?

yeah, that im poor lol50. Anyone you’re giving up on?

myself51. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for?

yeah, i honestly hate him so much hahaha but yet were still facebook friends so

52. Have you ever thought about giving up on someone but couldn’t?

the buffalo sabres53. Do you like rain?

yes!!! i love rain so much!!! especially thunderstorms!!!! 54. Do you care if your boyfriend/girlfriend drinks?

no55. Have you ever liked somebody and never told them?

all the time in high school. i knew they didnt like me back, so pair that with crippling shyness and nothing ever happened.56. Do you like to cuddle?

YES. CUDDLE ME.57. Are you shy?

GOD YES. i Cannot talk to new people. 58. Do you get along with girls?

i gotta. us women gotta stick together.59. Have you dated the person you texted last?

yeah dani and i dated for like almost 3 months lol 60. What do you carry with you at all times?

my phone. i always, always have my phone with me. 61. If you were paid 1 million dollars to spend the night in a supposed haunted house, would you?

oh fuck yeah. i love ghosts gimme some ghost love. 62. Do you think you can last in a relationship for five months?

eh. sure, lets say yeah. 63. Think back to October, were you in a relationship?

nope, but i wanted one. and now i am Here, single, bitter. 64. The person you like kisses you on the forehead, do you find this cute?

OH MY GODDDDDD FOREHEAD KISSES KILL ME AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ALSO TEMPLE KISSES GOD I AM SO WEAK FOR THOSE65. Did anything “cute” happen in the last week?

yeah, i surprised brooke and dani and they both screamed which was probably cute, but mostly made me warm inside.

66. How old are the last three people you kissed?

uh 19/20, 18, and 16 (at the time)

67. Would you rather pay to get your nails done or do them yourself?

id do them myself lol i dont fucking care. 68. Which do you like better- Zebra print or leopard print?

...zebra?

69. Do you have any stickers on your car?

no but i want some70. Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne?

lil wayne, i dont fuck my cousins.71. Blackberry, Anroid, or iPhone?

iphone bith!!!72. When’s the last time you had pizza from Pizza Hut?

like two-ish weeks ago?73. Do you like diet soda?

yeah i like diet coke more than regular coke? idk it tastes better74. What color are the walls in your room?

here theyre an ugly beige, back home theyre sabres blue and gold (i was in seventh grade ok bye)75. Are you 16 or older?

ya im 19 now76. Do you watch Pretty Little Liars?

nope.77. Do you have a job?

not yet, but i applied for a ton! please send positive thoughts my way that i get one!!! 78. What are your initials?

MMR79. Did you ever have braces?

yeah, for two and a half years :/80. Are you from the south?

do i fuck my cousins?

81. What does your last status on facebook say?

my most recent activity was me sharing the article about harrison browne retiring, but my most recent original activity says “ED SHEERAN IS COMING TO BUFFALO THIS IS NOT A DRILL”82. Do you still talk to the first person you ever kissed?

nope. he re-followed me on twitter in november tho lol83. Are you closer to your mom or your dad?

probably my mom, but it used to be the other way around.84. Have you ever done cheerleading or gymnastics?

no but i wanted to so bad when i was younger!!!85. What’s the last movie you saw in theaters?

the lego batman movie lol86. Do you smoke?

nope. both of my parents smoked cigarettes and i dont fuck with that. as for weed (which i assume this is actually referring to), i smoked it once over the summer,but i dont really want to again? idk i just have no burning desire to get high.87. Would you rather wear heels or flip flops?

flip flops.88. Is your phone touch screen?

ya89. Do you normally wear your hair straight or curly?

my hair is limp bitch90. Have you ever snuck out of your house?

yeah lol once i snuck out at 1 in the morning to go to noco and buy chocolate milk it was an Adventure91. Would you rather swim in a river, lake, or pool?

pool. im not about to get some fucking parasite in my vagina, which would happen to me with my shitty luck.92. Have you ever made out in a car?

ye93. …Had sex in a car?

no, im a version94. Are you single or in a relationship?

single95. What were you doing last night at midnight?

what WAS i doing last night at midnight, thats actually a good question.96. When’s the last time you saw fireworks?

uh new years. in person? fourth of july i think.97. Do you like the camera on your phone?

yeah. i mostly take my picture through snapchat so98. Have you ever had a friend with benefits?

I FUCKING WISH99. Have you ever passed out from drinking?

no but ive thrown up.............100. Are you friends with people on facebook that you actually hate?

a few101. Have you ever had a pregnancy scare?

bitch do i look like im stickin dicks in my hoo ha102. Name your favorite Kesha song:

her cover of true colors? iconic, show stopping, brilliant, amazing, never been done before103. Do you have any tan lines right now?

yes! its amazing bc that never happens104. Would you ever wear cowboy boots with shorts?

FUCK. NO.

#mine #Anonymous

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pokemontrashfiveever-blog · 7 years

Text

Lillie’s visit home

Idk where all my energy for shipping Lillie and Hau came from, but here it is

“No, the sign goes over there!” Mina yelled waving her hands at Sophocles and Kiawe. The surprise Welcome Home party for Lillie was being set up by the trial captains. Of course Hala and the Professor agreed the artist of the captains should be in charge of decoration. The only problem was, Mina didn’t know how to communicate as an effective leader.

Kiawe looked at her, the fire type trainer visibly very annoyed, “You told us to put it here not even five minutes ago!” He yelled, “I’m tired of moving this stupid thing around, just pick a place already!” Sophocles looked on as the two bantered, wishing he could get back to building something. Seeing the arguing teens, Burnet walked up to them.

“Alright what’s the problem?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hala and Professor Kukui put me in charge, and these two idiots refuse to listen.” Mina said calmly.

“Alright, that’s it!” Kiawe barked, jumping of the ladder.

“Oh my god, where is Kukui when you need him” Burnet muttered as she held the two apart.

Xxx

Hau sat on the edge of the rock wall at the ferry terminal, waiting for Lillie’s ship. He could see the ship in the sea, slowly making it’s way to port. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small object Lillie had given him just before she left. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world to him; it gave him the strength he needed to complete the island challenge. Looking at it, he thought back to all the adventure he, Sun, and Lillie had had. He shoved it in his pocket, hearing footsteps coming from behind him.

“Howsit, going cuz?” Kukui asked, dropping down to sit next to Hau. He had left set up in the hands of the captains to look for the young man.

“Nervous.” Hau said flatly. It’d been almost three years since he’d seen Lillie, of course he’d heard from her and video chatted her but… it’s not the same as in person.

Kukui chuckled, “Why would you be nervous? It’s just Lillie.” He was purposely prodding. Hau wore his feelings on his sleeve without even realizing it. It was obvious to anyone who knew Hau and talked to him that he liked Lillie. Any conversation, he’d find a way to say “Just like Lillie!” or “I wonder what Lillie would have thought of you doing that” (That was mostly focused towards Sun), he always wanted to talk about her.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Hau, you can tell me anything.”

“I like her… I have for a while.”

Kukui smirked, glad Hau had finally told him. “Don’t sweat it cuz. You should probably tell her how you feel this time around though. I know you meant to the first time she left.” Kukui said looking at him.

“Well uh… is it that obvious?”

Kukui let out a hearty laugh, “Hoo boy, you have no idea. But, it’s one of your best traits.” Hau looked at the professor questioningly, “You have love for everyone and you’re not afraid to show it. Not everyone’s like that these days.”

Hau smiled, looking off at the ferry, “Oi, it’s getting ready to dock.” he exclaimed, jumping up to run over to the other side of the port

“Woah wait up, you’re not the only one excited to see her!” Kukui chuckled chasing after him. He easily caught up to Hau, standing and watching them take care of the ropes. Hau was excited, unable to stand still as the ferry pulled in. “Lillie!” Kukui yelled, seeing the girl on deck.

“Hi professor! Hi Hau!” She called, waving her hand. “Alola!”

“Alola, Lillie!” Hau answered, doing the Alolan wave.

She ran off the ferry, getting a huge bear hug from the Professor, “I missed you all so much!” She cried, tears beginning to run down her face. Kukui set her down, allowing her to run to Hau, “Oh Hau, I missed you!” She said.

Hau hugged her back tightly, “Aw come on, there’s no need to cry” he said.

“Wait,” Lillie sniffled, pulling away to look at Hau, “You’re taller than me now! And you’re almost as tall as Kukui too!”

“Hey, he’ll always be a shrimp in my eyes,” Kukui laughed, ruffling Hau’s hair. Hau playfully batted his hands away. “What are we waiting for! Everyone’s dying to see you! Especially Burnet, she probably misses you the most.”

“Is Sun around? I need to tell him something.” Hau stiffened up, not liking the sound of that.

“He had some champion stuff to get to, he’ll be around in a bit.” Hau said, shrugging off his jealousy.

“I’m going to go on ahead, Hau why don’t you keep Lillie busy for a bit.” Kukui hinted, knowing that the party wasn’t going to be ready yet.

“Ok Prof, we’ll just go to the shopping center for a bit.” Hau said.

“Sounds good, see you guys soon.”

Kukui walked off, headed up to Iki town. “So Hau, how have things been around here?” Lillie asked. As they walked in the opposite direction.

“It’s been pretty good. Ever since the Pokemon League opened up, we’ve gotten a lot more tourists and trainers; pretty fun to battle everyone.” He explained. They walked in silence for a bit, reaching the square. Hau was muttering under his breath, thinking.

“Hau, are you speaking Alolan?” Lillie asked.

“Oh, uh.. No?”

“Yes, you were, don’t lie to me.” She said, playfully shoving him. “What were you saying?”

“Everything I’m too scared to say to your face.” Hau said sheepishly.

Lillie blushed, “Oh…”

“Lillie?” A voice said interrupting her.

“Gladion?” She asked.

The boy ran up to her, hugging her tightly, “Oh man, I forgot you were coming here today!”

“Yeah, I was just going to show her the new mall and walk around until about sunset.” Hau said, putting emphasis on sunset. Gladion nodded over Lillie’s shoulder, knowing that they needed to stall so her party was set up.

“You’ve changed” Lillie smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gladion questioned as they pulled away from their hug.

“You’re not all dark and gloomy anymore. You seem happier.” She pointed out, “Who’s the girl?”

“What? There’s uh, there’s no girl Lillie.” Gladion chuckled nervously.

“Oh there’s a girl alright.” Hau assured. Gladion gave Hau a death glare, telling him to shut up or face the consequences. “It’s Acer-” Gladion clamped his hand over Hau’s mouth, mufflng the rest of the name, but it was too late.

“Acerola!” Lillie said happily, “I knew it!”

Gladion blushed, “Alright I’ll see you later, I’m gonna go do a thing.” He said walking away.

Xxx

They went into the shopping center, Hau showed Lillie all the new shops and latest Alolan trends. A few hours later, they emerged. Hau holding all three of Lillie’s bags. “Come on, let’s head to Iki town” Hau said.

Xxx

The sun was setting against the horizon as hau and Lillie made their way up the hill to Iki town. The silence between them was a comfortable one, but very unlike Hau.

“Hau, what’s on your mind?” Lille pondered.

“It’s nothing really.” He lied, looking at the ground.

Lillie stopped and put a hand on his shoulder forcing him to look at her, “Hau,” She said, he looked at her, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, I just-”

“ALOLA LILLIE!” A mass of voices shouted from within Iki Town; neither of them realized they had just entered the road. Lillie smiled, the captains ran to her, enveloping her in a group hug.

“Lillie, it’s great to see you again!” Mallow yelled. Hau stepped away, allowing everyone to say hello to her.

“Hi everyone, is Sun here yet?”

“Course I am, I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” He called from within the mass of people surrounding her. He squeezed his way through everyone, giving her a hug, “Missed having you on all my adventures”

“Alright, let’s begin with the celebrations!” Hala called from the battle platform.

Xxx

The night had went on, there was amazingly good food and even better entertainment. The Masked Royal made an appearance, Hau the first person to battle him. And he had kicked his butt. Sun said he didn’t want to bother, he was beyond such things.

“Sun, can we sneak away for a sec?” Lillie asked him.

“Yeah, of course.” he told her.

They walked a bit into Mahalo trail. “Sun I don’t know how to tell you this… The professor in the other region asked me to, but you’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?”

“Your dad… He’s gone.” Lillie said sadly.

“Wait what?” Sun was horrified, “What… what happened to him?”

“He went crazy… it was almost like he had a run in with an Ultrabeast, his body was full of toxins. No one really knows what happened for sure.” Sun looked off into space, tears slowly falling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry”

“It’s alright… I think I’m going to go home for now and be with my mom for a bit.” He said, “Catch up with you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course, I’m here if you need me ok?” She said, giving him a tight hug. He pulled away, walking down the trail.

Lillie sat and thought for a moment, before following. Now it was time to take care of Hau.

When she got back, the celebration had begun to slow… Or at least turn into a slow dance. She looked at her “adoptive parents” Burnet and Kukui (They were everyone’s adoptive parents at this point) as they slowly danced. Burnet’s laugh like music as she laughed at her husband’s attempt at slow dancing. “Hey Lillie.” Hau said from next to her, “What’s wrong with Sun?” He asked.

“It’s a family thing, I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” She said.

“Ok, I got it.” He said. He swayed back and forth nervously, “So uh… do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to Hau.” She smiled.

She linked her arm in his, allowing him to lead her to the floor. He put his hands on her waist as she slid her hands up his shoulders. “You’re tense” she giggled. Hau blushed.

“Do you want to know what I was saying back at the mall?” He asked her.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to know.” She shrugged.

“ E Kipa mai e ku’u alola. Ku’u pa ‘ana ka la ‘oe. Ko alola makamae e ipo. Alola au ia oe, Nau ko ‘u Alola, No kau a kau.”

“What does it mean?” Lillie asked.

“Aw come on, I didn’t say I’d translate it.”

“Hau, please? Nothing ends up how you think it will… Take the risk.” Lillie told him. She had a feeling what he wanted to tell her, but she didn’t expect it to be so lengthy.

“It means ‘Come to me my love. You are my sun. You are so precious, sweetheart; I love you. My love is your’s for eternity.” Hau blushed.

“You’ve been holding that in for a while, haven’t you?” She asked.

“Yeah, I have… I really do like you Lillie, I’d like us to be more than friends.”

Lillie giggled,” it’s about time you said it Hau.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

And so, they danced the rest of the night, only having a care for being in each other’s arms.

Moral of the story: don’t be afraid to tell your crush you like them, cause things don’t always play out as you’d expect them to.

#lillie x hau #Hau #Lillie #Pokemon sun and mon #pokemon sun #Pokemon moon #professor kukui #professor burnet #hala #kiawe #sophocles #mallow #lana #ilima #olivia #mina #and more

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