#which i promptly took and USED FOR TWENTY YEARS

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

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'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

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#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #matthew grey gubler x reader

[meiieiri]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: in every other universe and lifetime he has yet to lead, megumi will always cherish the painfully brief time he felt the warmth of a proper family and would have gladly referred to himself as the son of the strongest.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader | song inspo: chemtrails over the country club, scott street | visuals: megumi’s jacket

warnings: angst-ish, canon-compliant violence (mostly caused by our pookie wookie megumi who doesn’t tolerate scumbag bullies), mentions of bullying, and possible (bc i’m delulu) character death. | a/n: i just want megumi to have one last moment with his dad please, gege, i’m on my knees here. also hehe, get the title? ya’ll get it? someone please shove that arctic-haired freak to the NORTH! 🥹

Nobara Kugisaki is the classic definition of an Instagram girlie with a passion for fashion.

Honestly, she could appropriately appraise clothes without a second glance, and she could differentiate big fashion brands just by the fabric and silhouette alone even without a brand logo.

It happened on a Monday afternoon while she and Yuji were having a quick coffee in the lounge. Yuji is currently playing one of his Nintendo Switch MMORPG games that he bought from the mall last Saturday while Nobara was scrolling through her phone, swiping left as she watches her mutuals’ Instagram stories. The trio is incomplete today since Megumi mentioned he’ll be running some errands with you and Satoru today.

After positively getting envious of Mei Mei’s supposed extravagant shopping trip in Ginza today, Kugisaki promptly mutes any stories from her for a full twenty four hours. Then, as she swipes left yet again, she nearly drops her phone on the ground which would pretty much set her off on a rampage because she just got its LCD screen fixed. But luckily, she holds onto it.

“Fushiguro has an Instagram account?!”

Yuji himself hits pause on the game he’s playing and leans over the table to see what Kugisaki is talking about. No way. Fushiguro? That sulky, couldn’t-be-bothered-to-care-but-I-actually-do-care embodiment of teenage angst having an Instagram handle? What would he even post on there?

Their questions are answered as Fushiguro’s feed pops up, and it’s filled with his pictures, but that’s not the issue. The two dunderheads didn’t seem to mind that in every photo, Megumi looked like a magazine cover boy, what caught their attention is the apparel he’s wearing.

“What the hell?! He’s wearing Arc’teryx?” Kugisaki couldn’t believe it. She zooms in on the candid shot of Megumi in what looks to be a ski resort and an audible gasp escapes her throat. No way. No frigging way. She does a quick image search and sure enough, she is redirected to Arc’teryx’s official website. See? Kugisaki never misses when it comes to fashion.

Yuji’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees the price tag. “One thousand five hundred US dollars?!”

“And look at this! He’s literally tagged in Gojo and Y/N-sensei’s stories.”

Sure enough, the first they see is Satoru’s story which has a video of you picking out new clothes from the rack for Megumi to try on in the fitting room. You looked so cute and teeny tiny next to the teenager and Kugisaki giggles at the thought you walking around with two literal giants in the mall, one of them being your ward and the other, your arctic-haired husband of three years.

“There’s another one!” Itadori says excitedly. The next is a story you took, it’s a photo of Megumi and Gojo, their backs turned and their hands fully occupied by shopping bags, seemingly unaware of the camera. In the photo, they’re checking out new sneakers in Onitsuka Tiger’s storefront window. In a flash, Kugisaki switches off her phone, and immediately begins to head out the door. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Nobara knows that particular galleria, it should be in Tokyo Midtown. “Out, maybe I could borrow Gojo-sensei’s or Y/N-sensei’s credit card!”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along?”

Gojo chuckles under his breath. It’s honestly amusing how you won’t normally ask that, given his newfound title as the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of this generation. A skirmish with a grade two cursed spirit? Pfft. That’s practically child’s play to your white-haired boyfriend. A rogue grade one cursed spirit that turned out to be a special grade? Maybe you’ll sneak some bandages in his bag just in case. Bottom line is you wholeheartedly trust Satoru will always make it out of a mission in one piece.

But here you were seemingly more tense than usual which is incomprehensible because today’s hardly dangerous mission is simple.

Track down the son of Toji Fushiguro.

“I think I got it, babe.” Satoru leans his head in through the rolled down car window to plant a kiss on your forehead. He pats your cheek lovingly, setting off in the direction of the house after taking one last confirmatory look at the address written down in the file sheet. “Well, let’s hope he’s nothing like his dad. Promise you’ll check on me if I don’t come back in an hour?” he teases.

You lightly slap his wrist. Sometimes you wonder how you fell in love with this literal man-child. He’s just so insufferable. Gorgeous in every way but insufferable all the same. “I’m pretty sure a six-year-old boy isn’t gonna try to murder you. If he does, let the record show that I sympathize with him completely.”

“You meanie!”

Sticking his tongue out at you when you blow him a kiss, he disappears into the small street adjacent to the neighborhood’s main road. Coming here, Satoru was uncharacteristically nervous. At the rest stop earlier, you watched the scene tensely from the convenience store window. For once, the obnoxiously loud sorcerer was quiet, hands in his uniform pockets, his cerulean orbs trained on the pavement, his foot kicking the asphalt pebbles on the ground, deep in thought.

To be honest, he had no obligation to make the journey here even if this entire affair was born from Toji Fushiguro’s final words that sounded almost like a desperate plea. “In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do whatever you will with that.” Satoru doesn’t know why — he’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to his interpersonal relationship skills so he could be wrong about this — but those twenty one words sounded more like four simple words: “Please save my son.”

And so, in a matter of only thirty minutes, you spot Satoru from afar, his hand protectively around his would have been assassin’s six-year-old son as they walk back to the car. Looks like the little boy had made his choice.

And you could see with the way Satoru protectively held Megumi back from crossing the street on a green light that he has also made his choice. Just thirty minutes ago, you were bantering with the version of Satoru that would be reluctant to go out of his way to help someone, now, you were face to face with someone new, someone who has been changed almost in a blink of an eye.

Stepping out of the car, you make your way towards the pair, a faint smile on your lips at the sight of Megumi’s tiny backpack slung over Satoru’s shoulder. Your boyfriend gently nudges Megumi over in your direction, introducing him and you crouch down to meet the little boy’s hesitant eyes. “Hi there, Megumi.” Your voice is as carefully gentle as a psalm, you didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hello.”

“Ice cold,” Satoru whistles, ruffling Megumi’s hair. But you figured that would be the case. A quiet breath of laughter comes from Satoru when you smile endearingly at the kid’s curtness.

As the three of you settle into the backseat, you and Satoru share a fond look when Megumi who has acted all guarded and silent the entire ride home from Chiba begins to drift off to sleep, his arms hugging his backpack but he was dangerously teetering off the seat, so Satoru gently picks him up, allowing him to lay his tiny head on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna stick around with us for a long time, huh?” you whispered, rubbing Megumi’s back as he slept soundly in Satoru’s arms, the three of yu blissfully unaware of just how much your life has changed. You came to Chiba and there was only you and Satoru, now, you were three. And though you know Satoru doesn’t intend to step in as a guardian, you could tell he was slowly settling into the inevitability of that fact. This boy needed a new start, a home, and people to guide him as he grew.

“…Yeah, he will,” Satoru answers, his eyes filled with wonder himself. Earlier when he first met Megumi, he told him to become strong enough to keep up with him.

But for now, maybe this was enough.

For the most part, Megumi is a good kid.

He diligently helps you with the housework without needing to be told twice the same way he diligently trains under Gojo’s tutelage. He studies hard despite only being in primary school, and he’s well-mannered in every way…at least to you, the kid won’t pass up the opportunity to scowl and call Satoru a lanky freak when he’s being pestered by him.

Because he’s so young to be sleeping in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dormitories, you and Satoru settled into the idea of renting an apartment near the campus premises. Since you and Satoru are eighteen years old now, it was high time that the two of you start growing into your roles as functional adults which means leasing an apartment, paying the bills, growing your careers and taking your relationship to the next level.

Of course, you and Satoru both piled in cash when it comes to raising Megumi. Satoru mostly shouldered rent, monthly utilities and Megumi’s tuition, being a rich guy like him, those were practically small beans to him. You, on the other hand, shouldered the groceries, Megumi’s clothes and other needs.

One day, while on your way to pick up Megumi, you pass by the trendy Daikanyama district due to a road closure leading to the Ebisu district where Megumi’s primary school is. The inconvenience is nothing short of serendipitous as you and your boyfriend really did need a quick breather and some time for yourselves.

“I feel like I’m gonna turn into a wine dad very soon. Who would have known enrolling a kid would be that tough?” Satoru huffs, his hand protectively around your waist as you walked past boutique after boutique. “Like how am I supposed to know what his blood type is for the school clinic record?”

You hummed, sneakily stealing a kiss from him to which he responds to by pulling you closer, and pretending to bite off your ear. “For all the school knew, Megumi is ours. That would explain why they felt a little icky towards us when they saw how young we are back in that parent-teacher meeting.”

“Mmph, fair point. A cute son will come from a handsome father after all—“

“—Oh please. You’re okay at best.”

“You didn’t say that last night when I had you all folde—“

“—Please do not finish that sentence in public.”

Digressing, Satoru sighs, planting a contrite kiss on your warm cheek as the two of you leisurely walk down the picturesque lane of Tokyo’s very own version of Soho. Once you reach the main road, a certain outerwear apparel store catches your eye. You stop in front of the store window, looking curiously at the displayed winter items. “Megumi’s birthday is coming up soon, no? We should get him something nice.”

“Hmm? Oh right, the 22nd is coming up,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, leading you inside the store. There, the two of you split up to look for a nice gift for Megumi. There, he is approached by a staff member who asks if he’s looking for anything in particular. Satoru clears his throat, nodding. “I’m looking to buy a gift for my son.”

Somehow, you heard that from across the store and you shoot Satoru an amused look when he refers to Megumi as ‘his son’.

“Right, and how old might he be? We have a batch of new arrivals that came in today. They’re perfect for kids aged four and above.” At that, you rejoin Satoru and the sales staff leads you to check out the items at the front of the store. You and Satoru sort through the rack and find one that the two of you agree on: a fleece two-toned gravel winter jacket.

After paying for it, the two of you rush to get to Ebisu elementary school. Making your way to the gate, Megumi instantly spots you and Satoru, the latter being very difficult to miss since he pretty much towered over everyone else.

“Hi, kid, d’you have fun today?” you crouch down to give Megumi a hug. Between you and Satoru, you were the more clingy one towards Megumi, there’s hardly any hesitation in your heart when you pull him in for a warm embrace or carry him in your arms. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind one bit, but if Satoru did any of the those things to him, he’ll probably headbut him.

“It was fine,” Megumi says shyly once you pull away. “Oh and I got a hundred on the math homework you helped me with.”

“You did?” you smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi.” Satoru smiles, going to ruffle Megumi’s hair only for the little boy to duck away from his hand and hide behind you.

Chuckling at the kid’s antics, Satoru concedes, putting up his free hand in surrender while his other one held onto the gift bag you got. Megumi reads the name of the store: “The North Face”. Following Megumi’s gaze, Satoru grins, handing Megumi the bag. “Here, we got you something. Call it an advanced birthday gift.”

Megumi’s expression screamed: “You didn’t have to.” but you don’t miss the look of surprise and gratitude that shined through his features. You gently nudge him to open it and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees the gift you got him — the first gift he’s ever received.

“Happy birthday, Megumi,” you and Satoru greet the little boy, with Satoru helping Megumi to try it on.

That was the first time Megumi initiated a heartfelt hug and the first time he ever included Satoru, his little arms trying their hardest to include the two of you, so you decide to help him out, and your and Satoru’s arms engulf the little one.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m headed there now. Alright, see you soon. I love you.”

Everything happened so quickly. One minute you were in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s teacher lounge organizing the first years’ missions for the next few days when you receive a call from Ebisu elementary school, informing you that Megumi got into a horrible fight and was now in the school clinic ready to be picked up, the next you were dashing out the door hurrying over to the school with your heart pounding in your chest.

There, you are the quintessential picture of a frazzled mother looking for her son in the school clinic.

“Y/N!”

“Megumi,” you breathed, your eyebrows knitting together in worry. Gathering him into your arms, you sit on the tiny hospital bed. “What happened? They said you got into a fight? And where’s your jacket?” He was wearing the jacket you got for him this morning when you and Satoru dropped him off, actually, he’s been wearing it a lot, indicating it’s one of, if not his favorite jacket.

Before Megumi could even speak, it looks like the kid that he got into a tussle with had already tattled on him to his mother and now said mother is furiously berating you and Megumi, not caring if anyone else in the clinic could overhear the scandalous remarks she’s throwing your way.

“I want full disciplinary action against this boy!” the middle aged woman all but screeches to the school’s principal, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi who doesn’t flinch but you hear him sniffle. He’s never been yelled at like that before.

“Ma’am, please, let’s settle this like two rational adults—“

“—Oh I will, I can’t say the same about you! Are you not the least bit ashamed that you couldn’t teach your son good morals?” She then theatrically goes to place her hands on her son’s shoulders. And you have to be honest, with that bruised lip of his alongside his bleeding nose, Megumi had done some serious damage to the boy.

“I — Megumi is a good kid, not once, have we ever seen him hit someone for no reason—“

“—So you’re saying it’s my son’s fault yours is emotionally unstable? This boy doesn’t need a good talking to, what he needs is psychological intervention!”

“Alright, can everyone just please calm down?” The principal, too, seems visibly uncomfortable with the vile words the other parent was spewing at you like machine gun fire. “We’re all here to fix the problem, not make it worse.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you could tell this conversation has reached an impasse. Clearly, there’s no way you could reach a mutual understanding of what should be done to resolve the issue.

The older woman looks at you in disdain, grumbling under her breath at the humiliation of being scolded, “What should I even expect from an irresponsible woman who got knocked up before she was even an adult?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife or my son that way.”

Megumi looks up, tears in his eyes when Satoru strides in, his normally shining blue eyes dark with a fury that cannot be quelled. You can’t even feel the butterflies that went wild in your stomach when he accidentally referred to you as ‘his wife’ without so much as a stutter because you’re honestly this close to chewing the vile woman out. It didn’t matter if she insulted you, but if she does so much as insult and make your boy cry, you and Satoru will give the weasel a matching patch on her scalp where there should have been hair had you not ripped it out.

But now was not the time to prove her right.

People have always judged you and Satoru for being acting parents at such a young age, often giving you rude stares when you’re out and about doing the most menial of things like shopping at the supermarket or spending some time in the kōen, people found your current situation disgusting, borderline immoral, which is why you initially had trouble looking for an elementary school that would properly entertain you, Satoru and Megumi and not dismiss you three as a bunch of kids playing house.

“Satoru…” you rub your boyfriend’s arm soothingly.

“Babe, she insulted you and ‘Gumi,” Satoru whispers sadly. “I can’t just let her do that.”

All of a sudden, Megumi’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. “Daisuke was being mean. He ruined Hana-chan’s project and made her cry.” At that, the kid named Daisuke bites his lip, his skin turning pallid at the revelation. “And when I told him to apologize, he and Kaito…” Megumi whimpers, trailing off. He averts his gaze from your and Satoru’s, feeling guilty.

And right then and there, the story becomes even clearer when an unexpected witness comes to Megumi’s defense.

“Megumi-kun? We found your jacket, it’s not too damaged, but you may want to have your mama and papa wash it when you get home.” The school nurse walks in and hands you the ruined jacket, it had been cut all over but since it’s fleece, the damage isn’t too bad, not only that, it had crayon marks all over it and it smelled of the dumpster.

“…Daisuke and Kaito ruined my jacket and I punched him,” Megumi sniffles. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for punching Daisuke, that much you could tell, he was apologizing to you and Gojo for supposedly not taking care of the gift you two got him just last week.

The vile mother scoffs at your son’s apology. “Save your breath, you little liar—“

“—He wasn’t talking to you,” Satoru glares at the woman, effectively shutting her up. “Come on, we’re going home.” With that, Satoru, being careful with him given his sprained wrist, carries Megumi out the clinic. You offer the principal a polite nod, indicating that you’ll cooperate with any sanction she seems fit for Megumi, Kaito and Daisuke, before following Satoru and Megumi to the parking lot. A melancholic smile appears on your lips when you hear Satoru reassuring Megumi that you’ll just wash and mend the jacket once you get home to which, Megumi only buries his face in the crook of his father figure’s neck.

If there is one good thing that happened today, it’s the fact that you proved to yourself and to each other that, no one in this world is allowed to hurt or insult your family.

Satoru wakes up to an empty bed and he doesn’t pretend to wonder where you are. He stays like that for a full minute, simply staring at the ceiling while your side of the bed slowly loses its warmth. He knows you’re hurting, and he knows just how much this entire ordeal has taken from you. First, you had to deal with him being sealed in the Prison Realm, now this…

You really just couldn’t catch a break, could you?

Slowly, Satoru gets up and pads across the hallway, entering a painfully familiar room. The owner of the room has only since recently moved out, but for ten years, this room is one he normally frequented with you, whether it be on Christmas mornings to greet the little prince that occupied such a special place in your heart or on nights when the three of you just simply needed to hold each other, searching for comfort, while you slept.

The door creaks open and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears, his heart plagued by the same emotional turmoil that was haunting you day in and day out. “I just want our boy to come home…I want our son back,” you cried as you held the jacket Megumi had outgrown, the same one he wore almost everyday that winter when he first came to live with you and Satoru.

Instantly, Satoru sits next to you on Megumi’s bed, hushing your cries, kissing away each agonizing tear that slipped from the confines of your sorrowful orbs.

“He must be so scared,” you sniffled, picturing Megumi in the darkest crevices of Sukuna’s soul, trapped and alone. “I don’t even know if he’s alright, if he’s even slept at all or if he’s being tormented by Sukuna day in and day out. What if he’s in pain? What if he’s cold?” you sobbed into your husband’s chest, your cries growing more desperate with each hour Megumi isn’t home safe.

“Shh, shh…I know, sweetheart…I’ll get him back, I promise I’ll bring him home.”

Or he’ll die trying.

Somewhere in the void, Megumi Fushiguro is in a state of catatonic stasis. Is this what limbo feels like? He just wants to sleep, to give in and let Sukuna’s soul consume him.

It’s so cold…so…cold.

No! He can’t give up, more than his desire to tap out and just live and let die…he wants to go home where he belongs.

You and Satoru must be so worried about him and he was worried too, what if something had happened out there while he was here? What if…something happened to the two of you when he hasn’t even done a thing to thank you both for all the love you’ve given him throughout these years? So with his last inch of consciousness remaining, he spends it on a silent plea.

“Mom…dad…please come find me.”

#gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader angst #gojo angst #gojo satoru angst #jjk angst #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #gojo x reader angst #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n angst

[mallowmaenad]

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl With Eyebags whose wearing an Oversized Black Sweater: I recently remembered all of my past lives. Most of it was spent as various plant life and fungi in the same twenty foot radius in a forest by a rural interstate route until a robin ate the seed containing my soul and flew to another forest where I reincarnated as her child. I would then die a tragic death at a young age to a local fox where I'd live a long life as her kit and eventually die of old age, I then spent several generations as various plant life and fungi in that forest which was eventually destroyed by industry.

I was a tree during that time and my plant fibers were processed to manufacture paper used to make a sticker placed on an orange whose peel was placed in a compost bin, eventually leading me to the dark yet decadent life of a worm until I then eventually expired and awoke as a tomato plant in the care of a kindly older woman, it is that life whose memories I treasure the most.

She was a very skilled and warm woman, and many of my cycles afterwards were spent as my own kin in generations of tomato plants in a blink of an eye. One day she took me into her car in a pot, I remember how she spoke to me. At the time she had named me Reynolds, she had set into a trend of naming me after Hollywood actors she found attractive. It was the day before her daughter's birthday and I was to be her gift, I could not feel bittersweet about this a the time, because I was a tomato plant.

She buckled me into the back seat of a car as if I was a child of her own and drove down a rural interstate route, illuminating the black sea of the night sky with her headlights as the shadows seemed to drown out anything but us. A deer with bone wasting disease stood in the road like a grim reaper, white eyes shining as her aching foot tried to react in time on the break peddle.

The two embraced in a bloody collision, I remember the deer in its last moments weakly nibbling at her flesh as they both bled out in an agony they were ignorant to, I wilted and died in that car along with her and that deer, I do not know what the journey of my soul was like, but my next life was as a patch of semi-feral grass on the side of a similar road caught in the mouth of a possum eating a partially full discarded box of Wendy's fries who was then promptly turned into road kill, when the day was new a burly Appalachian man whose stern demeanor hid a soft heart would legally and cleanly collect the cadaver and break it down, using the remains for a meal some yuppies would find ghastly. This man was my father- or rather my father in this cycle of life.

I know in my heart of hearts that you were that old woman who nurtured me so many times as her beloved tomato plants, you had the rare privilege to live your life as an incinerator at a crematorium, but the march of technology and nut after bolt you grew broken, a death by a thousand cuts, a death by a thousand bodies. Your massive metal cadaver was melted down over time, the raw materials eventually finding itself to a factory that manufactured bullets, a life of darkness in a cardboard prison only to be shunted into a pistol's magazine... your entire existence is interesting, stretching the meaning of what it means to be eaten and to live. The meek 24 year old boy thought nobody would mourn him when he was gone, you lived as an amorphous patch of greenery ahead of his grave stone.

A curious thing would happen during a visit to this boy's grave, his childhood dog either in embarrassing coincidence or a moment of sentience began to dig at where the body was, being wrenched back as it began to desperately sink his teeth into the soil, ripping you asunder. Almost as divine penance, you lived your next life as a member of this dog's litter, you'd be named after the boy, despite being a girl. Maybe the dog was given some precognition and wanted to eat the boy and take his soul into its mouth to get her the life she always wanted. You were unfortunately born with a chronic condition that led you to a young death, the girl's mother crying just as hard after the vet put you down. You were buried lovingly in her back yard where you became a tomato plant, your same mother not being as much of a green thumb as mine but she devoured your fruits all the same, eventually giving birth to another meek boy after growing pregnant during the time when your last tomato was picked off your wilted stem. I have pursued you since that day with my whole body and spirit, one part unintentional one part in this moment of enlightenment. I love you, and I will love you for the rest of forever.

Trans girl who dropped out of high school to make Hello Kitty breakcore who has her girlfriend's dick in her mouth and is high as fuck right now: Waash dat?

Their shared girlfriend sitting across from them playing Wario Land Shake It on her modded Wii U: Was I the deer with bone wasting disease?

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl: ... Yeah...

#long post #microfiction #cw car accident #cw death #cw dead animal #cw suicide

[wileys-russo]

childhood sweethearts (8) II a.russo x reader

series playlist one two three four five six seven

will they? won’t they? the age old question x

childhood sweethearts (8) II a.russo x reader

once again alessia found herself sat alone in the same cafe as last time, profound deja vu setting in. her leg was bouncing anxiously and her eyes flickered to the door every few seconds, nervous you'd not show despite having been the one to extend the invitation to her.

but this time alessia knew she was early, having been far too worried about what you might actually have to say to her that she'd shown up a whole forty minutes before your agreed meet up time.

having sat in her car for the last twenty five she'd ventured inside, waiting until it was five minutes before you'd hopefully show to order your coffees, remembering what you had gotten last time and crossing her fingers it was what you'd want again.

her body relaxed the moment you walked inside, raising her hand as you spotted her, the blonde cursing to herself at the awkward gesture as you sat across from her with a smile, seemingly quite relaxed which alessia didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad.

"is this mine?" you asked gesturing to the iced coffee in front of you as the blonde nodded, rambling out that she hoped it was right and that if it wasn't she could easily get you another. "hey, alessia breathe. this is my regular order, it could be two degrees and i'd still get an iced coffee." you joked.

the two of you made some polite small talk, alessia asking about your week as you enquired about hers. the two of you swapping a few stories and a laugh before you decided to put her out of her misery, easily sensing her obvious nerves for why you'd asked her to meet with you in the first place.

which you could hardly blame her for given how your last conversation had gone, and it had taken you a lot of thinking to actually move past that.

"so i obviously asked you to coffee for a reason." you started, alessia nodding as she finished the last mouthful of her drink, setting the empty glass aside.

"i know that the last time we spoke was a bit...tense?" you smiled awkwardly, as one does when the last time you're present in front of someone you scream at them about your dead dad and then promptly collapse into a disgusting sobbing mess.

"and i appreciate you giving me the space that i asked for." you thanked her softly. "there's obviously a lot of history with us alessia and its not something either of us can or should forget, the good and the bad alike." you continued, the blonde across from you twisting her rings around her fingers, clearly still apprehensive about what you might say but listening intently.

"i won’t lie i was so incredibly angry with you for a really long time. and i was hurt and upset and i didn't understand why you did what you did or why you thought i’d have not supported you from the beginning.” you continued, alessia accepting your words with a nod.

“it took me even longer to actually come to terms with my pain and start to move past the anger because it didn’t do me any good, leaving it and you behind. i remember when you won the euros i was grateful to be living overseas because i don’t know how i’d have coped seeing your face plastered everywhere when i had been trying my best to move on with my life.” you were perhaps a little blunt in your words but the blonde across from you appreciated the honesty.

“i got over the breakup a lot faster than i actually got over losing you. i may have lashed out at you about it but you weren’t wrong, we were a huge part of each others lives for a long time before we dated. and i think i felt like once I moved past losing you as a partner, it hurt more to grieve the actual history and years of friendship and that immense bond we had before which was just suddenly gone.” you admitted quietly, a flash of pain glancing across both yours and alessia’s faces momentarily as the blonde was briefly plagued by the memory of her own feelings toward the loss.

“but look i think there is some merit in saying that people change. and i can see that you're making an effort to try and show me that's not who you are anymore." you noted, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts.

"i still feel that the kiss was a mistake, and that it can't and won't happen again. i’ve moved past those feelings for you and i just can’t risk being hurt like that again.” you remanded softly, alessia's stomach clenching at the memory of your lips on hers but she made sure this was disguised, nodding along. unbeknownst to her all of this was also playing on your mind, but you’d shoved deep down how good it felt to lean into the feeling of her lips on yours in favour of not ever wanting to be so let down again, you had your walls up for a reason and you’d learned to protect yourself as best you could.

"but you were right, we do both live here now and its obvious our mums are clearly back in one anothers lives again so we are going to have to interact regardless. so, i guess what i'm trying to say is that i'm open to trying to be friends again." you revealed, alessia's eyebrows shooting upward unable to disguise the obvious surprise on her face at your words.

"but slowly. i still have a lot of trust issues after everything, and they don't just go away overnight." you warned as alessia nodded furtively, clearly trying to hold back the grin which you could see tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"okay." the blonde breathed out, biting her bottom lip to stifle her smile as you shook your head with a smile of your own. "okay?" you chuckled, sipping on the last of your coffee.

"okay. yeah this is good, this will be good. but slowly! i can do slowly." alessia nodded, more as if to reassure herself than you as you hummed. "and just friends less, that other chapter is closed now and i don't want to open it again." you cautioned gently, aware that obviously all of this would be triggering things for her too, not just within you.

"i understand. like i said, i've missed you. to have you back in any capacity is more than i deserve, thank you." alessia admitted quietly with a shy smile, her heart admittedly pounding. again there was the soft vulnerable shy side of her you’d rarely seen growing up, and it was obvious that in her maturity there’d been some changes to her once almost aggressively over confident demeanour.

but between this opportunity that alessia been presented to have you back in her life coupled with the fact you'd just not called her by her full name without correcting yourself, she was quite the happy mess.

"to friendship." alessia lifted her empty glass with a grin causing you to laugh. "really?" you raised an eyebrow in amusement as alessia nodded and gestured for you to do the same. "it's empty! its bad luck to cheers with an empty glass.” you accused pointing to her finished coffee with a roll of your eyes.

"there's some...watery coffee like liquid left." the striker peered into her glass with a wince, the two of you sharing a look and a wide smile.

"fine, to friendship." you knocked your glass into hers, downing the last mouthful of your coffee as the blonde sipped the few milimetres of melted ice left in her own, grimacing in disgust.

"so, how do we um…do this?"

~

walking into training that afternoon there was seldom a thing someone could have said to wipe the shit eating grin off of alessia's face.

she was always known to be a positive person by nature, never unkind or rude to any of the staff or her team, always yelling out encouragement during drills or games, cracking jokes or messing about with the girls who she was closer to.

however to those same girls it was also not hard to see that today there was very obviously an extra bit of pep in the young lionesses step as she sauntered into the cafeteria for lunch, flashing around a toothy grin.

"you're even more chipper than usual less. have a good morning?" lotte questioned with a surprised smile as alessia sat down with her tray of food, humming in agreement. "would you like to elaborate?" lotte chuckled picking at her chicken as vic sat down followed closely by katie and caitlin.

"russo! you're glowin today. have a cheeky midnight rendezvous did we?" katie teased as alessia's face blushed bright red which vac wasted no time teasing her about, pinching at her cheeks as alessia shoved her off with a playful roll of her eyes.

"no. just caught up with an old friend for coffee." alessia explained with a shrug, shoveling a mouthful of food in as lotte narrowed her eyes slightly. "not..." she trailed off with an insinuating look as alessia avoided her eyes.

"oh less." lotte sighed, shaking her head as she picked at her food. "not the ex missus from the bar?" katie caught on quickly with a shocked look, alessia hissing for her to be quiet and smacking her arm across the table.

"an ex girlfriend? you like girls? why am i the last to know about this?" vic scoffed in offence shoving the blonde beside her. "cause you chose not to come out that night! russo here got beyond blind pissed and called her ex missus who had to come and pick her up, and the poor girl was not happy about it." katie caught the dutch girl up as caitlin shoved her, nodding to alessia with a firm warning look.

"oh was that private information? sorry less." katie winced slightly as vic rounded on alessia with a hundred questions. "okay fine i'll tell you! just shut up for five seconds." alessia huffed at the shorter girls persistence who immediatley went quiet, all four girls now looking to the blonde for an explanation.

so with twenty minutes left before they were expected into the gym, alessia opened up about almost everything between you and her, well as much as she was willing to share with her friends anyway.

"christ russo, you planned on leavin without even tellin her? harsh. i'd have dumped ya too, and kicked your arse!" katie whistled, caitlin stomping on her foot with a firm look at her girlfriends inability to clearly read the vibe of a room.

suddenly the training staff called for everyone to head toward the gym as the girls stood, alessia appreciating the forced cut off of their previous conversation as they all dumped their trays and split up to head off out of the cafeteria.

"i stand by what i said early on, are you sure this is a good idea? that you're able to be just friends with her? that break up had you really not okay for a long time less." lotte questioned softly, eyes shining with care for the younger girl.

"look i can't answer that right now. but i would rather have her in my life as a friend than nothing at all. she’s been my best mate since we were five lotte and we've spent too long apart, i miss her." alessia admitted with a sigh, lotte nodding in understanding, pulling her into a tight side hug before they were split up for drills.

~

"oh look what’s come crawling out of its cave, it lives!" your older brother harry teased as he opened the door and let you in, causing you to shove him with a roll of your eyes. "hello stranger." your older sister lilly called out from the sofa causing you to groan in annoyance.

"sorry i have a life outside of mooching off mums cooking and fully stocked up cupboards." you retorted back, shrugging off your jacket and hanging it up by the door.

"they're not here yet." harry added as you glanced toward the backyard where several people littered about. alessia hadn’t been wrong your mum had organised another get together with the russo’s, however of course being the hostess with the mostess she had also invited several of her other friends and their families along too.

“why are you both hiding out in here then?” you chuckled, wandering into the kitchen and shaking your head at the amount of prepped food, enough to feed twice the amount of people. though it would mean you could likely steal some leftovers for your work lunches this week and that was a promising thought.

“i’m taking a break from all the polite small talk and lil’s sick of people touching her tummy.” harry chuckled nodding to your pregnant sister who nodded in agreement. “how is my little niece or nephew doing?” you grinned happily, thumping yourself down beside her and looking at your sister with hopeful eyes as your brother ventured back outside.

“i already told you we’re not finding out the gender until the baby comes, nor will i be revealing any names!” your sister warned making you groan in annoyance, giving her a pout to which she just playfully shoved your head away.

“buzzkill. where’s oli then?” you asked, unable to spot your sisters husband anywhere. “work. he’s taken up every second weekend to try and help us save for the little one.” lily patted her stomach. “you know for some extra money we could capitolise on you being pregnant. i’m sure thats like a fetish or something somewhere.” you shrugged casually as your sister looked at you like you had four heads.

“i’m not even going to dignify that with a response god you are so weird!” your sister shook her head as you only grinned. “so how was your date then? i don’t see a ring!” she teased as you rolled your eyes. “is there anyone mum didn’t tell?” you huffed in annoyance at the ever meddling behaviours of her. “please you know her hairdresser, the market attendant and her nail lady are all rooting for you to find a husband or a wife soon.” that caused both of you to break out into a laugh.

“i date all the genders and yet here i am the only single sibling. i’m honestly shocked mums not tried to set me up with someone or sell me off like a prized cow yet.” you rolled your eyes with a smile.

“oh believe me she’s open to it! but you’re lucky she’s so gullible because i personally know you didn’t go on a date, you were just avoiding alessia.” lily quirked an eyebrow knowingly. “i was not!” you defended though you quickly abandoned that strategy at her firm gaze, seeing right through your lies.

“it didn’t work anyway she just came over afterwards.” you sighed as your sisters eyebrows raised. “oo did you two have hot hate sex?” lily asked as your eyes bugged and you smacked her on the arm. “what? of course not!” you scoffed in offence with a deep seeded frown.

“please if you think i didn’t know the two of you were more than friends once upon a time then you’re even more of a moron than i thought. harry and i have known for years!” your sister chuckled as your mouth formed a small o in shock at the reveal.

“how?” you questioned with a frown. “well firstly because you didn’t just deny it-“ she started as you groaned. “and secondly you were both horrible at sneaking around. the shared love bites alone were enough, you’re just lucky mums so oblivious.” she chuckled as you sighed, head thumping back on the pillow.

you’d told her way back then that both you and alessia had decided not to be friends anymore after she kept going to college from you, but you’d never told her the true nature of your relationship.

“why didn’t you ever tell me that you knew! especially after i came out!” you shoved her in annoyance. “i figured you’d want to leave it in the past. plus with dad and everything you had enough going on without the added stress.” her voice softened as you nodded.

“so she came over afterwards? are you two working it out then?” lily asked curiously as you shook your head firmly. “not like that. but we are slowly working on building a friendship back.” you revealed as your sister squeezed your shoulder in a silent understanding.

“well that’s nice then. but come on, if we don’t go and mingle soon i fear mum will send in a search party.” your sister rolled her eyes before you helped her up, the two of you making your way outside, greeted by cheers as you were passed from old family friend to friend giving pleasantries and half sincere smiles.

and that’s exactly how alessia found you as the russo’s arrived, the sun already setting as they made their way around the side of the house, gio and luca bickering as mario warned them to drop it.

they were a little later than everyone else, as arsenal had just won 4-1 with a lunchtime fixture much as alessia had encouraged her family to come here and she would meet them later they never missed a match where they could and she was grateful for their undying support.

as her family dispersed to greet everyone alessia’s eyes of course found you first, a soft smile coming to her lips as she watched your head go back with a laugh at something.

long gone were the days the two of you would hide away from everyone up in your room, it had seemed time had busted you right out of your shell as the blonde watched you effortlessly and confidently engage in conversations with everyone, joking around and waving your hands about as you clearly told some sort of story which had the group around you in stitches.

but well aware that the two of you were trying to go slow alessia chose purposefully not to go to you first, instead making her way around to those who she knew saying hello. she found herself engaged in a heated conversation with her brothers and a few of her dads friends about the match which just passed, playfully taking the mick out of them for the fact they were spurs supporters and that’s who she’d just beaten.

“lessi darling have you eaten anything since you played?” your mum interrupted, grabbing her arm with a smile as alessia shook her head. “well we can’t have that. come with me!” alessia laughed as she was lovingly dragged inside where the rest of the food was, chatting away with the older woman as she piled a plate high with it.

“mum for god sakes stop force feeding people!” alessia’s head turned as you appeared, stepping through the back door with a playful roll of your eyes. “she hasn’t eaten and she’s just played a full match! let your mother be a mother would you.” the older woman swatted at you as you grinned,

“heard you lost, what a shame.” you sighed toward the older girl who rolled her eyes. “no it’s not like golf, remember the team with the most goals wins!” alessia quipped back, thanking your mum with a kiss on the cheek as the woman placed a stacked plate of food in front of her.

“boring.” you shrugged, sending her a smile and offering her a drink which she accepted, your mum excusing herself back outside. “you went to a sold out semi final of the world cup without even knowing the rules of the game, and as an english woman. you’re lucky you didn’t get your head kicked in on the train home!” alessia laughed after she’d swallowed a mouthful of food.

you chuckled at that and retorted that you were not anyone’s favourite person that next day at school especially your very torn up very australian students. but the comment did have you thinking back to that night, where you had to see her for the first time in years and she didn’t even know you were there.

your coworkers had all but dragged you to the match, and despite not being a football fan you didn’t live under a rock. you knew alessia was in the england squad, your social media had been drowned in friends and family all posting and sharing about the teams extremely successful tournament.

englands love and pride for football ran deep and despite being in another country it seemed you just couldn’t escape the beloved strikers face following you around.

it had been the same for the euro’s however you’d been able to try and avoid that as much as you could with that not being something many australians bothered about. but with this tournament happening on the same soil you worked and lived on, it had become ten times harder to ignore it.

it had taken two days of stress and panic for you to actually come to terms with the fact that you’d be seeing her again, even from hundreds of metres away up in the stands, kept safe by the four walls of the corporate box you were all being treated to. your coworkers had forced you into a matilda’s jersey however you made a point of buying an england scarf as to not entirely betray your home country.

it had comforted you to know that at least alessia wouldn’t know you were there, and unlike every other time you’d supported her at a match in the past her eyes wouldn’t meet yours with a cheeky grin and a point in your direction when she scored.

that didn’t however stop you from cheering when she did, you were after all still very proud of the team and knew what this would do for womens sports even if you weren’t personally a die hard football fan. the cheers which were very quickly silenced by the murderous glares of the australians surrounding you in the box.

“you wore an australian jersey?” alessia gasped in disbelief as you revealed that to her. “i was trying to fit in! i had an england scarf.” you defended yourself with a laugh, the two of you sat on opposite ends of the lounge after alessia had finished eating.

“traitor to your own country.” alessia tutted making you roll your eyes before the blonde let out a large yawn, quickly covering her mouth as her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. “sorry!” she apologised, shaking her head as if to wake herself up a little.

“don’t be. i was actually going to head home pretty soon, do you want a lift?” you offered hesitantly, alessia assuring she didn’t want to be a bother. “you’re not, pretty sure everyone’s made a point to tell me you only live a few minutes down the road. and I’d like to get out of here before they break out the karaoke!” you joked as alessia couldn’t help but nod in agreement, accepting your offer.

it took the two of you a further hour to say your goodbyes, the time now ticking over past eight in the evening you accepted the boo’s and the jeer’s that you were bailing early, brushing them off with a smile and a hug.

promising carol you’d come over soon and see her properly you finally made a break for the exit, alessia following suit as you made a beeline out the door and toward your car.

“they don’t ever get tired of making the point we grew up and aren’t thirteen anymore huh?” you laughed as you both buckled up. “oh look at you! so grown up! so beautiful, looking just like your mother!” alessia cooed sarcastically, reaching over to squeeze your cheeks and shake your head back and forth as you laughed and swatted her away.

it was almost scary how easy it felt to slip back into this light banter with her, chattering away as if no time had passed it surprised you how effortlessly the chips had fallen into place.

though despite that your walls were still very much so up, and you knew there were certain topics of conversation you’d avoid with her, and you still wanted to take it slow.

“hey this is really random, and please feel free to say no. but do you want to go get ice cream? there’s a gelato place not far from my apartment and i’ve kind of been craving it lately.” alessia asked apprehensively, fiddling with her hands.

“weren’t you just yawning a few minutes ago?” you chuckled, not catching the way alessia’s face flickered into disappointment for a moment before a smile quickly tugged at her lips.

“but hey who would i be to say no to ice cream.”

~

“this is me just up here.” alessia pointed as you nodded, driving a little down the street until you found a park. “you really are quite close, i could have walked from my place.” you smiled as the two of you got out of the car.

“the winds picking up and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow you might want a jumper or something.” alessia noted as you nodded, opening the back door and frowning at the empty seats.

“oh my jacket!” you remembered with a groan as realised you’d left it at your mums house, and of course it was one of your favourites. “dressed inappropriately for the london weather, remember you’re not in australia anymore!” alessia teased as you closed your door with a huff.

“i had one! i left it at back at mums place.” you sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself as indeed the wind had picked up. “typical. wait here.” alessia rolled her eyes playfully, stopping herself from inviting you inside well aware that might be a little too soon.

“less its fine i’ll warm up as we walk!” you called after her but the stubborn blonde dismissed you with a wave, glad to be facing away from you as she hurried toward her front door, hiding the smile which wound its way onto her lips at you again not calling her by her full name.

progress.

“here.” the striker returned a few minutes later, holding out a large charcoal grey coat in your direction, having slipped on a hoodie underneath the puffer jacket she was wearing earlier and tied her hair back into a low bun.

“your arms are so long.” you shrugged it on with a huff and rolled up the ends of the sleeves making alessia laugh. “not my fault i had a growth spurt and you’re the same height as when you were twelve.” the blonde smirked causing you to push her with a roll of your eyes.

“i am not! i’m barely a head shorter than you.”

“wow i didn’t realise heads were a metre long.”

“at least i know the size of my own legs. i saw you fall over before!” you grinned, the blonde indeed having tripped over the leg of a chair and tumbled down to the ground, relentlessly ribbed by her brothers for it she had been grateful no one else had seen.

or so she thought.

“thank you though.” you spoke more sincerely, definitely grateful for the barrier from the icy sharp poke of the london evening wind.

as the two of you walked it took every single ounce of your restraint not to focus on the fact that the coat smelled like her and that her scent had changed over the years from how you remembered it.

no longer was it plagued with notes of bergamot and lavender, or her infamous green apple shampoo. now you found yourself drowned in the faint but still ever present aroma of what was likely a rather expensive perfume, much more floral and light but still with some woody undertones, like how the ground smelled in spring after it rained.

it seemed ridiculous to say but she smelled rich, and yet still just as ever alluring as she had when you were younger and you’d steal her hoodies. relishing in pretending that she was with you in bed on nights where the two of you had to be apart, the blonde away on some sort of football tournament or camp.

if anything that made it a little easier to just tell yourself it was someone else’s coat given the unfamiliar aroma, to delude your poor overworked mind that you didn’t notice that you could still find yourself in a drunken haze on how intoxicatingly comforting it felt to wear her clothes, which had always hung off of you in the most ridiculous ways given your height difference.

because you wouldn’t dare to fall back into that trap, you couldn’t.

“can i try that one please?” alessia asked politely with a smile, pointing to a rocky road flavour as your eyes surveyed the counter, biting down on your bottom lip as your options ticked over in your head.

“oh yum. hey try this.” she nudged your shoulder with hers and held out the half eaten spoon toward you without a second thought. you knew she hadn’t meant anything by the casual gesture, the two of you had always shared food or drinks without a care.

but now, with your walls up and already struggling to pull your head out of the hazy fog caused by the fact you were wearing her coat and drowned in her smell, the simple gesture felt far too familiar for you to accept.

so you shook your head, pushing it back toward her and avoiding her eyes you felt look toward you. “can i please get a scoop of the caramel peanut butter and one of the cake batter please? in a cup.” you requested with a smile toward the young girl serving you.

“can i get a scoop of the rocky road and the cookies and cream please? in a cone.” alessia ordered her own, moving toward the counter as you were preoccupied with reading all the other weird and wacky flavours in the small but seemingly busy shop.

with you distracted she wasted no time paying for both of them with a simple tap, thanking the girl and grabbing both her cone and your cup, chuckling at your sweet tooth and making her way to you.

“that’s not fair! you payed for coffee too.” you scowled once you realised what she’d done, the two of you sitting down on a small table outside. “you can pay next time then.” alessia smiled over her ice cream causing you to roll your eyes.

“so do you have a busy week? though that’s probably quite a stupid question given your job.” alessia asked and quickly clarified with a sheepish chuckle.

“you’re not wrong. but they’re actually a great group of kids, a couple i have to keep an eye on but i love teaching them at this age. they’re just starting to learn and develop opinions and big feelings and watching that and encouraging it is so rewarding. much as those big feelings can sometimes be very overwhelming.” you laughed and suddenly realised you were rambling, a slight blush covering your cheeks.

“sorry. but no my weeks okay? I actually have monday off because they have an excursion and i drew the lucky card of not having to chaperone.” you sighed happily, as much as you did adore your class to wrangle over 40 kids in an environment outside of the school was often a nightmare, so you weren’t upset at missing out and having a three day weekend.

“did you really draw cards?” alessia asked with an amused smile. “no we draw names out of a hat.” you teased before explaining there was a rotating roster of which grade teachers had to attend each excursion.

“but a three day weekend means rory is dragging me out tomorrow night. which feels illegal given it’ll be a sunday!” you chuckled with a shake of your head, your long time friend forever trying to harass you into going out with her had meant she’d capitalised on this opportunity as soon as you’d make the mistake of mentioning it.

“what about you?” you switched the focus back to alessia who paused to swallow her mouthful of ice cream. “a few of the england girls are around london for an award show tonight so we’re going out tomorrow night to catch up. though for some reason they’ve decided to let tooney plan it so god knows what we’ll end up doing!” alessia rolled her eyes with a smile.

“award show? look at you, the little football mad girl from Kent going from mud wrestling and slumming it in the boys team to living it up in london rubbing elbows with celebrities.” you grinned as the two of you decided to start walking back.

“hardly, it feels so odd. people knowing who you are, wanting your attention or an autograph, knowing you’ve made their day even just by giving them a wave. you ride out the highs but then there’s the lack of privacy and all the media assumptions and the news articles and the criticism of every single match. i’m so incredibly grateful for all of it but sometimes its a little much.” alessia admitted with a sigh.

“i’m sorry i can’t even begin to imagine how that feels.” you empathised with the taller girl with a small frown. “i don’t even think i know how it feels. one day it’s the best job ever and you’re getting silverware and praise and the next you miss one kick and feel like you’ve let an entire country down.” alessia continued with a wince.

“social media would really make it worse huh.” you winced along with her at the thought of the millions of trolls which could hide behind the anonymous natures of theirs accounts. “god you have no idea. it was really bad when all the contract negotiations were going on with united before i moved to arsenal.” alessia sighed as you listened intently.

“everyone was telling me what to do or assuming what i was doing and that would lead to another news article speculating about my future and suddenly everyone feels the right to tear down everything. my football, my family, my weight, my appearance, everything. and it felt like i couldn’t escape it anywhere, even my own teammates were questioning what i was doing and where i was going if not with united but without a contract signed with arsenal yet because of the transfer window i legally couldn’t tell anyone what was happening.” alessia vented, the two of you finishing your ice creams as you dumped your empty cup in a nearby bin.

“sorry! that was…look its in the past. but yeah, social media sucks.” alessia caught herself becoming overtly emotionally at the memories and quickly breezed over them. “hey that sounds awful and i’m really sorry you had to go through that, but less don’t diminish the fact it felt horrible. people can be so cruel and cowardly on social media.” you grabbed her arm and gave her a smile so soft it had alessia’s knees wobbling.

“thank you. if anything nowadays it just drives me to train harder and play better, the best way to shut them up is by proving them wrong.” alessia shrugged, wrenching her eyes away from yours for fear of drowning in them.

“wow well it’s comforting to know all those years of torture kicking footballs at my head was worth it then.” you smiled bumping your shoulder into her. “mmm yeah using you for target practice really paid off, thanks!” she bumped you back with a grin as the two of you arrived to your car.

“text me when you get home safe yeah?” alessia asked with a slight frown as you nodded, unlocking your car and shrugging off her coat, folding it neatly and handing it back to her. “they have these crazy things called heaters in cars now.” you joked before she could offer for you to keep it, not wanting to entertain the thought.

“thank you, that was nice. catching up and stuff!” alessia smiled, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “yeah it was.” you agreed sharing her thought, as nice as it could be for exes who suddenly decide after six years to try and be friends, nothing weird or hard about that at all.

a silence fell between the two of you, both sizing the other up and very clearly unsure how to end things. did you hug? did you both just part ways? did you say goodbye?

you both obviously picked up on the slightly awkward tension and chuckled shyly, and then with a few more moments of silence alessia decided to go for it well aware of a potential rejection.

she stepped toward you and opened her arms slightly, clearly hesitant as you paused. but then your arms were wrapped around her and your face was pressed into her chest and alessia held her breath for fear if she even moved slightly you might disappear.

your body filled with a warmth you’d not felt in years as her taller form wrapped around you in a tight hug, the double layers of clothing covering her only bringing more comfort as you could have melted into her.

but your walls suddenly sprang back up and you pulled away, sending her a rushed smile and a quick goodbye before slipping into your car as she made her way to her front door, watching as your car pulled off and disappeared around the corner.

busy driving you failed to see your phone light up with a notification as you turned your music louder to try and distract your mind from overthinking.

@alessiarusso99 has requested to follow you.

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

chapter nine

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso fanfics #woso #alessia russo #woso imagine #woso blurbs #engwnt

[shesalwaysthere]

Waiting Room

Joel x F!Reader

Chapter One: My Poor Parents’ Teenage Daughter

pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader

genre: no outbreak, explicit, fluff, angst, eventual smut

word count: 3.7k

summary: You come home from your term at UT for the summer to visit your parents. It’s your last summer close to home before you go up north and leave your family behind- but what happens when a teenage wet dream turns into something that could challenge your future?

warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT MINORS DNI, age gap, mentions of attraction when reader is younger (Joel is NOT attracted to reader when they are younger than 18), swearing, drunkenness, tommy being an asshole, no use of y/n

a/n: hey guys!! this is my first fic on here so if u have any tips please let me know! this was such a joy to write and i absolutely cannot wait to continue this story!! pls lmk what u think! <3

“be easy.

take your time.

you are coming

home

to yourself.”

— the becoming

Every day until you come home each June seems longer and longer until the departure day arrives. You love your school, UT has brought you so many new experiences and you truly feel like you’re ready for this new chapter in your life. But the long stretches of day that seem to go on forever don’t treat you kindly like home did.

Your journey home is, thankfully, a short one.

When you were younger, you dreaded going to college so close to home, your mind always so full of wanderlust, fantasizing about what the big, blue world would bring you. Austin was big, to be sure, but not big enough for you. You needed to soak up the Earth and everything it had to offer.

At twenty-two, you’re glad fifteen-year-old you didn’t make the decisions anymore. Within the first week of your freshman year, you missed your bed. You missed your mom blasting her songs through the house, and seeing your dad floating in the pool on the sweltering Texas days. Your family was crazy, loud, and crass, but the quiet of university gave you hives.

This summer was going to be the last before you traveled further north to Dallas to pursue the last leg of your degree. You were offered free room and board to finish your master's degree at a smaller school, and you were even granted an internship at which your mother screeched in excitement. You were thrilled to start your future, certainly, but this trip was expected to be a little… melancholy.

Your dad tried to convince you to let him drive you, but you insisted a two-way trip was a waste of gas, and you’d see him at home anyways. Home, you thought. Not for much longer, but home. Your old, rickety car sputtered on the half-hour drive, and you patted the poor steed’s dashboard reassuringly, almost as if it could be calmed by your hand. You did push the car’s limits by driving a bit too fast on the main roads, but you were just so, so eager to be home.

Once you finally reached the driveway, your parents were already rushing out the door, attacking you with an embrace, and you giggled happily, letting their warmth take over you. When they finally released you, you took notice of the massive – and very poorly painted – banner above the door, welcoming you home, with your name in big, messy letters drawn for the whole neighborhood to see. As you approached the door, you heard telltale sounds of… oh, God.

A party.

Before you could even protest, or remind your parents of the fact that you were a mess in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, your hair was all messy, and your face made you look like the underside of a dumpster, they promptly shoved you inside as a cheer erupted from the crowd. Waves of family members shoved through to try and greet you first – aunts and uncles, cousins you’d missed, your sweet little nephew who’d been born four months before. There were even a few family friends you hadn’t seen in years, friends who must have traveled much too far just to see you. Your anxieties about your appearance faded as the energy in the room shifted. How silly you were to be so nervous. You felt surrounded by so much love, and honestly, it was just what you needed.

You almost don’t notice one of your childhood friends, Hannah, standing off to the side, as if she was patiently waiting for you to find her. You had wondered why she hadn’t been answering your texts for the past couple of weeks, then remembered fondly how she can’t keep a secret. You both share a look that nearly brings you to tears, overwhelmed by just the sight of her. You both look so… grown up.

You rush to her with arms outstretched, wrapping her in a tight embrace and laughing, overcome with joy. She pulls away to scan your face, nodding approvingly. “Damn, college did some good to you,” she laughs, holding your face for a moment, “maybe I should have followed you to UT, huh? Could’ve got this glow you have.”

Hannah is three years older than you. She was always so smart in school, and while it made you feel a little inferior, it also filled you with so much pride. She even tested into a program that earned her an associate’s degree when she graduated high school. She finished up her BA at community college even though she was offered several scholarships at many different colleges, all amounting to a number you could never dream of having. No full rides, though, and that was a dealbreaker for her parents. She’s down at the library, now, which you can only hope is something she loves.

You talk for a while, letting other folks come up to greet you and show praise for a few moments before you get too embarrassed and shoo them away. At one point, someone approaches from behind, covering your eyes. You feel them lean in all too close, their breath on your neck.

“Guess who,” they whisper, and you shiver.

If you didn’t know by the hands alone, the voice gives it all away. You pull away and smile wide, wrapping your arms around your dad’s closest friend for as long as you can remember, Joel Miller. Being the man he is, he lifts you up and spins you around, chuckling as you scream. He sets you back down and affectionately puts a hand on your shoulder. “Heya, kid. I’m real proud of you. I know how much this means to you. We’ll miss you down here.” You smile, your cheeks turning a light pink color as he walks away.

Your feelings for Joel are… complicated. He’s been around as far back as your memory goes, always there for your family when you needed him. Hell, he’d even come over when your dog ran out the door and you had to comb through the whole neighborhood to find her. You’d hop in the bed of his truck and shout her name until she came bounding towards you. He was there for birthdays, holidays, funerals…

He also made an occasional appearance in your teenage wet dreams.

It really isn’t your fault. He was consistently fit, handsome, caring, funny… he was the whole damn package and you couldn’t really ignore that as a teenage girl dreaming about prince charming. Joel wasn’t perfect, you knew that, but you loved that even more.

As you and Hannah watch him leave, she pokes you with her clawed finger, making you yelp and playfully slap her, pouting. She shakes her head at you. “What?” You cry, rubbing your arm where she poked you.

“You’re unbelievable,” she says, looking back at Joel. “He’s basically your uncle.”

“Ew, Hannah! Don’t say that, god, that’s so gross,” you say, shaking your head and covering your face. “Don’t make me feel worse! I can’t help this.”

Hannah, of course, knew all about your little crush on Joel and relentlessly teased you throughout the years for it. The teasing was well deserved, as it was silly to feel that way towards someone around 20 years your senior, but sometimes it got to you. It wasn’t like you were going to pursue him, he was just… one delicious fantasy that was stuck in your head.

“So, how’s Kevin?” you ask, trying to change the subject. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hannah, but you know boy talk is her weakness, and you breathe a deep sigh of relief when she begins her ramble. The gossip doesn’t last too much longer, though, as your dad approaches you with a big smile, and you could tell by the look in his eyes he had some sort of surprise for you.

“Hey, nugget,” he smiles, making you roll your eyes at the nickname. “Come over here, I wanna talk to you about something.” You nod, giving Hannah’s hand a squeeze and smiling before walking away with your dad, intuiting that whatever he wants to talk about will take quite a while. You love him, but he’s something of a talker. He guides you through the sea of people in your living room to the back door, where more people have slowly gathered as the grill begins to work its magic and the crowd gets hungrier. Manning the grill was, of course, Joel.

Your dad leads you over to where he stands, Joel’s eyes not leaving the grill. ‘So serious about his hamburgers’, you think, smiling to yourself. Your dad claps him on the back and Joel jumps slightly, smiling at how surprised he was. He shoves your dad’s shoulder and your dad shakes his head. “This old fucker… well, he’s in desperate need of your help. See, the legal side of his contracting business is frankly a mess, and he won’t hire anyone thinkin’ it’s one big waste o’ money, or whatever.”

The two of them share a laugh, and despite how adorable your two favorite old men are, you find yourself growing increasingly impatient at their lack of to-the-pointness. You nod your head, crossing your legs in agitation. Your dad sighs and points to you knowingly.

“You’re good with that law aspect though, aren’t you? Making sure the… y’know, labor’s fair and the whole thing’s all up to code,” your dad says, scratching his nose. You know he has absolutely no clue what the hell he’s talking about, but he’s trying, and it gives you some semblance of warm joy at the thought. “I thought maybe… you could work for Joel this summer. Few months of real-world experience under your belt, get some decent pay… plus, the old man won’t be too hard on you, will ya, Joel?”

You bring your eyes back over to Joel, who’s clearly been a bit more affected by the alcohol than your dear old dad. His cheeks are red, his brow a bit sweaty (though that could be from the grill) and his lips pursed. You stop to wonder if someone so clearly messed up should be manning a grill, but the thought is stopped in its tracks as you notice something.

Joel is looking at you. I mean, really looking. Not in your eyes, no, at your face. Scanning you, drinking you in, like he’s looking at you for the first time. You feel your face get hot as his eyes go lower before slowly rolling their way back up, and he locks eyes with you, making you smile. He smiles back, which surprises you. It’s a smile that speaks to you. It tells you to be quiet, shushing you, keeping it a secret. You bite your lip, stifling a giggle as you look back at your dad.

You shrug. “I guess. As long as Joel knows the basics of everything, or has kept a file. You did have a lawyer when you started Miller Contracting, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at Joel playfully. He laughs too loud, taking another sip of his beer and nodding. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he kept the files somewhere around, I’ll get ‘em for you. As long as you’re comfortable workin’ with me.”

Your dad shoves him a bit. “Oh, c’mon, Miller, she’s fine. She’s known you most of ‘er life, long as you just treat her right and don’t saddle her with work like you do Tommy, she’ll be alright. And make sure Tommy keeps his hands to himself!” He half-shouts, busting out into more laughter as you turn red again.

You snap your eyes over to Joel who quickly averts his gaze to the floor, and you bite your lip in frustration.

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” you say. “And don’t worry, Dad. We’re both good with our hands in different ways.”

You couldn’t be certain, but you thought you saw Joel choke on his drink.

You decided to go formal. First day, new job, might as well look nice, right? Your little… outfit was a little form-fitting, but you’d go for it anyways. You gathered what you figured would be first-day essentials and rushed out the door before your parents woke up. You knew your parents would either make you late by celebrating it as if it was some massive deal, or they’d force you to stay until they were ready to take you themselves, and you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of either.

As you start your car, your phone dings with a little notification. You check, pleasantly surprised, as it’s a text from Joel.

ミ★

(9:08 am) Joel: Hey kid, here’s the address for the office.

(9:08 am) You: look at you, joel, all tech-savvy!

(9:10 am) Joel: Gotta remind me I’m old huh?

(9:11 am) You: now do an emoji for me

(9:11 am) Joel: I am not doing tricks for your pleasure.

(9:12 am) You: i’ll bring you a coffee.

(9:12 am) Joel: 🎪🤹🤡

☆彡

You smile, shaking your head at your goofy, old boss. You punch in the directions to your GPS app and begin the 15-minute (turned to a 25-minute to stop for coffee) trip to your new job. And with around 20 minutes to spare, you pat yourself on the back. Joel is already waiting for you when you walk in, giving you a look you cannot place, especially being distracted by carrying coffee with you. You shove your folders into Joel’s chest momentarily to regain your balance.

“Hey, sorry, hold this for a sec,” you say, pulling out Joel’s coffee and setting it on the desk behind him and sighing, grabbing your papers back. “Thanks. Um… you okay?” Your question is prompted by you taking notice of the look on his face – a sort of slack-jawed, wide-eyed look, like you’d walked in wearing nothing. You feel something tighten inside of you, cursing yourself for feeling so weak at a man looking at you like some kind of meal. You clear your throat, trying to push out a little awkward laugh. “What, you never seen me in nice clothes before?”

Joel clears his throat, smiling a little at himself. “Not since your prom dress,” he says, clearly poking fun at you, since you decided at seventeen that the best thing to wear to prom would be a bright pink dress that looked WAY better in the store than it did the day of, and you had to go in one of your mom’s old dresses. You grimace at the reminder, shoving Joel playfully for bringing it up. “Thanks for reopening that wound, asshole. To think that wasn’t even the worst part of prom,” you say, shaking your head at the memory. He gives you a confused look, making you shrug.

“You know, because I went with Harrison.” you say, gesturing for Joel to catch on. “He… was an asshole? He left me alone all night and made out with my friend when we got to Hannah’s house. Did Dad not tell you?”

Joel nods as if he understands, but he just looks more confused. “Really? Ken’s kid acted that way? Shit, that fuckin’ bonehead’s married now. Can’t imagine what that woman’s goin’ through now. If I’d known, woulda kicked the shit out of him.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee.

You laugh, covering your mouth like someone’s going to hear you. “Yeah, I bet you would have. All you would’ve had to do is look at him and he’d run, the pussy. Speaking of, I bet his wife’s real frustrated that he can’t make a woman come.” Joel chokes on his coffee a bit.

As if on cue, Tommy walks in, a customary Joel resting frown on his face that quickly turns to a smile when he sees you. His walk picks up into a jog as he approaches you, wrapping you up into a hug that is purely Tommy. He smells like he just got out of the shower, which is comforting in the most unidentifiable way. He leans away to get a look at you, smiling wide. “Joel told me you’d be here! Couldn’t shut the fuck up about it, in fact,” he says, giving Joel a teasing look, to which Joel responds with a frown.

Tommy looks back at you and puts his hand on your shoulder. “I’m gonna show you where you’re workin’. This old fart won’t remember where everything is, so I’m in charge of the tour. He’ll come along, though, don’t you worry.” You smile and nod, even though you’re a little confused about why you’d be worried about Joel not being there. Did Tommy know something? Did Hannah already tell the whole damn town? Before you can catastrophize anymore, Tommy walks ahead of both of you, leading you toward your station.

The consultation office is new to the company, but the building is definitely not. The only thing that doesn’t seem to be over a decade old is the floor- seemingly new tile, which Tommy comments about. Something along the lines of “out of our own damn pockets” and how it was “worth gettin’ rid of the suspicious carpet stains”. You say something about how Tommy better not bring any girls around and make more stains, which makes Joel laugh. You’re shown Joel’s consult area, Tommy’s area (which he doesn’t really explain, but based on the fact that it looks like a man cave, you assume going in there is a bad idea), a tiny coffee machine that looks like it’s older than the building itself, and finally, your office.

It’s bigger than Tommy’s. Hell, it’s bigger than Joel’s. Obviously, it’s still not huge, but there’s enough space for your desk, a little lounge, and a bookshelf. There are boxes of files on your desk, seemingly all set out for you to go through and organize. However, another box catches your attention. It has a picture frame, a little pencil cup, and a few other things one might have in their office inside of it- but it isn’t yours. You inspect it closer, seeing the picture is of Joel and Sarah. You turn to look at Joel, confused, as he leans against the doorframe.

“You gave up your office for me?”

He just shrugs. “Wasn’t usin’ it.”

You reel. It’s stupid and cheesy, but you do. You rack your brain for any indication before that he was doing this for you, but you can’t remember anything he might have done to reveal this. He wanted to surprise you.

Tommy looks back and forth between you and Joel, smiling knowingly. “He really wasn’t. This geezer spends most of his time out workin’ instead of in here, even though we got a whole group of guys doin’ the work for us.”

“Well, we didn’t start this shit to have other guys do it,” Joel combats, standing up straight. “You’re just a lazy ass now that we got more people. It’s still Miller Contracting, not… Miller and The Other Guys Contracting.”

You stifle a laugh. So does Tommy. Joel purses his lips frustratedly, which only breaks the damn. You laugh so hard you cry, the silliness of the joke rushing at you. Tommy laughs with you, sharing a look with you. It was so fucking stupid and you both knew it.

Joel finally laughs, too. Laughs so hard he has to grab his stomach, delighted at the idiotic joke he made.

You and Tommy silently agree not to mention it. You’re afraid he’ll stop.

Once your giggles finally settle, Tommy crosses his arms and says something about having to get back to someone who called earlier and he steps out of the office. And then there were two.

Joel watches you. He doesn’t say anything when Tommy leaves, just stands exactly where he’s been the whole time, stalking you, waiting for you to move. You don’t look at him. It unnerves you, making you conscious of your movement, but you want him to keep looking. You can’t explain what he’s doing, and you can’t even begin to explain what you’re doing either.

You walk around the room some more, admiring the view from the window, touching the shelves, et cetera. His eyes stay on you. You turn and face him, considering asking him what the hell he’s looking at, but his gaze stops you in your tracks. Goddamn him. You force a smile and bring your hands up to your arms, rubbing them lightly. “Little cold in here, huh?” you chuckle.

Joel just shrugs. “Better’n outside.”

You nod. The air is tense. And awkward.

He leans away from the doorframe and for a moment you think he’ll walk towards you, but he doesn’t. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Let me or Tommy know if you need anything.”

And he’s gone.

You use the rest of the day to organize the files all piled and half-organized on your desk, not even having time to read them with the unidentifiable order, or lack thereof, of it all. You assume the guys leave halfway through the day when silence falls over the office. It isn’t unsettling in the slightest, but comforting in the way it reminds you of the quiet of your dorm. You hadn’t missed it yet, but you found yourself starting to. Maybe this would be a nice substitute.

When you find yourself hungry for lunch, you decide stretching your legs is a good idea and just go to get some. When you come back, Tommy’s truck is there, and both of their office doors are closed, so you know they’re back. When you walk back into your office, there’s something there you hadn’t left.

It’s a jacket. Pretty fuckin big, too- not chunky big, just stretched out like whoever was wearing it had been wearing it for a long time. There’s a little pink Post-it note attached to it, seemingly from the office.

Don’t go touching the thermostat. -J

Fucking Christ. You groan but put it on, silently grateful for the act of kindness. Still, a thought nudged at the back of your mind.

Is the whole summer going to be like this?

#joel miller #tlou #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel tlou x reader #joel x reader #willowsvalley #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel miller x you #joel tlou x you #joel the last of us x reader

[theicarusconstellation]

hi astra!! can i request a drabble for number 93, please? i don't mind if it is either jegulus or lilycissa 🫶

bella!! sorry this took so long lmao but here you go!!

prompt: “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore” // jegulus and background lilycissa // sfw // words: 1,286

They know much they risk by doing this. They know that putting themselves in this situation can ruin their lives more than they already have on their own. Lily has enough to worry about with Petunia’s upcoming wedding, a wedding which she had been promptly uninvited to after Petunia saw her in her bridesmaid’s dress and thought she looked prettier than her. Regulus has…a cult. Well, he has the broken remains of a former cult that has sent many lives into spirals, and it is now his responsibility to clean up the mess.

A mess Lily could end up wrapped up in if they continue on this path.

Still, this does not deter them.

“She usually stops by Honeydukes to pick up something for Draco at this hour,” Regulus says to Lily under his breath as they walk along the roads of Hogsmeade. His boots clunk against the cobbled streets, alerting anyone in their vicinity that they should hurry away now or risk losing an eye.

“Draco,” Lily whispers, the name wistful upon her lips. “He must be about three now.”

“He is.” Regulus nods his head in confirmation. Merlin, the last time Lily saw Draco was when he was just born, when Narcissa called her at an unholy hour and shattered her world.

“We can’t see one another anymore. I have a child now, Lily. I — we can’t do this.”

Regulus did not experience this firsthand, but he witnessed it through a Pensieve as Lily, too distraught to speak, dragged him through her memory of the endeavor.

Two days later, Regulus made a very similar phone call to one James Potter.

“We can’t see one another anymore. What I’m doing is dangerous, James. I — we can’t do this.”

But now, three years later, thanks to the work of Regulus and Lily, Voldemort is dead. Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban. The world is safe again, and all is well.

Mostly.

Nearly.

Not at all.

There is still a gaping wound where Regulus’ heart used to be, a constriction where he used to be able to breathe. He still catches Lily crying and staring at old photographs, though she hides them as soon as she feels his eyes on her.

“Can you at least tell me what you’re doing that’s so dangerous? Can you give me that?”

“I…can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

Regulus freezes in his tracks as the memory of The Phone Call comes racing back. Now is not the time to relive the worst decision of his life, yet his mind has apparently decided that the setting is perfect. He leans into Lily’s hand on his shoulder, trying to utilize the Muggle grounding techniques she taught him, but the closer they draw to Zonko’s and Honeydukes, the larger the pit of dread in his stomach grows.

“He misses you, Regulus,” Lily says gently. “He hasn’t been the same. Three years, and he hasn’t been the same. He hasn’t…if anyone so much as looks at him like they want to flirt with him, he snaps at them that he’s taken and proceeds to cry over you in the nearest bathroom.”

It’s the same words she’s told him twenty times before, but this time, they actually stick. Not because he believes them — Regulus thinks they’re pure bullshit. There is no way James Potter doesn’t have a family of four by now. If anyone could conjure up a family of four in the span of three years, it would be him. However, he knows that feeling. He knows the shame that comes with getting a suggestive glance from a stranger long after their relationship had supposedly “ended.” It gnaws at him until he’s keeled over a toilet bowl, vomiting up his guilt and grief.

“He’ll be leaving Zonko’s any minute,” Lily nudges, slightly more urgent now. In response to her words, Regulus strangles the sash of his satchel and draws his breath in a shaky inhale.

“I’m not ready for this.”

“Yes you are.”

She says it with such firmness that it’s startling.

“Go see him, Regulus. Go see James.”

Regulus shakes his head, then nods, then breaks through the ice around his joints and forces his legs to move.

He retains no memory of the walk to the joke shop. One moment, he is with Lily, the next, his neck is snapping up at the sound of the Zonko’s door bell, effectively announcing his presence to the entire shop.

Up at the checkout counter, a bag of Galleons slips out of a familiar hand and falls to the ground.

Regulus’ eyes follow the sound of tinkling coins against the wooden floorboards. They travel up to meet hazel irises behind circular glasses that he has dreamt of endlessly since The Phone Call three years ago.

Those eyes. Those tender eyes, so free of any resentment, so ready to hold him once again.

James’ eyes.

The cashier is saying something the other man doesn’t seem to register; Regulus doesn’t hear it either, not with the static in his ears that threatens to overtake his vision as well.

James — his James, his one and only James, the James he has missed every night for 1095 days — leaves the counter behind and steps toward him. Regulus backs up, not to get away but to lead them outside, and stumbles into the snow.

The door closes behind James, and the noise makes the both of them jump. The air around them is fragile, suspended, able to shatter at any moment.

“I tried,” Regulus croaks out. James waits, always so, so patient, for him to continue. “I tried so fucking hard, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore.”

James laughs, a great, big grin breaking out on his face, and it is the most beautiful sound Regulus has ever heard.

“Thank fuck,” the man whispers, his smile only continuing to grow. “I don’t know if I could have waited much longer before…before I chased after you myself.”

Regulus’ eyes widen, and he tentatively shuffles forward into James’ space.

“Waited?” His breath passes his parted lips in a cloud of cold.

“What, you think I didn’t wait for you? You think I didn’t spend every day hoping I’d get a phone call telling me you were finally ready? Regulus, I have never stopped waiting for you. Not for a moment,” James vows, closing the space between them to cup Regulus’ cheeks between his palms. As soon as they make contact, Regulus releases something between a whine and a whimper and replays James’ words over and over in his head.

He waited. Three years, 1095 days, and James waited for every single one of them.

Regulus closes his eyes and breathes deep, willing himself to bring what he wants to say to the surface. This moment is everything he has wished for, everything he has fantasized about, so perfect that it feels unreal. He cannot fuck it up; he has to get it right.

“You asked me that night if I could tell you what I had to do, and I said I couldn’t. When I said that, I meant it, but now…James, I can tell you everything, and I want to…if you’ll let me.” Good. This is good. This sounds good. Doesn’t it?

“I’ll let you,” James mumbles. His hand moves, and Regulus nearly loses his footing when James’ gentle fingers tuck his curls behind his ear. “Fuck, baby, I’ve missed you.” This last sentence is more of a groan, one that sends warmth rushing down Regulus’ spine.

Regulus can think of nothing in response other than to fall forward against James’ chest and wrap his arms around him, finally allowing himself to feel warmth.

Finally allowing himself to come home.

#felt rushed and last line was corny as fuck but #i did like this one #bella tag <3 #astra’s asks #jegulus #jegulus drabble #jegulus microfic

[astrobei]

carrying the other one in their arms with byclair 😗

#23 for touch prompts!! (me acting as if i did not beg thea to send me a byclair prompt and as if i did not take forever and a half to write it) (was so intimidated and nervous about this one but i hope you like it !!)

Will doesn’t drink. Like, ever. With the exception of his twenty-first which was kind of a given and also at New Year’s that one time, but that was champagne, so it barely even counted, because who even gets drunk off of champagne? Or, more accurately, sparkling white wine from the supermarket, because they're in college and it's not like anyone has real champagne money right now. Unfortunately.

Anyways, Will never drinks. And that’s the reason why– when he had thrown the front door open ten minutes ago, thrown his bag onto his floor, tossed the keys onto the dining room table, and announced loudly that they were going out tonight– Lucas had immediately resigned himself to the role of designated driver.

Well, not driver per se, because they don’t have a car and the local college bar is, like, five blocks down the road. Designated walker, maybe. Designated sheepdog, because if there’s one thing about Lucas Sinclair’s friends, it’s that they get drunk and fucking scatter.

“What’s the occasion?”

Will is fiddling with his hair in the hallway mirror. “Ugh,” he says, and Lucas catches the corner of his frown as he leans in closer. “Long week.”

“I’ll say,” Dustin pipes up from the living room. “You would not believe the shit my client put me through today.”

“Tell us about the shit your client put you through today,” Mike says, head buried in the folds of a coat as he roots through the closet. “Okay, who took my other shoe?”

Lucas looks down at his feet. “Oh,” he says. “I was wondering why my shoes were fitting differently.”

“Unbelievable,” Mike mutters. “I told you not to buy the same pair as me!”

“But they’re so nice,” Lucas grins, bending down to undo the laces. Mike shoots him the finger.

“Unfortunately, it seems that you’ve just admitted that Mike has good taste,” Will says, which is a very occasionally correct but tragic point, then turns around. “How do I look?”

Dustin squints at him from the sofa. “Um. Normal?”

“Good,” Mike says, still glaring at Lucas as he pulls the laces of the right shoe– tragically, Mike’s right shoe– free. “You look good. Is that jacket new?”

“Kind of,” Will laughs, glancing down at the worn brown leather. “Jonathan lent it to me when he visited last month and I never gave it back.

“Typical,” Dustin calls. “But it’s just a college bar, Will. Who cares?”

“Me,” Will frowns. “I care.” He turns to Lucas. “Look okay?”

“Uh,” Lucas says, promptly letting the laces fall from between his fingers. Will looks good. Like, really good. Unfairly good, because he’d just been complaining about how he’d had the longest week known to mankind and how he’d been up at six that morning to get ready for a meeting with his advisor and then he’d sat through seven hours of classes before spending another three in the library and now it’s seven o’clock in the evening and it should honestly be a little bit illegal to go through all of that and come out of it not even looking frazzled.

Will frowns, snaps a finger in his direction. “Lucas?”

“Don’t distract him,” Mike says. “He still needs to give me my shoe back!”

Lucas finishes toeing it off the rest of the way, and kicks it in Mike’s general direction. It flies through the air, rather ungracefully, if he’s being honest, and lands with a soft thump near Mike’s foot. “There,” he says smugly. “Now give me my other one.”

“So I look awful,” Will huffs lightly. “Message received.”

“I said you look good, Will,” Dustin says, finally slamming his laptop shut and making his way around to where Mike is tossing Lucas’ other shoe– the one that’s blessedly his– over to him. “Jesus, Mike, you’re going to take someone’s head off throwing shit around like that.”

“Sorry,” Mike says, not sounding sorry in the least. “And we did say you look good, Will, so does our opinion just not count anymore, or–”

“Dustin said I look normal,” Will corrects, “and I don’t trust you. You have terrible taste.”

Mike lets out an offended noise. “Hey! I have excellent taste, thank you–”

Lucas doesn’t know about all that, even with what he’d been saying about Mike’s shoes, so he chimes in with, “Well, normally you do look good, Will, so Dustin’s technically correct.”

Will freezes, one hand still buried in his hair. “Really?”

“Oh,” Mike snorts, “nice one, Lucas.”

Lucas blinks. “What? What did I say?”

“You said,” Will turns back to the hallway mirror and smooths down the collar of his jacket, “that I look good. Like, normally.”

Great. Is his throat dry? Probably not any more than it usually is. Maybe Lucas should drink some water. “Well. You do.”

“Wow,” Mike rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe that Lucas has more game than you and I combined, even stone-cold sober.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dustin scoffs. “Sweet, sweet liquid courage will be working its wonders tonight.”

Lucas doesn’t know about all that either, but Will is still giving him a bit of a weird look and suddenly Lucas is really regretting not pawning designated sheepdog off on Dustin as reparations for throwing up in their single shared bathroom for hours on end last time they’d gone out. “Sure,” he says instead, as Dustin tugs his own shoes on, and pointedly does not look over at where Will is standing. “Let’s go, you losers. I’ve got class tomorrow morning.”

—-

Here’s the thing, right. Lucas isn’t stupid. He might be a little dumb sometimes, if any of the things Max or Erica or Dustin say have any merit. But he’s not stupid. 

Max says a lot of things, actually, and it’s kind of annoying how many of them land super close to home, considering that she’s currently in school on the other side of the country. But one of those things had been, “College makes people super attractive,” or some iteration of that, over the phone when Lucas had called a couple months ago. And his gut reaction to that had been, like, mild apprehension, because he’d seen the guys in his early morning Psych class, okay, and he didn’t know if he’d classify them as super attractive. Maybe just regular attractive, even though that might be pushing it. Or maybe it wasn’t pushing it so much as maybe they just weren’t his type, and he was being a little unfair.

He’d told Max that too, which, in hindsight, had maybe been a mistake. She’d paused, and then– not even bothering to hide the glee creeping into her voice– said, “Not your type?”

Belatedly– and just one second too late, but enough of a delay for Max Mayfield to hone in on his fumbling, vulnerable self like a vulture descending on a carcass– he’d realized that the appropriate reaction would have been to just call them, like, ugly or something. Unattractive, but entirely separate from his own attraction.

Tragically– as he’d figured out over the next hour and half by means of a very panicked phone call, a very amused ex-girlfriend, and a lot of very hyena-like cackling– the guys in his 8:30 Psych class aren’t unattractive. They’re just not– you know. Attractive to Lucas.

Because apparently that’s a thing now. Guys, that is. Being attractive to him. To Lucas, more specifically. Lucas, finding guys attractive.

Great.

“Don’t sweat it,” Max had assured him. “I told you people get hot in college. You’re gonna notice things.”

Notice things. And after some very dignified squawking on his end of the line, and some more cackling on Max’s end of the line, he’d accepted his sorry, highly amusing fate, and hung up.

So Lucas isn’t an idiot, is the bottom line here. And she was definitely right, and he definitely has been. Noticing things, that is. Things like the back of guys’ necks where their hair meets their skin, and the shape of their arms when they stretch, and the angles of their jaws and noses and shoulders. And, to be more specific, because Lucas isn’t an idiot, and he’s been noticing things– Will’s neck and arms and the angles of Will’s jaw and nose and Will’s shoulders. Especially in that stupid brown leather jacket.

Which is, like, fine. It’s fine! Because people get hot in college and you start noticing things, and Lucas is really, really starting to wish he’d never offered to be the sober one tonight because he would kill for a good spiced rum right about now. Unfortunately, he’s a man on a mission– which he’s already kind of failing, because Mike Wheeler has broken his self-imposed no tequila shots with Dustin rule and now Lucas can’t even be too sure they’re still in the bar.

Will is usually better at being the designated sheepdog than he is, because even drunk, they all seem to know that it’s kind of a low blow to make Will Byers chase them all around town, which is why he ends up doing it most of the time. Lucas would know. He usually is the drunk friends, and he sends a mental prayer of an apology up to whichever divine power might currently be listening, because if he makes it back home with one inebriated friend still intact, he’ll be counting his blessings.

He’s starting to think he might have lost Will too– which would make him go down in history as the worst sheepdog known to mankind– when he reappears at Lucas’ elbow, holding a cup of something in one hand and looking– tragically– very good.

Like, objectively. You know, if Lucas is going around noticing things, he might as well be upfront with himself about it. “Hey,” he says. “What’s that?”

Will looks down at his cup and frowns. “No idea. Mike gave it to me and then disappeared.”

Okay, so as of about ten minutes ago, at least, Mike Wheeler was still in the bar. “Where’s Mike now?”

Will is maybe just the slightest bit tipsy, because he shrugs, says, “Sidewalk,” then throws the rest of the drink back in one go.

Sidewalk. Great. Whatever that means. But it’s fine. Mike is a big boy. He can handle himself. 

Maybe.

“Cool,” Lucas says instead, straining a little over the music. “Was he– um. Okay?”

Will grins at him, saying something that Lucas can’t quite catch, and okay, apparently this is another thing Lucas is noticing now. Will has a nice smile. He’s not blind, okay, and it’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing. That is. And it probably doesn’t hurt that the mystery drink and the couple of shots he’d downed earlier seem to be lending him a kind of warm, easy confidence that Lucas is sure hadn’t been there before.

He blinks. “Sorry, what?”

Will leans in a bit closer. He isn’t that much shorter than Lucas, who doesn’t have to bend down much more than an inch to reach his height, maybe two at the most, but he finds himself leaning in more than that, for some reason, meeting Will in the middle just as his cheek brushes up against his own. “I said,” Will repeats, breath warm against his ear, “he was taking Dustin home. He didn’t look too good.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” That beats the whole point of someone staying unfortunately very sober, Lucas thinks, because the whole point was that Lucas was supposed to walk Dustin home after he and Mike inevitably broke their no tequila shots pact and started dry heaving into a bush. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Mike looked okay,” Will says, still right up next to his ear. He places a hand on Lucas’ forearm for balance, presses his fingers into the sleeve of his jacket, and adds, “Surprisingly enough.”

That is surprising, because Mike can’t hold his fucking liquor. And still, as surprising as Mike Wheeler not being the world’s biggest lightweight for an evening is, it’s not as surprising as Will sliding his hand from Lucas’ arm and dropping it gently down to his waist.

“Um,” Lucas says, because as far as the whole warm and easy confidence thing goes, this seems to be a little much, considering that Will isn’t exactly the touchy-feely-grabby-in-public type. Even in a strictly platonic sense, this is– “Um. What are you doing?”

Will looks at him, and looks at him, and looks at him, and then he finally cracks. “I gave you my wallet for safekeeping,” he laughs, slipping a hand into Lucas’ jacket pocket and pulling his wallet out. He wiggles it in the air. “Remember?”

Right. Yeah. He had done that, hours ago. “Oh,” Lucas says, feeling suddenly very stupid. Is he drunk? Can you get, like, secondhand inebriation? Is that a thing? Maybe Dustin knows. Lucas makes a mental note to ask him. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I’ll close out my tab,” Will says, pulling away just enough to look Lucas in the eye. His cheeks are a little tinged with pink, which makes sense, because it’s warm in here. It’s very, very warm. Lucas is warm, that’s for sure. Jesus. What had Will been saying?

Right. His tab.

“Right,” Lucas says. Will still hasn’t moved. “Your tab. You should. Um.”

“I’ll close it out,” Will repeats, a little quieter now, as he takes a step back and smiles. “And then you can take me home.”

Christ. Okay.

—-

Some other things Lucas has noticed (because he’s a guy with eyes, and when you’re a guy with eyes, you notice these things):

One. Will looks good in that jacket. Lucas hopes, just a little bit, that maybe Jonathan will never realize it’s missing, and then maybe Will can just keep it forever and ever and wear it every day because it looks good. It’s something about the cut of it, he thinks, because it makes him notice how it pulls Will’s shoulders up and out of his perpetually terrible posture, and there’s something about that confidence– artificial or not– that is just objectively very attractive.

Speaking of attractive things. Two– Will is attractive. There’s probably no point trying to avoid thinking about it anymore, out of some arbitrary fear of making things weird. You can find your friends attractive. That’s not weird! That’s a thing that happens to a lot of people, and Lucas can admit to himself that Will is attractive– without hiding behind the guise of thinking about his shoulders or Jonathan Byers’ choice of clothing– and it’s fine. It’s normal. Will Byers is an attractive guy. Full stop.

Unfortunately, because Lucas is Lucas, the full stop lends itself into turning into more of a comma. Because they’re walking home, right, and Will’s foot catches on an errant crack in the sidewalk, and he stumbles, catching himself on Lucas’ bicep with one hand and clutching at the front of Lucas’ sweater with the other, and in one fell swoop, Will Byers is an attractive guy turns into Will Byers is an attractive guy, and Lucas is definitely attracted to him.

Great.

“Whoa,” Lucas says, reaching out to steady Will where he’s still kind of swaying a bit, trying to get upright again. He grips Will firmly under his elbow and hauls him the rest of the way to his feet, and says, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out, gingerly moving the offending ankle back and forth. “Yeah, I just– tripped.”

“I know,” Lucas laughs, and Will rolls his eyes up at him. “I saw.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Will smiles. He tests his weight slowly, leaning forward on one foot then back again, then lets out a soft noise of discomfort. “Ah–”

“Shit,” Lucas frowns, then tightens his grip on Will’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

Obviously the answer is yes, but Will, the stubborn motherfucker, shakes his head and says, “No, I’m– ow.”

“Nice,” Lucas deadpans, and Will shoves lightly at his chest.

“Don’t make fun of me. I’m drunk.”

Lucas peers at him. Will doesn’t seem drunk, but maybe he’s just really good at hiding it. “Are you really?”

“No,” Will snorts. “Are you kidding?  It’s going to take more than three drinks over four hours to get me. I’m just clumsy.”

Lucas knows this already, because they’re roommates. He’s seen Will in the mornings. And in the afternoons, and in the evenings, and in the middle of the night. “Fair enough,” Lucas agrees, then hesitates. “Here,” he pulls one of Will’s arms over his shoulder, “just– lean on me. Like this.”

“Now people are really going to think I’m wasted,” Will mutters, but he lets Lucas move him anyway. Lucas slips an arm around his waist, under his jacket, and pulls him in closer. “I definitely look like I just threw up into a bush.”

A fourth thing Lucas notices– Will is warm, and he’s solid, and he isn’t pulling away, even when Lucas grips tighter, right over the soft fabric of his university sweatshirt. Will lets him hold his weight up without complaint. It’s nice, Lucas thinks. This is nice. “Is that what Dustin was doing?”

“No, but it looked like that’s where it was headed.” Will leans into him a little bit more, the space between them almost gone, and tests his weight on his hurt foot again. “Ah– okay. Okay. I’m fine.”

He most certainly is not fine. Lucas frowns. “No you’re not.”

Will laughs softly, resting a hand over the back of Lucas’ palm, where it’s splayed flat across the side of his waist. “I mean, we’re only a couple of blocks away. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I could carry you,” Lucas offers. It’s partially a joke– because Will is Will, and the chances of him letting himself be carried by anyone are little to zero– but it’s also– well. It’s not not genuine, because Lucas is thinking about that noticing things thing again, and here are the other things he’s noticed, in the last five minutes or so:

One– Will really does not need to be this close to him. Even with the whole leaning on him thing, he doesn’t need to have his face turned into Lucas’ neck, or his body angled towards him this sharply, or his hand still resting atop Lucas’.

Two– and here’s the real kicker: Will hasn’t said no yet.

“Really?” Will sounds surprised, but again– that’s not a protest.

“Uh,” Lucas says, because he really didn’t expect to get this far, but again– he hadn’t not been serious. “Yeah. Yeah! Of course.”

Will gives him a curious look. “You think you could?”

Lucas scoffs. “Please. Look who you’re talking to.”

Will’s not a small guy by any means– and Lucas knows this, because, hey. He has eyes. Either way, Will laughs again, and says, “Right. I forgot who I was talking to. Mister student athlete extraordinaire.”

“I don’t know about extraordinaire,” Lucas says. “But that’s not a no.”

Will gives him another look, and holds his gaze for one, two, three seconds, before caving. “Yeah, okay,” he says, patting the back of Lucas’ hand once where it’s still holding onto his waist. “Why not.”

Lucas grins. “Great. I’m going to need you to turn about ninety degrees that way.”

“Sure,” Will says, turning, “but why– whoa!”

“See?” Lucas doesn’t consider himself to be, like, a douchey gym guy type, but hey. He’ll take his victories where they come. “Easy peasy.”

Will stares, legs bent and dangling almost hilariously off of Lucas’ forearm. “What–

Okay. So he’s enjoying this a lot, actually. Lucas does a little half-squat, just to show off. “Easy peasy,” he says again, and winks. 

Maybe that does make him a douchey gym guy type, but it’s worth it, for the look on Will’s face. “Wow,” Will says, eyes wide. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Nothing,” Will blinks. His cheeks are slowly turning red. “You’re just– strong.”

Lucas stops dead in his tracks.

Is he being flirted with, right now? Is that what’s happening? Is Will Byers flirting with him?

He supposes he did start it, after all. “Um,” he says, feeling his own face grow warm. “Thank you.”

Will just nods wordlessly. “Yeah,” he says softly, then clears his throat. “Um. Should we–”

“Yeah! Yeah, let’s– um. Yeah!”

They haven’t even made it half a block down before Will starts up again. “You sure you can–”

“Will.”

“Okay,” Will says, tightening his arms around Lucas’ neck. “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

It’s really not that bad. They’re close enough to the apartment for Lucas to see the building around the corner, and Will is solid and firm in his arms but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the street ahead of him, though, because for all of his hemming and hawing about being able to carry him and it’s fine, Will, he isn’t sure that he won’t drop him immediately if he catches a glimpse of Will’s face.

Jesus. Okay. This is fine.

They make it all the way to the elevator before they run into a problem.

“Um,” Lucas says, looking up at the metal doors then down at Will. “So I don’t think we’re going to fit.”

They probably will, but he doesn’t want to be responsible for, like, slamming Will’s head against the door and giving him permanent brain damage. “Probably not,” Will agrees, then taps the arm under his legs with a small smile. “You can just put me down, you know.”

“No way.” Lucas shifts him in his arms and puffs out his chest. “We made it this far. I’ve made a commitment.”

“Chivalrous,” Will says, in what was probably intended to be a deadpan, but it comes out a little bit breathy anyway. His cheeks are still pink.

Lucas swallows, and, as the elevator opens up with a quiet ding, says, “Yeah, I know.”

“Go sideways,” Will instructs him, “no, more sideways– yeah, there you go.”

To his credit, Will’s foot only bumps the elevator door, like, the littlest bit. “Sorry!” Lucas apologizes. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Lucas,” Will laughs. “It’s fine. It’s fine!”

“Not very chivalrous of me after all,” Lucas grumbles, as they make their way down the hallway to the front door.

“At least you weren’t the one who tripped and busted up his ankle,” Will points out, reaching into his pocket. “Here– let me down, I’ve got the keys.”

Lucas sets him down, gently, gently, keeping one arm braced around Will’s waist as he fumbles with his pocket, then the lock. Will lets him. He notices this too, with a kind of absentminded, gleeful sense of victory. It feels like one, anyway, how Will is leaning into him even though he doesn’t have to anymore, because they’re home and he can just hobble off to bed and deal with the whole situation in the morning. In the–

Oh, shit. It’s Thursday night, and Lucas has an 8:30 class.

Whatever. Small victories are small victories. He tightens his arm around Will’s waist and waits for him to get the door open.

“So,” Will says, once they’re inside and the door is closed behind them with a soft click. “That was fun.”

Lucas grins. Will’s turned to face him, so he’s not so much leaning against him for support anymore as he is just leaning. “I thought so too.”

“I didn’t think you’d really do that,” Will admits, taking a step closer. He places a hand on Lucas’ upper arm, the same arm that’s still resting on top of Will’s university sweatshirt, under the stiff leather of his jacket. “It was very gentlemanly.”

“Next time we go out, I’ll lay my jacket over a puddle for you,” Lucas whispers, and Will laughs gently.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Seriously,” Lucas adds, “you should ice that, or something, because it’s going to be so bad when you–”

Wake up tomorrow was what Lucas had been about to say, and then Will cuts him off with a kiss.

Things Lucas is noticing, added on to the end of an ever-growing list, apparently: Will Byers is a damn good kisser. 

Lucas isn’t too sure where that came from, and also he can’t really find it in himself to care, because Will’s lips are soft and his hair is even softer, and up close he smells like fresh air and men’s cologne, and Lucas notices all of these things with far less lucidity than he’d been keeping tracks of things with before. Then, the list of things goes flying out of his head and it’s just Will– warm even though it had been so cold outside, in Jonathan Byers’ stupid leather jacket, and Lucas makes a vague mental note to buy him a brand new one, so he never again has to think about Will’s brother while kissing him.

Again, he thinks faintly, a little bit giddy at the thought, clutching at Will’s waist as he sways lightly, a little unsteady on his injured foot. Again. He’d like to do this again, except maybe without the melodrama and the injury and– whatever happened to Mike and Dustin.

“Gentlemanly,” Will murmurs again, as he pulls away. It’s barely loud enough for Lucas to hear, even though they’re just a few inches apart. Will’s eyes drop down to his mouth, once, then back up to meet his gaze. He bites back a smile, eyes sparkling. “I stand by my previous statement.”

Oh, god. Max is going to have a fucking field day with this one.

#oh my god ok #warm up ficlet for the full length byclair i will be writing soon #but this was so strangely hard at first especially lucas pov #im so used to describing will from mike pov #this took a second tbh #but it was so fun and i love them and i've been seeing sm byclair on the dash recently so i figured what better time to finally finish !! #thea i hope u enjoy #my number 1 byclair enabler fr #god i love them #they are so #SOOOOOO #like i love byler. byler is The couple ever #but byclair.... #BYCLAIR............ #watch out mike wheeler that's all im saying #byclair #lucas sinclair #will byers #fun sized fics #fic #um #ok that's all i hope this doesn't Suck

[ladyhoneydee]

this peppermint winter, this marshmallow world

Zelink | College AU | 5.8k

At the end of the second swallow, she finally opened her eyes—and caught Link in the midst of a sip of his own. Watching her. Why did the warmth in his eyes look so…different? Had he ever looked at her that way before, in all their years of friendship? Maybe it was just the glow of the streetlamp they stood beneath, transforming the snow into glittering fairy dust and the ambiance into spun gold. If they left this place, if they took their walk as planned, perhaps the clear blue moon would return them to the same light they’d always been cast in. Why did the thought of that make her chest so tight?

Written for @pastelsandpining as part of the Hateno Hideout Secret Santa! If you like the best-friends-to-lovers trope, nonverbal trans guy Link who is acting veeeery oddly all of a sudden, and confused, investigative Zelda, this one is for you.

Read it on AO3, FFN, or under the cut!

Zelda knew something was wrong with Link from a mile off. 

It didn’t matter that she was stuck behind the front desk, explaining to a frazzled-looking first year that no, they did not have any private study rooms available at this very minute, and they would have to wait twenty minutes or so until something opened up. From the moment her best friend strode into Castleton University’s Gaebora Library, his snow-dusted green beanie pulled down tight and chin tucked in low, she could tell that his mind was running a mile a minute on some topic or another. He always tended to crunch in physically when he was mentally distressed, after all. 

As the student surrendered with a grimace and set off towards the staircase—no doubt heading for one of the public sitting areas on the quiet upper floors—Link lifted his chin, and Zelda met his eyes. The whites widened, the pupils expanded. Then his gaze promptly dropped back to the laminate tiles underfoot.

Zelda’s suspicion rocketed through the ceiling, the five floors of the library over her head, and the snow-laden roof shingles high above. With the exception of particularly awkward or emotional conversations, Link had never struggled to hold eye contact with her before. Heck, they had practically lived off of staring contests back in high school. Even now, five semesters into university, new friends invariably asked if she and Link were dating based solely on how annoying about eye contact and making goofy faces at each other they were.

Still, there was no way he could actually avoid her, even if he wanted to. Not when she was on front desk duty, and the only student worker on shift who knew Hyrulean Standard Sign Language. After all, Link never came to the library to study, only to pick up books. Nonverbal as he was, it was easier to focus in a private place than somewhere people who couldn’t understand HSSL might try to talk to him. 

His fingers stuttered through her name-sign for a moment before smoothing through the rest of his words. “I have an interlibrary loan to pick up? A Walk in the Lost Woods by K.-I.-A. H-E-R-M-O-S?” His finger-spelling of the name was quick, but she’d been signing since elementary school and reading Link’s words and letters off his hands for nearly as long; it was nearly impossible to trip her up at this point. 

“Sure, I’ll just need to grab it!” Zelda’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm to cover up her suspicion. “For your Environmental Philosophy course, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. Got an essay due next week.” 

Well, at least he was making conversation.

“Tonight is such a mess,” she complained. “I swear I’ve had five different students try to get me to find their books for them instead of just following my directions. It’s like everyone’s brain cells died over winter break.” 

A smile cracked through Link’s slight frown and downturned brows. “So now they’re killing yours in retribution, huh?”

“Mm-hm! Which is exactly why you should get us coffees from Piper’s and meet me on the quad for a walk when you’re finished studying and I’m done with my shift!” She beamed at him.

Just like that, alarm swept his face clean of the soft warmth it had held only a moment prior, and his gaze darted away from her once again. He rubbed his hands on his pants before replying, as if wiping off sweat—which was weird, given that he’d just come in from the cold, and hadn’t been wearing gloves. 

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Come on, please?” she wheedled. “I’ll need something to resuscitate my poor, dying brain cells. And you’re my chosen hero of the hour.” She smiled in the winning, bossy way she’d learned from a childhood cultivated by a single dad who was not only a hardass entrepreneur, but also had moonlit as the president of the PTA at every public school she had attended. 

She’d learned other things from Daphnes, too. Like how to pursue a lead when something seems fishy—and how to throw someone off the scent of your true intentions until the opportune moment. 

The trick was to pick a reason that was still genuine, just not the whole truth. 

Link sighed, his gestures slowing and taking on weight to emphasize his put-upon tone. “If you insist. But— I’m bringing hot chocolate, not coffee.” Her pout was met with a stern, wolf-eyed stare. “I don’t care if you live off of caffeine. It’ll be after ten before we’re both done for the night, and I’m not dropping money on your addiction when I’ve got perfectly good cocoa mix in my dorm.”

Zelda let out a ponderous sigh of her own. “Fiiiine.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“They say that the chosen heroes rarely were,” Link shot back, his gestures short and snippy, but punctuated with enough flair that she knew it was from sass rather than actual upset. “I’m just living up to your expectations.”

“Sure, hero.” She smirked. “Let me grab that book.”

As she swiveled her rolly chair around to scan the loan shelf for his book—Nayru’s love, did none of the other student workers this semester realize they were supposed to label the books with the requester’s name to make things easier?—Zelda mused over Link’s odd behavior. He’d brightened up, sure, but for him to hesitate over spending time together…

Well, the last time that had happened, it was right before he came out to her as trans the year they turned thirteen, and he was terrified she was going to hate him forever. 

When she spun back around, Link was fervently tapping his fingers against the wood of the front desk, expressions dancing over his features so quickly that she couldn’t make them out. He remained wordless and reticent while she checked out the green-bound hardback and passed it over, before throwing her a tight smile, waving awkwardly with his free hand, and walking out the door at an even brisker pace than usual. 

He hadn’t even paused to tuck the book away in his backpack.

…It was fine. It was. He’d been wrong back then—she could never hate him, but especially not for that —and no matter what secret feelings he was keeping close to his chest right now, he’d be wrong this time, too. She loved him too much for any other option to stick. Like snow falling on a manhole cover, any trouble between them would melt away before it had the chance to build up. 

She would make sure of it.

--

One of the downsides of working at Gaepora Library was that even at the end of the long, grueling evening shift, Zelda couldn’t leave until she’d scrubbed the floor. 

The reasoning was understandable enough, she supposed—given the building’s late hours, the CasU custodial staff were all done for the day by the time the library closed, and the slush and salt dragged into the lobby would damage the library’s century-old hardwood floor if it sat on them overnight—but that didn’t make her job any more enjoyable. The snow outside was pretty and all, and she couldn’t wait to go out in it with Link later, but did every student need to track slush in on their boots? They had a mat in front of the door for a reason!

Dimly, she noticed the clomping of winter boots approaching the front doors. Zelda glared down at the dirty rag in her hand and scrubbed even more vigorously. Surely the late visitor would notice the “CLOSED” sign she’d propped up in the front window, or the fact that nearly all the lobby lights were off, or her scrubbing the floor, and correctly assume that they should come back in the morning.

The door before her swung open. 

Zelda reared back from the sudden blast of cold. Wrath simmered in her veins, and she snapped her head up, ready to give this person a piece of her mind. 

“Excuse me, but the library is actually closed for the eve—”

Link. 

His nose was red from the chill, and his shoulders shook with mirth. Immediately, all of the frustration that had been coiling like smoke in Zelda’s lungs throughout her shift whooshed out of her with a deep sigh.

“Nice floor,” he signed. “Very clean.”

“If you step on it, I might have to kill you.” 

He laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’d obviously stopped by his dorm since the last time she’d seen him. His rugged leather-and-canvas backpack was nowhere to be seen, and he’d swapped out his slate-blue quilted jacket for a snowquill-stuffed puffy coat. This time, he was actually wearing gloves, and his omnipresent green beanie was pulled as far over his ears as it could manage.

She smiled fondly. Some things never changed. They might be twenty and sleep-deprived from annotated bibliographies and slideshow presentations instead of ten and sleep-deprived from playing video games under the covers all night, but Link would always get cold faster than she did.

Link, unaware of the nostalgic origins of her affectionate stare, gave her a hesitant smile in return. “I left the hot chocolates outside. No food and drinks in the library, and all.” 

“Aw, you’re such a good boy,” she cooed. “You rule follower, you.”

To her surprise, he flushed redder than the ruby studs in his ears. Gloved fingers twitched wildly in the air for a moment in a clear nonvocal stutter before he pressed the tips together so hard that she almost thought she could see them quiver from the strain. 

The pause in the conversation was disjointed, alien. Like they were metronomes running on two different beats per minute, instead of the unison they’d always shared. 

“Are–are you ready to go?” he asked eventually, and Zelda’s brows shot up. Was he just not going to address his reaction? What was going on? 

At her lack of reply, his eyes darted around the lobby, and he filled the void himself. “They’re gonna get cold if you take much longer. Slowpoke.” Even the teasing insult was added on belatedly, as though he was reading off a script of their usual interactions and had nearly forgotten the last part of his line. 

Well, if he wasn’t going to be normal, she would just have to pick up his slack. 

“Oh, I’ve been ready! In all ways except the physical.” She waved the damp rag in her hand pointedly. “Give me just a minute.”

The nod Link gave her was heavy with relief, and she realized he was grateful she hadn’t called him out on his weird behavior. Well, he was going to be in for a rude awakening once they started their walk and the interrogation began. 

One rag rinsed and squeezed out, one desktop computer logged out and turned off, and one book-stuffed messenger back hauled onto her shoulder later, they were out the door. 

--

Zelda was grateful for the hot chocolate before she even took a sip. The lightweight knit gloves she kept in the pocket of her winter coat were not cutting it against the chilly wind and swirling snow. Central Hyrule wasn’t particularly known for being a cold region of Hyrule—not with places like the Mt. Nayru region of Lanayru and the entirety of Hebra as competition—but when winter settled in over the wide grasslands, it truly did settle. So when she plucked one of Link’s ceramic travel mugs off the bench, the heat that sunk into her fingers was entirely welcome. 

“They’re dark chocolate with peppermint and marshmallows,” Link signed. His gestures were harder to decipher when made one-handed, as the other was occupied with his own mug; still, after a lifetime of communicating with Link in all kinds of one- and two- and even no-handed situations, she could parse them rather well. “I made them both the same so that you wouldn’t have to make any decisions. Or complain if I made the decision.”

“Aw, you’re so kind. The great hero, saving me from my own agency.” She sent him a sly look.

“Hey, how many times have you texted me just to ask me to pick something for you out of decision fatigue at the end of a long day?”

“Too many to count.” She nudged him in the side gently. “I am grateful for that, truly.”

“Oh, I know.” His elbow bumped her in return. “Now drink your hot chocolate, you mooch.”

“ Yeah, your mooch,” she shot back, and took a sip. 

If she’d been looking at Link at that instant, she might have seen how his lips parted and trembled at her words. But Zelda’s eyelashes had fluttered closed from pleasure the moment the sweet, minty richness hit her tastebuds, and the moment passed, unseen.

“Mmmmm, that’s the stuff.” Unconsciously, she poked her tongue out to collect the scant remaining droplets of chocolate from her lips, before going back in for another greedy gulp. The warmth, the velvety texture of half-melted marshmallows slipping into her mouth, the cool echo of mint that lingered even after the sip was gone—it was like a green firework going off in her mouth, cascading sparks of comfort all the way down to her stomach.

At the end of the second swallow, she finally opened her eyes—and caught Link in the midst of a sip of his own. Watching her. 

Why did the warmth in his eyes look so…different? Had he ever looked at her that way before, in all their years of friendship? 

Maybe it was just the glow of the streetlamp they stood beneath, transforming the snow into glittering fairy dust and the ambiance into spun gold. If they left this place, if they took their walk as planned, perhaps the clear blue moon would return them to the same light they’d always been cast in.

Why did the thought of that make her chest so tight?

“How are the brain cells?” Link signed.

“Huh?” She blinked, owl-eyed. 

He laughed. “Okay, so they’re obviously not—” His hands fluttered in the air for a moment. “Oh, what was the word you used before…”

“Resuscitated.” She narrowed her eyes.

He ignored it. “That’s it! Resuscitated. Obviously your brain cells haven’t been resuscitated yet.”

“I think your presence might be killing them off, actually.”

“Well, I can always leave if that’s what you’d prefer…” His words were lighthearted, but something glittered in his eyes. Something that turned her stomach and reminded her what, exactly, they were there for.

“No!” She flinched back at her own outburst and thought fast. “I mean, no, obviously I don’t want you to leave. What I want is to go on a walk with you through the Green.”

“The Green?” If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed him nervously biting his lower lip. “I thought you said the quad. And I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go all the way out there. I mean, it’s going to get pretty cold tonight.”

“The cold front isn’t supposed to blow in until midnight, actually. I checked the weather earlier. It’ll be totally fine—no more snow or cold than we’re already getting.”

Link looked up, but the sky was inscrutable. It was impossible to tell if the clouds above were thick and heavy with snow or light and mobile; if they were on their way out or if more lurked on the horizon. His brow furrowed.

“Besides, I can always keep you warm myself,” Zelda joked. It was a quip long-familiar for them—their friendship had always been one of touchy-feely affection—but instead of the habitual glomping hug or taking of her hand, Link only gave her that same frightened rabbit stare.

“Or not.” She laughed awkwardly. “Again, the weather shouldn’t be a problem anyhow. Even for you.”

“Ha, ha,” he signed sarcastically, and she could have collapsed with relief. “Make fun of me for having a normal response to abnormal temperatures.”

“It’s my solemn duty as your best friend to make fun of you,” she said through a cheeky grin.  “So? Are you in?”

Link sighed, and it was like she was seeing the action in double: the put-upon, overdramatic performance, and the actual release of trepidation it concealed. “...Yeah. Yeah, of course I’m in. Always.”

Always, even if the whole evening had been strange and discombobulated so far. Zelda took a deep breath and let it out. They would get through this, no matter what was churning inside his head and spilling out like steam over a hot spring. It was him and her. Zelda and Link. Always.

“Perfect.” She smiled at him, softer than the gently falling snowflakes. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” he said, and the smallness and lightness of his motions let Zelda know her feelings were reciprocated. “Let’s take a walk.”

--

The Green was the closest thing CasU had to a nature reserve. It must have had some sort of official name, but Zelda hadn’t looked at a map of campus in years, and every student she’d ever heard talking about the place just called it the Green. Even the professors and administration did, as if they realized that no one would know what they were referring to unless they adopted the students’ language. 

But regardless of what one called the hundreds of acres of green space that hugged the entire western border of campus, a walk on one of the well-trodden footpaths along the river, through the woods, or across the meadows was always an enjoyable way to spend a few hours. Between Link’s Outdoor Education major, Zelda’s multitude of Biology internships, and the hours the pair had spent avidly mapping every trail themselves during their first semester, they both practically had the land memorized. 

Still, it was only practically, never wholly, because there was always something new to see. 

Even with three years at CasU under her belt, the Green’s beauty in winter never failed to strike her. Although it might have benefitted from a temporary renaming, given how everything besides the tall, old conifers sprinkled amongst the leafless oaks, maples, and aspens was blanketed in pure white snow. The branches criss-crossing over their heads were completely coated, as if the goddesses had dipped them in marshmallow fluff for a wintry treat. 

“It looks completely different,” Link signed. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. 

Zelda had to agree. The last time they’d hiked through the Green—nearly a month ago now, between finals, winter break, and the hectic first week back—a chaotic mess of decaying leaves had carpeted the forest floor, and they’d had to watch their step or risk tripping over a well-camouflaged root. The soil had been wet and slick beneath their feet from rain, and sprinkled through the tussocks of browning grass crumbled huge, frost-blackened mushrooms. Now, the whole world glittered beneath the silver rays of the half-moon, illuminating dozens of squirrel, rabbit, bird, and deer tracks that ran beneath the tree trunks—tracks that could only have been laid since the snow began falling, less than an hour ago. 

How strange, that the season of death felt more lively than the long, damp months that preceded it. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why. The hush just felt right. 

When Link looked over at her, eyes soft and wide with wonder, and nodded, she knew he felt it too. 

They reached a split in the path, a familiar crossroad. Left would take them further into the woods; right would take them to the meadows on the northeastern edge of the Green, before curving back in the direction of campus proper. 

She turned to Link once again. “What do you think? Right?”

“Wrong,” Link joked. “Nah, totally, let’s go to the meadows. It’ll be easier to get back to our dorms from there anyway.”

“It’ll be nice to see how they look, too, with the snow. By morning all the skiers will be out, and it won’t be nearly as pretty.” Zelda grinned good-naturedly. ‘All the skiers’ often included Link and Zelda in their numbers, after all. 

They swung off to the right, pointing out how the makeup of the forest changed as they got closer and closer to the meadows. When they both finished their final swigs of cocoa, marshmallows glazing pillowy sweetness down their throats, Zelda offered to stow their travel mugs away in her backpack. After all, Link had made them himself in his ceramics studio last year; it wouldn’t do for them to break! 

Still, even when the heat from the mug in her hands was gone, Zelda felt warm down to her core.

Books always said that winter was quiet, but Zelda couldn’t help but feel that was exactly wrong. It always felt, to her, like more. Brighter, with the snow reflecting the moonlight back up to dazzle their retinas and aid their journey. Freer, with the song of the wind more obvious as the fresh powder muffled any of the typical forest sounds. Sweeter, with the clean crispness of snowfall settling on the tongue. The beautiful more ness of it all filled her up, until she felt just shy of bursting with contentment.  

And then they crossed into the open air with its swirling snow and stars, and something in her chest, something brilliant and winged and joyful, rose and broke free of its tether.

Her head tipped back and her mouth opened wide and she drank in the moonlight, the starlight, the north wind. Arms flung wide to embrace the night. She twirled, twirled, twirled, basking in the coldbright good until it blurred into streaks and her dancing feet stumbled their way into a deep, clinging snowbank and she tripped—

Arms around her. Warm but not warm; body heat covered up by a wind-chilled shield. Soft but not soft; sturdy compactness muffled by puffy down. Her body was motionless, but her vision spun like the orbit of some wild planet. Its sun: the green beanie. 

“Nice catch,” she said breathlessly. “Have you considered sports?”

One hand lingered on her still-swaying waist, holding her steady. The other lifted to her cheek, its touch tender. His woolen glove itched as it traced letter-signs against her cold skin.

“D-U-M-M-Y.”

“Rude.”

With a deliberately hard blink, her vision finally stopped spinning. Link’s face was before her: nose and cheeks ruddy from the cold, bemused smirk on his lips. It was strange to be staring up at him for once. She hadn’t done that since they were eleven, when she shot up like a beanpole and didn’t stop growing until halfway through high school. 

Noticing the change in her gaze, Link retracted his hand from her cheek, instead hovering it between them where she could make out his signs. “You know, spinning around like you did when we were little is a lot more dangerous now than it was then. Kids have way stronger bones.”

“I drink my milk, thanks. Lon Lon Ranch is coming in clutch for my bones.”

He gave her a deadpan look. “Sure you do. Because I’ve definitely seen you get milk at the cafeteria even once in the last two and a half years.”

“Well…there was milk in the hot chocolate, right?” She raised a brow at him.

“Nope. Box mix and water.” His stare was positively gloating.

“You’re awful.”

“ Yeah, your awful,” he said, and then, as if the terrible, adorable pun had flipped a switch in his brain, his jaw went slack and his eyes bugged. Zelda had about one second to get her feet beneath her before he dropped his arms and stepped back so abruptly that she would’ve fallen again, had she not felt the tension seize his every muscle. 

As it was, she still stumbled. Her jaw clenched, but she forcibly relaxed it before meeting Link’s gaze again. 

In the time it took her to recover, he’d taken two steps back, a distance that yawned between them like an abyss between their feet. His arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach, as if he was about to be sick—or protecting his soft, squishy bits from a nearby threat.

“I think it’s time to tell me what’s going on,” Zelda said, voice soft but clear.

Link was already shaking his head. She waited for his hands to rise into place, for him to uncurl his hedgehog self and speak, even if it was a no, but they didn’t.

“Link, it’s obvious that something is wrong. You’ve been acting wei—” She cut herself off; reconsidered. “... different all night. I’m not judging you, I’m worried. You’re my best friend. I want to help you, if it’s something I can help with.”

The head-shaking slowed, then gradually ceased. He peeled his arms free from his torso. When his gaze met hers, her heart twinged at how ashamed he looked, with his shiny eyes and the redness of his face that she knew surpassed what the cold alone could do to his skin. 

“Do you promise you won’t judge me? Or get mad?”

“I promise,” she vowed. “And Link,” she smiled at him gently, “if you think I would judge you for anything, you’re ignoring thirteen years of experience.”

He let out a juddering sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay. Okay. So the thing is…” His gestures trailed off. He tried again. “The thing is…it’s…I…”

“You can plan what you want to say first,” Zelda murmured. “No hurry, as long as I do get to know it eventually.”

He nodded jerkily, gaze settling on the churned-up snow between them. When his hands began twitching in loose, tiny gestures, Zelda turned her own gaze to the sky to give him privacy. 

The snow had begun falling faster since they’d begun their walk through the Green. She could hardly see the constellations between the shadows of the clouds above. The Ocarina, the Hero of Winds, the Chosen Lovers—all her favorites were out of sight. She could barely make out the three stars that formed the belt of the Princess of Light. 

A tap on her shoulder. She looked over at Link, whose face looked a little more settled, a little less panicked. 

“I’m ready now,” he signed. The motions were steadier, and she felt the tension in her unknot the tiniest bit. They were Link and Zelda. They’d be okay. 

She nodded encouragingly. 

“You’re right that there’s something wrong,” he started. “Wrong with—with me. At least I think it’s with me, because there’s nothing you’ve done wrong that would have done this, at least I don’t think so, I can’t think of anything, but—” 

He cut himself off, dropping his hands fully back to his sides before raising them again. 

“There is something wrong with me. When I’m with you. It started…” His gaze left hers and focused on the stars above, remembering. “I think it started during finals week. That night we pulled the all-nighter. I thought it was just because of how tired I was…but then it happened over winter break, at the solstice bonfire. And it’s only gotten worse since then.”

Zelda’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Nothing wrong with her, yet it only happened when he was in her company? A gust of wind rocked them both, and for a split second, she wished it would carry her away.

“I just feel so…so weird,” he burst out, hands flying into bigger shapes than they had all night. “Whenever we’re together. My heart beats so hard, and I feel it everywhere. And my knees get all shaky, and my hands get all shaky—which really sucks when you need your hands to communicate, by the way—and my brain gets all fuzzy, and my stomach churns.”

Oh. Oh, he was…

“And it makes me feel awful, because you don’t deserve me acting so weird with you, but sometimes you get close, or you say things that just make–make it stronger, and I just can’t help it!” He shook his head wildly. “I think I must be sick or something!”

Her heart thrummed in her chest at the same time as she had to bite back a laugh. She’d been worried all this time, and all along, he’d—

“Link,” Zelda said carefully. “I don’t think you’re sick.”

“Yeah?” He looked hopeful. “What do you think it is?”

“Well…” How to phrase this delicately? “Do you remember Malon? From high school?”

“Of course! I mean, she was my first girlfriend, how could I forget her?”

“And do you remember how you felt when you two first got together?”

“Yeah, being with her always made my heart…flutter…” He broke off, and Zelda could see the gears start turning in his head, spinning faster than even the snowflakes falling thickly around them.

No turning back now.

“Link…have you ever considered that you might…love me romantically?”

The denial was immediate, words flying from his fingers. “I can’t like you! We said we’d never date back in, like, middle school!”

Her chest swelled with fond amusement at the silliness of the rebuke.

“Link, that was almost a decade ago. We’re completely different people now. Way smarter, emotionally competent, physically attractive people. ” She grinned teasingly. “You had that terrible haircut that made you look like a coconut back then, of course I wouldn’t date you.”

“A coconut,” he repeated, gestures spiky with his derision. “Like yours was much better! You had that little pageboy cut for years.”

“Yeah, and as my best friend, it’s really your fault that I looked so bad for so long. You really should’ve warned me.” 

“My fault! You—” He broke off. After a couple of moments, he continued, gestures smaller. “You mentioned my hair, but…isn’t it also, you know, because of your sexuality?”

Zelda laughed. “I wasn’t even fourteen yet when we made that pact. I don’t think I even knew what a sexuality was.”

“No, I mean…” He scuffed his foot into the snow. “Now. You wouldn’t be into me now, because, you know.”

Zelda’s brows furrowed. “No, I really don’t. Can you be a little more clear?”

“Because…you’re straight?”

She blinked. That was not what she had expected him to say. “Link, that means I like men. You are a man. Of course I could be into you.” 

Link blinked at her as if she had just delivered an entire lecture on the precise chemical makeup of the secretions of tireless frogs and their utilization in the pharmaceutical industry. “I…yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” A smile spread over his face, slow and steady, until he was positively beaming. “You’re right! You could be into me!” He froze. “Wait, but are you into me? You already know how I feel, so…”

“‘Know?’ I practically figured it out for you,” she teased, then took a deep breath. “To be honest, I haven’t thought about it before, because I’ve been so happy to be your best friend. I’d have been happy to be that for you forever, as long as I was by your side. But you…seriously, Link, if you’d want to give us a shot romantically, I’d be so down for that.”

“Really?” he asked, starry-eyed.

“Yes,” she answered simply. “It’s another way to get to know you, to be close to you. To be happy with you.” She shuffled her feet. “I love you, Link, and I’d love to love you even more. Why wouldn’t I want to take that chance?”

The smile he gave her warmed her right down to her frosty toes. The two paces that had separated them for the entirety of their conversation disappeared in a flash, as he clumsily crossed the snow between them. 

“I could be your best friend forever, too,” he told her, “but I’d also like to be able to make out with you.” 

One hand reached up to cup her face, and Zelda tilted her chin down until their cold-reddened noses brushed. 

Nayru’s love, if Link’s heart had been hammering like this every time they’d touched for the last month, he was even more of an oblivious dummy than she thought.

But he was her oblivious dummy. Platonically, romantically. Eternally.

“We should get a start on that, then,” she murmured, watching his eyelashes flutter at the feeling of her breath on his face. “Time’s a-ticking. Snow’s a-blowing.”

Link let out a wordless groan, shifting the hand that cupped her cheek to instead twine demandingly through the hair at her nape, and signed rapidly with his free hand. “Gods, I love that smart mouth of yours.”

She wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, if it was Link’s hungry mouth or her own that bridged the gap. Whoever it was, it led to an intoxicating, insistent push-and-pull; the sharp press of Link’s teeth against her bottom lip; the sensation of the smooth muscle of his mouth as she traced her tongue along his own. 

He tasted of chocolate, peppermint, and marshmallow. Sweet and warm and familiar, just like him. 

Her best friend.

Link.

When they pulled apart, gasping for breaths that stung their lungs with the chill, she could feel that same fluttery something from earlier whirling in her chest, ablaze with joy. 

“That was…” she breathed. 

“Yeah,” Link agreed. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with desire, as they traced over her face. “It was.”

“We should do it again, as soon as possible.” Zelda pressed a kiss to the lobe of his ear, tugging the ruby stud there softly with her teeth and luxuriating in his ragged gasp. How glad she was that Link had never chosen to let the holes close over; that he could look in the mirror and see how they suited the him he was now, rather than who he’d been when they were first done. 

“I think I’d rather—” he signed, and the shapes were fuzzy with the shaking of his hands, “—do it again somewhere warm.”

It was so unexpected, Zelda couldn’t help but release his ear in a full-body laugh. There was her Link, her precious, lovely, cold-hating Link. 

He’d continued despite her fit of giggles, although a smile had curved the corners of his mouth as well. “Seriously, you said the cold front wasn’t coming in yet, so what’s this?” He gestured at the snow whirling around them, which admittedly was coming down rather hard. And maybe the wind blowing in from the north was a little strong. 

“I never claimed to be a meteorologist,” Zelda sniffed. “And…didn’t I say I’d keep you warm?”

“Not warm enough!” Link dodged as she attempted to brush her icy nose into his warm neck. “Hey! Keep that thing to yourself!” 

As she chased him down the path that would take them back to campus, laughing wildly and stumbling where the drifts were too deep, Zelda couldn’t help but grin. The magic spell hadn’t broken when they left the streetlamp after all: they had kindled it all by themselves. It didn’t matter where they were. At his side, every flurry could be fairy dust.

It was him and her. Zelda and Link. 

Always.

#loz #zelink #fanfiction #modern au #my fanfiction

[tvitr]

Sob Story

Part One

Words: 3,258

Synopsis: Iono invites Grusha onto Iono Zone to talk about his accident. Things do not go according to plan.

AO3 Version

Nobody really knew how it had ended.

It had been sudden, she knew that much. The press had only been able to report on “an accident”, one out on the slopes, which he’d been involved in somehow. Iono had attempted to follow the story to the best of her ability back when it happened, most girls her age had, but despite their efforts they'd been unable to find anything outside of what was being relayed to the press. Even now, years later, even after his failed return and subsequent retirement, he and his family still refused to talk about it.

Until now.

It had taken months of pleading, begging, Hell she’d even offered to pay him for an appearance, an interview, anything, until he finally agreed to do it. And he'd dismissed her, ignored her, told her his Galaric wasn't good enough for an interview on her channel, at one point he'd just straight up told her to fuck off and leave him alone, but she'd persisted. And her persistence had finally paid off.

"You ready to go live?" Her phone buzzed to life, hovering eagerly in front of the couch they were sitting on. The set was decorated in blue today, or as blue as her lights would allow. She'd been hoping to display photos documenting Grusha's career on her screens as well but… he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with any preparations. At all. Honestly she was surprised he’d even shown up, he’d been that uncooperative. He’d even gone to the trouble of finding a shirt with the words “Under Duress” blazed across the front; according to him, it was the name of a heavy metal group he liked. Sure.

Grusha glared at her, not saying anything and just blinking in obvious annoyance, his face fixed in a hard, glowering scowl. She offered him a beam in return, tossing a cushion over his shirt (which he promptly tossed on the floor), and pressed record. "I'll take that as a yes."

The stream began.

"Ello, ’ello, hola! Ciao and bonjour!"

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying that is?”

She ignored him. “-And welcome back to Iono Zone, guys, you have no idea how happy I am for today’s episode, because today, we’ll be interviewing the one! The only!”

“Just introduce me already.”

“You can probably hear him already, it’s Grusha Ibáñez! Say hi!” The camera rotated to face him.

"Mhm."

Iono hastily directed the camera back to herself before it caught Grusha flipping it off. “And as you all know- why who could forget!- he’s on here to talk about the drama! The tragedy! The heartache!”

She posed dramatically with each beat, trying to ignore Grusha’s unamused glare as best she could.

“You saw his rise to fame, you saw his career unfold, but you’ve never quite heard how it all ended.” The camera dipped in close to her face. “Until today!”

“Your movements are gonna give me a migraine and I’m not even watching the stream.”

Iono not-so-subtly hit him with her elbow going into her next pose, resulting in an annoyed grunt. “It took a lot of pleading and begging and may have offered to pay him at one point, but he’s finally here, in the flesh-”

“God you’re loud.”

"-And he's here to tell us all about that mysterious accident of his-"

“Wait." He held his hand up in front of her face, practically forcing the camera to pan over and include him in the frame. "Which accident did you want me to talk about again? You never said.”

Iono giggled, turning her head to one side. "What do you-"

He continued, cutting her off again. “Because like, I’ve been snowboarding for over twenty years now you know, I’ve had more than a few accidents in that time.”

Iono blinked. This was… weird. "Yeah but, you said you were-"

He kicked back fully, splaying himself ungracefully over the couch. "I mean, my first accident was when I was about… I dunno, eight maybe. Saw someone do this really sick grind- you know what a grind is, right?- and thought to myself, 'hey I could do that'. Well I couldn't, and fell off and smashed two of my front teeth out. Never tried it again after that, which sucks because it's a pretty cool discipline. Probably could’ve gotten good at it if I actually tried harder, but I think my parents would’ve killed me after the first time. You should've seen the amount of blood there was."

"You know, that’s a really cool story, but-"

“Oh, and this other time I was out with Vish- you know Vishnya right? Yeah she's my sister- anyways, she challenged me to a race once, we must’ve been about… ten, maybe. I was winning the whole way down, suddenly something hits me up the back of the head and I fall down. Breaks my wrist. Turns out Vish had stopped to throw a snowball at me, well joke's on her because I still won. And she got grounded for a week too."

Iono faked a laugh. "That’s funny! But-"

"And then there was this other time-"

It was clear he wasn't going to be shutting up any time soon.

Guests going off script was one thing, but this was another beast entirely. Granted, it was nice seeing Grusha actually chatty and animated for once; when he'd arrived here earlier today, she'd resigned herself to having to deal with monosyllabic grunting and a face like thunder. Or as she called it, his default setting.

But still, chatty or not, this wasn’t what he was meant to be talking about. Or rather, not what he'd agreed to talk about anyway. She'd put in a lot of effort for today’s episode, last thing she needed was for him to not deliver.

Iono nudged his shoulder impatiently, smiling nervously at the camera. "I thought you were going to talk about your-"

"Yeah yeah, I'll get there in a minute." He waved his hand at her nonchalantly. "Oh! Okay so this one is a bit technical. So you have this ligament- you know what a ligament is? Well it's important, put it that way- so I really badly damaged this ligament in my right knee, like I absolutely fucked it up-"

"Hey! Don't swear!"

"-and had to get surgery on it, right before the Triple X Games too, honestly it was pretty terrifying looking back, I thought my career was done for-"

Iono perked up. Finally. "Is that why you had to retire? Because of your knee?"

"Hm? Oh fuck no, I still competed on it. Had to wear a brace, and took a pretty long break from training afterwards to let it heal properly, but I still competed. Came first too, hold on I have a picture somewhere-"

He rooted around in the envelope of photographs he'd brought, some spilling out onto the couch. "Ah, here it is."

As he flashed the photo of a much younger him posing with a huge snowflake-shaped gold medal and a revoltingly smug grin across his face, Iono turned her attention to her monitor. Chat was buzzing as usual, with messages barely on screen for a few seconds before being buried under the deluge. However, some messages jumped out at her before they flashed on.

“He’s just talking about a load of shite…” “Has she clickbaited us again?” “God, was Ibanex always this much of an asshole? The way he keeps interrupting her is so rude.” "*Ibanez" “Yeah he’s always been like this.” "LMAO he swears so much lol poor iono." “F this I’m leaving lol.”

Iono noted, with some alarm, that the viewer count was decreasing much faster than it was increasing. Hell, she was haemorrhaging views right now. She could already see the articles in front of her face, all the reaction channels accusing her of clickbaiting her audience again, as if getting an uncooperative guest was somehow her fault.

She turned back to Grusha.

"... So the thing is, when you hit a Greavard, they kind of just… explode into a pile of bones that scatter everywhere, but after a while they just fly back together again and it goes on about its day. Not saying you should deliberately try to hit them because it's kinda cruel and also you'll also fuck yourself up, like I broke my… think it was my left shoulder in this one, but I'm just saying that the Greavard will be fine eventu-"

"Okay, and that was Grusha everyone! Thanks for coming on the show, really means a lot to me, okay bye!"

She turned off the camera, drawing a deep breath before facing the offending ex-professional-snowboarder, who wore a knowing smirk on his face. This was deliberate. She could tell.

Asshole.

Perhaps she should have controlled her temper, but at this point she really didn't care. The camera was off now anyway, she didn't need to act cute any more. "What the Hell was that about?"

He smiled innocently. "What the Hell was what about?"

"Don't be dumb, you know exactly what I wanted you to talk about."

He held his damn hand up again. "No, you said 'talk about your accident', you never said which accident. I told you, I've had a few."

"You know exactly what accident I meant, stop being stupid." She gestured to her monitor with such flamboyancy her large sleeve almost knocked it over. "I promised them a bare-all interview about your snowboarding accident, and what do you give them? 'Oh this one time I hurt my knee but it's okay because it's fine now', and 'oh I ran over a Greavard once'. And now look what's happened."

That damned smirk. "What's happened?"

“They’re mad at me! They’re saying I clickbaited them, oh wait, do you know what clickbaited means?” She mocked his previous tone.

“Yeah, it’s what you do on a daily basis.”

"I do not!"

“Look," He held both hands up this time. That made a change. "I’ll confess and say I don’t exactly watch your channel like, at all. But I did check out your recent videos last night, I'm fairly certain you didn't actually manage to call-"

She huffed. "That was a joke!"

"Okay, maybe it was." His tone dropped somewhat. Iono wasn't sure she liked where this was going. "But do you really think my accident would look…, you know, appropriate alongside you pretending to phone cartoon characters as a 'joke'? Or what was yesterday's video about? You and Tulip eating a McMime's and talking about lipstick?”

Her face scrunched up. "What's that got to do with any of this?"

He looked directly at her, his eyes staring deep into hers with an uncomfortable intensity. Iono really didn't like where this was going now. “This just isn’t something I feel is suitable for your tone of videos, like this isn't something I joke about or take lightly, like this was…" His piercing gaze finally dropped, and his voice fell to barely above a whisper. "This was serious."

She waved her hand at him with a dismissive tut and a snort. "Oh come on, I've covered plenty of other people's sob stories on this channel and none of them cared about my other stuff. I'm sure yours would be fine."

***

Sob story.

Sob story.

Grusha had always assumed Iono was somewhat out of touch; the kind of terminally online womanchild unable to parse the difference between her social-media-addled bubble and reality, but part of him had been praying it was just an act. Just something she did in front of the cameras to seem "cute" (see: annoying), or "innocent" (see: stupid).

But apparently not. She really was that disconnected.

He reached into the envelope of photos he'd brought. He hadn't intended on bringing some of these photos along, Hell, he’d prefer it if he never had to look at them again. But he had a point to prove here. One he certainly cared more about than feeling a bit uncomfortable.

She wanted a sob story? Oh, he'd give her a damn sob story.

He found what he was searching for, facing it down so he at least didn't have to look at it himself, and thrust it at the still-jabbering streamer. The abrupt movement caught her off-guard, and she stopped talking instantly.

“What’s-” Iono's eyes narrowed.

He jostles it, turning his head away from her. “Just take it.”

There's a pause, before the photograph is snatched away. He hears her turn it over, her breath catching. Good.

“That’s me. The day after the accident.”

***

Iono knew the accident had been bad. That was one of the few things she'd been able to deduce from the sparse news articles back when it happened. They'd been vague, intentionally so she’d suspected, but there’d still been a graveness to them that she’d noticed even as a young teen.

Still, nothing would have prepared her for the photo she was currently staring at. The wires, the tubes, the oxygen mask, that terrifying looking cage around his head, if it wasn’t for his distinctive yellow-streaked hair then she wouldn’t have recognised him at all.

"I mean, I think it was taken the day after, I'm really not sure if I'm honest.” His voice caught her off guard almost, and she tore her eyes away from the photograph to look at him. His posture has changed drastically; earlier he was ungracefully splayed across the couch, his arms along the top and legs wide apart, but now he was… smaller. His arms were folded tightly to his chest, his foot bouncing rhythmically against the floor, and his eyes were locked straight ahead with a cold, hardened expression. A far cry from that smug asshole who’d screwed her over only a few minutes ago.

“What do you mean?”

He shifted. “I wasn't exactly… conscious for those first few days afterwards. I wasn’t in a coma or anything, I was just completely knocked out on painkillers and the like. I don't know what they had me on, but, well whatever it was, it was strong."

Iono looked back at the photo again, noticing that his eyes were indeed open, but they were sunken, dull, surrounded by huge grey rings, and his eyelids hanging heavy. Barely open. Barely awake.

Barely alive, even.

She shooed that thought away. He was fine. He was right beside her, after all. He was fine.

“You know, you’re probably the first person outside of my family who’s seen that photo.”

Iono furrowed her brows. “How?”

He inhaled deeply. "Well, it was intended to be a press photo. I'm not sure who took it, probably one of my parents since they didn’t allow any journos in. But they never released it, they said it felt… I can't remember the word they used, but they said it wouldn't be fair publishing it or something. So they wanted to wait until I was able to decide on what I wanted to publish."

"Did you publish anything?” Iono had a vague memory of seeing photos of someone famous in hospital back then. Maybe it had been Grusha. Maybe it had been someone else. She couldn’t remember the details now.

“Oh yeah, but like… way later. I wanted to at least be off the oxygen, which meant having to wait for my lungs to heal, and I also wanted to be out of the halo and back brace so I could sit up, and that took ages. Think I'd already started physio by the time those were removed."

Iono didn't know what "the halo" was, and something told her she was better off not knowing. Though looking back at the photo, she could maybe hazard a guess.

"There were some other ones too." He pulled a small deck of photos from the envelope, unceremoniously tossing them towards her. None of them were as harrowing as the first one, though some came pretty close. “Bet those would’ve been good for your stream, eh? Show them off for all your fans to gawk at.”

Iono flinched at his tone. He’s mad at her, he’s really mad at her, probably madder than everyone who’ll be accusing her of clickbait tomorrow combined, but there’s something else in his voice. Something that’s almost tempering the mad. Something…

Oh.

It sounded like somebody else talking when she finally spoke.“… I’m sorry.”

He didn’t react, his posture remained tense, his foot still bouncing against the floor.

“Like, really, I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you do this.”

Still nothing.

“I-I can tell that this is like, really uncomfortable for you to talk about and I know why you didn’t want to do this, I shouldn’t have forced you into this, I’m so… so…”

Nothing.

“Please say something.”

***

Oh, how he wanted to say something.

He had a lot to say after all. Perhaps saying it out loud would finally bring him some closure, or acceptance over what happened. Perhaps it would just be nice to finally air his troubles, get it all out of his system, to just vent and rant and let everything out. His emotions had lay dormant for some time. Perhaps it was time for an eruption.

But, try as he might, he couldn’t. Even with his thoughts and temper racing, the words refused to come out, and his body refused to move. He didn’t know why. He certainly felt like letting loose, like venting all those years of frustration, taking Iono by her shoulders or the collar of that hideous coat she always wore and looking her dead in the eyes, and telling her everything.

The pain never really went away, you know. My back still aches from it, even all these years later. I sometimes struggle to bend over too. That's what forced me out of the pro scene, really. I couldn't make turns like I used to without throwing my back out. I also sometimes feel like I'm developing arthritis in my spine. My doctors warned me of that ages ago. Did I mention I'm not even thirty yet?

Do you know what else they told me? I had to get an operation to insert a rod into my back to keep my spine straight whilst it healed. They told me that when they cut me open, a piece of my spine just fell out. Right onto the floor. Apparently one of the younger ones cried when it happened. I don’t know how I wasn’t left paralysed, and I don’t think they do either. They called me a “walking miracle”. I'm not sure how I feel about that sometimes.

And remember Vishnya? You've never met her before, I know, but she uses a walker now. Used to use a wheelchair, actually. Because of the accident, of course. A lot of people forget she was there too, maybe because she wasn't as well-known as I was. Or maybe our parents wanted to shield her more than me, who knows. But she can't walk properly any more. She used to be so talented too, almost as good as me even, now she refuses to go near the mountains. I’ve tried telling her she can go para, but she wouldn’t listen. I guess it hit her harder than it ever hit me.

So that made two lives ruined that day. Hers and mine. How’s that for a “sob story”, eh?

Maybe it was for the best that he couldn't speak right now. Iono seemed to have learnt her lesson; she’d gone awfully quiet, aside from a few muffled gasps here and-

Wait.

“Iono…?”

#so. i made it into a full fledged fanfic lmao #pokemon scarlet and violet #gym leader grusha #grusha #gym leader iono #iono #pokemon fanfiction #my writing #i'm so down bad for that career ending injury trope you have no idea #pokémon #gym leaders #It was only a matter of time before this happened lmao #Grusha pokemon #Pokemon grusha

[saltwater-and-woodsmoke]

Twenty Six Letters || JJ Maybank

Warnings and authors note: This is sad, like so sad, my friends say it rips their hearts out. I’m sorry. Title credit to black butterflies and deja vu by the maine (the lyric is “there’s only twenty six letters I can use just to tell you I won’t let go”)

This specific story is an alternate ending to another fic I wrote, but I haven’t got that one transferred here yet, I am in the process of moving all of my works to this blog from my main.

Word Count: 2,350

July 17

Y/N,

The doctors came out and told me they tried everything, but they couldn’t save you. They’re transferring Charlie to the mainland where they have a NICU, they’re life lining her. The amount of police that had to hold me back from hurting that doctor, I’m embarrassed. This was supposed to be our dream, our family. I needed to write my thoughts down, I know you can’t read this, it’s ridiculous. I can’t lose both of you. I love you so much.

JJ

July 19

Y/N,

Charlie weighs a whopping 1 pound, 2 ounces. She’s the tiniest thing I have ever laid eyes on. I’m staying on the mainland until she gets to come home, thanks to the community, really. Sarah started a fundraiser for Charlie’s medical care, your funeral, and the community really showed their support. No word on who did this to you, but I will find out. Charlotte Rose Maybank is a fighter, just like her mother. I love you.

JJ

July 21

Y/N, 

Today we laid you to rest. Even though your parents didn’t like me that well, they both put that aside today. John B and Pope had to practically hold me up at the cemetery. We were supposed to grow old and gray together, but today I had to put you six feet under at twenty three. It hit me that I am a widower at twenty-five. I am a single father of a four day old “micro preemie”. I’m at the hospital now. I’m not supposed to be in the NICU this late, but the night nurse knows what happened and can understand my need to be close to the last thing I have of you. I love you more than you will ever know,

JJ

PS: I did as you wished and made JB and Sarah her godparents. They’re coming tomorrow to see her for the first time.

July 25

Y/N,

I spent the night in jail last night. You see, they finally figured out who the pick up belonged to. I hadn’t seen him since we got married two years ago, but I was so pissed off when I went into the jail to talk to Shoupe. I asked him for five minutes with him, which was granted. I was yelling, and I’m not embarrassed about that actually. I told him I was going to make sure he went away for a very long time. That he killed the love of my life, that because of him his fucking granddaughter is fighting for her life right now all because he felt like it was okay to drive drunk. That motherfucker showed no remorse whatsoever. He fucking smirked at me Y/N, so I punched him. Square in the jaw. Of course, I was promptly booked for it, but I was told this morning that they weren’t going to actually press charges because in Shoupe’s eyes he deserved it. They put it on the books as a purely cooling down period. I came back to the hospital, and Charlie is stable. They said if she keeps improving like she is, I might get to hold her for the first time soon. I’m trying to be strong for her, for you, but I miss you so much. You should still be here, she should still be safe and growing inside you. But it wasn’t meant to be. I love you more than the moon and stars,

JJ

August 9

Y/N,

So I haven’t written in a while and that’s because we have a pretty rocking kid, you know? I got to hold her for the first time last week. It was an emotional affair, I was sobbing the moment they placed her on my chest. She’s still so tiny, but she’s gaining weight and is starting to look more like an actual human instead of an alien. I made sure the nurse took a picture when I held her because I want to remember how small she was the first time I held her, even with all the wires and tubes.  I may be writing less frequently but I’m gonna keep writing. It makes me feel better. Like, I’m still close to you with this notebook. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

JJ

September 17

Y/N,

Happy two months Lottie Rose. I know we were going to call her Charlie, but the new night nurse started calling her Lottie, and I’ve kind of fallen in love with it. It just fits her. She’s almost three pounds now! I’m so proud of her. It’s wild to me that she would be due in almost six weeks. The doctor expects her to be home by her due date, and I promptly will be taking her to your grave. She’s always going to know how much you loved her, Y/N. I made sure your mom put “Mother of Charlotte” on your headstone. When she’s older I’m gonna take her to our favorite spots. I want her to know who you were, because I know that the person you were, is why she’s here. I love you more than I can count.

JJ

October 31st

Y/N,

Happy Due Date Lottie Rose Maybank! We’re going home today, Y/N. Lottie weighs a whopping 6 pounds now. I’m so proud of her. She is tiny, but she’s gonna catch up fast. She passed her car seat test with flying colors. She can eat from a bottle, but the nurse noticed that she wasn’t as responsive to sound as most of the other babies when they’re ready to go home. She suggested she might just be desensitized to the noise of the hospital, but they wanted to recheck her hearing before we leave, so I am writing this while I wait for them to finish that. I just signed all of her release paperwork. Last night, I was contacted by the local news to do an interview about how Lottie is, and how everything has affected me. I think I should do it, John B and Sarah said they would watch Lottie while I go to the station. 

Okay so they brought Lottie back, she didn’t pass her hearing test so we have to set up an appointment for a hearing specialist. Honestly,  if she needs hearing aids it isn’t the biggest deal in the world. I’m not going to love her any less. She’s our kid, she can handle anything that's thrown in her way. I love you bunches,

JJ

December 24

Y/N,

This single dad thing is hard. Tomorrow is Lottie’s first Christmas, and we are going to church with your parents. I know you always liked to go on Christmas and Easter at least, so I thought that could be one tradition I kept with Lottie. I’m also keeping the tradition of buying a personalized ornament every year for the Christmas tree. It’s wild to think that at this time last year, we had just agreed to try for a baby, and this year everything is different. You’re not here, we have a five month old daughter who is the size of a three month old.  I’ve got to tell you, losing your wife brings things into perspective. I want Lottie to have a set of grandparents that love her unconditionally. I’ve spent a lot of time with your mom and sister the last month or so, and I know your mom will love her no matter what. No matter how we get along, Lottie comes first. She’s our priority. Merry Christmas, Baby, I love you. 

JJ

July 17

Y/N,

One year. You have been gone one long year. This time one year ago, I was working on Pope’s dad’s truck. It seemed like every single siren in the town went out, and I remember thinking “That must be a bad accident.” If only I knew then. If only I knew that in an hour, you would be gone, that I’d be standing in the waiting room of the hospital while they worked on you until they couldn’t anymore. I remember the anger, Shoupe and another officer holding me back before I just buckled in my own grief. I remember your mom and dad coming, having rushed over from the mainland. Your mom knew, as soon she walked in the waiting room where I was a mess on the floor, JB on one side of me, Pope on the other, she knew.  We sobbed together, we became numb together. I vaguely remember telling her they were lifelining Lottie to Raleigh. I remember her looking at me and telling me, “John James, you listen to me. You get to Raleigh, your daughter needs you. Do you hear me? She needs you.” It was the only time in my life I didn’t mind hearing my full name. I didn’t get to see her until she was already two days old. Today we have a happy, healthy, one year old. She’s catching up with kids her age, which kind of shocks the doctors. She’s growing on track, she’s hitting milestones. She just started crawling, but she can already get wherever her little heart desires. I’ve made a conscious effort to not be sad in front of her today. We are having a big party for her, she’s going to love it. I miss you, sweetheart. I love you

JJ

August 10

Y/N

Time flies, you know? It seems like yesterday I was bringing Lottie home from the hospital. Where has five years gone? Today, I dropped her off for her first day of kindergarten. We had a long conversation about how if anyone was mean about her hearing aids, to tell her teacher and how it wasn’t a bad thing to ask for help. I want her to have a better school experience than I had, I want her to like school. That didn’t stop me from sobbing like a baby the whole way to work. Of course, my boss knew I’d been crying and just patted my shoulder and told me “if you think this is the only first day that you’ll cry, I have news for you.” I told him Lottie is an only child, I’m probably going to cry at every first day of school. It’s strange to think that if you were still here we’d probably have another little Maybank running around. It’s okay though, your sister had twins two years ago and JB and Sarah are having their first soon, so she’s got cousins to play with. I love you sweetheart.

JJ

July 17

Y/N.

Uh, we have a teenager? Like a full ass practically fully grown human in our house. Thirteen years and it still feels like yesterday. We got the news yesterday that Luke Maybank died in jail over the weekend. Y/N, I have to tell you, our daughter cracks me up. I told her that her grandfather passed away, and she told me she hopes you take a trip down to hell and kick the shit out of him. I told her that I beat the shit out of him thirteen years ago when she was barely a week old. She found the news articles about the accident, and asked me to talk to her about it. I did, but it was hard. I’ve never shut up about you so she knew who you were. She also asked me why I never remarried. It’s simple, really. Half my heart was buried with you 13 years ago, and the other half divided to recover and love our daughter just as fiercely as we loved each other. I love you honey. 

JJ

May 31

Y/N,

Okay, we’re old. It’s fine. Charlotte Rose Maybank, you know our pretty rockin’ kid? Yeah, she graduated high school today, as valedictorian. She’ll be 18 in July, Y/N, and then in August she’s going to the mainland for college. She wants to be a doctor. Watching her walk across that stage, in her cap and gown, I was sobbing. I was an absolute mess. JB had to take pictures for me because I couldn’t stop shaking. You’d be so proud of her. I know I sure am. I love you more than I can breathe,

JJ

October 25

Y/N,

Our baby girl got married today. Of course, I could go my entire life without knowing that JB and I are going share grandkids someday, but really Alexander is a great kid, and he loves Lottie. I know that someday, she’s going to find all these notebooks and read them and I hope she laughs that I shared every milestone with you like you could read these. She’s got one more semester of school left, then she will officially be Charlotte Rose Maybank-Routledge, MD. I personally think the hyphenating of her last name is really complicated, but that’s what she wants. She looks absolutely stunning in her dress, I hope you can see her. I love you, gorgeous,

JJ

November 13

Y/N, 

We became grandparents today. It’s wild to think that 27 years ago, I was holding our daughter in the same hospital where Carter Jonathan Maybank-Routledge arrived early this morning. The Maybank genes are still strong in this one, Carter looks so much like Lottie it’s not funny. I told JB maybe the next one will look like his side, ha. Okay sweetheart, I love you. JJ

March 6

Mom,

I had absolutely no idea that Dad wrote you a letter every week, sometimes every day, for 36 years. He fought the cancer for a very long time, Mom, because he simply didn’t want to leave me and the boys.  I found the notebooks, I’ve spent the last week reading them. He loved you so much, he loved me so much. He wrote to you up until the last day. That’s beautiful. I know you are back together now. You’ve got 36 years to catch up on. Tell him we’ll be fine. 

I love you both,

Lottie.

#obx fic #jj maybank x reader #JJ maybank #obx #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks #JJ maybank fic #jj maybank fanfiction #JJ maybank angst #obx angst #obx fanfiction #dad!jj maybank

[jammatown919]

Wedding

Nuts and Dolts Week Day 5 - Wedding

@nuts-and-dolts-week

Even after twenty seven years of life, several of them spent as a child soldier in an ancient war, Ruby wasn't certain she'd ever felt this level of apprehension before. 

She was sick to her stomach, visibly trembling, and absolutely terrified of what should be one of the happiest occasions she'd ever experience. Her own wedding should not be a source of this much fear, and she absolutely hated herself for letting it get to her like this right before the ceremony. 

It wasn't that she didn't want to go through with it. It wasn't even that she didn't want a ceremony. She just wanted this to be perfect, the way Penny deserved, and she knew that every second would be an opportunity to embarrass herself and ruin what should otherwise be beautiful moments. 

What if she stuttered giving her vows? What if all those dance lessons with Weiss hadn't worked after all and she ruined the first dance by crushing Penny's toes? What if she got so worked up it made her sick and the whole thing had to be called off? 

Even the dress situation had her nervous. She and Penny had decided months ago that they would wear each other's colors rather than white, which had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now that she was in her little dressing room less than half an hour from the ceremony, Ruby was second-guessing whether she even looked presentable in green. 

She really wished her team hadn't left. As her bridesmaids, they'd helped her get dressed and then gone to make sure everything was set up properly for the ceremony, but being alone with her thoughts was not doing her any favors right now. She desperately needed to calm down before going out there, but Penny had insisted on upholding the tradition that they not see each other on their wedding day until the ceremony, so that took her first choice for comfort off the table. 

But, fortunately for her, she had a big sister who was one text message away. 

Tightly gripping her Scroll, she sank back into the cute plush chair that had been her home for what had felt like several hours while Weiss worked on her minimalist makeup. After sending her text to Yang, she promptly threw her Scroll across the carpet to prevent herself from using the camera app to scrutinize said makeup. 

It was fine. Weiss had said it was fine. Blake and Yang had said it was fine. Ruby herself had okayed it in a calmer moment. Her makeup was fine and Penny would like it and it was not going to ruin her wedding. She just had to keep telling herself that, at least until Yang was here to say it for her. 

It was about five minutes before the door opened to reveal Yang, wearing her pretty yellow bridesmaid dress with her hair pulled up into the neatest ponytail she'd ever had. 

"What's going on?" she asked softly as she hurried toward Ruby. The text had been vague, stating only that Ruby was freaking out and needed help, so Yang was reasonably much more concerned than she probably needed to be. 

"I don't know if I can do this," Ruby blurted, knowing immediately that she didn't mean that. Of course she was going to do this. She would rather get hit by a bus than leave Penny at the altar. "I mean- I- I'm so scared of screwing this up." 

"Aw, Rubes..." Yang's face softened sympathetically. She leaned in, gently putting her arms around her little sister, and squeezed a bit. "It's gonna be okay. I know you're nervous, but there's no way you could screw this up in any way that matters."

"It all matters!" Ruby protested. "It's our wedding!"

"True, but at the end of the day, do you really think you or Penny or anyone else is going to care if you're not perfect today? I mean, how many people even noticed Blake didn't have any shoes on during our wedding ceremony?" 

"She didn't?" 

"Nope. Her heel broke right before. She thought it was the end of the world, but guess what. We still got married and no one cared." 

"Well, her dress hid her feet anyway," Ruby protested. "Everyone's gonna hear it if I can't say my vows right, and Penny will definitely notice if I can't dance properly with her."

"But who will care?" Yang asked. "What, you think we're all going to burst out laughing at you because you stuttered? Or Penny's going to ask for a divorce because you stepped wrong?"

Ruby stayed quiet at that, because she knew Yang had a point. No one in a room full of her friends and family would actually call her out on something like that. But they would still notice, and Ruby would still be embarrassed instead of happy during such an important event. 

"You're not performing, Ruby," Yang went on, as if she'd read Ruby's thoughts. "I know it's your wedding and it's important to you, but the only thing that actually matters is that you get out there and marry that girl.  How you look, what you say, none of it is what anyone is here for. We're here because you love Penny, and you're here because you love Penny. That's all we care about."

Ruby took a few slow, deep breaths as she tried to let that sink in. 

It was true. She wasn't here to play dress up and impressive everyone. The point of today was simple; getting married to the love of her life. But there was still one thing. 

"I want it to be perfect for her," she murmured. 

"Nothing is perfect," Yang replied. "Perfect literally does not exist, and worrying about that is a great way to miss out on enjoying your wedding. Penny's going to be happy just because you're here. Think you can do the same for her?" 

"Okay," Ruby replied quietly. That little knot of anxiety in her chest was still there, but Yang's words had eased it slightly, and she hoped finally seeing Penny would help her forget about her worries. "I can do it."

"Great!" Yang said with a bright smile. "Let's make sure you're ready. You're on in ten."

-------

Ruby managed to keep herself from shaking as she walked down the aisle, her arm linked tightly with her father's. 

The altar was empty save for the officiant, in accordance with the plan she and Penny had made. Ruby would come in first with her dad, and then Penny would follow with hers, allowing them both the opportunity to experience their fathers walking them down the aisle. Ruby, for one, was glad Penny had insisted on this even after she'd said she could just wait at the altar without any extra fanfare. The moment clearly meant a lot to her dad, and Ruby found herself glad for his comforting presence. 

The aisle itself was especially wide, primarily to make sure Pietro's chair could get through comfortably, but it also helped Ruby to not feel claustrophobic as she passed her small assortment of guests, which was made even smaller by the fact that a fair portion of the people here were near the altar acting as bridesmaids. 

When they reached their destination, Tai gave Ruby a light squeeze and kissed her cheek before they separated to take their respective places. 

Ruby smiled nervously at her team on the right side of the altar, then glanced at Winter and Nora, Penny's bridesmaids, on the left. Everyone was giving her their undivided attention, until the doors opened again and suddenly they weren't.

The second Ruby turned her head, she decided that whether or not she looked okay in green did not matter in any way whatsoever. Her appearance was completely irrelevant; the decision to wear each other's colors was a great one purely because Penny looked breathtaking in red. 

Ruby's heart sped up considerably as Penny made her way down the aisle in that gorgeous ruby red dress, her hair adorned with a massive red rose that matched her bouquet. She was hunched slightly so that her arm could better fit into her father's, and they gripped each other tightly for the entirety of their journey across the room. 

When they got up to the altar, Penny kissed her father's head as he split off to take his place amongst her bridesmaids in accordance with her unorthodox but incredibly sweet request that he be one of them. 

Penny then joined Ruby at the altar, her eyes already shining with unshed tears. 

"You look beautiful," she whispered, so that only Ruby and the officiant between them could hear. Said officiant, who was none other than Ghira Belladonna, smiled and let them bask in each other's presence before beginning with, "Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family." 

They were the same words he'd used to begin Blake and Yang's ceremony two years prior. Ruby hadn't even known until then that he could officiate weddings, but apparently he did it all the time on Menagerie, and having him here cut out the need to involve a stranger, so he'd been the natural choice. 

"We are gathered here today," he went on, "to celebrate the life and love of these two women, and to bind them together for the rest of their days. If we could have the rings, please." 

Ruby couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief that he'd skipped the line inviting objections. She knew she'd asked him to and thus there had been no reason to worry, but still... one less thing to think about as she turned her head and watched Oscar walked toward them, brandishing two simple metal bands on a plush pillow. She reached out for the bright red one at the same moment that Penny took the green. 

"The brides will now exchange vows and rings," Ghira announced. He took a few steps back, as if giving them the stage, and dipped his head. "Ladies." 

Ruby waited for a few seconds, unsure of which one of them was supposed to start, and found her tight shoulders relaxing as Penny began to speak. 

"Ruby," she said softly, so much so that Ruby wasn't really sure that anyone but her and Ghira could tell what Penny was saying. "Before I met you, I did not believe I was capable of being anything other than what I was told to be. But then you called me your friend and showed me more kindness and understanding than I could have ever expected. You showed me that I can be more. That I was not a tool to be used, but a person deserving of the love and acceptance you gave me. I would never have been able to come so far without you, and I want to face every new challenge together for the rest of our lives. I love you, Ruby, and that will never change." 

With tears and a smile on her face, Penny gently slipped the green ring onto Ruby's finger, where it would stay for the rest of eternity, and as it found its place, every bit of fear bled away. For all Ruby was aware at that moment, they weren't the center of attention in a room full of people. It was just her and Penny, opening their hearts to each other. The most natural thing in the world. 

"Penny," she began, "since the day I met you, you've been a constant source of joy and hope. My light in the darkness. A reminder that, even in some of the worst moments of my life, there was something worth fighting for. You gave me the strength to keep going, and you inspire me every day to be the best I can be. I told you once before that you're like a firefly, and it's still true. You light up my life, and that's something no one can ever take away from us." 

Ruby slid the red ring into place and gently squeezed Penny's hand as Ghira stepped back up to finish the ceremony. 

"After those vows, I think we all know what the answers will be, but let's make this official. Ruby Rose, do you take Penny Polendina as your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, cherish, and honor her, no matter what the future brings, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"Penny Polendina, do you take Ruby Rose as your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, cherish, and honor her, no matter what the future brings, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do!"

Ruby laughed a bit at Penny's enthusiastic response, watching her bride bounce excitedly in place as they waited for permission to seal their promises. 

"Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride." 

Ruby and Penny wasted no time in coming together, wrapping their arms tightly around one another, and capturing each other's lips in a kiss. It wasn't until someone started to clap that Ruby remembered there were even other people in the room, and by the time the two of them finally separated, which was only when Ruby needed to pull back to breathe, they were in the middle of receiving a standing ovation. 

Somehow, being at the front of the crowd didn't scare her so much now. The hard part was over, and she had her wife in her arms. Yang had been right; that was all that really mattered. 

#nndweek2023 #penny polendina #ruby rose #nuts and dolts #nuts n dolts #nuts & dolts #rwby #my writing

[zerogate]

This is a book about music, but a special kind of music we’ll call transcendental. In what sense I use this term will get clearer as we proceed. Two notable experiences led me to write about the extraordinary Indian musician, Nada Brahmananda, whom I first met in 1976. One was an apparent precognitive dream about Nada before I ever heard of him. The other took place five years before I met the Swami, perhaps the strangest experience I’ve ever had that centered around a piece of music I’d call transcendental. So I should begin with an account of this experience, written down soon after it happened:

I live on the top floor of 14 Bedford Street in the West Village of New York City with my partner, Jane. We are listening to a jazz composition by John Coltrane,  The Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. It is about 11:30 p.m. Jane is sprawled out on the sofa. I step to the window and gaze vacantly into the clear evening sky. I’m in a mild reverie from Coltrane’s hypnotic beat, softly thumping my foot, swaying to the rhythms of the music.Suddenly, a cluster of dazzling white lights appears out of nowhere. The lights are larger and more brilliant than any stars. They are attached to nothing I can see. They perform zigzag aerial acrobatics, in tune, it seems, with Coltrane’s music. Their appearance in the sky is so sudden and so silent, I just keep staring, somewhat surprised, listening to the music, watching the dance of lights. After about twenty seconds I realize that what I’m seeing is very strange indeed, and it starts to sink in. Something outside my window a few hundred or so feet in the sky seems to be communing with me and the music of John Coltrane. My attention fixed on the dancing lying light-cluster, I yell to Jane to come to the window. She gives a start, and joins me. Apparently I’m not just “seeing” things. Jane puts on her glasses and raises the window. It’s no reflection. Something is really out there, brighter, more dazzling, than any star. The light-entity suddenly stops its aerial capers and slowly glides downward, in a straight line, toward the dome of Our Lady of Pompei, the oldest church in Greenwich Village—built more than a century ago to serve migrants and refugees, located to the right at the corner of Carmine and Bleecker Streets. The lights hover there, pulsing above the dome of the church. An unusual sensation comes over me; it feels like I’m flying far out in space, surrounded by stars. Among the stars, I see the dome of Our Lady of Pompei and the lights still pulsing. Then I realize I am back in my room. The church is just blocks away! But now something else. Over the lights I see—but this more inwardly than outwardly—two large heads and massive shoulders. The figures I see look excited! They’re watching us! I recall one of the heads. It was human. I get an impression of curiosity, a kind of playful agitation, and a strong feeling that I—and Jane, who was half- dressed—are the objects of voyeuristic curiosity. Suddenly, the impression of the two heads fades. My attention is again riveted on the church dome. The light entity, above the cross, still pulsing, suddenly shoots back to where we first saw it, a few hundred feet above our rooftop. Again it makes zany and impossible aerial maneuvers. Then, without warning, it stops and hop-flies across the skyline, going uptown. We observe its trajectory, scramble to the other window, and watch it take one last curving leap over the top of the Empire State Building where it  vanishes. Jane and I were electrified after this highly strange encounter with what nowadays is called a UAP, an unidentified aerial phenomenon. Our apartment was on the top floor and we both had the impulse to walk a flight up and step onto the roof, which we promptly did. There we met with an equally astonished person, a young drummer who lived in the same apartment building, and whom I had recently turned on to the music of John Coltrane. His name was Louie and he said, “Did you see that?” So we had a third witness to confirm that what we saw was “real.” Louie noted the silence of our visitor and saw the lights in the form of a pyramid. Neither Jane nor I had had any impression of a pyramid.

-- Michael Grosso, Yoga of Sound: the Life and Teachings of the Celestial Songman, Swami Nada Brahmananda

#quotes

[themildestofwriters]

Imperial Calendar (Ziost Standard)

Fantasy Calendar version here.

Because I desperately need a calendar for The Saga of Zero (the WIP fanfiction reboot formerly known as The Sith, Zero), I made my own. Two, actually. One for the Sith Empire (circa. 10 ATC Star Wars: The Old Republic) and for the Holy Kingdoms of Halkeginia (3159 AG The Familiar of Zero). This post will be focused on the Imperial Calendar.

There are 322 days a Common Year, broken down into 10 months of 4 weeks and 32 days with a pair of intercalary days at the end of the 5th and 10th month. Every sixth year is a leap year, adding a single day at the end of the year.

MONTHS

1. Ahmurnjat, "Month of the Supreme One" 2. Bašarayjat, "Month of Bashara" 3. Marsarjat, "Month of the [Great] Mother" 4. Tukatjat, "Month of the Hound" 5. Ašayjat, "Month of Victory" - Qyâtak I, "Day of Life" 6. Kâlbjat, "Middle Month" 7. Nwûljat, "Month of Peace" 8. Tyfojat, "Month of Typho[jem]" 9. Kegimjat, "Month of the [Bleak] Aegis [of Calamity]" 10. Sahlayjat, "Month of the [Red] Lady" - Rânaqorit I & II (L), "Year's End"

I'm not going to lie, but a lot of these month names came from both @fluffynexu and @inquisitorhotpants, both of whom have done a ton of worldbuilding for the Sith Empire.

Qyâtak I and Rânaqorit I are the intercalary days, with Rânaqorit II being the leap day appearing every sixth year.

DAYS

Istak "First [day]" Dišak "Second [day]" Benak "Third [day]" Limûk "Fourth [day]" Kamsak "Fifth [day]" Asûk "Sixth [day]" Qabbrut "[Day of] Meditation" Gawnut "[Day of] Preparation"

Unlike the months, the days are purely my own construction. I'm not pleased with the names. I'm fine with the "first, second, third... day," but conlanging is really, really hard, y'all. If y'all got better names, feel free to share because I'm strugglin'.

YEAR

The year is 1526, Reign of the Immortal, by the Reckoning of Ziost. It has been 11 years since the Treaty of Coruscant.

Like in @inquisitorhotpans's calendar, year one marks the foundation of the Sith Empire under Emperor Vitiate. However, one detail I added was Eras. Canonically, the period of time when King Adas ruled was known as the "Reign of the Axe." So, I took that idea and went with it. The Empire divides their history into various eras based off the current state of society.

How many eras are there? I have no idea. But considering there's 27,510 years since Adas... that's a lot of time and therefore there should be many eras listed.

Eras I've created myself are:

Wars of the Sith'ari, began with the collapse of the Ancient Sith Empire (Adas' kingdom), with everyone declaring themselves successor to King Adas and promptly spending the couple centuries to millennia fighting one another.

Reign of the Thirteen, began with the establishment of the Thirteen Kingdoms of the Sith which served as the forerunner of the twelve and one council system used by the later Sith Empires.

Reign of Graj'uš, began with the establishment of the Grajuš dynasty (Graush in canon, but Sith linguistics are not consistent) who united the Sith once again, either for the first time since King Adas, or the nth. Notable figures are the infamous Dathka who was assassinated for being a dick, and Hakagram, last King of the Sith, whose death marked the beginning of the...

Reign of Subjugation, which followed the dynasty of the Jedi Exiles, which was cut short by the Sith rebellion, which led to the...

Reign of the Jen'ari, which followed the dynasty of Dark Lords of the Sith from Tulak Hord to Marka Ragnos and the rest.

Considering the Sith'ari Wars, Graj'uš dynasty, and Jen'ari dynasty lasted at least a millennium each, there's a case for upwards of twenty eras to figure out and play around with.

#star wars #swtor #sith empire #worldbuilding #the saga of zero #calendar

[fruityyamenrunner]

on the famous fda injunction against him

On 10 February 1954, after seven years of investigation, the Food and Drug Administration finally served Reich with a twenty-seven-page complaint, containing a proposed injunction against the inter-state shipment of accumulators. The essence of the Complaint was that the orgone accumulator did not work—could not work, since orgone energy did not exist. It cited various publications by Reich to show that he believed the accumulator could cure cancer, but made no mention of the various qualifying clauses Reich himself had added in The Cancer Biopathy.

Dr Charles Kelley, in an article on ‘The Life and Death of Wilhelm Reich’, has described the Complaint as ‘so vicious, so false, so twisted and sick, that it was difficult to believe it could ever be taken seriously in court’. But a study of the actual Complaint (reprinted in full in Jerome Greenfield’s Wilhelm Reich versus the USA) hardly justifies that description. Taking into account the basic attitude of the FDA—that Reich was a crank—it is, on the whole, a fair and balanced document. Moreover, if the FDA believed that there was no such thing as orgone energy—and that therefore the accumulators were worthless—then they had no alternative than to try to prevent their use; for patients who relied on them rather than on proper medical attention were placing their lives at risk.

Reich should have been rational enough to see this, and to concede that in future the accumulators would not be shipped across state lines. Instead, he made his most appalling mistake so far—possibly the greatest single mistake of his life. Instead of appearing in court to try to try to explain his position, he wrote the court a rambling, four-page ‘Response’, quibbling about whether the FDA was the ‘US Government’, quoting Abraham Lincoln on freedom, and talking about ‘conspirators whose aim is to destroy human happiness and self government’. Reich’s main argument was that the court was trying to interfere with the course of scientific investigation; therefore, he said, he did not intend to appear.

Reich was missing the point. The FDA was not trying to interfere with his research; only with the sale of what they considered to be a quack remedy across state lines to finance that research. But the whole tone of the Response was bound to irritate even the most open-minded judge. Its last sentence: ‘ ... I submit that the case against orgonomy be taken out of court completely’, sounded like a challenge. The judge took the view that the Response was a ‘crank letter’, and the FDA seized the opportunity that Reich had offered on a plate by demanding a default injunction against him, which Judge Clifford promptly granted.

In retrospect, it is almost impossible to understand what made Reich play into the hands of his opponents. For this was not simply a question of being forbidden to ship accumulators across state lines. The sting of the Complaint was contained in its penultimate paragraph: a plea that Reich be forbidden to do ‘any act whether oral, written or otherwise’ to promote the sale of the accumulators. But the Complaint lists a dozen or so of Reich’s publications which could be regarded as ‘promotion material’. It included The Function of the Orgasm, The Cancer Biopathy and most of the later books, including The Murder of Christ. In effect, the FDA was asking that all these works should not be sold outside the state of Maine. And here Reich was on very firm ground indeed. The most incompetent lawyer in America would have pointed out that this was a violation of the right of freedom of speech, and that the suppression of books—except on grounds of obscenity—ran counter to the whole spirit of the American Constitution. No court would have granted such an injunction under normal circumstances, and the FDA probably took it for granted that the judge would refuse to ban Reich’s books. By writing the court a defiant ‘crank letter’, Reich took the only possible step that could have led to the suppression of some of his most important works.

The question of Reich’s motives will probably never be clear. The most obvious explanation is that his persecution mania had reached a point where he believed that the banning of his books was as likely as the banning of the accumulator. But surely any lawyer—or for that matter, any intelligent American citizen—could have told him he had a powerful case? Here the answer could be that Reich’s followers were deserting him in droves—and that those who were left accepted whatever Reich said or did without question.

There remains one other hypothesis that seems to me plausible. As long ago as 1920, Reich had identified himself with Peer Gynt: ‘It is the story of an individual who ... gets out of step with the marching column of the human herd. He is not understood. They laugh at him when he is weak; they try to destroy him when he is strong.’ Reich had written his own scenario, and the thread of ‘outsiderism’ runs throughout his life. He almost gives the impression of being determined to be misunderstood and rejected; to be understood and accepted would embarrass him. And the later identification with Christ suggests that, unconsciously at least, he wants to be crucified. The root of the urge could lie in his sense of guilt about being responsible for his mother’s suicide; but this ‘Freudian’ explanation could be too glib. It seems just as simple to say that his belief in his own genius was linked with a romantic conviction—based on self-pity—that greatness invites martyrdom. For what would Reich have done with success and world acclaim? It is impossible to imagine that haunted, suspicious face relaxing into a smile of reconciliation. If Reich had been given the Nobel Prize. his acceptance speech would have been a torrent of reproach and scorn. His unconscious mind was geared to the idea of persecution and martyrdom.

[spaceorphan18]

Scenes from December (11/24)

Klaine Advent Day Eleven : Education

***

December, 2022

Kurt’s knees were killing him.  He had been kneeling on the bathroom floor for nearly twenty minutes, trying to get his two-year-old to sit still long enough so that he could wash her hair.  Dinner had consisted less of eating and more of dumping peanut butter on her head, and Kurt was tired enough that he had half a mind to just shave her head completely.  Child protection services couldn’t be called for shaving your child’s head, right?  Plus, Katie could totally rock the bald look.  She did as a baby.  But, despite wrestling with her to get the water on her head and not everywhere else, he could never cut her dark hair, which curled up like her father’s when dry.  

Kurt wasn’t the only one struggling.  From the other room, he could hear six-month-old baby Tracy wailing bloody murder. Kurt’s head pounded - he just knew they were going to get another complaint from the neighbors.  And with everything going on, he just didn’t need to deal with the obnoxious college students next door that sometimes children were just loud, and maybe they should turn down their music.  

God, when did he turn into his dad? 

“Blaine!” Kurt yelled.  They had made a trade off -- Kurt would take care of the peanut butter disaster, and Blaine would clean up dinner and take care of the baby.  It seemed, when they made the decision to have a family of four, that the two of them would be enough to cover it all.  They were definitely getting an education in how that had been a naively stupid assumption.  “Blaine!”

“Blaine!!” Katie scrambled at the topic of her lungs.  She giggled, amused.  She had taken a real liking to Blaine’s name, and enjoyed shouting it when she thought she could get away with it.  

Kurt eyed her sharply.  “You need to sit still so we can get your head clean.” 

She promptly stood up.  “All clean!” 

Kurt let out a grunt as he tried, again, to use a washcloth to gently pull the food out of her hair.  

A moment later, Blaine came into the doorway, baby Tracy happy and making cooing sounds, resting on his hip.  

“What was going on in there?” Kurt asked.  There was perhaps more irritation in his voice than he intended.  

Blaine grumbled.  “What was going on?  This is what’s going on.”  He gently bent down, lying Tracy on the carpet just outside of the bathroom.  The minute he let go she started screaming again.  “Your child is refusing to be set down.  I can’t get anything done out there.”  

“My child?” Kurt whipped his head up at Blaine.  “Well, your child seems to think that personal hygiene is an optional choice.” 

Blaine pursed his lips together.  They were both tired, no doubt.  And it had been leading to these little snippets of arguments.  At least they both knew not to take it personally.  At least they both knew that these days would be temporary and at some point, when they were actually old, they’d get enough sleep again.  Kurt was sure some snarky remark was on the tip of Blaine’s tongue, but, being the better person than Kurt often was, thought better of it.  “Do you want to just switch?” Kurt could feel the exhaustion in his voice.  

“Yeah…” 

Kurt pushed himself up, annoyed that it took just a slightly bit more effort than it used to, and traded places with Blaine, the baby being handed off in the process.  The second, however, that Blaine let go of Tracy, she began to wail again.  Kurt put his head against his screaming child’s.  “C’mon, sweetie.  You can live a few minutes without your daddy.  I somehow managed for years.” 

That got Blaine to chuckle a little, but the humor was short lived.  Blaine had just settled in, rolling his sleeves up, when Katie started splashing around.  

“No, Blaine! NO, BLAINE!” She protested, not wanting him to come close to her with the washcloth.  

Blaine looked up at Kurt, helplessly.  

Kurt clicked his tongue.  “Don’t give me that look - you’re the one who wanted two.”  

“And you’re the one who agreed with me.” 

“Yes, well, the sex was very convincing.”  

Blaine let out a noise that was half way between a laugh and a sob.  

Kurt bent down, and gave the top of Blaine’s head a kiss.  Their life was insane.  Wonderful.  But insane. 

“C’mon, you,” Kurt said to the baby as he turned to leave. “Let’s find something to distract you with so I can try to get the dishes done.” 

#klaine advent 2022 #s.o. writes things #glee fic #klaine fic

[much-obliged-timothy]

Devil May Cry: Surrounded By Fate Part 1

Part 1 of a 2 part AU in which Vergil finds and raises baby Nero (find part 2 here)! I finished my replay of DMC 5 and have so many feels about this family so I’m just going to keep throwing AUs about them at the internet to cope

*

Escaping the demonic world was a massive undertaking, and Vergil was surprised he succeeded at all.

But it left him weak. Too weak to risk a fight. He couldn’t let anyone - especially Dante - find out he’d escaped until he’d recovered. He was not a fool; he knew that could take months, likely even years. 

He had only been trying to seek refuge in Fortuna. He had not expected to discover the child.

His child.

The boy was an orphan, being raised by the Order. It wasn’t just the boy’s appearance that gave it away, nor was it the frantic math Vergil did in his head when he realized the boy’s age.

It was the pull. Like something was tying them together- like the blood of Sparda himself called to its kin.

Vergil made inquiries. The child had been left in Fortuna as a baby. The timeline matched Vergil’s mental math. 

He did not know what drove him to do it, but he claimed the child.

Foolish. It was damned foolish of him. He was too weak to reliably protect himself, much less a child. And for as old as he felt, he was young. He’d lost track of time, but once he discovered the date, he realized he’d turned twenty in the time it took him to escape. 

He decided to stay in Fortuna. The Knights protected the city from demon attacks, and the place was isolated. It was a good spot for him to rest with little chance of detection. There was no reason for Dante to come sniffing around here, which is what cemented Vergil’s decision to stay.

He investigated Fortuna thoroughly before deciding to hide in plain sight. In his weakened state, the citizens took pity on him. He despised pity, but it meant they were not suspicious of him. They thought he was just a sickly young man putting his faith in Sparda like the rest of them.

The child was a problem.

“Nero” was the boy’s name. When Vergil was too weak to get out of bed, he’d use the time to research childcare. He suspected Nero had not received proper handling as an orphan. He regularly cried when he was left in a dark room to sleep, long, piercing wails. Vergil used his good days to set up a nursery and experiment with night lights until he found one that seemed to keep the child from panic at night.

He also seemed to be touch-starved.

Vergil always held the baby awkwardly in his arms. He didn’t quite know what to do with such a small, fragile being. He’d built himself for destruction, not affection.

But Nero would always grab tiny fistfuls of Vergil’s shirt and snuggle against him. Nero slept best when he was cradled against Vergil’s chest. Most days Vergil was too tired to fight it.

And, admittedly, having the problem of the child around meant Vergil had something to focus his nightmare-addled mind on. He spent much time researching how to raise a child, used his good days to slowly but surely fix up a proper nursery for the boy, and found much of his time eaten up by looking after the child.

He read to Nero regularly. Vergil enjoyed poetry, so when he read it for himself, he decided to just read it aloud for Nero, too. Nero was too young to understand the words, but he always looked fascinated by the rhythmic sound of his father’s voice. He’d promptly stick his thumb in his mouth and gaze wide-eyed and soothed at Vergil as he read.

When Nero learned how to walk, Vergil found himself with a whole new set of problems.

He’d never expected just how much mischief a toddler could get into. Nero was a grabby child, quick to get his hands on anything left unattended. This once included a sword Vergil had stolen from the Order for protection. 

Vergil found the boy playing with the sword, too weak to lift it but seeming to entertain himself by tilting it back and forth. His chubby little legs had been dangerously close to the blade of the sword.

Vergil found that he still could move at dizzying speed.

He’d found himself with a whining toddler in one arm and a sword in the other. The next day, he’d promptly gotten a lock for his closet and stashed the sword in there. 

He felt his strength coming back to him, but it was frustrating to have been knocked down so much from his previous power. Some days he woke and found he could not move much without becoming overwhelmingly fatigued. It was on one such day that he discovered he did, in fact, love his son.

Vergil had been sitting on the couch reading when he fell asleep, exhausted after embarrassingly little housework. When he woke up, it was dark in the house, and he’d realized he’d fallen asleep for several hours and left the toddler unattended.

He’d sat up so fast it made him dizzy. A blanket he was positive he’d not had when he fell asleep slipped off his lap. 

But there was little Nero, indulging himself with a juicebox. He’d managed to poke the straw through the back on his first attempt and spilled a significant amount on the floor. Vergil found he was grateful that a juice stain seemed to be the only damage Nero had managed after several hours with no adult supervision.

Nero noticed him awake and picked his head up. “Da sleepy?”

“Yes,” Vergil said, rubbing his eyes and settling back against the couch. “What did you do while I was sleeping?”

“Play,” Nero said. He held a finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. “Play shhh! Da sleepin’.”

Indeed, Nero had a few stuffed animals before him instead of his usual blocks and hard toys. Vergil was surprised he’d been considerate enough to play quietly when Vergil was sleeping.

Nero sipped on his juice box. Vergil felt overwhelmed at the realization he hadn’t fed the boy since early this morning. The kid must be starving, but Vergil didn’t know if he had the strength to get to the kitchen and make something for him. 

“Is there…” Vergil struggled to recall what groceries he’d gotten the other day. “Bread?”

Nero nodded, his hair flopping onto his forehead as he did so. It was getting too long. Vergil needed to cut it soon, which added to the overwhelming feeling. Such simple tasks; it infuriated him that he faltered at the idea of trying to perform them.

“Eat that,” Vergil said. It was not very responsible parenting, but the child wouldn’t wither away from starvation if he went one day without a proper lunch or dinner. 

“Toast?” Nero said.

“No,” Vergil said firmly. “Don’t touch the toaster. Just bread, Nero.”

Nero pulled the juice box away so he could put a finger to his lip, like he always did when he had a question. Vergil felt it was becoming a common sight. The boy seemed to question everything.

“Da hungry?” he asked.

“No,” Vergil said. 

“I make Da toast?” Nero said.

“No,” Vergil repeated. “Do not touch the toaster.”

Nero got up, wobbling a little as he tried to get his balance. Vergil wondered if he had been so uncoordinated as a child. 

Nero waddled over to the couch, pulling himself up onto it and managing to spill a little more juice in the process. Vergil was too tired to care.

Nero had tucked his favorite stuffed dog under his arm. He set it carefully on the couch before pulling himself onto Vergil’s lap and reaching up with his free hand, pressing it to Vergil’s forehead and furrowing his brow in concentration.

Vergil was surprised. He’d done the same to Nero last month when the boy developed a bad cough and fatigue. He’d told Nero he’d been checking for a fever. He found it hard to believe a child with the attention span of a goldfish had actually remembered the motion.

“Da…sick?” Nero said hesitantly.

“Something like that, yes,” Vergil said, pulling Nero’s hand away. “I am fine, Nero. Go eat.”

Nero grabbed his stuffed dog and tucked it carefully against Vergil’s side. He messily pulled the blanket back over Vergil.

“Better?” he asked.

Vergil didn’t know why he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Thank you. Go eat.”

Nero shifted and Vergil took the dog, holding it out. Nero stared at it longingly. He couldn’t sleep without the damn thing.

“Nero, take it. It’s your toy,” Vergil said.

Nero shook his head stubbornly, despite that longing look. “Nu-uh. He make Da feel better.” Nero pushed the dog back at Vergil. “Keep him! Feel better!”

Vergil tightened his hold on the toy. “You don’t have to let me keep him. Not if you want him.”

“Sick,” Nero said, pointing a stern finger at Vergil. “He help!”

Vergil could not identify what he was feeling. Instead, he focused on Nero’s lackluster, broken vocabulary and decided it was something they needed to work on. He was capable of better speech; the boy was a damn parrot, quick to repeat anything he heard but seemingly refusing to hold a real conversation when he could clip his sentences.

“Go eat,” Vergil said again. He felt strange the longer Nero stayed here. 

“M’kay.” Nero looked down at his juice box, frowning sadly. He held it out to Vergil. “Da drink? Feel better?”

Why…? Nero loved his stuffed dog and his juice boxes. Why would a child with little sense of sharing give them to Vergil? Vergil could only stare at him.

Nero pushed the juice box into Vergil’s hand. He hopped off the couch and waddled to the kitchen. Vergil listened to the sounds of a toddler making a mess in his attempt to get a few slices of bread.

He was even more surprised when Nero returned with a slice clutched in each little hand. He stared up at the couch, then to his full hands. He looked at Vergil expectantly.

Vergil lifted him onto the couch. Nero settled himself in Vergil’s lap and held the bread out.

“Here,” he said.

“I’m not hungry,” Vergil said. “I told you I wasn’t.”

Nero kept holding the bread out. Vergil took it from him and set it on the coffee table. 

“I’ll eat it later,” he said, to please the boy. It seemed to work.

Nero ate his bread. He yawned and stretched, getting onto his knees and crawling up to Vergil’s chest.

He paused, then stood up and pressed a kiss to Vergil’s head before curling back into his chest. He rested his head over Vergil’s heart, seeming soothed by the sound of its steady beating.

“Night, Da. I love you,” he said sleepily before drifting off.

Vergil had no words. He put his arm around Nero securely. He was amazed to discover he returned the sentiment.

He loved Nero. He loved his son.

***

As Nero grew older, Vergil trained him. While Vergil was too weak to keep at it some days, he always made Nero practice. Nero found it fun, if not frustrating at times.

Vergil sent him off to school with other kids, realizing that Nero had been largely isolated with Vergil most of his short life. It was unsurprising to discover that Nero did not know how to interact with others very well, and quickly became an outcast.

He did make a friend though, a little girl named Kyrie. Her parents, once they realized Nero was the son of the sickly young man that kept to himself in town, looked after Nero on Vergil’s bad days. They had a son as well, a boy named Credo. Nero became incredibly close with the family. 

Vergil would never admit it out loud, but he was relieved at the help with Nero. While his strength was steadily coming back to him, he still had days where the exhaustion left him bedridden and unable to look after his son. Any day Nero showed up alone to school, Kyrie insisted on Nero coming home with her after, as she’d learned that Vergil only failed to walk Nero to school if he was too sick to do it. 

Being around others heightened Nero’s curiosity. He even began to ask about family.

“It’s just us, Nero,” Vergil told him. “Just you and me.”

It hadn’t been the answer Nero wanted to hear, but he hugged Vergil anyway. Vergil was constantly amazed by how much love the little boy had for him.

Vergil had his own lessons for Nero at home, feeling an education from Fortuna was not exactly the best his son could receive. While Vergil had limited formal education himself, he was self-taught and transferred that knowledge on to his son. They trained and had home lessons and just…lived.

They lived. Vergil had never imagined himself with any kind of domestic life.

But his goal for power shifted. He’d longed to be protected and learned to protect himself when no one came to aid him as a child. Now he had a child, and his need for power shifted to merge his goal with his experience of fatherhood; he wanted to be strong enough to protect Nero from anything.

He loved his boy. For as frustrated and overwhelmed as fatherhood left him, Vergil loved his boy.

He was unsurprised when the Order sought to make Nero one of their Knights. Vergil consented to the training because Nero wanted to do it. He still continued his own training with the child.

It was when Nero was eight, the same age Vergil had been when everything in his life fell apart, that they found themselves training in the forest.

Vergil struck his sword against Nero’s with too much force, still occasionally forgetting that Nero was more human than demon. Nero went flying back from the force of the blow, his sword spinning out of his hands and sticking in the ground.

“Dad,” Nero huffed, looking at his raw hands. 

Vergil grabbed the sword out of the ground and instead leaned it against a tree. “You should’ve said something.”

“I trained with the Order today,” Nero said, sitting on the ground and collapsing on his back, arms sprawled. “My hands hurt. Can we take a minute?”

“You’ve done enough training for today,” Vergil said, sitting next to Nero and examining his hands. He put pressure on Nero’s palm, and Nero yelped.

“Ow! That fuckin’ hurts!” Nero whined, jerking his hand away.

“Language,” Vergil snarled.

“Oh. Oops,” Nero said. “I forgot again.”

Still ever the obnoxious parrot, Nero seemed to have adapted to pick up and repeat any bad language he heard. It was becoming quite common now that he was training with adults in the Order. Vergil despised the foul, inelegant language. 

Nero shifted so that he could drop his head in Vergil’s lap. Vergil brushed Nero’s hair off his forehead.

“Dad?” Nero said.

“Hm?” Vergil said, back to examining Nero’s injured hands. 

“What was your mom like?” he asked.

The question caught Vergil off-guard. “She-”

She left me. She left me to fend for myself when I was just your age, because she loved my brother more than me. I was so scared and I cried out for her, and she never came for me.

Nero sat up, looking worried. “I’m sorry, dad. Forget I asked.”

Vergil couldn’t imagine what expression was on his face for Nero to react like that. Vergil only put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Vergil drew Nero into his side, putting his arm around his boy. The idea of Nero scared and crying out for him tore at Vergil’s heart. 

Nero rested his head on Vergil’s shoulder and put his arms around him. “I love you dad.”

Vergil rested his cheek against Nero’s hair and closed his eyes. His parents were gone. His brother was gone, in any way it mattered anymore. 

But he was not alone anymore. He had a purpose again, a true reason to get strong. He had something to fight for, and fighting was all he’d ever been good at. He was no longer fighting his way through this world unloved and unwanted.

“I love you too, Nero,” Vergil said.

Vergil was not a perfect man, and certainly not a perfect father. He’d gotten more wrong than right when it came to raising Nero. 

But he would not make his boy live the same childhood Vergil had. Vergil would always come to Nero’s aid when he was scared and crying out for help. He would do whatever it took to protect Nero and their quiet life in Fortuna. 

And for years, he kept that silent promise.

And then Dante unraveled Vergil’s world once more.

#devil may cry #Vergil Sparda #Nero Sparda #dmc vergil #dmc nero #dadgil #DMC #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #DMC AU #dmc surrounded by fate #My writing