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writingsfromhome · 6 months

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Shedding Memories

A/N: just a quick fic of running into Harry when you both need a friend. I wrote this p quickly so ignore any mistakes. Happy holidays everyone :)

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The part I liked about getting the closing shift was that I could put on my music and completely zone out.

Dealing with the public was a shitty job, no matter the capacity, and zoning out let me compose myself before heading home.

But tonight, a customer stays hunched in the corner seat. I had called out to everyone 15 minutes ago that we were closing in a half hour and by now nearly everyone was gone. The last few people pack up, yet corner guy remains.

“Hi,” I say from behind him. “We’re closing very soon just wanted to let you know.”

“Yep. I’ll be off soon,” he says. His voice is rough and low, a slight accent to it. But he kinda mumbles so I could be imagining it.

But he’s not off soon. I put up all the chairs, lock the doors to anyone new, and wipe down the tables. It’s officially 10pm but the guy’s ass is as glued as it was when he first sat down.

I don’t know how long he’d been here for actually. I got in at 5 and he’d been there with a steaming cup of something. But he just stayed there save for one refill, all evening.

Was he homeless? I examine his hoodie and baggy jeans. They seemed more stylish than survival.

“Hi s’cuse me sir,” I drop the customer service voice a notch and stand next to him. He was really putting a wrench in my evening plans. “I’m sorry to kick you out but it is 10 which is when we close. So I do have to ask you to leave.”

God I hated this shit. Why couldn’t he just leave like a normal person!? And tonight of all nights I’d told my closing partner he could leave early for a date night. I wish I hadn’t. It would’ve felt safer kicking this guy out with another dude around.

“Sorry,” the guy says. His face is mostly covered by his hoodie and he turns away to pull something from his pocket. I watch wearily but it’s just his phone. He sighs and puts it face down. “Is there any chance I can stay here while you clean up?”

“I’m sorry no.” I wasn’t allowed to do that. “Is your phone dead? You can use ours if you need to call for someone?”

He sighs again, like he alone was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and I just wasn’t being understanding enough.

Stop judging so much, I chide myself. Maybe he has a tough life.

“Look, I…” I stop mid-sentence and my mouth stays in the shape of the vowel as he lifts his head up. Is it just me or did he look like global pop-sensation and former boy band member Harry Styles!?

He notices my expression and grimaces.

Okay, it had to be him. And I was acting like a total freak right now.

“Sorry.” I take a step back and bump into the broom I’d balanced on the chair behind me. It clatters to the floor and I jump.

“It’s alright,” he leans down and picks it up for me. Harry Styles was handing me the broom I was meant to close with. I was dreaming. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Are you…in trouble?” I couldn’t wrap my head around why a guy like him would spend the whole evening in the corner of a coffee shop, staring at the wall. And then ask to stay while I closed.

He looks at me for a beat, his eyes are every bit intense as I assumed they would be. In real life, his beauty is a lot more breathtaking than photos. Or maybe I was just having some sort of breakdown. And he’s at least 7 inches taller than me, so he towers over me and I feel nothing but intimidated.

“Fuck. Sorry. Wait.” I shake my head. I have to look away from him. I had to clear my head!

I walk with the broom to the register. “Stop acting like a weirdo!” I whisper to myself.

Harry Styles was in my coffee shop. I was alone with Harry Styles in my coffee shop. What the hell was this? Wattpad?

I turn back around, but he’s looking out the window.

“Sorry. I’m being super weird right now but I wasn’t expecting…you. To be the guy I’m trying to kick out!”

“It’s fine.” He turns back to me.

“I don’t want to be nosy and pry but um, is everything okay? Did you need…help?”

His face loosens a bit with a small smile. I look past him so I can continue having this conversation and not require an inhaler for the first time in my life.

“It would help if I can stay here while you clean up actually.”

“Yeah! Okay…I mean I’m not supposed to but you’re like, Harry Styles? I’m sure my manager would not mind a single bit. She plays your songs all the time it’s basically part of onboarding. By the time we know all the drinks on the menu we also know all your lyrics and I….I’m gonna shut up.”

I turn back with the broom and start sweeping. Was I too awkward? Was I even sweeping like a normal person? Oh god was I being too stiff. Did I forget how to sweep???

I pause.

Maybe I should ask him another question. Maybe-

“I don’t want to get you in trouble uhm-,” I turn and he’s speaking to me 10 feet away. He squints at my name tag.

“Y/N.” I say it for him.

“Y/N. I can leave if I’m gonna get you in trouble-“

“No. No it’s okay! Seriously just sit wherever. But I will put on my own music while I close up, and you’ll have to suffer through it.”

“I don’t consider listening to music suffering.” He jokes. He makes a joke! With me!

“Well then you’ll love Baby Shark,” I joke back. He tilts his head—the joke doesn’t land. “Bad joke. Nevermind. I’m a Phoebe Bridgers fan so just prepare to be in your feelings!”

“I love her,” Harry nods approvingly. “Play on.”

As Phoebe’s distinct voice plays through the speakers I find myself relaxing, mouthing the words, and getting lost in the closing up routine. Of course, I never forget Harry Styles was sitting in the corner. If I did I would be belting the songs out loud. But it starts to feels less dreamy and the randomness begins to flatline to normal.

“Okay, I’m just gonna toss these out.” I shake the unglamorous bags of trash in my hands a half hour later. “And then I’m kicking both of us out.”

“Let me give you a hand.” Before I could protest Harry freaking Styles takes the trashbag from my hand and walks to the back door.

“Whaaaat,” I whisper to myself before scurrying behind him.

He tosses it with ease. I’m sure he had amazing arms under that baggy hoodie of his. He could probably toss me as easily—

I needed to chill.

“Do you have a ride?” I ask as we wash hands. “I can give you a lift somewhere? Unless your car’s outside? Um. Yeah. You probably have your own car nevermind.”

He’s silent, maybe I needed to shut up and stop blabbering.

“I take it you haven’t seen the news.” He leans back against the counter, drying his hands.

“News? Do people still watch that?” Bad joke. Stop talking.

“Uh,” his eyes crinkle slightly. “Social media. Whatever.”

“Nope. Been a busy day.”

“Right…”

“Something happened right? That’s why you’re hiding out here.”

“Yep,” he nods.

“Did your nudes leak or something?”

He looks at me, one brow raised. Fuck! I feel the blood rush to my face.

“Sorry! I am so out of my depth right now and I don’t know why I said that! That was bad. It’s just the worst thing that came to mind I-“

I register his shoulders shaking at first and then he’s doubling over laughing. I stare at first but then I chuckle with him. I’m too nervous to actually laugh at whatever’s happening even though I know looking back I definitely will.

“That’s alright,” he’s grinning when he looks back up. I would be mesmerized by it if his hood hadn’t slipped back to reveal no fucking hair.

“What…is that…?”

“What?” When I point to his head he touches it. He seems to remember himself. “Oh. I forgot I’d done that.”

“That’s new? Is that what’s out there? Is that why you’re hiding?”

“It’s not really new. I cut it all off yesterday-“

“I think you did more than cut it.” It was basically buzzed.

He laughs again and I feel bubbly inside. The bubbles fill me with a weird energy—just as long as it didn’t bubble up out of my mouth and come out in babbling I didn’t have to worry. I cover my mouth to contain any nervous words just in case.

“Why are you covering your mouth? Is it that bad?”

He looks into the warped reflection on the coffee machine. It didn’t look bad.

“It’s different. You’re known for your hair y’know? It’s not bad…just wow. Different.”

“Different’s not bad?”

“No! We’ll just need to get used to it. Honestly you kind of pull the whole buzzed look off. I bet if you grew out like a proper moustache it could be really…”

Thank god I stop myself this time. Because I was going to say a word I would definitely be mortified by.

“Really?” He smirks.

“Cool.” I finish lamely. “So um. Anyway. Are you good or should I drive you somewhere? Are you in trouble with the police or something?”

“I could use a ride…” He says with a slight cringe. “Is that something you’re alright doing?”

“Yeah! I was just gonna go home and stuff my face with leftovers before falling asleep in front of like, Gilmore Girls or something.”

“That’s a good show. That sounds like a nice time actually.”

“Does it? Because I regretted saying it as soon as it came out of my mouth.”

“Do you have a filter?” He asks but he smiles, he wasn’t annoyed. Not yet at least.

“Usually. But I also don’t normally have casual conversations with people I only ever see on the news or on my phone.”

“Do people still watch the news?”

It dawns on me slowly, he was making fun of me and repeating the question I asked earlier. I cover my face with my hands and he laughs. It’s such an intoxicating sound. And I really want to stop feeling like an idiot.

“I’m just bothering you,” hands come down on my wrist and oh my fuck he was touching me! He tugs at my hands and I drop them, still unable to meet his eyes.

I stuff my hands in my pocket. “I know. I’m probably going to lie awake for hours tonight thinking about every embarrassing thing that’s come out of my mouth.”

“No look,” he steps in front of me. He puts his hands on his chest and I notice the rings on his fingers, his tattoos. This was really Harry Styles in front of me.

“No look at me.” He tries to get my attention again. “See, I’m just a person. Just like you. Yeah I sing and shit but I’m just a guy.”

“You say that like I don’t have the world’s worst history with guys.” I finally make the push to look up into his face. I had an even worse history with attractive guys. “But I understand what you’re trying to achieve. And I appreciate it. You’re just shmegular and I can stop being a weirdo.”

“My phone works.” He says suddenly. “I just turned it off because I have a million people calling and texting me for some sort of response.”

I don’t reply, unsure where he was going.

He didn’t really have to make all this effort to make me comfortable but I recognize why he’s doing it; trying to bring himself down to earth for me. And it’s sweet and endearing and I want to tell him he didn’t have to do that. That I would help him out even if he wrote me a note, simply because he was Harry freaking Styles. But I just stay quiet for the first time tonight.

“Someone leaked pap photos of my girlfriend cheating on me.”

I gasp, I can’t help it. “I’m sorry. Harry. I-That’s an awful fucking way to find out.”

“It…” he glances around as if we weren’t the only two people around. “I shouldn’t be saying this but. It was just for show. The relationship, I mean. The guy in the photo’s her actual boyfriend so I don’t really care. Never wanted to do this fake shite in the first place but I was kinda forced to by my management. It promoted my new single, and her new show or whatever.”

“Oh.” I guess that’s the way his world worked. My world was begging my coworker to change shifts with me so I could have my weekly mental breakdown in private.

“Yep. So everyone is expecting me to give a statement, play the part of jilted boyfriend, but I can’t be arsed by any of it. I just want everyone to leave me alone.”

“So you holed up in the corner of this coffee shop, and stared at that wall for the last like…how many hours?”

“I lost count.” He shrugs. “And I did have a book I was reading. I wasn’t just staring at the wall.”

I shrug, “I’m not judging. I stare at the wall a lot. Especially on my breaks.”

He laughs again, and it breaks the serious air around his story.

“So where am I taking you if you’re avoiding everyone? Do you have a hotel room or?”

“It’s probably swimming in paps.” He sighs.

“So wild idea. I have a couple roommates who are supposed to be out tonight. Do you want to stay at my place until you feel like answering your phone?”

His face looks so hopeful for a second. “No. I can’t do that to you.”

“Remember when I detailed my evening plans? It’s honestly nothing.”

He gets all broody as he shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to drag you into it-“

“Look you’re in disguise. I live far away from whatever hotel you can afford that no one will see you. And I can drop you off on a street corner tomorrow morning whenever you want.”

“Like a hooker?”

“Yeah. We can play reverse pretty woman.”

He smiles. I stare.

“Fine. Yeah. Alright.”

“Alright! Let me turn out the light and we’ll go.”

So that’s how I find myself driving Harry Styles to my apartment, realizing the closer we get to home how filthy I had left my room.

“Don’t judge please,” I say in the elevator up. “But our apartment is not magazine worthy. It’s just home.”

“Home sounds nice,” he says. His hoodie’s back up and covering most of his face. It feels silly talking to him like this.

“Stay here,” I instruct him when we walk in. I zip into my room, it’s not as bad as it could be but I move all the dirty laundry to the hamper, gather the papers on my desk in one pile, shove my makeup back into a drawer, and gather as many empty cans and glasses into my hands to take back to the kitchen.

When I go back to him he’s standing exactly where I left him.

“Okay. So I only have leftovers. Chinese. Are you hungry? I can order us something else or-“

“No that sounds perfect.”

“Does it?” I tell him to come in and he follows me to the kitchen, sitting down at the island as I pull plates and containers out. “Okay just fill your plate and I’ll heat it up. Are you sure this is alright?”

“You’ll be surprised at my diet when I’m on tour. It starts out good but by the end of it I want to get my stomach pumped for all the shite I put into it. This looks delicious.”

I dish out dinner for us and decline his request to help. I try not to be hyperaware of him watching me move around our small kitchen, and focus on thinking of him as a guest. That’s it.

“So um, why the haircut?” I ask as I carry the plates to my room. I had the biggest room in the house and by biggest that simply meant I could afford a queen sized bed and my closet could fit all my clothes. I’d been living here for the last year and a half with my two roommates.

“Eh,” he runs his hand over his head. I was really tempted to do it, see what it felt like. But I refrain. Obviously. “Turning over a new leaf? In a lot of cultures, hair symbolizes a lot. I felt like starting fresh, and getting rid of all of it would just help.”

“Yeah I’ve heard of that. Like the hair that’s grown has witnessed everything over the last few years—at least if you grow it long enough to last a few years.”

“Hm yeah,” he says between bites. I can’t believe Harry Styles was eating last night’s leftovers with me. “Exactly.”

“Maybe I should chop most of my hair off.” I muse. “I could use that new leaf shit.”

“Why?” Harry asks bluntly. I nearly choke on a piece of broccoli. “Sorry. I’m being the nosy one aren’t I?”

“No,” I clear my throat. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“You don’t have to answer.” He smiles, god did he have to look so charming? “But I’d love to know what memories your hair holds.”

Damn. He had a way with words.

He’s an artist, I think. Duh.

“Let’s see.” I hold the bottom few inches. “Quitting my fancy job because I was burnt out and going through an existential crisis.” I climb higher and hold the next few inches. “Traumatic breakup with my long-term guy. How could a lawyer date a barista after she’d been a doctor y’know? A power couple can’t include a lowly job like a barista.” I roll my eyes like I wasn’t going to cry all over again, and hold another inch. “And this here is me grieving everything I thought my life was going to be.”

He’s silent for a bit. I think I’ve actually shocked him into silence. I almost laugh.

He puts his plate down and leans over, topping the top of my head. “This?”

The spot where he touched my head thrums. I think about the last year of my life. “Realizing my identity isn’t my career. And that for the first time in my life I can pursue my passions.”

“Hm.” He nods. “That’s a good realization.”

“Yeah, it really was for me.”

“I don’t have any boundaries between my identity and my life…” he goes silent again. I know he’s thinking so it doesn’t feel awkward. I go back to my dinner.

“So what’s the passion you’re pursuing?” He asks. Probably to change the subject.

“Well…” I put my plate down and walk to my closet, sliding open the door. I point to the floor. His face scrunches and he gets up to get a closer look.

“Do you sing or something?” He asks.

“God no!” I laugh. I guess he would think that seeing the blanket, laptop table, and microphone. “I started a podcast and it’s soundproof in here. I love this little space actually.”

“A podcast?!” He looks at me, impressed. I try not to blush. “What about?”

“Um, well I do know my medical shit—studied it for years and all. But it’s about taking care of ourselves, giving advice to people, burnout, identities, everything I learned leaving my job. All that.”

“Wow.” He nods thoughtfully. “That’s amazing.”

I shrug and go back to sitting on my bed, taking another bite of my dinner.

“Do you get a lot of listens?”

“I have a couple hundred listeners.” I tell him. “Actually. At first I was obsessive over the numbers. I’d spent the last couple decades obsessed over numbers—grades and all that. It was a habit.”

“And now?”

“Well I had to force myself to never look at my numbers for the first while and it helped me focus on the content itself. Make sure I was making something I put my heart behind, not just something I thought would do well. It’s been half a year now, and I’m just starting to look at them again.”

“Wow. Half a year that’s amazing. Good for you. I know we barely know each other but…I’m proud of you for figuring that all out. It’s inspiring.”

He was right, we barely knew each other. Yet somehow I knew he was genuine about what he was saying. I feel a warm tingling sensation in my stomach. “Thank you Harry.”

“Yeah. Wow.” His eyes flicker over my hair. “There is a lot of memories in that hair of yours.”

“Yeah it’s like, was it Mean Girls? My hair isn’t big, but it’s so long because it’s filled with secrets.”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “That’s a good line.”

“Maybe I should cut it off,” the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea. Why was I keeping it this long? “I should cut it off.”

“Uh I don’t know…”

“No!” I get up again, firm in what I wanted. The only reason my hair was always long was because my ex had told me once he liked it long. And now that I thought about it, I’d unconsciously kept it that way since. Fuck that! I wanted to get rid of these memories, “I want to turn a new leaf and all that bullshit.”

“I feel like I’ve been a bad influence.” Harry says softly.

“You’re cutting my hair Styles-“

“I don’t know how to!”

“C’mon we’ll watch a youtube video. You play guitar I’m sure you’re good with your hands.”

An awkward silence stretches and he coughs out a laugh.

“Oh my god not like that!” I take his hand and try not to think of whatever image he had just thought of. “Bathroom, scissors, phone. Let’s go.”

I queue up a video as he follows me. I shut the door and shove the video in his hands. Meanwhile, I turn the bathtub tap on and dunk my hair in it to get it wet so it would be easier to cut. Like the video said.

“Y/N,” Harry says wearily. Hearing my name out of his mouth is weird.

“Did you watch it?” I rummage through the drawers and come up with a pair. “Here.”

“They use an electric-“

“Just do it with the scissors!” I encourage him. “If it’s uneven that’s okay! I can get it fixed later in the week.”

I turn back to the mirror and everything slows down as I take the scene in. Harry Styles in my bathroom, standing behind me and eyeing me nervously. Me, with my too-long hair, flushed and determined to get this all over with, to shed the memories I’d been holding on for too long.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking me dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Yep! I’m 100% sure.”

“Don’t kill me if you wake up tomorrow and regret this.”

“Just cut it.”

“So bossy,” he smiles and begins combing my hair down like the video had. I watch him, it’s endearing how much concentration he has as he perfects my strands and begins to measure. He’s slow, and deliberate, and I know I picked the right dude because I’d guessed correctly—he was a perfectionist.

When the first big chunk is removed and he deposits it in the sink I tear up. I feel the weight of it removed and it makes me think of everything it witnessed.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” I reach out and touch the hair that was attached to me seconds ago. It was just hair, but it also wasn’t. “Continue.”

His hand brushes my neck again and I try not to lean into his touch. Try not to think about how close we were. This was Harry Styles, not just a random dude. Get it together. Nothing was going to happen here as intoxicating as his touch was and whatever cologne he wore.

When he finishes my hair, it barely brushes my shoulders.

“I.” I turn around and face him. “Love it!”

“Really?”

“Really!” I turn back to look at myself again and I see his shoulder settle down. He watches me turn my head every way in the mirror.

“It looks good on you. The short hair.”

It did. My ex never saw me with short hair. It was like I was a new woman.

“I feel brand new.”

He smiles behind me. “That’s how I felt yesterday”

I turn back to face him, forcing myself not to think too hard about the foot of space between us. “Thank you. I know this isn’t how you thought your evening was going to go. But I needed this. So…thank you.”

Something flickers past his face. His smile grows smaller. “Yeah. This actually made me forget all about what’s waiting for me. So I should say thank you for distracting me.”

“No moping,” I open the door to the bathroom, grateful to get more space. “There are drinks in the fridge if you’d like. I’m going to wash out my hair quickly and then you and I are watching Gilmore Girls.

“I’ve only watched the first season.” He backs out into the hall.

“Perfect. We’ll start at season 2!”

When I get back to my room, jammies on and ready for a cozy night in, Harry’s already looking half asleep.

I tell him where to sit—I’d set up my room so that my bed is against the wall and the set of pillows turns it into a day bed. On the opposite wall I’d left it blank to allow my projector to play anything from my laptop. He settles onto one side and I sit beside him, making sure to leave a foot of space between us.

As I navigate my laptop to pull up the show, I feel fingers on my hair. I turn to him.

“It actually suits you. Look really nice.”

He rubs a strand between his fingers.

“I feel lighter.”

He drops his hand and rubs it over his own head.

“Me too.”

We smile at each other, a bond tying me to him. I hoped doing this could be like a last step before I can fully move on from the last chapter of my life. I’d already done so much of my healing but I still found myself crying at 2ams and staring at my bedroom ceiling at 2pms. I needed this—talking to a stranger about it all, and shedding the weight physically.

Now all that was left was to cozy up and watch my favourite show.

“So how many Gilmore girls are there?” Harry whispers as I press play.

“You did not just ask that question. Are you sure you watched season 1?”

“A couple years ago yeah.”

“Then just watch.” I pull my blanket up and feel Harry shift slightly, our shoulders touch.

“Thanks Y/N,” he whispers after a while.

“Thank you,” I tell him. Whatever we did for each other tonight felt like fate had put us in a blender and pressed power. I mean, me and Harry freaking Styles were together on my bed at 1am, watching Gilmore Girls and falling asleep halfway. I guess we’d both needed a fresh perspective and a friend, and this was a good a way as any to make some new memories.

#harry styles fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles hair #this fic is qd #baldrry #lmao at these being tags

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writing-with-emy · 1 year

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Young, Dumb & Broke - JJ Maybank x f!reader

JJ MAYBANK MASTERLIST | PROMPTLIST | REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Shipping: JJ Maybank x F!Reader Summary: Sometimes songs can Bring Back Memories. Word count: 5,2K Prompts: Fluff: #03 ; #10 ; #22 ; #27 ; #32 Angst: #02 ; #14 ; #34 Funny: #11 ; #18 Warnings: Mentions of Luke, Death, Drugs (mostly weed), some nicknames, metion of abuse, break-up A/N: I'm so sorry that you needed to wait so long for this, but here it is. It is deffinetly not proof read, I don't have the Motivation for that anymore so if your find something, please Tell me! But I#m absoloutly in love with this one! Plus Google Docs always tried to Make 'Pope' - 'the Pope'. Now I have an Image in my Head of JD's face badly added on the Pope.

The Thing about Breakup is, the start of it is always the shittiest part, then afterwards, there were good and Bad days. Today you had a bad day, where you didn’t get out of your Bed and just lie around. Days like this were always the same since your Breakup with JJ. You wake up, already feeling shitty, looking around in your room where the sun is shining through your closed curtains lighting it a bit up, and already deciding that you wouldn’t get out of bed. Your Mom knew already what was up, when she came in to wake you up for Breakfast. She just looks at you, sighs, goes back to the kitchen and brings you your breakfast. She knew on those days she couldn’t get you with anything out of bed. You and JJ were for several years best friends, before you started dating and it was good until the whole thing with the gold started. The day you Broke up with him, you not only lost him as your Boyfriend, but also as your best friend. So when you looked at your nightstand, there was a plate with fresh, and probably cold, pancakes and syrup, a glass of water and your phone. Instead of eating you decided to listen to music so you took your headphones, connected them with your phone, before putting on your playlist. Several songs played while you were just in your thoughts thinking about everything that had happened and staring at your ceiling, until ‘Young Dumb & Broke’ by Khalid started playing. And all the Memories of your relationship started to come back.

‘I can not give you everything, you know I wish I could.’

You and JJ both came from the Cut, that’s where you met and grew up together. With most of the people knowing and helping each other there, there wasn’t a lot of time between birth and the day you met JJ. Actually you guys mother knew each other, they were close, but not too close for your mom knowing where his Mother went, but since this was when JJ was really young, it took a while for you guys to meet. You actually met in 1st grade of Elementary school, you can remember that day like no other. When your Mom came to pick you up, you introduced her to him, but once she heard his last name, she knew exactly whose son he was. You guys waited for Luke to show up but he never did, so your mom took him with her and brought him home. He spent most of his day with your family, except one day, where Luke actually cared to show up. Your Mom and Luke talked outside, while JJ was next to you waiting in the Car. Your Mom knew how Luke treated his Mom, so he just casually shook it off and was okay with the Idea, that your Mom would pick him up when she would pick you up. He always was an Asshole, that would never change. You remember on your tenth Birthday, JJ came as soon as possible to you, on his Way picking some random Flowers from someone's front yard, he checked probably every five seconds, if he had the little present for you in his pocket and didn’t lose it. Once he was at your place he knocked at your Window, which you opened, it was early in the morning, the sun had just risen so he didn’t want to wake up your Mom. Tiredly you opened your window, letting JJ in, he was the only one of your friends to come at such an early time knocking at your Window, and as weird kids are sometimes, he weirdly gave you the Flowers before taking the little box from his pocket.

“I know it isn’t much, but I made this for you..”, he said quietly and a bit shy. You opened the Present to find a Necklace just like his in it. “Thank you, it’s perfect JJ.”, you beamed at him, pulling him in a Hug. You turned around letting JJ put the Necklace around your Neck.

Stuff like this is probably a tradition for you guys, every year on your Birthday, he would always come to you, with some flowers from someone's Front yard, and some self made gift.

On your last Birthday it was just Flowers and a Card, but it was still as sweet.

“You know, I just wished I could give you more.”, he said, looking at you with a kind of Sadness and guilt in his eyes. “JJ, I tell you this every year, It’s perfect no matter what it is, because it’s from you.” JJ knew that a discussion wouldn’t bring anything, because you are stubborn when it comes up.

‘I’m so High at the Moment’ ; ‘I’m so caught up in this.’

You were 15 when You smoked your first Joint, and the situation was pretty funny.

You went to JohnB’s house on the search for JJ, you walked by the twinkie, not knowing the person you searching was in there. You walked into the House seeing John B and Kie on the Couch and hearing someone in the Kitchen.

“Hey, do you guys know where JJ is?”, you asked John B and Kie. “Probably in the Twinkie smoking weed.”, Kie said, looking over at you. “He is in the Twinkie smoking a Joint.”, Pope stated coming out of the Kitchen. “What got you thinking that?”, John B asked, looking at Pope. “He took all the good Pudding with him.”, he just said. “Really?”, Kie let out an annoying sound hitting the Sofa. “Well, I’m gonna look for him there.”, you stated, turning around. “Tell him he needs to stop taking all the good pudding with him when He smokes.”, Pope called after you. “I will do that!”, you said, trying not to let out a chuckle throwing your arm in the air while walking down the Stairs. “How long do you guys think this whole ‘We-are-just-friends’-thing is going to last?”, Kie asked John B and Pope. “No clue, but if something soon isn’t happening, then I’m going crazy.”, Pope said. “Yep.”, John added.

You opened the door to the Twinkie and a Cloud of Smoke came in your face and your nose filled with the smell of weed. “Close the door, I’m trying to Hotbox here.”, you heard him say. “Okay, Mister Hotbox, chill out.”, you said, going into the Twinkie and closing the door behind you. “What’s up?”, he asked, looking at you while taking a hit. “I was looking for you, wanted to spend some time with my best friend.”, you said. “Oh, and I should tell you from Pope, that you need to stop taking the good Pudding when you smoke.”, you added. “Well, then be my guest and I will kick Popes ass, because this shit is good as hell when you're High, you should try it.”, he stated. “Well, there's one problem J.”, you said. “What?” “I never smoked before, forgot?” “Oh shit yeah, I mean we could change that.”, he looked between you and the Joint back and forth with a face that said ‘You can take it if you want.’, holding the Joint before you. You looked at JJ and the Joint and started thinking for a Moment if you really should. “Are you sleeping here Tonight?” “Yeah, why?” “Well, if this shit from your cousin isn’t doing me well, then you are the one taking care of me. Plus, I’m not going High back to my Mom’s nor am I staying here alone, High.”, you set your point looking at him.’ “So, that's a yes?” “No JJ, I’m asking you that shit just for fun. Of course it’s a yes.”m you said sarcastic. “Okay, no need for an attitude.”, he lifted his arm in a defensive mode before looking at you. Once you realized what you just said yes to, you feeled the nervousness beginning to rise in your stomach. “C-Can we like.. do something, before I take a like? Like.. Like shotgun or something..?”, you asked, playing with your nails. “Yeah, sure, would you like to shotgun?”, he asked. “Yeah..” He turned to, so he would be sitting right in front of you. “Come closer.”, he said, patting the place before him. So you slide closer, your knees touching when you sit in place before him. “Don’t worry, you're safe okay? If you don’t want to, can you back off okay?” You nodded. “You know-” “Yes, JJ I know how shotgun goes, I watch movies you know and Stuff you know?”, you said. He just nodded.

Now that is the part you are the most nervous probably about, the part where you asked yourself why you asked JJ to do Shotgun, when you just could’ve taken a Hit. You watched JJ taking a hit, before putting the joint back into the ashtray, he put his Hands on your cheeks to pull your Face closer to His. You have no Idea if you already are feeling something, because of the smoke that is already surrounding you, or the Fact that you and JJ Faces are just a few inches from each other, but your head starts to feel a bit dizzy and butterflies start to erupt in your stomach. You opened your mouth a bit to inhale the smoke JJ exhales, while closing your eyes just as JJ. His hands unconsciously moved from your Cheeks to your Jaw, to hold you more stable. You could feel and hear your heartbeat in your years, like it’s nearly popping out your Chest and if JJ would concentrate on his touch he would probably feel how your heart was racing. But once all the smoke was out of JJ’s lungs and mostly in your, you guys didn’t move, you stayed a couple of seconds this close, with your Hands on JJ’s forearms. But you needed to get the smoke out, and the door opened just in that Moment. You started coughing the smoke out, which made JJ laugh and the Person behind you looked at you suspiciously. “What’s up?”, you asked, turning around still a bit coughing, seeing Pope Standing there. “Taking a Pudding, because I want one, and all we have left of them are here. “Hey they are ours!”, he said. “Then Buy your own, one is mine.”, Pope said, taking one, before closing the door again leaving you two alone.

Fast forward and a couple Hits later you and JJ, are in the Twinkie High as a Kite, if not even Higher. “Shit, I’m so fucking High.”, you said grinning, looking at yourself on your Phone Screen on Snapchat seeing your red Eyes. “Well, we’re Hotboxing and it is your first time, what did you expect?”, he asked. “I don’t know.”, you said while laying down putting your Head in his Lap. You searched for a filter, before choosing a funny one and starting to film. In the Background was some random playlist JJ played from his phone, while he was eating a pudding. You started to film JJ, zooming in on his face when He opened his Mouth and you could see his full mouth with his pudding still in it. “Ew, JJ!”, you said while you stopped filming. “What?”, he asked with a full mouth. “That’s Disgusting. You’re Lucky you’re cute.”, you said laughing while saving the Video. “I’m what?”, he asked after swallowing the pudding he had in his mouth. “You’re cute.”, you said. “I’m cute?”, he asked. “Well, you’re not really unattractive plus you are not Disgusting. You sometimes do Disgusting things Like this, but you aren’t really disgusting.” “Well, thank you, and I must say you are pretty cute too.”, he said. “Well, thank you.”, you said, smiling at him.

‘We have so much in common’

When it comes to Hobbies and doing stuff, you and JJ are pretty much the same. When Nobody can find you at your or John B’s place, they Just need to go to the Beach to see you both in the Water surfing, trying to outdo the other. That all went that way, that you even took the same Jobs. If one of you really finds interest in something that is boring to the other, you still spend time together. That all really went from drinking, doing KEG-Parties, surfing to literal handworking stuff. ‘You always say I’m Wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right’

“Okay, but where have you read this?”, you asked JJ, watching him from the hammock walking from side to side. “Wikipedia.”, he said, stopping his movements. “JJ, I hate to break it to you, but Wikipedia isn’t a really good source.”, you said to him. “What, so you don’t believe that barking helps to get snakes to leave?”, he asked. “Well, If you meet an anaconda and she is ready to fight you, tell me how it went if you are not dead by then.”, you said, getting off the Hammock and making your way to the Chateau. “Really, I thought I had at least your Back on that thing.”, he said following you in the House. “JJ, I love you, but I’m not sure about that fact.”, you just added. “What are you talking about?”, Kie asked. “The whole, Snakes and barking thing.”, you said, letting yourself slump down next to Kie. “Really?”, Pope asked, coming in. “Come on- Okay watch the next time a snake is here somewhere, I’m going to show you that my plan is going to work.”, he just said stubbornly like a toddler.

‘What’s fun about commitment?’ ; ‘When we have our life to live.’

You tiredly make your way to your Window wondering half asleep who would knock at 1 a.m. at your window. “JJ?”, you asked, sleepy. “Hey.. can I come in?”, he asked. “Yeah..”, you said walking away from the Window turning on your little Lamp you have for reading. You heard him coming in, nearly falling in his face, before closing the Window stumbling over to your bed. “Are you sober?”, you looked at him scanning him from top to bottom and back up. You saw the fresh bruises on his face, you just didn’t know if they were from Luke or from his way to you probably falling sometimes. ��I’m moderately functional.”, he said, falling next to you on the Bed. “I’ll take that as a no then.”, you looked at him. He just rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.. I just want to be close to someone for a little bit.. Is that okay?”, he asked with closed eyes, not noticing how Soft your look became after that Question. “Yeah.”, you said softly, laying down, while JJ moved next to you. he turned off the light, before wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his head on your chest curling in on your side. You always cuddled like that, when JJ needed some comfort after his father hit him or just let his anger out on him in general. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”, you whispered. “Just..my dad.. the usual you know?”, he said with closed eyes. You just nodded, one Hand in his Hair, while the other caressed his Back. “You know what's funny?”, he asked quietly. “What?”, you asked. “He always tells me.. How you are going to leave me, once you realize how fucked up I am. That I’m just like him, and that you never love someone like me. A-and sometimes I really believe that, I tell myself that even sometimes, but once I see you, and have you in my Arms after all those years..I know that he is wrong, just like me..sometimes. I really want to let you go sometimes, because you deserve someone, better than I am..better than I can be.. but I don’t want to, i don’t want to let you go. I don’t want another guy here in my place, I want you to have me by your side and not some other prick. This shit is probably so selfish but I don’t care, you are my girl, always were, always will be. I don’t care that I’m selfish..”, he started to blurt out. You have no Idea what to say to that, to the fact that he probably just told you that he loves you more than just a friend, but you didn’t need to because just as you were about to say something you heard him snore quietly, which meant he was dead asleep. So you just lied there until sleep won you over on its side again.

‘Jump then we think, leave it all in the game of love’

When JJ woke up, he directly remembered what he just rant to you about last night when he came. HIs first instinct was to get up and just leave, to not speak to you for the rest of the day, or the week, maybe the rest of the year. He just admitted to you that he has feelings for you. But instead of getting up and running for his dear life, he waited for you to wake up and to talk about it. Once you were up and eating breakfast, you couldn’t stand the tense atmosphere anymore so you started talking. “So..”, you started. “So..?”, he repeated. “Those things you said last night… Did you mean them?”, you asked directly out. “That was straight forward..”, he said a little chuckle, leaving him. “I know.. I just don’t want to talk a lot around the topic of why this is so tense right now..”, you said looking down on your plate. “Okay, uh shit.. Well, yes.. I meant every single word of it.. I knew it for pretty much the past years but I just pushed it back, but since the one day in the twinkie where we were so close..where our faces were so close.. Since then I couldn’t think about anything else.”, he confessed. “Well, then let me tell you, that I’m never going to leave you okay? And nobody can be better than you JJ, because you are the Best I’m gonna have. I love you too, okay? Don’t ever question that.”, you said, taking his Hand in yours. “So, who are we to each other..?”, he asked. “You tell me.”, you said looking at him. “Would you want to be my girl? officially.”, he asked, looking at you. “I would love to.”, you said smiling. JJ just smiled at you back, not really realizing that this means that you are together. “Well, Boyfriend, I was Kinda expecting a Kiss by now or do you just wanna keep staring?”, you stated, with a grin forming on your lips. “Oh shit, sorry.”, he said standing up pulling you up with him. He pulled you by your hand to him, before he put his hands on your waist and he finally connected your lips. Your lips moved in sync while you could feel the Butterflies erupt in your stomach, making your knees weak. Your Hands moved in his hair when he pulled you closer to him, when you needed to break the Kiss for air you both just grinned at each other like the lovesick birds you are. “You know, that you are never gonna get rid of me do you?”, he asked. “I know, because you're never gonna get rid of me too.”, you said.

Well but for the sake of the others, you love birds could never really stop acting on the fact that you are dating now. “Hey, did you get my note?”, JJ asked, once you and Kie arrived at the Beach for today's KEG-Party. “Yes, Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping.”, you said, eye rolling. “No need for the attitude Cupcake.”, he stated, coming to you. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have one if you didn’t fully taped a Note to my forehead.”, you said. “Well, how can I make it up to you?”, he asked, pulling you to him after he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Well for the first part, you could give me my Kiss I didn’t get this morning.”, you said. “Well, that is easy.”, he said leaning down, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. You put your hands on his cheeks, while you hear the others making gagging noises. He tried to show them his middle finger, but you grabbed his Hand and put it back in place and broke the Kiss. “And for the second part..”, you began. “Yes?” “You owe me a dance Mr. Maybank.”, you grinned, patting his cheek, before going to Kie to help her. “Seriously?”, he called after you, when He noticed you were wearing his shirt and lumberjack shirt. “Hey! Those are mine!”, he said. “Well, Not anymore!”, you called back, grinning.

‘Run into sin, do it all in the Name of fun.’

Well, all that was a year and a half ago, now everything looks different and you were laying in your bed crying, when the Memory of your breakup came back to Life.

You met JJ, after probably a couple of weeks. You knew about the gold and what they were planning to do. You couldn’t handle that JJ is putting his life for stuff like that in danger, you hated it to be fair so you distanced yourself from him and the others. But today was the day you met JJ to talk to him about it. “Hey..”, you said, looking at him as he came to you. “Hey..”, he said back. “So what do you wanna talk about?”, he asked, looking at you. “You know exactly what I wanna talk about.”, you stated. “And I told you Y/N, I’m not gonna let John B down with that, I don’t wanna talk about if that’s all you wanna talk about, then I’m gonna go.”, He said, turning around ready to go. “What about us huh?”, you asked. “What?”, he turned back to you. “What is with us? Do you not realize that I’m scared that Soon, I’m getting the Message from one of our Friends that something didn’t work out and something happened to you?”, you started. “Like, what?” “Like, these weird ass dudes, that came out of nowhere for you guys because of the Compass, or Ward fucking Cameron who is mad at John B because, he took Sarah from him. Or that shit with Rafe who is just as sick as his own Father!”, you become louder, and more frustrated from sentence to sentence. “Nothing is going to Happen!” “What if it is one day?! I can’t let this happen!” You feel the tears burning in the eyes from each passing second, with your voice starting to break with each sentence. “What does that mean!?”, he asked, now becoming frustrated himself. “You’re Changing!” “So is the rest of the Fucking World!” “So what? What is your plan if you find the Gold or something else just gonna sell it? Like it isn’t weird that five teenagers are there with gold that is worth millions of Dollars!” “We're gonna figure that out when It’s time!” “You don’t have a plan do you?”, you asked, calming your voice a bit down. “Well, what’s the real reason you wanted to talk to me?”, he asked. “I’m not going to watch you get into dangerous stuff like that and do nothing.”, you begin. “What do you mean?”, he asked. “What I mean is.. I’m breaking up with you. I’m not going to sit here and let you possibly ruin your whole life and put yourself into life threatening danger.”, you said, voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “What..”, he began. “It’s over JJ.”, you said, before walking away. JJ just watched you walking away, no plan what to do, but once he felt the tears burning in his eyes he put his head back swallowing the tears down making it with a fast pace back to the Chateau. If you needed to leave him, then you should, he didn’t need you once he had the gold and was living the Kook life with his Friends who would never leave him over something.

Once you were Home you ran straight to your room, no hello to your mother or anything. You let yourself fall onto your bed, finally letting the tears fall, sobbing in your Pillow you pressed to your face. You screamed, you sobbed and you probably had a whole breakdown in your bed. You hoped your mother didn’t hear it, but once you calmed down a little your door was opened and closed and someone came to you. “Hey, sweetheart.”, your mother said quietly, putting to Cups of Tea on your bedside table. You just looked at her saying nothing. She sat down on your Bed patting on her lap, which you know what it means. You got a bit up so she could sit better on your Bed, before putting your head in her lap facing your door. “Tell me what's wrong.”, she started, going with her fingers through your hair. “I broke up with JJ..”, you admit with a sore throat. “The first heartbreak is always the worst..”, she told you. “I wish this was the only thing why..”, you said. “Why what happened?”, she asked. “You thought for a Moment if you should tell your mother about the Gold, but then you thought fuck it and you told her. “...and then he just let me walk away, like he didn’t care..”, you cried to your Mother. “Well, he was always a little Stubborn, but that was probably one of the things you love about him, because he didn’t give up so easily..”, she smiled a bit. “Yes, but why did he let me go so easily, why could he leave me so easily for some Random shit..?”, you asked. “People make their own decisions, Honey. And sometimes, they decide to go for a while. And sometimes, it takes time to understand why.”, she answered.

Well that is now a couple of Months ago, you still don’t understand why, why JJ let it all happen but you now can live more with the heartbreak then before but it still hurts. Well and now, all you know is that John B nearly went to Jail because of Ward and that was it. No Idea about how JJ is doing or the other, you just hope they were all good.

‘Yeah, we’re just Young, Dumb and Broke but we still got love to give’

It is a few days later, you knew about John B’s and Sarah’s possible death during the Storm and you really wished you could be there for JJ, but you were afraid of going to him. So you just sit silently at home, while your Mom is at work. Well until you got a Message.

JJ: Hey.. Uhm I know this weird but can we like.. talk or something?JJ: please?

You didn’t need to get asked why, you just asked where and when you read the ‘Chateau’ text you got up and made your way to the Home of the Pogues.

Once you arrived, you first looked outside for him, but when he wasn’t at the dock you went inside the house and the only place he could possibly be. You opened the door to his room and saw him sitting on the Bed, elbows on his knees, while his face was buried in his Hands. “JJ?”, you asked carefully. He lifted his head, looking at you with red eyes and damp cheeks and without a second thought he stood up coming to you and hugging you. You were a bit surprised at first but you wrapped your arms around his neck giving him comfort, while he just cried in your shirt. “It’s okay.. Let it out..”, you whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.”, he said, trying not to let his voice shake too much which isn’t working. “It’s okay JJ..”, you said, stroking his back. “No it’s not fucking okay. John B and Sarah are fucking Dead.. All because of that shitty Gold and I was so fucking stubborn because of it, I not only lost my Best Friend but also the best fucking thing I had in my Life!”, he said, backing away from you walking in his room up and down. “I was so fucking stubborn, that I didn’t listen to you, because I wanted to show you, that you were wrong about everything and now look. JB and Sarah are fucking gone, they are gone! GONE! And…and with all that, shit.. during all of that I fucking lost you..not only my Girlfriend but also as my fucking Best friend! I feel like a fucking looser, that couldn’t even keep my friends from death, nor could I keep my fucking girlfriend. I’m just like my fucking asshole of a father.”, he said, breaking down. As fast as you could you go to JJ, sitting next to him on the floor wrapping your arms around his shoulder pulling him against you just letting him cry for a bit.

You buried your face in his hair, trying to fight your own tears. But once he calmed down you took his face in your Hands and turned it so that he looked at you. “Listen to me okay..?”, you started looking at him, while he was just nodding. “First of all, they haven’t found their Bodys yet..right? So there is still a chance that they are alive and just stranded somewhere…Don’t give up that hope okay..? And second of all..yes you were stubborn, so fucking stubborn JJ. But fuck, that’s the JJ I know, always stubborn for the things he wants to achieve. That’s one of the things I love about you…like every fucking thing okay..? And you're nothing like your father.. don’t ever say that again, you are better than him in so so so many ways JJ. Never ever think of you like that again. I love you, I’m always going to, alright..?”, you said. He just nodded looking at you not really knowing what to say. “I know that it’s probably the wrong timing.. but c-can I kiss you..?”, he asked. “You don’t need to ask, just do it..”, you smiled. A second later JJ Lips finally found yours again, and it was like it never has been different. Like the last few months didn’t happen and you were just two People, mourning over their friends. When You separated you looked at each other, not daring to say something. “So uhm… Can- Can we like try it again please..?”, he asked: You chuckled lightly before pressing your Lips to his again, moving forward on his lap while wrapping your Arms around his neck, you separated your face a bit from his to look at him. “I would love to.. but you owe me a date.”, you whispered. “Anything you want..”, he whispered back. “Unless I screw this up Again, I’m going to Marry you.”, he said, while leaning his forehead against yours. “Well you better not mess this up.”, you said smiling.

#outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x reader fluff #jj maybank angst #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x reader angst #Spotify #writing-with-emy

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lazyneonrabbitt · 8 months

Text

The one where feelings are shared.

I really hope I did this one justice!!

Gallzatto boys fluff! Reader is mostly only mentioned in this one as it focuses on the boys!

You had left the boys alone for the first time only two weeks into Lip's stay at Carmy's place. They kind of just hung out as roommates, talking a bit about all kinds of shit.

All of their conversations were about things they had in common, like their smoking habits.

But also you. It was the only thing they had that kept them talking. Their love for you. Lip’s adoration that had never left even after these years, and Carmy’s romantic feelings towards you.

When you came home you found them both smoking out the kitchen window together, laughing about something. They were bonding and you were happy.

Lip had brought home some weed he’d gotten from a guy at his job, thinking maybe Carmy wanted to join him and relax. They sat on the fire escape, the kitchen window behind them pulled ajar. Where a light conversation started, a heavier one was held at the end of their shared smoking session. Carmen had opened up about some of his insecurities when it came to the more intimate parts of his relationship with you, and with Lip’s sharing of old memories of your college get togethers those insecurities got a lot worse. Although he didn’t blame Lip for it, a little part of him still felt threatened. Like he'd never meet up to certain expectations you might have. Luckily Lip understood that he meant no harm, and eventually dared to suggest to show him, as a friend, how to please his girlfriend.

This conversation was the one that led to you three sharing Carmy's bed for a night filled with lessons.

Lip and Carmy were your boyfriends. Not each others' and that's how you lived for a while. Untill that night they both fucked you at the same time.

"Ugh, that fucking asshole." Lip muttered pocketing his phone. Carmen gave him a look, seeing the blush creep onto his face.

"Owed my brother some money. He claimed I'd had to be at least somewhat gay to move in a couple. Like the guy too, you know?" He was beet red by now. Carmen kept quiet and listened to him ramble on, not making much sense and not getting to the point until he ran out of words.

They stood across from each other, so in the moment they didn't even bother so sit down and talk. Perfect for Carmy to put his hands on Lip's shoulders and pull him into a hug. Not a simple friend hug, but one filled with warmth and acceptance. Lip mumbled something against his shoulder, too quiet to make out the words.

"What was that?" Pulling away slightly to look each other in the eyes it was clear there were many words still to be said.

"We both love you. And I'd love for us to give being boyfriends a try." He pulled Lip back in for another hug and kissed his head. "Baby steps, yeah?"

It wasn't long after that when they learned they were gonna be fathers, and in true dad-to-be fashion they wouldn't let you do anything. They cleared out the old spare bedroom that Lip stopped using a while ago and was now more of a dump. They sorted oit every single item and re-painted the walls, built the cribs, new cabinets and changing stations. It was a little paradise when they were finished. The way they worked together so seamlessly made your heart flutter. They really were becoming family now and their behavior towards each other showed it.

"You ready for all of this? Being a dad?" Lip had been outwardly more excited than Carmy, and now in a moment of rest Lip felt like he had to ask. He was willing to take up more of the house tasks if it was getting too much for Carmy. He wasn't only there to support you in this, but also him.

"Am I looking that tired?" A soft laugh leaves his lips as he leans down on the newly assembled cabinet. Lip gave him a once-over and tried to find a kind way to tell him he looked one shitty customer away from a complete breakdown. "If Richie called you a ..what's that thing again? A jagoff? He'd be dead meat."

Carmy full on laughed at the way he delivered his opinion and dropped his head against Lip's with a sigh. "But we did great here. And that's all that matters right now."

Lip put his arm around Carmy's shoulders and squeezed his arm. "We did amazing, the nursery is perfect. But you're pushing yourself with the restaurant and immediately throwing yourself onto whatever we still have to do here without a single break."

Carmy just listened and took everything in. Lip was right, he really needed to take a break. "Let me take care of you both for a bit, yeah? We just found out we're having twins and we're all on edge."

Carmy didn't say anything in response, he just moved over to pull Lip into a hug, rest his forehead against his shoulder and breathe for a moment. He sunk against him and Lip just held him there for as long as he needed.

Lip mumbled a soft "I love you." Into Carmy's hair, quiet enough for only him to hear.

Carmy lifted his head so he could speak moe freely. "Love you too, and thanks."

"Hey dad." "Hey other dad."

Their morning routine was something set in stone these days. Wake up early to share their morning cigarette and get enough coffee into their system to start the day properly.

They spent the first half of their cigarette praising each other for how well they were handling the newborns and everything that came with them.

"You're moody. What's wrong?" There was no hiding anything between them, they both saw straight through each other.

"Ian texted me, asking how the girls are." He paused a moment to down his coffee. The early morning street noises filling the silence in the kitchen window opening. "He joked about us too. Asking if I was all the way gay yet."

Carmen raised a brow at that. "What? Like, if we had sex yet?" He shakes his head at the assumption. "There's more, isn't there?"

Lip opens the conversation on his phone and hands the device over for Carmy to read. "The thing is.. All that stuff he talks about, I want that. I mean we have it in some way, like we take care of the girls together, but I wanna wanna hold hands, cuddle and dance in the livingroom. All that shit we'd do with her I wanna do with you too and it felt weird thinking about it."

Carmy's heart melted at the confession, not even knowing how to properly respond except inching closer and pull Lip in for a kiss, not even caring about the smoke still burning in his lungs. He coughed as they pulled apart, laughing at his impatience and Lip laughed with him.

Their laughter was cut short by Lip leaning in again and happily kissing his boyfriend again. The cigarette butt long burned out and tossed aside as Carmy grabbed Lip by the shirt and pulled his properly agsinst his as he leant back against the windowsill. "Who's business is it anyways that we're not entirely straight. We have a happy, healthy relationship. We love each orher and that's all that matters."

Bonus:

They were so lost in each other they didn't notice you walk into the kitchen and only pulled apart at the sound of your phone's camera shutter going off and your soft sniffles from across the room "I'm really glad you two finally talked."

#sometimes i write #carmen berzatto #lip gallagher #carmy berzatto #gallzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #lip gallagher x reader #the bear #shameless

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 9 months

Note

I won't call it toxic but I'd definitely call it incompatible, like they would break up after two months of properly dating. Because they barely know each other and one person already feels suffocated by the other. I am glad the book was written with so much care, regarding Henry's depression, them balancing each other out and knowing each other thoroughly, Alex's respect for Henry's agency (in the book there are multiple lines about Alex passing over the charge to Henry because he knows Henry is the one with an unsupportive family, in the movie they just threw those dramatic lines but did NOTHING about them. In the book Alex's first development after their fight is, "it's time he realises, he should start accepting only what Henry can give him"). This Alex would never confirm their relationship without talking to Henry first ("It drives me nuts how little say you have in your own life").

No yeah it’s definitely not toxic I would say more fast. Rushed.

‘I wish you could see me for who I am and not who you want me to be’. I think Alex sees the best of Henry, all the good parts, and he ignores the bad ones (different to book! Alex who sees and loves all of them) while Henry does the opposite, sees all the bad ones and ignores all the good ones. That’s where they clash.

My mind just had a thought and it’s than their relationship in the movie is similar to Chloe and Shara’s relationship in I Kissed Shara Wheeler. Fast, rushed, they don’t even know each other they just jumped to dating. While what I said above doesn’t really apply to them (good/bad traits), they do jumped to dating without even properly knowing each other. Call me a romantic, but why would you date someone you don’t truly know? Just cause you’re attracted to them? I have a huge crush on this girl who I have known for years, and while sure I don’t know her deeply, I do know her. I know her shitty parents and insecurities and how she reads comics but doesn’t read books (which is something hard to look past to me) and yet I love her, with all that, not despite it.

The Christmas phone call being missing really upsets me (and the complete erasure of Alex as character too) because the phone call goes hand in hand with Alex saying than ‘he didn’t filter himself around Henry since he didn’t care what Henry thought of him’. And these bring me to probably one of my favorite parts of the book:

But Nora makes friends, and Alex ends up with acquaintances who think they know him because they’ve read his profile in New York Magazine, and perfectly fine people with perfectly fine bodies who want to take him home from the bar. None of it is satisfying—it never has been, not really, but it never mattered as much as it does now that there’s the sharp counterpoint of Henry, who knows him. Henry who’s seen him in glasses and tolerates him at his most annoying and still kissed him like he wanted him, singularly, not the idea of him.

(Fun fact, I can quote that whole paragraph by memory)

Does Henry know Alex when he kissed him on New Years? I don’t think so (mostly because there is nothing to know, he’s a one dimensional character)

You basically said everything so I’m adding little things

I haven’t seen anyone mention this but why does Zahra wait until after the speech, weeks and weeks (probably idk) to give Alex a way to communicate with Henry?

It was like she wasn’t even trying to help him/comfort him, just get him to shut up. Zahra might not openly show her feelings most of the times, but she cares, she finds solutions to help and genuinely cares. Idk it didn’t sit well with me, specially because of how easy it was?

They also erased almost every romantic line of the e-mails and that hurts me deeply.

I should have ghostwritten the script I get the characters more than Casey does at this point

#yes I firmly believe I could have managed to fit the whole book in just a two hour long movie #blame my homosexual audacity idk #rwrb #casey mcquiston #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #red white & royal blue #rwrb movie

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storiumemporium · 2 years

Text

Once More, With Desperation

Eddie Munson/Fem!Hargrove!Reader

Chapter 1

Series Summary — Spoilers for Vol 2 of Stranger Things! The world has become a numb abyss since the loss of every single person you ever loved, who ever loved you. Purpose has slipped away like smoke pluming from a burning building, and you simply drift, clinging to the hope that your sister will wake up someday, and that you can be there for her when it happens. But in the midst of your rising depression, a new light shines in the darkness- a simple memory, the Upside Down does not obey the laws of time. You'll save them all, no matter what, no cost is too high.

IT'S OUT, IT'S FINALLY OUT! Chapter one of the relentless agony that is my S4-VOL 2 Didn't Happen fix-it-fic.

Enjoy!

Series Tags — Angst oh my God so much angst, no seriously this fic is really painful do Not read this for immediate fluff, happy (bittersweet?) ending, some tooth rotting fluff sprinkled throughout, violence

Chapter Word Count — 10.5k (jesus fuck) Chapter Tags — This is literally nothing but angst, there's nothing happy here really, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, shitty parents and the such, I repeat, SPOILERS, Major Character Death

The world is made and broken by the people within it, from the smallest town to the largest city- it’s the contents within that define it.

Because people don’t survive without people. Families, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, even rivals and enemies. Ones’ entire life is defined by those that surround them, their joys made brighter by the people who celebrate with them, and their sorrows felt deeper by those that share their grief.

So, what does one become when they have no one?

All alone in the world, unmoored and unknown. Are you still a person?

Would you ever be a person again, after this?

Once upon a time you were whole, an innocent with a concept of nothing but sunlight and ocean lapping at your youthful ankles. Of learning to surf for the first time. Blonde hair and sundresses, seven foot waves.

You lost the first piece of yourself to the back of a hand- a father too brutal, whose cruelty knew few bounds, even fewer still when it came to your brother.

The second piece left with your mother, who spared you nothing more than a phone call and a half-assed apology.

The third went with your brothers’ innocence. Poor sweet Billy, how the rage had claimed him the way it did your father- Neil. Your twin had gone so far from you, had been warped by his need to survive. You knew somewhere deep inside, that sweet boy still lived- but sometimes it was so very hard to see. Clouded by recklessness and aggression- push everyone else before they could push you.

Whittled to the bone, worn down like stone to sand, you had learned complacence and quietness, the art of being meek and quiet and obedient. If you never said anything, if you never disagreed- even when it hurt- then you wouldn’t be the target. You would be safe.

But… then something wonderful and all at once horrifying happened.

Neil re-married.

And you met Maxine.

Young and stubborn and bright- your new baby sister. You knew from the moment you’d laid eyes on her- you’d do everything to protect that, to protect her. She would be different, she would not become another Hargrove, another beaten broken battered thing filled with hate and fear.

Max gave you a new sense of purpose, a reason to struggle again- because for every mile you fought was another inch you could give to her. An argument that left you with a black eye- but earned you a drivers license so that you could take Max out to the skatepark, watch her learn a new trick while you nursed your cuts and covered your bruises in makeup.

Life began to change so fast after that- a whole new town and a whole new identity to build. Hawkins Indiana. What a quaint little place after only ever knowing the starlit scream of California.

But… it was wonderful. Mostly.

Billy hated it, Billy hated change- unpredictability, it meant Neil was unpredictable. For a similar reason, Billy ‘hated’ Max. She was a new variable that he couldn’t control- and the tighter he tried to squeeze, the more Max thrashed.

But in the quiet, when it was just you and your twin, he would admit the things to you he couldn’t anybody else, even himself. He liked Max, loved her even, and Hawkins wasn’t all bad, the forests were nice at night.

If only he’d gotten to tell her that.

You met Eddie Munson the very first week you’d stepped into Hawkins High, California was always churning new personalities and Eddie Munson dressed like he’d been cut from the same silken cloth. But Eddie didn’t like being put into a box, and his personality certainly held testament to that.

Some girl by the name of Pamela Maisey had forcibly taken to chauffeuring you around school, stringy pencil like fingers finding permanent purchase against your denim-clad arm. She was a decently pretty girl with a beauty mark right above the left corner of her lip, entrancing you as it wiggled with her animated conversation. Her dark black hair was done up in a ponytail with three separate scrunchies in a green-orange-green pattern that practically vomited Hawkins’ pride, skirt clad and wearing a coveted varsity jacket with the name of what you assumed was one of the basketball players of the school.

You knew what this was, of course- she couldn’t have given less of a shit about you, which is why she didn’t even stop to let you speak those few days you’d known each other. She was a vulture, and the moment she’d smelled easy popularity oozing out of the pores of the ‘new girl from California,’ she’d clung to you like flies on shit. You had known it with every girly flick of her head, perfume and hair products assaulting your nostrils each pass. She’d have tossed you aside the moment she’d cleaned your bones.

And by that, you meant the moment she got to jump Billy’s bones.

Billy had already taken up crown in Hawkins’ High, effortlessly displacing Steve whom you hadn’t known at the time. With that came attention, all of the attention, just the way Billy liked it. You hated it, if only because it meant things like Pamela kept happening to you.

You remember being ushered into the cafeteria by Pamela, she was spinning you around every which way to point out all the best cliques and popular tables to be at, weaving you around so fast you could barely even wave at the tables you were passing by.

By the end of it, she’d just… left you there in the middle of the cafeteria, with no real idea where you were, feeling very lost and very alone. Billy wouldn’t want his baby sister hanging around him at school after all, and Max would be no more eager at that intrusion.

And then… Eddie happened.

You supposed that “lost little sheepies” sense he’d always had came to light, his fingers coming to awkwardly and gently tap you on the shoulder, and when you turned he was already smiling with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hi there, uh…” That hair, shorter then than it would come to be, danced around his face airy and light as a feather. His head twitched around from side to side, pleasant brown eyes flitted across faces and groups, as if he were trying to sort you into a category before he’d even heard your voice. He’d looked back to you out of the corner of his eye. “You seem like you need a humble assistant.”

“Just lookin’ for a place to sit, I guess.”

His smile grew, and it had felt at the time like you’d just signed away your soul to the devil. A decision you’d never once come to regret, even when you lost him.

Eddie became your person almost immediately following that day. When he’d learned that you were the sister of the most popular guy in school but still wanted to hang out with him, when you clenched your jaw at the jeers of others, and even partook in his interests just because he was interested in them, he’d known in that moment you were too special to give up and he’d clung on as tightly as he could. He’d irrevocably tied himself to you in a way you’d never let anyone or anything take away. You ate at the same table, took the same classes. Eddie’s midnight haunts became yours, Eddie’s secrets became yours, and vice versa, the two of you were a matched set.

Even when Billy had tried to take control, tried to scare him away from you when you wouldn’t scare away from him, all it’d done is draw the two of you forever closer.

“Why the hell does he feel the need to control you so much?” Eddie’s sitting on the couch, legs kicked up and worn converse smearing against Wayne’s coffee table with a cigarette in his hand, you two were close, and you knew of his less-than-legal hobbies, but Eddie had gotten a perception of purity about you and felt dirty smoking pot or dealing drugs with you anywhere nearby.

You’d sighed and sagged further into the cushions, wiggling in your war to get the broken springs to fuck off as you tried to relax with your head in Eddie’s lap. “It’s not…”

You chewed your lip. “It’s complicated, Eddie.”

That blank, incredulous face made your cheeks heat up. “Really! It is.”

“Well I’ve got nothing but time, Highness.”

He could see you wanting to back out, but the actual distress he could see present on your face had him gently jostling your head in his lap. “No- no thinking about it, just tell me.”

You stare into his eyes, pretty and sweet, and consider that you haven’t actually known Eddie that long- he could do anything with the information you’re about to give him.

But Eddie Munson wasn’t like that, despite having every reason to be bitter and cruel he was the sweetest man you’d met, inside Hawkins and out, and did everything he could to earn your trust and comfort.

You take a heavy breath. “Billy’s just…

Trying to look out for me, Eddie. I don’t think he could give, like, less of a shit about you if I’m honest, and that’s not necessarily a compliment. You’re just- nothing to him.” You shrug, and look away from Eddie as his brows furrow, partially insulted but mostly confused.

“Neil isn’t-” you swallow a thick lump in your throat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie whose hands twitch where they rest, he’s a tactile person, but he knows you’re not and he’s afraid of trying to break down that boundary so soon. He’s just gotten you to a place where you were comfortable putting your hands on him, let alone if he abruptly tried the other way around. “Neil… is not a nice man, Eddie. He uh- look- basically, Billy makes himself scary so I don’t have to deal with the one that’s actually scary, which is our old man. Billy doesn’t hate you, but Neil would, and Billy knows I wouldn’t cut ties with you just because my dad says it, so…”

“So he’s trying to fix it before it becomes a problem?” You look at Eddie, and there’s a gravity to his gaze that is utterly unbecoming of his sweet and boyish face. You decide you hate Eddie when he’s serious, you want him to never have to stress about anything in his life- if only so that beautiful smile never leaves its place.

“Yeah… something like that. I’m sorry he keeps giving you such shit, though. You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“You either, Highness.”

Salt and pepper, Batman and Robin as Dustin would come to say.

(Eddie wouldn’t admit it, but everyone knew he was Robin.)

And when Billy died, Eddie was the one that kept you together.

A hell of a strain for a fledgling relationship, but if Eddie was ever upset at how you’d changed- never once did he show it, never once did he let you feel it.

Calling you every day, every night, never hesitating to pull you inside and hold you close when you’d show up at his trailer at 3am, exhausted and weepy with the memory of what you’d lost.

The one to visit you in the hospital after you stood up to Neil for the first and last time. To take care of your bandages and kiss your bruises after you got out. Who practically harassed the poor hospital staff with questions about your care- you suspect they didn’t mind, if the endeared smiles upon their lips were anything to go by.

It hurt to love someone so much and not be able to tell him the truth. Tell him what you’d seen.

But it didn’t matter- because it came for Eddie too in the end.

It came for Max in the end.

Everyone… it took everyone.

The only person left with any tie to who you once were was Susan. Who’d sunk so deeply into the bottle when you lost your sister that you couldn’t even call her a human being anymore. More like a husk living on the couch. You were the one paying the bills now, working the jobs, keeping things going just in case- just in case.

Why? You didn’t know why.

“Heya, Punkin’.”

The nickname tastes like ashes in this sterile hospital room, overhead a fluorescent light is flickering and it makes you grip the bars of her hospital bed tight enough to groan beneath your fists, the whole room is like that, pale and transient, people always coming and going- one way or another, coming and going. In a way, hospitals have reminded you of the Upside Down ever since you’d first tasted the frozen horror of that dimension. You’d tried to liven up the place a little, brought in some flowers and a few of Max’s things from back home, her skateboard sits in a corner and you’ve taped up some new posters she didn’t get to see, hoping she’d be excited about them when she opened her eyes again.

As it stands, Max has been in the same spot unmoving for days, marked only by the rise and fall of the unrelenting light of a Hawkins’ morning, disorienting against the frozen silhouette of your baby sisters body.

Casts on every limb and a brace that hugs her neck, so pale, even the pink flush of life that used to touch her cheekbones has gone, leaving her colorless and void aside the fiery mane of hair that always brought you joy to see, no matter what she’d decided to do with it on that given day.

It was hard to witness this, knowing Max Mayfield was a brilliant, driven, passionate girl. Stubborn and blunt and so damn clever. Always had something to say, something to feel, never could a comment get passed her without a retort that could light a fire under a grown mans’ ass. She was a powerhouse and destined for nothing but greatness at whatever she wanted in life.

She may not have been blood, but you were so damn proud of her.

Your baby sister.

The guilt of your unrelenting failure came to haunt you every time you were left alone- which was quite often these days.

It should have been me.

“M’gonna be graduating here in a couple days.” You force yourself into a tone that’s something like casual. Hands folding over themselves again and again in your lap, the dying refuse of your attempt at self-soothing. “I have… no idea what I’m going to do with myself, afterward.

I honestly— I spent so much time thinking of graduating with-” you start to sound whiny as you try to force through, “with Eddie that I- didn’t consider what was next. Y’know? Plus- plus I’d have you, y’know? I’d still be taking care of you. I’d never leave you.”

Sniffles, and fat wet tears that collect on your still-bruised hands. “You’d call me stupid for that, huh? Getting all caught up on boys and being a big sister instead of finding out what I want.”

The room is so fucking quiet.

“I want you to know-” voice reaching higher, breaking. “You saved us, you did- you did it.”

You’re nodding even though she wasn’t there to see it, not really, not anymore. “I’m so sorry- I should have been there, I was supposed to keep you safe. That’s what us big sisters do, right? We keep you little shits alive.

I’m sorry, I really take the gold for being the worst Goddamn sister in the world.”

Even more, still-sterile silence.

“Wish I could hear you call me Spice again, Punk.”

She never did get that stupid rhyme right, and by the time she was old enough to know, it just felt wrong to say it any other way.

“Wake up, Max. Please. I can’t— I’m not strong enough to do this alone. Eddie’s gone and- and- and Billy and everyone- everyone’s moving on and it’s just me, here, burning alive and so alone and I need you.

You’re so strong, spitfire. I know you can make it- please make it.”

But of course, there was no answer- there would be no answer. She was gone.

She was gone.

You nod once more to yourself, turning at an angle in your chair as you begin to rise, to leave for the day to wander as a phantom through the last standing vestiges of your own life.

“You uh… Tell Eddie hey for me when you see him again, sweetheart.”

When you leave her bedside, you leave the last piece of yourself behind.

Dusk in Hawkins was always beautiful, not in the sunny beaches-and-palm-trees way of your childhood, but in the glittering stars and the smell of pine. The trailer park loses a little of that, but the chill that rustles your jacket and whips up your hair drags some awareness back into your bones, brushing a bit of pink into the tops of your ears and against your nose. Wayne Munson’s trailer sits just across from your home, and every time you see it you remember the sight of that door swinging wide open, spread out arms and legs and theatrical proclamations of the arrival of royalty.

You remember arms that were strong, and leather and smoke, and cheap shampoo and conditioner. He always gave the best hugs, lifting you clean off the ground to dance you in a circle on his tiny front porch, squeezing you so tight that it’d stretch out the ache in your spine from hunching over a table all day. “Hello, my Lady of Lórien.”

You whisper into the damp air. “Hey, Teddy.”

The steps to your home creak forebodingly when you stomp on them, sending bits of dust and detritus puffing around your ankles and to the ground, storm door swings open, and after a moment of fumbling with your keys, warmth and the acrid smell of alcohol greets you. The trailer is dim, cozy even, but it provides no comfort when the only other person here was someone you could barely tolerate anymore- whom barely tolerated you herself.

Susan was unconscious again on the couch, half empty bottle laying on it’s side on the carpeted floor- that was going to stain. You didn’t even look at it when you picked it up, taking a hearty swig as you doused still-lit cigarettes and pulled the blinds. It was warm and tasted like shit, and you could guess it was likely some cheap gin she bought for the same reason you were stealing it off of her- anything to get drunk and forget.

You’re aware you’re making a great deal of noise as you go about unwinding the house for the night, stomping around on the squishy floor and slamming cabinets as you went scrounging for more of Susan’s ‘stash.’ You didn’t particularly care though, she was so piss-drunk she wouldn’t be waking up for awhile, and she’d be so hungover she’d just look for another bottle to fix it.

Besides, who was she to stop you? You were the reason she had a couch to waste away on, after all.

The door to your bedroom is scratched up and abused, a single hole about chest height has been patched over with pieces of paper and tape, and you hear those papers rustle slightly as you toss the door shut with a lingering agitation.

Your room is a warzone these days. The carpeted brown floor hasn’t been seen in a long time, instead you’ve elected to decorate it with dirty laundry and underwear, beer cans and takeout boxes and the scraps of homework you’d somehow managed to convince yourself to give a shit about between jobs. Once upon a time you were a neat freak with a level of organization Eddie had called neurotic. He’d even let you go through his things and organize all of it, splayed out on his bed with his guitar in hand, chatting animatedly about whatever campaign he was planning and how he was going to totally dick over his friends with this boss he has coming up.

You always noticed he’d intentionally muss it up later- just so you’d go back through and fix it for him again. Maybe he just wanted the extra time with you, maybe he liked the reminder that you cared.

There’s a few pairs of discarded jeans that made it onto your bed, they were technically dirty, but didn’t smell bad enough for you to be guilty about donning them a few more times before you forced yourself to actually be civil. You only even pay attention to the fact they exist at the moment because they start to dig uncomfortably into your back as you post yourself up against your bedroom wall, swirling the contents of Susan’s cheap gin around in it’s bottle. It’s disgustingly warm.

You plug your nose and go for it- not even stopping for the nausea that builds as you flood yourself with a cheap fix-it for your life.

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes- shot-gunning half a bottle of hard liquor will get you pretty fucked up in record time after all, the world is starting to fuzz out blissfully in a way you wished you could carry around in your pocket. Take a big breath of it every time you had to remember that everyone was gone and you were existing just because you couldn’t muster up the energy to put an end to it yet.

Your legs bounce and wiggle, your hands swing about idly, you hum to yourself- catching up sharply when a tune is too familiar, too painful and flipping it to something more mainstream, less Eddie. Another swig, burning and harsh, and drunken exhaustion mixes with regular exhaustion. You don’t even put the bottle down, don’t crawl under the covers, don’t even turn off the light, slumping away right where you sat.

Gray.

Flashing violent red, malicious and true.

Not again.

“I think it’s my year, babe. I think it’s finally my year.” His smile is crimson, and his tears are crystal. “M’gonna graduate.”

He’s splayed out on the concrete and in your lap, voice straining to rise above the ambient noise of hundreds of demented bats writhing and screeching as they die, but he isn’t being framed by the world, no, the world is being framed by him, by the blood smearing all over your hand as you cup and cradle his face, by the deep gurgling choke he makes as he struggles through his last minutes.

“Yeah- yeah honey…” Your lips press taut in the futile attempt to quell their trembling, Eddie is limp and heavy where he rests in your arms, and the heat that’s steadily pouring out of him still manages to be scalding against the unrelenting cold of the Upside Down. His life is ebbing away, soaking your denim wet and thick, and you know he doesn’t have long. “Tell you what… tell you what Eddie-bear… When we graduate I’m takin’ you to California, okay? You’re gonna hate it.”

You laugh, wet and warbling and choking at the edges. “Everyone is so Goddamn preppy there, chasing the newest trends all the time. They’re going to think you’re fuckin’ crazy, babe.

But the sea..? And the sand? And when you go north and see the redwood forests..? It’s magical. You have to see it, just once, just for me, okay?”

“Okay… S’long as you let me take you to a Black Sabbath concert.”

You nod your head aggressively, ignoring the painful throb from getting your head slammed into the pavement, and Dustin whimpers beside you. Though it feels impossible at this moment, in this nightmare, your heart manages to hurt even more at the soul-wrenching sound.

“I love you guys, so much…”

Dustin’s heartfelt response is a hoarse whisper beside you, and it takes everything you can to work your voice just one more time. “I love you too, Eddie Munson. I’ll see you in Cali.”

You press your mouth to his and suffocated within the pervasive tang of salt and metal, you feel more than hear the rattle of Eddie’s last breath.

You wake, and immediately throw up all over your dirty laundry on the floor.

You want to say that it’s just a result of drinking so much on an empty stomach after working all day- but Eddie’s lifeless eyes are still burnt into the backs of your eyelids, and you get queasy every time you let yourself still for even a second too long. It takes you longer than it probably should to regain your bearings, scooping up the even-more-soiled contents of your closet to finally put it in the washer.

Your door is slightly more ajar than you’d left it, and the bottle that was once in your hand is now gone. Something like anger but crooked stews in the pit of your gut, and you take your clean enough laundry to the shower, you could at least rinse off if nothing else.

You had to look like you weren’t giving up- like you hadn’t already given up. You were graduating tomorrow.

The whole room is a quiet drum of excitement and anticipation. For dozens this was the next stage of life, they were finally moving on into that big wide world- they would be adults, free and eager to pursue their dreams, to flee Hawkins, to finally write their own stories.

Eddie would have been one of those people. Billy would have too.

It was surreal and sort of numbing to be here, sort of just drifting through the crowd and allowing their motions to push and pull you across the floor. Everyone was dressed up in green and orange, smiles plastered wide, families tearing up and giving hugs, squeezing shoulders and cupping faces. So proud of you was a cacophony that ached in your soul.

Robin was easy enough to pick out from the rest, her gown and cap situated somewhat awkwardly on her frame as if she’d forgotten what she was doing halfway through, entirely likely considering who she was. You swallowed around the knot in your throat, willed the numbness to creep even higher as you slid in beside her. She was rambling wildly, her mother fussing at her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but I cannot walk mom, I am severely locomotively challenged- is that a word?- Okay that’s besides the point, what happens when I fall on stage, though? My last memory in this school will be ‘Robin Buckley, the girl who couldn’t walk across a wooden floor’ and I’m not sure I can survive that kind of humiliation.”

Robin’s hands are shaking around wildly, thumbs rubbing repetitively over the skin of her knuckles as she rants about the impending disaster she’s so certain will come. You feel a fondness rise for your friend, managing to crack a tired smile as you grow close enough for her to actually notice you.

“Hargrove! Listen, you have to get my diploma for me, I cannot-”

“Robin, I’m not doing that.”

Immediate disappointment, you know she’s about to utilize the puppy eyes. But before she gets her chance, you cut her off. “Hold my arm.”

“What?”

“Hold my arm. I’ll help you keep steady when we go up there.”

“And what happens in the very likely event that I fall over and just drag you with me?”

You link your arm with hers and squeeze. “Then we’ll be ‘the girls that couldn’t walk across a wooden floor.”

Everything is beginning to ramp up, and gently you start to tug her toward the stage. You wanted to help her, but in truth she was helping you too. You were terrified to take this step, because it was the first real step to saying goodbye to Eddie.

The first milestone you wouldn’t be moving across with him, the first time you wouldn’t get to celebrate together.

You squeeze Robin’s arm and she squeezes back, still muttering something nervously underneath her breath as you file in. You can feel her tense up, the stairs are right there. “C’mon, we got this Buckley. One step at a time.”

“That was a terrible joke and you should feel ashamed.”

“Who says I was joking?” You muster up a quiet laugh, and then the two of you are ascending the steps. Robin has your arm gripped so tightly you’re sure to find bruises in the morning, muttering all the while about losing all of her social credit if she screws up now.

You finally make it to flat ground, and are about to lean into Robin to whisper about how you knew she could do it, but the sight of someone among the graduates on stage saps all of the life and warmth and blood out of you. Your ability to see straight immediately impaired, your logic a candle blown out by the wind.

Jason Carver.

It turns the whole world sideways to see him standing there, mostly recovered, that stupid plastic smile on his face. Fuck you, fuck you fuck you fuck you—

Robin tugs at you gently, and when you turn to look at her you can see the concern and perhaps alarm in her eyes, you’d seized up like an ambush predator about to rip into something wildly, and she’d followed your gaze to the man that witch-hunted your wonderful Eddie until the day he died.

“C’mon, let’s get into line okay?” You didn’t miss the way Robin’s voice dipped down at the end of her sentence, softening with the intent to placate you- whether it was to keep you from attacking Jason, or from breaking down, you didn’t know. She smiled supportively, and when that hand squeezed your arm again it was comforting rather than afraid.

You kept your focus squarely on Robin and the Principle, but even with that and the sea of eyes staring out at all of you it was nauseating to be within his presence again- to know that he got to live on, to move on and be happy and get a bunch of cheap fucking accolades after what he’s done to Eddie, what he’s done to Max. You squeeze Robin back, working your jaw as you study the unique shapes of her face, her nose, the flattering cut of her hair. You’re trying hard to remember to be happy, and you’re happy for her, but it’s impossible to completely quell the white out rage at how unfair this all was.

Eddie should be here, he should fucking be here.

Names are called and diplomas received, cheers and tears and all the merriment of a celebratory day. It’s drawing closer and closer to you, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes you breathe hard. Robin goes before you, and you can see the anxious tension wrapping around her- but it’s not for herself, it’s for you and the overwhelming likelihood you were about to do something drastic.

You can do this, be calm, be reasonable, don’t screw this up.

But it’s being passed into your hands, papery smooth and cheap for all it was meant to represent, and the ghost of Eddie is stepping in time with you.

You turn, smile bright into the lights, and give your principle and teachers a single, shining finger.

The gasps have just barely begun to sound at your blatant insult and you’re already taking off as fast as you can, tearing your cap and gown away with such enthusiasm that they don’t touch the floor before you’ve slammed through the doors that lead into the rest of the empty school. You’re running, running and with each press of your foot into the ground it reverberates up you body, springs you forward just a little bit faster.

You’re laughing, laughing, hysterical and you can hear Eddie’s woops and hollers and ‘You actually did it! You madwoman! I knew you had it in ya!’

You’re almost out of the school, never bothering to look back, and with each step Eddie’s grows fainter, more ephemeral. By the time you burst out of the front doors, laughter has turned to full, choking, breath stealing sobs- and now you’re no longer running with Eddie, but away from every memory turned sour.

You don’t know where you’re going, can’t really see through the tears, so you just go. Straight across the street and directly into the forest, going and going until your lungs burn and you’re far enough away from the school you no longer can hear the sounds of life. You’re aching from the hips down but it’s a good sort of pain, it’s the kind that makes the pain in your head and heart feel a little less overwhelming.

You don’t know when you stop running away and start walking just to walk, letting the beautiful placidity of nature flit up around you. Even when you were falling apart, trees would continue to sway in the wind, birds would keep chirping, and deer would still graze.

In the distance you can see a breakage in the tree line, and after a good ten minutes of staggered walking you find yourself at the edge of a familiar cliff- a quarry that had been used in the ultimately futile attempt to keep Joyce Byers from finding her son.

It’s so… distant, out here. Like there wouldn’t be consequences for a single thing you did. Like a world didn’t exist outside of that watery abyss below.

You scream.

It’s bloodcurdling, and so harsh that it rips up your throat, your chest burns. You suck in a breath as sharply as you can, choking on a cough- and scream once more.

You can’t hear anything anymore, deafened by your own heartbeat and the ringing in your ears. Your hand rests over your mouth after the second time, and you double over like you need to vomit the rest of the sounds out. Nothing comes, so you just pant into your skin and allow the chills to pass.

When you right yourself, all you feel is a bone deep exhaustion, you want to go home. You didn’t even know if the prior desire to drink yourself into a stupor remained, seemingly cleared out by everything else that had run through you for the past half hour. Instead you just wanted to put on one of Eddie’s old shirts and rest. Not just sleep, but to actually be rid of the weariness for once. What you’d give for that is indescribable.

You want to be rid of this stupid diploma as well, the meaning of it bleak and shallow when you’d already experienced more in your short life than most ever would their entire lives. The only thing that kept it stuck to your hand was the weight it held for Eddie when he was still alive.

You wonder if he’d visit your dreams again tonight, you hoped that they would be pleasant for once- please- but you held no hope for that, really. If anything it would be sharper than it had in many days, brought to a head by your emotional and literal fatigue.

You’re already on your way home, following the roads instead of the dense forest, and a bit of frustration peaks at your own dramatics. Really had to run away instead of driving the car huh?

The velvet darkness of night is in full swing by the time you reach the trailer park from the quarry, your legs burning and sore from the sudden bouts of exertion you’d decided upon- not at all aided by the jog you’d taken up about halfway home when you realized just how fucked you’d actually made yourself by not driving like a reasonable person.

It has you limping slightly, and when you finally see your home you plant your sweaty hands on your knees. You resent the thought of what you’ll find inside, knowing Susan was probably stealing your original plan for the night and that the moment you stepped inside the beautiful apathy that had found its way to you would be shot down by recurring anger. Was it fair, to be angry? Perhaps not, no. But it didn’t prevent it from lingering there like a plague.

However, to your benefit and unrelenting agony, Wayne Munson was sitting at the table outside his trailer fixing you with the full and unbridled weight of his heavy eyes. When you straighten up it’s with a little more stiffness than should be there, a breath caged at the bottoms of your lungs.

You brace yourself for the conversation coming.

You’d stopped crying a long time ago, but the bright puffy red around your eyes and the wetness in your chest had not vanished and likely wouldn’t until you’d let exhaustion claim you. It was apparent that Wayne himself had not missed your state of distress, his unkempt brows drawing in concern as you approached.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

“Hello, Mr. Munson.”

Once upon a time he’d told you to call him Wayne, once upon a time you had. But now it brought a sharp pain to your chest to speak with such familiarity, and so you’d separated yourself as you bled from your heart. You take your seat at the bench timidly, knees drawn together and diploma discarded. You refrain from a relieved sigh when the strain finally leaves your legs for the first time in hours.

There’s a certain degree of formality and conduct you inflict upon yourself the few rare times Wayne drifts into your life. Because yes, you loved Eddie, and losing him had destroyed you- but Wayne Munson had, for all intents and purposes raised Eddie and loved him as his own, and that was a type of pain you doubted you’d ever be able to fully comprehend. It felt wrong to act like some downtrodden tragedy in his presence, especially when the blame for his death fell squarely on your own shoulders.

Despite this, Wayne never looks at you with anything more than fondness and shared sorrow.

The quiet is a bit comforting, content to let it linger as Wayne takes his time gathering his thoughts. You’ve none to give yourself, the fibers of your mind whittled away by everything that had happened, today and not. Another cigarette finds it’s way into Wayne’s hands even though you can smell the lingering burn of the one he’d likely just finished as you stepped into the threshold of the trailer park.

The lighter flickers, and you recognize the skull pattern on it’s silver facade, smoke begins to curl into the twinkling stars. You nervously tug at your unkempt clothes, feeble gaze studying with reinforced interest the splintered surface of the table.

“I meant to call… congratulate ya,” he finally finds his voice to say. “Big day, whole world ahead of you.”

You smile a little bashfully, and with a slew of other emotions that turn your face into a grimace as you shoot your eyes back down to your fidgeting hands. “Thank you… I uh- I almost didn’t go.”

Wayne didn’t need to ask, and didn’t. He knew what would stop you, even if it was a blatant case of self-sabotage. “It’s good that you went. It’s what he would have wanted.”

Wayne makes a little gesture of the brow. “Speaking of, I have some… things of Eddie’s I want you to take.”

His voice is a little raw on Eddie’s name, and your eyes shoot up belatedly when it registers just what he’s saying. “Mr. Munson- I-I- can’t do that, his stuff belongs with you, Eddie was your nephew.”

“And I genuinely believe,” he begins to shift in his seat, throwing one leg over the bench. “That one day you would’ve been his wife. So I’m giving it to you, ‘cause it’s also what he would’ve wanted.”

Wayne stands before you can protest and crosses into forbidden territory, an invisible threshold you know you could physically never dare to cross ever again. The trailer. It was funny, you’d spent more days and weekends there than you could count anymore, and now the very thought of touching even that front door is enough to have you unwinding at the edges. It catches you helplessly and keeps you rooted to the bench.

He’s speaking as he steps back through the door, and the objects clasped in his hands are so familiar you want to moan with agony. You feel shot.

“I know you’ll take care of ‘em, and that’s all I ask.”

Set in front of you is a box of thick, chunky silver rings, and an immaculate electric guitar.

“You know well as I that these were his pride n’joy, nothing else on this I can think of Earth he’d fight tooth and nail for. So it’s only fitting it goes with the girl he’d do the same for.”

Wayne can hear your rattling exhale as your fingertips trace the very outline of the guitar, watches the haggard way you pull it close and tuck it into your lap, curl around it like it’s a child you need to protect from the elements. He’s been watching you for some time, since that Henderson boy informed him of Eddie’s passing, knowing full well the two of you were virtually never apart from the moment you met.

He hoped above all else that someone else was noticing how unwell you clearly still were.

Wayne would not be ashamed to say he had been taken in by your charm fast when you first met. The polite Mr. Munson and the soft, warm way you’d talk about his nephew anytime the two of you were alone. Usually when you were waiting for Eddie to come back from whatever he’d been getting himself into. Wayne had watched the two of you knit yourselves together, and the way you’d suffused your personalities.

He watched leather and metal creep into your style with fond amusement, and he’d watched Eddie come crawling out of the hole he’d hid himself in for years with absolute joy. Wayne didn’t need to see the future to know he’d be calling you Niece someday likely soon, and had been fully anticipating the happy conclusion of your stories.

So the way the life had bled out of you was obvious, the dullness to the hair and eyes, the loss of weight, of will. You were clinging on by tatters and Wayne feared that you wouldn’t find a way back up.

Maybe there was a bit of selfishness in him wanting to give you Eddie’s prized belongings- just so that he wouldn’t have to look at them anymore, but never worry about what state they were in. But… perhaps it would be the last thing to keep you alive when all else failed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and when your fingertips traced the silver chords you could picture Eddie right there with you, his gentle encouragements and genuine excitement when you’d get something right. “I- I don’t know what to say…”

Wayne as always takes his time to respond, tired eyes stare off into the trees, but you know it’s not what he’s seeing.

“Eddie… Eddie was strugglin’ when he first came to me, all those years ago. Yknow that?”

He’d mentioned it briefly, but Eddie had always been prone to changing the subject, dismissing his own struggles with ‘my old man was hardly a Neil Hargrove, just a snake.’ You nod, though there’s a lingering guilt at being so eager to find out more. Perhaps you just wanted something new- because if you had something new, it was a tiny fraction of a moment that he was alive again.

“His father didn’t just treat him poorly, he used Eddie. Kid was learnin’ to pick locks before he ever understood his father was settin’ him up to take the fall. Kid couldn’t ride a bike but he could hotwire a car.” Wayne’s head shook, disappointment and anger written in the way his jaw worked aggressively. “His mother didn’t give a shit about him, he was an alcohol induced mistake as far as she was concerned. So in the end, Eddie was alone.

When I finally got my hands on him- and that wasn’t easy- he was beyond lost. He didn’t know who to be, or how to be. I was terrified I’d lose him to his fathers ways, if only because that was all Eddie knew. So when that boy took a shine for guitar? For- for that board game and whatever music he liked to listen to? It was a blessin’. He was becoming someone, himself, and I knew he’d be okay.”

The heavy weight of Wayne’s gaze returns to you. “I’d been so excited for him to just be alright, I never considered how it’d be to see him thrive. And when he was with you? He was. Eddie talked about you every chance he got, anythin’ that reminded him of you and to anyone who would listen- mostly me.

Eddie never dreamed of the future- of becomin’ a rockstar or meetin’ his heroes, sure. But I’d never heard him talk about pursuin’ jobs or lookin’ at houses to buy until you gave him the time of day. So thank you, sweet girl, for makin’ him so happy that he actually wanted to meet his future. I just wish he’d have gotten the chance to see it for himself.”

The tears are heavy down your face, you’d stopped looking at Wayne and were gripping the box of his rings tight enough to make your knuckles and the ends of your fingers turn white. You’d grabbed it in the fear of damaging his guitar, but it only hurt worse when you could feel the rattle of the rings that hadn’t been left behind.

You two sit there in silence for a long time, cradled in the gentle sounds of life continuing on.

You don’t know how long you stand outside Dustin Henderson’s front door. Probably only minutes, but it feels closer to hours. You’ve had Eddie’s rings and guitar for a handful of days now, his prized instrument the first and last thing you see every day, and much like the metalhead himself you tell it good morning and goodnight. In your case however, it’s meant for someone else, someone you hope is listening.

In the end, you couldn’t bear to keep all of his jewelry, you loved his rings but could hardly wear any of them, and something about them sitting unused in your room had felt disrespectful- so you did the only thing you could. You gave them to the one person in the whole world you could think of that would deserve them.

The first time you knock on the door is quiet, hesitant as you will yourself to go through with this. It had been enough time since… since, but that didn’t mean much. You yourself were still bound to the crushing depths of grief, and with that came sore spots and sensitivities you couldn’t so easily relinquish just because another had good intentions with whatever was said or done. Would it be cruel of you, to do this to Dustin?

The second time you knock is harder, and that time you get a polite “just a minute!” from who you can only assume is Dustin’s mother, the door swinging open to reveal the pleasant woman in question. She has a cat dancing around her ankles, and she greets you cheerily as she ushers you inside, fond familiarity after so many times picking up and dropping off her son. “He’s in his room, dear.”

You can hear the chattering and activity of Dustin within his room as you amble toward his door, muttering madly to himself- or perhaps Suzie- and throwing things about, there are errant words about grades and upcoming tests, and you suspect he’s cheating again. Or at least, that’s the best you could discern without seeing him. You’re standing close enough to hear him clearly, hand lowering and raising a few times, before you stretch your index finger, tapping your nail against the sliding door.

“Hold on! I’m—”

“Dustin.”

With a single word he’s gone deafeningly silent.

The door slides open and Dustin is staring at you with something like guilt and burning severity. You two haven’t talked the way you used to since… since everything went wrong. It was usually reserved for quiet nights of white hot shame and anguish, needing the only other person in the entire world that could understand the exact brand of pain bubbling and blistering on your heart.

It was hard- in daylight- to even look at each other without the feelings crawling back up. A frog in your throat choking out all pretense of being okay and normal and, perhaps most heinously, that either of you were ready to try and move on.

“Uh… Hey, didn’t- didn’t expect to see you…at all.” His hand comes up behind his head, scratching at the curled nape of his neck nervously as he takes you in. You’re faring no better at the moment than he is, fidgeting here and there and looking everywhere but in Dustin’s eyes. He’s not surprised by it, he remembers watching you the moment Eddie’s struggle had ended. You weren’t exactly liable to be a social butterfly anymore. “Are you okay? Needing to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah… M’okay, sorry for dropping by uninvited, I just-”

Your chin dropped to your chest with coiling frustration, talking to Dustin didn’t used to be so hard- he was one of those kids that you could pull up any hypothetical in the world, and he’d call you an idiot but never once make you feel stupid. Mostly because he’d explain the obvious right way, rather than dismissing you outright.

Now it seemed like the only time you could speak without struggle was when all the horrors wanted to come spilling out without relent.

“Wayne talked to me… a few days ago. He gave me some stuff…”

You fish in your pockets with trembling fingers, and when you present your open palms to Dustin, the remainder of Eddie’s rings sit there glittering at him.

“I want you to have these. Most of them are too big, but it feels wrong to just have them sitting there, so…”

You can see Dustin’s chin wobbling as you gently settle the sterling fragments of Eddie’s life into his hands. He rolls them around in his hands for a moment, and with a shaking breath he puts on as many as he can- some of them are a bit too big still, but he’d grow into them, Eddie had given him the chance to do so after all. Those are immediately put on Dustin’s desk, right beneath a light where they could be on display, a show of his great pride in having known and been brothers with the Freak of Hawkins’ High.

“We shouldn’t have left him,” Dustin’s voice is a tragic whisper in his lively bedroom. “We should’ve found a way.”

“I know.”

“All I can see is his face just… Staring at us. And him just- laying there while we ran.”

You and Dustin both have gone ‘round this in circles more times than you could care to count anymore, this unrelenting tide of guilt that usually ended in tears over the phone- or perhaps even in each others arms. You didn’t talk very often anymore, but you didn’t need to talk to pick him up at two in the morning and sit together in the silence. A ratty red booth seat with a head laying on a shoulder, and a sweet milkshake that tastes like vinegar when laced with sorrow.

“Dustin, there was nothing we could do. It- it was hard enough for us to haul ourselves up that rope, we never would have been able to get Eddie through.”

Dustin makes a little micro-expression that stinks of denial, but you don’t hold it against him even as you cross your arms, you’d been in his position enough times to know he wasn’t blaming you, just himself. Eddie’s best friend and he couldn’t even save him when it counted most.

“Y’know…” you begin slowly, a little smile curling at the edges of your face. “Eddie would be so excited to see you wearing his rings.”

Dustin’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You think?”

“Ohhhh yeah…” You nod, puckering your lips as you step a little closer. “Eddie was… God he adored you, Dustin. He loved all you kids- his sheepies- but you were something special to him. I think he thought of you as a brother, really. Anytime he’d talk about Hellfire it’d always circle back around to you, something you’d said or done- what you were wearing, what you’d said about what someone else was wearing.

He was over the moon every time you liked something he liked, or took his side on… anything really. I think he’d have lost his mind if he ever got to see you wearing his stuff.”

It dragged a little lightness into Dustin, his smile widening as he toyed with the accessories encircling his fingers. He’d always looked up to Eddie a little bit, not that he’d given a shit about how cool Eddie was or wasn’t, Dustin had already broken into secret Russian labs to fight off sapient flesh monsters made out of hundreds of dead people. But Eddie had turned himself into an impenetrable shield for the rest of the weirdos in Highschool that weren’t so impervious to the opinions of their peers.

“I think he’d be scared.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… At this rate I’m gonna dress better than he did.”

You laughed gently, and after an affectionate pause you reached out to grab Dustin’s shoulder with a quiet ‘c’mere’ and crushing him into a hug. It was hard to let go.

With a final squeeze however, you forced yourself apart and rubbed at your face with the palms of your hands. “Okay… Okay. I’ve gotta go, work is in an hour and I really don’t need to survive the Upside Down just to be eaten by a fifty-three year old woman with a draconian understanding of how coffee works.”

“Alright,” Dustin’s hand shot up to point at you, brows raising playfully. “If you need a rescue, you know how to contact me. I’ll stage a coup and everything.”

When you stepped out the door of Dustin Henderson’s house, you felt just a touch lighter than you had going in. Like those rings had been weighing you down- but more. Like they’d been snares, trapping up some of the inky black that stirred in the waters of your soul, and when you’d gifted them it’d taken all that ink with.

There was a guilt in it, but reprieve as well- you knew Eddie would be happy to see that tiny smile that touched your lips for the first time in weeks, and that it was sincere for once.

“Are you… fucking kidding me.”

How did you manage to lose something that you really shouldn’t be losing in a place as small as this.

A Smith & Wesson that apparently she’d brandished on Steve once upon a time, gifted to you by none other than Nancy Wheeler after the second time everything went to hell and Billy died. It was still loaded, and now you couldn’t fucking find the thing. Nervousness was beginning to turn to panic, knowing full well that Susan wasn’t faring the best these days.

Some stupid argument you’d had the weekend prior. You couldn’t even remember what for- just that you’d been angry enough to storm out, and when you’d come back the car had been gone. The sourness only worsening at the sight of empty cans of beer where there hadn’t been when you took off.

You’d already checked through your whole disastrous bedroom half a dozen times by now, each pass carrying you from bargaining, ‘I probably am just not seeing it.’ To outright panic. It had to be here, you couldn’t afford any other option. Eventually your hunt bled out into the rest of the small space, checking cabinets and drawers for where you might have accidentally misplaced it.

You eventually found yourself even in Max’s room, kept pristine like some sacred space that could be contaminated by the slightest disturbance. You tried your best to keep things immaculate, but it was hard when your hands were trembling. It was bad enough you hadn’t been there for your sister, you really didn’t need to be the one to accidentally give her mom an easy way to check out.

“C’mon shithead, show yourself.” You’re looking in nooks and crannies now, places neither you nor any rational human would ever have put the weapon, either side of the fridge, in the hampers, beneath the sink- maybe Susan had found it and just moved it elsewhere one day for… whatever reason she’d do that. It didn’t matter why, it just needed to not be with Susan.

You’ve exhausted all your other unusual options, so now you’re on your knees in the living room and have your fingers jammed up underneath the couch, wishing you’d brought a flashlight to just look. Your fingers suddenly come into contact with a heavy and familiar hilt and relief is like soothing warm water on your hair. It’s a struggle to get a grip on it with so little leeway beneath the piece of furniture, but you manage to hook it on your pinkie and drag it into the blessed light.

The thing was meant for self defense, but had become more of a memento.

“Hawkins is dangerous, but… I’m sure you got that memo already.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t captivated by Nancy Wheeler’s beautiful coy smile. She’d always had that about her, the ability to look so sweet even as she did things like lay a revolver in your hands and tell you that you were in constant peril.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Your own smile is bashful. “Thank you, Nancy. I appreciate this. I know Max likes to act like she’s invincible but—”

“They’re not, I know.” Nancy rolls her eyes playfully as she leans up against the exterior wall of her two story home, a pretty thing that oozes suburban charm you wish you could wrap yourself up in. “Mike thinks he could singlehandedly take down the US Government sometimes.”

“I mean…” you nudge her with your hip. “You kinda did exactly that, Miss Wheeler.”

You’d loved the way she’d laughed, the sound sticking with you for days.

You stare at the gun, turning it over as it glints gray against your fingers in the low light of the trailer. You remember wishing you’d brought it with you when you’d all gone to Lovers’ Lake, though Nancy had helpfully pointed out that it would’ve been rendered useless by the water anyway, much to your chagrin.

That aching wish had come back with a vengeance when you’d gone to the parallel house in suburbia, looking for Nancy’s guns in the pursuit of self-defense. It only figured that cruel bastard had the power to stop time… or… whatever the fuck it was he did.

You don’t know what it is about this night, this moment sitting on the floor with this weapon on your hand. Maybe it was the rare sobriety, or the perfect circumstances, or pure luck, or fate. Maybe it was as simple as bestowing a little piece of Eddie to wonderful, brilliant Dustin Henderson and knowing- no matter what happened to you- some part of him would survive on in that boy.

But suddenly, an epiphany struck you hard enough to have chills falling down your skin.

Time was frozen in the Upside Down.

Before Eddie, before Max, before Billy and Bob and- before everything.

You realize in a detached way that you’re shaking so hard the gun is rattling in your grip, that you threaten to drop it and so it’s placed with all the carefulness you can muster onto the table. You feel fragile like glass.

What if you could save them all?

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #max mayfield #billy stranger things #billy hargrove #max stranger things #stranger things vol 2 #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #Eddie Fic #Eddie Angst #Angst Fic

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haupkmn · 2 months

Text

Copypasted from my conversation with Jolee.

Mostly me having a breakdown while ranting

I get that me saying this much probably isn't helping anything at all but ever since this callout shit started its gotten worse. I was actually out as my family, the whole situation is complicated as fuck but basically my parents don't like other gay people and don't like that I'm "committed" to being trans. I didn't want most of my IRL friends knowing I'm a system because it's fucking embarrassing and it's a fact about me I really don't like.

People have edited my skin white knowing I'm black, people have put my face on the pictures of monkeys people have posted pictures my groomer took of me that basically count as CSEM. At one point there was an kink dating account roleplaying as me and a fucking Chris Chan ass wiki.

I get that would happen in the past was wrong and I can't change that I'm trying my best to afford from it and let everyone involve who I've actually hurt heal but literally every single day I feel like they are watching me in some sort of capacity because they are friends with one of the people who groomed me.

I'm not a liar, I'm genuinely not. I just want to be left alone so I can spend one fucking day without having a paranoid episode thinking they're watching me through some camera or somehow bugging wires in my apartment which I know probably isn't real but it's terrifying because I've had people involved with this go to my parents house and throw trash around the yard or spray paint shit on the house or go to my fucking old high school and take pictures of it at night. and I just want this to end.

There was some fucking thing I got in my submit box on my 18th birthday of someone posting a a picture of them in front of my house dabbing in front of my fucking bedroom window with my parents and I weren't home.

It's been almost five years since the shift starts I've had to move twice and change my number three or four times because some people on here keep posting and there's several blogs on here with my fucking dead name on it and I just want to be left alone.

I've explained the situation with my dog dozens upon dozens of times and I understand that no one would want to believe me because I'm apparently a liar for having shit memory or bad system communication issues or generally was a shitty person in the past.

I'm so paranoid about this because I don't want to hurt anyone, I don't want to hurt children and I never have and I'm just so scared of this continuing and some people in the mod team have spoken to them before, one or two have had callouts from them.

I'm not trying to ask for pity or anything like that because I don't deserve it but please no I'm not trying to turn you against or anything, I genuinely think that you try to apologize they harass you because they've been harassing me for trying to apologize.

I've been so fucking nervous because every day I keep getting phone calls from different places where people just scream into the phone and hang up. I'm honestly at the point where if there's a fucking kiwi Farms page about me I don't want to know it and I don't want to see it because all of this has been terrifying.

I don't like adult baby shit or baby first shit I think it's all fucking disgusting because age regression as a whole is a huge fucking trigger for me that I don't want to get into with DMS with you that you're probably going to send them. My friend who calls himself a baby for just put the two words together as a term cuz it's the best definition he has at the moment and I'm sorry I can't stop shaking and crying I literally just want to be a left alone.

We'll keep saying I want to do pity but I don't. I never wanted pity. I did do bad things

I am so scared of my family finding out that I'm allegedly a pedophile or have abused my fucking dog when I haven't. I fucking haven't I will drop everything and leave work to show you the printed out texts and vet bills uncensored and a note from the police saying my mom dragged me down to the police station and made me do a lie detector test or else she was going to bash my dog's fucking skull in with a rock knowing the exact police at that station broke my fucking spine.

I want to stop thinking that they're constantly watching me somehow or that they have something going on or they're talking to literally everyone I know to the point where I can't talk to my friends anymore, I've been avoiding my boyfriend and working away from people at work because of this.

Every fucking time the phone rings at either one of my jobs I immediately freeze thinking that they got me, they're going to tell my boss about me they're going to tell my boss that I did something even though I didn't. I literally just want to fucking rest I want to be left alone so badly to the point that I dropped every single fucking convention I ever worked for and I'm coming close just asking them to blacklist me and reject all of my applications.

At any thought that moment they could be following me, they could be watching me, I don't know what they're doing or what they're planning but they're doing something that's so scary because apparently everyone I've ever known or care about might be in contact with them if they've ever used fucking Tumblr or maybe not even just used Tumblr.

Honestly if I got a fucking text from my abusive ass mother telling me that Sunny messaged her I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be surprised if someone came into my job or came to my apartment or saw me on the street did literally fucking anything like recognizing my name or my face or my voice or I don't even fucking know I want to be left alone.

It has been five fucking years and I have lost a dozens of friends because of my paranoia and my PTSD episodes and literally got diagnosed with pocd because of this, I mean I had it before but I got the diagnosis probably 2 years ago when they started talking about me supporting ddlg shit which I fucking don't. I don't want to support something that literally made me a goddamn system I don't want to support that sort of thing, I support my friend because I care about them and don't like the shit that they do I literally just want to be left alone. That's all I've wanted this entire time. I'm pissed at the mods have some sort of stupid beef with them that they can't drop but I just want to be left alone.

Day in and day out I have a mutual come to me on a non message me and say something like hey they're talking about you again and then suddenly I got a fucking screenshot on Discord which I never wanted

I don't like hearing this, I don't like seeing this or thinking about it because what unquote drama like this really freaks me the fuck out.

That's probably sounds like some sort of I don't fucking no schizo rambling or something but it's the office fucking truth I just want to be left alone because I don't know what's going to happen next.

It wasn't great waking up on my 18th birthday and seeing that someone who's really close with my groomer found out I had a not safe at work blog as a kid and was we reblogging every single weird post on it that I made with my obscure fucking trigger as the header making fun of me for being 14. The age I made when I made that blog. The fact that these people knew about that blog for possibly years where I posted pictures of myself because my groomer made me it's so fucking scary, and that they saved them apparently and they may still have them. I don't know.

Something's word genuine mistakes. I didn't know about that one Nazi newgrounds cartoon I never on a new grounds as a kid and never saw the actual animation. A mutual made fan are a long time ago when I reblogged it and not knowing what it was.

Even the big mouth shit isn't fucking true. I was drunk on call a long time ago with some ex friends when they pointed out I used to dress like one of the characters from the show and we all started joking about kinning from the show assigned each other characters. I haven't fucking seen it I don't have a fjckkng Netflix account.

This isn't fun. I never enjoyed this. I don't want this. Literally all I want is to be left alone and be some fucking guy on the internet and not have people constantly tracking my whereabouts on my jobs or what fucking ever I don't care. I was never run off I remade because people kept posting my old phone number

I just want to be left alone

#a wild situation appeared!#not pokemon

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sumbier0 · 1 year

Text

I wanna rant about dsaf phones guys atthe same time head empty

We'll see what will come out of this

Steven the silly. Oingly. This man absolutely was going on a survival at all costs mode all the time after phoneyfication <4

Maybe the only thing that carried on when he lost his memories/life was the fact that trying to do the right thing got him killed. Like that feeling [although he wouldnt remember the roots of it] just adds onto his sense that he needs to do anything to survive. So heho bye trying to do the right stuff we need to be in line so we wont fucking die!

Tbh I wonder how much the "model scott" personality is at play here. I mean he still is quite different from other phonies we were able to encounter, but he wasnt stuck as phoney for so long like harry - and that time allowed his personality to sorta get onto the surface more. Anyway damm Steven is angry/mix of angry and scared . Honestly if henry didnt kill him off this guy probably would've been fine. Well as fine as tou can be while working at Freddy's. Anywya my point is he would just be chilling, maybe sometimes wanting everything to explode.

Yeah he wasnt the best person , mostly driven by overhwelming need to survive. Like for one framing jack for killing kids [tho depending on the route its less shitty I guess since sometimes jack did kill them]

Second, sending people to factory tho that was sorta programmed in. And again, probably would get him into huge trouble for stepping out of line. This is all just a big cycle of trying to survive and increasing the number of problems weighing you down, which in turn makes you even more desperate to survive

Hell even after his second death that still continues - running away from problems/mistakes, in this case consisting of people he wronged trying to talk to him. Well in his mind double murder him or smth similar.

But after that he actually tries tohet better :] hopefully whenever the whole main gang went in the end, it all got sorted out

I imagine before phoneyfication he probably was pretty awkward around most people, always not exactly knowing what to say

Just in general he didn't have many close friends. Oh also imo he was a realist but after becoming a phone guy probably a pessimist.

Okay I think I got everyhting out of my brain atm. Also actually Im gonna get into other phone guys elsewhen

Explodes

#help this guy!!!#also this guy goes between 2 mood; having no thoughts or overthinking everything #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's

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writergod0 · 1 year

Text

WEAK-tober | Day 9: Bloody

How Late? 6 months, 12 days

AHahhaaha, still keeping this up-- Mostly because I'm avoiding my homework.

Category: M/F

Pairing: Kenny Ji/ Reader

Tags: #Angst

Words: 2,297

Current TW: Author Chose Not To Use Warnings

Author's notes: So there's this one person on discord that I just know likes Kenny angst, and another who hates it. Lmao, so here this is. I'm very happy to be part of the discord, because damn, it is hilarious to watch from the side lines.

The first time he sees you, it’s at some shitty ass convenience store where he and the fucks he takes care of decided to hang. It was one of those days where he takes his subordinates out for something small, just a couple of beers and some chicken, because it’s a lazy day where one could just sit outside on the pavement and smoke.

Some days, one just has to say fuck to that high-end bar that Manwol frequents. There’s a calm about hanging around shitty 24/7 convenience stores; it brings back memories of times when things were simpler.

Kenny watches you walk inside while he drags his cigarette, he’s leaning back on his chair at the outside patio of the store.

Pretty, the leather jacket is definitely a plus in his books. You browse through the store, easy smile on your lips as you talk to someone on your phone—A friend, perhaps? It’s as big contrast from the bad girl outfit you pull of seemingly… which is nice.

Definitely his type.

Fucker #1, who Kenny Ji reluctantly takes care of because of his position, snorts; pulling his attention away from you when he glares at the shit.

“You got something to say, you bastard?”

The bastard still has the audacity to look smug, “She has braces on, and they’re pink.”

“And you…” Kenny drags out as he flicks his cigarette away, stomping on it when he stands; he dusts himself off and pops a mint. “Have no taste.”

He could do charming.

He could also use the excuse to tell his subordinates to fuck off and leave him alone for the rest of the night. It’ll be a nice change of pace, and he’ll get a date out of it.

…

It’s seven dates later, the last date being you teaching him all the ways one could make a gun using a 3D printer, showing off all your stuffed animals you had since a child, and barbecuing at your place because it was cheaper, that he realizes:

Holy shit, that is definitely my type.

It’s also when he realizes that he’s been dating you without realizing it.

What the fuck.

…

“You have a brother?”

Kenny doesn’t know if you told him that before, because it felt like you told him that before and he just forgot. Which would be bad, very bad, because—

You blink, “I never told you?”

“No.” He says, “I don’t think so.”

Your eyes narrow, because for the past several minutes you were talking about this annoying dude that you know, what he did not know that it was you talking about your brother; and Kenny can feel his soul preparing to leave his body.

“For real?”

“Pretty sure.” Well, not that sure, but whatever. Wait… “I would have told you about my own brother if I did—”

“You have a brother?”

Wow.

It’s a full circle.

…

Things with Manwol start falling to shit. Changyeon Lee, the bastard, is being more ruthless than before; but Kenny owes him.

So he goes out and gets his hands dirty.

Kenny doesn’t want Jake to follow in his steps.

Kenny doesn’t want you to know this side of him.

But Changyeon Lee is owed.

…

You find out.

He doesn’t mean for you to find out, but life is shitty enough to throw you right in front of him when he’s doing the shit he does for Manwol. Kenny doesn’t even does this type of job often, he hasn’t bothered with high schoolers for an entire year until now because some fucks called the Un—

It doesn’t matter.

You find out, and he doesn’t follow when you leave with an expression he dares not describe. Manwol and every other fucker out there is watching him for a weakness he cannot afford, he reasons, and keeps the charade up long enough until he’s alone.

He vomits just before he manages to reach your place; the disgust builds itself, and maybe he deserves it.

So he leaves before he could knock on your door.

…

You ask him too meet at a restaurant; one of those Japanese food places that provide private rooms. You like things like that, you enjoy the privacy and kicking off your shoes and sitting cross-legged; though maybe you just want the privacy of breaking things off.

He can’t help but smile and let his shoulders sag in relief when he sees that you’re okay.

You smile.

Any other day, it would have been comforting; Kenny would have been mentally patting himself good job, definitely not blushing, and he’d be able to smile right back.

But he remembers what he did, and now that smile feels less than it ever should be. What would life be like if you decide to look past the deeds he’s done, because you’re kind enough for that. Truly.

Kenny doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness.

Not when he knows he can’t leave Manwol; knows that if he stays with you, then it’ll be some kind of fantasy that could be torn down at any moment.

“The kid.” You say, “Did you at least know his name?”

Of course he doesn’t fucking know, he just knew that it was a job that he was assigned to save face; the closest thing to a name for the kid was Motherfucker.

“No, I never really bothered with that.”

Your eyes widen at the admission, and your nails dig into the table; a habit of yours when you’re holding yourself back from being angry or from being excited.

Kenny could guess which.

Fucking Changyeon Lee.

Fucking Manwol.

Fuck all this shit to hell.

And Kenny isn’t one to shy away from accountability, isn’t one to deny that is position in Manwol is a burden his to bear; so he’ll make this easier for you.

“Let’s break up.” He says, determined—

Then you laugh and it’s so much crueler than he ever thought it could be; and Kenny deserves it, and it’ll be so much easier this way to.

“I can’t stand this anymore, fucking bastard.” You sigh, reaching into your purse to toss over one of those cute pink and plastic whatever the fuck they’re called folder envelopes. Your gaze is cold, “Here, read this.”

He takes it, opens the folder and—

There’s a million of things he could have said then, but the words die in his throat. He doesn’t know he’s shaking until you’re holding onto his hand.

Comforting?

No, of course not.

Your nails dig into the back of his hand, it’s too sharp; and when he finally composes himself to look at you, all there is is detachment.

“I had to move the schedule up because of your little stunt.” You say, kissing the back of his knuckle, “But that’s alright, better for the truth to come our sooner than later, right? Better to cut than to hold on.”

The folder drops, spilling its contents throughout the entire floor.

“It’s everything about Manwol.” You tell him as if he didn’t know that two plus two equals four. “You could double-check it if you want. Though I highly doubt you won’t find anything that’s missing.”

Kenny stares at it, he knew the folder was heavier than it should be, but to see the amount of it spread across the floor is another thing entirely. Several pictures, he knows instantly.

He swallows.

“How many copies?”

You let him go with a hum, leaving his side to pick up the files which has fallen. This was planned, he realizes, for a long, long time.

“I have plenty of copies.”

“Why?”

You look at him as if you want to laugh, as if the his questions pains you so that you are torn between hysterics and being furious; you glare at him and in the same breath you smile, and it’s the pain from where your nails dug till it bled that keeps him seated.

“Why do what you do?” You mock, snarling. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous? Don’t you know you hurt people? That the ones you hurt are loved? What did you feel when you hit that kid? What did you think?”

And the disgust builds itself.

“Did you really not know?” You ask him, pleading for what he cannot give; because apologies are useless when it cannot be fixed. “How bloody your hands are because of it, and you don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

You sigh.

He stays seated.

“You’re going to destroy Manwol with this, won’t you?”

Because Kenny doesn’t quite care anymore for what happens to it; and it’s justice at it’s finest. It’s also him, remembering the sea of the nameless and the named of those he hurt; and not knowing who was the one so important to you.

So, yeah.

He’ll deserve everything coming to him; he won’t even care if this was planned since the beginning. Doesn’t have the right.

“No.” You say, “I won’t.”

The confusion must have been evident, that you laugh at him; you’re holding back, he knows, from screaming and crying—

“I won’t, and it’s not because I love you. I don’t.”

Your smile is wry, your smile is sad.

“But because I know that you dug your own grave, that one day that that gang of yours would be the death of you.

Even if not that, I’m not going to go to the press, to the police, or to whatever authority out there that can deal with you fucks; because every week I will do a little thing.

When I do that, these files won’t be sent to every news outlet and to every station. I would do that every week, constantly saving your ass and you’ll know the reason why you’re still walking the streets is because of me.”

And you’re no longer smiling, but absolutely furious. There’s no excuse he could say, no explanation— And all he could do is watch as you break down in front of him and his choices.

“But you’ll be stuck with the knowledge that I could decide any day that it’s not enough, that one day I couldn’t stand the thought of you out there and I just let it happen. Maybe I could forget, maybe there was an accident and I just couldn’t.

How long do you think it will be? A week from now? A month? Several years?

You’re going to live with the knowledge that whatever you build from now could be torn down at any moment. Because this is about you and what you did that cannot be fixed.”

And the long monologue ends, leaving nothing but silence; He doesn’t know who he harmed that made you like this, but knows that it’s on him. If it were any other day, had he been younger or had he not known you, then he would have done anything in his power to burn away all that proof you had thrown in his face and snarled.

But he’s old enough that the awe of joining a gang had worn off into bitterness, and he’s far too fond of your smiles and your company, far too much in love, to take anything more from he than he already has.

And he’s already taken something from you that he cannot remember.

“Sorry.” Kenny says, as if it would change anything. It won’t. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I wish I didn’t.”

That startles a laugh out of you, who has fallen to your knees, who’s crying as quietly as you can because this is not a revenge plan but a shitty attempt at closure; it’s wet and broken laugh.

“You could have been great, you know.” And those words of yours will haunt him more than your monologue of lies; because he knows when you lie, knows that there’s no copies and no carefully crafted long con for his demise.

Yes, the proof your threw in his face took a long time. Yes, he knows that you knew what he did ever since; but he knows that you long since gave up on using it. Because if you really planned on doing that, he wouldn’t know it until it was already over.

“You’re such a lovely person, truly—”

If he had left behind all those things that made him worse, if he had left Manwol, if he had left Changyeon Lee to rot, if he hadn’t hurt someone that you loved; Kenny wonders if you would have stayed with him.

“—But your hands are too bloody.”

You leave him there.

He takes care of the bill.

…

The first time he saw you, it’s at some shitty ass 24/7 convenience store; you’re definitely his type, and he made his move the moment one of his jackass subordinates made some type of snide comment.

It was a good idea at the time, perfect excuse to ditch his subordinates and the leather jacket you wore that day provided an even better on.

You frowned when you paid for the candy you brought to the store counter, thankful while also unimpressed at the same time with how your eyebrows were raised.

It was fucking hilarious.

He had asked you on a date then, doesn’t remember if his clothes were clean or dirty but knew that he smelt of smoke and alcohol, you had asked in return: “What if you hurt me?”

“A pretty face like yours? Never. Plus, I think you could crush me anytime you want and no one would be able to find the body.”

There was a lot of talking after that, plenty of jokes; they were morbid jokes, and before the night had ended, it had led you to ask him this:

“You know, what if I really did hurt you?”

He grinned.

“I would have deserved it.”

#weaktober #weak hero webcomic #weak hero webtoon #weak hero #weak hero x reader #writergod weak hero #writergod works #kenny ji #kenny ji x reader

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busterheadspace · 1 year

Note

andre and perhaps either childhood trauma or twisted ankle?? whichever strikes out most to you (ty for letting me know btw!! <3)

sorry this took so long but bam. Done.

Note: open to request. Bingo is open. Just send an ask.

——

The world was blurring into rainbow and other colors as Andre made his way to the exit. A few laughs came out of him although he was far from happy.

Two nights ago, Right-Swap gave him a notification about a woman being interested on a date. He was ecstatic as he jumped during the meeting they were having. Reagan glared at him and said something but he couldn't care. He finally found someone who might like him.

It was at a club. The first floor was a club while the second half was a bar. He dressed up nicely and looked at himself on the mirror

"We're going to get the girl. Don't fuck this up like you did last time."

He took a bus there and walked in with a smile. People were dancing, vaping, the music was loud and there were brightly colored lights flickering. He headed upstairs and found the women sitting in front of the bartender.

"Hey! I'm Andre Lee. The guy you meet at Right Swipe" He introduced with a laugh sitting next to her. The woman looked at him, with a strange look but nonetheless let him pay for her drink.

Andre tried to start a conversation however the women seemed uninterested. Her job, her hobbies, all seemed to be responding to boredom. He was starting to think he was doing something wrong.

"Uh.. do you like gardening? I grow stuff for my job"

"No. You ask that question early." She responded annoyed, playing with her fake nail. "I thought you would be much more charming. Aren’t Asian men supposed to be charming ."

"Uhh.." A little taken back, especially with the last comment but he nervously smiled. "I'm a funny, charming guy. I know I might not seem like it but I think you'll like me"

The woman rolled her eye standing up. "I'm going to get some fresh air." She said and walked downstairs. Andre watched and sighed. Maybe he could her another and drink.

He waited. He waited a hour for her to come back and she didn't. Andre decided to find her. He goes downstairs and searches through the crowd until he sees her, although not alone. She danced with an Asian man who wore glasses and had neat hair. He wore a tie around a blazer and cross necklace around his neck. It doesn't give Andre the most pleasant memories but he was mostly confused.

Until the woman placed her hands on the man's chest. They smirk before they come closer and kiss. Andre froze, everything fading to him. His mind spun as he thinks.

'Am I really that shit? What did I do wrong? What, was it because I wasn't a charming asian but how am I supposed to be charming? Is it because he's Christian.. well.. I was.. but no.."

He found himself in a bathroom on the upper bar. His hands went through his pocket as he took a drug. Something to calm him down and not have a panic attack in public. He rocked back and forth until the drug finally activated and he sighed. Fake calmness enter when his mind and he decided to go home

Through blurred vision, he found the exit from the bar. A set of stairs on the side. Andre walked a few wobbly steps until his feet crashed into each other and he fell down the stairs. His head hurt as he landed but he stand. Pain shoots through his ankle to leg and he falls back

"Hahaha." He chuckled. That was stupid of him,

Someone apparently finds him. They crouch down asking what had happened but all Andre did was hand them his phone and ask for them to call someone. The phone rang and the person began talking but he barely heard them.

God, He must have looked pathetic. He was some thirty year old guy who got himself high all because of a shitty date. God he really was a stupid disappointment. He closed his eyes, trying not to think. It hurts.

Time passed until he felt a couple slaps on his shoulder. Andre opened his eyes. To his surprise, it was Gigi. She didn’t look too happy, arms crossed.

“Come on. It’s late as hell. Let’s get you home.” She grumbled. Andre tries to stand up, and stumbles back onto the ground. A hand grabbing his foot “You fell down the stairs, didn't you?”

“Yuuupp.” Andre slurred, His friend groaned, turning to the person who found him.

“Get some ice. I’ll deal with him.” Gigi crouched down, grabbing his shoe and ripping it off. He held back a scream at the sudden movement. “Holy crap, your foot is purple. What the hell happ- You know what never mind. Just stay quiet.”

He was fine with that. Although part of him wanted to ask something. Gigi worked with him. She would know.

“What.. do you think about me?” Andre mumbled. She looked, eyes squinted.

“Annoying? Lazy? A scientist?”

Typically response. Andre curled up as he continue

“I knew it. Fuck, I’m.. -never …getting into a relationship because ..I'm an annoying.. piece of shit.” Andre laughed. To his surprise Gigi looked concern as he talked

“What happened? Did your date ditch you?”

“Oh yea. Apparently.. I wasn’t charming enough so she found another handsome Asian guy to make out with. You know, leave me in the bar for an hour, and..then me getting high.. and trying to leave.. falling down the fucking stairs..”

A wave of emotion hit Andre as he tried to hold back tears, although some slipped. Gigi was right beside him, her hand patting his shoulder.

“Screw that bitch. You deserve better than someone who thinks you're not charming. You’re annoying as hell but.. you're a good guy. Don’t take what she said personally. You’ll find someone better than her.”

It was the first genuine smile he felt since he came to the bar. A small one but it felt better than hanging with that woman. Gigi smirked.

The person came back with ice, wishing them good luck before leaving. The ice hurted like hell when it was out on his ankle. Andre held back screams as Gigi wrapped it around before lifting him to lean on her.

“There. Now let’s go home.”

#inside job #renew inside job #save inside job #bad things bingo #andre lee #gigi thompson #angst #bad things happen bingo #sprained ankle #date ditching #Right swipe

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sheepskinnedgoat · 11 months

Text

I guess it's greatly possible that I have a very... I don't know, skewed perspective about stuff like abuse and harm as a mentally ill person. People say stuff so broadly and I can't begin to describe how much seeing that stuff at my lowest points harmed me and made me worse. People are very good at framing things in ways that made me feel like they don't actually believe in people healing and doing better after making really huge mistakes. Because I made BIG ones and I regret them so fucking deeply. I am fighting with the concept of self-forgiveness because I've been taught that there's no retribution for shitty and abusive behavior.

I don't want to be so bold as to lay out what happened, but I guess I might as well. My wife is encouraging me and I've been wanting to talk about it, anyway.

Trigger warning for discussion of abuse, mental health, and suicide under cut.

Last year, when my mom started dying, I started declining very rapidly and severely. I don't think I've ever outright said this because of how I've been treated in the past for being open, but I have Bipolar I Disorder. I've seen doctors and therapists on an off over the last decade+ since my diagnosis. My struggle is a common one. I'm very typical of someone with extreme mood swings and psychosis. I most frequently experience dysphoric mania, which is where my psychosis typically rears its ugly head.

In these moments until last year, all of my shitty behavior mostly involved me expressing anger and frustration with wall hitting, throwing my things to break them, hurting myself, and degrading my wife. It was not always this way, but moving away from home and having an unforgiving job lead to me falling back off my medication. Over the last 3-4 years, I have become very terrible in my health and how I act when my brain overreacts to situations and stresses around me.

Then Mom got cancer.

I began having even more cycling, lots and lots of depression, increasing suicidal thoughts, and episodes. Bad episodes. One of the holidays I was meant to go see my mom, I had a serious meltdown because I was tired of going to see how much closer she was. It was hard seeing her dying. She was worse every time I made it out, and something minor had triggered another episode. I then locked myself in the bathroom and tried to kill myself.

My wife tried stopping me. I became physically violent and started saying really horrible things. This episode came to an end, and it seemed despite everything I had done very little physical damage to her by her own account. I do not remember much about what I actually did or said. It's like a faded dream I had once and only the outlines are left.

I had another episode I do not remember, triggered by seemingly nothing. She informed me later on I had hit her, and asked me why. I was unable to explain, because I didn't even know what she was referring to. I do now, but the overall details are gone.

Later on, not terribly long before she passed away, I tried to end things again. I recklessly drove to a graveyard on the back roads and began attempting to hurt myself. I started getting calls, my phone blowing up. I have some vague memories, but I am not sure if all of them are real. I do know I ignored my mom out of shame, but eventually answered my aunt. I think at the beginning I answered my wife and berated her before hanging up, but I'm not positive. I wanted to die more than anything else in the world. I was so angry. I don't even know why. My wife remembers how it unfolded, but ultimately none of it makes sense.

That was also the day my neighbor decided to pick a fight with me about my animals, which then snowballed in her repeatedly calling animal control, lol. Did not work out the way she wanted. She kept lying to them to get them out to see them, but they could never find the starving, tortured animals. What a fucking nightmare that was on top of everything.

My mom died, and I don't really remember how I felt or reacted or what I did during that time. It's difficult, and I think it's because I have been blocking it out as much as possible. Losing my mom was something I knew would be hard, but I deeply underestimated it.

Later on in the year, I did try killing myself again. Once again she tried stopping me, and even kicked in the door. It got more physically violent than the last time and I was more vicious and cruel.

Overall, I'm stuck with guilt and shame and self-hatred. Beyond these incidents, I lapsed repeatedly into despicable actions and behavior. I frequently feel out of control, but not everything I say to her is done in these extreme episodes where I'm trying to hurt myself. Rage is unfortunately a really major symptom for me, and it's activated by some of the dumbest shit. I feel like some things have become bad habits, and I'm constantly having to talk out things with my spouse because I cannot even imagine what it must be like to be on the receiving end of needless cruelty and vitriol.

I know what I have done is largely abusive and wrong. Things have been bad enough that I kept having long periods of not wanting help. All I have wanted is death, to not exist, to end what I'm feeling. Being angry is not fun. Being in pain sucks. Being sick is terrible. I am devastated by what I have done, but somehow my wife is holding strong and pushing me forward. Because of her, I managed to drag myself into getting therapy. I got lucky that someone in my local community is a therapist with the same disorder as me, and when she advertised openings I jumped on it, even though I didn't want to help myself.

Which is something key, that people bring up a lot online. People who don't want help are the worst, right? Irredeemable, it seems. I didn't want help. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to die. I still want to die, but I've found a burst of driving force within myself and, as of today, I finally have an appointment with a psychiatrist to seek medication management. I cannot get any traction otherwise. Therapy has been helpful and my therapist is amazing, but there's no stability. I default to self-hate, guilt, and suicidality. I default to violence, though generally verbal excepting those instances of psychosis.

I can't grasp what I keep getting told by my wife and my therapist about being accountable but forgiving myself. It seems false. Impossible. It doesn't feel like I should, that doing that or pointing to my broken brain is appropriate. I'm always terrified what people will think of me if they know the truth of my struggles and how much I have hurt the person closest to me. My only support, because I keep distancing myself further and further from people.

In all of this, she gained friends that used me as a stop-gap for getting to know specifically her. It caused some rocky turmoil in our relationship. I blame myself for her mistakes there, because maybe if I hadn't been acting like a piece of shit, she wouldn't have felt so lonely. And they found out that things got bad, but not any of the details about it because they never asked or gave her a chance to explain when she wasn't distressed. I fear them and what they think of me. I fear them going out into shared queer spaces and telling all the queers I'm slowly trying to get to know that I'm a horrible abuser that beat my wife and controls her. Because they're not wrong. I don't feel like they're wrong, but they're also responsible parties in their own shitty behavior, but who would hear me after they find out I'm a terrible person?

It's... I suppose a bit self-centered, this paranoia. She tells me I don't deserve this, and that they don't matter. I'm trying to believe her, because if nothing else matters she does, and her opinions do. She has to live with me. She's married to me.

So I am untreated bipolar. It's a fucking nightmare. I fight with my abusive and toxic tendencies, that I fight to not participate in. But fighting back my unstable reactions to things is a chore and I become fatigued very often. I don't know why she endures for me, but she does. I love her, as much as I can. Sometimes I am numb, but she says she knows I love her and it makes me cry.

People are complicated. I have not always been very kind or empathetic. I only recently learned that having a hard time with empathy during mixed episodes is pretty normal for bipolar. It's not always. It's another thing that sees extreme differences depending on how I'm feeling, and I sure do feel too much too often.

I am healing myself as best as I can. I am working to do better and be better even while my brain persists on convincing me I don't want help; that I should just self-destruct. I am a human. I wish more people could see that part about me even when I'm not being a very good or nice person. I will be better someday, but it would be a lot easier if it ever felt like everyone else could give me the grace to fuck up while sick and still have room to take that accountability without feeling evil for my actions.

I have been a victim. I have been an abuser. Someday, I hope I can just be healed.

#this is long and was hard to write #of you arent going to be compassionate to the struggles my wife and i are facing i dont need the commentary #please grant me the grace of being able to post to my own blog about these experiences

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struggling-to-find-home · 1 year

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You know, between the fog that is most of my childhood, there is one question that I always agonised about, and that is: throughout it all, how did I survive?

Because there was,,,, a lot to survive through, from my first death threat & proceeding phycological torment from my brother at age 5 to metal objects flying dangerously close to my head during abuser tantrums to family tragedies to chronic gaslighting to suicide attempts and episodes of physical violence in the later years.

I look back on it and there it lies, as clear as it can with my only memories being from trauma processing when triggers and flashbacks happen and those rare times when a memory decided to resurface all on it's own to go off of: the overbearing truth that I was abused since the time I was at least a toddler.

But there had to be something to keep the illusion going, the facade slowly cracking but not breaking, and it had to be there for a long, long time. And all I can do right now is wait out and try to piece together a puzzle with a thousand lost pieces. Which is all to say,

I unlocked a rare positive memory today - fragmented, but still.

It's something about movies - how my mother & brother wanted to drag me to some catastrophe film about an alien invasion and instead I convinced them to buy me a ticket to some animated mostly marketed towards girls movie.

It started 40 minutes after their's did, so for the first time in... A while, I was left alone (which was a rare occurrence), sitting on some couches, with nobody paying any attention to me.

I had a journal with me.

At that time I always had a journal with me, because my phone was ancient and your girl had to entertain herself with something. It had a lot of shitty ideas, and my (very unsuccessful and rare) attempts to learn how to draw, because for some reason being able to draw prettily was a beauty standard for the girls around me and my inability to do so led to,,,, a fair amount of comments and disgusted glances thrown my way (Ironically enough, now I draw much more than I used to, but for med school reasons. The drawings still suck, but for some reason, now it's much more socially acceptable. Probably because I embrace it. Though ppl who can draw well do get a bit of privileges™ in the anatomy class), and a lot of half-baked writing plots that usually went nowhere. One of them had a whole ass spread for my depressive thoughts which I put there when the trauma was a bit... Too much. I know that because I stumbled upon it before during one of the many cleanouts I did after being in extreme dissociation, every day, for 6 months. Honestly shit was terrifying to read but hey, it helped 12 year old me cope so ig it's fine.

I think I wrestled with myself about buying popcorn when they left, because my mother never allowed me to since it was too "unhealthy". I'm pretty sure I did, because I seem to remember the feeling of uncomfortable sugar-induced thirstiness at the back of my throat as we drived back from the theater, but I'm not sure. If I did, I probably spent the entire pre-film time on high alert, careful to hide it from passer-bys in case either of them decided to leave the theater.

I was bored, at first, with no way to tell time, but then I started thinking and doodling and at some point, inspiration struck - something about ocs and evil scientists and their horrible horrible experiments - and I spent the rest of the time creating, high on the euphoria of privacy, of not having to check my back every seven seconds to see if someone's watching.

I didn't even get to finish the scene, but I was still so proud for writing it.

It was so simple, but I was so happy.

I was so happy.

Because there were no abusers. Because, even for just half an hour, I was able to put my guard down and purely enjoy myself.

And it's like this for every positive memory I have - all of them happen when they are not in sight. Reading fanfiction at 2 am, feeling proud after composing my first guitar arrangement, jumping around the flat I was alone at in happiness because my favourite comic updated, learning to drive a hoverboard with my friend, feeling joyful because all of them left and now I could watch a show in peace, celebrating my birthday without them...

I guess that's the answer for me - the only reason I survived for so long are the times I could take a break from them.

Huh.

Well that's fucking depressing.

#struggling gets personal #new memory unlocked I guess✌🏻✌🏻#personal #dysfunctional family #i feel emotionally drained after writing this but shit is important #fun fact: if you analyse this post closely you can see the memory become clearer as I start to describe it #it all comes back to the fact that the part of myself I consider ny personality is the same part that came out during such memories #which ties in like grief over a complete lack of support system and the fact that for most of my life I wasn't my own person #and I can never know whether some of my regrets and mistakes would happen if I acted from the person I was and not the one abuse made me #but all of this will have to wait until college #I'm not ready to process this shit while still in the abusive environment

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nathjonesey-75 · 3 months

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Memories Of An Xpansive Day: 25 Years Later

“Sometimes you will never know the value of something, until it becomes a memory”

Dr Seuss

As we age, we are constantly reminded of “special” dates. Those pieces of history which relate to ourselves, our families and friends – yet more often, nowadays have nothing to do with us individually, more so with the domination of information via the daily torrents of technology’s titbits. So, it’s perhaps more so satisfying when an actual special date occurs to the mind via simple, pure memory rather than the swathes of nudges regarding famous, renowned dates, which are mostly repeated “oh yes – that again” scenarios, from social (and the desperate need of a more appropriate word to “social”) media.

For this reason, the value of this particular date which arose in my eroding mind archives a couple of weeks ago, holds such a sparkle over time, for me. While I believe time merely continues rather than loops in any way, it’s a rare speciality to be able to connect two periods of time – for context and value. Plus, this was the most unlikely combination of elements, linking to form a day: an elderly grandmother, rugby union and late-night raving. Hardly linked, in the mind of a young nineties graduate.

Twenty-five years ago, on the 6th of March 1999; I was living in Cardiff, at a bit of a standstill rather than at a progressive time of my life, at twenty-three years old. Sharing a house with three Cardiff University final year students – with very little in common – two were younger than myself, one older as a “mature” student. Although, again a crassly inaccurate describing word, mature – regaling tales of his mates mooning in bars on nights out - was always his weekend’s highlight, at the age of twenty-seven. One of the two girls living there made more money than me each month – and she wasn’t even working. Had she been a part of recent generations, she would no doubt have been an applicant for – if not a regular face on a “reality show” based in Chelsea. Silver spoon and all that…

Thankfully, looking back – it may have been the beginning of the end of the most testing two years of my younger life. A near life-threatening accident during my final year at university which resulted in late graduation, but the first really challenging experience of mental health difficulties from the head injury. Living in a twistedly imperfect house share, not earning a great deal of money, but making connections. Valuable connections, through one of the part-time jobs I held at that time.

I worked part-time at one bar, Bar Essential - just before the swift gentrification of the capital’s high streets began over the following two years; then part-time at a British Gas call centre. It was there which the links were formed – and as what I would designate myself as “a pretty shitty networker”, it helped me over the following two years while I lived in the city.

Me, Circa 1998-99

Having been a DJ for all of fifteen months, my Soundlab Belt Drive decks had become my best friends and my own miniature bedroom family at the smallest room in the house on Robert Street. We weren’t a loud bedroom family – my house “mates” made sure of that – in fact, retrospectively I should have had a sign on my bedroom door with “The No Charisma Bypass Room”. In other words, I connected with my records, turntables, speakers and guitar – more than I did with the other human members of the household. In the days before most people had mobile phones (mine came a year later in the new century) and certainly way before smartphones, we continued to make our own entertainment. Or not - as while I worked evenings, the excitable “evenings with Titanic, cheese and biscuits” was a consistent thrill for the others. In the adapted style and words of the period’s new television comedy icon, Jim Royle; “Titanic, my arse.”

However, what I was so far unaware of – was an undercurrent of rave culture bubbling among the desks and offices at British Gas; or “Gas” as many called it – the high-rise administration centre on Churchill Way. Over the remainder of the year, as I left the bar job and moved from part-time to full-time there, I joined what was memorably a collective of party animals who looked rough on a Monday morning, giving one another knowing smirks in the lift to the upper floors about the crazy nights on the tiles at either The Hippo Club or The Emporium (or both, or one of a few other clubs) over the weekend. So, to be invited to Gatecrasher at the Que Club in Birmingham on the evening of March 6th – by my own line manager, Suzanne (and a few others), was exciting. The complication was; that I was also going from Cardiff – to Llanelli, my home town, that day – for my grandmother’s eightieth birthday.

Music Week, February 6th 1999

Maybe it’s the realisation that – at my current age of forty-eight – that the proposition of now going that fifty miles to West Wales, then back in one afternoon, then another hundred-and-twenty miles to Birmingham, then dancing until dawn – would be as preposterous an idea as thinking at that time; that Wales – who lost 0-51 at home to France the previous year in the old 5 Nations tournament – could possibly win at the new Stade De France in Paris…on the same day…

The thing about memory is that it can be one of the most rewarding and powerful assets left in the body when you’re nearly hitting a half century in years on this currently deranged little planet. That era; that decade, a golden time for music; one for which I’m eternally grateful for having been alive and old enough to live (and survive – in more ways than one!) through. I can’t honestly say the same for Welsh rugby as far as linking it to the word “golden” in the same decade. Nevertheless, another possible turning point, this could become for what was then seen as the national sport. Those who were there would surely argue so.

March the sixth. I’m sure that the selective memory process in my mind has muffled the dreariness and cramp of the late morning shuttle bus to Swansea, then the connecting Swansea-Llanelli bus (or maybe on that day there was actually a Cardiff-Llanelli shuttle, we all know how inconsistent public transport has always been, especially across South Wales). The highlights and fondness of that day’s fragment would have begun with sandwiches and tea, which would have coincided with the 2pm kick-off at Stade De France. Even the faint memories of chatting with my then-only remaining grandparent on her eightieth, while the previous year’s whipping boys – produced an astonishing, astonishing win in France – in the days where international comebacks away from home were far less frequent as they have become since those early few years of the professional rugby union era.

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France vs Wales, Saturday March 6th 1999

Dynamically, that day was just about to shift up a gear, as the unglamorous nature of reaching the next target – rushing for a bus or train, often in wet conditions in South Wales – was the next step. As I bade my grandmother a happy birthday in a common early twentysomething “hi, bye” fashion, then a happy farewell to my family under the smiles of a shock Wales win in France (the first since the year of my birth in 1975), it was game on; round two – let’s have it!

I reached Cardiff and Robert Street Glowers (for “Towers” would be the most undeserved word of all undeserved words so far in this anecdote), with a scant hour in which to get to my cave, sharpen up, have a “livener” drink and reach the pickup point (which I think was somewhere on Newport Road) and join Suzanne, her friend Rhian and a chap whose name I have sadly forgotten – in the petite Ford Ka on the rainy road to Brum. Here is the sharp contrast which has been a quite definitive feature of my life. Day, versus night. The escaping from Llanelli and its narrowing shackles, “tout-suite” and the running to a city where a rebellious, darkened culture emanated from post-rave antiestablishment gave me more of an identity. A culture which was so synonymous with the nineties, the music and nightclubs of that time – and one I learned ever so gradually over the years, was the sanctuary (remember that word for later) for neurodivergent people. More on that after the dance.

Anyway, Gatecrasher at The Que Club. A majestically used ex-church, which became legendary for dance music events – and a lineup epitomising the sounds of the near-millennium. Sasha, Judge Jules, Scott Bond, Guy Ornadel and Seb Fontaine formed the main amphitheatre’s DJ arsenal. While the second room was also a quality ensemble of more funky house music DJs – the first two hours under the massive dome of the main room became seminal for me, without knowing its powerful longevity, at that time. This meant that the majority of my time was spent between open and close, 11pm until 6am; either on the principal auditorium or dancing among the seated area to the right of the stage. Even looking at the picture of it now, the seated area felt considerably bigger twenty-five years ago!

The sublime personal connections for me around the whole day, coming from a strictly devout religious family and going to The Que Club, which was originally built as a Methodist Church. As many have professed, music has become a form of worship or a place where folk have found their own souls in different statures. This evening, then into early morning and beyond – for me was seminal in three ways. Not only was it the first time I had seen Sasha (who was already an icon to me, but would become a greater icon of electronic music and DJing inspiration for me over the years) DJ live, but added to him actually opening a main room; playing first on the bill, between 11pm and 1am – and exactly what he played in that slot - and its legacy. Once again, the value of a memory – and the relevance and personal value of that moment; reached an ecstatic and transcendent high (or trance-cendent) – here.

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In The Que by Birmingham Music Archive

After the previous twelve hours of zipping cross-country, meeting and greeting family; followed by excitement, time stopped – in the middle of the giant open, yet bustling dancefloor at Que, sometime around 11:45 to midnight. What…was I hearing? A breakdown, which although inebriated, I may have been – now ethereally-entranced, something wonderful just hit me. A moment which has stuck me forever. Xpander. When serotonin is passed like an adrenaline shot through the body, you feel like you’re in outer space – this was the pinnacle - of the sixth of March. Forget the heroics of the men in red at the Stade De France, this (also unbeknown at the time) Welshman behind the decks – along with his studio wizards behind the scenes, Charlie May and Duncan Forbes (and the engineering of Andy Ford and Gaetan Schurrer) – had created a track which became one of the tracks of the club era – and I’d just heard it for the first time. For the rest of the night, I was in dreamland.

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Sasha - Xpander

Five to six years previously, I had been playing rugby with - and against some of those victorious players in Paris for Wales. But the game, its politics and its sewn-in machismo which I’d always lived around but never felt part of; increasingly unfulfilling. For someone completely in the dark about a condition such as ADHD which in parallel continued to affect daily cognition, while thinking there was an inherent problem with themselves. It’s a positive change that professional sport now does support mental health issues in a more open manner.

France v Wales, Stade De France 1999

Yet, in the famous words of a dearly departed poet of these nearby parts of South London where I write, as Maxi Jazz of Faithless said:

“This is my church, This is where I heal my hurt It's in natural grace, Or watching young life shape”

Only released six and a half months before this event, the words of God Is A DJ hold more value for me now than they did at the time - and no, I never subscribed to the Mixmag poster boy ideology of Sasha being “Son Of God”, just an incredible influence and musical force for me as a DJ and producer. The fact he’s also Welsh is a bonus. Now, for me as a faithless man – the inspiration as much as healing on a regular basis for me, over the last twenty-five years for me has been mostly via music, having lived in varied, distant parts of the world and learnt a Bible-sized volume about life, but still not quite any closer to understanding much.

I couldn’t remember a heap of tracks played after 1am, other than the final track before Sasha departed into the shadows of the Que Club – a Perfecto remix of Grace’s Not Over Yet. Probably the first time many inside the venue would have heard it. After dancing with vigour, enjoying the company of my travelling troupe until the event closed at 6am, Seb Fontaine played the final track. A track which – at that time, if you had it, it was gold dust among the DJ fraternity. I’d just happened to purchase said 12” vinyl a few days beforehand, as a limited release on the LCD label at Cardiff Queen Street’s HMV. It was called Sanctuary, by Dejure. It wasn’t released for wider purchase until the following year on Fontaine’s Spot On Records label, so when I played my first respectable gig in Cardiff at a decent venue, Po Na Na in July or August 1999, I had a supportive crew from British Gas with me. I played what I would happily call “a blinding set”. Be that as it may, what I learned that night was one identical thing Sasha learnt via a proverbial “bollocking” from Hacienda maestro DJ Jon Da Silva around a decade previously. DO NOT PLAY YOUR BIG TUNES WHEN WARMING UP FOR THE MAIN DJs. I was told. Almost in a Michael Caine in The Italian Job voice when he blasted “You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!”

It was one lesson I may have learnt via a verbal slap around my face at the wrong time regarding my record-spinning naivety – but it stood me in good stead for the years to come as a DJ. Meanwhile; when I played Sanctuary during the set, I was suddenly offered an unlimited amount of money for it, while seeing a wallet opening figuratively like the Red Sea from Moses’ arms. Bank notes, like waves rippling with the flick of the thumb and parting the leather on either side. By one of the resident DJs who then became a clubbing and DJ mate for my next few years in Cardiff and beyond in my music affinity circle, whose name I shan’t mention. I’m glad I kept to my guns that night, despite my low income and bank balance. “Nope”, said I. “Not for sale”.

One feeling which stuck with me from just after 6am on the seventh of March 1999 – I do have the taste to choose the right tracks, even if I haven’t really started the performing journey yet. I have had the night of my stumbling young life, at an incredible construction, in a community of people who want feelings of liberation and identity. I left the magnificent, although by then, dishevelled expanse with the echoing words from Sanctuary’s sampled breakdown playing, ringing in my ears as we stumbled through the morning damp-dark of Digbeth’s streets. I knew when I’d reach my cave I’d have to listen to it immediately. Quietly, but immediately.

“Something for your mind, your body and your soul”

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Dejure - Sancutary

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

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bakugou leaving reader for the unknown, for his dream, because where they were wasn’t good enough, it was a hindrance on his future. it wasn’t so much that he hated his hometown, the people, or even you — he loved you, after all — but he just could never keep himself tied down to the place he was trying to outgrow.

he leaves for university, in the big city, a campus that is known for making the best, creating trailblazers in every field imaginable, and when he leaves at the age of eighteen, he doesn’t come back. all he remembers is the shocked look on your face and the helpless tears streaming down your face when he broke up with you.

it’s been twelve years, and he’s thirty now. he changed his number when he got to the new city, only keeping touch with his parents out of obligation than anything else. it’s short phone calls, three minute conversations of mitsuki scolding him for not calling enough, for never visiting, masaru trying to gently express their concerns for their only son, and of course, bakugou saying he needs to leave.

his parents are strangers to him, practically, and whenever they try to speak of his past life, the one he exchanged away for the current CEO position he’s found himself in, he hangs up. he doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want the bitter pit in his stomach when they even begin to speak your name.

but they haven’t mentioned you in years.

but the thing about katsuki is, unfortunately, his attitude.

thirty years old and a prominent CEO of a company no older than four years old and yet already a billionaire? practically unheard of. sure, people, normal people, praise him for it, but the board? men who used to people like katsuki don’t praise him.

they hate his harsh attitude, his ridiculous will power, and necessity to do everything, and somehow… katsuki gets put on a leave of absence for a minimum of a year.

at first, it’s fine. bakugou spends the newfound free time traveling, seeing the world, doing things he never was able to because he was building his empire. but three months of nothing leads him to grow restless, bored, and the worst feeling in the world crawls into the pit of his stomach and he realizes in month number five what it is.

for the first time in his life, bakugou katsuki is: homesick.

so he goes home, trading the concrete jungle and modern technology for dirt roads and rusting machines. it’s just for a moment, he says as he sees the life he left behind ages ago.

it’s much slower in his hometown, people much more open and conversing with one another instead of cellphones like he’s grown used to. he isn’t quite ready to knock on his mother’s front door so he goes to the general store and walks straight to where he just knows his past time favorite snacks are.

to his total surprise (notice the sarcasm?) it’s right where he remembered it was through the cobwebs of his memory. there’s one bag of spicy corn chips left and as he reached for it, another hand goes for it too.

he freezes for a bit, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at the person who’s hand is connected to the bag of chips he wants.

but he stops breathing for just a moment.

it’s a young girl, most definitely no older than twelve, with your face. it’s exactly the same. but unlike you, the girl had ash blonde hair and deep red eyes.

the girl blinks eyes looking taken back and slightly lost, as does bakugou, and then as if finally caught up on the situation of things, she scowls.

“hands off the chips, old man! I got here first!”

the magic is gone and bakugou feels his eye twitch as he reels backward.

“what the hell did you just say to—?!”

“I said hands off! arent you too old to be eating chips anyways?! you’re practically a million years old, eat the lame corn nuts or something,” she scoffs rolling her eyes as she tucks the bag of chips under her arm.

“aren’t you some shitty little brat!” bakugou hisses, his hand twitching with irritation. “don’t you know to respect your fucking elders.”

“ain’t nothing to respect from what I can tell!”

“aiko, hurry up,” a voice bemoans from behind the aisle and bakugou feels his chest constrict in the weirdest, most heart aching way as you walk around the corner with an armful of party supplies. “we have to get to your grand—”

bakugou stares at you, and you at him. the tension and silence so thick and heavy on the both of your shoulders and tongues.

in the twelve years he’s been away, bakugou has had other relationships. most of them due mostly to friends insistence, and others mostly just because he wanted a warm body nearby. but no one could ever match what you meant to him, not that he could have realized that because he could never think back to you. you were his past, not his present, not his future.

and bakugou was suddenly feeling a lot of things, thinking a lot of things as he looked between you and well… aiko.

“y/n,” bakugou’s voice is hollow, almost unbelievable. “i-is she — are we—?”

“this is my daughter, y/l/n aiko,” you say, steely calm and dangerous. the warm smile you were wearing moments ago clean off your face and your eyes were like glass — shiny, unemotional. “she was born after you left, so you never got a chance to meet her, did you?”

“y/n—“

“y/l/n!” you snap, face still void of emotions. “you don’t have that right anymore.”

bakugou stiffens for a moment, but he knows that you’re right. “y/l/n,” he tries again, your last name a word he’s never had to use in his entire life to address you. “how old is she?”

“mama,” aiko whispers, eyes glaring at bakugou as she stand protectively in front of you, fingers digging into your blouse. “I wanna go now.”

your eyes drop from bakugou, and he watches as a strained but kind smile is expressed to aiko as you press a kiss to her forehead. “okay, go pay for these things for me, will ya? tell tayo-sama we’ll pay him back tomorrow. i’m going to finish this conversation with… with my old classmate.”

aiko looks between you and bakugou, eyebrows furrowed with unsaid questions but she nods, grabbing the things from your arms and going to the cash register. bakugou keeps his gaze on the young girl until your fingers dig into his bicep and your pulling him into a corner that he had definitely made out with you in ages, lifetimes ago.

“what are you doing here?!” you hiss in a near terrible whisper, face frazzled and overwhelmed. “you’ve never been back home! what’s different?!”

“is she mine?!”

“no!” you shriek, fist hitting his chest. “she’s not yours! she’s mine! she’s not some claimable object you get to collect years later!”

bakugou stiffens but also feels like he melts with guilt under those words… youre right. he has no claim to her. all he did was give her life but it was a life where he was probably nothing more than an empty space in. but he looks at you, millions of emotions swimming through your watery eyes, and the snarl on your lips as you stand before him as if you could do anything.

“i’m… i’m sorry, you’re right,” bakugou says, lips pressing into a thin line.

“you shouldn’t have come back,” you laugh miserably, fingers massaging your temples. your tone is weak, defeated, as if for the first time in your life you felt the bottom of the pit. “why did you come back home?”

“mama!!!! let’s go already!!!” aiko whines by the entrance and you tremble in front of him before shaking your head.

“coming!” you call back to her.

bakugou steals another look at what is his daughter. a girl he never knew existed.

“do me a favor, bakugou,” you say passing him with small but domineering steps. “don’t do anything to make her suspect youre her father.”

it took a few hours, probably more, maybe less, but bakugou finally finds himself at his childhood home. he’s heart feeling like it was being swallowed as the front door opened and he saw his older mother and father standing at the entrance. bakugou couldn’t understand what they were saying as they welcomed him in, he could only notice how their home looked exactly the same… well except that the walls that were decorated with photos of him and only him were also covered with pictures of aiko.

“did you know?” bakugou asks before he can even say hello.

mitsuki stopped mid rant, her face moving from irritated mother to exasperated but pitiful silence.

“since she found out.”

“why didn’t you… why didn’t I know?”

“she tried telling you, called you multiple times only to be blocked,” masaru gently explains. “you always shut us down when we so much as mentioned her.”

“she even flew out there at one point but caught you making out with some dumb model too.” mitsuki inserts with a huff. “we tried, brat. you just…”

bakugou is silent, his heartbeat roaring in his ears at the thought of his initial monstrous attempt of deleting his past life. mitsuki sighs, sad and sullen.

“there was no point in telling you when you won’t listen.”

or the story of a one sided bitter ex as bakugou and reader are challenged at creating some semblance of a relationship because aiko pieces it together the moment they looked at each other. including a lot of angst, a six month time limit to rekindle a once in a lifetime love story because choosing between family and work is damn hard.

#I watched that one movie with the singer & his high school lover and was like how do I make this a story #this is all I can think of #lyssa doesnt shut up #bakugou x reader

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hiraethenthusiast · 3 years

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The Hollandairé | t.h.

pairing: ceo!tom x ceo! reader

word count: 16k+

synopsis: exes cross paths on a big event. will they be able to forget each other's mistakes?

warnings: language, sexual innuendos, mentions of an anxiety attack (if you squint), talks about miscarriage, my favourite angst.

a/n: well, well, well im back from a very shitty writers block! look at me, writing angst with exes? oof. can you tell that i absolutely love angst and makeouts in the end? i was somehow inspired by 'idfc' by blackbear to write this fic lol. it took some time and ofcourse i went overboard with it, so hope you enjoy! don't forget to like and reblog! (i even made a moodboard kinda thing uwuwu)

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"Conan I won't hesitate to knee you in the crotch if you don't stop pulling me off this sofa right this second" You tell your roommate, who is desperately trying to get you to go to a gala with him. Being a CEO brings its pros and cons. Pros being, you have a private jet, you're your own boss and you can shout at people with a reason. Cons being, annoyingly nice roommates. You had just shifted to a penthouse in downtown London with your friend Conan, because you refused to stay alone in this bigass house. (You tried living alone once, you were bored to death)

"Conan leave me alone yoo!" You said whining and hunching back into the sofa.

"Get the fuck up and get ready for the launch dude you promised me you wouldn't leave me hanging" Conan shouts over the voice of the t.v. blaring in the background. You pull you hand away from his grip and reach for the remote to shut off the t.v., focusing back on this tall red-headed figure in front of you.

"You know I don't like fancy shit." You grumble.

"It's YOUR fancy shit, get up Y/N." He says and reaches for your arms now, finally making you stand.

"Call Laura, I really don't want to go." You say pulling your phone out from your back pocket and handing it to him.

"If you haven't realised, your manager is the one who forced me to force you to attend the introduction of your fashion line" He fights back.

"- and Y/N. Hey, look at me. You've dreamt of this for how long? Almost all your life. And if you miss the chance to see your empire expand, it's gonna be devastating. You'll obviously miss the fashion show who's got the actual Rudy Pankow walking on a ramp, you'll also miss the opportunity to see people happy with YOUR work. Now get your ass up and get ready." He says and leaves the room, to get ready himself.

It's not that you don't want to go, you really do. Afterall, all of it is your hardwork. But the reason you're not going is because of that asshole. That asshole with whom you used to go out with once, the one who's current goal is to bring you down. The one and only, Tom Holland. You two used to date at some point, the ones who were in love actually, but the rivalry you two have got going on now has lead to you two knowing too much about each other. More than you know about yourself, the other knows it all. Small arguments turned into big ones, that eventually lead to the two of you leaving each other alone. You don't want to go because whenever you meet him, it all turns up into a big mess and your night is typically ruined, and you weren't in the mood for that, atleast not today. He's just a narcissistic bitch who thinks of nothing but degrading you. And that's the reason you don't want to go. Because you know if you talk to him one more time, these banters will persuade you.

But you do realise that you have to go. You have to go because you haven't gone to the last two launches for your perfume and swim line as well, and if you don't go today, Laura will actually end you.

So you just chug all your tea, leaving the kitchen with a grunt to go get ready.

"Hey Marco, can you send in that pantsuit I got done the other day? Look over for modifications if possible, although it looks great in just the solid colour, and please get it drycleaned." You tell your designer over the phone, to which he agreed and you go into your room to get your hair and makeup done.

"Wear a dress to the launch of your fashion line when it gets famous, yeah?"

"Pantsuits all the way Holland, you know I hate dresses."

"I know you do."

You remember the faint memory from over two years ago, that dream actually coming true, just without the person you dreamt it with.

You put your hair in a low bun with a middle part, giving you a classy formal look, and you do a almost non existent makeup look, only your eyes bold to accent with your outfit. Marco drops off the forest green pantsuit at your house, you giving it a twist with wearing a lace corset beneath the blazer.

"I look hot." You told yourself.

You and Conan leave for the event, you fidgeting in between 15 minute durations, Conan reassuring you that he'll be with you until the night ends.

That didn't last long. You lost Conan as soon as you entered the venue, so you occupied yourself with having conversations with other company owners, hearing how they're doing in the industry, blah blah blah.

"Do I look like I care?" You say to yourself.

You move ahead, only to cross paths with the one and only. He was wearing a cherry coloured perfectly tailored suit, adding a hint of Tom with the glasses. He looked good.

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Y/N?" He says, twirling his champagne glass in his hands.

"Look Holland I really don't have time for this shit, please take a goodie bag on your way home" You say with a bit of sass and start to move away, only to get your arm held back, making you bump in his chest.

"I see you wore the pantsuit you always wanted to wear at your event, angel " He says, making you pull away from him.

"Don't ever call me that again, and this is a warning." You were about to continue further with your answer, but you were utterly shocked to see the person in front of you.

"Is that the Y/N Y/L/N, in person, the one who's way too busy to answer my phone calls?" He says, making you laugh a bit.

"Jaeden?" You say, laughing heartily.

"In the flesh, tigeress." He says, doing grabby hands at you as an indication to pull you in a hug. You oblige and walk towards him and give him the biggest bear hug you've given anyone in two years. You pull back just to hit him on the chest once, playfully ofcourse.

"Tigeress. Oof haven't heard that in a while" You keep your conversation going on with Jaeden, while Tom is absolutely dumbfounded about whatever just happened in these past few seconds.

There's this hot guy named Jason or whatever, who calls you 'tigeress' and you aren't pestering him for calling you with a nickname but you definitely were ready to give Tom a piece of your mind when he called you 'angel'? Who is this guy?

Tom goes off to find Conan, who was situated at the bar downing a shot of tequila.

"Hey who's that guy Jason?" He asks him, pointing towards you and Jaeden in the middle of the hall.

"You mean Jaeden?" He says, biting onto a slice of lemon.

"Yeah whatever who is he?" Tom asks again, turning towards to bartender asking for a glass of whiskey.

"Why do you want to know?" Conan shoots back.

"Just curious. Can you just fucking tell me now?" Tom tries again, getting frustrated now.

"Chill dude. Jaeden used to work with Y/N a long time ago. He had this crush on her for like forever, but then Y/N went in for entrepreneurship and they were just not in contact with each other." He says.

"Crush huh?" Tom says, gripping onto his glass so tight that his knuckles almost turned white.

"Why do you look like you're about to murder someone?" Conan asks, getting concerned.

"Because I might." Tom says, grinding his teeth while forcing a smile.

The night goes by pretty smoothly, for you. You and Jaeden were clinged to each other almost the whole night, and then Tom watching you both from a distance, trying not to snap hard at people. He just took enough of it, he had to do something. He wasn't really sure why was he jealous, 'maybe because you love her' his heart said, but his mind crossing paths with a 'no you don't' in the middle. He was in a dilemma, but was mostly leaning towards his heart's side. He finally got up from his seat and walked towards you.

"Y/L/N." He says, keeping his composure.

"Yes?" You turn around to come face to face with him, laughing on something Jaeden had said.

"Board of Directors want to meet you on third floor. I was going that way only, wanted to inform you." He says.

"Oh okay. Jaeden I'll be back in a few. And tell me about that Mario Kart incident." You say, your laughter dying as you walk towards the elevator, motioning Tom to move as well. You both enter the elevator and you click the button for third floor.

"So Jaeden's a long lost friend, I assume?" He tries to small talk, failing miserably.

"Yeah, I used to work with him a long time back. Why do you ask?" You say, being the nicest you've been to Tom in two years.

"Just making small talk. So, exactly how long ago, you used to work with him?" He tries again.

"A really long time ago." You tell him.

"When we were dating?" He says, hesitating.

The elevator dings and you reach third floor, both of you moving into a very empty hallway.

"Why do you care Tom?" You say, making him frustrated even more.

"Because you're my fucking ex-girlfriend whom I'm worried about because that asshole has a mega crush on you" He says, making you jerk your head towards him.

"How many whiskeys have you had?" You ask him, because he was sounding oblivious that's for sure.

You turn around to open the meeting room to find it empty, making you glare at Tom once again.

"Why the fuck did you bring me up here Holland, where's the meeting?" You say, narrowing your eyes towards him.

"There is no meeting Y/N, the Board didn't show up this year, remember?" He says moving and fidgeting around the room.

"Then why did you bring me up here, dumbass?" That put him over the edge. He starts walking towards you making you take a few steps back, finally cornering you in the room.

"Because that guy is fucking flirting with you Y/N. That guy has been roaming around the whole night with my girl, touching and hugging my girl in front of me and you expect me to keep my calm? Huh? I don't fucking care okay? You're supposed to be mine and I was a jerk who let you go. I can't stand seeing you with other people. What the fuck is wrong with you Y/N, why did you leave me?!" He shouts at you, making your blood boil even more.

You push him back and stand in front of him, glaring as if you were going to rip his head off.

"No Tom, YOU left me, alright? I cried almost every night after that day when you left, and you didn't even have the empathy to give me a call. You, are too self-absorbed, and not me Tom. It was all you. I haven't been to even one of my launches just because I know you'll be there, you'll be there to put me down again. And why the fuck do you care about whom I talk to huh?" You shout at him.

"Why would I come to every single one of your launches Y/N?! To see you! To see the person who understood me more than I did, just to fucking see your face and calm my nerves!" He shouts back. He moves towards you and holds you chin to put your eyes at his eye level.

"Look at me Y/N. Look at me. Did we mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you? Look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. Tell me I meant nothing to you and I'll leave this second. Tell me that this was all a lie." He says, making your eyes water.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Then why do you keep hurting me Y/N?! You hurt me so much! You left me when I needed you the most! I wanted you and you weren't there-" He shouts again.

"SHUT UP TOM, SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop! Please. Stop." You're crying hysterically now, hunching up in a corner trying to calm yourself down. Tom immediately sees it and runs towards you holding your hands and cradling them.

"Hey, hey Y/N. Look at me, look at me baby. It's Tom. Hey baby. I'm here, yeah? I'm here. Stop crying come on babe, please. Love, look at me. I'm here." He says, now running his hand over your cheeks wiping your tears.

"Go away. Go away from me." Is all you say, which makes his ears perk and brings water to his eyes.

He stands up and moves out of the room, closing the door just to hear you crying again. He sits down on the floor with his back on the door now, crying, waiting for you to say something.

"Please, open the door." He says, bursting into tears and hugging himself with his arms, wishing it was you.

Fifteen minutes pass by and you still haven't said anything. Tom misses you so much, and it was so fucked up of you to leave him like this. He was hurt, but he could never stop loving you. Ever.

"Losing you would be a nightmare that I'd beg to be awaken from everyday." You say opening the door, your eyes blood red, hair disheveled making Tom look at you, whose eyes were blood red too.

"What?"

"I was pregnant, Tom." You tell him, making his eyes widen and holding your hand for comfort.

"The day-" You clear your throat "The day we fought is when we lost the baby. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that day, but then that happened." You were crying a bit more now, but still held you composure so you can handle Tom from now.

"The argument gave me too much stress and, and it was affecting the baby so as soon as you left, um, my stomach started aching really badly and, and yeah we lost our baby then. That's why I left." You say, you were crying on his shoulder now, intentionally ignoring his reaction because you knew it would hurt him.

"We, we- lost our baby?" He says, a bit shocked but choking on his tears. You remain silent.

"Hey, hey. Listen. It's okay. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I shouldn't have fought with you. You were already really worried and I just added onto your pressure. I'm so sorry baby I'm so so sorry." He was full-on crying now, he sniffled in your neck because he was too afraid to show his emotions.

"It wasn't your fault Tommy, it was ours." You say, running your hand in his curls. The way you missed his chestnut curls. It was all good again, well atleast you hoped.

Tommy. That always brought butterflies in his stomach.

You talked everything out in the bathroom, while washing your faces and cleaning up. You both understood that everything was going back to normal, just like the old times. One conversation lead to another, and you spent two hours on the bathroom floor just laughing and having gossip.

"It's been a while." You say laughing, looking at your watch.

"Yeah."

"Why did you say 'my girl' Tom?" You ask him directly.

"Hm?"

"You called me 'my girl' in the conference room. Why?" You tell him, and he instantly remembers that he did do that.

"You're in my head almost everyday Y/N. Even when you're not supposed to be. It shouldn't have been this hard letting go, but it was. I still love you, even if you don't." He says, taking some tissue paper off the counter.

"Who said I don't love you?" You say, making his eyes widen.

"Wha- wh- what are you implying here?" He stumbles upon his words, making you laugh.

"I still love you, you goof."

"Y/N you have to be serious you're making me want things I can't have." He says wholeheartedly.

You say nothing but grab him by his collar and kiss him with full force. After two years, you felt those soft lips on yours again, reminiscing every moment you had missed in these past years. They felt the same, soft and plump, just as if they were made for you. They fit in with yours like a puzzle, that was meant to be solved by these two hearts which were tangled, but now, in a right way. Tom kissed back almost immediately, feeling your lips was like a dream come true. A recurrent dream in his mind. You both pull back to see red and puffy lips and give out a light laugh. He doesn't stop, he keeps leaving peppery kisses all over your face mumbling sweet words again and again.

"I missed you so, so much angel." he says leaving a kiss on your nose.

"I missed you too bubba." you say leaving a small peck on his lips.

"Let's go now, we've been here for almost two hours." You start to move towards the door, but get pulled back by your waist.

"Tell Jaeden to maintain distance, yeah?" He says.

"Or what?" You say in a playful tone.

"Babygirl, I think you've forgotten what I'm capable of." He says, kissing your neck.

"I think I have. And stop kissing me I look shit." You say, laughing.

"I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He says leaving another harsh suck on your skin, which can hopefully be covered by your blazer.

"Are you going to eyefuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?" You say, now kissing Tom's sweet spot.

"Finish this event in the next half an hour. I'll see you at my house babe." He says leaving one last peck on your lips.

You both reach downstairs after fixing your makeup and hair, you reach upto the stage and and hold onto the mic.

"Thankyou all for attending the event. We look forward to having more business with you! Don't forget to post something about our line 'The Hollandairé' on your social media platforms and don't forget to tag us! We are, The Y/L/N's thankyou have a good night!"

He listen to you and smirks to himself, because you do do what you say.

"I'm going to name my first fashion line 'The Hollandairé' " You say making a banner with your hands.

"And I'll be right with you then baby" He says, kissing your cheek.

Looks like he kept his promise too.

tagging some friends whom i think would like to read!:

@hollandslittlekoala @hollandsmushroom @leafy-holland @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @t-lostinworlds

(pls do tell me if you don't want to be tagged further on!)

don't forget to reblog!

ilysmmmm. tpwk y'all!

#tom holland #tom holland and reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland gifs #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #raya writes #raya is a mohmaya #q #smut #angst #fluff #makeout #jealousy

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elftwink · 3 years

Text

no thoughts only taakitz superhero/villain coffeeshop au. taako’s power is shapeshifting but he has a cool gun from lup. kravitz’s power is Big Fuckin Scythe With Unspecified Abilities. also there was no time to get into it but fantasy starbucks isn’t a real starbucks it’s a borderline illegal unaffiliated bootleg starbucks that taako and lup own. like dumb starbucks was.

By all rights, it should have been a fairly routine night for the Reaper. Go out, stop some crimes, arrive just in time to prevent whatever scheme the Mongoose had cooked up this week, exchange some one liners, make some threats that essentially amounted to ‘same time next week?’, the works. A regular Tuesday as a superhero in Neverwinter.

But Kravitz is tired, and more than a little distracted, so he’s not doing so hot on the one liners, and the Mongoose’s attacks are a little closer than they would normally be. He doesn’t even have a good excuse, it’s not like he’s injured, or that he has anything pressing to think of.

It was just— this morning his barista (who he may or may not have been harbouring a small crush on) had mentioned offhand that he thought the Reaper was ‘probably hot under the stupid all-black getup’, and Kravitz didn’t really know what the protocol was for someone complimenting your alter-ego was.

“I think if you were gonna go for the strong silent type, you had to start doing it months ago. Now it’s just acting like an asshole. Are you mad at me?” the Mongoose cuts into his thoughts, firing off another few missiles from his stupid umbrella gun (Umbrastaff, he called it, although it was a gun and not a staff so Kravitz had no idea why he insisted on calling it that).

“We are literally fighting as we speak,” says Kravitz, playing up the cockney accent, spinning his scythe to deflect the missiles off the blade, sending them ricocheting around the room. He’d said something like ‘how can you tell’ to Taako— the barista (well, they’d been on a first name basis for a few weeks, so, Taako), and he’d said ‘I can just tell’ which was not at all helpful in getting Kravitz through the conversation without saying or doing something to give himself away.

He’d almost given Taako his number, but how was he going to justify that? Hey, it’s me under the all black getup. Do you want to go out sometime? As if.

“You can have fights without being fuckin’ rude,” says the Mongoose, firing off another few rounds, which Kravitz deflects again, advancing on him.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m a bit scattered. Not exactly my A game.” As if to prove his point, the Mongoose easily dodges his next couple swings with the scythe, not even bothering to leave his range.

“Clearly. I mean, normally you’re at least close enough that I can feel the breeze from your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, and you know that.” Kravitz brings down the scythe in the space where the Mongoose was only seconds before, having already backflipped out of the way and landed a few metres back. Show off. Not that Kravitz had room to complain about that. The Mongoose spins to face him again, at least this time seemingly aware of what a close call that was. He’s tense, and his hair, which Kravitz supposes has thus far been hidden underneath his costume, has come somewhat unravelled, black braid falling to the middle of his back.

It seems... familiar?

He doesn’t have time for that right now. Kravitz draws back the scythe, feeling the hum of energy under his fingers, swinging again, and—

“Wait! Time out!” the Mongoose puts up a hand and Kravitz, for who knows what reason, stops his scythe mid-swing. The familiarity sticks, so it’s not just a trick of the light. It takes him a second to place, but the hairstyle... it looks a lot like a certain barista he’d been spending all night thinking about.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s because he has Taako on the brain, is all. Besides, he has other things to worry about besides seeing his crush in his enemy. Namely the fight currently happening with said enemy. “What? You can’t call a time out.”

“I just did,” says the Mongoose, fishing through his pockets and pulling out several bobby pins, sticking them in his mouth so he can use both hands to fix his hair. Kravitz blinks, still trying to shake off the sense of deja vu, but it won’t quit nagging him. “It’s a whole safety issue to leave long hair down.”

“It’s still in a braid,” retorts Kravitz.

“Somebody never took Foodsafe.” the Mongoose gives him a lopsided grin that Kravitz fucking knows he’s seen before, and suddenly it’s more than just passing familiarity, and how could he possibly have not noticed before, and— the Mongoose finishes putting up his hair, raising an eyebrow at Kravitz and his private crisis. “Alright. Ready—”

“You work at Fantasy Starbucks,” blurts Kravitz, without even thinking about it. The Mongoose stops dead in his tracks, and Kravitz can see his eyes widen even behind the mask. He splutters for a moment, and then seems to find his footing, already ready with a snarky remark.

“Yeah, well— your accent is fake.”

Shit. He’d forgotten. At the only time so far that having it would have been useful too. Still, he pushes it out of his mind; the Mongoose hadn’t denied it. And, well, he’s already solidly derailed this fight, so he might as well get some real confirmation out of it.

“...Taako? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Just who the fuck are y—” The Mongoose— Taako— levels the Umbrastaff at him, and then stops again. “...Kravitz?”

Well. Shit. Again. Kravitz doesn’t bother to affirm that; his silence is more than enough confirmation. One of them has to say or do something, but the seconds stretch on.

“You’re telling me I said all that shit to your face this morning?” says Taako.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Uh, yeah—” Taako is backing up now, and they’ve fought enough times that Kravitz knows when the Mongoose is looking for an escape route; Kravitz’s feet still feel glued to the floor, even when Taako reaches the window, fingers already turning to talons around the Umbrastaff. Taako breaks the glass (because of course he does, even though the windows aren’t even fucking locked), breaking eye contact with Kravitz in order to swing his legs through the window before his form changes too much. “Look, this is like, a lot right now, and I— I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he says, and then drops. Whatever had been keeping Kravitz in place, slack jawed, ends as soon as Taako leaves his sight, and he’s moving before he has time to think about it.

“Wait—!” Kravitz runs for the window, but by the time he gets there, the bird clutching the Umbrastaff is nearly out of sight.

Well. That could have gone better.

***

Kravitz doesn’t go for his coffee the next day. Or the next day, either, although the day after that he’s sick of making his own coffee. And frankly, he misses chatting with Taako. Even if the guy was trying to kill him like once a week. He couldn’t just avoid this forever.

Still, the fact that Taako is working cash when he comes in makes him want to turn tail and run back home. He conjures up the memory of yesterday’s shitty coffee and pushes onward. The shop is mostly empty still, so there’s no line.

“The usual?” says Taako, like nothing abnormal has happened.

“Please,” says Kravitz, and then, before he can chicken out entirely, adds, “Uhm, do you have a few minutes?”

“My shift isn’t over until—”

“I’ll cover you,” comes Lup’s voice from the back room; she pokes her head out and gives Taako a look that is clearly significant, but that Kravitz can’t quite puzzle out. “Take five minutes after you’re done making his coffee.”

Taako scowls at her, and she smiles brightly before heading to the back again.

“Okay. I guess I have five minutes. Talk to you after I make your coffee.”

Kravitz nods, and goes to hover around the pickup counter, pretending to be interested in things on his phone. Taako makes his coffee in a ceramic mug, which at least means he doesn’t want Kravitz to get the fuck out as soon as possible, so that’s... something.

Taako slides the finished coffee across the counter, circling around to join Kravitz on the customer side as Kravitz grabs the mug.

“Lup!” he hollers, and then starts walking towards one of the corner booths without checking to see if his sister is headed to cash or if Kravitz is following. Kravitz does, though, sliding himself into the seat opposite Taako, hands wrapped tightly around the mug.

Taako speaks first. “To be honest, I kinda thought you would rat me out.”

“That would be shitty of me, to just sic authorities on your place of work without so much as a warning.”

“So is this the warning?”

“No,” says Kravitz, taking a sip of his coffee, “I... can’t really make coffee without burning it. And this is the only place for miles with tolerable muffins.”

Taako cracks a grin, like Kravitz knew he would. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” His smile falls, and he crosses his arms and leans back. “So. Reaper. Why didn’t you rat me out?”

Why indeed. Kravitz takes another sip of his coffee and thinks for a second, not even sure himself what his explanation will be once he starts talking.

“It didn’t seem... fair. You’re less of a villain and more of a pain in my ass—” Kravitz ignores Taako’s indignant noise and keeps talking, “—and while we always have cause to fight when on the clock, you’re not doing anything that I feel needs to leave the bounds of those... work hours, I guess.”

Taako is trying to pick him apart with his gaze; it’s something he’s been subjected to several times, although normally in costume, and in retrospect it’s difficult to imagine how he spent so long not noticing the Mongoose in Taako.

Whatever Taako is looking for, he must find it, because he relaxes a bit, and shoots him a lazy grin. “Plus, Mongoose related insurance just got rolling and it would be fuckin’ rude to take me out of commission before anyone got to use theirs.”

Kravitz laughs. “Sure.” He’s silent for a second, before adding, “You aren’t planning on revealing my secret identity, are you? Awfully rude of you to double cross me like that.”

“Wha— You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! Maybe I wasn’t!”

“Were you?”

“I was,” admits Taako, not even pretending to look sheepish. Kravitz raises his eyebrows, and Taako shrugs. “Oh, like you didn’t think about revealing my secret identity? And could you imagine the hype if I unmasked the Reaper? I was tempted.” He sighs. “But I figured then you’d have no reason to keep my identity a secret. No way am I risking a backfire like that.”

It sounds callous, but Kravitz has been talking to Taako almost daily for months; at this point, he can pretty reliably pick up on when Taako isn’t being entirely truthful about something.

“Hmm. Then I suppose it’d be in my best interest not to tell you that I wouldn’t reveal your identity even if you revealed mine?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

Kravitz makes a face. “It’s just in poor taste. I just think we all go through all the trouble to hide who we are and use these powers for good— or whatever it is you do— that it’s always going to be such a low blow to reveal who we are. There might be times where it’s necessary, but petty revenge is not one of them.”

Taako’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, he’s narrowed his eyes more. “God, you are like— fuckin’ irritatingly nice. Fine. I wasn’t going to reveal your identity. That would be fuckin’ annoying to deal with. Plus I’m having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh don’t— don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re having fun out there too. With your stupid accent and one liners and shit.”

“Alright, alright,” says Kravitz, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not supposed to be having fun, so keep it quiet.”

“See, that’s why I market myself as a villain. No dumb rules.” He puts an elbow on the table and leans on his hand. “Why do you have a fake accent anyway?”

Heat rises to Kravitz’s face, and he’s hoping he looks less embarrassed than he feels. “It’s my— I do it so people don’t recognize my voice.”

Taako laughs. “Well, it doesn’t really do that if you immediately stop using it when you realize you might know someone.”

“I was caught off guard!” defends Kravitz. “It’s not every day you find out your nemesis is your barista.”

“Nemesis, huh?” Taako grins. “Didn’t realize it was that serious to you. You know I have other heroes to fight.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes again. “I don’t see how you have the time, considering how often you’re causing trouble for me.”

Taako laughs, and it’s so contagious and the whole conversation is so surreal Kravitz can’t help but laugh too, before they both lapse into a comfortable, if drawn out, silence.

“So, uh,” says Taako eventually, “what now?”

“Well,” says Kravitz, “I want to keep coming in for coffee in the mornings. And I assume the Mongoose will continue with... whatever chaos it is you currently have planned.”

“It’s not chaos,” insists Taako, “I have plans. But yeah. And I assume the Reaper is gonna show up and throw a wrench in those plans?”

“Yes, probably. So we’ll just be enemies by night...” Kravitz trails off, not entirely sure how to refer to their by day relationship. Friends? Potential love interests? Acquaintances? There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Kravitz gives up entirely.

Taako pulls and pen and a napkin out of his pocket, jotting something down and pushing it towards Kravitz.

“Here’s, uh, here’s my number. If you give me a heads up five minutes before you get here, we can have your coffee ready by the time you walk in. If you’re nice to me out there.”

“I don’t take bribes,” says Kravitz, grabbing the napkin and pulling out his phone to type in the number.

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a threat. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your coffee if you fuck me up.”

Kravitz doesn’t bother to point out that neither of them have ever caused any extreme bodily harm to one another and instead says, “So you’re asking me to go easy on you? I thought you were having fun.” He sends Taako a ‘hey it’s kravitz’ text before he has time to second guess himself.

“Could you stop poking holes in my threats? You’re harshing my fuckin’ vibe, Krav.” He sounds irritated, but Kravitz can see the smile tugging at his lips as he texts Kravitz a couple of skull emojis. “I should get back to work before my sister kicks my ass,” he says, standing back up. “I’ll see you tonight, nemesis.” Then he turns on his heels and heads back to the counter, saying something to Lup as he walks by. Kravitz watches him disappear into the back room.

Tonight.

Kravitz had better make sure he had hung his cloak up to dry.

#this is like. 2k words of unpolished nonsense that desperately needs an edit BUT i had a lot of fun with it #i dont know how the powers work or where they are or why they're fighting or who theyre affiliated with ok just roll w/#*roll w/me on this one. just go with it #taako's name was selected by virtue of being the only thing on his wiki page that sounded even remotely like a good supervillain name #taakitz #taz balance #mine

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