#i swear i’ve seen these emojis somewhere else but no idea where and when
Text
Are We There Yet
Hey look it’s losleep that might be *knocks on wood* actually somewhat short? I’m doing these prompts way out of order because I’ve accepted that I won’t finish them so I’m just doing the ones that call my name.
(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.)
Prompt: The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away.
Pairing: QPR Losleep.
Words: 6856
Warnings: self-deprecation, food mention, arson mention, death mention, sleep deprivation, minor injury, swearing, hypothermia kind of, and this whole thing could be read as a metaphor for touch starvation
Remy is not clingy.
Okay? Okay.
He doesn’t need anybody. Sure, it’s nice when Logan holds his hand, pretty cool when Logan kisses his cheek, but if no? Remy’s fine with that. He made it like twenty-something years without the boi, after all. Besides, physical affection is ew. He only puts up with it ‘cause Logan likes it.
And if sometimes he flops into Logan’s lap and whines about work until Logan plays with his hair, that’s to annoy his babe. Not because he likes it.
And if he always sticks close to Logan? It’s because Logan drives the cold away.
Which is also not a problem. Remy likes being cold. He’s a frozen dream-come-true, a cool and collected boi, a chill and fabulous being. He’s got his jacket if things get too bad.
Besides, again, he made it twenty years without warmth.
(Twenty pretty fucking terrible years, if he’s honest, but just because he’s half-delirious sometimes from the feeling of being warm doesn’t mean he needs to be desperate about it.)
He’s not desperate. He’s not clingy. He does what he wants and his stupid partner doesn’t control him.
Remy’s not clingy, and Logan’s going away this week, and it’s fine.
“I’ll be back soon,” Logan promises for the fifth time. “You can call me if you need anything, and there’s extra groceries in the fridge, and the keys are by the door--”
“Babe, I’ll be fine.” Remy rolls his eyes. “Tbh, I think you’re more nervous about this than I am.”
“I’m not nervous,” Logan argues, although the way his eyes flicker around says otherwise. “Remember to turn off the stove, and--”
“Darling.” Remy gives Logan a kiss on the nose and enjoys the way Logan flushes and wrinkles his nose. One year of being partners and Logan still stammers under affection. Clearly, Remy needs to give him more.
(It’s just for the reaction, though. It’d be fine if Logan didn’t want kisses. Remy wouldn't sulk.)
“Starlight,” Remy says, placing another kiss on Logan’s cheek for good measure, “my good bitch, I’m capable of managing one week without burning the house down.”
“I know, I know.” Logan gives him a small smile. “I’m just--I wish you could come with me.”
“Plane tickets are fucking expensive,” Remy says, “and I’d rather go broke buying espresso than flying in some tin death trap, ‘kay? Go do your conference thing. It’ll be fine--I’ll hold down the fort.”
Logan frowns. “What fort?”
“Expression, honey.” Remy gives Logan one more kiss because he can’t help himself (but he’ll be fine without these for a week, of course.) “Good luck, show those assholes what you’re made of.”
“They’re hardly assholes.” Logan touches his forehead to Remy’s and Remy does his best not to melt in the warmth. “You’ll really be okay without me?”
“Of course,” Remy says, grinning. “My life will go on without you. I’m not that clingy.”
Something flashes over Logan’s face, but it’s gone before Remy can parse it. Logan gives him a final kiss and grabs his suitcases, pulling on a blazer that makes him look fucking stunning, in Remy’s opinion. Goddammit. Logan’s wasting his hella fine looks on some conference assholes when he could be here with Remy, sipping coffee and making fun of every episode of Gilmore Girls.
Well. What the hell does Remy care? He really does get that Logan needs to go to that conference, since Mr. Serious Professor is the only real income-giver in the household. Remy’s just a layabout who pays meager rent only on months when the coffee shop doesn’t fully fail.
He has no idea why Logan chose Remy, of all people, because he figured professor-types ought to stick together.
(He knows why. They’re soulmates. Without each other, they’re cold as ice, and tbh, Remy gets it. Logan would rather be with a mess than freezing to death. Fair enough. Still, it hurts, knowing you could be replaced with a fucking space heater.)
Logan gives Remy a little wave, and Remy gives him a cocky smile in return, adjusting his sunglasses and already planning the five-shot espresso he’s gonna use to drown his feelings.
Just one week.
This is gonna be fine.
Remy circles the end of the week on his calendar, once, twice, three times. Just so he’s not surprised. Sometimes time slips away around him and he’d like to be clothed when his partner shows up again.
He spends the rest of the evening watching TV. He heats up some macaroni, burns his tongue on it, and eats two brownies because why the hell not? It’s only like nine when he’s done, but the apartment is eerily empty. Logan’s usually busy with grading these evenings, face lit by his laptop, and Remy teases him and passes him some coffee and pulls him to bed when he’s really wrapped up.
Remy runs his hand idly over the spot where Logan usually sits.
Ugh. This is setting him on edge. He doesn’t like empty places and he has the urge to yell just to fill up the pockets of silence.
Remy makes himself one coffee. He shouldn’t. If Logan were here, he’d chide Remy and say Remy needs to sleep soon. Remy dangles his coffee mug in midair but Logan doesn’t catch it. ‘Cause Logan’s not here.
Duh, Remy, what’d you expect?
Remy chugs the coffee, tosses the mug in the sink, and tells himself he’ll clean it tomorrow.
He curls up in bed and stays on his phone until midnight. As the night wears on, he grows colder and colder. He pictures Logan flying on a plane to somewhere else, maybe sleeping with some stupid sleep mask on, his hair all messy and his glasses in his hands.
Remy’s phone vibrates.
If you’re still up, go to sleep.
Logan signs the text with a blue heart. He always does. Remy has done his goddamn best to teach Logan how emojis actually work, but Logan insists that words are “a highly more productive and lucid way of communicating.”
He always adds a heart though. Says it’s a quick way to remind Remy that he loves him.
Logan’s such a fucking sap sometimes.
(Remy ignores the fact that he’s smiling at his phone like it’s his firstborn child.)
lol hypocrite smh, he decides to write back.
I, at least, have the excuse of jet lag. Get some sleep, dear, we can talk tomorrow.
Remy sighs and doesn’t ask him to stay. He really is tired. And he’s not desperate.
He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pulls his blankets up to his shoulders.
He’s cold.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he wakes up and he’s still cold. Damn, the universe is a bitch.
Rubbing his arms and swearing, Remy stumbles into the kitchen and fumbles for the espresso machine. He tosses a good morning behind him and then remembers Logan’s not here. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes himself.
He’s not gonna think about Logan right now.
Besides, Remy could use this alone time! Right? He’s always complained about Logan getting in his personal space.
(It’s a joke. It’s a joke and Logan always sees right through it, and Remy hates it.)
Remy nods to himself. He gets dressed in his usual jacket and pulls it tighter around him, as if clothes can get rid of the cold in his chest.
He takes a sip of coffee, pulls on his sunglasses, and gets ready to face the day.
His first shift goes okay. A bunch of couples come in, giggling and blushing, and Remy can tell the newest ones from the way they cling to each other’s arms. He fucking hates the universe sometimes. Depending on how sensitive a soul is, the cold can mess with people good. Some people never find their soulmate and freeze inside and out, unable to fix it, suffering from a cold that physically doesn’t exist. It’s all in their head, or their soul, to be sentimental about it.
Soulmates are bullshit if they hurt someone for not being there enough.
And being forced to be with someone...there are problems. Remy’s heard the stories. Seen the tears. Soulmates might be “made for each other” but sometimes shit happens, and the problem is nobody can leave that mess, because soulmates and because going from warm to cold is terrifying.
(Even for the relationships that work out--like Remy’s--there’s always the undercurrent of doubt. That it’s all about the temperature, the destiny, the expectations. And not about real love. Remy tries not to think about that.)
Still, watching the younger couples trade coffees and smile, Remy gets why everyone falls in love with the idea.
He spends his lunch break staring at his phone and hoping Logan will text him. Logan’s probably asleep--time zones, right? Plus the babe always gets conked out after plane rides.
Remy could text Logan, just to know. But it hasn’t been a day yet. He’s not gonna be needy.
He does his second shift, downs two espressos, and pretends the caffeine rush eclipses the cold settling into his bones.
He only grabbed a bun for lunch, so for dinner he cooks up some chicken. Then he watches more TV. Without realizing it, he grabs several blankets and pulls them around himself until he’s a blanket burrito. It’s warm. He almost falls asleep right there but manages to drag himself to bed, because an annoying voice in the back of his brain told him Logan would be mad if Remy stayed on the couch all night.
What does it matter, though? Logan isn’t here.
Remy still goes to bed.
He piles a quilt on top of his shoulders. The weight drowns him and he drifts off to sleep.
He only wakes up once.
Logan is texting him. Remy fumbles for the phone, ridiculously excited.
I hope you are well. Talk to you tomorrow morning, if you are willing.
Remy swallows and texts back sure.
Too quick? Too desperate? Nah, Logan likes punctuality, and anyway, it says he hasn’t read the text. He probably sent it, turned his phone off, and went to sleep. Logan’s responsible like that.
Remy watches his phone for a few more seconds, sighs, and turns it over. It takes a while for him to go back to sleep.
Day two and day three are a blur. He crosses the days off on the calendar, resolving to burn it before Logan sees. He’s run out of espresso so he makes a quick trip to the grocery store. They’ve turned the air conditioning on, even though it’s fall. Remy shivers his way through the aisles. He buys Logan’s favorite ice cream without thinking and sticks it in the back of the freezer. He’ll be here in four days, after all.
Remy bites his lip, pulls on his jacket, and goes back outside.
He goes to Logan’s favorite bookshop. The door tinkles when he opens it. At least this place isn’t air conditioned, though Remy still shivers, remembering all the afternoons when Logan dragged him here. He heads for the astronomy books and runs his fingers down the shelves. He has no idea what book to get. Logan’s the smart one. Remy’s just the bitch.
He buys a few books. They have space on the cover so Remy figures Logan’ll tolerate them. It costs like twice his week’s paycheck. Remy tries not to be salty about it. It’s not like Logan’s forcing him to buy this stuff. He did it himself.
Why, he’s not sure.
It’s only when he’s walking home with a bag of books and swilling the dregs of his coffee around when he realizes he’s gonna have to find a why. He’ll have to explain to Logan why he impulse-brought the babe some books. And he’ll have to make it somehow sound not-pathetic.
Well, that’s a problem for Future Remy.
Present Remy sticks the books in a closet--is that where books go? He usually just reads cafe menus--and cooks up some fried rice for dinner. All boxed, of course. It tastes like crap. He wonders if he should buy takeout tomorrow, but he just spent a bunch of money on fucking books, so maybe not.
He takes the books back out of the closet. He slips them into place on Logan’s shelves. They’re probably out of order. Logan has a wack organization system. But they look at home on the shelf, and none of the titles seem to be repeats, so that’s cool.
Remy takes a deep breath. They smell like paper, duh. Paper and leather and Logan, just a bit. Or maybe Logan smells like books.
Okay, now that’s pathetic. Remy backs away from the bookshelf. Why’d he even buy those stupid things?
(Because he can imagine Logan did. Because that bookstore reminded him of Logan and he feels like he could summon Logan with his favorite things. Like Logan is a demon or something. Well, tbh, he is a demon if his ability to recite the periodic table is any indication. Also, demons are pretty. And Logan is unfairly pretty, with fluffy hair and dark eyes and a little scar on his cheek and a dip in his chin.)
Remy sighs and watches a bit of TV. He turns it off soon enough because the words slip through his brain and leave no trace behind. Then he grabs the vacuum and turns it up.
He never vacuums. Logan does the cleaning and the cooking. Remy does the...lounging about? And the complaining. Logan also fixes anything that’s broken. Remy--well, maybe he does the errands? He does the errands. It’s not much, though, and it suddenly hits him how much Logan does every day. He’s got a full-time job teaching some college babies how to spell, and he still cooks dinner every night.
Remy narrows his eyes, rolls up his sleeves, and vacuums.
It’s loud. Plus he can’t remember which attachment goes on the carpet and which on the floor. So he might be doing more damage than help here. But fuck it.
When he’s done, he shoves the vacuum back into the closet. Then he grabs the laundry basket and does the laundry. He gets detergent on his jacket, which is not cool, and then he has to fold the fucking laundry. Remy looks up how to fold stuff. He’s pretty sure he’s made everything wrinkly, and some of the clothes didn’t fit in the drawer so he had to smush them.
As an apology, he washes the sink. It’s not bad. Then he washes the mirror--not bad--and the bathtub--worse--and the toilet--hell on earth. By the end of it, he feels like every bit of slime and muck has been transported onto his skin.
He takes a warm shower. He keeps turning the heat up because he forgets the cold inside doesn’t match his actual temperature, and he can’t help it because for a second, it’s like he’s actually warm.
The air is freezing when he steps out. He wraps himself in three towels, stumbles into his bedroom, and throws on two pajama shirts and some extra-fluffy socks. He feels like shit. He has no idea how Logan manages to do all this stuff.
His phone vibrates as he’s collapsing into bed.
If I’m not disturbing you, would you like to talk?
Remy snorts to cover up his huge smile.
hey babe
Greetings. how was your day?
p cool.
Remy pauses before adding: did some chores.
Really? That wasn’t necessary.
im still in this apartment so ye, it was.
That reminds me. Are the groceries running out?
Something twitches in Remy’s stomach. He doesn’t know why. What, did he expect Logan to comment? To thank him? To come flying back home because Remy cleaned the sink?
(Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. It isn’t about Logan’s approval--except it is. Remy wants to know he’s not a screwup. That he did something right. That Logan can ease up because Remy can help out more. And maybe it would make the cold in his chest go away, just a bit.)
Remy sighs.
course not. it’s been like three days
I was just checking. What are you having for lunch?
already had it. it’s like midnight over here
Oh. Apologies. I’ll let you get some sleep.
Remy could say no. He could say stay with me. He could say nah, I’m bored, let’s chat.
He’s not clingy, though.
night babe
Goodnight.
Remy doesn’t even bother putting his phone away. He plugs it in and holds it next to him. It’s warm. And with the many blankets piled up on top of him, he can almost pretend Logan’s there, a fire that sears him inside and out.
He barely sleeps.
Day four is rainy. Remy usually asks Logan to drive him to work, so today he dashes down the sidewalk with an umbrella and curses wildly every time a drop of rain lands on his jacket. All the customers leave puddles on the floor. Remy has to mop them up.
He’s pissed. Pissed at nothing in particular, pissed at the customers who are all a little bit rude, pissed at the cold rattling in his chest.
(He’s more than halfway through the week and he’s barely managed to get this far. Pathetic.)
He chugs coffee right from the pot. It’s blistering hot and he can feel it trickle through him. He’s burning warm now and yet so, so cold. He bets he could burn to death and still feel freezing.
Goddammit.
Fucking soulmates.
Remy is cold. Remy is annoyed. Remy would like very much to go home.
And he gets his wish--because he slips on a puddle by the front door and his ankle skews out in a direction ankles should not go.
He’d try to stay and do his job, but his manager insists he should go home. He asks Remy if anyone’s picking him up. Remy shakes his head.
Remy should stick it out and get paid. Instead, he limps home.
His ankle isn’t swollen much, but it hurts like fuck to walk on, so he props it up on a table and watches TV. Maybe he should be doing more. He just got the afternoon off, after all. But he doesn’t fucking feel like it. So Logan can fight him.
Logan’s not here to fight him.
Ugh. Fuck Logan. Fuck soulmates. Fuck Remy’s stupid twisted ankle. Everything hurts and he wants to commit arson.
Maybe that’d warm him up.
He stays up most of the night. Logan doesn’t text him, or maybe he does and Remy doesn’t hear it over the TV. He doesn’t check. Fuck Logan. Fuck everything in the whole fucking world.
By the time it’s three in the morning, his ankle is still throbbing and he’s about to punch something.
He groans and burrows deeper into his mass of blankets. He’s still really, really cold. He wishes he wasn’t so fucking sensitive--some people feel the temperature super acutely, and Remy’s one of them. Usually he likes being acute, or, more accurately, a-cute piece of ass. This, though? This fucking blows.
Remy drifts in and out of a doze for the rest of the night. He dreams he’s sinking into a frozen lake and nobody’s there to help. He wakes up to the credits playing and his ankle sparkling with hot pain.
Hot pain that he almost doesn’t mind at this point, since it’s a respite from the cold.
Fucking soulmates.
Remy hopes Logan never comes back. He’ll just freeze to death sad and alone and that’d serve Logan right.
(He doesn’t mean that. He never does. Logan would probably be sad if Remy died. And Remy likes being alive. He’s just...he’s just unraveling right now, a snarled mess of red-hot wire in his head, burning his thoughts but never warming the rest of him.)
Remy pulls a pillow out of his head.
He feels like shit, everything’s on fire except cold, and morning is a long way away.
When morning comes, he calls in sick. Because he still feels like shit. Except the special kind of shit he always feels like after pulling an all-nighter. His back is stiff and his ankle throbs dully and his eyes itch. The TV stayed on all night. Remy wonders if that contributes to the electricity bill--Logan always handles that kind of thing.
Logan always handles everything.
Can Logan handle Remy? Well, so far, he’s done alright.
Remy’s hard to handle sometimes, though.
Like now. He’s pretty sure if Logan saw him right now, he’d finally give up on the idea of soulmates.
Remy eats some chips for breakfast, binges a few shows, and eats more chips for lunch. He’s still hungry. Apparently chips aren’t that filling. Bullshit. Chips should count as food.
He nods off mid-afternoon and sleeps through dinner. His stomach is growling when he wakes up. He barely notices, though. It’s the cold that he really feels. It’s like he woke up made of ice, and any movement will shatter his joints and send him crashing to the ground in a pile of frozen splinters.
Dramatic? Yes. Justified? Also yes.
He feels like he’s on fucking fire. Except it’s cold instead of warm and there’s no way to put the fire out.
It’s supposed to be just the chest, but it feels like his whole body. From the tips of his toes to his hair follicles to his eyelashes to his chipped nails. Every blood vessel in his body is frozen, every patch of skin is icy, and when he blinks, he’s surprised no frost comes off of his eyelids.
Fuck, it hurts.
Why does he have to be so sensitive? Why can’t he last one week without his soulmate? Why did the universe look at Remy and decide hey, that’s the bitch we should saddle with super fucking sensitivity to this soulmate shit, so he becomes a clingy bitch and drags everyone else down with him?
Remy works his way into a sitting position and grabs for his phone. An unanswered text from Logan lights up.
How are you doing?
I’m chilling, Remy writes back.
Which is technically true.
(And besides, no need to worry Logan. He can’t do anything about the situation right now, so whining about it would only make Remy look like a mess. Besides, Logan would probably be annoyed--annoyed that his soulmate can’t handle it, that his soulmate won’t shut up, that his soulmate is Remy who’s just entirely wrong for him in every single fucking way.)
Logan doesn’t answer the text. He’s probably busy or asleep.
Remy feels so, so cold.
He frantically searches up solutions for soulmate-induced chills. He has flashbacks to middle and high school, back before he found Logan, cold every morning. People complained he was faking it, that there was no way it felt that bad, and eventually Remy learned to stop talking about it. Later the doctors told him he was abnormally sensitive, and even later he found out that Logan lived miles and miles away.
It had all been kind of justified. But that didn’t make him feel any better.
And today it just makes him feel worse. Great. Five days without his soulmate and he’s slipping back into old habits. Five days without his soulmate and he’s curled up on the couch and trying to find a way to make the cold leave.
Needy? Yes. Desperate? Yes. Justified? Yes, but also, not really.
All the tips involve stuff Remy can’t muster up the urge to go and find. He settles for rubbing at his skin, his wrists, his sides and his knees. For a second there’s a bit of relief, and then gone. It’s like itchy mosquito bites--the moment he warms one patch of skin, another starts aching with cold.
And he’s still hungry. And his ankle still hurts.
Remy curls deeper in the blankets and imagines Logan, Logan pressing a kiss to his hairline, Logan running a hand down his side, Logan close to him and Logan warm, like a bonfire Remy can never touch. Logan is the fucking sun and Remy is a cold, distant planet, trying his damn hardest to get close but knowing he’s just a blip on the radar. Logan can light up the world on his own. Without Logan, Remy can’t do jack-shit.
Remy is spinning through the universe, and it is dark and cold and really, really lonely.
He tugs a blanket over his head and tries to sleep.
When he wakes up again, it’s day six, and his eyelids are stuck together and he wishes fervently for coffee.
He fumbles for his phone. Logan’s texted him. Remy can’t muster up a smile.
It’s a long text. A paragraph. Logan’s walking Remy through his day? Cute. Logan’s so cute.
Remy tries to read it, but his eyes slip closed again and his stomach rumbles and his ankle stings and maybe he’ll just sleep until Logan gets here again, maybe he’ll enter hibernation--
He should answer Logan’s text.
He should call a friend. He’s pretty sure he has some, though he can’t remember why.
He should--maybe he should call 911.
But nah.
Remy’s not clingy, right?
He’s fine.
The phone slips from his hand as he falls back asleep.
Remy’s heard, somewhere, that having hypothermia means you get really warm right before you die. The cold kills you without you even feeling it.
And he can’t die from this. But he does wake up warm and that’s probably not a good sign.
Remy grabs his phone and checks the time. It’s...twelve. Twelve on the day Logan’s returning--and he’s returning at three.
Fuck, shit, fuck--
Remy scrambles to his feet, every bone in his body groaning in complaint. He feels like he got run over by a truck and he probably looks that way, too. His stomach is growling and his hands are shaking and his ankle doesn’t hurt anymore but it also won’t move the way it’s supposed to. He grabs his sunglasses and pulls them on, checking his phone’s texts.
A few texts from his manager. Because yeah, he just missed two extra days of work without even calling the guy. Fuck. Remy’ll have to work overtime or it’ll come down to Logan to pay the bills, and Remy doesn’t want to be even more useless.
One text from Logan.
I’m on the plane. I can’t wait to see you!
Remy wishes the feeling was mutual.
He pulls on his jacket and takes a look around. The living room is a mess of blankets that drown the couch and spill out onto the floor. The TV is blinking--Remy must have sat on the remote. He thwaps the side a few times until it turns off. Maybe he broke it. Well, problem for Future Remy.
Remy bundles up most of the blankets and shoves them haphazardly into the closet. Then he grabs the chip bags and throws them out. He’s starving--he pulls out a yogurt cup and downs it, then makes himself a triple-shot espresso. It’s scalding hot and he almost feels warm drinking it.
He doesn’t feel warm.
He doesn’t feel cold, either.
He feels--well, he’s not sure how he feels. Better, maybe? He’s definitely less of a lump. But everything’s kind of numb and lukewarm and hazy, and his hands won’t stop trembling.
He makes himself another coffee, just for good measure.
The sun streams through the window. Standing in it usually warms Remy up--today it makes him feel cold. He steps into the shadows and they skate over him comfortably. Chilly and numbing and safe, and this is very worrying, and maybe he should call a doctor.
Eh, Logan’ll be back soon. So it’s fine.
Remy tries to remember everything he should do. He was gonna explain to Logan why he bought those books. And what happened to his ankle. And why he hasn’t texted back. And how shitty everything’s been--well, no, not that last one.
Right! Right. The calendar. Throw it out so Remy doesn’t look desperate.
Remy stumbles over to the calendar and tears it down. It’s only marked halfway to today, because he’d given up on crossing off the days, but it’s still irritating to see.
Logan will be here soon.
Remy’s phone vibrates.
Logan’s in the airport. He’s driving home.
For some reason, Remy’s heart starts to race.
(Because the apartment is a mess. Because there are more astronomy books than there used to be. Because Remy looks like a dead rat. Because he hasn’t gone to work. Because Logan will see this mess and realize what a mess Remy is without him.)
Probably, the coffee didn’t help. Remy still takes a sip of it because the familiar taste helps ground him.
Okay. Logan’s getting here soon. And Remy will be warm. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine and Remy can explain things later, when he’s warm.
He can feel Logan in his chest. Maybe that's why he woke up so warm--because Logan’s near. Logan’s near, and Logan’s close, and this should be enough.
It’s not.
Remy’s still numb in his extremities and trembling in his hands. He’s growing warmer but not fast enough. Logan’s not here yet and it hurts.
(Desperate.)
Yeah, he’s fucking desperate.
He paces back and forth across the kitchen. Back and forth. Back and forth. The exercise sends little tingles up his legs. He’s lukewarm right now. And it’s almost as painful as the cold, being so close to warmth but not quite there, hanging in limbo.
Remy checks his phone again and again and again.
He doesn’t text Logan, though. That’d be really needy.
Time ticks on and Remy wonders if the world has frozen instead of him.
He wants to scream. He wants to throw open the door and run to wherever Logan is and collapse in his arms and never leave. He wants to be near Logan. He wants to be with Logan. He wants Logan to never leave.
He wants.
Remy paces and back and forth and wants, more than he’s ever let himself before.
He probably looks so pathetic.
Maybe Logan’s late. Maybe Logan’s stopping to get groceries. Maybe Logan got mugged, or maybe Logan just isn’t here yet because it isn’t time yet, and Remy’s waiting--
A key turns in the lock.
Remy almost drops his coffee. He scrambles for it and manages to slam it on the counter. Then he puts his arm next to it, stares at the window, and tries to look nonchalant.
The door opens.
Logan.
Logan, his partner, his starlight.
Remy wants to run to him and tackle him and never let him go.
“Oh, hey, babes,” he says instead, glancing at Logan. “Back already? Time flies.”
“Don’t mention flying,” Logan complains, closing the door behind him and rubbing his eyes. “My flight back was a nightmare.”
“Really? Spill the tea, babe!” Remy casually grabs one of Logan’s suitcases. “I’ll cut a bitch if they fucked with you.”
“It was a baby,” Logan complains.
“Oh, damn, can’t kill it, can I?” Remy leans in to give Logan a quick kiss on the cheek and veers away just as quickly. Logan is a furnace. Remy’s melting in the proximity and he wants to get far away and he wants to burrow into the center of the warmth and let it envelop him.
Logan gives Remy an odd look. Remy grins and takes another sip of coffee.
“How are you?” Logan asks, peeling off his jacket. “You didn’t text me back. Were you busy?”
Remy shrugs. “Busy, bingeing Riverdale, what’s the difference?”
“Riverdale is a ridiculous show.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Logan rolls his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to Remy’s forehead. “I’m glad to be back, dear.”
And Remy almost shoves him away.
He realizes the instant he’s done so that he’s made a mistake. Logan’s staring at him in open confusion and--oh no--a bit of hurt.
“Is something wrong?” Logan asks. His voice is way too soft.
(He’s too close. He’s too far. Remy is going to burn up from the pure kindness in Logan’s eyes because fuck is he clingy.)
“Remy?” Logan asks.
Remy’s gone too long without talking.
“’Course I’m fine, babe.” Remy laughs. “You must be tired, right? Jet-lag and all that jazz. C’mon, let’s put your stuff away.”
Logan gives Remy a searching look. “We don’t have to right away. We can...watch a movie? Or cuddle, if you’d like.”
“Nah, you’re probably exhausted.” Remy tosses his coffee into the sink and waves at Logan to follow him. “I’ll get your stuff and you can go to bed, it’s fine--”
“Remy,” Logan says.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Remy looks back. Logan’s eyebrows are pulled together and he’s almost glowing in the afternoon sun. He’s tired. Remy can tell. Bags are smudged under his eyes and his hair is rumpled up. (Remy would reach out and rumple it more if he dared to get any closer.)
So why is he still here?
“Lo,” Remy says, and it comes out softer than he wanted. “Talk later. Sleep now.”
“Talk now, thank you.” Logan steps closer and Remy steps back. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Remy protests.
“Are you?” Logan reaches for his hand and Remy pulls it towards his chest. “I--I apologize if I’m overstepping, I promise I didn’t mean to alarm you--”
Remy takes another step back. Logan’s too close and too warm and too--
His twisted ankle slips.
He falls towards the kitchen floor and braces himself.
Warm.
Searing warmth around his chest.
Logan caught him.
Logan caught him and is holding him upright, eyes wide, face inches from Remy’s own. Where his skin meets Remy’s skin? Fire. Explosions of fireworks and the warmth of a hot bath and Remy’s missed this. Fuck, he’s missed this.
“Are you alright?” Logan asks.
Remy opens his mouth to say something and doesn’t.
“I--” Logan moves to step back. “Apologies, I didn’t want you to fall--”
No.
Maybe Remy’s clingy, but no, Logan is not moving away.
Remy throws his arms around Logan’s shoulders and curls into him.
Logan makes a small noise before returning the hug, hand coming up to cup Remy’s neck. It sears his skin and Remy should be in pain. He’s not. He actually whines, turning his face into Logan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Dear,” Logan whispers. His hand rubs down Remy’s side and Remy shudders. “Could you tell me what’s going on?”
Remy looks up, and his whole body is warm, and he realizes far too late that he’s starting to cry.
“Oh." Logan looks absolutely terrified. “Remy, what’s wrong?”
Remy doesn’t know how to say absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. So he settles for clinging to Logan’s shirt and disappearing into the warmth again, letting Logan hold him, knowing soon he’ll have to pull away but unwilling to let soon be now.
“Remy, dearest.” Logan brushes a kiss over Remy’s forehead and Remy whines again, goddammit. “Please, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Or if you’re not ready, at least--at least signal to me what I can do?”
Don’t let go.
Fuck, Logan, don’t let go.
“Sorry,” Remy mutters, and tries to force himself to move out of Logan’s arms. “I--sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Logan sounds even more confused and upset. “Remy, I’m very confused right now.”
“I--” Remy manages to scoot a little bit away from Logan. The cold hits him like a blast and he shivers. “Don’t mind me.”
Logan reaches out and catches Remy’s hand. He folds it in his own. Remy stares at it and looks up, and he realizes his vision is blurring. Shit. He’s crying over held hands--he really is pathetic.
“Remy.”
Remy almost gasps as Logan presses their hands to his chest. Remy can feel Logan’s heartbeat, fluttering under his fingers.
“Remy, please,” Logan insists. “I’m worried.”
“I--you--” Remy tries to roll his eyes. “I’ve just...missed you, is all.”
“Oh?”
“And it’s--” Remy shrinks into himself, looking away. “I’m not trying to be needy or anything. But it’s--y’know. It’s been kinda cold without you.”
“Oh.”
Remy stares at his feet, eyes stinging.
“Remy, dearest, please look at me.” Logan’s voice is unexpectedly soft. “You’re cold?”
Remy nods.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” Remy points out.
“I still would have liked to know.” Logan places two fingers under Remy’s chin and tilts it up. Remy’s eyes meet Logan’s--Logan is so pretty, with those dark eyes and that ruffled hair and such a concerned look on his face. (Remy doesn’t deserve him.)
“Would you like to cuddle now?” Logan asks. “It will probably help.”
Remy shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t--” Remy waves a hand. “You’re tired.”
“I’m not, and even if I was, you’re more important.” Logan sighs. “We can even cuddle in bed and I can sleep, if it’s that necessary for you.”
“No thanks,” Remy says, trying to wipe away his tears surreptitiously. “I don’t need that.”
“But you want it,” Logan says. “Don’t you?”
Remy presses his lips together.
“Remy. Dearest.” Logan looks pained. “Why aren’t you letting yourself get what you want?”
Something stabs into Remy’s heart and stays there.
“I love you,” Logan pleads. “You’re cold. I--I’m afraid I don’t see what the problem is--”
“Because you don’t want to!” Remy bursts out.
“I don’t--what?” Logan looks utterly bewildered. “Of course I want you to be happy and warm!”
“But you don’t want--you can’t want--” Remy waves an arm at the kitchen, then at himself. “I’m just being clingy, it’s fine--”
“Clingy?” Logan repeats. And now he looks heartbroken.
“Yeah, needy, desperate, whatever.” Remy shrugs. “I’m just sensitive, it’s really fine.”
“Remy. Remy, please.” Logan shakes his head. “Remy, I love you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Logan asks. “I love you and I want you to be happy and I treasure your company. It’s not a burden on me to support you.”
“But you always support me!” Remy fires back. “You do all the work and I just lounge around! I don’t--you’re just stuck with me ‘cause I’m your fucking soulmate!”
There’s a long, frozen silence.
“I’m sorry,” Remy whispers. “Really am, starlight.”
“No.” Logan squares his shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good enough for me.”
“What?” Remy asks.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you believe I felt ‘stuck’ with you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you didn’t contribute anything to this relationship. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel needy for wanting comfort.”
Remy swallows.
“I’m sorry if--” Logan shakes his head. “Do you remember the time I got a flat tire and you singlehandledly convinced several different people to drive us, in small increments, to a repair shop?”
“Yes?” Remy blinks a few times. “What’s this have to do with--”
“Do you remember the time one of my students almost dropped out and I cried because I thought I’d failed them, and you helped me reach out to them? They graduated, dearest. With a solid B minus.”
“I know, but--”
“Do you remember all the times you send me to bed for sleeping late?” Logan continues. “Do you remember all the afternoons you flopped on my lap and watched TV with me? Do you remember how you always let me talk about whatever I’d like and you always listen?”
Remy stares at Logan.
“I love you,” Logan says desperately, “and you have helped me so much, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Soulmate or no, I love you. And I will always support you, without hesitation, just as much as you’ve supported me.”
Logan opens his arms. “So...if you’d like to, I think you might like a hug?”
Remy presses a hand to his mouth. “I--”
“It’s okay,” Logan says. “You’re not desperate. You just need help right now.”
Remy chokes back a sob and collapses into Logan’s arms.
“Shh,” Logan whispers as Remy starts to cry. “Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.”
“I missed you,” Remy confesses.
“I know. I missed you too.”
“I love you.” Remy suddenly feels he needs to say it. “I love you so much, starlight.”
“I know.” Remy can hear the trace of a smile in Logan’s voice. “And I’m all the better for it.”
They stand there a long time, Remy sinking into the warmth, head on Logan’s shoulder and arms tucked around his waist. There are things they could be doing. Logan still needs sleep and Remy hasn’t eaten much and they’ve got jobs and lives and a million little things to put back in order.
For now, though, it’s just them in an empty kitchen.
Remy feels like his chest is on fire.
It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s like the flame of a hearth, guiding him home. Telling him he’s right where he needs to be. And so is Logan.
Together. In each other’s arms. Smiling.
And fuck, Remy feels like he could touch the sun.
General taglist:
@the17thmeatball
@most-likely-fandom
@csi-baker-street-babes
@caffeinated-cryptid
@thefivecalls
@ollyollyoxinfree
@the-gay-is-back
@dramaticsnakes
@stoicpanther
Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:
@katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @somehow-i-got-an-account @starlight-era @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know @aceawkwardunicorn @callboxkat @sign-from-god-complex @locked-prism @sign-from-god-complex @a-fandom-trashdump @dragonwithproblems @snowdice @just-a-random-enby @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @callboxkat @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks @demoniccheese83 @legendsgates @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun
#losleep#remy sanders#logan sanders#sanders sides#ts remy#ts logan#qpr losleep#averywrites#human au#soulmate au#ts shorts remy#tw self-deprecation#look they're soft and i'm soft and it's nine at night#idk what u want from me
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Paint My Spirit Gold
Dukeceit Week Day 2: Green/Yellow
Fans of the YouTubers "Deceit" and Remus "The Duke" Sanders start to suspect that maybe, just maybe, the two of them are more than simple internet pals.
AO3 Link: [here]
Word Count: 2187
Warnings: n/a
@dukeceitweek <3
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[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a watercolor-style painting of a snake. The snake appears to be made of melting chocolate, and there is a large bite taken out of its tail. Cherries and jam are leaking out of the snake at the bite wound. The snake's expression of horror is overly-exaggerated to the point of comedy. The caption reads: "liked your snake boi, @SerpenThyme. thanks for the inspo." /end ID]
-
A notification ding cut Janus off mid-sentence.
“Wow, someone left their cell phone on, so professional,” he said, giving the camera a dramatic eye roll. That someone was him, of course, because he was the only one in the apartment- just him and the running livestream- but that was no excuse not to be a drama queen about it. He finished wiping flour off his hands and grabbed his phone to silence it; but the notification made him pause. He flicked his eyes up toward the camera and gave a slight smirk.
“My goodness, I’m famous,” he drawled. “The Duke himself has graced little old me with some fan art.”
Most of the comments in the chat wanted him to show it, so Janus opened up Twitter to see the full post he’d been tagged in. It was a watercolor painting of the coiled-snake chocolate sculpture- lovingly named Jake by his viewers- he’d made for his YouTube video last week; it was wearing an expression of such comedic horror that Janus had to stifle a laugh. He flicked his phone screen toward the close-up camera on his counter so his viewers could see.
“How kind of you, Remus,” he said. “All of you should go scold him for what he’s done to poor Jake here.”
Most of his viewers would know he was joking- after all, they were the ones to nickname him Deceit when he provided neither a real or fake name for his online persona. They knew full well what he was like by now.
The oven timer dinged. Janus silenced his phone and set it aside.
“And our first batch of cookies is done. You know, why don’t we show the Duke some appreciation?”
-
[ID: An Instagram post by user @SerpenThyme. The photo is an artistically-framed shot of a stack of sugar cookies with green, yellow, and pink icing. Propped up against the stack is another cookie, with an intricate icing-drawing of an octopus. The photo appears to have been color corrected to have high contrast, low saturation, and a dark vignette at the edges. The Instagram user @OctoDukie is tagged. No caption. /end ID]
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“You know, I have often been accused of actually being a little old lady, what with my fondness for knitted jumpers, rocking chairs, and incredibly fucked up murder mystery books. Today I am doing nothing to dispel this accusation, by making soup.”
The studio was dark and empty aside from Remus' workspace. Everyone else had left long ago, even his own brother, which meant that it was officially ass-o'clock in the morning (or, as most people called it, somewhere between 1 and 2 a.m.) But Remus was stuck in hyperfocus, honed in on putting the last touches on a commission that he'd been putting off for weeks. It's not that it was a tough painting- once he'd gotten started, it was actually a very creatively satisfying piece- but man, executive dysfunction could go suck a dick
“French onion soup, specifically. Because while I do like to pretend I am a classy bitch, I am also, regrettably, a lazy bitch with a distaste for anything that takes longer than one bottle of wine to make.”
Remus hated working in silence. It was stifling, almost suffocating. His brain needed noise like his lungs needed air. So when the studio had grown still and silent, Remus had flipped open his laptop and queued up some YouTube videos.
“So we have here three pounds of onions that we need to slice up, pole to pole. You’re going to cry no matter what, so if you have any memories you’ve been repressing since middle school, now is an excellent time to dredge those up.”
And if it happened to be 90% SerpenThyme videos, well. Sue him.
“Now the first rule of caramelizing onions: fast and sloppy is always better than slow and thorough… at least, that’s what every man I’ve ever slept with tells me.”
Remus choked and glanced over to his laptop screen just in time to catch Deceit's trademark smirk directed at the audience just for a moment. It was the deadpan delivery that always got him. Remus could barely hold onto a joke long enough to get through it without cackling mid-punchline, but this fucker could say the funniest shit like an off-hand comment.
He wiped his hands off on his jeans (what use were clothes if you couldn't use them as paint rags?) and pulled his laptop across the table. He typed out a quick comment, citing the timestamp of the joke, and after it was posted, he shut his laptop.
'Cause ass-o'clock was short for "get-your-ass-home-or-I’ll-kick-it" o'clock.
-
[ID: A screenshot of a YouTube comments section. The first comment is by user TheDuke, and reads: "10:42 wow, rude." The second comment is a reply by user SerpenThyme, and simply reads ";)" /end ID]
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Janus plopped down on the couch with a slight groan. He didn’t need to stream today, but he really hated missing days. Besides… he was fine. Really.
He adjusted the camera until he was happy with the framing, and then checked the settings on his streaming software. Satisfied, he started the stream, and watched as his usual viewers rolled in.
“What do you mean I’m not in my kitchen?” Janus drawled, addressing the chat. He glanced around with an expression of faux-shock on his face. “My goodness, when did that happen?”
He chuckled, and then gestured to his surroundings. “Yes, we are in my living room today. If you must know, my closest and most trusted friend tried to murder me today- yes, Virgil, it was attempted murder and nothing less- and I survived with nary a scratch… and a broken foot, but that is beside the point. Anyway, I’m not allowed to stand for long periods of time, and I may or may not be somewhat inebriated by pain pills and couldn’t stand even if I wanted to. So we are cooking from my couch today.”
Janus paused for a few moments to read the chat messages as they popped up. A few get well soon’s, a few theories about the “attempted murder,” Virgil- who moderated his chat for him- vehemently denying the “attempted murder” but otherwise refusing to clarify the event, and a large volume of wtf why are you streaming today, take care of yourself comments, which made him smile. But one particular comment caught his eye, almost lost amid the torrent of an active chat: wait this kinda looks like the Duke’s living room?
“Oh, VampSuga,” he said, addressing that commenter in particular with a slight smirk. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, since I can’t reach my oven from here, I thought some no-bake cookies were in order. For these you will need-”
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[ID: A screenshot of a Discord conversation. The text reads:
“VampSuga: Ok ok hear me out. Dukeceit.
Starstruck96: who?
IneffableSnek: lmao
FeralBeauYasha: lol
VampSuga: Deceit and Remus Sanders! They’re totally dating. I will die on this hill.
FeralBeauYasha: Isn’t the duke w/ PatPat?
IneffableSnek: no thats his brothers bf
FeralBeauYasha: ohh
VampSuga: Did anyone see Deceit’s stream today? I swear that’s the Duke’s livingroom.
StarStruck96: idk that seems like a stretch
IneffableSnek: no wait i kno what u mean
IneffableSnek: im watching the duke’s old videos and that one where he shows off all his old weapons he’s in a living room kinda like deceit’s
FeralBeauYasha: They were acting all cute on twitter too
VampSuga: DUKECEIT” /end ID]
-
"Hey guys, been a while since you've seen my face and not just whatever my hands are busy with, when it's within YouTube's terms and conditions I mean. They used to be way more lenient…" Remus trailed off for a moment, then shook his head sharply and plastered on a grin.
"Anyway! In June me and a few other creators did a fundraiser for the Trevor Project, and y'all smashed the goal, so I let you decide what video I'd make this month." He paused, and gestured to the mountain of clothes piled behind him on the bed. "And you had so many juicy ideas to choose from, but you decided to dress me up like a Barbie instead."
Remus paused to scroll through his phone for a few moments. "Ah, ok, here we go. Twitter user YoonIsMyCat- oh, BTS, nice- sent in this first outfit. Uh… future Remus, put up the post here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to his right. "Y'all went with either a fuckton more clothes or a fuckton less clothes, which I respect. Apparently this outfit is called…” He squinted at his phone. “Amish chic? I take it back, no respect at all.”
Remus cycled through the outfits his viewers sent in, which ranged from the aforementioned “Amish chic” to “2008 rave attire” to “ok now you guys are just fucking with me” (which consisted of one of those big puffy snow coats, lime green in color; booty shorts with the shrug text emoji across the ass; fuzzy pink boots; and a yellow cowboy hat to top off the whole thing. It was awful. Remus loved it.) The mountain of clothes on the bed gradually became a mess of clothes spread across the floor instead, until there was just one outfit left.
“Ok so Twitter user VampSuga sent me this outfit that I’m gonna call ‘sexy librarian.’ I couldn’t find this exact sweater online, but-” he paused for dramatic effect, before brandishing a sweater toward the camera like a bullfighter. “My boyfriend had something that was close enough.”
Remus hopped up from the bed and switched off the camera so he could change.
“They’re going to lose their minds,” a voice drawled from the doorway. Remus threw his shirt at him.
“Shoo, I’m getting naked.”
-
[ID: A Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It features a selfie of YouTuber Remus “The Duke” Sanders, a Hispanic man with his hair dyed green and styled into a spiked mohawk. He is wearing a yellow knitted cardigan over a black button-up shirt. He is grinning widely at the camera. The caption reads: “my viewers pick my outfits! now live on youtube. go see what i look like as a sexy librarian!” /end ID]
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DukeceitStan
first and only dukeceit shipper ig
DukeceitStan
wow there’s so many of you now! Hi!!
DukeceitStan
i want this to be canon so bad omg
DukeceitStan
i mean just look
[image]
how
[image]
cute
[image]
[ID: A series of three gifs featuring Youtubers SerpenThyme, aka Deceit, and TheDuke, aka Remus Sanders. Deceit is a black man with long, dreadlocked hair, and vitiligo patches along the left side of his face. Remus is a Hispanic man with green-dyed hair styled into a mohawk, many ear and facial piercings, and tattoos covering both arms. Each gif is edited so that the highlights are tinged yellow when Deceit is seen, and tinged green when Remus is seen.
The first gif depicts a close-up shot of Deceit’s hands as he carefully decorates a cookie with green and yellow icing. The cookie art he is working on appears to be a half-finished octopus. The gif then fades into a mid-shot of Remus, with his back to the camera, facing a canvas. The canvas is blank, and Remus appears to be laying out paints on a table to his left.
The second gif depicts Deceit seated at his couch, facing the camera. He has many ingredients spread across his coffee table (including oats, cocoa powder, and butter) and appears to be in the process of laying out several more. The gif fades to show Remus seated at a similar couch with a similar coffee table in front of him. The camera is angled slightly downward to better show the myriad of knives spread out across the table. Remus is gesturing wildly with a morning star held in his hand.
The third gif depicts Deceit in his kitchen. He is pulling on a bright, yellow knitted cardigan, and smirking toward the camera. The gif fades to show Remus in his bedroom, seated on his bed. He is holding up a similar-looking cardigan toward the camera and grinning. /end ID]
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“Remus, it’s almost two in the morning. Come to bed.”
“I’m coming, sorry. Twitter distracted me.”
“Mm. I can’t believe the bird app is more distracting than I am.”
“You should try harder.”
“Come to bed and maybe I will.”
“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Hang on though, is it cool if I post this?”
“Sure. They figured it out anyway.”
“Sweet. Ok, Jannie, I’m coming.”
-
[ID: A screenshot of a Twitter post by user @CallMeDukie. It reads: “Dukeceit is canon.” /end ID]
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found
part two
pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton
while chasing a lead on their homicide investigation, jay & hailey find an abandoned baby on christmas eve. as to not have the baby spend it’s first christmas at family services, it’s up to jay & hailey, with a little help from will & the rest of the team to take care of it.
“jay, you’d make a really hot dad.”
(inspired by ncis episode)
part one || part three || masterlist
warnings: swearing, fluffery
hailey had promised kim and vanessa that she would stop by the district to introduce them to baby alvin. they also needed to go by anyway to sign the paperwork in order to transfer the case to homicide.
in all honesty, it was a struggle to set up the car seat in jay’s truck. mostly because neither of them had ever done it before and never expected to so soon. it also didn’t help that it was december 24th and absolutely freezing outside. it ended with jay, frustrated out of his mind and hailey, googling the proper technique on how to do it. eventually they got it, but jay still frowned the whole drive over.
they hardly made it up the stairs before trudy stopped them.
“what is that and what is it doing in my district?” trudy frowned, staring at the car seat jay was carrying.
he made his way to her desk and plopped the seat on it. her frown deepened.
“what are you doing, chuckles?”
it was jay’s turn to frown, but hailey was loving it.
“chuckles? oh, i’m definitely stealing that,” hailey laughed, gently nudging baby alvin’s foot. he giggled and it was the most adorable thing.
even trudy cracked the tiniest smile. “voight mentioned something about this,” she motioned to baby alvin, “but he didn’t say it would be in my district.”
“we just have to finish off some paperwork,” hailey replied, “it’s not a problem, is it?”
trudy sent her a real, genuine smile. “of course not, hailey. let me know if you need anything.”
with that, she placed her glasses back on her face and went back to her computer. jay grabbed the car seat again and trailed hailey up the stairs, all the while looking confused.
“what the hell? why is she so nice to you?” jay mumbled disappointedly.
hailey merely smirked.
“oh. my. god!” before they even finished their trek up to the bullpen, vanessa was waiting expectantly at the stairs. “jay, hurry up, i want to see the baby!”
jay frowned. “why is everyone being so mean to me today?”
“we already have one baby to take care of, jay,” hailey mocked and jay’s mouth dropped at her audacity. he’d heard sassy hailey (many times) but let’s be honest, she usually coddled his feelings. she didn’t this time, and even though jay was offended, he found it extremely attractive.
kim and vanessa waste no time in stealing the baby away from jay, so he walked to his desk and focused on his essential paperwork.
“oh my god, he is so precious!” kim cooed, tickling baby alvin’s stomach.
adam came stumbling out of the breakroom. “is the baby here?” he exclaimed, rushing over with an expression of pure excitement. it had been quite an uneventful morning for the rest of the unit so when adam heard that his friends found a baby, he was understandably excited.
“he is so adorable,” vanessa added, staring at the baby and looking like the epitome of the heart eyes emoji.
“voight put you in charge?” adam voiced his question in jay’s direction, where he was signing a few forms. jay looked up and shot a glare at the judgement in adam’s voice. “sorry man,” adam stifled a laugh, “but do you even have anything in your fridge?”
jay threw his arms up in exasperation. “is today pick on jay day or something?”
“don’t be dramatic,” adam rolled his eyes, unbuckling alvin from his seat to pick him up. “i’ve seen your apartment many times.”
jay mumbled some profanities under his breath.
“have you guys given this little guy a name yet?” kim asked, playing with alvin’s fingers.
hailey and jay shared a secretive look before hailey revealed softly, “we decided to name him alvin.”
“i love that,” kim replied warmly; adam smiled so wide, his cheeks burned. vanessa obviously never got the chance to meet alvin olinsky, but she’d heard nothing but great things about the man. she’s positive it’s a great honour to be named after him.
“so, what’s next for you two?” adam asked, bouncing the baby as he walked around the bullpen.
hailey and jay shared another look; this time, jay looked slightly terrified, while hailey looked nauseous. “well, voight says we’re in charge until we find the mother. so, ruzek, any progress on that?” hailey questioned him with hopeful eyes.
“sorry to disappoint, hails,” adam replied, though he doesn’t look that sad; mostly just amused at the night his friends have laid out for them. “i’m very saddened to report i haven’t found anyone; not even a distant family member. “
hailey rolled her eyes. “you don’t look sad at all.”
“no, truly, i’m very torn up,” his right eyelid dropped in a wink. “i’ll keep looking though.”
kim rolled her eyes at her ex-boyfriend’s antics. “don’t worry, i’ll help. i’m sure we can find something.”
“in the meantime, you guys are probably good to head out now,” vanessa added, staring lovingly at baby alvin. “voight was just waiting on you guys to sign over the paperwork so we could all go home.”
jay looked up expectantly, with a large, nervous smile. “you guys are all coming over, right?”
“sorry! i’m spending the holidays with some friends and i’m leaving right after work,” vanessa replied apologetically. she busied herself with grabbing her coat and organizing her desk.
jay’s hopeful eyes flitted to adam and kim.
“i have to go visit my sister before she leaves for the holidays,” kim responded with an apologetic frown. “adam is going to his sister’s too, right?”
adam nodded his head, strapping baby alvin back into his seat. his bouncing of the baby had relaxed him so much, he was now snoozing away. “yeah, sorry. i’ll stay a bit longer to see what else i can dig up, but i have to leave tonight.”
“it’s fine,” jay frowned, “i’ll remember this next time any of you need my help.”
adam rolled his eyes. “okay, honey,” he mocked, “now, can you take the kids home and start dinner or am i the only one who does anything in this house?”
“i hate you.”
🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣🐣
before hailey and jay left the district, kevin had come back from the store with a number of baby essentials they might need. he was sent by voight, who figured jay and hailey, would have no idea what they even needed, but kevin had experience with caring for little ones, so he was perfect for the job.
the two partners trudged their way through the chicago winter and to jay’s apartment
he won’t lie; he was nervous as hell, but hailey looked so calm and it genuinely comforted him. will had texted and promised he would bring some extra baby gear, so in the meantime, they kept the baby in his car seat to be safe.
“i’m going to make him a bottle, he’s probably hungry by now,” hailey said before she makes herself at home in his kitchen. they don’t spend much time in jay’s apartment; if anything, they usually grab a drink at her place, but she felt oddly at ease in his kitchen.
jay loved it.
it felt oddly intimate; but this was happening, and he just had to roll with it.
for the first time today, since being charged with baby duty, hailey actually felt confident in what she’s doing. she’s had to make bottles for her nephews before, so this wasn’t new. however, being in jay’s apartment with him felt new and a little too real, but he was acting casual so she’d be damned if she didn’t do the same.
while hailey tested out the temperature of the bottle, jay busied himself with grabbing blankets and pillows from his linen closet (he would never actually call it that, but will gifted him so many blankets, he needed to store them somewhere). he also turned on his netflix and started some old episodes of the office (it was his go-to show whenever he needed some background noise), and he knew hailey loved it.
he watched as hailey took baby alvin out of his seat and started feeding him.
“wow, you’re really good at this,” he divulged dumbly. he wanted to roll his eyes at himself because it was such a stupid thing to say.
she laughed. “yeah, this part was never so hard.”
he watched for a little longer before sighing. “are we totally in over our heads?”
“oh definitely,” she replied quickly, surprising him with her brutal honesty. “i’m positive one of us will end up crying before the sun comes up again.”
jay stared at her, but she doesn’t even look up from baby alvin.
“wait, are you serious?”
she doesn’t get the chance to reply (she was definitely going to tease him some more because his expressions are priceless) because the door opened and in walked their favourite redhead. his hands are full with a simple playpen and (oh, surprise) more blankets.
“will, for the love of god, stop bringing me blankets!” jay groaned, holding his arms out to grab them but will threw them at his face instead. “i have a closet full of them, dude.”
will rolled his eyes and placed everything else he brought hidden away in the corner. “you know, one day the power will go out or the heater will fail and you’ll be freezing, but you’ll have all my blankets to keep you warm,” he explained his brother with a self-satisfied smirk. “i can’t wait for that day; i will never let you live it down.”
jay mumbled something about will being a drama queen under his breath.
“so, how are you two kids holding up?” will asked, his eyes flickering between the both of them with a cheeky smirk.
jay shrugged his shoulders; honestly, he doesn’t feel as if he’s done much except carry the car seat around everywhere. “so far, so good. it hasn’t been that bad at all.”
will laughed for a solid minute.
“you two are absolutely adorable,” he’s still laughing, “this night is going to be fantastic.”
jay knew will was trying to intentionally freak him out; he knew this. but he also knew, it was absolutely working.
“i am sorry though,” will added, capturing jay’s attention. “i really only came to drop this stuff off. i forgot i had to be at nat’s tonight.”
jay started internally panicking. “what? you’re leaving?”
he noticed hailey smirking at him.
“isn’t nat like a baby doctor or something?” jay rambled nervously. he was beginning to feel slightly terrified at the prospect of caring for a tiny human being; so much could go wrong. “yeah, she is. she can come over too!”
will laughed at his brother’s misery. “sorry, bro. it’s a family thing and it’s christmas eve; we can’t miss it.”
“okay, fine,” he relented against his will. “just keep your phone on you.”
will smirked again. “you’re terrified, aren’t you?”
“absolutely.”
jay was done trying to hide it.
“hailey, you’re in charge,” will called out on his way to the door. “i’m sure it’ll be fine, but call me if you guys need anything! merry christmas!”
and then wills left, and dread started to pool in jay’s gut.
hailey was done feeding baby alvin and was now bouncing the baby against her shoulder (to make sure he burps, she explained). honestly, jay was learning so much.
“want to give it a try?” hailey asked, moving closer to jay and he froze.
he hadn’t held the baby outside of the car seat since they found him and he’s absolutely terrified to.
“come on, you’ll be fine.”
hailey left him with no choice when she transferred the baby into his arms. he nervously mimicked what hailey was previously doing, and prayed he didn’t accidentally break the baby.
“you’re doing great!” hailey encouraged as she cheered adorably. she also pulled out her phone and pointed it in his direction. “sorry, i have to document this. you guys look so cute together.”
jay let her because he couldn’t really stop her (he knew she was taking photos to send to the intelligence unit’s group chat, but they’d been teasing him all day, so who even cares anymore?).
jay finally heard the tell-tale sign of baby alvin’s burp and he felt slightly more relieved. hailey told him to keep doing what he’s doing until alvin falls asleep, and hopefully that would be it for the night (she was definitely wrong, but we’ll get to that later).
as hailey cleaned up her mess in jay’s kitchen, she also checked her phone to see the reactions in their group chat.
cpd assholes
adam ruzek: dilf… not even sorry
vanessa rojas: this is the cutest thing i’ve seen since atwater and the puppies
kim burgess: why does jay’s face look like that. he looks like he’s about to throw up
kevin atwater: more pictures please upton
she was quietly laughing to herself, even more so because jay was too busy to check his phone. it was probably for the best, to be honest. her phone buzzed once more and she saw it was a text from adam, sent to her and jay.
adam ruzek: bad news friends... finally found the mother but she’s deceased. looped in voight and he talked to family services and convinced them to let you guys stay with alvin until the 26th
adam ruzek: merry christmas bitches!!!!
adam ruzek: btw, jay you’d make a really hot dad. love u bro
in the meantime, jay had finally set baby alvin back in his seat as he slept, and checked his phone. “hope you don’t have any christmas plans,” jay began, sending her a small smile, “because it looks like you’re stuck with us.”
🐣
part three coming soon!!
also, “cpd assholes” is their group chat name bc that’s what i came up with at 1:30am, so let me know if you guys have better options 😂
🐣 bonus 🐣
#upstead fic#upstead fanfic#upstead fanfiction#jay x hailey#jay and hailey#hailey and jay#hailey x jay#chicago pd#chicago pd fanfiction#intelligence unit#jay halstead#hailey upton#jesse lee soffer#tracy spiridakos#adam ruzek#kim burgess#kevin atwater#vanessa rojas#trudy platt#hank voight#will halstead#chicago med#one chicago#one chicago fanfiction#upstead
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Not Nineteen Forever (15) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex)- Ortega
a/n: oh u thought the worst of the angst was over? it’s only just begun. apologies in advance hnggggggg. love is always appreciated here or over on my blog! love and hugs xxxxxxxxx
please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!
summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.
last chapter: Scarlet helped Vanessa deal with the aftermath of the breakup, aided by lecture-skipping and the prospect of a pink-haired rebound. Monet was gearing up to ask Nina to be her girlfriend in the most elaborate of ways, and Scarlet and Yvie finally said the most important three words to each other since “let’s get takeaway”.
this chapter: it’s Valentine’s Day, Brooke is a living flip flop, and something happens that nobody saw coming.
***
“Ayo. We’ve got a mouse.”
Brooke finally got her jacket off that she’d been struggling with and faced Yvie, who was lounging on the sofa in their little living room in front of the TV. “Well isn’t that a romantic Valentine’s Day greeting.”
“Well we do,” Yvie shrugged, Brooke leaving her bag on the kitchen table and joining Yvie in front of Coronation Street. “This storyline has been going for about a year, I swear to God.”
“Should you not be out doing romantic shit with Scarlet?” Brooke asked, hearing how monotone her voice was but unable to take it back now. Yvie looked across at her and raised an eyebrow.
“She’s got uni. I’m picking her up from her flat at five, we’re going for drinks and then out to the restaurant.”
“Picking her up with what, your bare hands?” Brooke let out a small laugh, Yvie chucking a couch cushion at her and snorting.
“Shut up. I’ll get an uber. I might even get an uber exec, really push the boat out,” she quipped, Brooke laughing again. As her laughter died down, Yvie tilted her head. “So what’re your plans for tonight?”
Brooke groaned and tilted her head to the ceiling. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stick on some films, eat some chocolate. Maybe skype my parents. I’ll be fine.”
“You said that twice.”
“Well I will be.”
Yvie made a click with her tongue. “And we all know the hallmark of a person who’s fine is if they have to repeat it about twenty billion times.”
“Yvie Oddly, ladies and gentlemen, queen of exaggeration,” Brooke said sarcastically, Yvie giving a sarcastic flourish of her hand right back at her. In the conversational lull, Brooke checked her phone. All over her instagram page there were couples; disgusting, happy couples who really were just making an embarrassment of themselves with their totally cringeworthy captions. “Happy Valentine’s Day to my number one” with every heart emoji under the sun, “happy vday baby i love u” beneath a picture of someone’s boyfriend pulling a silly face, and the worst, “he’s ok”, the understated caption contrasted by the horrendously soppy picture of a couple that Brooke knew from back home kissing for the camera.
Brooke had a cheek, she supposed. She’d made her bed- breaking up with Vanessa, as difficult as it was, was supposed to make her happier and make everything go back to normal. But it hadn’t. Knowing how much she’d hurt Vanessa brought no happiness to her at all, nor did it make her life any easier. Seeing her post sad, slow R&B song after sad, slow R&B song to her instagram story didn’t alleviate her guilt, nor did her radio silence on the group chat. Brooke had seen her only once since the breakup- across the square on campus when Vanessa didn’t realise Brooke could see her, flanked by Silky and Akeria, wearing baggy clothes and not a scrap of makeup, her face and eyes puffy and red. There was nothing about Brooke that was relieved; she desperately wanted to be there for Vanessa, to dry her tears and talk shit about herself. She had the deepest desire to be a friend to her through the breakup she had been the cause of, because ultimately she still cared about her. Brooke didn’t know if that was normal or not. She was past caring or trying to figure it out.
What was she going to do tonight? Yvie was out with Scarlet, Nina was at Monet’s right that minute. Plastique had told her in the library the other day that she was going for drinks with Ariel (“the most casual of drinks”, she’d said, although Brooke knew it would be anything but casual). She didn’t know what the others would be doing. Akeria would probably drag Vanessa on a night out and Silky wouldn’t need much encouragement to go either. It looked like Brooke was in for a night by herself after all.
Mid-scroll, one of the uploads caught Brooke’s eye- a photo from months back at Vanessa’s birthday night out of all eight of them together, dressed up and smiling with their arms around each other. It was only a few seconds later that Brooke realised she was smiling at it, completely unaware that her facial expression had changed. She wished they could all go back to October. She would exchange all the hurt and the guilt and the sadness that she’d caused in exchange for pining for Vanessa for the rest of her days. Her eyes drifted down to the caption, and her stomach plummeted when she realised who it was posted by.
missvanjiemissvanjie Happy Valentine’s Day to my day ones! Best bitches I could ask for in my life. Love you!! 💓
Brooke scanned the photo again. She hadn’t been cropped out, even though she was on the edge of the photo- the curse of being tall, Nina had called it. Her heart began to spring to life. This was a good sign. Vanessa clearly didn’t hate her, and somewhere deep inside her was a want to be friends again and go back to how things used to be. Injected with optimism, Brooke clicked on Vanessa’s messages. She paused for a moment, looking back at the last ones they’d sent- the day of the breakup, Brooke asking to talk, Vanessa wondering if everything was alright. It felt like a harpoon to her stomach.
Trying to stay positive, Brooke typed out a message.
B: Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. I know we said we still wanted to try and be friends so I was wondering if you wanted to maybe hang out tonight? Just as friends obviously. Since everyone else will be busy. Let me know.
Brooke’s finger hovered over the “x”. She decided against it. Hitting send, she found herself waiting anxiously for a reply.
“How do you know we have a mouse anyway?” Brooke asked Yvie, her words suddenly registering. Yvie shrugged.
“Ran across the worktop about five minutes before you came in.”
“What the hell are we going to do about it, then? I don’t want to even imagine what Nina’s reaction’s going to be if she sees it,” Brooke shuddered.
Yvie laughed. “No, Scarlet’s going to be the same. I don’t know, she looked like a nice lil’ fucker. I think we should get a cage. Put a block of cheese in it and then keep her as a pet."
Brooke felt her phone vibrate twice. Picking it up to check it and seeing that both the messages were from Vanessa, she nonchalantly carried on the conversation. "So Scarlet would be fine with that, would she?”
“Scarlet isn’t here all the time.”
“No, just 99% of it,” Brooke raised her eyebrows, opening Vanessa’s messages.
V: lmao
V: Are you on crack. You broke my heart two weeks ago and now you’re trying to be my friend already. Have you never heard of a thing called a healing process?
Brooke felt her stomach tense. She hovered her thumbs over her screen to reply, but nothing she thought of seemed to make sense or be the slightest bit appropriate. Despondent, she was about to close her phone when another message shot through.
V: And I’m busy anyway. So it still would have been a no.
Well, that was that. Vanessa was out with Silky and Akeria, and clearly she wasn’t invited. That was fine. Brooke could have kicked herself. She instantly wished she’d never been so tone-deaf. It had been a stupid suggestion. Of course Vanessa wasn’t going to be best friends with her a fortnight after they’d broken up.
Brooke couldn’t help the fact that she missed her, though. Even just as a friend.
“Hey, panini head? Are you listening to me?” Yvie suddenly yelled, her best Gordon Ramsay impersonation catching Brooke off-guard.
“What?”
“I said, would you look after Mrs Tibbs if I went home for the weekend?”
Brooke rubbed her temples in confusion. “Who’s Mrs-”
“The mouse! Jesus, Brooke, have you been on this earth for the past five minutes?” Yvie laughed, then gradually a frown spread onto her face. “What’s wrong?”
Brooke hadn’t realised she’d been showing her guilt and disappointment on her face. She sighed. “It’s nothing. I just still feel bad. About Vanessa, you know.”
Yvie furrowed her brow. “Listen, girl, I know dumping someone is hard and it’s unpleasant. Shit, I would know, I’ve had to do it enough times. But there comes a point where you’ve got to stop beating yourself up about it. I mean you ultimately did what was best for the pair of you. It wasn’t fair to string her along if you didn’t want to be with her. It hurts her now, but it’s better in the long run.”
Brooke nodded. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder…
…it didn’t matter.
Brooke’s phone vibrated again. She hoped and prayed it wasn’t another text from Vanessa to berate her for her shitty idea. What was to come would actually make her feel a hundred times worse.
Okay Then: happy valentines day fuckers!!!!!!! even though im out being soppy tonight i still want u all to know that ur my main bitches and number ones and i love u all sm 💖💖💖
Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: You’re disgusting. Love you too hoe xxxxxx
Yvie’s Bitch: Awwwwwww Plastique!!!!! We love you too!!!!
Yvie’s Bitch: What’re everyone’s plans for Valentine’s Day?????
Scarlet’s Bitch: i don’t know i’ve got plans with this weird girl called……Scarface? idk i’ll probs cancel on her
Yvie’s Bitch: Suck my clit x
Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag For Life: Children PLEASE
incongruous silkworm spiced praline: HAPPY INTERNATIONAL DAY OF FUCKING
incongruous silkworm spiced praline: ME N KIKI GOING OUT ON THE TOWN LOOKING FOR THIRD DIVISION FOOTBALL PLAYERS
Okay Then: oh bitch aim high? second division xo
Brooke’s heart dropped twenty storeys when she saw who was typing. Their names on the chat had been quietly changed back, but Brooke still knew who it was.
cursed SatNav voice: Happy Valentine’s Day hoes 💓💓💓
cursed SatNav voice: Even though all you couples can suck a bag of dicks
Scarlet’s bitch: gladly, bitch 💜
Okay Then: Vanj are u not going out with Silk n Kiki?? bc if not ur welcome to join me n Ariel!! it’s just casual!!
incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YES PLASTIQUE IM SURE SHED LOVE TO THIRD WHEEL U AND UR HONEYMOON PHASE FLATMATE
Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: anna ou
cursed SatNav voice: 💓 That’s sweet but I’m busy tonight!! Thanks though boo
incongruous silkworm spiced praline: SHE GOT A DATE ANYWAY
Time seemed to freeze. Brooke couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. All she was able to do was blink at her phone screen as the chat blew up around her. It was only after a few moments that she realised Yvie was looking at her.
“Hey. You okay?”
“Um. Yeah, no, I’m fine,” Brooke stammered, nodding and putting her phone down in a futile effort to seem relaxed. Yvie gave a laugh.
“Brooke, you can’t break up with her and then get mad she’s going on a date with someone else.”
Brooke bristled. “No, that’s not it, that’s not it at all.”
There was a small silence as Yvie typed away at her screen, her eyebrows raised in a defiant show of disbelief. In the silence, Brooke gathered her thoughts.
“I’m just kinda…I don’t know. Not hurt, but…I mean I thought she cared about me a bit more than to be over me in the space of two weeks.”
Yvie gave a gasp, clutching at her heart. “Oh! The fragile ego of Miss Brooke Lynn Hytes. The wings of a moth cannot compare, nor the web of a spider!”
“You know, you can be a really shit friend when you want to be,” Brooke spat, getting up without a second thought and storming through to her bedroom. She threw herself down on her bed and curled up into a small ball, wishing the world would give her a break.
Her ego was hurt. Her pride was battered and bruised. She supposed she’d been so used to being revered and cared for in the eyes of Vanessa that she found it odd for that to no longer be the case. Brooke sighed. Yvie was right- she wasn’t supposed to care this much, she was supposed to be happy. Fuck, shouldn’t this have been the ideal outcome? Vanessa had moved on already.
So why did Brooke feel absolutely gutted?
She sat on her bed in the cold of her room, stewing in her thoughts, trying to figure them out and failing. She didn’t know how long she’d been there for but it had clearly been enough time for Yvie to make a cup of tea, as Brooke found when her flatmate gave a gentle knock on her door and shuffled in with the Sports Direct mug in her hand.
“Hey,” Yvie began, crossing the room and putting the mug down on Brooke’s cluttered bedside table. She sighed and lay down on top of Brooke in what could have been a cuddle or an attempt at smothering her to death. “Brooky, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t. She used to call me that and…” Brooke began, sighing when she couldn’t figure out why she had an issue with it. “I don’t know.”
Brooke wrestled an arm free from under Yvie’s stomach and brought it to rest over her back. It felt more like a cuddle now.
“I knew she was going on a date, by the way. Scarlet told me the other day. I just didn’t think you’d give a fuck,” Yvie said quietly. Brooke exhaled and felt her ribcage deflate.
“I didn’t think I would either,” she said, feeling small. There was a pause. “What’s her name?”
“Monique. The girl from Monet’s party with the purple hair,” Yvie said. It felt like a stab through Brooke’s chest. She remembered Monique, she remembered the way Vanessa had laughed at her stories and the way Monique had looked at her and the obvious chemistry between them. “If it helps, Brooke, I don’t think it’s going to be anything serious. Scarlet said that apparently she literally gave Vanjie her number and was like ‘In case you ever want a rebound’. They’ve been messaging all week. Tonight’s more of a 'fuck Valentine’s Day’ drink than anything else.”
Brooke thought about Vanessa��s perfect body, about her touching Monique the way she used to touch Brooke, talking to her like she used to talk to Brooke, someone else making her come apart the way Brooke used to. Brooke rolled out from under Yvie, grabbed her pillow, and buried her face in it, letting out a long, loud groan.
“Do you feel like you fucked it?” Brooke heard Yvie’s voice ask matter-of-factly. Brooke brought the pillow off her face and whined.
“No! No, I made the right decision. I didn’t want to be Vanessa’s girlfriend. It’s just fucking…weird. It doesn’t exactly fill me with glee thinking of her with somebody else, you know?”
Yvie smirked. “Because you know Monique’s going to fuck her better?”
Brooke launched the pillow at her flatmate, Yvie giggling. “Sorry! Sorry! Fuck, okay, point taken. Inappropriate.”
There was a silence. Yvie’s joke still hung in the air.
“Well, as long as you feel like your decision was correct,” Yvie smiled gently, patting Brooke’s thigh. “Then that’s the main thing. And it’s natural to get a little jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Sure, Jan,” Yvie raised her eyebrows and began to slide off Brooke’s bed. “Look, I’ve got to go get ready for dinner. You sure you’ll be fine?”
“Well I said it about twenty billion times, remember?” Brooke deadpanned, earning her a laugh from Yvie. “Just go. Go have fun. Have the best night, baby. You two deserve it.”
Yvie leant down and gave Brooke one last little squeeze before leaving her bedroom and going back into her own. Now she was alone with her thoughts Brooke wanted desperately to silence them so she grabbed her laptop and shoved on the least romantic film she could think of- Kingsman. As she sipped her tea and watched a man get completely sliced in half from skull to anus, she thought that would only be slightly less painful than what her emotions were currently putting her through.
As Taron Egerton refused to kill his dog, Yvie shouted a goodbye to Brooke.
As Colin Firth went absolutely mental in a church and killed everybody single-handedly, Brooke grabbed her phone and deleted all of her messages with Vanessa.
As the end credits rolled, Brooke wondered what the fuck she’d done. Two and a half years of friendship gone and deleted in the blink of an eye. But maybe it was for the best.
Brooke had been scrolling Netflix searching for something else to watch for what could have been an entire hour when she heard four things in rapid succession- the heavy bang of the front door, a scurry of hurried footsteps across the hall, the bang of Nina’s fire door and then a rapid sobbing that poured out of whoever was in the room and through Brooke’s wall. Brooke’s previously lethargic body sprang to life and she shot off her bed, took three quick steps to her door and hurried out into the hallway where she knocked on Nina’s.
“Nina? What’s happened?”
The sobbing continued from inside, Brooke unsure if the girl had even heard anything. Hesitantly, she pushed on the door.
“I’m coming in, okay?”
With no response other than more sobbing and a snuffle, Brooke entered Nina’s room. There was her usual organised dressing table with her makeup strewn all over it, indicative of a rushed getting-ready process. On her usually tidy floor was a mess of tried-on-and-rejected clothes, and there on the Aristocats-patterned duvet curled up with her stuffed teddy was Nina, absolutely crying her eyes out. Brooke practically vaulted the end of her bed to get to her flatmate who was squashed in between her pillows and the wall in the foetal position.
“Hey, hey, hey! What’s wrong?” Brooke asked her, pulling her close and wrapping her arms around her. Nina batted her away weakly.
“Don’t, Brooke, don’t, fuck, getting held is just going to remind me of her and I don’t-” Nina descended into another burst of sobs, Brooke completely and utterly confused.
“Monet? I thought you guys were fine? Oh my God, Nina, she didn’t break up with you?!” Brooke asked, scared and trying to fight the sinking feeling taking root in her chest. Nina elegantly wiped her nose on her teddy and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, rubbing harshly and leaving her looking like a human panda.
“She didn’t break up with me,” Nina sniffed, finally seeming to calm down.
“Oh, thank fuck.”
“I broke up with her.”
This was at least twenty times worse than what Brooke had feared. Pulling away, she fixed Nina with a look of complete incredulity. “You did what?!”
Nina rubbed at her eyes again, this time with her fingers. “Yeah, because obviously I can’t have anything fucking half-decent in my life without completely sabotaging it or making it go to shit, can I? I broke up with her, I’m a fucking idiot. Happy?”
Brooke could only blink in response as Nina leaned back and let her head hit the pillow, her stare boring into the ceiling. Her thoughts were all colliding. This was the most sudden and unexpected event, and it had completely knocked her for six. “Rewind. I thought you and Monet were fine?”
“We were fine,” Nina sighed so deeply that Brooke wasn’t sure she would have any air left in her lungs. “I was so fucking happy, Jesus. But there’s always a catch, right? Nobody can stay that happy forever, it’s always got to come to an end at some point.”
She stopped and sat up, propping her head against the headboard. Not looking Brooke in the eye, Nina continued. “She started being really distant with me. Not replying to texts for ages, being really deep in thought when we were together. I’d ask her what was wrong, but…she’d just always say nothing was. I was over at her flat the other night, we’d had a nap together and I woke up and she wasn’t there. I went into her living room and she was there with two of her flatmates. They stopped talking the second I got in, honestly I might as well have caught them all in the middle of a massive fucking orgy,” Nina laughed humourlessly. “And then it clicked. It all started after I told Monet about you and Vanessa. Nothing bad…just about how you weren’t sure, and how it’s better to just break up with somebody if you’re having second thoughts about them. It all made sense. Her being distant, always seeming off, obviously talking to her flatmates about it and having to stop because I came in. She didn’t fucking want me anymore, Brooke.”
Shocked, Brooke could only put her arms around her friend as she leaned into her chest and began to cry again. Nothing about it seemed to fit. Monet was absolutely head over heels for Nina, anyone could have seen it. It all seemed so out of the blue and sudden. Brooke tried to think about the last time Monet had been over at the flat. It had been about a week ago and Monet had seemed fine- although, now that Brooke thought about it, Monet had seemed a little quiet. Almost nervous, Brooke considered. But she was still cuddling Nina and giving her small kisses and paying her attention. It didn’t make any sense. Brooke frowned. “Nina, are you sure she actually wanted to break up with you?”
“I wondered it too. Because I didn’t want to believe it, of course. But then yesterday we were just lying in bed doing nothing. She was on her phone and my head was on her chest. I saw what was on her screen just for a second and she’d fucking-” Nina sighed, cutting herself off. “- typed this guy’s name into Google. Obviously some guy she’s met and she’s trying to find him on social media. I actually felt like I’d been stabbed, Brooke. Obviously she saw me, because she only got as far as the first name and then closed her phone. But I know what I saw, you know?”
Brooke’s frown only got deeper. “But that makes no sense. Why would she look someone up on Google, what is this, the fucking 90’s?”
“Brooke, you weren’t there. You should have seen how quickly she shut her phone off, and she was instantly all over me and telling me how lucky she was and-” Nina’s speech was interrupted by a bubble of a sob. “Oh fuck, it hurt so much. And today she woke up with me and was all "Happy Valentine’s Day!” and all that shit. I couldn’t do it, Brooke. I couldn’t make myself look like an idiot any longer. I suggested going for coffee and while we were out I just…I just fucking did it. Oh my God, it was so so bad, Brooke. She looked so fucking destroyed and she was so pissed off with me that I thought it was all a mistake but…fuck, I didn’t know what to believe. I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’ve done.“
Brooke sighed, desperately not wanting to believe it was over between the two girls. "But didn’t she explain herself? I mean what did you actually say to her? Did you confront her?”
“Jesus, no! No, I didn’t want to make it look like I was this poor, lovesick, pining idiot who was making a fool of herself over her! I jumped before I was pushed. I pretended I was the one whose feelings had changed, that it wasn’t working for me anymore. It was all a crock of shit, but she obviously believed it.”
Brooke bit the skin at the side of her thumb. There was a silence. “But didn’t she try to make you stay? Didn’t she fight for you?”
“She-” Nina cut herself off. Brooke looked down and saw tears pouring down her face, and her heart broke. “- she just sat and looked at me. Something in her eyes just…shut down. They just went all glassy, like those black marbles you got as a kid, remember? Anyway I said my piece and she just…ugh, she just nodded. She just nodded and went "Right. Got it.” in the most cold voice and then she got up, put on her coat and left. And I let her.“
With that, Nina swept her hands under her eyes and heaved a gut-wrenching shudder of a sigh. Brooke was at a loss of what to say. She had thought Nina and Monet were made for each other, and the fact that Nina had thrown it away for the sake of what Brooke was sure had to be a misunderstanding was gutting. She heaved a similar sigh to Nina’s.
"Look at us. It’s Valentine’s Day, we’re both single, we’re both here regretting breaking up with someone-”
“Wait what?” Nina asked suddenly, eyeing Brooke with suspicion. It was only then that Brooke had realised what she’d said. Startled, she backtracked.
“Well, I mean, not regretting breaking up with her, just regretting causing her hurt,” she said, Nina nodding quietly. Although Brooke was still spooked. Why had that thought popped into her head, let alone out of her mouth? She didn’t regret breaking up with Vanessa. It was the ick, just like Plastique had said. She had changed her mind. She couldn’t exactly change it back.
Could she?
“Why don’t we watch a film? I’ll bring my laptop through, get snacks from the kitchen. You don’t even need to move from this room. Or this bed,” Brooke suggested, ignoring the dangerous thoughts swirling round her mind. Nina gave a sniff and a silent nod.
“21 Jump Street?” she offered hopefully, Brooke unable to help the small laugh that escaped her mouth at the suggestion.
“This from the queen of Disney?”
“Disney’s too happy for me right now,” Nina moped, wiggling underneath her duvet cover. Brooke screwed up her face.
“Too happy? C’mon, you’ve seen Bambi. And Lion King. And Big Hero 6. And-”
“Brooke I swear to God if you don’t go get your laptop and stick on 21 Jump Street,” Nina warned, not finishing the empty threat. Laughing, Brooke did as she was told. She could only hope that the film would be enough of a distraction to her and to Nina for the next two hours.
She had no idea what they’d do once those two hours were up.
#rpdr fanfiction#branjie#scyvie#ninex#ortega#not nineteen forever#n19f#college au#university au#lesbian au#s11#brooke lynn hytes#vanessa vanjie mateo#scarlet envy#yvie oddly#nina west#monet x change#silky nutmeg ganache#akeria davenport#plastique tiara#monique heart
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Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams
Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43151156
Chapter 3/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster
Word Count: 1553
Chapter Summary: Baz takes Simon's shitpost text a step further, and the outcome ends up spreading a few rumors.
SIMON
bi-sammy: sammy would still fuck huxley if he looked like the fish from shape of water
I grin smugly at my screen, sitting in a dark room with nothing shining but my mobile. The shutters stay shut, and the light from the bottom of the doorway barely filters into the room. It’s just me, this scratchy blanket, and Baz, somewhere else in England on another screen. I absolutely adore that.
gaystrell: why would you say something so controversial yet so brave.jpg
Sometimes, I catch myself smiling. Other times, I elect to ignore how real it feels. It’s weird, given that it feels like I’m just chatting with someone who I see everyday. The casualness of this reminds me of texting Penny in the afternoon on a Thursday.
Except, given the current time, it could be interpreted as more intimate than that of a friend’s text.
8am on a Saturday is usually a time reserved for comfort. For staying warm with someone you care about. Instead, I’m just messaging Baz.
bi-sammy: because im right
bi-sammy: hear me out here ive got a brilliant idea
gaystrell: whoever taught you the definition of a brilliant idea was clearly misleading you
bi-sammy: dont be an arse until youve heard it
bi-sammy: wanker
gaystrell: you’re truly proving your point
bi-sammy: ANYWAY
bi-sammy: shape of water au
bi-sammy: thats all
gaystrell: i’m appalled.
gaystrell: hold on.
I don’t think much of it. Occasionally, he disappears for an hour to two. I don’t bother asking, assuming it’s none of my business, but I do tend to worry a bit. I hope he’s alright.
After clicking off my phone, my head settles against my pillow as my eyes fall shut.
There’s something about this. There’s something about him. It’s a bit hard to pinpoint what it is, but the overwhelming feeling of comfort I have in the notifications I get from him just answering my bullshit is incredibly welcomed. He’s semisweet. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier, but he’s a fantastically bitter person.
My head slowly turns over, eyes opening and straining in the darkness.
I hate my empty room.
I hate the absence of comfort--I hate the plainness of these walls.
I want to say I hate my foster dad, but I also feel like I’m not allowed to say that. Not because the system will take me again and throw me back (even though I could have left a year back, if I was still in it). Instead, I feel like I shouldn’t hate him. Theoretically, I should be thankful for what I have. I’m not in a boy’s home, and I haven’t been since I was 11, but the remnants remain. The fights don’t go away, and neither do the weeks of starvation.
Still, I sort of despise living here under Davy.
That’s what he makes me call him. His name. His nickname. Not dad; of course not dad. He’s had me in his care for roughly six years, but he’s still Davy to me.
Shitty fucking Davy, with his strict curfews and practically using me as a housemaid because he’s too cheap to care for himself.
Shitty fucking Davy, not letting me add anything to my room because the day I turn 18, I’m out of here until his next kid (and cheque, apparently) come in. Told me I’d wreck the walls and ruin his furniture if I did put anything on it, too.
So that’s what I’ve got. Blank walls, blank furniture, blank everything. It’s like a jail cell for a bedroom, and everything I’ve got to show for myself is in a backpack and two dresser drawers/
But, at least, I own my mobile.
Every summer job, mixed with odds and ends shit and whatever I can do for my bill. It’s all mine, and Davy can’t fucking touch it.
Maybe that’s why, when I feel it buzz against my chest, it makes me feel more alive. It’s a reminder of all that work just to be able to talk to someone freely.
Arguably, the best feeling in the goddamn world.
I grab it and flip it over. It’s just an email about uni.
Fuck.
I end up scrolling through tumblr for a little while, doing nothing but liking and reblogging a thing here or there. It takes a little while before a little drop down falls from the top of my screen.
gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1r7Wkwj7MSFk0--DgquHGhYVBbqneEYq0J01t0uMRmxA/edit?usp=sharing
gaystrell: feel the need to apologize before you click the link, but then again, you asked for this hell
When I click on it, it pulls up a doc titled just “crackfic”, and I’m floored with the first sentence alone.
“Fuck my fish ass harder, daddy.”
My hand flies up, covering my mouth as I practically wheeze as quietly as possible. A few paragraphs in and I’m nearly crying into my palm, muffling my laughter as I read through pages upon pages of the most ridiculous fic I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.
I check the word count out of pure curiosity, and it somehow makes me laugh harder.
bi-sammy: holy fucking shit
bi-sammy: i swear to god if you don’t post that i will
gaystrell: already in the process of making the archive post
gaystrell: i seriously believe you underestimate my sincere ability to be the biggest dick on the street
bi-sammy: i dont know whether or not u meant that as ur literal dick or the big dick energy in making that a post but id probably agree with you in both
bi-sammy: tag me in the post pls i want to be the first to reblog it
gaystrell: you’re a ridiculous, sad, little man
gaystrell: of course i’ll tag you
Within minutes, it’s uploaded with the absolute worst slew of Archive tags attached to it, and as soon as he tags me in his post, I tap the notification.
Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams
Word Count: 3,192
Summary: Fish!Huxley and Sam get it on Shape of Water style
@bi-sammy this is your fault (you're welcome)
I immediately slam like and pull up reblog, rapidly typing out my response before posting.
absolute madman. cant believe youve done this. i trust you with my entire life.
As usual, he's quick to reblog back.
anything for the absolute pain in my life x
Smiling shamelessly, I ride on the moment's high as our conversation stays out in the world. I quite enjoy this version of his softness. The public, taunting replies to mine. In all this time of following him, I can't really recall him ever being this friendly with anyone but me.
Makes me feel special. Maybe too much so.
BAZ
The jarring shock of the seemingly endless notifications rattles me momentarily speechless.
It isn't even 15 minutes after I'd replied to Snow and there's already a few people reblogging it with comments about him and I. A quick “i ship y'all’ to “powermove of the century”. Each make me flush deeper as the replies flood in.
If I were to be practical, I'm aware that I shouldn't be so flustered over the concept of us being a couple. It's most likely my overactive, sad, lonely imagination, but the idea of being loved just makes me blush. Especially since it's someone who doesn't seem to absolutely loathe me.
gaystrell: are you reading these?
bi-sammy: the what?
bi-sammy: i have. nothing to read. i cant read.
gaystrell: use your two remaining brain cells look at the notes for the crackfic
bi-sammy: holy shit
bi-sammy: im cackling
A notification pops up, making me snort this time. I pull up the post and send it off to him without a second thought.
gaystrell: sent a post
gaystrell: “sounds like something huxley would do for sam”
bi-sammy: stop im gonna piss myself shits too fucking funny
I pull it back up, scrolling down to reblog and adding a quick reply that, in all honesty, I should have thought out more. Secretly, part of me is glad that I sent it.
huxley wishes he was this smooth ;)
Within seconds, replies flood in from everywhere. From jokes about Snow and I possibly dating to the concept of Huxley writing (purposefully) shitty homoerotica about himself as a fishman. I quite like the conversation about the latter, while the former makes my chest knot in ways inexplicable.
Going through the notes makes me smile, even if it's mildly embarrassing. The amount of times I've seen the eyes emoji used is definitely excessive, but still somewhat welcomed.
Even my archive has a few comments already, although more based around the fic itself. More ironically, though, is the one person who probably took it seriously and just commented, “Nice fic!” I love the abundance of shameless appreciation for obscure fanfiction in the depths of this community.
Snow's messages roll down my mobile screen as I'm checking the comments, continuously replacing the previous message for the top slot.
bi-sammy: mate
bi-sammy: i love you
bi-sammy: also every time you reblog something of mine i get like 5 followers
bi-sammy: if you mention me i get 10
bi-sammy: youre???????????? a god????????
bi-sammy: can i marry you????????????
I slowly close my laptop, eyes on my phone with an absolutely gleeful grin.
gaystrell: when and where?
#carry on#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#mine#it's a handheld disaster#snowbaz#simon snow#tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch#tyrannus basilton grimm pitch#baz pitch#simon#baz
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Fic, Found Evidence
Based on a prompt given to me by @protecterofalltheaus to make the phrase “you son of a bitch” as angsty as possible. I also got an idea from @ts-random-pictures for a version of Patton that a socio/psychopath and I kind of combined them. Picture this as an alternate universe, human au type of situation. I apologize for anything I got wrong about antisocial personality disorder. I tried to do my research but I probably messed up somewhere.
Tip Jar
Warnings: Implied death. Broken storytelling.
Abstract: It sure looks like Patton cares, doesn’t it?
[journal appears to be labeled “True crime” but water damage makes this uncertain]
December 8
Day 30. They still haven’t found them yet. No real news to report. Patton continues to insist that following this type of story can’t be good for my mental state but I beg to differ. It gives me peace of mind knowing that this isn’t ever happening anywhere near our apartment. -L
[next several pages missing or smudged]
December 20
Day 42. Another. Again. I’m having a hard time keeping track. I knew this one too. Whoever they are they’re getting closer to the university. They have to know class schedules for this to work. I’d phone in a tip but our mutual friend Virgil that helped us get this apartment doesn’t trust the police and he’s had a ridiculous influence on my decision making process lately. He’s awfully persuasive. The true crime podcasts are talking about this one even more. I must admit it’s unusual, considering [beyond repair from this point on]
--
Received: January 10
Mr. MacAlasdair:
We missed you at the meeting on Thursday. As you know, your attendance was required or you to be considered for the program again next semester, however knowing you I can only assume it was important. I am willing to put in a good word for you if you just email me, Logan. And don’t let this happen again.
-Stokes
Sent from my iPhone
--
[the second half of the pages were missing or shredded. selected passages from the first half of the journal are shown. each paragraph appears to be a separate entry, not dated]
Today I was introduced to Logan! He seems smart and doesn’t seem to understand Virgil either. Maybe he has aspergers. I can’t tell. I can probably get him to like me though. I like that.
The roommate thing is going to happen! [small drawing of flowers] and I think he doesn’t have aspergers. Just some kind of other learning disorder I think. He’s unobservant either way. I like him. He won’t notice.
I’ve figured out if I’m even louder than usual he will ignore me even more. Very good. Interesting when he’s annoyed.
[unknown number of pages missing]
Roman found out. Nobody was supposed to find out. Well, he knows what I am. Making people quiet is wrong, but I don’t wanna go. I promised I would stop. Roman is too nice. I know I make him uncomfortable. I remember when we were kids he was the one that convinced me not to burn ants. He was uncomfortable then too. He’s too fun to not keep around. I don’t know what to do.
I think Roman isn’t talking to me anymore. That should probably make me upset. Smiling didn’t work. If I can’t make him like me again I’ll slowly stop caring.
I broke into [name withheld] dorm this time. She was fighting with Logan in class the other day. I can imagine Roman doesn’t approve. It was nice though. Nothing was left untouched.
Logan is worried. I don’t know why. I haven’t killed anyone.
Logan follows local crime and true crime podcasts. He didn’t tell me. I thought we were friends. [detailed drawing of a crying emoji]
I tried to tell him he’ll get worried. Normally that works but it didn’t! Why is Logan thinking about something that makes him upset? I don’t understand upset but I know I don’t want Logan to be upset.
Logan can’t leave.
[pages missing]
--
[messages written on post-it notes and scraps of paper in various handwriting, found in a shoebox, readable ones have been transcribed. the original order is not known.]
Patton you’re better than this. Let us out. We knew you could just not be one of those. -Roman
Patton, he finally says he won’t listen to the podcasts anymore. He promises. -V
If you don’t want me to worry then let me go to the meeting. All you’ve done is property damage. I see no need to notify the police.
Can you send water?
I still love you. Mom always knew you could be good, right? Don’t prove her wrong. Remember the ants. The noble ants. -Roman
Thank you.
[a detailed drawing of a cat]
Happy New Years, Pat.
Please don’t follow that line of logic. -V
Why did you bring Virgil into this? Please let him go he had no knowledge of [smudged]
Why are we in here?
[a cartoon drawing of a cactus]
Can you at least get the leak in the roof fixed if you won’t let Roman and I out of here?
We know you’re picking these up. Just talk to us. You’re better than this. I didn’t know you had antisocial personality disorder but I don’t care. Let’s just talk about this. -V
I know you hear me. I am tired of yelling. Open this door.
I know you only pretend to care about people like the therapist taught you but I still love you. Now talk to us. -Roman
--
[text conversation between Virgil Shea and Patton Sanders January 11]
V: Why did you unlock the door and leave my phone?
V: I know you’re getting this.
V: Don’t do anything stupid.
P: Hi!
V: Oh, thank f*** where are you?
P: Golden Gate. It’s so pretty!
V: Do you even care that we were locked in that room for over a week?
P: I should.
P: Verge, I’ve never killed anyone before.
V: F*** you’re not going to start, are you???
V: Patton, call me. I swear to god
P: Sorry. No, nobody’s dead. That wouldn’t be nice.
V: You were so happy all of the time. Was that just a cover-up?
P: I liked having friends. Well... acting happy gets you more friends.
V: So what? You thought you’d somehow help your friends by ruining things that belonged to people that annoyed us? By locking us in a room when we found out??
V: Call me. For Christ’s sake. We need to talk about this.
V: Was I just a pawn to you?
V: Patton, pick up the damn phone.
P: Nobody likes psychopaths, do they?
V: Pat, I’ve never seen you be this cryptic before. Not all psychopaths are goddamn murderers. You can be a good person. Logan is driving us to the bridge. We can talk this out.
P: Tell Roman I did it for the ants, okay? And the cats and everyone else. <3
P: ily
V: PAT
V: I can see you. Pick up the phone.
V: ANSWER THE PHONE
V: YOU SON OF A BITCH LET ME TALK YOU DOWN
V: ANSWER THE CALLS
--
“So what happens when you jump off a bridge that high? It's nothing like Olympic high diving, regardless of the skill of the jumper. You hit the water at 75 miles per hour,” -a sentence read on a webpage in Sanders’ most recent search history.
[end]
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#morality sanders#angst#patton sanders#death mention#suicide#cursing#suicide mention#fanfic#fan fic#fanfiction#fan fiction#roman wrote a thing
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for you, i’ll always wait
Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader
Rating: General audiences
Warnings: No real warnings, a bit of angst, but nothing major.
Author’s Note: Hi, hello, here’s another Seb fic. I have a problem!!!! Enjoy. The title comes from the song “Endlessly” by Green River Ordinance.
You watch, amused, as the interviewer asks Sebastian if he’s seen the latest box office release. Sebastian can be such a hermit sometimes, it’s amazing that he knows what anyone is talking about half the time.
“No,” he says, a smile blooming on his face, “I haven’t seen it. I haven’t-- no.” He tells the interviewer, who quickly changes the subject.
They wrap up the interview, and Sebastian heads over to where you’re waiting, crossing off this one on a long list of press events for the day.
“I told you, you need to go to the movies more often.”
He rolls his eyes, shrugging on his jacket. “When do I ever have time to do that?” He reaches behind your back for his water bottle on the table you’re leaning against, and you catch a whiff of his cologne.
“You literally spend half your time at comic book conventions and you’re never prepared for those questions.” You look up, flipping a page on your clipboard. Smiling sweetly, you pat his cheek with your free hand. “Honestly, it’s cute how much of a grandpa you are.”
He rolls his eyes. “Remind me how I got stuck with you today? Aren’t there literally hundreds of people who do what you do?”
“None as good as me.” You tell him, gesturing for him to start walking with you. It’s your second year working for a popular entertainment company, and part of your job was working at the various Comic Cons that your company put on. You started out just working the lines and making sure everything moved swiftly, and finally ended up in the talent lounge, assigned to a celebrity and being tasked to make sure they stayed on schedule.
You’ve been lucky with the celebrities you’ve gotten to work with, and have worked with Sebastian a few times. The two of you struck up a quick friendship, and you’re always happy to see him the few times a year you get to spend a weekend, essentially, with him.
“Do we have a break at all coming up?” He asks, “I’m hungry.”
“Not for a few hours,” you tell him, frowning as you look at the schedule. “I don’t know why they didn’t put that in here, I’m going to go give those people a piece of my--”
“Alright, killer. Slow down,” Sebastian says, laughing. “I’ll manage. What’s next?”
A few hours later and Sebastian has done a panel and a photo op, and he looks about ready to pass out, although he looks so happy you can’t help but smile with him.
“Food?” You ask, and he nods.
“Come with me. I owe you a lunch anyway.”
You blush, immediately protesting, “You don’t have to--”
“Come on,” he says, rolling his eyes as he stands up, “It’s literally the least I can do to thank you for putting up with me all day. Besides, we’re friends, right?” You don’t think you’re imagining the hopeful tilt to his voice when he asks you. “Friends have lunch. Come on.”
You end up driving closer to the city outskirts for lunch so he can avoid some of the crowds - not that he doesn’t want to meet his fans, but after a full day, he’s in need of a little peace and quiet. You try not to read too much into the way he puts his hand on the small of your back after you get out of the car, or the way he keeps stealing glances at you. He’s affectionate - anyone with half a brain can see that.
Sebastian orders two coffees before you can protest, and after enough complaining he relents and lets you pay for your own lunch. You grab a table by the window while you’re waiting for your food, and after a few minutes you can’t help but be a little unnerved by the way he’s watching you.
“Do I have something on my face?”
The tips of his ears turn pink. “Nope, no. Sorry. I’m just-- how long have we known each other?”
You shrug. “Two years, give or take.”
“How come you’ve never let me take you out?” He asks, quiet, and then his face shuts down like he can’t believe he said that part out loud.
You choke a little on your coffee. “What?”
He looks mortified. “Never mind.”
“You’ve never asked!” You basically screech, and his eyes widen.
“I--” he stops, blinks. “Is this a fight? Are we fighting?”
You start to feel hot all over, and genuinely can’t think of a word to say to him other than, “I have to get some air.” You’re out of your seat and pushing through the large glass door of the cafe before he can say anything, although you hear him swearing and hear the scrape of his chair on the wood floor.
You’re not even a few steps away from the front door when his hand closes around your elbow, halting your movements. “Hey, slow down.” He says, voice gentle. There’s a worried undercurrent there, too. “I’m sorry I freaked you out.”
You look at him, trying to figure out why you’re feeling so nervous. “I just-- you can’t just say something like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, but he doesn’t look sorry. “I just-- I thought that today there was this... I thought you felt the same way. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He looks like you’ve just kicked his puppy, and you hate the way your heart twists inside your chest.
It’s just-- it’s not like you don’t have a huge, obvious crush on the man. But what good could come from pursuing it? You know you’re not his usual type. What if he regrets it after the first date? You don’t think you could stand the rejection. You genuinely like this guy and everything that comes with being his friend. You’re not sure you could live with yourself if you ruined it.
“I’m not--” you start, your voice shaky. “I’m not upset. Surprised, maybe.”
He’s looking at you like he’s afraid to say anything else. “I don’t know why you’re surprised,” he says, looking down at the ground. “I’ve been told I’m pretty obvious.” He smiles softly.
“I’m amazingly aloof to these kinds of things.” You say. “I-- sorry. I don’t really know what to do, now.”
He takes a step closer. “You don’t have to make up your mind right now.” He shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “You have my number. Use it.” He smiles at you, a little less wary this time.
“What, just randomly?”
He nods. “When you’re ready.”
You nod, taking a deep breath. He’s putting the ball in your court now, and you know you’re an idiot for not just laying it all on the line right here, right now, but the thought of it gives you incredible anxiety.
He’s right - you need to think on it. Sort out your own feelings first before you deal with the possibility of his.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He echoes, reaching for your hand. He gives it a squeeze. “Let’s get back.”
He leads you to the car, your lunch and coffee forgotten, and the drive back is quiet, but not awkward. Every once in a while he glances at you, and you feel yourself blushing every single time.
Back at the convention center, you’re let into a VIP parking area and you get out, feeling the need to linger for a few more minutes. You’re still flooded with anxiety, wanting to make sure things are okay between you and him before you leave.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” he says, leaning on the side of the car. He reaches for your hand, tugging you a little bit closer, so the tips of your shoes are touching. “Please don’t panic about this.” He looks at you knowingly. “I can practically hear your mind racing.”
You can’t help but smile at that - you’re a little surprised at how much he’s paid attention; how well he knows you. “I won’t. I’ll call you.”
He smiles softly, and then you both go your separate ways, your mind already trying to come up with a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but unable to come up with one.
.
.
You let two weeks go by before you’re ready to call Sebastian. You’ve gone over every pro and con you can think of, and you think you’re ready to jump in with both feet. You like him. Like... really, really like him. He likes you. You want to give it a go.
Your hands are shaking a little bit as you grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. You take a deep breath as you listen to the rings.
“Hello?” He answers, and you hope you’re not imagining the relief in his voice.
“Hey.” You say, quietly. “It’s--”
“I know. I’m glad you called, I was starting to think I scared you off.”
“I’m sorry for waiting so long.”
A pause, and then, “It’s worth the wait, to be honest.”
You feel yourself blush, and can’t help the smile that blooms across your face. “I... um, would you want to hang out or get coffee or something the next time you’re in town?”
“Is it asking too much if I tell you I am back in town and want to see you today?” He asks, and you grin. “I need to shower, but I can meet you somewhere.”
You laugh breathlessly. He’s sneaky. “That sounds great. I’ll meet you in an hour.”
You hang up and then text Sebastian the name and address of a cafe you like that’s not too far, and he sends you back a bunch of smiling emojis. You feel your nerves start to dissipate, and instead you start to feel excited.
When you get there and he sees you come in through the front door, his face absolutely lights up. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid he’ll be able to hear it when he gets close enough.
“Hi,” he says, leaning down to peck you on the cheek and give you a lingering hug. “You look great.”
You arch an eyebrow. You’ve got on jeans and a floral print top, but nothing you would consider a great outfit for a date. “Thanks.”
“You sound like you don’t believe me. I’m going to just keep telling you.” He says, winking.
You catch up on what’s been going on in each other’s lives the last few weeks before ordering lunch, and when the conversation reaches a pause, he leans a little closer. “Listen, I wanted to apologize.”
You imagine you look mildly horrified. “For what?��
“I feel like I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t meant to do that. Or give you some kind of ultimatum.”
“You didn’t do that. I just-- I was surprised.”
He smiles, but it’s a little unsure. “Still. I didn’t want to be that guy.” He frowns to himself, “I like you. I like the way you make me feel -- like I’m just a normal person. But then I thought, what if you were just being nice, and I acted like--”
“Hang on,” you say, putting a hand on his arm to get him to stop. “Can I tell you what I’m thinking instead of you trying to guess?”
He smiles sheepishly. “Please, put me out of my misery before I say something else stupid.”
You laugh. “Listen, I... I like you too. Okay? You didn’t imagine that. I just-- never in my wildest dreams did I think someone like you would want...” You trail off, wondering why you feel as though you’re on the verge of tears.
His face falls, “Oh, no...” He gets up quickly and comes around to your side of the table, immediately grabbing one of your hands. “Don’t think like that, please, I...” he trails off, “Do you know what my favorite thing about you is?”
You try to turn away from him, embarrassed, “Oh god, don’t--”
“I’m serious!” He laughs, turning you back to face him. “My favorite thing--” he shoots you a wry look, “and there are many -- is that you make me feel so normal. You don’t treat me like I’m famous, you just treat me like I’m a regular person, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
You smile, but you can’t even put it into words what you’re thinking. You still feel like you’re dreaming, like at any minute you’re going to wake up and feel embarrassed that you’re having romantic dreams about a friend.
“I can start listing the other reasons why I like you, if you want.” He offers, and you want to smack him because you know he’s teasing you, but you just shake your head, that look in his eye telling you he’s going to go right ahead and do it anyway. “I like that you like iced coffee in the middle of winter but that you won’t drink your hot coffee after it goes cold. I like that you only own three pairs of jeans out of protest for having to wear uncomfortable clothing when you work, and I like that you badger me about not seeing movies, or knowing how technology works.”
“Stop it,” you tell him, and his grin only widens.
“I like when you wear your hair curly, but honestly your hair could be lime green and I would still think you’re gorgeous. I like that you care about whether or not I’ve eaten lunch, and that you keep protein bars in your backpack for long days, and--”
You finally can’t take it anymore and you cut him off, leaning over and pressing your lips against his. He lets out a muffled noise against your lips, but otherwise reacts swiftly, his free hand coming up to cradle your cheek while his other stays in your lap, tangled with yours.
When you pull back, he stays like that for a second, eyes closed, brow furrowed with emotion, and you feel like you’re never going to stop smiling ever again. His eyes open, and he shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.
“That was...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. His thumb strokes your cheekbone.
“Yeah,” you reply, embarrassed that your voice is a little shaky. “Sorry for all the runaround. I just got so nervous... I-- you make me nervous.”
“Must mean you like me.” He teases, and you roll your eyes.
“Less and less by the day.”
He laughs, the sound bright, and you want to hear it forever. “Have dinner with me.” He says.
“We’re having lunch,” you point out, and he shrugs.
“So have dinner with me, too. Also I don’t want to push my luck, but have breakfast with me tomorrow.”
You pretend to be shocked. “I can’t believe you!” Then, quieter, “You’ll get sick of me.”
“Not possible.” He reassures you, and you blush again.
The two of you finish up your lunch and your coffees, and he insists on walking you back to your apartment, where he ends up hanging out with you, watching TV. Soon, it’s dinnertime, and the two of you give up on going out, deciding to order Chinese instead, and Sebastian pays, “like a real date,” he insists.
Later, he sleeps on your couch. It’s totally innocent, except for the ten minute-long make out session that happens before you both go to bed that leaves you a blushing, weak-kneed mess, but other than that, it’s super innocent.
The next morning he takes you out for breakfast, and it’s so perfect, you almost feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Can I ask you something?” You ask as you walk around the block back to your apartment. “What happens next? You’re going to go back to New York, and then... what happens?”
He frowns. “I--” He stops. “I want to see you, still. I can come out here more, and fly you out to New York when I have work--”
“I have my job, too,” you tell him quietly, “And I can’t let you fly me around all the time. I’ll feel too guilty.”
“I want this to work. I want this to work more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.” He pulls you a little closer, his arm sliding around your waist. “Can we try? Please?”
You know you’ll never forgive yourself if you put a stop to this before it even starts, so you nod, trying to get rid of the knot in your stomach.
.
.
.
6 months later
“Where’s the--”
“Over there--”
“And the box for the bathroom?”
“Still in the truck.”
“Why do you have so many towels?”
“If you had more than two towels I wouldn’t have had to bring so many!”
Sebastian flops down on the couch in the new apartment, throwing his arm over his face. “I give up. I’m too tired. We can just live out of these boxes forever.”
You turn, smiling at him. “You’re being a huge crybaby right now.”
“Yes. I am.”
Six months of dating Sebastian flew by, and it was hard, really, really hard. When a job opening at your company complete with a relocation to New York came up, you jumped at the chance, hoping it would ease the sting of the weeks spent apart.
So far, so good.
Sebastian’s lease was up a few months ago, so he tentatively brought up the idea of the two of you moving in together, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on his face when you agreed. You have fairly similar taste, although you never knew how bad he would be at helping you move all your stuff in. You had at least twice as many boxes as he did.
You abandon the box you were working on and sit down next to him, his arm going around your shoulders automatically as he pulls you into his side. “We can take a break.” You say, and he presses a kiss to your temple.
“Have I told you how happy I am that we’re going to be living together? In the same time zone? In the same bedroom?”
You smile, “Yes, you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“I am,” he says, cracking open one eye so he can see you, “Really happy.”
“Me too.” You tell him, leaning up to place a kiss on the exposed part of his neck that has him shivering slightly. “Besides, New York City Comic Con is coming up! Who else is going to make sure you’re hydrated, and--”
“Stuck with you, huh?” He asks, cutting you off.
“You like it.”
“Yeah,” He grins, pulling you even closer, “I really, really do.”
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A Pointless Meeting
Who: @jordanparrishound and @itsericareyes
Where: Beacon Hills Library
Rated: PG-13 for adult insinuations
What: I was finding things to do in the 12 hour car trip and wrote Jordan and Erica talking to each other at the library. They end up making a deal to make up with their parents, though... so that’s a thing. Mostly they talk about their boyfriends so -shrug emoji-
With the power back on, it was imperative that Jordan make sure the library was okay. He’d left it in such a state of disarray that it wouldn’t sit right with him until he checked up on it and the man at the helm. He opened the front doors, glad to see that the barricade had been taken care of for the most part, but as soon as he stepped into the main part of the building, he was shocked to see some of the shelves out of place. Upon inspection he found that someone had painted some complicated symbols he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what they meant, but when Jordan went to touch one, he found the closer he got, the more his hand felt like it was in a vice grip, stinging like a thousand needles came at him from every direction. He pulled his hand back, confused, but he stayed away from all the bookshelves after that.
“Alistair?” he called out, looking out over toward the balcony. Perhaps his fiancé was putting away and reshelving books? He heard footsteps echoing across the library, but they were too light and close together to belong to Alistair and it wasn’t until the bright blonde mop of hair rounded the corner that he realized Alistair might not be in the library at all. He struggled to remember the girl’s name. She was Derek’s something-or-other. Erica! That was it.
She had a smile on her face until she recognized Jordan and then it fell. “Nope. Just me. Your boyfriend’s off somewhere having an adventure without you. It’s just me.”
“Don’t sound so happy to see me,” Jordan retorted, going to cross the room to meet her. Suddenly her hands went up and her eyes widened in panic.
“Stop!” she called out. “Go around the rug.”
Confused, Jordan stopped and nudged at the corner with his foot. The same paint he saw on the bookshelves was on the floor and he stepped away from the rug quickly. “What are these symbols?” he asked.
Erica shrugged. “Something Alistair said might work against the Horsement. There’s Devil’s traps under the rugs. Anything Celestial would get trapped there. Or anything evil? I don’t know. I forgot. But I don’t want you ruining it.”
Remembering how much it hurt to get close to the symbol on the bookshelf, Jordan decided it was a good thing to avoid anything that looked like it had paint on it. The hound recoiled just as Jordan had and he got the same feeling he did whenever he wore the graveyard roots on his wrists and he got the feeling that maybe some of the symbols would work on him. The last thing he wanted to do was get himself stuck in a trap and having to shamefully wait until someone rescued him. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said, instead.
With a nod, Erica hopped up on a table and crossed her legs. “You gonna stick around or…? Because I’ve been shelving stuff and if you’re not going to make yourself useful, you can go away.”
Jordan shook his head. “I don’t know the first thing about shelving books and I get the feeling that maybe some of these symbols aren’t very friendly to hellhounds.”
“Yeah, what’s the deal with that anyway? Like, what’s a hellhound?”
Jordan was used to this question by now and answered easily. “Hellhounds are fiery dogs that guard both the supernatural world and the gates to the underworld. Their powers center around fire and they’re harbingers of death.”
“Uh… so has anyone told you fire and wood and books don’t mix?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly in a way that insinuated she knew exactly how it made her look and she did it often for attention.
“I won’t hurt the library,” he said immediately. It was the first time he was so openly sure of his abilities. For so long he worried about burning everyone and everything around him, but as he learned more about how his powers worked, those worries dissipated.
He didn’t know what else to say and contemplated just leaving anyway and try to find Alistair elsewhere. The library looked like it was in good hands, although Jordan hadn’t been aware that Erica had so much responsibility there. She looked so young, but if Alistair trusted her, Jordan would too. He was just about to say his goodbyes and leave when Erica suddenly spoke up.
“So did you really give Derek a hand job?” she asked coyly, clucking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.
Jordan groaned. He really didn’t want to have to deal with that again and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why would I lie about something like that, and in front of my fiancé no less?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I was just wondering because I mean… it took me like forever to get him to do me and you just waltzed up and gave him a handjob like it was nothing.”
“We were friends for a while,” Jordan said carefully. “He was in pain and I thought… you know what, I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“Aw, come onnnn,” she whined, sticking her bottom lip out like that would work on him.
“I’m not here to talk about my private life with you.”
“Stop being so uptight, Officer Parrish,” she said his last name with force, mocking him more than anything. “I like Derek and I want to make sure you weren’t one of the people that scarred him, that’s all. Besides, I’m also invested in Alistair’s happiness so if you screwed over Derek, chances are, you’ll screw over Alistair and I am not about that life. You make that man cry and I will end you.”
Jordan didn’t want to laugh at her when she was being so serious but he couldn’t help it. She looked younger than Talia and certainly wasn’t as strong. He didn’t have anything to fear from Erica. How was she going to take him? He wasn’t one to brag, though, so he kept quiet on that matter and instead focused on her beef with him. “I haven’t done anything to you, Erica. By all accounts, we should be friends, not picking on each other. I love Alistair, more than I’ve loved anyone or anything. I had no idea I could feel this strongly about someone, but it’s there and it’s real. I’m not going to hurt him. Not intentionally, at least.” He’d seen Alistair when he cried and although both times had been because of his past, Jordan didn’t like seeing him upset and would do anything in his power to keep that smile on his face.
“Wow. So cheesy,” Erica snickered. “I don’t know, you’re just so… so boring.” She flipped her hand about in the air to exaggerate her statement and then stuck her finger in her open mouth, pretending to gag. “I bet whenever you’re with Alistair everything around you dies out of boredom. Do you talk like this to each other? Thank god Derek doesn’t talk much at all. I couldn’t handle him saying that shit to me.” She puffed out her chest. “He’s all ‘You were beautiful before the bite’ and ‘Don’t leave me’ and ‘My name is Derek.’” When she quoted him, she dropped her voice an octave and stuck her lips out to make herself look more masculine.
She looked and sounded so ridiculous Jordan couldn’t help but smile to herself. At least she was animated, which he couldn’t say for many of the people in the town. “There’s a certain quality to quietness that I admire. Alistair is the same at times.”
“Yeah… he is,” Erica surprisingly agreed. “He worries me sometimes because he looks like he’s thinking so hard or that he’s putting too much on his shoulders. I kinda want to get him high so he’ll let go for two seconds and oops—am I supposed to be talking about that to a cop? It’s medicinal. I swear.”
“Probably not,” Jordan said, raising an eyebrow. “But I know about Talia and it’s California so I can let it slide.
“Oh yeah, speaking of Talia, have you seen her lately? She like, up and disappeared on me. We were hanging out and just kinda shooting the shit you know, and then bam, haven’t heard from her.”
“She’s probably in mourning. She was looking out for Lydia’s mother and… you know.” It was easier not to say it and it wasn’t like Jordan was trying to state the details of a case so he could be a little more discreet.
“Oh,” Erica said thoughtfully. It was her turn to fall silent and Jordan could see the cogs turning in her head. He didn’t know how much Erica knew about Talia and Lydia but everyone seemed to be connected here, so he could only assume she knew a fair amount. When she spoke again, her voice was really quiet. “I’ve been thinking about seeing my own parents again.”
Jordan gave her a double-take. He hadn’t been expecting that. He knew she’d died and came back. It was obvious, especially the way the hound uncurled around her. After the fiasco with Lydia, though, the hound didn’t rear his head at the walking dead anymore. “Were you estranged from them?”
“I kind of ran away and died, Parrish, it’s not like it’s a secret or anything anymore. Enough people know. It’s why I work here, because it’s hard to explain I’m not going to abandon a job to anyone who knows me from the missing posters,” she sighed and uncrossed her legs, letting them swing under the table. “I don’t know if my parents know I’m back. I don’t know if they think I’m dead or not. I was buried on the Hale property and not in some cemetery or cremated or anything. I don’t even know if I had a real funeral other than maybe Derek crying at my grave or something.” She’d never seen Derek cry before and it wasn’t fair to say that of him, but the damage had been done. “But after Lydia lost her mom, I’ve been thinking about going back to mine and making up with them. They probably miss me.”
“I know what you mean,” Jordan said carefully. “I lost my father while I was fighting overseas and when I came back, I came straight here instead of going home to my mother. She doesn’t know if I’m dead or alive, either.”
“Huh,” Erica clicked her tongue again. “Who knew we were so similar. How about this: if I go see my parents, you have to go see your mom. Deal?”
Jordan thought about it a moment. He was afraid of what his mother would say if she found out he’d spent several years purposely not saying anything to her, but he was more worried about what his mother would say when he brought home a man. He’d never mentioned to her that he was into men at all, and the few girlfriends he had growing up had only been temporary. Jordan knew Alistair would be calm and not overly affectionate when around her. After all, they were both on the same page when they first met, making the unanimous decision to keep their relationship a secret for a while for fear of backlash. Jordan wasn’t ready to go through that again, but he knew it was for the best.
“Deal.”
“Good!” Erica held her hand out with her pink pointed upwards. “We have to swear it or it doesn’t count.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. It was such a childish thing to do, but she insisted and so he found himself wrapping his pinky with hers and shaking on it. Erica seemed satisfied with the development and began swinging her legs under the table again. After their pink promise, Jordan pointed toward the door. “I should probably get going. If Alistair comes back, let him know I was looking for him, okay?”
“I’m not your messenger,” Erica said, blowing some air out of her mouth and hopping down from the table. “But yeah, sure, whatever. Thanks for the break, but I’ve got to get back to sorting. You can go back to arresting people for sneezing too loudly or whatever it is you do.”
“Hah,” Jordan deadpanned and finally turned to leave, giving her a short wave of his hand on his way out. “Be good to Derek, Erica. He’s been through a lot.”
Just as he was leaving through the large glass doors, he could just make out a loud, “Oh my god, I know. Shut up!”
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Fanfic
a text exchange is implied between the Havenfall crew and I decided to write it
Set in Mackenzie’s route
occurs somewhere during Season 2 Episode 7, in the time gap between the two
MacMommy has come online
JuniorLucifer69 is online
MM: JD
MM: Can we talk
MM: Im not accusing you of anything
MM: JD you arent in trouble or anything
JL: sherif
MM: Im texting as Mac right now
JL: cul i like mac beter
JL: since ur mac can this wait for a sec im in the midle of sum stuf
MM: Does the bowling alley have some customers
JL: nah
JL: its crime stuf
MM: what
MM: JD
MM: Im the Sheriff now
MM: JD I will call Razi right now
JL: jk wat up
MM: Are you doing crimes
JL: not unles eatin froot loops is a crime
MM: its 9 PM
MM: and arent you at the bowling alley?
JL: yeh an i wanted froot loops
JL: i knew i would want froot loops so i took some froot loops in a plastic bag
JL: who made u the sherif of fud time
MM: weve gotten off track
JL: never knew what the trac was
MM: I wanted to ask for advice
JL: im literaly the person with their life the least put together
JL: the only thing im qualified to give advice about is precisely how much shit u can do and not get actualy punished for
MM: How about dating
MM: like asking someone out
JL: y do u need advice
JL: u 2 made out in front of the entire town
JL: not much of a feat
JL: the in front of the entire town part
JL: the making out was a biger thing
MM: Weve done more than that
JL: u 2 are together right
MM: We are together yeah
MM: We havent been on a proper date yet though
JL: havent u asked some1 out before
JL: wait
JL: uve done more than that
MM: I shouldnt have said that
JL: did u 2 do it
JL: DID YOU TWO GET DOWN TO BUSINESS
MM: …
JL: WHATS THAT SUPOSED TO MEAN
JL: YOU CANT JUST DOT DOT DOT ME MAC
MM: Im just here for advice I dont need anything else
JL: OK but whether or not u 2 have screwed does change my answer
MM: I dont see how that has anything to do with it
JL: it absolutely does
MM: Im not answering that
JL: cool so u 2 absolutely did do it
MM: JD
JL: nah its cool im happy for u and all but le
MM: JD
MM: Are you there.
MM: JD you need to finish that sentence
JL: This is Razi. JD was texting on the job and they tell me I’m texting Sheriff Hunt.
MM: yeah this is Mac
JL: If I may ask, what did JD do?
MM: Nothing this is an informal conversation
JL: JD is telling me to scroll up.
MM: Please dont
MM: Razi
MM: Razi
MM: Razi you better be typing a very long message because I dont like this one bit
JL: jd back on the mic
MM: What happened
JL: razi read through the rest of the conversation and started crying from laughter
JL: i swiped my phone back
MM: Do u remember when things like this stayed private
JL: pepperridge farm remembers
MM: Good times
JL: update razi is still laughing
JL: he has done the dad thing where he chuckles and shakes his head
JL: he mumbled something
MM: I dont need the play by play
JL: im more of a color commentator
MM: Can you bring him back in
MM: I could use the help
JL: ill help him get on
MM: Ill be waiting
JL: hes almost on
JL: hes trying to compose himself
MM: Does he need any help
JL: still trying to compose himself
JL: he has stopped giggling and put on a Serious Face
Guest42251413 has come online
Guest: Hello, this is Razi.
JL: henwo
MM: Welcome Razi
Guest: Why do you guys have initials and I don’t?
JL: u have to register
Guest: OK, how do I do that?
MM: JD can you help him
Guest 42251413 has registered as Razi420
MM: Did you choose the name
Razi420: JD helped me. I tried to register as Razi, but the system said, “Username taken,” so I tried Razi1 at the behest of JD. That too was taken, so then JD informed me that Razi420 was open so I took it.
Razi420: Wait, I don’t have initials.
MM: JD can you help him
JL: i dont know its just so difficult
JL: itll take 10 hours
JL: i remember when i changed my intials i had to fill out all sorts of forms
JL: it was such a hassle
JL: and you wouldnt make little old me go through that again.
MM: OK you dont have to help Razi
Razi420: I guess that an old man like me wouldn’t understand it.
JL: ill get diego on the line 2
Razi420: You know computers are so hard for people like me
JL: mac how much experience do you have with dating
MM: I havent asked anyone out in my life
JL: not even for a sadie hawkins
Razi420: The other day I learned about emojis.
MM: I went to a small high school no one else was out
JL: so is it a confidence thing or a what do i say sort of thing or whats a good thing to do kind of thing or what
DrEscalonaMDPHDBS has come online
Razi420: See, Diego knows what it’s like, you don’t know how to do anything, you don’t know the lingo, you don’t know how to get initials for your messages.
DE: What?
DE: What did you guys need me for?
JL: i just heard razi sigh from the arcade
DE: So what was going on around here.
MM: I need some advice
DE: mhm, and what for?
MM: Asking someone out
DE: You two are definitely together, is that correct? I remember you two sharing a ,ah, intimate moment together.
JL: theyve “done more than that”
MM: JD dont you dare
DE: I’m going to need you to be more specific, JD.
MM: You better not
MM: JD I swear on my mothers hashbrown casserole if you dare say a word that is off task I will smash your stupid John Lennon sunglasses on the ground
Razi420: Part 1: I’ve tasted that casserole, this is very serious. Part 2: I will not say a word about that. I will hold that as a secret to be divulged at your discretion.
MM: Thank you Razi
DE: All of that aside, this is a date between you and our friend.
MM: Yes
DE: Just making certain everything is clear.
Razi420: In addition, Mackenzie has never asked anyone out on a date.
MM: Most of my past relationships we just kinda ended up in the same place
DE: Coworkers?
MM: Yeah basically
DE: My experience may seem a little old and not suit your personal flair, but I will offer my advice
JL: THEY HAVE MOST DEFINITELY HAD SEX. THEY HAVE DEFINITELY DONE THE DIRTY. MACKENZIE AND MY LOVELY COWORKER HAVE IN FACT HAD A ROLL IN THE HAY.
MM: Are you done?
JL: not yet
JL: macken-ZAY has gotten biz-ZAY
JL: They have shagged, baby
JL: ok im done
DE: I see
MM: I want merely two things in the world
JL: is one of those a piece of that ass
MM: I just want to take my girlfriend out on a nice date
JL: im a prophet
MM: And a device where I can punch JD in the face whenever I want
MM: not too hard
MM:��not hard enough to cause damage
MM: but hard enough to make them stop
MM: Is that too much to ask
JL: yknow not wanting to damage me is probably the sweetest thing u ever said to me
JL: also mac you can break my “john lennon sunglasses” i have 50 backup pairs.
MM: Just please tell me how to ask out a girl
DE: When you say date, do you mean “let’s go out to lunch on Friday,” or “Come follow me, I have a surprise for you.”
MM: The surprise one
DE: Is the surprise time bound or can the surprise come at any time?
MM: Its time bound
DE: How much planning went into this?
MM: A lot
DE: Please be specific
MM: I rented out the drive in theater for an exclusive showing
DE: That’s extensive.
DE: Are you certain she doesn’t have any commitments?
MM: …
MM: no
JL: doc were in havenfall the only other possible commitments u can have is harvesting corn or very specifics times for rituals
JL: those r the only 2
DE: Still, for future reference, it is polite to make certain there are no other commitments.
MM: OK
DE: So, the basic message is, come with me to the movies.
MM: Id like it to be a surprise but yeah
DE: mhm
JL: ok so for a surprise you gotta give enough to peak their interest
Razi420: pique
JL: idea lee u keep them guessing until u finally get to the location of the surprise
Razi420: ideally
JL: if u wanna go the extra mile leave a red earring so they think ur gonna go someplace else
Razi420: red herring
JL: plant a piece of evy dance that suggests a bar crawl instead of a camping trip or whatever but be careful
Razi420: evidence
JL: u dont want to accidentally pull a bateman switch
Razi420: bait and switch
JL: no im pretty sure its bateman switch
Razi420: bait and switch
JL: its like when ur watching an episode of arrested development and then u realize that the entire time jason bateman was just a cgi clone and not the real jason bateman and then ur just like aaaaaaahhh man i wanted to see jason bateman and now i get this
JL: thats a bateman switch
Razi420: That doesn’t happen.
DE: That seems rather con fluted.
Razi420: convoluted
JL: so if ur seeing a drivein movie ur bringing blankets and other stuff right
MM: yeah blankets pillows and popcorn
JL: so thats pretty obvious
DE: It’s been so strange to see popcorn grow as a foodstuff.
JL: doc please dont weve wasted enough time as it is
Razi420: I’ve seen it too, it’s very strange how we’ve all decided it is only for movies and baseball.
JL: dont start this old man
Razi420: I remember when growing popcorn was the livelihood of some people.
JL: razi i will go over to the jukebox and play neil young right now if u dont stop
MM: JD youre wasting time yourself now
JL: right right
JL: so u arent going to be able to trick her into thinking u 2 are going somewhere else but
JL: but
MM: JD Ive never asked anyone out before Im not ready for advanced tactics here
JL: ok fine but never say where ur going
JL: keep it a mystery
JL: the idea is shes concerned with the mystery and when she solves it shes all like booyah and it makes the date better. so u gotta make sure shes gonna solve that mystery
JL: whats new scooby doo and all that
MM: and if she guesses the mystery
JL: just be noncommittal if she guesses right
JL: give a flat no to any incorrect answer and then give a maybe or an i dont know if she guesses right
JL: the maybe and the i dont know are in That tone of voice
MM: yeah I know That tone of voice
Razi420: I don’t mean to jinx it but I think this is the longest JD has a gone without making a joke.
DE: Wait, Razi, you, as a djinn, believe in jinxes?
JL: u might want to text her because if u build up the anticipation the payoff will be greater.
MM: JD I shouldnt text her I dont like personal conversations not in person
Razi420: Jinxes are a legitimate concept. I have plenty of data to back it up.
MM: but Im not even sure how to even start the conversation and get it leading up to asking her out
JL: mac ill let u in on a secret
JL: being smooth is 70% luck
JL: u gotta have quick thinking and all that
JL: but sometimes the right opportunity doesnt present itself and then u just gotta have an awkward transition
DE: Razi, jinxes are just coincidental, you point out something because it’s rare or you assume an unlikely outcome will happen, and when it falls through. You just say, “Oh, I jinxed it.”
JL: so mac, be ready to just go out and say would u like to go out on a date tonight
JL: i know that its not like that in the movies but thats closer to real life
MM: I cant work with “just do it” my brain doesnt like it
JL: u just gotta lean on ur natural charms
JL: ur going to feel really nervous so just lean into it
JL: be cute nervous
JL: she will love u cute nervous, mac
Razi420: Jinxes are like reverse wishes, someone says something and then the opposite effect occurs. The same powers are at work, but the etiquette of wish making isn’t followed, so the reverse effect occurs.
MM: I guess Im just worried she’ll say no
JL: shes not going to say no
JL: like i said theres nothing to do in this town
JL: but more importantly
DE: Mac, if all else fails I will help you out in anyway I can, you have my word.
MM: Thanks Diego
JL: but more importantly you two love each other. shes going to be glad to talk to u no matter the outcome
DE: And, Razi, when you grant a wish it tires you out, right? It drains some of your power.
Razi420: Yes, it does drain some of my power, but what does it have to do with jinxes?
JL: mac just remember that its going to go a whole lot better than you think it is going to go
JL: brains are just like that
JL: they tell u everythings gonna suck but surprise it rules
DE: The point that I’m getting at is that for a jinx to work, someone has to spend some power, so where does it come from, does it come from the wood that you must knock upon?
Razi420: …
Razi420: JD, you’ve been quite unlike yourself.
DE: No.
MM: I appreciate it JD
DE: Razi, you’re not getting away with it that easily.
MM: If Im being honest I expected to have to work hard to get info from you
DE: Razi, you can’t just deflect like that.
JL: im surprised that we didnt start a whole tangent on arrested development or something dumb
Razi420: Jinxes are caused by the stars, OK.
MM: you mean a tangent that everyone is involved in
DE: THats ridcuuloos
DE: *That’s ridiculous
JL: yeah
JL: but seriously
JL: I’m going to use grammatically correct sentences to express how much sincerity I have.
Razi420: I’m a djinn who’s friends with a vampire, a devil, and a werewolf who happens to be the sheriff of a town. We are not good judges of ridiculous.
JL: I just want you two to have a good time. You are coming to us for advice and I know that’s hard for you. You are making yourself vulnerable. I’m really proud of you.
MM: ...
MM: Thanks
MM: It means a lot to me
DE: Why does JD get to be the one to say they’re proud of you?
DE: Shouldn’t that be for the person with seniority here.
JL: thats where ur wrong bucko
JL: the question here is one of gayness
JL: i am more dimensions of gay than u can possibly imagine
JL: thus i am the one whomst is allowed to delegate pride
DE: Also Razi, if it is stars, how does knocking on wood do shit.
JL: oh dam
MM: Now we know what gets Diego worked up enough to swear
Razi420: Photosynthesis uses light from stars, photosynthesis makes wood. Wood is directly related to starlight.
MM: But anyway thanks for the advice
DE: And here is the part where JD asks for a favor.
DE: Any minute now
DE: Also Razi, that is so patently ridiculous that I’m not going to debate about it anymore.
JL: Mac, you don’t owe me anything, just you two have a good time. If you two are happy, then I’m happy. That’s all..
JL: Also, if you claim I was helpful in anyway, shape, or form, I will deny it immediately.
MM: I expect nothing less
JL: i got a wild child image to keep up cant have this sincerity bullshit
JL: cool people dont have feelings right
JL: we just have leather jackets cool shades and smirks plastered on our faces
Razi420: Diego, if you refuse to debate about it, that means I win.
DE: iifwood is sending these tsingnals that means the signals would have to ravel fsaster than light to reach the starts and back with enough time to actually effet change
Razi420: Oooo, someone’s misspelling words, that means they’re angry.
JL: since everyone is here i think this is a good opportunity to do something ive always wanted to do
DE: The nearest star is over 4 light years away, how does it affect change on Earth.
JL: they use waves made of bofa rather than light
MM: JD
DE: You can’t get me, JD.
DE: I know this.
Razi420: what is bofa?
Several people are typing…
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A Sisterly Chat
AN: This was just a silly idea based on a concept that probably has already been written about before but I wanted to give it a try. I hope you enjoy it. Ask box is open for prompts.
We have a situation – MH
Busy – SH
This is serious Sherlock! – MH
So is this – SH
I know you are microwaving marshmallows with Rosamund Watson to see if they explode. They don’t. Now will you listen? – MH
Actually, Brother Mine, they do explode if you spear them with metal skewers and put them in the microwave. – SH
An eye-roll emoji? Seriously Sherlock? Grow up. This is important – MH
Fine. What? – SH
Eurus has escaped. - MH
“What?!” Sherlock yelled, slamming the call button on his phone. One ring later and Mycroft had answered. “Why didn’t you say that first?”
“I was trying to.” Mycroft replied. “I’m overlooking the footage now, it might have been one of the new recruits. She appeared to manipulate them as they just walked out together.”
“And no one thought to stop them? Mycroft, your people are idiots.” Sherlock snapped. “What is this? The third or fourth time at least that she’s escaped?”
“We’re working on it. I’m calling to warn you to be careful. Eurus is over eighteen months without incident but we can’t be certain that she won’t relapse.” Mycroft said as Sherlock began to run possibilities through his head. Where could Eurus have gone? Eurus escapes for reasons. What reason did she have now?
“Uncla Sherl, who is it?” Rosie asked as Sherlock held her tightly in his arms. He had been looking after her whilst John was at work. Her nursery was having a staff-training day. At two years and three months, her language was improving greatly and her cogitative development was fascinating to observe.
“It’s Uncle Mycroft.” Sherlock said before turning his attention back to Mycroft. “She can’t be going to see Mummy and Daddy; they’re in Australia. The old house was destroyed after we found Victor. She wouldn’t dare go to your building, you would catch her. She has no interest in Lestrade and John would recognise her by sight, no matter her disguise.”
“Then there’s only one option. She will be coming to Baker Street. You’re the only other- Oh God. Sherlock you need to go.” Mycroft said as one of is men pointed to a camera and Sherlock came to the same realisation. There was someone else. Somewhere else. The one who’s importance was the greatest. The one who mattered most. The one who never actually saw Eurus face to face. The one person who meant that much to both Sherlock and Mycroft to gain that reaction from the elder Holmes brother.
“Molly.”
John flexed his fingers as he wrote up his latest report. He could swear that working in medicine was now more about paperwork than actually helping people. John took a moment to smile at the picture of Mary and Rosie on his desk before his phone beeped with an incoming text. Then a second. And a third.
The East Wind has blown into St. Bart’s. Help is required. – SH
If convenient come immediately. If inconvenient come anyway – SH
Rosie is with Mrs Hudson. – SH
“Shit.” John muttered and glanced at the calendar. Thankfully there were only two appointments and the other doctors would be willing to cover. After quickly claiming Rosie was ill, John rushed out of the surgery and into the closest cab. Eurus had escaped. Eurus was at St Bart’s. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Molly Hooper?”
Molly looked up from her microscope and looked at the visitor. A tall, pale woman with elbow-length black hair was standing in the doorway; dressed casually in jeans and a purple hooded jumper. She was dressed far too casually to be part of the police or part of the hospital; Molly knew all the IT people and her plain-clothes guards who Mycroft assigned to watch out for her. This woman was none of them.
“Can I help you?” Molly asked as the woman stepped into the lab, closing the door behind her. Molly watched her move carefully; there was something very familiar about this woman.
“I just wanted to speak to you.” The woman replied calmly. “It’s about my brother.”
“Who’s your brother?” Molly asked as she cursed herself for not having something on her to protect herself with. Sherlock and John always tried to encourage her to do so. Now, that probably would have been a good idea, considering some random woman had just walked into her morgue and was trying to speak to her about her brother who Molly was certain she had never-
“Sherlock Holmes.”
-met.
Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was sprinting through St Bart’s hospital; dodging doctors, nurses, visitors and patients; ignoring any of their complaints, comments or demands to slow down. Once glance at the wait for the lift sent him speeding towards the stairs, jumping over or missing several in his haste to get to the morgue. Molly. He had to find Molly. There was no telling what Eurus had done or said. No telling what she was capable of or how far she had slipped back into the darkness that had consumed her for so long. As he ran down the stairs, his foot slipped and Sherlock crashed painfully down the last six steps. Pain, however was not a priority; Molly was; so after a few choice curse words, Sherlock picked himself back up and kept running. Molly. He had to get to Molly.
The sound of the doors slamming off the walls echoed along with his running footsteps and Sherlock slammed his way onto the next corridor. Molly’s corridor. As he ran, the echoing of his footsteps was accompanied by the sound of something else. Laughter. Women’s laughter. A woman who was not Molly. Eurus. Why was she laughing? What could have caused her to laugh? What had she done to Molly?
“Eurus!” Sherlock shouted as he threw open the door, expecting to find a blood-soaked Eurus but instead found Eurus and Molly sitting on stools, cups of coffee in front of them and looks of amusement on their faces.
“Eighteen minutes since I entered the hospital. Mycroft is slipping although I was impressed how you managed to work the London traffic. Usually it takes twenty two minutes to get from Baker Street to here.” Eurus commented as Molly smiled at him.
“What are you doing here Sherlock?” Molly asked.
“I- Eurus has obviously escaped and I needed to check that-“ Sherlock said as Eurus cut across him.
“You needed to check that I was not undertaking some complex murderous attack against Doctor Molly Hooper as a result of our own difficult past relationship. That isn’t me anymore Sherlock. I’m done trying to get rid of your pets and anyway, Molly never was one of those pets. I’ve always respected you Molly. And your work.” Eurus explained as Sherlock looked at her perplexed.
“Why are you here? How did you escape?” Sherlock asked.
“Because I want to and because I could.” Eurus answered. “And before you interrupted, Molly and I were having a lovely conversation about pathology, her research on factors which can affect decomposition and the complexity of the human body.”
“It’s true Sherlock. Actually, Eurus, you did tell me you wanted to speak to me about Sherlock.” Molly said but Eurus dismissed that with a wave of her hand.
“Boring. I just said that so you wouldn’t have me thrown out. I actually wanted to meet you. Mycroft told me a lot about you and after my little ‘experiment’, I wanted to know more about you and your work.” Eurus explained before a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. “Although, now that he is here, Sherlock, did you ever tell Molly about your Reception Nativity play?”
“Shut up! Shut up right now!” Sherlock insisted, looking terrified for a completely different reason. It had been one memory he had tried to erase.
“No, what happened?” Molly asked. This had taken an amusing turn; watching Sherlock turn from a mostly composed adult to a little boy bickering with his sister.
“Sherlock was playing one of the shepherds and Mummy was of course very proud; used her best tea towel as part of his costume and everything. However when the night of the performance came, Sherlock was supposed to proudly say his lines and lead the other shepherds in following the star. That didn’t happen. Instead, Sherlock stood up, said his line and fell off the stage.” Eurus explained.
“Oh no,” Molly said as she pictured Little Sherlock. The grown up Sherlock was red in the face and glaring at Eurus.
“It gets better, some of the children tried to help and the play carried on. However Mycroft couldn’t help but smirk and laugh. Sherlock happened to glance out at the audience when he and the others were gathered around the manger. He saw that Mycroft was laughing and decided to throw the baby Jesus at him.” Eurus explained, her blue eyes shining with amusement at the memory. At almost four, it had been the funniest thing she had ever seen.
“Sherlock!” Molly said as she laughed at the image of a little boy dressed as a shepherd throwing a doll at his brother.
“Mycroft shouldn’t have laughed.” Sherlock insisted as the door opened behind them again.
“You should have watched where you were going.” Mycroft replied, looking composed as usual as he and John walked into the room. “Eurus, I believe it’s time to go.”
“Fine.” Eurus replied fairly. “Molly, it was nice to finally meet you and I am sorry for making Sherlock think I had put explosives in your flat and forced you two to admit something that really should have been done privately. It was very immature although it did work out for the best.”
“And that is a true Holmes apology.” Molly retorted. “A good beginning before the inevitable turning the tables to make the one receiving the apology feel annoyed again.”
The two women looked at one another before smiling and laughing at one another. Eurus turned and walked back towards Mycroft. Just as she reached him, Mycroft shook his head at her. “Give it back Eurus, you know he needs it.”
“I was going to see how long it would take for him to realise.” Eurus said as she reached into the pocket of her hoodie and threw the item she had stolen from Sherlock’s pocket. “He has been carrying it around for three weeks.”
“Two and a half.” Sherlock argued as he held the precious item in his hands. “I just haven’t found the right time to do it.”
“Well you’d better hurry up.” Eurus replied simply as she looked at John who was looking completely stumped by the day’s events. “And do tell John what’s been going on otherwise his face may look like that forever.”
“No that’s just his face.” Molly quipped cheekily before smiling apologetically at John. “Sorry.”
Eurus however laughed and before anyone could stop her, rushed over and threw her arms around Molly, hugging her tightly. Molly hugged her back instinctively and Eurus stepped back, smiling at her. “I mean it, I really do like you. Had I had you for a sister, who knows how different things would have been.”
“Indeed,” Molly replied; she was certain that things probably would have not changed but it was better to let Eurus have these moments of happiness that didn’t come from torture or death. Any genuine happiness that could help Eurus’ mental state was to be encouraged.
“Come along Eurus.” Mycroft said as he led Eurus out of the room, his arm linked around hers in what appeared to be a kind gesture between siblings was also a way of reminding Eurus about the tranquilizer dart on the dial of his watch. One wrong move and she wouldn’t wake up until she was back on Sherrinford. If she did wake up from the dosage.
As the door shut behind them, John turned and looked at Sherlock and Molly. “What just happened?”
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