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literarygoon · 2 years

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So,

When I padded out to the living room just past 2 a.m. back in March 2021, Rogan was sitting on our leather couch smoking a Belmont cigarette and toting one of those orange and grey shotguns from Duck Hunt. He was wearing a zipped up black hoodie up around his face and a pair of baggy black sweat pants that pooled around a pair of fur-lined slippers. It had been six months since I’d seen him last, and over three years since his medically assisted death back in Victoria. The tumour on his back was gone now, there was a cluster of sun-freckles across his cheeks, and he had a pair of aviator sunglasses pushed back into his shaggy blond hair.

I was relieved to see him.

“I figured now that I quit smoking pot you weren’t going to show up anymore,” I said. “Since you’re just a hallucination and all.”

He chuckled at me affectionately, took a long drag off his smoke, then ashed into a nearby can of iced tea. “Since I’m just a hallucination, you don’t mind if I smoke, right?”

“Not if you bum me one.”

Rogan frisbeed me his whole pack, his cigarette clenched between his teeth, then turned back toward the television and began firing his little Nintendo shotgun. Animated starbursts erupted on the screen as the cartoon ducks plummeted down to the eagerly awaiting dog. He had the sound on low, but the music reminded me of my childhood. One of these days I would have to get a video game console for my kids, but that was still a few years away. I shook a cigarette into my hand and raised it to my lips, luxuriating in the ritual.

“Gwen fucking hates it when I smoke. Says it’s making my sleep apnea worse.”

He shrugged. “She’s not wrong. You do snore like a motherfucker. Remember the Yukon? You should’ve gotten that shit checked out years ago, really.”

“My sleep has been so messed up these past couple of months,” I said, slow-blowing smoke at the ceiling. “You have no idea the shit that’s going on in my head. Just grief and panic and self-loathing. I lay there for hours just hating myself and fighting off suicidal thoughts. I wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemy.”

Rogan pumped his shotgun triumphantly, then took another drag. “Yeah, I heard you were having a hard time. Making a big scene of it on social media too, as per usual.”

“That’s how I process shit. Put it out there in public, get some solidarity if I can.”

The last time Rogan visited me was after my sister Kat died at Christmas, facedown in her bed from alcohol poisoning. I’d conjured his presence at his memorial bench in Vancouver, and he’d reassured me that she’d successfully reached the other side. This was before I lost my mind, before I purposefully crashed my car into a concrete median and jumped a posse of Victoria cops in the throes of a psychotic delusion. I’d spent three weeks in the psych ward, kicking holes in walls and screaming in isolation, before my family circled the wagons and moved us into a new three-bedroom house in Nanaimo. Now here I was with two kids and a wife, trying to be a normal person.

“You’ve always been prone to bleeding in public,” Rogan said. “But this shit is next level. It’s like you’re turning grief into a full-time job.”

“You have no idea, man. It’s like my brain is trying to kill me. I have these panic attacks where I literally feel like I’m going to drop dead on the spot. I’m all fucked up. I’ve been dredging up gross old memories that I feel ashamed of and telling them to Gwen, just to purge them from my skull. It’s like all my repressed trauma is coming unleashed.”

He laughed, and pointed his shotgun back towards the television. “I tried to warn you. Back when you started becoming chronic, remember? I told you this shit was going to bite you in the ass eventually. You and your sister, man. Neither of you could handle moderation.”

I hung my head. “You should’ve seen Kat towards the end, man. It would’ve broken your heart into a million pieces, man. It was like watching someone beat themselves to death slowly over the course of multiple years. She had bruises all over her body. She smelled like poison.”

He stubbed out his cigarette and paused the game. “Actually, that’s why I’m here.”

“To talk about Kat?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve gotta take you for a ride.”

In the months since Rogan and I had last hung out, I’d had plenty of time to scour the scorched earth of my headspace. There was a perpetual sadness that hung in my shoulders, a persistent heat behind my eyeballs that never let me forget that death was looming nearby. I felt a sort of arrogance about my grief, like I uniquely understood the tragedy of the universe. When I looked into my sister’s dead face, with my infant daughter riding on my hip, I’d felt like my finger was on the white hot jugular of God. The blood had pooled unevenly in her cheeks and her tongue was swelling out of her mouth as she lay there, wrapped up in blankets like a pharaoh. It was the closest to Enlightenment I’d ever been.

Three months later my son was born, his head emerging with a rush of blood, down at the Nanaimo General Hospital. For a moment I saw his puckered blue face and thought he was dead, but then he opened up his lungs and began to sing like a dinosaur. Sweaty and wracked with guilt, I laid beside Gwen in her recovery room hating myself for how badly I wanted to die. This kid needed me, but all I could think about was checking out.

“You know, this is a pretty nice place,” Rogan said, pulling back the curtain and peering out into the darkness. “You’ve got a pretty epic view of the ocean.”

“Trouble is we don’t know anyone, you know? We’re so isolated here.”

He shook his head. “You’ve always got something to bitch about, don’t you?”

Before we headed out, I told Rogan I had to check on Gwen and my kids. He pulled on a leather jacket and told me he’d be waiting out front. I was worried that it was so late, because lack of sleep always led me dark places, but I wasn’t going to miss the chance to hang out with him. I missed my university days, back when we’d drink ourselves stupid and sleep in until 2 p.m. the next day. Was this what it felt like, becoming an old man? Was I going to be a boring teetotaler for the rest of my life, unable to have fun without losing control of my fragile mind? I felt broken in a way that couldn’t be fixed. As I pulled the front door closed behind me, I could feel my pulse thrumming uncomfortably in my throat.

“We’re taking your car,” Rogan said. He was carrying a large black hockey bag.

Once we climbed in, he rolled down the window so we could keep smoking. I figured these cigarettes didn’t count, since they were imaginary, so I started another one. We backed out of my driveway and the night wind danced across my face. A light drizzle of rain pattered against the windshield while Rogan fiddled with the CD player, pulling out my Simon and Garfunkel CD and replacing it with Hozier.

The song “Take me to church” came on, and he turned it up nearly as loud as it would go.

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife,” Rogan sang. “Offer me that deathless death, Good God, let me give you my life.”

Listening to his voice, grief hit me like a fist to the chest. Years ago I had called him my wife, back when we lived together in a two-bedroom apartment by UVic. We had an intimacy that was deeper than what I shared with my various university flings, and he was a part of all my future planning. Years later, when he got his cancer diagnosis, I could barely contain my fury at the universe. Of all the people to take, it had to take him?

“I’ve missed you, man. I miss our little life we had together.”

He shrugged, exhaled a ghostly plume of smoke out his window. “You’ve got a pretty good thing going now, though. With Gwen and the kids, I mean.”

I nodded. “It’s stupid. I wish I could be more present for them. I feel like I’m letting everybody down, being like this. I can’t tell if it’s the meds, the cannabis withdrawal, the grief or just garden variety depression. But every day I wake up feeling like a piece of shit.”

“This is all temporary. Grief has a season, you know? An expiry date.”

I took a deep breath through my nostrils. “I don’t feel like I’m ever going to get over this.”

“You’ve got to be strong, dude. It’s like that Game of Thrones quote: you have to kill the boy so the man can be born. You’re not a kid anymore.”

We sat in silence for a few blocks while I thought about that, Rogan pointing out the directions. The streets of downtown Nanaimo were mostly deserted, except for a few meandering homeless types, and I ran through some blinking reds because there was no traffic. “Take me to church” concluded and “From Eden” came on next. It had been a while since I’d listened to Hozier, and it was bringing up memories from my years as a reporter at the Yukon News. During that time I’d been pretty disconnected from my life on the coast, but Rogan had come to visit multiple times. We’d gone together to soak in the healing pools of Kluane Hot Springs.

“Okay, pull into that park there,” Rogan said. “Take the last spot on the left.”

I turned off the RAV’s engine and clambered out to the concrete, pulling my plaid jacket tight around me. I could smell the ocean nearby. Looming trees were silhouetted against the purplish black of the night sky. The cold wind tugged at our clothes, and I smelled a faint whiff of pot. A few tents were rustling nearby, rain-slicked. It occurred to me that this was a radically different setting than my living room, and I wondered why Rogan had brought me here. I trusted him, but at the same time I felt nervous. I blinked away the moisture in the air.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Rogan, as he lit another cigarette.

“Some dirty work.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Rogan took a few drags before he replied. I could sense that he was dreading what came next. He explained that once you’ve passed away, you’re granted a sort of omniscience which allows you to peer into the minds and souls of the people you love. Ever since his death four years ago he’d been haunting me, hoping to influence my life in a positive direction, despite the fact that ghosts aren’t really allowed to intervene. He’d been there on my wedding day in Beacon Hill Park, he’d shadowed me while I was institutionalized, he’d watched both my son and daughter’s births. But he could also tell that I was carrying around baggage that I hadn’t quite processed.

“Pot withdrawal’s no joke, man. I feel like I was using it to treat like five different things, now I have to deal with all of them at once. My sleep shit, my depression, all this shame I’m carrying around for no good reason. Not to mention all the meds they’ve got me on to treat my bipolar disorder. I try to explain it to Gwen, to my Mom, but nobody really gets it. I’m sitting here hating myself for shit that happened decades ago, just micro-analyzing every mistake I’ve ever made.”

He nodded. “Only you get to be you.”

“Right. I’ve been off pot for nearly two months now and every day I fantasize about it, about the relief. I feel like I need that escape, but I know it won’t lead me anywhere good. I can’t be a father who smokes pot every day, you know? My kids don’t deserve that. It feels like this is my last chance, like if I can’t kick it now then I won’t ever be able to.”

“Well, for what it’s worth: I think you’ll manage.”

The meds typically keep me pretty level, so I hadn’t cried in months, but tears welled up regardless. Rogan coughed uncomfortably and unloaded the black bag from the back, tossing it over one shoulder as he stepped on to the grass. There was a large field with a gloomy pavilion in the distance, surrounded on all sides by the woods. Waves crashed rhythmically in the distance.

“You know, Gwen comes from a Catholic family,” I said. “We actually baptized Carissa when we were visiting her family in St. Catharines.”

He laughed. “I knew you’d get lured back to Christianity eventually.”

“I dunno, man. I’ve been saying I identify as meta-Christian. It’s different once you’ve had kids. I’m not so arrogant anymore. It’s like I’m getting comfortable with the mystery. Or maybe uncomfortable with it. Scared of it.”

“They call that the fear of God.”

The ocean wind was starting to get icy on my face. I figured it was probably 3 a.m. by now, the sky overcast and completely black. I could barely make out Rogan’s silhouette in the darkness as he worked his way towards the pavilion, his bag thumping against his back with each step. In the distance I could see some dancing shadows, and what looked like flames beyond the trees. Something was moving up there. Suddenly I was feeling anxious for no reason, a feeling I was becoming increasingly accustomed to. Sweat erupted in my hairline, my jaw clenched, and for a moment it felt like I was going to shit my pants. I desperately wanted to smoke a joint, somewhere safe, maybe back in my living room. I didn’t want to be on this ghostly errand; I wanted to be with Gwen.

Just as this thought occurred to me, I heard a patter of footsteps in the grass behind me. I swung around in a panic, just in time for something black and unforgiving to wallop me in the mouth.

***

During the first week after I quit smoking pot, my dreams had been immersive and exhausting. Sometimes I relived pleasant memories from my younger years, there were sex dreams featuring totally inappropriate people, and then there were the nightmares. Most of them featured Kat, maybe drunk in my backseat or passed out on the floor of my parent’s living room. Sometimes she was drowning, far our in the ocean, further than I could swim.

It was nobody’s fault, what happened, but I still felt like we could’ve done more to save her. She’d been crying out for help for years and none of us could rescue her from herself — not her husband, her siblings, or her parents. In these dreams I begged her to love herself, begged her to believe that one day she would be free from addiction. I wanted her to get married and have kids, so our minions could grow up in tandem. Sometimes I held her while she was dying, listening to her last breath, feeling her heart go still against my chest. My counsellor told me I was dealing with a one-two punch of trauma and grief, and that I had to be patient with myself through the recovery, but I felt like I’d been broken in a way that could never be fixed.

As I floated back to consciousness, increasingly aware of the throbbing pain in my face, an image of Kat as a young competitive swimmer retreated into the blackness. I could taste blood. I blinked a few times and raised my head slowly, gazing down at a forest floor covered with fire-lit pine needles. I was rocking on my knees, my hands bound behind my back, while my wet hair dangled in my face.

“He’s awake,” someone said. A female voice. “Guys, he’s waking up.”

Somebody kicked me in the back, and suddenly my face was pressed against the dirt. I struggled to breathe through the blood as rocks and sticks dug into my cheek. I turned to one side, and found myself face-to-face with a young woman. She had curly red hair pulled back into a ponytail, with a line of black war paint streaked across her eyes. She was carrying a tiki torch.

“Hailey?”

“Surprise, fucker.”

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Before she could answer, two men lifted me roughly to my feet from behind. My Blundstones dragged on the ground as they carried me to a small wooden bench and dumped me there. I frantically searched my surroundings for Rogan, who was standing with his arms crossed amidst a mob of masked figures. He was staring at the ground.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“They forced me, man. They said they’d go after my mother if I didn’t cooperate.”

“Cooperate with what?”

Hailey came between us then. She still looked the same as she did in university, when we were studying visual arts. She was doing a double major in music and played the bass. Back then she’d been one of my best friends, a strident feminist type who liked to host costume parties. For a while I’d wondered if we would date, but we were just too alike. Instead I was always going after all her friends, which became a sort of running joke in our circle — a joke at my expense. I respected her deeply, and admired the way she tackled life head-long, but there was a secret between us, a shame that I kept hidden. Seeing her in-person made it all come burbling back. I’d betrayed her, and two of my other friends, by taking topless photos of them without their permission while we were at a nude beach. My girlfriend at the time, Paisley, had discovered the photos on my computer and confronted me about them, which was possibly the most humiliating experience of my life. I was a perv and a peeping tom and I had no defence.

She had exposed my secret, even as I begged her not to.

It was a secret that hadn’t stayed a secret long. Hailey eventually told other people, and the story spread. This was during the early days of the #MeToo Movement, when everybody was calling out toxic masculinity and making a spectacle of crucifying abusers. I knew right away that I was guilty, and the self-hatred washed over me like a tidal wave. I was a worthless, porn-addicted peeping tom unworthy of his female friends. I ended up in the psych ward, having my first in a series of manic episodes, ranting to my nurses about domestic abuse, rape culture, and Rihanna. I wanted to repent, but I didn’t have anyone to repent to. Instead I had to soak in an acid bath of sin, watching it burn away layer after layer of my self-worth.

Hailey gave me a sinister, curling smile. Behind her the half-crescent of women were starting to hoot and howl and bark, their tiki torches swooping skyward. Some of them stamped their feet or jumped up and down like monkeys. They’d been waiting so long for this moment.

Hailey brought her face within inches of mine, and produced a nine-inch knife from a sheath on her hip. She casually dragged it down my back, and I could feel my flesh split open like an overripe fruit.

“Now,” she said. “We’re going to make you sing.”

The Literary Goon

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piratefalls · 2 years

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WEE WOO RETURNS. WEE WOO RETURNS. WEE WOO RETURNS.

previous lists on the master list here. always taking requests!

What's Past is Prologue by stellarmeadow

On his way home from his second deployment, Eddie finds something unexpected at the airport that ends up changing his life in ways he couldn’t have imagined.

to keep you warm by playedwright

It’s been three weeks. But Buck looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and it feels like no time has passed at all.

“It’s raining,” Eddie says, instead of what are you doing here, because he already knows the answer. “Come inside before you get pneumonia.”

if i'm honest, it felt like love by allyasavedtheday

“I- it felt good, right? And neither of us are really in a place to want to date right now but maybe. You said you needed comfort so maybe that’s all it has to be?”

“You mean this could be a…regular thing?” Eddie looks confused but not at all opposed to the idea which is more than Buck expects, honestly.

He nods. “Just. When we need it, y’know? Because I don’t want to go back to how I was before but sometimes it’s nice. To spend the night with someone. Or- or be close with someone. And I trust you. I mean, you’re my best friend.”

The few seconds it takes Eddie to think it over feel like the longest of Buck’s life but then his grip tightens imperceptibly on Buck’s waist and he nods.

“I don’t think I could imagine trusting anyone else with this right now.”

Buck and Eddie try friends with benefits. It's great, easy, exactly what they need. Except for the fact they're in love with each other.

a stolen kiss by withoutthetiger

"There have been a few times in the past week when Eddie’s wondered if maybe the whole thing was a dream, a delusion brought on by hope and exhaustion and a craving for hot cocoa. And maybe that would make the memory of their conversation better or worse or easier or the most difficult thing in the world, but none of it matters in the few moments Eddie catches that look in Buck’s eyes again, the same one he’d had as Eddie had cradled the side of his head, a reflection of Eddie’s own the night they’d quietly confessed their love and gone their separate ways."

***** A follow-up to "it wasn't enough" that will make a lot more sense if you've read that. Set pre/during (?) 5x10.

unlaced by soyxunxperdedor

The whole thing had gotten away from him a little bit.

It all started a month ago, when Eddie had figured out how hot Buck found him in nothing but a jockstrap, and he’d thought, ok, but let’s take it up a notch.

-or-

Eddie wants to do something special for Buck's birthday

welcome to the end of being alone inside your mind by prettyboybuckley

Buck is spiraling.

Absolutely, completely spiraling. Which is something he's gotten very good at over the years, though he's thankfully also very good at doing it internally.

Ivy's been fussy all day, and she needs a bath, but the moment the water touches her skin she starts bawling her eyes out, squirming in Buck's hands, and he can feel the panic start to rise.

It's been three months since he officially adopted her, the first safe haven baby since he started at the 118.

OR: Buck silently falls apart as he doubts his choice to become a parent. Eddie is there to pick up the pieces.

circles all the way down by archerincombat

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobby,” Buck bites out. “He took three months off. Saw a physical therapist. Did a few sessions with Frank. Clearly, he’s doing great.”

Bobby chews his lip. “If you’re sure,” he says finally. “He just looked a little off at that car crash, is all.”

“I would have noticed,” Buck insists. “It’s Eddie. I would’ve noticed.”

Or, healing doesn't happen in tandem

opened our eyes and it’s changing the view by markofalover

“Chris had an assignment. He—it’s a poem about family.”

Eddie hums, raising his eyebrows. “What about it?”

Everything, Buck wants to say. Everything about it.

…or, Christopher writes a poem and everything falls into place.

my heart is in my hands (my head is in the clouds) by lecornergirl

None of it felt as high stakes as walking in and asking where he could find Eddie Diaz, the name unfamiliar on his tongue after two years of not saying it out loud.

Buck sees Eddie before Eddie sees him, and he takes a moment just to take him in. To catalogue the changes that two years have wrought in him—his hair is a little longer, a little looser than the way he wore it two years ago, and he’s let three-four days of scruff grow in—and to catch his breath, steady himself, so the first words he says to Eddie in two years aren’t a series of disasters tripping over themselves.

OR: Eddie leaves the 118, and Buck leaves LA. Then he comes back.

just like eggs (over-easy) by intotheblue

In his entire life, Eddie Diaz has never made an easy decision.

Today, though, he feels settled. Like anything he decides will turn out all right. Like the decisions he needs to make have been sitting in the back of his mind for years, just waiting to be dusted off and examined. Like he already knows what he needs to do, and for once in his life, it’s what he wants to do, too.

“Come home with me?” Eddie asks.

eyes full of stars by catching_paper_moons

“What?”

Eddie blinks. “What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“You’re staring.” Buck reaches out, smoothing Eddie’s hair away from his face.

“You’re staring,” Eddie says back, but there’s no bite, no heat to it at all, only fondness. “I’m trying to figure out what this expression means.”

(or, the dawn finally breaks.)

a head that's full of woe by hattalove

“Christopher,” he says, and Christopher makes a little noise on the other end, like he’s hurt— “Christopher, what happened? Where are you?”

“School,” Christopher says, and there’s something odd about the way he’s breathing, a little hitch that isn’t usually there. Eddie’s hands are steady, still, when he types in the address. “Outside, at the—the front door. It fell.”

or, christopher calls 911. eddie picks up.

I'm not you, nor you me (but we're both moving steady) by Mellaithwen

Bobby considers asking Buck again how he’s really doing—the bags under his eyes telling a different story to the one coming out of his mouth—but he learnt a long time ago that the best tactic when it came to Evan Buckley was to wait him out.

So Bobby lets the silence stretch and settle, with little more than the steady whirring and beeping of the hospital machines at his side to encroach on the quiet.

And sure enough, as it always does, Bobby’s patience pays off.

In the aftermath of the shooting, Buck visits Bobby in the hospital, and they have a long-overdue conversation.

Breathe by kitkatpancakestack

After Eddie Diaz has a breakdown in the middle of a grocery store, he's forced to face the fact that he might not be dealing with his PTSD as well as he thought. At the urging of his aunt, he leaves to spend the summer in a small California beach town, where he meets a bright-eyed, blond-haired surf instructor who reminds him what it feels like to be alive.

can't remember loneliness by rarakiplin

“What’s so funny,” Eddie asks, his hand sliding from Buck’s hair down the slope of his back.

“Nothing,” Buck laughs, shaking his head as much as he can, “just thinking about how smart I was to marry my best friend.”

And Eddie — Eddie gets it, because Eddie still sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night just to watch Buck sleep, the dark band of Buck’s tattoo right there on his left ring finger, just barely visible in the dark, not quite able to believe that this is real.

or, buck and eddie are in love. that's it.

if you say it with your hands by hammersmiths

Buck thinks it must be a habit he still hasn’t dropped from his days in the army, or maybe it comes with the territory of being a dad – but Eddie can nap pretty much anywhere.

or, Eddie starts casually falling asleep against Buck, and Buck is very normal about it.

took a picture of that smile and stuck it in my heart by farfromthstars

Buck had…hundreds of pictures of Eddie. Candid shots at work, pictures of him with Christopher Buck had taken, selfies of the three of them together, selfies of just Buck and Eddie, photos of Eddie with the rest of the team, photos from quarantine of Eddie and Chimney with bottles of beer on Buck’s balcony or that time they’d insisted they could improve the water pressure in Buck’s shower and ended up fully dressed and drenched, of Eddie posing with the cake they got him when he returned after the shooting, or with the cupcakes he and Buck had made for the bake sale at Christopher’s school, Eddie up on a ladder trying to fix his kitchen window before he’d relented and called his landlord, Eddie asleep in Buck’s jeep, head tilted back and mouth open. Proof of a life shared.

Buck looks through his camera roll and realizes it’s time for a few tough conversations

open the blinds, let me see your face by trippedandfell

It starts, as most of Eddie’s problems have lately, with therapy.

or: Eddie does yoga, makes some new friends, and falls in love.

#buddie #rec list #fic rec #buddie rec list #buddie fic #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #my rec list

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genshin-obsessed · 3 years

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Hmmm.. not sure whether or not this is original enough but if it is shoot your shot!

Can I please get Razor, Diluc, and Kaeya reaction to reuniting with their S/O after 3-5 years of them being missing and possibly thought to be dead?

Whether or not you choose to make it an angst or fluff is up to you!

Have a great day!

You gave me too much power, anon BUT I was responsible with it. I made 2 of them angst and one fluffy!!! This was cute and I liked it. I hope you have a good day too🥺💖I did my husband dirty too ;-; forgive me Diluc!

Memories

“RUN! (F/N)! GO!”

“No! I won’t leave you!” You tried to push the large boulder out of the way but it was clear it wasn’t going to budge. You stared at your partner with fear and sorrow, but she only smiled in return.

“Go… please. It’s ok.” The domain was crumbling and you had no choice but to leave her behind.

“I’m so sorry!” You screamed as you started sprinting. She watched you go with a smile as a large boulder collapsed on top of her. As you ran, you started to feel the hope dwindle. The domain was too big and you were too far from the entrance. You had very little time.

You kept running, until you finally saw the door. It was open and you were so close, but it quickly crumbled with more pieces falling apart. Some fell on your head, knocking you out.

Three years. It had been three years since your disappearance along with your friend’s. No matter what he did, he just couldn’t find you. No matter how many search parties, who he talked to, wherever he went… there was no sign.

Eventually, he stopped looking. After the first year, on the one year anniversary of your disappearance, he broke down. He’d never cried that much in his life.

After that night, he never searched again but he was also never the same again. There was something about Kaeya that was just… sad. The lack of effort, emotions, compassion, everything. Jean and Lisa knew what happened was bad. They tried to help, but he just told them to back off.

They were positive you were gone and Kaeya had finally admitted it too. That was until the faithful day he saw you. His heart broke immediately. All those years of believing you were dead, all those nights he spent crying, all those days he would stare at those pictures of you two… and there you were.

It was worse when you walked right past him without batting an eye. Almost like you didn’t remember him. But as you did, he could smell you. You… you smelled the same, just like the day you disappeared from his life.

Today marked the fourth year since your disappearance. It was still hard, four years, 47 months, 208 weeks, 1460 days… all that time without you. He’d never felt so lost and confused. He’d often wonder what he did for something like this to happen to you. You were such an amazing, beautiful person. Why would you get taken like this?

Diluc tried everything. He found any and everyone that could have a clue on where you were and spoke to them. He used his connections, but nothing. It was like you stopped existing.

The first few months, Diluc was convinced you’d come home. He thought you might’ve gotten distracted or something. He even saw hallucinations of you… more like delusions. No one had the heart to tell him otherwise. It was the only thing that kept him sane.

However, on the one year anniversary of your disappearance… he realized you were never coming back. That night he cried. He cried, begged for any god out there to bring you back. Hell, he even begged Venti to do something and all the anemo archon could do was hold him as he cried.

Then he saw you. On the four year anniversary of your disappearance. Just when he was sure you were gone but here you were. He was convinced it was another delusion, sure you were just fake. He was so angry, he wanted to go over and… nothing. He wanted to fall at your feet, cry, and beg for you to come back to him or take him with you. Then you walked past him… why… didn’t you see him?

You had been gone for 3 and a half years. He and his lupical all tried searching for you. All the wolves did, picking up on your scent. They even found the domain but through all the destruction, you were nowhere to be found.

The other wolves realized you’d died in the domain, but Razor held onto a faint hope that you’d come back. But every day passed by, he was presented with disappointment. Every day he’d wake up, believing and hoping he’d see you… but he never did.

His lupical did everything for him. They tried every damn thing they could think of. But that never stopped his tears. It never stopped the restless nights he spent crying, the days he spent with hope, the days he thought he could smell you. Nothing.

Then he saw you. Three and a half years later… there you were. Bright with life, your eyes glimmering under the sun. You had a bright smile on your face and you looked so beautiful. So damn beautiful. You looked the same as the day you did when you left him. Razor couldn’t even move as he stared… then your eyes met.

There was a look in your eyes. Something familiar. You dropped what you were carrying and ran. You sprinted and jumped on him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Before he could speak, your lips were on his. You kissed him over and over, holding his face, saying his name again and again. His face was enough to rid you of your amnesia.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact diluc #kaeya imagines #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #genshin impact kaeya #razor x reader #genshin razor

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vventure · 3 years

Text

Happy Without Me

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x f!reader

Summary: Keishin invites you over to have a talk just a few months after your break-up, sharing with you how he’s changed.

Warnings: semi-dark, obsessiveness, stalking (ish), delusions, kidnapping if you squint, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 1050

A/N: This is for the @haikyuucreations Valentine’s/White Day Collab! You can find all the pieces here.

A/N 2: This is something completely outside of my comfort zone in terms of feel and genre. It is inspired by the song Happy Without Me by Monsta X, and I decided to take a darker route with it rather than angst. I hope that you guys like it/give it a shot. I’ve been feeling really uninspired lately, so it was nice to get the brain working again. :) (also i didn’t proof-read this and it’s obvious how much of a kpop hole i’ve been in that my recent come back is based on kpop)

The heel of your shoe clicked crisply against the shining tile of the small convenience store as its fluorescent lights washed over you, immediately driving daggers into the backs of your eyes as your vision adjusted. In the years you’d frequented this place, your body had never become accustomed to the artificially bright atmosphere. It was something you didn’t miss now that it wasn’t part of your daily routine.

Was this a mistake, coming to see your freshly-ex-boyfriend? What was his angle in getting you to come over? To apologize for what happened? To rekindle what once was?

The text made you restless; instead of laying peacefully in bed you paced your apartment until the rug was warm to the touch. In the end, the battle within you crowned curiosity the winner over sense. You just had to know what Keishin wanted to talk to you about and you’d pick up the pieces of your heart and self-esteem later.

“Y/N.”

The voice was familiar, yet foreign in it’s newly gruff, worn-down timbre. One glance at the blonde-haired man behind the counter had your eyebrows knitting. His hair was greasy and all over the place, his jaw perpetually set even as he mechanically inhaled and exhaled the tobacco smoke created by the lit cigarette between his lips.

Dark eyes drank in your figure, still visible through the wisps of smoke obscuring his face. An unpleasant sensation slithered along your spine at those small black pools, sending waves of goosebumps along your skin.

“Keishin…?”

“You look lovely,” he said--no more than a murmur--as his tongue lapped over his dry lips and his nimble fingers squelched the cigarette into oblivion in the ashtray.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” he inhaled, rubbing his hand over his face and beckoning you forward with two yellowed fingers.

Something in the way his eyes were locked to yours, coupled with the silent command, compelled you to step forward. The edges of your vision blotted out your surroundings as you approached the low counter Keishin always seemed to be perched behind, today being no exception. This close, you noticed the circles beneath his eyes and how much he smelled of his bad habit. Had it gotten worse? When was the last time he’d done laundry or taken a shower?

“Ar-Are you okay? You look sick,” you ventured, instinctively stepping through the swinging door that granted access to the back of the counter, your steps stuttering when you noticed the small reading nook you’d created many months ago was still intact. A fresh blanket was carefully folded atop the dented bean bag as if waiting for your return.

“I’m great,” he responded without emotion, turning in his chair to peer at you again. “Can we talk upstairs? This is too...public.”

“There’s no one here,” you said, scanning the computer screen that projected the view of the myriad of cameras adorning the ceiling. “We’re alone.”

“Please? For me?” Soft, chocolate eyes scanned your face, his pallid complexion brightening for a moment. Just a moment.

Something small--something ignorable--tugged at your stomach, but your head was already bobbing a yes, and Keishin’s hand was already clasped securely around yours, and you were already in his small loft apartment letting him close and lock the door behind you.

“Please, sit,” Keishin prompted, using his hands to gesture to one of his dining chairs sitting facing the door. The rest of them were nestled soundly against the table, indicating he’d pulled this out for a special occasion and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled past your lips.

“Are you going to interrogate me? Where’s the lamp?”

“Please sit, I just want to talk.”

His hands were wrapped tightly around the back of the chair, knuckles chalk-white through the cracked skin of his hands.

“‘Shin, you’re scaring me.” This time your laugh was more strained, less jovial.

“You’re safe here with me, princess, don’t worry,” He cooed, releasing the chair to stroke down its wooden sides softly, as if to show that he meant his words.

Heaviness settled upon your chest, making each breath a little more difficult to obtain as you walked towards him once more, hesitantly turning your back and sitting.

You reasoned that this was Keishin after-all. Up until the last months of your relationship he was a sweet, caring boyfriend who would protect you with his life if it came to it. What reason could you have to doubt him now? He’d always been a safe place for you to rest your heart.

“I saw the pictures you posted,” he nearly whispered, stepping around the chair to squat before you. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Pictures? On instagram?”

“Mhmm, the ones you posted for me,” his hands crept up your thighs and fiddled with your fingers, distracting you from his words for a moment until they registered.

The man before you when you looked up was not Ukai Keishin. A gleam had found purchase in his once-warm eyes; a malicious, even malevolent, gleam. The corners of his lips were tugged up haphazardly, uneven and almost...unhinged.

“For you?”

“I get the message you’re sending, Y/N. You drink to forget how good you had it, yeah?”

“What are you talking about--‘Shin are you sure you’re okay? I’m scared,” you replied, a tremble lacing your voice. The beating heart within your chest threatened to shatter through your ribcage and out into the open air as your hands instinctively ripped away from his.

“I’m great, princess. I figured it out, even though you’re really good at hiding the code. I knew you missed me.”

“‘Shin, I-” He wasn’t wrong on that part. A small section of your heart would always be reserved for him, but missing him outright? He had to be mistaken, gravely mistaken. And what was this about a message?

“I missed you so much, I never stopped thinking about you. About us, about what we had and still have. That’s why I asked you over.” The words came tumbling from his mouth like wasps out of a disturbed hive, crawling and stinging over your exposed skin as confusion manifested into fear.

“I need to leave-” Came your faint squeak, punctuated by the cold press of metal around your wrist.

“I hate to see you happy without me.”

#haikyuucreations #keishin ukai x reader #keishin ukai angst #ukai keishin x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu #hq!!#ukai keishin #haikyuu!!#ukai keishin angst

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draganasimpsforjeff · 3 years

Text

If anyone is curious

So I figured there should be a time on when I should share my mental illnesses, even though it's none of anyone business, I still want to be open about it especially those with questions.

I will say though don't take what I say about MY conditions to mean the same for others who have it/ they because everyone deals with it different and has different experiences.

This is a bit of a list and I have gotten people in the past who said they don't believe someone can have this many mental conditions, but hey buddy, FUCK YOU.

Anyways,

here's the list:

ADHD( first diagnosed at 7 and then got it double checked at 16

BPD- Borderline Personality Disorder

Bipolar Disorder

ASPD- Antisocial Personality Disorder

GAD- Generalized Anxiety Disorder

My biggest ones that make everyday harder for me is my BPD, Bipolar, and ADHD.

This is information found online explaining each of the disorders, but I will say I hate how a lot of people especially those in psychology rather not deal with someone that has bi polar and borderline personality disorder because it's harder to deal with and each trigger, cycle and all that is difficult to identify or handle. And a lot of people depict us as "awful people"

when it was people like that that made us develop these disorders. Anyways, here's what "professionals" explain each as:

1. ADHD-

A chronic condition including attention difficulty, hyperactivity, and impulsiveness.

ADHD often begins in childhood and can persist into adulthood. It may contribute to low self-esteem, troubled relationships, and difficulty at school or work. Symptoms include limited attention and hyperactivity

SYMPTOMS:

Behavioral: aggression, excitability, fidgeting, hyperactivity, impulsivity, irritability, lack of restraint, or persistent repetition of words or actions

Cognitive: absent-mindedness, difficulty focusing, forgetfulness, problem paying attention, or short attention span

Mood: anger, anxiety, boredom, excitement, or mood swings

2. Borderline Personality Disorder (wasn't diagnosed with it until 16)

A mental disorder characterized by unstable moods, behavior, and relationships.

The cause of borderline personality disorder isn't well understood. Diagnosis is made based on symptoms. Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, impulsivity, and impaired social relationships.

SYMPTOMS:

Behavioral: antisocial behavior, compulsive behavior, hostility, impulsivity, irritability, risk taking behaviors, self-destructive behavior, self-harm, social isolation, or lack of restraint

Mood: anger, anxiety, general discontent, guilt, loneliness, mood swings, or sadness

Psychological: depression, distorted self-image, grandiosity, or narcissism

3. Bipolar Disorder

A disorder associated with episodes of mood swings ranging from depressive lows to manic highs.

The exact cause of bipolar disorder isn’t known, but a combination of genetics, environment, and altered brain structure and chemistry may play a role. Manic episodes may include symptoms such as high energy, reduced need for sleep, and loss of touch with reality. Depressive episodes may include symptoms such as low energy, low motivation, and loss of interest in daily activities. Mood episodes last days to months at a time and may also be associated with suicidal thoughts. Treatment is usually lifelong and often involves a combination of medications and psychotherapy.

Mood: mood swings, sadness, elevated mood, anger, anxiety, apathy, apprehension, euphoria, general discontent, guilt, hopelessness, loss of interest, or loss of interest or pleasure in activities

Behavioral: irritability, risk taking behaviors, disorganized behavior, aggression, agitation, crying, excess desire for sex, hyperactivity, impulsivity, restlessness, or self-harm

Cognitive: unwanted thoughts, delusion, lack of concentration, racing thoughts, slowness in activity, or false belief of superiority

Psychologically: depression, manic episode, agitated depression, or paranoia

4. Antisocial Personality Disorder:

A mental health disorder characterized by disregard for other people.

Those with antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) may begin to show symptoms in childhood, but the condition can't be diagnosed until adolescence or adulthood. Those with antisocial personality disorder tend to lie, break laws, act impulsively, and lack regard for their own safety or the safety of others. Symptoms may lessen with age.

SYMPTOMS:

Behavioral: antisocial behavior, deceitfulness, hostility, irresponsibility, manipulativeness, risk taking behaviors, aggression, impulsivity, irritability, or lack of restraint

Mood: anger, boredom, or general discontent

and finally, 5. Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Severe, ongoing anxiety that interferes with daily activities.

Generalized anxiety disorder can occur at any age. The condition has symptoms similar to panic disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and other types of anxiety.

SYMPTOMS:

Behavioral: hypervigilance, irritability, or restlessness

Cognitive: lack of concentration or unwanted thought

Psychological: severe anxiety or fear

In summary, don't also self diagnose yourself. I will say I blamed myself for everything until I did get diagnosed and then it all clicked. Unfortunately, I am not treated for anything above which makes it worse but feel free to ask questions if you're curious.

I'd love to talk about how it interferes or makes me feel,.etc.

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

Note

Do we have a Byakuya giving Renji marriage advice fic? I'd love to read one!

I know this is gonna seem like I can’t read the prompt, because it’s 95% Byakuya giving Rukia marriage advice, but I just honestly think Byakuya trusts Renji on this, given that Renji has worked for him for years at this point and just sort of anticipates all his needs and understands him better than really anyone, and also, Byakuya does not understand Renji at all and has no idea how his dumb jock brain works. He knows exactly how Rukia’s brain works, though.

Anyway, I am back on my Byakuya-writing-letters bullshit, please enjoy some Sunday afternoon feels. I think it should be obvious, but this takes place the night after Rukia and Renji’s wedding.

❤️ 🥂 🎊

It was late at night, but Rukia couldn’t sleep. Too much excitement, maybe, the unfamiliarity of a new house, the evening’s pleasant alcoholic haze fading into the beginnings of a hangover. It certainly couldn’t be the idea of a new life entirely, looming in front of her like an iceberg, complete with a new name and all sorts of new possibilities. Primarily, there was a new bed and a new person who slept in it with her, and she found the idea of waking him up terrifying, so she slipped out from under the blankets and crept downstairs.

She was digging around in the kitchen, wondering if Renji had gotten around to making any pickles since he moved in a month ago (there was an entire cabinet full, wonderful man!), when she remembered the note.

Rukia had briefly flipped through the envelopes of wedding money they had received earlier. The one from her brother bulged, and when she opened it up, the bills inside were large. Renji got nervous in the presence of large sums of money and she suspected he would attempt to give it back, so put it away quickly to deal with later, but not before she noticed a sheet of paper tucked inside among the bills. It had only her name on it, in her brother’s finest handwriting.

After retrieving the note, she settled on the couch (which had been Renji’s but was now theirs because that’s how this worked) with the jar of pickles tucked beside her (the pickles were hers because they were the spicy kind Renji made specially for her even though he couldn’t eat them himself).

My beloved sister, the note opened.

It is my impression that one of the important roles of an older brother is to go before one’s younger siblings, to chart the unknown terrain of life, and to act as guide and mentor. My own marriage was characterized by deep love and joy in the face of hardship, and I hope that yours will contain all of its happiness and none of its heartache. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you, I have no idea how I did it.

When our lots were first cast together, as you know, I declined to form a close relationship with you. This was a mistake on my part, born of the fear that you would remind me too much of Hisana. Later on, to my horror, I found the truth to be far worse-- although you do share some of your sister’s fine qualities, in personality, you bear a much greater resemblance to myself.

That being the case, I imagine that by the time you find this note, you will have tied yourself up into knots over whether or not you ‘deserve this’ or if you can ever be a satisfactory partner. We are very fine Kuchiki, you and I, Rukia. We are strong of body and of will. We are dignified in all we do. We devote ourselves to our duties before our else. Our hearts are strong and love strongly, but we hold them close, as we must. Our family is our pride, which, paradoxically, makes it nearly impossible to share ourselves with those we hold closest.

Your sister Hisana was an exceedingly stubborn person, who formed her own opinions of me, which may or may not have had any grounding in reality. She frequently told me that I was ‘kind’ and ‘thoughtful’ and ‘sweet’ and a variety of other adjectives that no other thinking person would dare to apply to me. It is very difficult to live with such a person for long before you find yourself trying to live up to their misguided delusions.

As it happens, this is among the distressing number of personality traits my adjutant shares with my late wife. His optimism is endless, his vision is permanently rose-tinted, even when he insists upon wearing those horrendous goggles. Any yet, time and again, I have seen him bring out the best qualities in the horrible ne’er-do-wells under our mutual command. Indeed, if I have ever been a good brother to you, it is mostly due to his belief that I could be so. It is a verifiable fact that you are one of the best best souls in all of Soul Society, one would think it would be unimaginable to inflate your worth beyond its actual measure, and yet, somewhere, he manages that, as well.

How is one supposed to live up to these sorts of expectations from the person they love most of all? It is impossible. At least in my case, Hisana was quite aware that I am a pompous buffoon, whereas Abarai fully believes the sun rises and sets for your personal benefit. I am going to tell you something that may be difficult to hear: you have to simply deal with it. He is never going to stop. If you are truly as like to me as I suspect, you will rebel against this, your brain constantly trying to sabotage your happiness.

The fact of the matter is, Rukia, these feelings of inadequacy spring from the very fact that you hold him so dearly that your own estimation of him is also blown out of proportion. Do not misinterpret me. I am very fond of Abarai, but he is a mess. A disaster. You have probably never seen his filing system, but it would give you the vapors. (I do suggest that you take responsibility over that aspect of your household management.) Again, I sympathize. He is actually not nearly so bad as your sister, whom I once watched deface a centerpiece at a very fancy benefit dinner (the end result was extremely offensive and also very humorous). In my mind, she is still the most perfect person I have ever met.

Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps you are plagued with none of the insecurities that troubled the early days of my marriage, and that I was only able to come to terms with once it became evident that our time together would be finite. I desperately hope this is the case, and if so, please do me the courtesy of destroying this letter, and forgetting all of this.

In either case, I wish you the utmost happiness with your horrible husband.

Your affectionate brother,

Byakuya

Rukia’s fingers clenched on the edges of the paper. The edges of her eyes were burning. How dare he do this to her, after all these years? How many times had they crossed paths in the gardens in the hours when they should have been sleeping? Since when did they need to say things in order to show how well they understood each other? Rukia had half a mind to march over there right now and punch him in his perfect face. He was most likely sitting out next to the koi pond this very minute.

“Thinkin’ of skippin’ out on me already?” a sleepy voice asked behind her, and Rukia jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“What? No!” Rukia rubbed at her hair and frowned apologetically at Renji, who seemed more interested in yawning. "I was thinking too loud and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Nah, my skull is too thick, I can’t even hear my own thoughts most of the time.” Renji leaned over the back of the couch, and Rukia guiltily folded her note in half. “Letter from Captain?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rukia excused. “Sorry. It was kinda personal.”

“I understand. I got one, too. It was less personal.”

A piece of paper dropped in her lap and as she was busy unfolded it, Renji grabbed her jar of pickles.

“Hey, that’s mine!” she protested.

“You don’t gotta tell me what your brother wrote to you,” Renji yawned, tucking the pickles under his arm. “But I think you should probably listen to him. He knows what’s he’s on about.”

Rukia looked at the piece of Squad Six letterhead in her hands. In precise, businesslike handwriting, it read:

To: Abarai Renji, Assistant Captain, Sixth Division

From: Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain Sixth Division

Re: My sister/Your pending wife

Lieutenant Abarai,

Please be aware that Rukia is prone to poor decisions when she has insomnia and it is in your best interest to prevent her from consuming excessively spicy and/or vinegared goods past a respectable bedtime.

Sincerely,

Captain Kuchiki

“Rat fink!” Rukia exclaimed.

“Come back to bed,” Renji implored, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I know some good ways to make your brain shut up.”

“Okay,” Rukia agreed grumpily. “I’m eating those pickles for breakfast, though.”

“I’m makin’ pancakes, but suit yourself.”

Rukia decided that maybe it was best to try and get some rest. She had a big rest-of-her-life coming up the next day.

#my writing #byakuya kuchiki #rukia kuchiki #renji abarai #renruki #byakuya feels are the worst feels #but pining-for-his-dead-wife byakuya is the best byakuya #the paradox of byakuya

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kelyon · 3 years

Text

Golden Rings 15: A Sheriff

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Emma steps in

Read on AO3

Emma Swan was having a craptastic day.

After ten years in a row of solo Valentine’s Days, she didn’t expect the holiday to still get to her. And yet it had.

Maybe it was Storybrooke, with cutesy paper hearts in the windows of almost every store on Main Street. Maybe it was her roommate Mary Margaret, who kept believing in True Love no matter how hard she was proven wrong. You’d think a woman sneaking around with a married man wouldn’t be such a romantic. But you’d be wrong.

Maybe it was Henry. Regina had put her foot down on them spending much time together, and it had been a few days since she’d seen him. For all the confusing feelings Emma had about Henry and about the thought of being his mother, she missed the kid. He was good company. He was a believer too, and he wanted her to join him in his delusion, the whole fairy tale thing. True Love’s Kiss and Happy Ever After and Good Triumphing Over Evil. Too bad he looked so much like the person who had put the nail in the coffin of her ever believing in True Love again.

That night was supposed to be girl’s night. Mary Margaret had called it “Galentine’s Day,” which was very Mary Margaret. Emma joined the group at the Rabbit Hole for an evening of forgetting about the men in their lives. Or the absence of men, as the case may be.

The good times had lasted about an hour, until Ashley’s boyfriend Sean showed up at the bar with a ring and a bended knee. Ashley said yes and they left together. After that Ruby drifted over to some rowdy college guys and Mary Margaret announced her desire to go home to the only men who would never let her down--Ben and Jerry.

Later, as she walked around town, Emma had seen David Nolan in the window of Dark Star Pharmacy. He’d had his back to the window, in front of the Valentine’s Day card display. He’d walked away with two pink cards, despite the fact that he only had one wife. She didn’t know whether to feel worse for Mary Margaret or for Kathryn Nolan.

In the end, this was yet another Valentine’s Day alone. Not just single, but without friends or family too. At least this year she had a job and a decent place to crash.

Emma had considered spending a quiet night at the station. It had been months since she’d been elected Sheriff, but she still hadn’t gotten a handle on all of Graham’s old files. There were a lot of them, and none of them were dated so it was almost impossible to get an idea of the timeline of criminal activity over the years.

But then she heard a woman shriek over by Granny’s Diner.

Sometimes Emma missed the days when she could stumble on a situation like this and then decide to turn around and walk the other way. A big part of surviving in all the various tight spots she’d been in was knowing when something was Not Your Business. Best way to get out of trouble was to never get into it in the first place.

But she was Sheriff now. Duly elected by the people of Storybrooke. As a public servant, public safety was Her Business.

“I can’t go with you!”

The woman’s voice shouted again and Emma picked up her pace. The woman sounded drunk and upset. The fact that the man talking to her sounded calm and sober did not ease Emma’s mind.

She turned the corner and saw Gold.

Landlord, loan shark, pawnbroker and power broker, he’d been at the top of Emma’s list of shady characters for a long time. The fact that he’d helped her get elected only made him more suspicious. A man like that didn’t do things without an ulterior motive and she already owed him a favor because of that thing with Ashley and Sean’s baby.

Gold had his hands out to a woman who was bent over and crying. Had he hit her? Was he about to?

Emma had never officially met Mrs. Gold, but she had seen her around town. She was usually dressed like she was now--big hair, high heels, clothes either too short or too tight or both. Graham had a stack of files on Mrs. Gold. People could be close-lipped about their landlord, but everyone had a wild story about his wife.

Nobody ever mentioned how young she was.

It was hard to tell with the heavy makeup and the heavier crying, but Mrs. Gold looked barely out of her teens. And Gold was easily in his fifties. Everyone talked about them like they’d been married for years. How old had she been when they’d gotten married?

Emma’s opinion of Gold went down another notch.

“Is everything alright?”

It was a pretty standard opening question for a cop. Part of Emma was still surprised to be asking it instead of hearing it. She put her hands on her hips to clearly display her badge.

“We’re fine.” Gold held up his hand. Like he could stop her from getting closer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Emma said calmly as she pushed past him.

Mrs. Gold was bent over double, clutching her stomach. What the hell had he done to her? Squatting on her heels, Emma touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Gold, are you okay?”

Drunk, red, teary eyes slowly tried to focus. Mrs. Gold’s mouth opened, but then she shook her head and started crying again.

“Sheriff, I appreciate your concern. As you can see, my wife has had too much to drink and I’m trying to get her home.”

Emma looked at Mrs. Gold. “Do you want to go home with him?”

This time, instead of shaking her head, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and sank lower to the ground. Still balanced on her heels, she curled herself into a ball. Emma stood up and looked at Gold.

“That isn’t a yes.”

He rolled his eyes, which did not help his case. “Please, Miss Swan, this is a private matter.”

Emma made a show of scanning Main Street up and down. “Pretty sure it’s happening in public. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I already did: Mrs. Gold had too much wine at dinner and now she’s throwing a fit. I’m trying to get her back to the house, where she won’t be a public nuisance any longer.” Gold’s consonants were clipped, and he spoke with a biting quickness. He was irritated.

Irritated. While his wife was crying in the street.

She crouched down again. “Have you been drinking, Mrs. Gold?” Obviously she had, but it was important to let the woman speak for herself. Gold had to know she wasn’t just going to take his word on what was going on.

“I had a bottle of wine,” Mrs. Gold’s voice wobbled. She was still crying. “And I didn’t eat dinner.”

“That’ll do it,” Emma nodded. She held out her hand. “You wanna try standing up? I can take you in the diner for some food, coffee.”

She shook her head. “I wanna roll in a ditch and stay there forever.” She broke down in a fresh wave of sobs that toppled her over and landed her butt-first on the sidewalk.

Emma winced and picked Mrs. Gold up. The woman clung to her as they stood, like an old cartoon of a drunk leaning on a lamppost.

“Thank you, Miss Swan,” Gold said smoothly. “Do you want to try to walk her to the parking lot or shall I bring the car around?”

Emma adjusted her grip on Mrs. Gold. She was light and tiny--helpless. “I haven’t determined that she wants to go home with you, Gold.”

He looked shocked, offended. “What difference does that make? The state she’s in, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Is that the way you like her? Emma was smart enough to not voice her suspicions out loud. But she knew enough about Gold to know that nothing was beneath him. This woman wasn’t safe.

Gently extracting herself, Emma put her hands on Mrs. Gold’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Mrs. Gold, can you talk to me for a sec?”

Mrs. Gold put a hand up to her mouth and nodded.

“Can you give me a word?”

After a moment’s thought, Mrs. Gold closed her eyes and said, “Yeah.”

“Do you know that man standing behind us?”

This question was met with a glare, first at Emma, then at Gold. “Mr. Gold is supposed to be my husband,” she slurred. “He’s supposed to care about me.” She began to push against Emma’s grasp, shouting at Gold. “You’re supposed to love me, you bastard! I put up with so much shit for you!”

“Okay.” Emma cut off the drunken rant before it could build up steam. “Do you want to go home with him right now?”

“No.” Mrs. Gold was swaying on her feet, but she knew her own mind.

“Okay,” Emma nodded. “I won’t let that happen then.”

“Sheriff Swan, this is ridic--”

“She said no.” Emma spun around to face Gold. She didn’t yell at him. She didn’t have to. Sometimes doing the right thing was complicated and messy, but sometimes it was amazingly simple.

She left Gold standing in silence and turned back to Mrs. Gold. “Now, do you have somebody you can stay with tonight? Friends? Family?”

Mutely, Mrs. Gold shook her head.

“Do your parents live around here?”

Her face crumpled like a paper bag and she began to cry again.

“Okay.” Emma gave her a few awkward pats on the back. “It’s okay. We’ve all been there.” She’d certainly been there more times than she could count.

“As you can see,” Gold’s cane tapped on the sidewalk as he stepped closer, “my wife doesn’t have anyone in her life but me.”

And who’s fault is that? Emma wondered. Out loud all she said was, “Not while I’m around.”

“What, precisely, do you intend to do with her?”

“We’re going back to the station.” Emma helped Mrs. Gold get her arms into her coat and began to half-lead, half-carry her down the street. “Is it okay if I help you walk?”

Mrs. Gold nodded and took a few staggering steps on her own. If it weren’t so cold, Emma would have told her to take off the heels.

Gold followed behind them. “Sheriff! You can’t just run off with my wife!”

Emma looked over her shoulder at Gold. “Well, I could arrest her for public drunkenness. And I could arrest you for interfering in police business. I could get out the handcuffs and the tasers and the billy clubs, because you two are clearly a danger to the safety of the town.” Emma took a moment to let her words sink in.

The problem with being the only cop on duty was that she had to be both Good Cop and Bad Cop.

“Or,” she went on. “We could, all three of us, take a nice walk to the station. Maybe the night air will clear our heads. I sincerely hope Mrs. Gold finds a quiet place to throw up because the sooner she gets sober the better.” She started walking again and shouted back to Gold. “You can come with us or you can go to hell, but I’m not gonna drag both of you.”

****

Emma was able to get Mrs. Gold all the way to the station bathrooms before she threw up. Gold trailed behind them the whole way. Was he slow because of his cane or because he didn’t want to come? Either way, he was standing outside the women’s room when they emerged.

When she saw her husband, Mrs. Gold shrank back. But she didn’t start crying again.

“Office is through that door,” Emma pointed behind Gold’s shoulder. “Feel free to have a seat, we’re gonna go get some water.”

She took Mrs. Gold to the water cooler around the corner. The tank was made of glass, likely from the fifties or sixties. The whole station was outdated like that, a time capsule. Maybe that was why Graham had so many paper files. The budget didn’t have room for a computer made after 1983.

Mrs. Gold took quiet sips out of a paper cup. Her face was splotchy from emotion and booze. Mascara had smeared all over her red-rimmed eyes. She was staring into the middle distance, swaying like she was about to tip over.

“Hey, now that you’re inside, you should take off those heels.”

It seemed to take Mrs. Gold a minute to register what Emma had said. Slowly, she nodded and stepped out of her shoes. Now she looked even smaller, even younger, even more vulnerable.

Everyone she’d talked to about Mrs. Gold acted like she was worse than her husband. That she was loud and lewd--shocking in how boldly she flaunted their sex life, whether people wanted to hear about it or not. Emma had gotten the impression that she was some kind of accomplice, an equal partner in a two-person reign of terror.

But that wasn’t what she saw in front of her. True, appearances could be deceiving. But if Emma had to guess which version of Mrs. Gold was an act, she’d put her money on it being the heartless, hypersexed, trophy wife. Not the pathetic lightweight shaking like a leaf the middle of in a police station.

She had to get to the bottom of this.

“How are you holding up?”

Mrs. Gold took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Been better,” she croaked out after a minute. “Been worse, too.”

“Scale of one to ten where one is the best and ten is the worst?”

“Eight,” she said after thinking about it. “Maybe nine.”

“What’s a ten?” Emma asked, genuinely curious. If getting so drunk she fought with her husband in public and got the attention of the cops and then threw up in front of a total stranger wasn’t the worst night of Mrs. Gold’s life, then what was?

But Mrs. Gold just shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah,” Emma backed off. As much as she wanted to get the full story on this woman, there were more important things to deal with right now. “Let’s get back to my office.”

Gold was standing by one of the desks in the bullpen, reading the paperwork some idiot officer had left out in the open. When they came in, he opened his mouth to speak, but Emma hurried Mrs. Gold into the office and shut the door.

“Do you want me to make him go away?” she said before she sat down.

“How?” Mrs. Gold’s voice was thick. “No one can make Mr. Gold do anything. He can do whatever he wants.”

“Can’t be that hard. I’ll just kick him the knee.”

To her surprise, Mrs. Gold snorted at the joke. “Ankle,” she corrected. “It’s his ankle that gives him trouble.”

“Good to know, next time we get in a fistfight.” She looked Mrs. Gold in the eye. “But seriously. Would you feel more comfortable if he was somewhere else?”

Mrs. Gold shook her head. “I’d only feel more comfortable if I was somewhere else.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sank into the chair across from the desk.

Opening a drawer in the desk, Emma pulled out a box of Kleenex. She also grabbed some of the protein bars she stored in the office for lunches. And, out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, she got the big stuffed Officer Teddy that they gave to kids when they were in crisis. Mrs. Gold was not a kid, but by God she looked like she needed a teddy bear.

Emma set everything on the chair beside Mrs. Gold. She didn’t take anything but a tissue.

“Do you mind talking about what happened tonight?”

“I should get a lawyer,” Mrs. Gold whispered. Then she cracked a miserable smile. “But Mr. Gold is my lawyer!” She pressed the Kleenex to her eyes and sobbed.

“Hey,” Emma tried her best soft voice. “It’s okay, Mrs.-- Hang on, what’s your first name?”

Mrs. Gold looked up, suddenly suspicious. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” Emma said quickly. “It’s just weird to say ‘Mrs. Gold’ all the time, like you’re my third-grade math teacher.”

“Well, get used to it, Miss Swan.” She sniffed and straightened up. “I work damn hard to be Mrs. Gold, and I’m not going to be called anything else.”

Walking behind Graham’s desk--her desk--Emma leaned back in the rolling chair. “Is it always work? Being married to him, I mean.”

“Didn’t used to be,” she said quietly. “It was always a challenge, but it used to be fun, you know?”

“Not really,” Emma admitted. “I’m not big on commitment.”

“He used to be wonderful.” There was a misty light in her eyes now. “Especially when I was good, when he was happy with me. He could be so inventive and dedicated.” She sighed. “Mr. Gold could do things to me I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“But only when you were good?”

The rumor mill had plenty of stories of Mrs. Gold proudly walking around town with bruises and burns. Apparently no Valentine’s Day was complete without her stocking up on rope and duct tape. Was that for when she was good or when she was bad?

Mrs. Gold shrugged and looked away. “I don’t expect you to understand how Mr. Gold and I are together.”

“I understand BDSM,” Emma said evenly.

Mrs. Gold looked at her, with a blank confusion that didn’t come just from being drunk. She didn’t say anything, so Emma went on.

“That’s what it is, right? Sado-masochism? Dominance and submission? Bondage?”

A blink. “What?”

Emma put her feet up on the desk, trying to look cooler than she felt. It was weird to talk about this stuff in an otherwise normal environment while she was on the clock. But apparently the Golds got a thrill out of shocking vanilla people. So she’d better not act shocked.

“Not everybody’s from Storybrooke, Mrs. Gold.”

She slumped forward. “I didn’t realize there was a name for it. Do a lot of other people do this stuff?”

Emma’s attempt not to be shocked didn’t last long. She sat up in the chair, took her feet off the desk. “You didn’t know? Wait, are you two not a part of a community?”

“What do you mean?”

Yeah, that made sense. Gold was one of those doms. Self-titled, self-taught, probably got kicked out of any reasonable BDSM group he tried to get into. Predatory. His current wife was young, maybe curious about kink, and he’d been oh-so-happy to be the only teacher she had. He’d trained her to trust him, to rely on him completely, so he could abuse her any sick way he wanted to. He probably told her it was all okay because they were kinky. That living in fear was what the lifestyle was all about.

Son of a bitch.

Mrs. Gold looked over her shoulder through the windows that looked out at the bullpen. Gold was still standing there, leaning on his cane. Waiting.

Emma clenched her jaw. “There’s… a lot… I want to talk to you about, Mrs. Gold. But right now the most important thing is making sure you’re safe.”

She shook her head. “I’m safe.”

“Earlier you said you didn’t want to go home with him.”

“I was drunk,” she shrugged. “I was upset. I made Mr. Gold angry and I was afraid to face the consequences.”

“Are you afraid of him a lot?”

“No-o.” Mrs. Gold looked down at the tissue in her hands. “Not a lot.”

Emma pressed in. “When was the last time you were afraid of your husband?”

Defiance flashed in her eyes, but then disappeared. Mrs. Gold hung her head. “Last night,” she whispered. “I did something really bad and I thought he was going to hurt me. Like, really hurt me, you know?”

“More than just a spanking, huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But he didn’t! That has to count for something, right?”

Emma closed her eyes so Mrs. Gold couldn’t see her rolling them. “Maybe something, but not much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to think for a second before you answer it: Do you think your husband respects you?”

“No, of course not.” Apparently she didn’t need to think about it. “I’m just a stupid whore, Sheriff. Why would Mr. Gold respect a trashy slut like me?”

“Because you’re a person!” Emma shouted and Mrs. Gold winced. From the other side of the glass, Gold looked up.

She balled her fists, trying to keep her anger from getting the better of her. Emma liked action. If there was a problem, she wanted to do something about it. If the thing to do involved punching a violent predator, then that was even better.

But she couldn’t do that now. Cursing Gold out about the meaning of the words “safe, sane and consensual” would make Emma feel better, but it wouldn’t help Mrs. Gold. Right now, the most important thing was giving this girl the mental tools to protect herself. Or at least let her know that she was in danger.

“Mrs. Gold,” Emma said after a minute. “It’s important to me that you understand some things. I don’t know what your husband may have told you, but I want you to trust that I’m telling you the truth. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”

Mrs. Gold swallowed. “What are you going to tell me?”

“Just that… you and your husband are not the only people in the world who like doing stuff that other people might think of as unconventional. There are a lot of people who like, say, mixing pain and sex. Or pretending to be roles that they aren’t.” She hesitated before she admitted something personal: “I was with a guy who told me he never felt safer than when he tied himself up with rope.”

It had meant a lot to Emma, the first time he’d asked her to tie his hands behind his back. He’d told her he trusted her, and she had trusted him--right until it had all fallen apart.

“Are you serious?” Mrs. Gold’s brow was furrowed. “There are other people like us?”

“Yep,” Emma nodded. “More than most people think. In fact, there are enough people like this that they can get together and talk about it. They talk about this stuff so much that there are rules that a lot of these people agree on.”

“What kind of rules?”

For a second, Emma didn’t know where to start. As much as she was talking, her real experiences with kinksters was very limited. Even in the best circumstances, she wasn’t one for clubs or social groups. Nothing with the promise of a community or lasting relationships--that wasn’t her style. One-on-one was better. Emma liked semi-anonymous one night stands. No strings, just rope.

But that wasn’t what most people wanted, and it definitely wasn’t what Mrs. Gold needed.

“Consent is a pretty big rule for most communities. Making sure that a person isn’t put in a situation they didn’t agree to. So communication is important too. The person being done to has to say what they want and the person doing the thing has to say what they’re planning on doing--and they both have to agree. Am I making sense so far?”

“So it’s like a deal?”

“Yep,” Emma said, glad that something was clicking with Mrs. Gold. “Negotiation is a big part of it.”

“I already made my deal with Mr. Gold.”

“Well, it’s not something you only talk about once.” She lowered her voice. “Does your husband talk to you before you do a scene?”

“A ‘scene’?”

No surprise that Mrs. Gold didn’t know even basic vocabulary.

“Yeah, before sex or play or punishment--whatever it is you do when he has power over you.”

“Mr. Gold always has power over me. He can fuck me whenever he wants to. That’s the deal.”

Emma frowned. “Does he get to hurt you whenever he wants to?”

“He can,” Mrs. Gold admitted with perfect calm. “He can do anything to me, or make me do anything. And that’s consensual. I agreed to it when I married him.”

“Does it ever stop? Do you ever have, like, a time out? A rest period? Or are you guys always… in that zone?”

Mrs. Gold looked away. There hadn’t been a trace of embarrassment during the rest of the conversation, but now she looked ashamed.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… It’s been a while since we’ve actually done anything.”

Interesting. “And whose decision was that?”

“Oh, Mr Gold’s. I’ve offered tons of times, but he hasn’t touched me in months.”

“So he decides when you don’t have sex as well as when you do?”

“I guess.”

“Was that a part of your deal?”

She shifted in her seat. “I never thought it was a possibility that he wouldn’t want to do things to me.”

“But you really like it? You think he’s a good partner?”

Mrs. Gold’s blue eyes looked up at Emma. Every fiber of her being radiated sincerity. “The best.”

“Wanna tell me how you feel about not having sex for months?”

She looked away. “I hate it.”

“Have you told him that?”

“No!” she almost laughed. “I was starting to tonight, but it didn’t work out for me.”

Emma didn’t laugh. She rested her arms on the desk and leaned in to look Mrs. Gold in the eye. “Listen, I’m not a marriage counselor. I’m not an expert in kink. I’m a sheriff. There is clearly a lot broken with your relationship, but I’m not going to be able to solve any of it. No one will be able to fix you guys unless you’re both willing to admit that there’s a problem and work towards a solution.”

Mrs. Gold looked down. “We never had problems before.”

“No, you did. But it sounds like Gold was really good at making you think they weren’t problems. Point is, there’s only so much I can do from a law-enforcement standpoint. I can arrest your husband--but only if you’re willing to press charges and make a statement about any past mistreatment.”

“Wait, who said anything about arresting Mr. Gold?”

“I’m just trying to think of a way to keep you safe. It’s my opinion that the easiest way to do that right now is to keep you separated from your husband. Now, you said you don’t have anyone you can stay with. If you want, I can pay for you to get a room at Granny’s.”

“I don’t need your fucking charity!” Mrs. Gold spat out the last word.

“Okay,” Emma went on. “My other option is to keep you here in the station overnight. You admitted to being drunk, I can give you a safe place to dry out.”

“But you also want to make up some charge to put Mr. Gold in jail?” Her voice rose as she spoke. “That’s ridiculous! If those are the choices, then yes, by all fucking means, arrest me instead of him!”

This was wrong. Emma knew that it was wrong. Putting Mrs. Gold in the holding cell would be a completely a bass-ackward perversion of justice.

But she was damned if she could think of a single other way to fix this.

If Mrs. Gold insisted on blaming herself, if she wasn’t going to press charges against her husband, if she didn’t even see that she was being abused--then nothing Emma did or said would change her mind. If Emma forced the issue, then she would be telling Mrs. Gold what to do instead of letting her actually make a choice. And if Mrs. Gold was ever going to be able to break out of her situation, it had to be her choice.

“Do you wanna put me in handcuffs? It wouldn’t be the first time!”

The transformation was so fast Emma almost didn’t recognize that it was the same person speaking. So this was the version of Mrs. Gold that everyone had a story about. The version of Mrs. Gold that was in Graham’s file. Sparkling voice, chipper smile. She was even posed with her legs splayed open like a pin-up model.

Emma sighed.

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Remember that. You don’t have to throw yourself under the bus for him. And you don’t have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“It’s really cute that you think that, Sheriff!” Mrs Gold stood up and stepped back into her shoes. She dropped the crumpled Kleenex on the floor and kicked it out of the way with her shiny black heels.

She didn’t stagger or wobble as she opened the door to the office, but she did stop in her tracks when she saw Gold. Emma was close enough that she could hear her swallow.

Taking a strange kind of mercy on the girl, Emma pushed in front of her to talk to Gold herself.

“I’m keeping Mrs. Gold in the holding cell overnight, just until her blood alcohol level goes down a bit.”

“That’s not going to happen, Sheriff.”

He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t try to reach for Mrs. Gold. He stood very still, with both hands on his cane in front of him. Emma narrowed her eyes.

“Are you going to try to stop me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly. “But I couldn’t help overhearing the end of your conversation. Mrs. Gold offered to have herself put under arrest. Allow me to make a counter-offer.”

“She doesn’t want to go home with you.”

“I know,” he said. “So my offer is that I stay in the station tonight.” He looked over his shoulder at the jail cell behind him. “Assuming, of course, that you make sure Mrs. Gold gets back safely to the house.”

This was ridiculous. Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you confessing to a crime, Gold?”

“Quite the opposite.” Bastard had the audacity to grin. “I’m hoping this act will prove my innocence.”

Emma clenched her jaw. He was full of shit, but how could she prove it? Gold was giving her exactly what she wanted. There had to be a catch.

“Is this your favor?” she asked. “Are you calling in what I owe you for Ashley’s baby?”

He gave a little shake of the head. “What this is, Miss Swan, is the right thing to do.”

“Why?” Mrs. Gold’s voice pierced through the quiet station. When Emma turned around, she saw she was crying again. “Why would you do this for me?”

Gold’s expression softened. To Emma’s surprise, she actually believed that he was capable of feeling sorry. Either he was very good, or there was more to him than she’d thought.

“Like I said, Mrs. Gold, it’s the right thing to do.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He set them on the nearest desk. “You didn’t bring your purse to dinner. You’ll need a key to get back in the house.”

Mrs. Gold just stood there, confused and stunned. Emma stepped forward to take the keys and give them to Mrs. Gold.

“I’ll drop you off,” she told her. “It looks like the car key is on here, but you’re still in no state to drive.”

Nodding slowly, Mrs. Gold looked at the keys in her hand. Then she looked up at her husband. “I’ll give these back to you tomorrow.”

“That’s fine,” he agreed. He shifted his gaze to Emma and smirked. “Assuming I’ll be a free man tomorrow?”

Emma rolled her eyes and began to usher Gold backwards to the cell. “Since I’m not actually booking you for anything, sure.” Once he was inside, she shut the door. “I swear, if this whole thing has been some kind of kinky game--”

“It’s not, Sheriff,” Gold said calmly. “The wellbeing of my wife is the most serious matter in the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Emma locked him in. “You’re gonna have to work harder on that.”

#golden rings #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfiction #rumbelle

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frozenartscapes · 4 years

Text

New Dawn - A World Without Gods (SS/Modern!AU)

I discovered this as a draft I had started months ago and realized with fit in nicely with this AU. So, let’s call this the first chapter of A World Without Gods.

-- -- --

Byleth had encountered many who begged in their final moments of life. The Ashen Demon had heard pleas, bargains, desperate cries for mercy. Sometimes she accepted if the offer was good. Most of the time, she ignored the words spoken to her. Sometimes, her victims had the honour in them to die with dignity, speaking not a word and merely holding her impassive gaze as she struck them down.

She had never heard anyone plead to take their life. Until now.

The Emperor’s breath came in harsh, agonized gasps. Blood oozed from her wounds, spilling on the marble floor around her. Her shoulders sagged, her body buckled, as she struggled to prop herself up with her sword. The immense weight of the world on her shoulders had finally crushed her.

Byleth met those violet eyes that were once so filled with fire and passion, that reflected the strength and courage of the woman she once called her student. But her heart clenched seeing those eyes now. They were dull, and fearful. The fire had gone out, instead just a smouldering pile of ash in the dark. Even the colour seemed weaker.

Seeing Edelgard like this stirred something in her silent chest.

“Claim...your victory,” Edelgard told her through heavy breaths, struggling even to speak. Their battle had been hard on both, but worse on her. “Strike me down. You must.”

Her voice trembled. Weakness. Sadness. Fear. Such things were all present in a voice that once had so much power and authority. Byleth finally could see past the horned crown, the monstrous axe, the royal regalia - Edelgard was so small.

“Even now, people are out there killing each other,” Edelgard continued, a new desperation creeping into her tone, “You must put an end to this.”

A flash of rage surged through Byleth, then. She thought about demanding whose fault that was, pointing out that the war never would have happened had it not been for the Emperor with a power complex. But then the rage subsided, and she was able to see it: guilt.

‘She thought she could win,’ she realized, ‘That it would all be worth it if she just...’

“Please...” Edelgard whispered, “My teacher...” Those violet eyes met hers again, and Byleth could see the tears forming in them. “Your path...lies across my grave.”

‘This must be done,’ a voice in her mind reminded her, ‘She’s not that little student anymore. She’s made peace with it. Do it now, before she changes her mind.’

Byleth tightened her grip on her sword, and took a step forward. Her feet felt heavy, dragging against the ground in protest. But she closed the distance, and lifted the Sword of the Creator high above her head, preparing to bring it down and extinguish the life of the Flame Emperor.

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look, didn’t want to look. Never had she been forced to kill someone she so desperately didn’t want to kill.

But she didn’t have a choice.

“I wanted...” Edelgard’s voice came out so small, so helpless, so mournful. “I wanted to walk with you...”

Byleth’s eyes opened, just a crack, and she dared a glance down.

It wasn’t the Emperor who knelt before her. It was a girl, a mere child, beaten and broken by a life of darkness and war and loneliness. She had her eyes screwed shut, waiting, waiting for her miserable life to end.

Byleth let the Sword of the Creator fall to the floor with an unceremonious clatter.

Edelgard’s eyes opened at the sound, but before she knew what was happening, someone was down on their knees before her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Byleth heard her breath hitch. Edelgard had become a statue in her arms, frozen in shock and confusion. Byleth merely held on, and waited. She waited for the protests. She waited to be pushed away. She waited for the struggle against her. She waited for another fight, for that sword to surge toward her.

For a few, agonizing seconds, nothing happened.

“Why?”

If she wasn’t holding the Emperor so close, Byleth wouldn’t have heard that question.

“I’m sorry, Edelgard,” she uttered, feeling tears forming in her eyes for the first time since she had lost her father, “There must be another way...”

“No.” Edelgard’s response came too quickly, too harshly. “There is no other way. I must be destroyed. I...I deserve nothing better.”

“I don’t believe that,” Byleth told her softly.

“But...” Edelgard struggled against Byleth’s hold, and managed to push herself away just enough for Byleth to see her face. Lilac eyes filled with pain and sorrow met cool, ethereal green. “I can’t do this anymore,” Edelgard admitted quietly, breathlessly, “Please. End this. I...I’ve lost...”

Words went unsaid. Byleth didn’t know the whole story but she knew some of it. Edelgard had lost the war, she lost her Empire, she lost her armies and commanders, she lost her people, she lost the few who supported her - some of them to Byleth’s own blade. She grimaced: Hubert had put up an especially fierce fight.

Guilt surged through her. Edelgard was alone. Largely because of her.

“I don’t deserve it. To live. I...” Edelgard’s voice was so small, so helpless. “If you truly wish to grant me mercy, then you will end my suffering now. Please, my teacher. If no one else, let it be you.”

Byleth wished with all her heart that she still could use the Divine Pulse. Because she would have, in that moment, sent herself all the way back to the Holy Tomb, back to her decision that changed everything.

‘I would have chosen to protect you,’ she thought, ‘I should have chosen that.’

But maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Edelgard... I want to help you,” she said, taking the Emperor’s chin in her hand and tilting her head up, “My biggest regret is hesitating when you needed me. I...I didn’t know where my heart lay then, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize... But it’s not too late for you.”

A dry, humourless chuckle escaped Edelgard’s lips. “Have you always been so blindly optimistic?” she asked in a low voice, “It’s been far too late for me for some time now.” Their eyes met, and there was no life left in hers. “You and I both know that this isn’t how it really happened.”

Byleth felt her blood run cold as the realization struck her. The delusion began to fade, and the nightmare began to shift into a memory. A memory of what really happened.

A drop of blood slipped out from under her crown, right in the centre of her forehead. Then the crown itself split, as if it had been cleaved in two. More blood began to flow.

Byleth woke up before the grisly truth was revealed in full.

-- -- --

“Morning Professor!”

Byleth smiled as best as she could at the chipper security guard. His name was Alex, and despite the seemingly mundane nature of it, he loved his job working at the Imperial Palace. He was always there at the start of her day, when she would sign in to work. And his big smile and eager energy always helped get her through the day, especially after rough nights.

“You sure you’re sleeping ok?” Alex asked with concern, taking note of the dark bags under the Professor’s eyes, “No offence, but you look like a zombie.”

Byleth couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. “Just the usual stress keeping me up,” she lied, “There’s that new exhibit about art and the Empire opening soon and we’re not nearly ready, yet.”

“Well, don’t work too hard!” he said teasingly.

She swiped her keycard and gave a confirming nod. “I’ll try,” she said with a wave, “Oh, before I go: any news? I think Frank mentioned something about a new hire...”

Alex thought for a moment. “Nope. Nothing to report,” he stated confidently.

Byleth blinked, and for a brief second, she was back in the past. Eight hundred and fifty-five years. Talking to another cheerful guard with a similar dedication to his job.

“You...ok, Professor?” Alex asked with a tilt of his head, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I... Never mind. Just need some coffee,” Byleth replied, snapping out of her memories with a shake of her head.

She gave Alex a wave in parting, and headed off to her office.

The Imperial Palace was Enbarr’s most valued museums. Each day, thousands of tourists would flock into its elegant halls, taking in magnificent paintings, ancient weapons and tapestries, or wandering the extensive manicured grounds. Not long after the war, it fell to ruin. The Last Emperor was dead and buried, and the opulent grandeur of the marble palace seemed to spit in the face of every peasant in Enbarr. So it was ransacked. Priceless artifacts were stolen, banners and tapestries set ablaze, stone and metal smashed just to let out the anger at those selfish rulers.

Byleth saved what she could at the time. It would be centuries later that she would set foot in the palace again, this time as a generous donor of a large collection of historic artifacts and paintings to the new National Museum. Now the Palace was a gift back to the people of Adrestia, having been restored to its former glory and many of its treasures brought back through gifts and expensive purchases. It would be free to enter, operating by donation and a healthy sum of money granted by the government. And suddenly it was no longer a dark and gloomy ruin sitting on a hill, looming over Enbarr like its shadowy history. It became a point of pride, a place that showed off exactly how powerful Adrestia had once been, and how anyone could see it with ease.

The Old Empire was dead, but this new Palace represented the heart of the New.

The next couple centuries passed for Byleth in a blur. She lived all over Fodlan, each life bringing a new job, a new home, new friends. She had long gotten over the strangeness of immortality. Moving onto a new life was easy for her now, though some things still hurt her un-beating heart. She had friends, but was never truly close to anyone. The odd romance had sprung up from time to time, but they never lasted.

She couldn’t bear to weather another heartbreak like her first.

She would occasionally visit the Imperial Palace sometimes, once or twice in a lifetime. It became easier to do as the world modernized. Travel to such a large and important city like Enbarr had aways been prioritized. But she could never have fathomed to the extent.

The first time she took the train right into the heart of the city was exhilarating.

Enbarr was one of the first cities to install streetcars, making transit much more accessible for everyone.

Then came cars, making travel within the city even easier.

And then there were airplanes. To think, humanity could create something so big and so heavy but able to carry so many people and bags across the whole continent in a mere couple of hours! All without magic, at that.

She never thought she’d find herself living in Enbarr until it just...happened. A couple of years ago, she relocated to start anew once again, and like some kind of twist of fate, ended up as a tour guide for the museum. And she built herself such a stellar reputation as a well-researched academic of the place, she was promoted to curator in no time.

And she was happy, for the most part.

She got to her office and pulled out her laptop from her bag. She sat down at her desk, glancing briefly out at the beautiful view of the fountains sparkling in the sun, before getting to work.

Several hours later, and it was time to go home. But before she did, there was something she had to do, first.

It was the anniversary. A date no one celebrated, but also one only historians knew or cared about. It happened so, so long ago now, and though a pivotal moment in Fodlan’s history, it had so little impact on modern society that no one was ever really aware of it. To everyone else, it was just a date on a calendar.

To Byleth, it was the worst day of her life.

The Throne Room was one of the Palace’s most renowned locations. It had been largely kept preserved as it was, its massive grandeur shown off in its original glory. Obviously some things had been done - the tapestries and banners needed to be replaced, electric lighting had been installed to better illuminate the cavernous space, and the intricate marble floor needed constant restoration work.

But there was one thing that had been added to the space that never was there before. It was a strange thing, something so small and simple, sitting alone in the centre of the floor, before the throne.

A candle, burning with an enchanted flame that would never extinguish.

The museum was closed, so the hall was empty when Byleth arrived. And that solitary candle was alone in the vast, looming space.

Byleth stood before that candle. The floor under it was clean, reflecting the small flame in the multicoloured tiles. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, there was a pool of blood there instead. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Byleth fell to her knees after pitching her bloody sword as far away from her as possible. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, she held onto the body of a woman she had once loved, still loved, until it had long gone cold and Byleth had cried until she physically couldn’t anymore. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Byleth realized she had made a terrible mistake there was no going back on.

Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, last of her name and warmongering tyrant, was killed by the saviour of Fodlan, the Enlightened One.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth whispered to the candle, “I wish things had been different. I wish I could have saved you.”

Every year since she started working at the Palace, Byleth would visit the candle on this day and make the same wish. Sothis was long gone, having been merged with Byleth for centuries. And yet even with the divine power of the Goddess mixed with her blood, there was nothing Byleth could do to make that wish come true.

But then the lights flickered. Odd. There must have been a power surge somewhere...

They flickered again, then shut off completely, plunging the Throne Room into darkness. Only the minimal light from its ancient windows and that solitary candle chased away the darkest shadows.

And then all hell broke loose.

There’s a flash and the world seems to spin on its axis. The candle at her feet is blown out by a strong gust of wind. And as Byleth recovers from the initial shock, she practically falls over when something even more insane registers before her.

It’s the Emperor, on her knees, breathing heavy and body battle-worn. Just like she looked when…

Through her heavy breaths, Edelgard pants, “There you go, again…my teacher… Hesitating…”

She looks up, finally, to see a completely different Byleth standing before her. No Sword of the Creator, shorter, styled hair, strange-looking clothes. And completely dumbfounded.

“Professor… What’s going on?”

#fe three houses #fanfic #ss/modern!au #a world without gods

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spacecadet-rens-writingcorner · 3 years

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First Lines Meme (repost dont reblog)

List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagged by @lokiitama, and posted in order of latest updated to oldest updated

1. Double Standards - Voltron Ledgendary Defenders {Shklance}

• My mouth had gotten me in trouble yet again... this time it was intentional because I knew if I was even a minute late that the appointment would most likely leave without giving my dad a single penny.

(I skipped the prologue which was: Keith Kogane was an only child... not because his father didn't want more kids, a little army of Kogane kids was the dream of the man.)

2. First (Offical) Pack Christmas - Teen Wolf {Sterek}

• Lydia Martin is the queen of parties, she had been since they were still in High School.

3. Remember That Night? - Teen Wolf {Sterek}

• “I’m leaving, I’m not safe to be around you. I love you, Stiles,” Derek had said.

4. Sometimes, Things Change - Voltron Legendary Defenders {Klance}

• Within the week Lance would be turning twenty, true to his past birthdays he made a whole week of it.

5. Cramps are the Actual Worse - Voltron Legendary Defenders {Shatt/Miro}

• Matt was lying on his bed, he was in so much pain due to his monthly coming a little early.

6. Pavlove - Gotham (TV Series) {Nygmobblepot}

• The memories clawed at my chest begging me to let them go. I needed relief.

7. No Control - Gotham (TV Series) {Nygmobblepot}

• My words were suffocating me that night as I couldn't sleep.

8. The Vacation of the Lifetime - Gotham (TV Series) {Nygmobblepot}

• Edward Nygma along with his partner Oswald Cobblepot had gone on a trip together, they decided it was time to leave Gotham and see more of the world that they were pleased to call their home.

9. The Baby - The Infernal Devices {Heronstairs}

• I was only sixteen and merely two months along when I found out, I was pregnant and there was no escaping it.

10. Rustic - Supernatural {Sabriel}

• It started with a nice, semi-innocent chat, well as innocent as it could get with Sam and Gabe; the shorter was clearly a little annoyed with the way this was going; it wasn't exactly going his way, and he didn't like that.

11. The Way it Goes - Voltron Legendary Defenders {Shatt/Miro}

• I was laying in our shared bed, next to my significant other, Shiro.

12. Delusions - Gotham (TV Series) {Nygmobblepot}

• Oswald was sitting across from Lee Tompkins talking to her about Edward and his peculiar actions as of late.

13. True Emotions - The Infernal Devices {Herongreystairs)

• I sat in the library staring at the black text across the tanning paper.

14. I Shouldn’t - Supernatural {Destiel}

• Dean was fifteen and his little brother Sammy was eleven, he was old enough to care for himself and he assured Dean of that.

15. Please Don’t Go - Voltron Legendary Defenders {Klance}

• "Keith," I cried out and clutched his chest watching his deep purple eyes flutter shut.

So I only had 15 up and I am super thankful for that because I couldn’t imagine trying to do that with 20.

It seems like in the opening line I immediately start setting up for the plot or something big happening. I tend to jump straight into “let’s get this going.”

My favorite would have to be either Pavlove because of the imagery and descriptions or Please Don’t Go because I enjoyed the change of using dialogue for the opening and it’s the only one I seem to have like that.

Tags: @ash-mcj @tails89 @ebhenah @nutellarghh anyone else

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topimagines · 4 years

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Tip Toes

Summary: I’m on my tip toes, trying to see past my ego. Reaching for something more than this feeling of being important. Leaving my heart behind is bleeding, but my pride is screaming. My future will listen to me, listen to me.

Warning: I wanted to write angst, but this came out. IDK how to label it. Listen to tip toes by half alive while reading. issa long one

Y/n had not dated much. Actually, she did not start looking for a relationship until her freshman year of college. By then there weren’t many people she talked to and considered a friend; therefore, the idea of dating someone, being close to someone that was not her friend, did not pique her interest. Around the time she met Brendon and Sarah, she had lost all hope in a romantic relationship. It almost seemed too good to be true, a truly happy relationship seemed unattainable.

This feeling came in waves, making her feel nauseous like she was on a boat in a hurricane. It became truly difficult to accept a happy reality that ended in kids of her own and a husband or wife, but she knew it was just about impossible. Her best friends were a married couple and a gay man (who was also in a happy relationship), they always rooted for her. But they didn’t understand, she was a twenty-something-year-old who had no idea how to even kiss someone. Everyone always told her (especially her friends) that it was admirable that she held out for so long like she was waiting for the right person or something.

In other words, y/n would describe herself as the biggest virgin on earth, and it genuinely was from a lack of trying.

It almost felt as if her own future didn’t belong to her.

Some days were better than others, just like the day Sarah asked her to come to hang out at her house. y/n had just gotten done with finals, so she had basically a month of sitting around and waiting for the Spring semester to finally start. Sarah and Brendon cuddled on the couch, y/n on the chair in the corner of the room actually watching the movie and trying to not pay attention to the couple that was no doubt finger banging each other under the blanket they shared.

“I think I should go,” y/n said, “I have to work in the morning so I can’t stay up too late.” She stretched her arms and legs when she got up from the chair. Sarah seemed to be frightened out of a daze when she looked up at her friend.

“Oh, okay!” Sarah chirped, pushing Brendon away from her, “Do you want me to walk you out?”

y/n shook her head, “no thanks, I’m fine.”

“Well… I’ll see you later?” Sarah asked. Y/n didn’t really want to. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hanging out with them, they always made her feel lonely. And sad. But mostly lonely.

“I don’t know, I have a busy week at the hospital; I will text you when I get time,” y/n said before bidding the couple goodbye and leaving the house.

Sarah looked at her husband, who had gotten entranced by the movie in the five minutes since he was trying to sneak his hand into her pants. “You are such an idiot.”

“What did I do?”

Y/n got home that night very confused about her feelings. Her brain was spiraling out of control with delusions of being married and having someone who would dote on her the same way Brendon did Sarah. At the same time, she never really paid attention to them behind the scenes, so maybe they’re dysfunctional and she never saw it.

That didn’t make sense, if she knew one thing about the couple, it was that they talked about everything. And Sarah told her everything, every fight they had, Sarah would go to y/n’s apartment and sit until Brendon sulked his way over.

Every time she thought about the couple, she got a weird sensation of butterflies in her stomach.

No, she thought, I am not developing a stupid crush just because I’m sad and lonely.

That night she couldn’t sleep; it didn’t help that she knew she did have work in the morning and the hospital was unforgiving when the lab techs were late. By the time she finally stopped swimming in her thoughts, she had dreams of her friends, holding her hand and kissing her on the forehead.

It was 6 AM before she knew it, and she had to get up and get ready for work.

Hopefully, tea would help wake her up before she got to work and did a piss poor job.

Y/n had never been more appreciative of the hospital. She had fond memories of staying there, almost dying, meeting so many different doctors that she just didn’t have it in her to leave.

Sarcasm, that was the key to understanding her outlook on life. Constant use of sarcasm.

But she would be lying if she said that today, and every day for the past week, she was so glad they had a week full of emergencies and a trip planned for a conference with Lab Technologists across the country. This trip would take her to Boston and all she could think of was the idea of seeing every museum she could for one full week and going to a conference full of people who had a thorough understanding of microbiology and hematology. It was almost enough to make her come in her jeans.

What she did not appreciate, was Brendon coming to visit her while she was supposed to be working. She had just gotten a lab sample to test for any drug she could when Brendon waltzed in with In N Out in his hand. He greeted her with a hug and handed her the bag.

“Sarah is at work,” he sighed, “she doesn’t get a lunch today because she’s busy or something, so I thought I’d visit my bestie.” She was too distracted to notice what he was saying. Brendon tried to call her name, the third time she snapped.

“What do you want?” she half yelled, looking away from her specimen.

Brendon looked taken aback; he didn’t even know how to reply when he has never seen her so angry before. Her coworker, a younger man by the name of Jeremy Ren, looked up from his microscope and stepped over to her area.

“L/n, you go take your lunch break, I’ll take care of this shotgun,” he took the test tubes and brought them back to his microscope with him, still eyeing the two.

She scoffed and stomped out, ditching her lab coat at the door. She led Brendon to the hospital cafeteria and sat down with him in the corner.

“What’s wrong? You usually aren’t so…” Brendon trailed off, “Are you still being overworked? Have you talked to your boss about time off?”

Y/n shook her head, “I’m just… fine, I’m fine.” Internally, she cringed. If she talked to him about it, maybe she could resolve the war she had inevitably put herself into.

But the idea of not telling him anything was far more appealing. Nothing had to change.

“Are you sure? You look tired, have you been sleeping?” He reached over and grabbed her hand, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

God, Brendon, she thought, Stop being so caring, it’s not helping my situation. She pulled her hand away and tucked it under her pants. This couldn’t happen. She did everything she could to give herself a reason not to develop a stupid crush on the man in front of her. She could only come up with two.

1. He’s married to her best friend

2. He definitely wouldn’t see her the same way

Number two made her heart bleed. Not literally, she knew the severity of an actual bleeding heart, she worked in a hospital for Christ’s sake. But if she were to imagine the pain, this would be it.

“I’m just… excited for this trip to Boston next week,” she confessed. It wasn’t a lie by any means, she stayed up all night a month ago when she heard she was going on the trip, planning what she wanted to pack. This didn’t change the stare he had on the table where her hand used to be, and his hand still sat.

“Oh, that is coming up, isn’t it?” he put a smile on his face, trying to quickly recover from whatever feeling he felt. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit off today. We haven’t seen you all week, we miss you at the house.”

She frowned. There was an impulsive need in her to put her hand back and comfort him. But she knew she shouldn’t do it because she knew it would only make her feel worse.

“I’ve been busy with work, had a lot of emergencies and stuff,” she explained, “I’m free this weekend, I’ll try to come over before I leave for the airport on Sunday.” That was not what she wanted to say, why did she say that?

��Sounds like a plan!” he seemed happy with that suggestion though, so maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about. “How has your week been, then? What kinda emergencies did you get?”

She and Brendon talked for a while, she told him about the guy who came in with necrotic tissue on his arm from heroin, and he told her about his charity live stream and how proud he was of everyone who donated.

Watching him so happy as he explained what happened, she felt herself swooning. They sat in silence for a few moments after he finished speaking, both focused on eating their food. One of the surgical nurses walked passed them with a smile on her face.

“Y/n, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” Brendon smirked and opened his mouth to explain that they weren’t a couple, but the nurse continued on, “you’re always going on about how lonely you are! It’s nice to see you’re finally getting out there.” Y/n’s eyes were wide, and a blush crept across her cheeks.

“Uh… thank you, Andrea,” she said with a shaky voice.

“So proud of you, my dear,” Andrea smiled brightly t the two before she walked away, bidding them goodbye.

“You’re lonely?” Brendon asked when Andrea was out of earshot.

y/n couldn’t speak as she stared at her fries, the only response she gave was a small nod.

“Why are you lonely? You never date… or expressed a desire… to date.” Damn you, Sarah, she thought, that was supposed to be a secret.

“well… lately, it’s been a bit different,” she sighed, “I’m almost 30, I’ve never been on a real date or…. Done anything, really. I thought I’d at least have a boyfriend by now.” That was easier to get off her chest than she thought.

“You’ve never done anything? Not even like… a kiss?” Brendon knew he was badgering her now, but this was so unbelievable to him. She was so smart and beautiful; how could anyone look passed her?

She shook her head, eyes still on the fries that were no longer steamy, “Can we drop it please?”

Brendon took in the shakiness to her tone and decided to drop it like she asked. This topic would definitely come up later with Sarah, though. He had so many more questions.

When they parted ways after lunch, Brendon couldn’t hold back a smile as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. She blushed harder than she had at lunch when she said bye to him. No one, besides her parents and grandparents, had ever kissed her on the cheek.

She kind of liked it.

Sarah told Brendon everything he wanted to know. She didn’t know why, at first, but he explained what happened during lunch.

“But you can’t badger her or make her feel bad,” Sarah emphasized, “She always felt self-conscious about it, even after we became friends.” Brendon understood, even though he never had to deal with stuff like that. He had lost his virginity early on, and everything just came naturally after that.

“I would never.”

“So, what’s with you never dating anyone?” He had promised not to pry, but now it was late at night in y/n’s apartment and he had more than a few drinks in his system. Sue him, he wanted to hang out and she brought out the wine.

“I just… don’t do it?” y/n had a few drinks in her too, the wine was making her feel like being truthful. If she were sober, she wouldn’t be telling hi anything, but maybe she needed to get it off her chest? Drunk y/n thought so, anyway. “I didn’t get my first boyfriend until my freshman year of college, and before that, I only had minor flings with girls from my school. I don’t know, dating always makes me anxious.”

“And you’ve never done anything?” He knew her answer already. This was beginning to get repetitive and even drunk y/n was fed up with it.

“Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because it’s… it’s so rare! You’re like a unicorn!” he laughed at his comparison. She shook her head, she felt kind of offended, but she knew what he was saying. He hadn’t meant it to be an insult at all, he was kind of proud of her, even with pressures that a woman date and be married by her age, she didn’t feel that. She was unabashedly herself.

He didn’t know what came over him when he opened his mouth next, “I mean, I can always help you.”

y/n looked into his eyes, and she swore that if she were a meme, she would have question marks floating around her head. “What?”

“I mean if you ever want your first kiss… or something else… I can always help you,” he didn’t know why he was saying it, but he couldn’t help but offer. The offer was outlandish, yes, but he knew Sarah would be alright with it. She had mentioned before how much she liked y/n, in a more than platonic way.

Before this whole topic came up, Brendon was planning on asking her to be their third, if she wanted to be. However, she told him she hadn’t dated someone very seriously.

“But… wh- h- Sarah?” y/n was blushing, her face and ears were bright red. This was not how she expected this to go.

“She would want to do the same thing, she has a thing for you,” drunk Brendon was an honest Brendon, apparently, “was gonna ask you if you wanted to go on a date with us the other day but obviously I didn’t.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. Like, of course, he had to do this when she was drunk and couldn’t very well keep her thoughts to herself.

“Um…. Are you asking me now if I want to go on a date with you and Sarah?” y/n asked.

“Well, that wasn’t my first question,” Brendon leaned closer, and cupped her face with his left hand, “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” He continued leaning in, slowly but surely. He waited for her to protest; when she didn’t say anything, he finally connected their lips. If he were to compare all of his other kisses to the one right then, she wouldn’t be the worst. She was inexperienced, but her lips were soft and tasted like peppermint from her seasonal chapstick.

When she pulled away, he almost chased after her.

For the rest of the night, he explained the logistics of kissing, and eventually, they both fell asleep on the couch after he went on the the longest tangent on what kind of guitar he would get now that his “cream dream" was gone.

She left for Boston after saying goodbye to Brendon or Sarah. She had also talked to Robert (her other best friend) the day before the trip; he yelled at her for not telling him right away about everything that had been happening. To be genuinely honest, she needed this vacation after her night with Brendon.

It was a relief when Brendon left in the morning after they had kissed. The memory of her first kiss still burned in the back of her mind, but she didn’t want to focus on that. Right now, it was her time to relax.

That was until Brendon texted her asking what hotel she was at. She told him, just assuming he wanted to make sure she got there safe. Why would she think anything else?

She should have thought of something else. Now she was sitting in her room, scrolling through the TV when she heard the knock at the door.

He didn’t, she thought, please tell me he didn’t.

She opened the door and saw the couple standing in front of her with giant smiles on their faces.

He did.

“what are you doing here?” she said instead of greeting them.

Sarah let herself in, “we wanted to surprise you! You’ve wanted this vacation for a while, and we thought you’d want company!”

She really didn’t want company, but she put a smile on her face anyway.

After spending the whole week with Brendon and Sarah, y/n was exhausted. She only got a real break from the two when she was at the conference. They had both wished her luck that morning and went back to giggling under the blankets of their shared bed.

Now she was back in Los Angeles, and she was so fucking happy to go back to normal.

However, they didn’t necessarily go back to normal. Brendon spent a lot more time at her apartment than he used to. He started to initiate cuddling, press kisses to her cheek and hairline, and hugging her more than he used to. She started to see more of Sarah, as well. She did it more subtly. She bought y/n drinks and take her to fancy restaurants, surprises her with jewelry and takes her shopping, anything really.

All y/n wanted was for one of them to say something.

And when she least expected it, Brendon did.

“Have you ever wanted to lose your virginity?” Brendon asked during a movie one day. y/n shrugged, she couldn’t say she was surprised, she knew he would ask eventually.

“I guess,” she sighed, “its just not something I really let myself think about. I never thought anyone would… y’ know, want to. And I’m 28, no one wants to date a virgin at my age.”

“Don’t say that,” he took her hand in his. Recently, it had been his sign of comfort to lace his fingers with hers and rub his thumb along the back, “I already told you, me and Sarah love you…”

y/n couldn’t look up at him, she only stared at her fingers. She didn’t say anything, either.

“you never answered, you know,” he whispered, “let us take you on one date. A fancy restaurant, or a movie, whatever makes you least anxious.”

y/n shook her head. The feeling of drowning, even before saying yes, was obvious. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and had to remind herself how to focus on the feeling of his hand in hers.

“or, we can keep it low key, not label it… just the three of us?”

“um… okay..” y/n thought, “no labeling, just… just us. Let’s go see the new Jumanji.”

“That sounds perfect,” Brendon smiled down at y/n.

Maybe her future did belong to her.

#brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie x reader #sarah urie x reader #sarah urie imagine

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