#and maybe they have just been sent a ton of PR packages that they have to figure out how to store

[cagestark]

Better Late Than Never//1

And Merry Christmas to YOU

Aka I started another project that I will take twenty years to finish. But @starkerflowers prompts were just too fucking good.

About: With interest in his work waning, famous writer Tony Stark (under the pseudonym AE Potts) changes his entire public relations platform, which includes hosting a meet-and-greet contest where one lucky fan will get to spend the day with him. That one lucky fan is Peter Parker. Peter is 21. Will contain nff, alcoholism, suicide attempts, character death (not major), drug mentions, anxiety, anxiety attacks. 

Read here on AO3. 

-

Tony is awakened from a drunken, dreamless sleep by a tub of envelopes and small packages being upended over his head. He jerks upright with a shout from where he was slumped over his writing desk, upending the (empty) bottle of whiskey that had lulled him to sleep. Pepper stands over him, impeccable in every way he is not.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, pushing envelopes off of where they have pooled on his lap. “You could have taken my eye out, Peppercorn. What are you trying to do, perform Lingchi on me? What is all this?”

“Fan mail,” she says. Her voice is stern and unsympathetic. The first time she’d found him passed out drunk over his desk, she had panicked and nearly called for an ambulance. The next handful of times she had just covered him with a blanket and regarded him with sad eyes the next morning when she brought him coffee. But those were ten years ago. Not to mention, all in her first few weeks on the job— “Social media is revolting. You never answer fan mail, you never do Q&A’s, you haven’t done an interview in almost a decade.”

“Fuck this,” Tony mutters, opening one drawer. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“In your bloodstream, I’d imagine. Don’t brush this off, Tony. Sales are waning. We need to make some serious changes in our PR or I’ll be putting in my two-weeks’ notice.”

That gets Tony’s attention. Pepper hadn’t threatened to quit after his last book when he’d killed off one of the most popular characters (one of his personal favorites, may she rest in fictional peace) and the public had flipped their shit. She hadn’t threatened to quit years before that when she walked in on him hunched over his desk with a straw to his nose, three sheets to the wind on far more than just whiskey. She has the disposition of a mountain: unflinching and ever-enduring.

“You mean it,” says Tony.

“I mean it.”

His shoulders sag. He glances around the room: the mess, the junk, the empty alcohol bottles, the half-finished manuscripts. There’s a strange feeling in the back of his throat, acidic, like he might throw up. Or cry. When his mouth opens to say something sarcastic, something about not letting the door hit her on the way out if she expects him to play nice with the media, all that comes out is a broken: “I can’t lose you, Pep.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You will. If you don’t make some changes. Okay?”

Maybe this is what it means to be balanced on a knife’s edge, where one way ends in pain and the other ends in terminal inconvenience. But he knows which one he has to pick. His whole life is just a big inconvenience, but pain? Tony has spent enough time with his hand flat against the stove’s burner to know that he’d rather die than feel it again, rather die than lose one of the only people left who can stand him.

He picks up the closest letter and tears it open, blinking heavily to clear his eyes. Pepper leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and then gags. “Take a shower, when you get the chance,” she mutters, smiling.

-

The letters start off by being good for one thing: his ego. Adoring fans have been writing to his penname and business address for decades since he put out his first super-hero novel, titled IRON-MAN. Pepper has chosen to give him recent fan-mail, considering he’s spent so long ignoring it that if he were to answer them in order of reception, he might encounter fans who didn’t even remember the letters once sent. Or ones who were dead.

They are all variations of the same thing. The handwriting changes, gentle feminine cursive to childish scrawling to neat block lettering, but the message is usually the same. DEAR MR. POTTS. I’VE READ EVERY BOOK YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN. I GOT YOUR NAME TATTOOED ON MY ASS. IRON-MAN IS MY HERO. I’VE NEVER READ PROSE AS LOVELY AS YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?

At Pepper’s request, Tony drafts a generic letter to send in response, something about how he can’t respond personally to every letter but he wants them to know that he’s read what they’ve written and ‘holds it close to his heart’.

“It’s good,” Pepper approves. “Sign them yourself.”

“Good?” Tony says. “I was joking—this letter is trash. Anyone who knows me would see this for the sarcasm it is—”

“Then thank God none of the fans know you,” Pepper responds coolly.

She has a point. Tony has existed in relative seclusion since he first began publishing his works at 24. After twenty years, he’d managed to remain mostly anonymous. A pseudonym does most of the work, including non-disclosure agreements for his employees. Any time a presence is required, he sends Rhodey or Happy or Pepper even. Theory pages abound on the internet, sites devoted to finding out who the real AE POTTS is. Even though one picture leaked of him during the early 2000’s (a grainy godforsaken thing that didn’t even show his best angle), there were still some disbelievers. One popular conspiracy theory is that AE is Pepper, considering Tony stole her last name to use as his own.

Maybe that’s why his declining image in the media bothers her so much.

A week later, Tony’s hand has a cramp the way it hasn’t since he was a little boy learning to write his letters. Freehand has never been his specialty—it’s far too slow for the way his mind works, bounding a sentence, a scene, a chapter ahead. Signing so many letters is going to freeze his hand in a claw like position. He’s sure of it.

Then Pepper drops the next bombshell on him: the contest.

“It goes against everything I’ve been working so hard to do for the last twenty years,” Tony shouts at the zenith of their argument. “I do not want to be known! I don’t want the fame; I just wanted the goddamn fortune, is that too much to ask for?”

“Times have changed,” Pepper says through her teeth. She holds her own, spine straight. She hasn’t shirked away from his angry outbursts ever, not even when they were children growing up together in Manhattan. “I’m not asking you to do a 20/20 Special. I’m not asking for an interview on Ellen. I’m asking for you to meet with one fan. Have a goddamn lunch with them. If you can’t handle that, then you can kiss your fortune goodbye. Mark my words.”

Tony marks them. He fucking marks them, okay? When he’s drinking himself blind, locked in his office (good luck getting in now, Pep), they ring around his skull like a dime in the dryer. Sometime around dawn, she picks the lock on the door and mops his brow while he vomits in the tiny trashcan beside his desk.

“I’m not doing this to torture you,” she says with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her hand on his forehead occasionally rifling through his greasy hair is not what’s making his eyes prickle with tears—it’s the vomiting. Honest. He’s not that touch-starved. “You know that, right? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know,” he chokes miserably, gagging again. So he agrees to the Willy Wonka Initiative. Pepper puts out the word that the infamous AE POTTS will be selecting a single fan to meet face to face. Anyone eighteen or older is eligible to participate, as long as they write a letter explaining why they should get it blah blah blah. A golden ticket might have been funner. At least then Tony might have had an excuse to wear the tacky purple suit and tophat.

In the meantime, Pepper reveals that she’s been having Happy screen his mail to only show him the happy letters—figures. His hate mail isn’t extensive, but it certainly exists, having increased exponentially since he killed off Natasha in the last novel.

FUCKING MYSOGINISTIC ASSHOLE, Cheryl from Newport tenderly writes. YOU HAD ONE GOOD FEMALE CHARACTER, AND YOU KILLED HER OFF. I HOPE ANOTHER WOMAN NEVER LETS YOU BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AGAIN AND YOUR DICK SHRIVELS OFF.

Tony thinks that’s pretty succinct. He posts it up on his desk propped up against the last picture ever taken of him and his mother. Killing off Natasha had been an idea he’d personally revolted against for months. Sure, it made sense that sensitive, strong Natasha would be the one to sacrifice herself in order to stop the villain from succeeding in wiping out half the universe. It made sense for a woman to be the one to give her life to protect others.

After all, hadn’t his own mother died trying to protect Tony?

The weekend after the contest drops on their social media platforms, Pepper texts to tell him that it’s being received far, far better than they might have ever hoped for. Already dozens of letters had been received, letters which must have been penned and mailed just hours after the news had spread.

Joy, Tony texts back.

I haven’t told you the best news, she says. That’s how Tony knows that the next news will be the worst news, absolutely the worst news of all. You get to pick the fan.

-

“Any letter catching your eye?” Pepper asks him over lunch in his office.

“They’re all the same,” Tony laments. Even his own ego can only take so much stroking. After a while, the fan mail has become mostly routine and lackluster, though he keeps opening it, keeps signing the response letters, keeps sending them out. “I’m going to end up picking one at random, Pep.”

“I don’t care how you pick,” Pepper says. “As long as you do—and as long as you’re ready to suffer with the consequences of your choice.”

“Suffer? God, I love the light you bring into my life. The unending optimism. The unparalleled faith and trust in me.”

Her eyes glitter even as they roll. “If you like me so much, you can buy lunch next time.”

Tony snorts, taking a large bite from his burger. “Gold digger.”

“I’ve seen your taxes, Tony. These days, there isn’t much gold to dig for.”

“Ouch, kill shot.”

-

The letter arrives only one week before the contest deadline. In the top drawer of his desk are three other letters from potential winners, mostly picked at random, sometimes because Tony likes their handwriting, sometimes because they say something funny that actually makes him laugh. When he opens up the letter from Peter B. Parker, he scans the first lines not intending to be impressed.

Dear Mr. Potts, Peter writes.

I’ve written you so many letters that it should be easy by now. I don’t know why my hands are shaking. Maybe I’m nervous because I know for certain that this one, someone will actually read.

I received my first copy of IRON-MAN when I was eight years old—yes, a little bit heavy for a kid that age, but my parents had just died unexpectedly in a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in, and my uncle gave me his first edition. Iron-man’s story was one of the only things that got through to me as a kid. His struggle to come to terms with losing his own parents, his loneliness, his fear. The way he overcomes all of that and still goes on to do good…yeah. It meant a lot to a grief-stricken kid. Obviously.

Pretty much every birthday and Christmas, I end up receiving one of your books as a gift. My family and friends know me so well, I have nearly a half-dozen copies of AVENGERS (it’s one of my favorites). The things you write about are so close to my heart, so close to some of the experiences I’ve had in real life. My struggle with mental illness. My abuse and neglect. And the way you write these things makes me think…fear, I guess…that maybe you know something about them too.

I would love to get to meet you and talk about your incredible books. I’d love to get to know you. Not going to lie, as a fanboy, I’d probably be happy to just sit at the same table with you and have a meal. I’ll buy. We don’t even have to talk (okay I swear I’m not as desperate as I sound!). I’m sure you’ve received so many awesome letters, and I know that the fan you pick will be so, so lucky.

(Every letter I write to you, I ask if you could please return my book. It’s been five years since I sent it. I’m sure you don’t even have it anymore, maybe you threw it away from the start. But if you do have it, even if you don’t pick me to win the contest, it would mean so much if you sent it back. When I mailed it to you in Jan. 2014, my uncle was still alive. He’s gone now…anyway it’s one of the only things of his that I have left.)

Your fan always,

PETER.

PS: please disregard the last letter I sent…obviously.

Tony rereads the letter twice. He feels a swirl of emotion in his stomach, not dissimilar to the queasiness after a long night of drinking. This—this is what he sacrificed by being so closed-off from his fans. While he’d known that his fans were real and obviously human, a part of him had never felt the magnitude of it before. These are people with feelings and experiences. This Parker kid (a self-proclaimed fanboy) lost his parents too, and far younger than Tony had. In a car accident.

Maybe Peter hadn’t been there, hadn’t been in the car, hadn’t watched his mother parents go up in flames, but it’s still a tragedy all in its own right. And all at eight years old. Jesus Christ. This kid has been looking up to him for ten years and more, and he had no fucking idea that kind of dysfunctional altar he’d been worshiping at.

Tony goes into the private bathroom connected to his office and gags up—nothing. Drool. But it still leaves his mouth slimy, so he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting pink into the sink, and when he catches sight of the haphazard reflection in the mirror, he pities it. He leans forward to touch foreheads with it, auto-intimacy. Do better, some voice in the back of his head says, but it’s not his voice.

Happy picks up his cellphone on the first ring. Of the ninth call.

“What do you fucking want, Tony?” he hisses into the receiver. “I’m at the movie theater seeing that new Star Wars. You made me go out into the lobby—”

“Then I’m doing you a favor,” Tony says, cracking open the cap on a sparkling water. “Look, I have important questions, I wouldn’t have called otherwise. My fan mail—how much of it has Pepper kept?”

“Jesus, how should I know? Totes and totes full, at least—”

“Brilliant—”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m missing the movie!”

“Didn’t I say you’re not missing much? I’m asking you because Pepper will make me do it myself: I need you to find specific letters from one fan: Peter B. Parker. Address is Queens, but he could be from anywhere. I’m also especially interested in acquiring a package he sent me in January 2014.”

“Christ, could you be any more mysterious?” Happy mutters. “Text me the details you bastard, I’m not missing another moment of Mark Hamill.”

-

It turns out that Pepper is not only a saint in all ways previously mentioned, but she is a saint in this as well: his fan mail from the last ten years has been saved and meticulously organized by month and year of reception. Happy comes to Tony’s office in the city the next day with a package, the outside brittle but address clear.

The writing is the same script as the letter newly received from Peter, though the handwriting has become more mature over time. Neater. Confined. No more hasty slant from an enthusiastic hand. The kid’s contest entry is in the top drawer of Tony’s desk—the previous potential winners are now the cherries on top of the reject pile. His stomach is heavy as a stone while he tears open the five-year-old package.

Out tumbles a pre-addressed package that was meant to carry the book back to its owner, back to Peter. Then, one first edition of IRON-MAN, the cover a little tattered, the spine creaky. Also included is another letter, torn from a spiral notebook. He opens it with shaking hands.

DEAR MISTER POTTS

I KNOW THAT GETTING A RESPONSE FROM MY LETTERS IS A LONG SHOT, BUT I’M REALLY HOPING THAT YOU’LL AUTOGRAPH THIS COPY OF IRON-MAN AND RETURN IT TO ME. IT IS MY UNCLE BEN’S…

It goes on to describe how his Uncle’s birthday is coming up and Peter hopes to give the autographed book to his Uncle. Tony reads with a heavy heart, knowing now that Tony hadn’t bothered even opening the package, hadn’t tried to sign it—and even if he had, Ben hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his next birthday. What a son of a bitch Tony is.

For the first time in three months, Tony goes home.

Most days he stays at the space he rents in the fancy Manhattan building, the one that holds his office and Pepper’s own workspace as well as the other people who work for him (Happy, Beck, Rhodey). The mansion outside Manhattan belonged to Tony’s father and his mother. When his mother had still been alive, it had been a cold place that he had endured staying at for her sake. After his mother had died, it had been a torture chamber, or worse—a stale, suffocating tomb.

Then Howard had died and somehow left it to Tony (probably out of some misguided duty to ‘keep it in the family’). Tony made a personal habit to visit it infrequently and stay there even less often; but Pepper maintains it for him, has it cleaned, keeps it safe. Uses it as storage, Tony knows. For his fan mail.

It takes up three entire rooms, floor to ceiling clear totes labeled with months and years. Just looking at it makes Tony feel small, ashamed of how little he cared about interacting with his fans. It’s no wonder sales were down. Searching for Peter’s letters would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—but he has to do it, and he can’t let Happy bear the brunt of the weight anymore either. This is on Tony.

So he begins pulling totes from the room and scattering their contents on the oaken table and floors of the dining room. Five hours and seven totes later, and Tony still has no letter from Peter.

Pepper finds him at midnight. She comes bursting in through the front door—Tony can hear the sound of the door colliding with the wall from the force she’s used—shouting his name. The hysteria in her voice chills him to the bone. It’s worse than the tone she uses when Tony fucks up; this is the tone she uses when there’s a Tragedy, when something is Wrong.

She finds him in the dining room surrounded by letters, kneeling up from where he was slumped on the floor. He must be a sight, but she is one too, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she sees him, all the breath goes out of her, one hand clutching at her breast as the other grabs the back of a chair for support.

“Jesus, Pep, what’s happened? Is it your father, another heart attack—?”

“Why don’t you ever answer your goddamn phone, you bastard!” She says through heaving breaths. “You don’t leave the office for weeks and suddenly no one can find you, you won’t pick up your phone—”

It takes a long moment for the pieces to connect.

“Oh Christ,” Tony says, chidingly. “What, you were scared for me?”

She slumps into one chair and puts her face into her well-manicured hands. Tony drops back onto his ass. He’s not a good man, not a sensitive man. The last woman who had cried in front of him was his mother, and look at all the ways he had failed her. But the longer he sits letting Pepper cry, the more it feels like bamboo shoots growing under his tender fingernails. Fuck it. He gets up, knees creaking, and goes to her.

They sit side by side at the dining table no one has eaten at in twelve years. Pepper leans into him, her thin shoulders shaking. Shame makes his own eyes burn, because he thought what did she have to be afraid of? But maybe she saw his car in the driveway of the unhappy home he avoids and assumed that he’d come here to Hemingway himself. Maybe she sat in the drive steeling herself to come into the sight of his body.

“I’m going through the fan mail,” Tony says at last.

“I can see that,” she says. Her scathing tone drips with tears.

“I’m okay, Pep,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not sure if he’s been okay ever since he blinked awake upside down and suspended by the seatbelt in the back seat of his mother’s Cadillac, glass littering the roof (and the roof had become the floor, then, see? Because they were upside down), the smell of gas and smoke in his nose). Maybe he’s not okay. Maybe it’s all a fucking lie, but he’s not going to off himself. Not when there’s a mystery afoot. “I promise.”

She nods, one damp hand reaching out blindly for his. It’s an awkward angle to hold hands at, but he doesn’t complain. And awkward or not, it feels nice to be touched in a kind, even platonic way.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper asks at last, wiping at the wet, swollen skin beneath her eyes.

“Why? You want to help?” Tony asks.

“Might as well,” she says. “I always do your heavy lifting, don’t I?”

-

With Pepper’s help, they find the first letter. Somehow the Willy Wonka Initiative has reversed until Tony feels like a kid, ripping open chocolate bars, desperate for a glimpse of gold. At dawn, a cry echoes in the dining room startling Tony from where he was slumping against a tote, dozing.

“I’ve got one, Tony!” Pepper shouts. She’s barefoot, her panty hose taken off and folded on the table, her sensible jacket removed and slung over the back of a chair. Her rumpled shirt and tendrils coming free from her ponytail reveal how much energy she’s been putting into this with him—maybe to make up for her emotional outburst earlier, maybe like a mother humoring a child’s singular beneficial interest. “From Peter B. Parker, address is Queens, same as before.”

“What’s the date?” Tony asks. He slips in a pile of letters from last August and nearly breaks his neck. Wishful fucking thinking.

“Last May. Here—”

Tony takes the letter and collapses in a chair, his lower back grateful for the support. He recognizes Peter’s handwriting as he tears the letter open, and he can feel Pepper’s presence over his shoulder, reading along with him.

This letter is different from the others. Tony knows it right away. The first indication should have been the date; Tony’s most recent novel dropped early May of last year. His most controversial work to date, with praise glorious and venomous in kind. Which way did the scales tip when it came to Peter, Tony wonders.

I know that you won’t read this. I’ve written you twice a year since I was ten years old, and you’ve never written back. I don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re busy—I guess I just needed to get these words down somewhere, so that they exist, so that somewhere there is a record of me after I’m dead.

Tony reads the rest in a dazed blur. At one point, Pepper’s hand lifts to press against her mouth, but still they read on, huddled together for convenience and then for comfort.

In the letter, Peter describes the tragedy of his uncle’s death and how he felt personally responsible, and how after months of guilt, when he’d read about Natasha’s sacrifice, he’d decided to take action. Against himself.

If someone’s death can do so much good in the world, Peter wrote with shaky script. Then maybe mine could too. I’m not deluded or anything. I know that I’m not a superhero and that I’m not fighting against some sanctimonious super villain. But I feel like if my death could make May’s life easier, then I have to do it.

“Jesus. Tony, don’t read this—” Pepper reaches out for the letter but Tony nearly rips it in half trying to keep it away from her.

It’s not just for May, Peter admits. I’m ready to stop hurting, too.

Peter signs off, for good. Only it hadn’t been for good—Peter’s most recent letter had obviously proven that, and hadn’t he written it himself? Ignore my last letter, obviously, he’d said. Something must have changed Peter’s mind, but one thing was clear: it hadn’t been Tony. Because Tony had been so self-absorbed, so tangled in his own grief and ego and addictions he hadn’t even read the letter. If Pepper hadn’t saved it, then it might have been destroyed, no record left of Peter’s words at all.

“Tony,” Pepper says. She takes the letter from his fingers and he lets it go. His hands are numb. “This isn’t your fault. Peter obviously was unstable—he’d just watched his uncle being murdered in front of him. No one in their right mind would read Natasha’s death and think that you were encouraging them to take their own life.”

“I know that,” Tony snaps. Lying. Then: “I’m not an idiot, Pep.”

Maybe the biggest lie of all.

#starker #writer!tony #fan!peter #tw: alcoholism #tw: drugs #tw: suicide attempt #cagewrites

[twoidiotwriters1]

Starcrossed Losers XII (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: We get some growth over here, we also get awkward interaction between crushes but overall I really like this chapter :’)

Words: 4,661

Warnings: Cursing and tons of stupid. 

Previous chapter // Next chapter

To say I was busy the next day was an understatement. Apparently, the word had spread that I was the one who knew how to treat injuries and kids would bring me their friends so I could cure them.

What.

Yeah, I know. Do I look like a fucking doctor? Exactly. Yet, if I was fair with them we didn’t have plenty of choices, so I decided to do my best.

I was not alone in my duties, Alex had joined (probably to compensate all of our awkward moments and maybe cause he’d seen the deathly stare Maya sent my way) and whenever I needed something I could just ask him to bring me things and he would. To be honest, it was sort of fun.

I just had to treat a few scratches and infections (nothing as wild as Josh’s though) and made sure to give everyone a toothbrush (I had my own and always made sure to brush my teeth after every meal. What? I won’t lose my teeth before I turn twenty!)  I had also listened to Josh’s advice and started writing easy D-I-Y treatments on the notebook he got for me in case I was gone... you know, just in case.

My hand was still unable to move but for most things, I only had to say “Rub this on the cut” or, “Here, take this cough syrup” so it wasn’t like I actually needed my hands.

Then at some point in the afternoon, the weird shit started to show up. You know how kids get bored and do stupid things? Well, in the apocalypse it’s the same, only by a thousand.

“You tried to do, WHAT?”

“He’d always wanted to try to stick his hand up the vending machine to see if he could reach the snack for free,” Says his friend, blushing in embarrassment, “I tried to warn him...”

“For free?” I ask in exasperation, “Everything is free now, idiot! You could’ve, I don’t know, break the glass and take the food”

His friend is sitting on the chair in front of me, holding his hand up, He has a huge cut that goes from his pinky to his wrist, it could need stitches.

“Alex,” I turn to look at the boy, who seems to be struggling to not laugh, “could you get me antiseptic and bandaids?”

“Uh, sure,” He nods, starting to walk away, “I’m on it”

“And you... sorry, what was your name?”

“Tyler”

“Tyler. Be a sweetheart and put your hand here,” I point to the sink on my left and Tyler does as I ask, I push the button with my left hand and he winces, “I know it burns but we have to clean it before we cure it. Maybe you’ll think twice before doing something stupid again. C’mon, wash it well”

Alex comes back moments after and I take the stuff, he watches me carefully as I work together with Tyler’s friend to disinfect the cut and put one of those squared bandaids on it.

“There it is,” I smile politely, “good as new. If the cut has troubles to heal you’re gonna need stitches, so pray for this thing to work. You, Tyler’s friend, keep an eye on him and if it doesn’t heal you tell me okay? Tyler, If I see you even remotely close to a vending machine again, I’ll kick your ass”

The boy yelps but nods, his friend gets him out of the restroom.

We wait a minute or two to see if anyone else appears, it seems like the accidents and wounds have stopped for the day.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” I grab the spare material we didn’t use and put it all inside the backpack I have with me at all times, “if I stay here for the rest of the day I’ll be dreaming about toilets tonight”

Alex chuckles, following me out.

“You know, you really look different,” He walks beside me, “in a good way, like you’re comfortable on your own skin. The last time I saw you this way was probably that time when you did the presentation on Da Vinci”

“I was fourteen back then,” I grimace, “that doesn’t sound good”

“What thing?”

“That it’s been so long since I looked happy”

“I never said ‘happy’ I said comfortable in your own skin,” He states, “you always looked happy. Not always looked so careless, though. I don’t know if you get it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I shrug, “I’m just okay with how my life is going right now, I could’ve died back with Triumph but Josh saved us. I’m just enjoying that I didn’t.”

“Josh seems to be a good guy,” He says, looking intently at me, “and he seems to be good friends with you”

“Well, he’s a friendly guy,” I agree, not understanding what he’s trying to say, “and he always tries his best, it’s hard to not like him”

“So, you like him a lot?”

I look at him from the corner of my eye. So that’s where this is heading.

“Yes, I like him.”

I don’t try to be more specific or care about calming his suspicions. If he wants to know, he’ll have to ask directly.

Unfortunately (luckily for me) he doesn’t get the chance cause Wesley intercepts us.

“Hey sis, heard you’ve been working all morning,” He extends one long package of cookies, “I think you deserve some recognition”

“Yes!” I grab the package and give a quick hug to Wesley, “Are you a guardian angel?”

“You’re welcome,” He crosses his arms. Wesley notices Alex standing awkwardly beside me and speaks up, “I know you, from where do I know you?”

“He used to go to our school,” I reply, stuffing my mouth with two cookies, “he’s an old friend... Alex”

“Murphy,” Alex shakes Wesley’s hand, “I think you know me from history class?”

“Murphy!” He claps, “you’re the bi dude that dated my girl Amy back in junior high, right?”

“That’s also me.”

“Sweet, she used to talk wonders about you,” Wes nods, “I think she got eaten by Ghoulies like a week after all of this started, though”

“Oh, sorry dude...”

“No worries, we stopped being friends when we started Highschool”

I watch their interaction as I keep eating, it’s weird how my two worlds, the old and the new could collapse and mix people together, not caring whether or not I want it. Yet, the world never actually collapsed, just mutated, and I was still standing in the middle of this chaos in one piece.

One absolute, badass piece.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I asked if you didn’t mind if I go and take a nap,” Says Alex, pointing towards the mattress store, “I think I’m still not fully recovered from my time with Triumph”

“Oh, yeah go ahead”

I smile politely as I watch him go, not noticing Wesley until he speaks again.

“So, that’s your guy”

I jump, cursing under my breath.

“Jesus, Wesley. Don’t do that...” I scowl, “What do you mean with ‘my guy’?”

“The one you told me about?” He continues, “you said you had a friend named Alex and that you two were a team but then he left?”

“Right,” I had totally forgotten about our conversation, “this Alex is the same Alex from that story”

“You must be happy right now,” He raises a brow, “you got your buddy back”

“Not so much,” I squint, “he’s back but... I kind of wish he wasn’t”

“Why?” He grins, “What, you like someone else now?”

“I never said I liked him,” I reply a little too fast.

“You don’t have to.”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He grabs my shoulders, “Who is it? Is it one of the new kids? Is it one of us?”

“Wes...”

“If it’s me I have to warn you I’m gay,” He gives me a pointed look, “you’re cute and all, but I just don’t play for that team. Sorry.”

“Is not you cause I don’t like anybody, Wesley!” I hiss, pushing his hands away, “Let it go!”

“Y/N,” He pleads, following me as I walk fast to the main hall, “I swear I will keep it a secret!”

“No, you won’t,” I groan, "it would only be a matter of time before Angelica finds out as well and then I wouldn’t hear the end of it”

“Is it Eli?” He continues without bugging, “it’s that why you think Angelia and I would tease you? I mean, kid’s kinda weird but I’d rather see you dating him than him kissing that ‘Mavis’ doll.”

“Please, stop,” I sit on a bench, the same place where few hours before, Wesley and Josh had trained, “I don’t like Eli”

“Then it’s Josh,” He states, sitting beside me.

When I give him one exasperated look but don’t speak against him, Wesley covers his mouth in shock and starts kicking the air in excitement.

“Yes, girl! Go get it!” He laughs, “Shit, you have to make a move. You and Josh desperately need to get laid”

“Wesley!” I exclaim, putting the cookies away since my appetite has been brutally murdered, “I don’t want to sleep with Josh!”

“Why not?” Wesley shrugs, “you two are good together, always hyping each other up and being the dorky duo that led us to success”

“You’re hallucinating,” I shake my head, “and forgetting an important issue”

“Which is?”

“Sam’s been dead for like, four days tops?” I cross my arms, “Now that’s some insensitive shit”

“Oh,” His smile disappears abruptly, “That. Right.”

“Right”

“Okay, but what if...” Before he ends the phrase, he shakes his head, “no nevermind”

“What?” I frown.

“Nothing,” He shrugs, “is not important.”

“What are you thinking?” The boy stays silent for a second, then his eyes light up and smiles like something just came up to him.

“I was thinking, what if this whole apocalypse shit hadn’t happened,” He leans against the bench, “and we were still normal kids, you know homecoming dance was close?”

“Yes,” I tilt my head, “what about it?”

“If he and Sam would’ve broken up before the dance... I mean, you already knew him, right? If that would’ve been the case, you would have tried?”

“To what?” I grin, “Ask him out?”

“Yeah”

“Don’t think so,” I reply with honesty, “I think I would’ve asked Alex, but only as friends you know? Cause it was better. Or I would’ve gone to the dance alone.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Josh wasn’t on my radar during those days. I knew him and all, he just was in a whole different world. Out of reach and far from being on my list”

“I see,” He squints his eyes, “You know what? I think we should have that dance”

“What?” I laugh louder this time, looking around for my cookies, “there’s no way we can do that here...”

“Why not?”

“It’s a mall”

“So what? We have enough kids, we have plenty of drinks and food, a wide space where we can show our best moves?” He stretches his arms as to prove his point, “I think I can make it work”

“I think it’ll be a total failure,” I reply, finally finding the package and eating a whole cookie.

“Bet?”

“Sure,” I mumble, “what do you wanna bet?”

“If I win, you’ll ask Josh for a date, or you know, you’ll give it a try,” He comments, “if it turns out you don’t like him then I’ll stop”

“And If I win you won’t force me to try shit,” I reach out to hold his hand and he takes it.

“Deal.”

To be honest, I think maybe Katie was right. I can be a little overdramatic sometimes, people can get tired of that. When I first came to this mall I was desperate to live, afraid that my calm and easy routine would be affected by the wishes of these losers. Which it did, but it was for the best, I think.

I also thought that if I ever saw Alex again my heart would stop instantly and I would die cause it was too much to handle, or that we would have this huge fight where both of us ended killing the other or something. It isn’t like that at all.  Sure it is awkward and a bit weird, but we’re making it work. I think.

That noon we’re in the pharmacy, making the inventory in a small notebook that I carry around (the one that I had before I met Josh, not the one that he gave me) and we’re not talking much, only saying the names of the medicines we have and where we should put them. I don’t know what exactly do most of these medicines do, but I trust that Angelica might know, so I’ll ask her before we go to bed.

“Y/N?”

“What?” I look over my shoulder to see Alex holding a box of pills, we move to the next shelf and we start putting them in line.

“So,” He starts, “we haven’t seen each other in three months, I’m sure something must have happened while I was gone”

“Meh, not really. The majority of those three months I spent it alone, in my old house,” I shrug, “collecting food and things, then this pug attacked my place (I’m sure you’ve seen it, it’s huge) so I had to move again. In the middle of that Josh crashed into me and sort of dragged me to this mall.”

Alex smiles lightly.

“You’re still taking care of your people?”

“I think that’s clear,” I shake one of the bottles and smile tiredly, “I didn’t choose to do this, though. I was just the one with weird knowledge about severed fingers and they just assumed my knowledge is enough to cure all kinds of sufferings”

“I think it kind of is,” He shrugs, “who’s the heroic one now, huh?”

“Shut up,” I whine, though I’m smiling, “I’m just being helpful, that’s all”

“You always are”

Alex and I stop to look at each other. I can feel a sensation in my stomach but is not butterflies, it’s comfort. I’m glad to have him and I’m happy that he exists, but that’s all. The euphoria of the ‘What if’ is long gone since I discovered that the ‘what if’ wasn’t for us. 

Holy shit. Did I stop crushing on him because of all that happened?

Or did it stop because I met Josh?

“We need to talk about it,” He says, catching me off guard.

I accidentally kick a box behind me trying to step back. I knew this was coming, and I knew he was waiting for us to be mostly alone so we could talk about it in peace, I just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.

“Do we?” I squint.

“Last time we didn’t talk about it and it ended on us fighting and going our separate ways,” He replies, “and I missed you, Y/N. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Listen,” I sigh, taking the box and setting it on the floor, signaling towards the counter so we go sit, “ I know I said awful things to you I shouldn’t have, you were the only person I had left and I pushed you away. I was scared, I thought you were going to leave me. So I figured that if I was the one leaving first then you’d forget me and things would be okay.”

“I asked you to come with me so we could start again,” He frowns, “how did that make you think I was leaving you? How could you even think you’d be that easy to forget?”

It’s funny that he says that, cause Josh kinda told me the same thing. How I’m not easy to forget.

I don’t want that, I want to be easy. I want to be able to have my freedom and know I can go at any time as soon as I feel like it, without feeling guilty about leaving people behind. If I’m wrong and people will still miss me no matter how fast I leave... well, let’s just say it doesn’t help my goal.

“I thought that if I decided to go with you, there was fifty percent of chances that we would stop being friends, and I’m a dumbass so there’s no way I would’ve survived on my own outside Glendale”

I thought he would get upset, instead, Alex laughs.

“That makes me feel so optimistic about our future, then. We’ll never leave Glendale but hey, at least we’ll grow old.”

“That’s the dream,” I nudge his arm playfully.

We stay silent for a couple of seconds, then he speaks up again.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you that one time,” His voice is full of regret.

I stop my movements altogether and look at him.

“I’m sorry about that too. I was hurt for a while, but then I kinda realized... it was for the best. I mean, maybe you kind of had a crush on me but it was better this way, right?”

He gives me an apologetic look. I’ve seen that expression thousands of times before, I know that he’s about to get deadly honest.

“No,” Alex grimaces, “I didn’t have a crush on you.”

“Oh,” I reply, genuinely speechless, “I-uh... I”

“Listen,” He jumps off from the counter and stands in front of me, “here’s the thing... Maya told me one day when we started Highschool that you, uh, had a crush on me. And at first, I didn’t believe her cause well, you’re my best friend”

“Then why did you kiss me?” I ask, maybe a little too loud.

“Cause then she started to implant all these ideas in my head, and she kept saying to ‘watch how you acted around me’ and how ‘you were super nice to me and dull with every other boy’”

“Rude,” I frown.

“...The point is that I believed her. I was all paranoid cause I thought I was giving the wrong vibes, and I didn’t want to hurt you-”

“Then why, did you KISS ME?” I ask again.

“Shhhh!” His eyes widen, stepping closer and putting a hand on my mouth, “I’m getting there!”

“Hmph-” I slap his hand away from my mouth, “then get there already!”

“That day at the mall,” Alex continues anxiously, “you were all sweet and kind to me, and gave me compliments and bought me Icecream... like, shit Y/N you were being so cute and I thought ‘Hey, what if I’m in love with her too but I’m in denial?”

“Dude,” I frown, “that’s... I mean, I was just being a good friend that one time, honest.”

“So you never had a crush on me?”

“I mean... I did? Sort of...I had one but then you kissed me and...”

“And nothing, right?” He asks with hope, “you’re with me on this, there wasn’t, like, that kind of feelings involved?”

“I-yeah,” I nod, “after we kissed I just feel tainted and guilty cause you were dating Stuart”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started on Stuart,” He covers his face with one hand, “when I told him about what had happened I broke his heart, we broke up soon after”

“You told him?!”

“Of course I did, I loved him!” He exclaims, “I cared about him, so I had to be honest. I told him I got all confused and mixed things up, that I kissed you but you seemed not into it and of course neither was I and that I was sorry... He was just too upset and felt like I didn’t respect him, so he dumped me.”

“I am so, so sorry, Al,” I stand up, we have always been the same height, so we’re now face to face, “I mean, it was you who kissed me but... I should’ve talked to you sooner.”

“For what?” He huffs, “is not like we both knew what was going on”

“But we’re best friends, we’re supposed to trust each other, right? Then why we didn’t?”

“I guess... we just lost control.”

“We listened to the wrong person,” I correct, “I’m sure Maya got all entertained with our misunderstanding. Jesus, I bet she must have figured it out before us but she never said anything to stop us.”

“Be honest, would you have listened to her?”

“No?” I scoff, “but this just proves that she’s evil.”

“I saw the way she was looking at you today,” He crosses his arms, “I’m guessing you finally snapped.”

“Not entirely,” I defend, “I just rejected her offer. The one about starting a tribe.”

“You still want to be on your own?”

“No, I don’t want to be with Maya,” I reply, “we’re good here, don’t you think?”

“Yeah...” He looks around, “I wanted to see the world and all but... is not the same thing, and is not the same thing alone either”

“Sorry that your dream got busted” I pat his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” He shrugs, “sorry your loner life got ruined.”

“It wasn’t that cool”

“So...” He grabs the hand that’s on his shoulder without moving it from the place, “we’re cool now? Can we go back to being friends?”

“Yes, please,” My hold gets a bit tighter, “if I’m gonna keep treating the wounds that kids cause on themselves stupidly, I’m gonna need my best friend beside me...”

We shake hands and grin, it feels like all the weight just disappeared from our shoulders.

“Hey, Y/N do you-” Josh stops at the entrance and stays really quiet, watching the scene in front of him.

I’m still holding onto Alex’s hand, Alex casually smiles at him.

“Oh, hey Josh what’s up?”

“Hi,” I try to look just as casual as my friend when I let go of him, “uh-Josh.”

“Sorry, you’re busy”

Josh mumbles and tries to walk away from the store. I quickly walk around the counter and call his name.

“Wait!” He stops and looks at me, “we were just finishing up here, tell us what you need”

“I, uh... my bandages,” When he speaks his voice is lower, it reminds me of the drowsy way he talked when he woke up from cutting his finger. Disoriented, drained out of energy, “I need a new set. This one’s got ruined from going outside and fighting with Triumph.”

“Okay,” I look over at Alex, “first shelf on your right”

The boy looks over and soon enough he throws me a package, I catch it mid-air and then I ask Josh:

“You need help?”

“I... uhm,” His eyes go from me to Alex and for some reason, I can tell he feels uncomfortable with us. Maybe he thinks Alex and I are still fighting, I should tell him I’m not upset anymore, otherwise he’ll keep acting like this, “is not a big deal, I can do it on my own...”

I look over at my best friend with an expression that I hope it reads like ‘can you leave us alone for a moment?’

“Alex..?”

“I think I’ll look around for food,” He picks up the message immediately, giving me a pointed look, “I’ll leave you to it”

“Thanks,” I smile politely. When he’s gone I make Josh sit on the counter and unwrap his old bandages.

He’s deadly quiet. Again, a bad sign that something is going on inside his head. I try to make some light conversation so he feels better.

“Have you heard Wesley’s new bright idea-?”

“Did you talk to Alex?”

Okay then, pretty straightforward.

“Yes,” I smile, trying to look as happy and relaxed as possible, “it’s all good between us now, like the old times”

“Good,” For some reason, my answer only seems to make things worse, I try to add more.

“I know you think I’m upset. But I think this was exactly what I was waiting for, I’m finally okay with Alex, I owe it all to you so you can add that to the list of things you’ve done for me.”

“...Great!” He tries to smile for a moment, but it dies as soon as it appears.

My mind tries to figure it out, What’s happening? What’s upsetting him? We succeded! Even better, he reunited old friends, gave them a...

That’s it, the reunion. He’s upset that I got Alex back and he doesn’t have Sam.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” I say as soon as I realize, “oh my god, I thought...”

“It’s fine,” He replies, avoiding to look at me, “I mean, I knew you had feelings for someone-”

“Sam,” I say, not really listening to what he was saying, “Jeez I’m so stupid...”

“What?” He stops.

“You’re upset because I got to see Alex again and apologize, but you and Sam...”

I’m too embarrassed to continue, so I just give him an apologetic look that he doesn’t seem to fully understand. I watch as he stares at me startled, mouth open and a deep frown. Only then I consider that I might have fucked it up again.

“Or if that wasn’t what had you upset then I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“No! Uh, yes. Sure, I-uh...” He scratches the back of his head, “yeah I guess all this had me a bit sensitive. What was that about you and Alex?”

“I...” I’m a bit surprised by his sudden change of subject, but I don’t take it personal since I guess he feels like he gave too much information about him and Sam the last time we talked about it, “I talked to him and said I was sorry. Then he said he was sorry and now we’re friends again.”

“Friends?” He’s got his full attention on me, now seemingly interested in my story.

“Friends,” I smile.

“Didn’t you liked him?”

“I told you it was a long story,” I shake my head, finishing his bandages “tp make it short, he used to be my crush, then after he left things just got different and...”

Then I met you.

“Well I don’t feel that way anymore, so we’re cool now”

“Really?” He asks, “That’s great!”

He gets up and hugs me tightly, even lifting me up a few inches in the air. I let out a short squeal, caught off guard.

“You’re the type of friend that gets excited with their friends’ success, right?” I laugh once he puts me down.

“Totally,” Josh smirks, “this is a win for all, right? He gets a safe place to stay, you get your friend back and I...” He clears his throat, “I can get that notebook filled with medical tips”

“You sure need them,” I chuckle, “you klutz”

“Don’t be rude,” He kicks my foot lightly, “by the way, what was that thing you were saying about Wesley at first?”

“Wes,” I say excitedly, “he said he’ll plan a homecoming dance for us”

“What?”Josh laughs, “No way!”

“I know, right?” I grin, “that’s cra-”

“That’s so cool!” He interrupts me, “How long has he been planning this? Do you think he needs help?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stutter taken by surprise, “he just thought of that today, so I guess he does? but-”

“Let’s go see if he needs help!” Josh takes my healthy hand and drags us out from the pharmacy, looking for Wesley.

I know that if I help Wesley there’s a big chance I will lose the bet but what did you expect me to do? I can’t tell Josh I’m not going to help cause I made a bet about asking him out. That’s embarrassing.

Instead, I follow him to where Wesley is and while Josh tells him he thinks his idea of making a dance is great, I have to stand there and watch the shit-eating grin on Wesley’s face while he nods along to Josh’s ideas.

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic @slythermyg​

#daybreak fanfic #twoidiots writing #eli cardashyan #daybreak #josh wheeler #josh wheeler xreader #angelica green #ms crumble #wesley fists #netflix

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “An Egg-cellent Disaster” (Rated PG13)

Sebastian suffers a bout of PTSD when Isabelle invites Kurt and their family to an upscale egg hunt. (3308 words)

Notes: This isn't a re-write, but I wrote one similar for K*laine.

Part 38 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“Ugh. Can you get PTSD from an Easter egg hunt? I’m asking for a friend,” Sebastian says, glancing over his shoulder as he leads his husband, his son, and his son’s service dog towards the swankiest gathering of New York’s elite that he’s seen in a long time. This isn’t normally how they spend Easter, and if it were up to him, they would have done what they always do – color eggs and hide them around their house, bake Kurt’s mom’s special braided Easter bread, sit on the sofa and watch their little boy eat too many jelly beans until he vibrates into another dimension. They’d run him around the yard until he passed out from exhaustion, then lock themselves in their bedroom and have some adult fun with the ears and tail of an old bunny costume Kurt’s parents sent them one year. But ever since Kurt got his promotion at Vogue, they’ve been attending more events like this over the holidays – outlandish affairs that required them to dress in more-expensive-than-usual attire and rub elbows with the upper crust.

It’s how Sebastian spent a good portion of his own childhood, so it should be old hat to him by now. But the older he gets, the more he values his quiet life. And things like this, which Kurt handles with the grace and energy of a professional socialite, have begun to wear on him.

He can’t blame Kurt for this one. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t even know egg hunts of this caliber existed.

It was his boss Isabelle’s idea.

Sebastian loves Isabelle. Kurt owes her a ton for giving him his big break right after he graduated high school, when he’d moved to New York with no other plan than to survive, which means Sebastian owes her, too.

After this, though, Sebastian might consider declaring them even.

“Having flashbacks?” Kurt teases, taking his hand as they pick their way through the grass over to a roped off area. From what he can see, it’s roughly about the size of two football fields end to end, which Kurt finds astounding since half of the children here look barely old enough to walk yet.

How are they going to cover the length of one football field, not to mention two? They’ll be huddled in one corner, whining over a dozen plastic eggs, leaving an entire section of grass completely unexplored.

“You can say that,” Sebastian says, stopping when Thomas chooses a spot and plops down in the grass. “My parents took me and my brother to one of these stupid hunts every single year. You’d think it would be fun. I mean, it was at the country club, there were other kids, eventual chocolate. But it was never fun.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t just getting together with our friends and looking for eggs. It was a competition. Our parents were pitting their kids against each other to see whose family was better. But by the end, the other kids didn’t matter. For my parents, it became me against my brother.” Sebastian stops the story there, stops short of telling Kurt exactly how far his parents’ disappointment in him went. He’ll tell Kurt one of these days. But now is not the time. Not in front of Thomas. “It was kind of traumatizing.”

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Oh, Sebastian. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have found a way to bow out.”

“Because you always get so excited when Isabelle invites you to these things. I didn’t want you to miss it. It’s important to you.”

“Yeah, but you’re more important. One of the most important.”

“You can make it up to me later,” Sebastian suggests, leaning in close so Thomas won’t hear. “You know … nakedly?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he didn’t expect anything less. “Look, Isabelle hasn’t seen us yet. Maybe we can …”

“Kurt! Sebastian! Oh, thank goodness you could make it! I was scared you’d get caught in the holiday traffic!”

Kurt sighs. He had always referred to Isabelle as his ‘fairy godmother’ in part because of the dreams she’d been able to help him realize, but also because of her impeccable timing.

It was close to occult.

Kurt mouths sorry to his husband for getting his hopes up while his boss is too far away to notice.

“Isabelle! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Kurt feels his husband grimace as he greets his boss with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “We actually came up yesterday and rented a room not too far from here to make sure we’d get here on time.”

“Fabulous!” she says, kissing Kurt and then moving on to Sebastian. “Make sure you send me the bill!”

“You know I will.” Kurt watches Isabelle move on to Thomas and Hepburn. Thomas may not like being kissed, but he loves Isabelle as much as his parents do, so he sits still and lets her fuss over him, coo about how cute and grown up he looks, so much like his fathers in his smart grey slacks and navy blue button down. “So, what are the rules here?” Kurt asks, searching the grounds for a sign, a poster, a handout, something. “Is there a time limit? Are the kids separated by athletic ability? Or age?”

Kurt isn’t a huge fan of things like Easter egg hunts or baby races. He doesn’t have the patience to handle large congregations of kids and parents. Being a member of the PTA at his son’s school is the farthest he’ll stretch. And even though he wanted to come today, he was hoping to constrict their revelry to family members only, so if they can find their own section of the park to conduct their Easter biz without having to socialize, even with the elite, that would suit him fine.

“You’re making this too complicated!” Isabelle laughs under the assumption that Kurt is joking. “It’s just an Easter egg hunt, Kurt!”

“We usually confine our egg hunting to our house, maybe the front porch,” Sebastian says.

“Yeah. Besides, tromping through the grass in search of hard boiled eggs isn’t the way my father and I spent Easter.”

“How did you spend Easter?” Isabelle asks, realizing that after knowing Kurt for over a decade, she has no clue.

“The way many a well-rounded, musical theater inclined child did. I watched Brigadoon on AMC.”

Sebastian side-eyes his husband with a scowl that makes Isabelle snicker. “How in the hell did you and I ever get together?”

“You decided to stop being a royal idiot about pretty much everything in your life and do something smart for once.”

Isabelle guffaws so loudly at that, Hepburn’s ears prick up.

“Wow …” Sebastian says, mouth agape. “I … don’t know how to respond to that.”

“A simple you’re absolutely right, love of my life, I will never doubt your incredible wisdom in all things again will suffice.”

“Not the direction I was going to go, but okay. As long as it gets me some ass after this is over with.”

Kurt elbows his husband.

Isabelle snorts. “Come on, guys! Let’s enjoy ourselves! It’s a beautiful day! The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and I think the Easter bunny just arrived!”

“The Easter bunny!?” Thomas pipes up from his seat in the grass. “Where?”

Sebastian, Kurt, and Thomas take a gander at the festivities around them heralding the soon-to-be start of the egg hunt. Indeed, the Easter bunny had arrived. But this was not your average, human-sized, department store cottontail dressed in a pastel vest and straw top hat, carrying a basket of colorful, candy-filled plastic eggs. This Easter bunny is easily seven feet tall, dressed in what could only be described as a vintage suit of aubergine brocade with matching purple top hat; a tall, white plume tucked inside the olive green hat band; a gold monocle over his left eye; carrying a hand-carved mahogany walking stick in one hand, and a Moses basket in the other, filled to bursting with eggs, jelly beans, foil-wrapped chocolates, and trinkets and tidbits that catch the light and twinkle like gemstones. He’s surrounded by an entourage of handlers, each wearing an outfit to complement the bunny’s own and carrying baskets of the same treats to hand out to the kids. The bunny and his team walk the perimeter of the field, and a parade forms behind him – adorable little boys and girls bedecked in their Sunday best, dresses and suits that Kurt saw advertised in Vogue for close to four figures. But some of them are dressed in honest to God athletic wear.

Those boys and girls look downright intimidating.

“I don’t know.” Kurt eyes five children dressed in matching track suits and running shoes. “Some of the people here look awfully competitive.”

“That’s an understatement,” Sebastian adds. Back in his day, the kids and parents were competitive as fuck. But this – this is on a whole other level.

“Of course they are! The prizes here are outstanding! Last year, they hid a $10,000 Tiffany engagement ring in one of the eggs!”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up so far, they disappear somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline. “Really?”

“Sounds about right,” Sebastian mutters, shivering with the memory of having his hand stepped on by no less than three pairs of dress shoes in an effort to reach a particularly difficult to get at egg. All the kids knew that the farther the lie, the better the prize. That was something the organizers of the egg hunt used to sing as they released the children, like hounds, to sniff out the treats.

He suddenly feels queasy, stomach acids sloshing left to right as he shoves that little ditty aside. But even with it pushed out of the way, he can’t help feeling sick.

Why were they there again?

“They go all out - luxury vacations, spa packages, theater tickets … but don’t worry,” Isabelle says when she notices how pale Sebastian has become. “The emphasis here is on fun.”

“Do they know that?” Kurt asks, motioning with his chin towards a nearby family dressed entirely in Under Armour from The Rock’s latest collection – mother, father, and their five-year-old daughter staring down Thomas like a lion stares down an easy meal.

Under Armour – proud sponsor of Easter and good-natured family fun, Kurt thinks spitefully. He wonders if Isabelle has the same thought as she quickly pulls out her iPhone and starts snapping some pics.

Their attentions are directed upward by the sound of a helicopter arriving, circling the area above their heads.

“Okay, why is that here?” Kurt asks. It’d be easy to assume it’s paparazzi, but there isn’t supposed to be any here. That’s part of the appeal. There are guards posted everywhere to ensure the privacy of the families participating. But they can’t be everywhere at once. It’s possible one or two might get through.

“It’s here to drop more eggs from above! Those are the ones people really go for. Some of them are made out of solid gold!” Isabelle explains, nearly drooling after the words solid gold.

“What the---? That’s insane! Even my parents’ country club never went that far!” Sebastian envisions something the size of a chicken egg made of gold plummeting from the sky and smacking him on the head. That would definitely leave a dent in his skull, at the very least.

Could he survive that impact?

“Ouch!” Kurt kneels beside his son and covers his head protectively while keeping an eye on the sky. “Isn’t this a little excessive? I mean, we have the money to go to whatever spa we want. That’s one of the perks of being rich.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!” Sebastian says, pointing towards the sky. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember signing a waiver!” He joins his husband, son, and Hepburn, hovering over them in an effort to protect them all when he swears he hears the copter swoop down. “What kid needs a Tiffany engagement ring anyway? This sounds like it’s going to turn into a blood bath!” He meets Kurt’s gaze, his husband’s eyes wide, unsure what to do about this, about this mess he’s gotten them into. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No!” Isabelle pleads. “Just … give it a few minutes! Please? An hour at the most? I promise we’ll have fun! I’ve been looking forward to getting you out here for this Easter egg hunt ever since I found out you’d adopted Thomas!”

Kurt shakes his head slowly. He is here for work, but that shouldn’t include putting his life, and the lives of his family, in danger! Isabelle is his friend. She won’t make him stay if they’re uncomfortable, especially considering Thomas’s history of anxiety. But there’s a look in her eyes he hasn’t seen before. Not crazy, per se, but slightly unhinged? But not in a bad way? “I don’t know …”

“We’re at a big, private park. There’s a playground and a lake not too far from here. If you don’t like the Easter egg hunt, we can go over there and Thomas can play. But can we give this a try first? Please?”

Kurt looks from a worried Sebastian, awkwardly shielding their heads, to Hepburn, instinctively on alert, back to Isabelle, and sighs. Isabelle means well. She’s from a wealthy family in Columbus, so she probably went to egg hunts like this one, same as Sebastian. Perhaps her experiences were better. With no kids of her own, she probably tries to strong arm all the employees with kids to come to this thing so she can relive her childhood.

Looking at the expression on her face, she seems nothing if not sincere.

In the end, for Kurt, it’s all about Thomas. And his son - playing in the grass, singing a song about the Easter bunny that he learned in school, without a care in the world - seems to be enjoying himself so far.

They’re already here. They drove for hours to get here. And it is a stunning location. They can stick it out for a while, collect a few eggs, dodge the helicopter, grab some punch and cookies over at the refreshment table, and then retire to the playground. They brought Hepburn’s toys with them. They can tire Thomas and his dog out in one fell swoop. It’ll be fine. It might even be fun.

If anything, the pictures will be precious.

“Alright,” Kurt says, feeling the weight of his husband deflating a bit in defeat. He knows that Sebastian was hoping this was their out, and on any given day, falling solid gold projectiles would be. But Kurt is in the unfortunate position of having to juggle the feelings of multiple people that he loves. “We’ll give it an hour.”

“Yay!” Isabelle says. “That’s all I ask.”

“But after that …”

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Lads and lasses! Step right up to the starting line! The 53rd Annual Hampton Bay Easter Egg Hunt is about to begin!”

“Starting line?” Sebastian repeats, looking left and right. “What starting line?”

Kurt looks around, too, in confusion. Starting line? He doesn’t remember seeing anything marked starting line. There was only the rope boundary and …

Uh oh …

While they’d been discussing staying or going, they hadn’t noticed that the parade of kids and parents following the Easter bunny had circled round and stopped about a hundred feet away … right where the rope Kurt, Sebastian, Thomas, and Hepburn passed to get in had been set up. There they stood – a mob of adults and children lined up in starting positions, brows furrowed in deep concentration, ready to charge, like a re-enactment of The Hunger Games if the eccentrically dressed inhabitants of the Capitol City were the ones on the attack.

Sebastian, Kurt, Thomas, and Isabelle didn’t know.

Nobody told them.

Nobody warned them.

Nobody seemed to care that they were sitting in the grass, dead center, in the way.

“On your marks …”

“Daddy …” Thomas grabs his father’s hand in both of his and squeezes tight.

“… get set …”

“No, no, no, no …” Sebastian springs to his feet, gearing up to drag the lot of them off the field before the announcer can get to Go!

But he never does.

And not because he’s waiting for them to vacate the field. (Who knows if the man even sees them?) But because the start of the hunt is proclaimed by a gun shot.

The sharp pop hits the air.

After that, the roar of hundreds of feet hitting the ground, along with the frantic screaming of children, is deafening. At the same time, the helicopter above releases its bounty. Plastic eggs rain down around them, exploding on contact, spreading chocolate shrapnel within a foot of where they land. One hits Sebastian on the top of his head.

“Ow! God!” he wails, rubbing an already forming bump with his fingers. He doesn’t know what the heck was inside that thing, but his head begins to throb.

No way is he going to stay there if something made of solid gold is headed his way.

“Run!” Sebastian says, pulling his husband to his feet and getting pelted by another plastic egg in the process. He sees this one where it lands, spraying jelly beans left and right, and he starts laughing.

“Sebastian!” Kurt cries. Hepburn barks once in warning and yanks Thomas the shortest distance across the field. Kurt covers the boy’s head with his jacket and bolts, leaving Sebastian behind in a mad dash for their car. “Sebastian! For God’s sake! Hurry up!”

Sebastian runs to catch up, but three steps in, a featureless gold blur hits the ground hard, and his foot gets caught in the hole it makes. He falls to his knees, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all. Spoiled little rich kid with daddy issues. That’s what Kurt had called him once back in high school – back when they hated one another. Little did Kurt know how close to the mark that comment hit, or how deeply the already scarred over wounds went. But the reason Kurt didn’t know, not for a long time, is because Sebastian had worked so hard to hide them, run away from them. He was going to grow up better than his upbringing. He was going to become a successful person, a successful parent, whether his own parents were proud of him or not. But all the things they did to break him down - Sebastian didn’t find a way to get rid of them. He simply carried them with him. And here he was – a husband and a father, scared of an Easter egg hunt! Granted, he was in very real danger of ending up with a concussion, but fuck the rest!

Isabelle was right! It’s a beautiful day! And regardless of the greedy horde about to trample him into the dirt, he was going to have the best day ever because he’s surrounded by people he loves!

People who will mourn him when he’s gone.

“Raise our son well, Kurt!” he chokes out over the howl of the raging onslaught. “And remember, I always loved you! Well, ninety-three percent of the time!”

Kurt turns to see his husband, red-faced with laughter, swallowed by the crowd, and despite being concerned for his safety, he can’t help laughing, too. He knows that in a few minutes the crowd will pass, and Sebastian will emerge the way he always does – cocky as hell, obnoxiously triumphant, and probably with a dozen of those golden eggs Isabelle was fiending over. “You’re a good man, Sebastian Smythe! You shall be missed!”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

[estherellabella]

How Public Relations Found Me

So, this year has been an absolute rollercoaster. At the beginning of the year, I was working for Lush Fresh Handmade Cosmetics at the flagship store of the country, I had just gotten a promotion and I was really enjoying the freedom of earning a salary! I had made some great friends and I had built some fun relationships along the way!

Last year, my mom was on my case about applying to go study something because "who's going to look after you when we aren't there anymore?" but after the previous mess that studying BComm was for me, I was very hesitant to go back to study. Like I recall quite a few conversations that I had that went something along the lines of "I am never going back to study ever again. It doesn't work for me. I hate having to write tests. I hate having to study. I hate everything about it." I'm sure life was laughing at me, because look at me now!

Anyway, I filled out the application and I chose the following 3 options and in this order:

1.       Marketing Management

2.       Events Management

3.       Public Relations and Communications

When I applied, I was hoping to get into events (Lord knows why I put it as my second option but nevertheless), and for both events and PR, I needed to submit a portfolio / essay of why I wanted to study that particular programme. I didn't submit any documentation, and just went on my way. I started working at Lush and thought hey, maybe this is what life has in store for me, considering that I didn't hear anything from them (cue more laughter from life). (Let's just talk about how amusing my little ideas must be to life sometimes.) It was towards the end of January 2018 when I got a phone call from CPUT saying that orientation for PR starts the following Monday, and they'd just like to remind me of that. To say I was shocked was a complete understatement. I suddenly found myself having to decide between working for a reputable company, selling a product that I was extremely passionate about and going to study something I wasn't really sure what it even was. So I went to the first day of orientation and absolutely fell in love. I remember hearing one of my lecturers speak and seeing her passion for this industry helped me realise that this is what I should be doing with my life.

So what is public relations actually? You've probably heard about it, but could never really pinpoint what it actually was. When I applied, I was just like "mmmkay, this seems cool" and sent my application in. Public relations is basically about managing the public's perception of a company. Obviously, as a company, you'd want this to be a favourable view so you get someone to manage your social media and run competitions, you get someone to send packages to influencers that contain your new product, this person will put on launch events when you launch a new range etc. Public relations is basically about subconsciously convincing people why they need your business over somebody else's. A really great example of PR are the OutSurance ads with Katlego talking to people who have scored savings on their premiums thanks to the customer service of their call centre agents. Not once is the aspect of the actual insurance spoken of, instead OutSurance attempts to portray themselves as a company that cares about helping their customers to save as much as they can on monthly premiums instead of just seeing customers as policy numbers and having to pay out their claims (watch the ad here if you don't know what I'm talking about)

I left my job, missed a month of campus working out my notice period and started studying PR full-time, being 5 years older than most of my peers and having to learn things theoretically that I had already learned while out in the real world. I had to relearn many things, like how to study, how to speak to people who aren't on the same level that I am, and possibly, the most difficult aspect of them all, working in damn groups all the time.

I can't tell you what it is specifically that I love about PR. I'm pretty sure that a big contributing factor to my affection is because I'm doing my qualification at an institution that makes use of work-integrated learning. This means that my course is not all theory, we do quite a bit of campaign planning for real-life, actual campaigns - this is definitely one of my favourite aspects because it allows me to network with people that are in the industry already, and I get to experience what it's like to plan an event. PR is also a great combination of journalism, events management and marketing. It's all very closely linked but PR allows me to explore all of these spheres in one go, and in a very interactive way. Over the past 6 months, I have built such strong foundations with my fellow students and my lecturers which is something that I thought I'd struggle with that aspect but I find it so much easier now that I have life experience. (Thank you retail, for forcing me to speak to people that I don't know)

That brings me to another point, I realised that literally each and every single job/major life experiences that I have ever had has taught me something that I am now applying to my studies. Lush taught me how to manage a group efficiently and forced me to find ways to interact with people on a level that they respond positively to, Home Brewed taught me how to manage a business and to communicate professionally, Ignite taught me how events work and the hard work that goes into it and leaving UWC taught me that I should trust my gut because it will lead me to greater things. It's so weird for me, to sit in a meeting, planning our next event and watching all these previously learned skills just click into place. Life has a funny way of leading us to something, isn't it?

I thoroughly enjoy what I do. I know I probably irritate the people who follow me on my socials with all the posting I do on behalf of CPUT to promote whatever events we're working on, and I'm sorry (#sorrynotsorry). I actually don't have a choice and it's actually part of my course to sit on social media most of the time (I mean, that's always lots of fun, let's be honest). This course is probably one of the most emotionally, physically, mentally draining things that I've ever done, and there's so much more that's still coming but at the same time, I am so flipping happy doing what I am. I don't want you to skim over that previous sentence because for me, being happy is so much more than what it sounds like. It's not just about a fleeting feeling of happiness, instead it's about feeling like I wanna continue with this even though it gets tough.

I'm about halfway through my first year, and honestly, it's such a shock to me that I can enjoying studying something as much as I do. This course definitely isn't for everyone, it requires tons of hard-work, exceptional problem-solving skills and its definitely highly stressful. I can guarantee that many of my classmates won't agree with this but I thoroughly enjoy what I'm doing. Shout out to life for throwing me this wonderfully unexpected curveball that has changed my life for the better.

Thank you for sticking around until the end of this incredibly long, babbly post and I hope that I at least managed to teach you a little bit more about both myself and the wonderful world of Public Relations!

#public relations #communication #life is funny