#and hide it in my bag to do on the bus or somethin

[sugardollcurse]

Could you write something where is reader has OCD? preferably with john?<3

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆

꒰ pairing ꒱ john lennon x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ obsessive-compulsive disorder, intrusive thoughts, compulsions, self-stigma

꒰ summary ꒱ john doesn’t understand why you do the things you do... until he finally listens

꒰ note ꒱ angel this one means a lot ♡ i tried to approach it with the care it deserves, so i really hope it resonates with you ☁︎︎ also got my sister to help out with this cuz she's actually got ocd too :b

The first time John says something, it’s not cruel.

It’s just careless.

You’re in a dressing room in Manchester, one of those tiny white-tiled hellholes that stinks of hair oil and nerves. John’s flopped back on the couch like he owns the place, legs open, one foot on the table. You’ve just gone to the sink again... for what must be the third time in ten minutes, and are scrubbing your hands so hard it squeaks.

He watches you over his sunglasses.

“You worried they’ll fall off, or what?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your hands,” he says, gesturing vaguely with a half-smoked cig. “Keep washin’ ’em like a surgeon, don’t you?”

You glance down at your fingers. Red, cracked at the knuckles. You can still feel the ghost of the doorknob you touched five minutes ago. Still don’t know if it was clean enough.

You dry them with a paper towel. Too rough. Start again with another.

John makes a little laugh. Not mean. But it lands hard anyway. “Careful, you’ll wear ’em down to the bone.”

Paul looks up. “Leave off, John.”

“Just sayin’.” He shrugs. “They’re practically smokin’.”

You go back to the sink.

John stops talking after that. But you can feel him watching.

━━

It’s not new. Not really.

The need to check, to repeat, to tap the side of a lamp three times or else something terrible will happen. It’s been with you as long as you can remember. Most people didn’t notice, or at least, they didn’t say anything. You were quiet, polite, efficient. Easy to dismiss. Easy to smile at, and then ignore.

But with John, it’s different.

He’s not like anyone you’ve met. Not kind, exactly, not at first. Not gentle. But he sees things. Picks up on shit no one else does. And that’s the problem.

Because once he notices a thing, he doesn’t let it go.

━━

You’re on the tour bus, three nights later.

He’s sitting across from you, knees knocking the table. You’ve got a book open, but haven’t turned the page in ten minutes. You’re watching the trees go by, counting them in fours. Always fours. Has to be fours. Otherwise-

“You do that all the time?”

You flinch. Look up. “What?”

“Countin’,” John says, nodding at your fingers. You hadn’t realized you were tapping... index, middle, ring, pinky. Four beats, soft on the page edge. Over and over.

You pull your hand away.

He leans in, narrowing his eyes. “Y’think you’ll die if you don’t, or somethin’?”

You say nothing.

“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning to himself. “Bloody weird, that.”

“Okay, John,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t grin at that.

━━

You try to hide it better.

But the stress is getting worse.

Every room, every handshake, every doorknob, contaminated. You start to recheck your bag six, seven, eight times a day. You wipe your shoes. You refuse to touch shared water bottles. George asks once, politely, if you want a bite of something. You tell him no, even though your stomach’s been empty since childhood.

And John, John just watches.

Like he’s trying to figure it out. Like you’re a puzzle someone forgot to give him the box lid for.

Then one night, it’s too much.

It’s late. You’ve been left behind at the hotel while the boys go to a press dinner “Didn’t think you’d want to come,” Paul had said gently, and you knew he meant well, and you’re standing in the bathroom again, raw-skinned, washing, washing, washing. You’ve got your palm under scalding water.

Someone knocks.

You freeze.

“Oi,” comes John’s voice, muffled through the door. “You in there?”

You don’t answer.

“Look, I know you are. You left your room open. That’s dangerous, you know. Might get germs.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Go away,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

Instead: “You alright?”

You blink. Water still running. The question is too soft. It throws you off.

“No,” you admit, barely audible.

There’s a pause.

Then the knob turns, and he opens the door.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees you.

You’re still by the sink. Water running red from your chapped hands. Shirt sleeves wet to the elbow.

He steps in. Shuts the door behind him. Looks around like he expects to see blood.

“You been cryin’?”

You shake your head, then nod.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Alright. Right.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Tries to put one in his pocket, fails, runs it through his hair instead.

“You… do this a lot?”

“Only when I don’t want to die,” you say.

The silence sharpens.

He looks at you for a long time.

Then: “It’s really like that?”

You nod. “I don’t want it to be. But it is.”

“Thought you were just…” He trails off. Waves a hand vaguely. “You know. Bit fidgety.”

“John.”

“What?”

You meet his eyes. “It’s not funny.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t smile.

“I didn’t think it was,” he says, quietly.

You stare at him.

“You laughed,” you remind him.

He breathes in. Doesn’t look away.

“Didn’t get it,” he says. “Still don’t. Not really. But I can see it’s not… you’re not takin’ the piss. It’s real.”

You don’t say anything. Just stare at the sink.

He scratches his jaw. “C’mon. Sit down.”

You hesitate.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he says, then sighs. “Unless you’re into that, which, hey, bit of fun, but maybe not now.”

You snort despite yourself.

“There’s the smile,” he says, pulling you gently away from the basin.

You collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Arms around your knees.

John crouches in front of you. Not touching. Just looking.

“D’you want me to leave?”

You shake your head.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I’ll stay.”

And he does.

For nearly an hour.

━━

You’re in Paris when he asks.

“What’s it like? In your head.”

You pause. You’re sitting on the floor in the hotel hallway, late at night. Everyone else asleep. John’s got a drink in his hand, but it’s mostly melted ice now.

You consider.

“Loud,” you say finally.

“Loud how?”

“Like… there’s always a siren. And if I don’t do exactly what the siren wants, something will explode. I don’t know what. Just... everything.”

He watches you.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ nightmare.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Can’t just ignore it?”

“Would you ignore a bomb ticking?”

He huffs. “Suppose not.”

You look over at him.

“Most people think it’s weird,” you say.

“I think it’s mad,” he says, “but not in a bad way. More like, fuck, if I had a brain like yours, I’d have jumped in the Thames by now. You’re tough.”

You blink.

He shrugs. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it.”

You smile. Just a little.

He sips his watered-down drink. Then glances at you.

“You’re not mad at me? For bein’ a right prick about it at first?”

You tilt your head. “You were. But you’re not now.”

“Yeah. Guess I needed a slap.”

You grin. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

He laughs, really laughs, and leans his head against your shoulder.

You sit like that until the sun rises.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[heirofnepeta]

Mmmm ok Ive got dressing fem w/ mens clothes down now I just need to figure out how I'm gonna get makeup :/

[kittehkwrites]

Cranky

Summary: Erik does not understand the importance of nap-time. 

Warnings: Fluff, dad!Erik, Soft!erik

Before your son was born you thought you’d be the mother of a momma’s boy or somethin... Boy were you wrong.

From in the womb, your baby boy would only calm down at the sound of his father’s timber voice.

“Aye lil man, yo momma’s tired right now and you doin all that kickin is keeping her up.” He’d say all serious but you couldn't help but smile at how he was acting and he followed on with “i’m gonna need you to bring it down a few notches” At that, your son would kick back at his father’s hand and the look on Erik’s face was too funny.

it had your stomach shaking and the little boy inside you pushing his hands and feet inside of you so that you could both feel and see his clear displeasure at being told to relax.

“Don’t get fresh lil boy.” You had to let a little ‘oop’ out when his voice got deeper and your thighs clenched up since it’s been a while. Ain’t his fault, the doctor just said to lay off it since the last time you guys went “a bit rough” and they didn’t want to chance an early birth.

The baby relaxed the same way you did when he used his authoritative tone.

“That’s right lil man.” He said after feeling the baby calm down at his command. He was smiling at you when he caught your eyes and you smiled back when he started to caress the bump caring your “future prince” as he’d always call him, since Erik stated he was the King and you’re his Queen so ‘lil man’ is the prince.

“Erik. You better make it up to him before he takes it out on me.”

“You lucky.” He said with a look like ‘what you think this is?’ But he saw your stern face and he remembered the nights of discomfort increasing since the baby was getting closer and he didn’t like you being in pain or uncomfortable during what was supposed to be a beautiful moment so he did what he could in hopes it’d pacify the baby for the night.

“Aye baby boy”- you always thought it was cute when he said that-” you know daddy loves you, right?” He pulled back from the close proximity to your stomach, waiting for the little hand or footprint to press against his large hand.

“Right?” He would look to you and you’d rub your underbelly to get the baby to respond to his now pouting father. You're convinced your baby inherited his attitude from, which would mean he’d be bratty from time to time because they can’t handle restrictions to their freedom.

“Come on baby boy. Daddy’s out here pouting”- He shoved you a bit and you just let out a bit of a scoff before continuing- “and momma can’t sleep with y’all fighting at each other” A little more rubbing and your little boy was pushing out his foot to meet the spot in which both you and your husbands hands were sat on your underbelly.

“I love you lil man. Can’t wait to meet you when you get here.” And with that, he’d put a little kiss on your belly before coming up to you, hands still on your stomach and fingers still brushing against the stretch marks that laid on the sides of your belly, and give you a soft kiss that gave you the same sparks as the first time you both kissed.

“I love you too baby.” He said before pecking your lips “don't forget it.” He said before turning off the bedside lamp and then laying behind you before letting sleep take over the both of you.

That was approximately 8 months ago.

The baby is now 6 months and your husband was a damn hog.

“Erik! Give me my baby!”

You and your husband have been playing an impromptu game of hide-and-seek with you son, Erik initiating the game after you wanted to put the baby down for a nap before heading to your parents house for family day.

“He’s mines too” He’d call out quickly before turning back to your son in his hands, continuing to make faces at the little boy and getting squeals of joy from the little body.

“Not for long you shit!” You huffed out as you started to make your way up the stairs, following the baby laughs. You were just tired and your husband wanted to annoy you, as you were convinced no man would keep the baby up for this long and not want to pass off their child to the mother. 

“He needs to sleep or else he’ll be cranky and I already have to deal with you! I don’t need to be dealing with the both of y’all at once, plus my family members coming up to me afraid to ask you what’s wrong or tell me how to raise my baby!” You continued, finally approaching the two bodies located in your husbands office. 

He gave you a look as he saw your slightly angered and annoyed expression, but he didn’t care. 

He had has lil man and his momma could stay mad, he thought.

“Babe. It’ll be alright. He don’t give no trouble, right lil man? Tell yo momma to go lay down before she pops a vessel.” He said in that ‘baby’ voice that annoyed the crap out of you but you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow up at the nonsense spewing from your husbands mouth.

So you nodded your head, went over to the baby and checked his diaper before kissing him on the forehead and making your way out of the room.

He don’t even know.

Just as you said, so it happened.

You guys reached your family gathering and guess what happened within the first 20 minutes of greetings from aunts, uncles, grandparents and such?

If you guessed a cranky baby, then you were very right.

“Baby?” You ignored your husband who now had his signature stoic expression placed on his face, but it slowly formed into a confused scowl at the jerky limbs and loud hollering coming from the sleepy child who, may I remind you, ‘don’t give no trouble.’, according to your big headed husband.

“Baby? Your so-”

“-oh now he's my son? i thought you had that covered? Correct me if i'm wrong but didn't you say he didn't give any trouble?” You were making sure he’d hear the judgement in your voice at his foolish comments made earlier. 

“Yea bu-”

“-but nothin. Handle it before he ‘pops a vessel’” You said before seeing one of your favourite cousins and going to them, leaving your husband in a state of confusion while your son just wanted to sleep.

This went on for another 15 mins before your cousin and a couple other relatives came over and asked what erik did to the baby.

You simple said “He wouldn’t let me put the baby down for a nap.” which resulted in a few head shakes and inhales from the surrounding bodies, knowing that a nap could be the best thing for the baby and the parent.

“Girl go help that man. He probably over there trying to give the baby commands like some drill sergeant.”

“Don’t do my man like that” You couldn’t help but laugh at the way they all saw erik as this military man but to you he would always be your big softie, especially after the birth of your son. He just showed his love differently than others and you didn’t fault him for it. 

You waited another two minutes before gulping down the rest of the juice in your cup before heading to your husband and distressed baby.

“Alright papa. Momma’s hear. I know, i know. Daddy doesn’t have the magic touch huh? Maybe he’ll listen to me won't he? wont he? That’s right. Come on papa, nap time.” You said, taking him out the grasp of your husband after washing your hands in the kitchen sink and drying them off once you reached to the two inside. 

You checked his diaper and it was dry, probably changed before you got here since your husband probably thought he had a soiled diaper. You also saw the half empty bottle of milk in the baby bag near where you were seated on the couch and chalked it up to your husband attempting to silence the cries of the infant.

You had placed him on your legs once you got comfortable on the couch. Fingers running over his eyebrows, his cheeks, his nose and back up to his forehead and ears in the soothing motion. Within 5 minutes he was sleeping and your husband couldn’t be happier. 

“Baby”

“Yes mr know-it-all” You responded smartly, not taking your eyes off the small body in your lap.

“Don’t get smart now.” You had to refrain from clenching your thighs together and looked at your husband with challenging eyes.

You saw him deflate slightly once he remembered he was in the wrong. 

“I’ll listen next time.” You let out a little hum and turned back to your son in your lap. 

You just sat in awe at the life you created with the man next to you. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realise your husband had grabbed your chin softly before turning your face to his, placing the sweetest, most gentle kiss on your lips that left you weak once he pulled back.

“I love you” He said. That glint in his deep eyes made you swoon like it had when you first met him at the black owned coffee shop near the outreach centre.

“I love you too” You said softly before smiling at the grin that broke out on his face after knowing you weren’t so mad with him. 

Hey y’all!

Hope your week started off alright and that you’ve enjoyed your weekend😊

This is the main account that i’ll be posting on in regards to my written work because i couldn’t interact as i wanted to on my side-blog.

But I won’t be deleting anything on that blog, im just moving over to this one.

Let me know what you thought of this soft imagine and who you’d like me to write for or just ask me anything😁

Remember to like, share and/or comment and be safe!

Love y’all and thanks for the support.

-K💜

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Teaser]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language (possibly more?)

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this criminal is stealing my fires, what the fuck?!“

Life is a rollercoaster, it always has been. One moment he feels at the top of the world and the very next he’s upside down at the bottom, wishing the ride would come to a stop as soon as possible. Things that shouldn’t be difficult, things average people would consider the norm to him were the equivalent of walking on glass, each step sending shocks of pain throughout his body, anxiety pumping his blood with adrenaline that provoked his fight or flight response. And after choosing ‘fight’ so many times, he’s more than prepared to choose ‘flight’.

But as he sits in the Walmart parking lot, he’s talking himself out of that habit of running from discomfort. He doesn’t want to battle it either, he just wants to face it and prove he’s strong enough to defeat it if he tried. Well, anxiety is laughing in his face right now, mocking him by the shaking of his hands and the tight sensation in his gut and throat. He’s here for what’s supposed to be just a quick shopping trip. Just to buy a few things! That’s all he has to do. However, he can’t bring himself to get out of his beige Subaru and walk into the store. 

I’m just hungry, right? Or maybe tired, he thought to himself.

That’s what everyone told him - that anxiety was caused by something simple to solve but hard to realize when your mind is in a frenzy. He’s planning on getting something to eat to calm his nerves. If that doesn’t work, to hell with it. He has been improvising plan B’s all his life, this wouldn’t be anything new. 

With a shaky sigh Corpse looks at his radio, switching stations until his luck smiles at him when he comes across a BONES song and turns it up just enough to not overwhelm his senses. He has been needing some kind of a distraction all day, why not gravitate to the one thing that felt real, as if sent to save him from the mess within his head. Putting the car into drive, he pulls out of the parking lot and into the nearest fast food drive thru. A plain burger with cheese so his stomach doesn’t act up, fries and an unsweetened tea. 

This will have to do.  He isn’t even hungry, and the thought of the greasy food only made his stomach churn worse but he knew he needed to eat something in hopes of it having the effects he was told it would have - magically cure his overwhelmingly hard to handle anxiety.

Once he got his food, he returned to the department store lot and parked in a far back spot. He has opened the paper bag to dig his food out, grimacing at all the grease and the smell of the cheap meal that wasted no time invading his car. He really isn’t hungry, but he hasn’t eaten all day and he’s aware of the toll the lack of food is taking on his system. He knows better than to work against himself in a moment like this when his mind is already working against him.

Chomping down on a fry, Corpse savors the salt as it hits his tongue and takes a moment to let his shoulders loosen and hang low. Something about the salt and fat seemed to make his body feel better. He tosses his head back slightly as he flicks a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, reaching into the bag and grabbing another fry.

He’s been content with sitting in his car, eating and trying to quell the anxiety bubbling up under his ribs and in his throat. There’s a sense of peace to it and to the loneliness of it. He doesn’t mind being alone, though. That’s how he prefers to be actually. Dwelling on that thought too long has had the tendency to kill even the smallest spec of a positive energy he possessed in the past so he avoids it for his own peace of mind. The feeling of his heart thundering in his chest to nothing more than his own unconscious is being muffled by the soft rap music coming from the car speakers, him having chosen to pay attention to that instead.

Corpse is so engrossed in his attempts of maintaining this peace that he fails to notice the person approaching his car at a rapid pace. He’s left completely unbothered until one of the backseat doors is yanked open and someone is diving inside, shaking the vehicle. 

“What th-..” He shouts, startled out of the peaceful bubble he had created around himself. 

“Hey, how's it going? Sorry to interrupt your dinner. I'm just avoiding somebody, so don’t mind me!” A slightly out of breath female voice answers from the backseat. But before he could bring himself to turn around and demand this girl get out of his car, fear takes hold of him, closing his throat and drowning his words in the sea of questions and anxiety rising from deep within his chest. 

Ok, breathe. This is weird. There’s a stranger in my car, but she doesn’t appear harmful. Just breathe, stay calm. Fuck, is that a fucking cop car?! 

His shaky hand is barely capable of holding the burger as his wide eyes follow the movements of the vehicle. The patrol car in question slowly drives through each aisle of the parking lot, seemingly searching for something. Or someone. He feels himself unable to blink nor breath as the car creeps closer and closer. He has already broken into a nervous sweat, head spinning with all the possible outcomes - none of which bode well for him.

How am I gonna explain this shit?! There’s no way they’ll believe that she just dove into my car. They’ll think I’m an accomplice. I’ll go to jail. God knows if I’ll get out. I’ll die in there. Oh fuck, I’ll die in there.

He inhales sharply, trying not to hyperventilate, all his muscles tensing before a slap to his arm shook him out of it, “Could you look any more suspicious?! Fuckin’ act cool!”

He nods automatically and looks down at his lap, like he’s trying to find a napkin before taking a quick sip of his tea in attempts to look natural. The liquid promptly went down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke and go in a fit of coughs which he suppressed with his baggy hoodie sleeve. 

The cop passed by, eyeing the man in the car before making a turn to go down another row of parking spots, allowing Corpse to finally peek his gaze upwards to check if the guy was finally gone when the voice in the back seat spoke up again. “Thanks dude, you saved my ass.” 

He hadn’t noticed at first but as he turned to look behind him he saw a bare arm reaching from the back seat, dipping into the paper bag and taking one of his fries. Before he could comprehend it, the girl had climbed up over the center console as the police car pulled out of the parking lot and left. 

Only now is he able to get a real look at the woman who is a potential criminal and went into his car. She isn’t tall but not short either. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are ripped around her knees and upper thighs and have little occult symbols drawn on them, peace signs and even an occasional tiny dinosaur - the majority, if not all, probably a DIY project of hers by the looks of it. She’s also sporting a sleeveless top with the sides cut open to show most of her waist. Under that, a black sports bra and a tattoo are visible - the tattoo extending from her back to her ribs just slightly. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a loose and rather messy hairdo, every strand going in its own direction as if she couldn’t be bothered by it. Looking down he sees the pair of black combat boots she has on. They look to be well taken care of and loved. A glint of a septum piercing attracts his attention when he notices it reflecting the ugly yellow light of the parking lot street lamps. 

She’s pretty. 

His cheeks flush a little in the darkness as he dumps the remainder of his food back into the bag, noting she was taking another one of his fries before he looked away, swallowing nervously when he feels her gaze on him. 

Before he could speak, however, she had already taken another one of his fries, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“W-why...are you in my car?” His voice showed off his confusion as well as the rising levels of his anxiety, his brow furrowed as he tries to remain cool and calm. 

“Hiding from the police...obviously.” She responds in a ‘duh’ tone as if she were pointing out something very simple and ordinary.

“Bu-...Alright...I guess. You should stop stealing my food though.” He finally mumbles, putting the paper bag into the back seat and catching a brief whiff of the perfume she has on as he turns to do so. 

He’s been alone so long, people have grown to terrify him. Public places terrify him, so it’s no surprise he stays inside for as long as he can. He hasn’t been this close to someone in months. Not since his ex left. She was just...another human being. Another one to leave. Nothing new to him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise nor a disappointment to him but he couldn’t not feel distraught over it for a while after it happened. He couldn’t help but hope she would….nevermind.

She grins - her smile a little spark of light in this lonely little world that is his life. Everyone around him always looked so damn happy. How come he never felt the happiness for himself?

He shifts back into his seat, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his black hoodie, avoiding her gaze as much as possible while still trying to take subtle glances at her. He feels uncomfortably like a teenager at that moment, stumbling his way through a conversation with a girl way too pretty to be talking to him.

“I bet you hear this all the time, but you should do like, audio books or voice acting or somethin’. You’ve got a rad voice to narrate some Steven King or Dean Koontz. Bram Stoker's Dracula would be sick, or some kind of devil or demon character.” She offers, grinning again as she steals another fry despite the bag now being in the back and shifts to reach into her back pocket, the sound of her wallet chain hitting the side of his car door echoes throughout the enclosed space of the car. She pulls out a couple dollars and slaps them onto his dashboard, “anyway, for the fries. Annnd for letting me hide in your car. Don’t go spending it all in one place.” She pushes the door of the Subaru open, winking at him and sliding one leg out. “Thanks for keepin’ the fuzz off of me, see ya Hades!” She jokes teasingly, slapping the roof of his car before closing the door and practically skipping off in the opposite direction of the one the cop went in. 

Corpse parts his lips, blinking slowly before looking at the department store and back towards the slowly shrinking figure of the girl. His head is spinning again, for different reasons now.

“What the hell just happened....?” He pauses for a lingering second before his voice turns sharp and a distressed look crosses his face, “Fuck, what did I need from the store?!”

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty One | It's Showtime! (Part 2 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title(s):

Saint Behind the Glass** (Song Referenced)

or

The Extra Corny One With A Second Song Title Reference, Part 2½**

• • •

**This basically reveals Part 2 and 3 were meant to be Chapter Twenty-Two at one point (similar to how various chapters from the old version of FaiCom have been merged together here), buuut each chapter has essentially took place on different days in this version, so...

Let's keep that format, shall we?

• • •

Something's wrong.

That single sentence continues to repeat itself over and over as he makes it from Ruins to Hotland with the human, who remains quiet and distant during the entirety of the walk.

They're obligated to take off their jacket and reveal a sweaty tank top midway through, leaving their arms bare, these they try to hide from his line of sight by crossing them and glancing aside. He wonders why they do that at first, until he witnesses how hefty and soft-looking their arms are, a noticeable difference compared to the toned muscles he often saw from those who worked at the Royal Guard. Whether the human felt unconfident of their appearance or vulnerable as a cause of the nightmare he assumed to be related to, Sans wasn't completely sure of. Either way, he's aware it's best not to bring that up currently. The ups and downs to their health and body had shown greatly through these past few months, and though they were recovering little by little, they seemed to be facing some more frequent downs, as of late. Their call from a few days ago and the weak state they were in as they climbed into the back seat of Papyrus's car were just enough to make him fear there's something bigger going on.

"Shoulda worn shorts or somethin'," he comments, noticing they already seem to be affected by the heat. Frisk ventured through a variety of climates with no trouble at all, yet their parent was showing signs of fatigue in their body within a few minutes into their walk through Hotland. The place had grown about twice as hot since he last visited, though he doubts the human will believe him if he were to say that out of nowhere. They could likely take it as him trying to console them for their inability to be stronger than him; or their own child, for that matter -- someone meant to see them as a role model rather than a frail and dependent person. "Wanna borrow some of mine?"

The human stares at him like he's made the most absurd suggestion there is, similar to that of mixing water with cereal or cooking steak in a toaster. "I swear, you test your luck with me a little too hard sometimes."

"I mean it, though."

"...We're not even dating yet."

"Yet," he says, mirth in his tone. "As in, there's still a possibility for us to become official?"

"Oh, stop it." They frown and fumble with the keys hanging from their satchel; he notices their nails are stubby, and bits of dried blood can be seen at the corners of plenty. "I… I don't know when you're being serious with me or not anymore."

"I meant that, too," he states, chuckling. "Would it be late if I told you I got that punch at the bar, 'cuz I had my head way in the clouds -- thinkin' about you?"

Sans receives no comment or reaction other than (Y/N) looking elsewhere and moving aside to walk a bit further from where he's at.

As a consequence, he takes a step closer, catches them with a 'hey', and reaches for their cheek when they look down at him. "...What's the matter? Your face's burnin'."

"We're in Hotland," they retort, rolling their eyes and brushing his hand away. "Ice's frozen. Water's wet. The sun's scorching-"

"-Just like you."

They walk off again, albeit with some struggle now that the heat of Hotland has combined with their embarrassment.

"And I'm not gonna wear your shorts. It would be a waste of time for me to take a break just because of some heat -- I'm not weak."

"Not sayin' you are. Just sayin' I don't want you to die from a heatstroke."

"Either way, I overlooked my situation, and I failed to prepare for it." A solemn look falls on their face, coupled with a firm posture. "I should've kept in mind my health, so it wouldn't be right for you to try redeeming my lack of preparedness. I should've asked Frisk or you more about this." They take in a breath and sigh it out. "...even if you can adapt to it just fine, and even if Frisk didn't have as much trouble to adjust as me."

Hot-headed and fiery might just be the finest ways to describe the human's current attitude, yet he very well knows making another joke about their temper -- combined with their hotness and the place they're currently at -- would be far too much. It wouldn't surprise him if they decided to call off the tour halfway through. Patience wasn't quite their main trait, though they practiced a sufficient amount of tolerance when it came to confronting his constant coquetry for the duration of those two months one of their coworkers mentioned in the chat; he can hardly believe it's been that long, and even less how close he was to kiss them that one time on the couch. More than sixty days of dealing with his presence had to be considered an achievement of some sort, even if their feelings were mutual. The monster's completely aware of how tiring and exasperating he can be on the often occasion, so he finds it best to start rationing how much he can be at once; too much of something's rarely ever good or effective, after all.

"But... Alright. Risking it would only make it worse, either way." Their gaze turns soft and they concede with a quiet huff. "Wouldn't we have to go allll the way back, though?"

"Not exactly," he replies, winking.

Sans proceeds to unzip his jacket and reveal a folded bundle of clothing underneath it.

"I know you can be stubborn sometimes, so I came prepared." He turns it over and adds, "There's a full set of clothes there, in case ya wanna freshen up at Met's old hotel before we keep goin'." His hands brush with theirs as they take the clothing from him. "It's been abandoned for a short while now, but I'm pretty sure the water's still runnin' well, for the most part." His gaze falls on their belongings again, and he gives into a cheekier grin as he continues with, "I've noticed somethin' about you, by the way."

"And what would that be?" they ask, mouth straight and tone wary.

He observes the satchel again -- the more-heavy-than-it-looks bag they almost always seemed to carry along with them, be it for something as typical as their job to something as simple as going out for a walk. What made it odd was knowing what contents could be found inside, these he has a vague recollection from when he had no other choice but to organize their bag after having gone through it when they fainted at the bus. Sans can still remember having rummaged through layers of Frisk's clothing, school supplies, and even a few monster-aimed medicines before setting the first aid kit back to its rightful place. The only things he could recall to be truly theirs were their cellphone, wallet, keys, and eyeglasses case. Going back to that memory makes him wonder -- were their priorities in the format of a list -- what number they would label themself with.

"You usually carry stuff in that bag meant for other people -- not you." He eyes the pocket with a few contents poking out from it. "...Or am I Ied to believe that bright pink Husky hairpin's yours?"

The human looks confused for a moment, until their eyes cast down at their bag and assess the pocket his gaze is most focused on. Then, they come across one of the smaller ones, where the mentioned accessory stays clipped to. "It- It's not! That's just in case Frisk needs it." They take it and hide it away in one of the bigger, emptier pockets. "It's their favourite hairpin, and they use it more often now that their hair's getting longer."

"But they ain't here right now."

"Yes, but what if they need it later -- when I go pick them up?"

He can barely contain the joy their overly defensive expression brings upon his face.

Perhaps it's pure projection or coincidence, but they appear to resemble the same dog he mentioned with the stance they hold, not threatening in the slightest and charming at best, but still ready to attack -- figuratively, of course. Hearty laughter escapes him, though he covers it up with a harrumph. "I'm surprised you don't carry the whole house with you, at this point."

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"If only you applied that thought for you, too."

They swat his skull with their hand and let out a chuckle. "Don't nag me, teddy bear." Nonetheless, a more serious look overcomes them as they sigh. "You're right, though." With how quiet it gets and how long that pause lasts, it appears as if they've become lost in their thoughts. "Not only did the social worker suggest it, but it's not fair for me to keep bothering you or anyone else because of my..." They scratch their throat and grin. "...consistently questionable life choices."

"Is that a promise I'm hearin'?"

"A big and definite one."

• • •

Half-open windows help bring some clear air into the stuffy room, as does the air conditioner set to the coldest temperature possible by lessening the dryness and heat of the wind. It's all paired up with the scents of the fresh cinnabunnies and iced coffee he carries in some paper bags, food he bought at Snowdin while the human showered. Sans sets the meal by the nightstand, covers it up with some aluminum foil, and -- finally -- wipes a layer of dirt away from the mirrored dresser before assembling some toiletries on it. Then, he sits down in bed, closes his eye sockets, and waits. The sounds of his soul beating, the breeze blowing the curtains, and the shower running are the only melodies to take over the quiet of the hotel. Turning on the radio by the nightstand further assists those noises and aids in transforming the room into a more welcoming and cozy spot, overall. The last thing on his mental to-do list is to wait some more by checking his phone and updating himself on any new messages, some few from (Y/N)'s coworkers wishing him luck. A grin's inevitable as he reads through these a second time.

The shower turning off and a door unlocking are the next changes he notices, along with the radio switching from music to news.

Sans feels his breath tremble when the human steps out. They're dressed to the nines despite their attire being composed of the simplest clothing possible: a new pair of his below-the-knee shorts, these fitting slightly above theirs as a result of their taller height; plus one of his baggiest shirts, now almost at belly button length for the same reason as the first piece. What makes such a common attire seem so complex and thought-out is how well they've adjusted it to their figure; it's either that, or he has his head in the clouds again. Regardless, they knew how to fix an outfit, and it wasn't that of much surprise if he compared it to the time they pulled the same trick when borrowing some sleepwear from Toriel's wardrobe.

Or, then again…

He was slowly becoming infatuated with them and couldn't avoid finding them attractive -- no matter the clothing worn.

At the sight of (Y/N) having their back turned to him while they perform their finishing touches by the dresser, he approaches them as quietly as he can, yet he lets himself be seen halfway with the reminder of the nightmare they had and how startled they could likely be if he tried anything extreme. He goes to hug them from behind when they catch him getting closer, though they say and do nothing in response. Still, his expectations of no retaliation are promptly shattered as they turn around, grab his hands, and twirl him once, preventing the hug.

"Nice try, teddy bear," they comment, smiling. "Do try again next time." They wink.

It's a knockout when the radio decides to switch back to music, inspiring in them what he assumes is an urge to take their current hold on him to lead him into an impromptu dance.

"So… You want to get flirty with me again?" they ask, grabbing his hands tight as they sway him left and right at a rhythmic but easy motion. "Then you've got to handle me flirting back." One hand holds his left one up while the other places his right one on their waist. Theirs then falls on his shoulder when he keeps his where they placed it at, this one he has trouble keeping still with how close he is to touch their skin, part of their waist now more exposed with their movements, showing the “love handles” he'd teased them about since he first flirted with them. A subtle but no less playful smile stretches their lips; their eyes soften, though mischief flares in their gaze. "I've made the decision to trust you," they comment, twirling him around once more. "So if you'd like us to be official, we can, but…" Their steps slow down as they trail off in their thoughts.

He treads in with, "You need to wait until the CPS thing's over with, right?"

They nod. "Unfortunately."

Their sorrow stays brief and their playfulness returns, replacing their momentary frown for yet another smile. "My memory might be a bit bad though, as I've never heard you say you like me before." To further increment the effects of their teasing, their lips fall close to his teeth but end up lower, kissing his jaw instead. "...In other words," they add, hands locking firm around his neck and bringing him closer to them. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Sans feels his face turn about as warm as theirs felt, and he can tell they've noticed, based on the way their face lingers close to his -- waiting.

"...I like you," he says, far too quiet to be labeled anything but a murmur; even a thought could be considered louder than his words.

They land another kiss, much closer to his teeth. "Couldn't hear you."

"I like you, puddin'," he repeats, stronger this time. "Can you, uh… do that again, though? It felt nice."

They nod, lean in further, and press yet another kiss to his face. "Gladly."

With that, the human carries on with the dance. They sway him left and right and perform small circles across the hotel room, adding a twirl every few seconds -- sometimes with them taking the lead, and vice versa. "I like you, too, Serif." Despite the meaning and weight of their words, a frown arrives on their face. "But…" They hesitate. "I still have some doubts, and I think that dream I had confirmed that."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

A few seconds of silence remain and the song ends, dropping tension in the room.

"Not now, but… But maybe later?" They let him go. "If possible, I'd like to talk at the Judgment Hall -- where you last worked before leaving the Underground."

Despite his best efforts, the skeleton can't avoid commenting, "Want me to judge how good you look right now?"

The human sighs, loud and long. "...Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

He lets out a resounding, jovial laugh at that.

Their tone's genuinely sad, as so's their expression.

They look a hundred and ten percent done with him, though they still push forward with a, "Be serious for a moment, please. I… I really mean it, and that dream I had…" Demurral returns to their words. "It involved one of my fears about Frisk's safety, and well…" They take a deep, shaky breath. "A- And my own safety when I'm around you."

The severity of their statement dawns on him, and his view distorts itself from an attractive human to a vulnerable one standing in front of him, weak and poorly prepared -- completely alone with him in a large, abandoned, and dilapidated hotel. They were easy prey from the viewpoint of an Underground Sentry. He could easily take them captive with their current state of health and their lack of knowledge in combat. Were he still assigned to that job, had (Y/N) fallen in Frisk's stead, and were finding that seventh soul still a priority, he could just as easily inform every other member of the Royal Guard to bring the human down to the Monster King's bidding. Unlike Frisk, they had little to no determination left in their soul; a quick and direct intervention meant danger for them.

And had he still that same mindset to this day, his agreement with Asgore to serve and protect (Y/N) would be something he could break -- something simple to deal with if he framed the blame on someone else. He could just as likely tolerate some jail time for failing to fulfill his part of that job with no protest. The only real obstacle would be (Y/N)'s child themself, knowing they were likely going to guard and care for their parent unconditionally. But even then, they were still alone with him presently; in other words, he could cover up any potential evidence of him being a culprit with time to spare. Perhaps Frisk was the hero of the story, but (Y/N) was still an NPC -- someone easy to get rid of with the right amount of caution and preparedness.

"You mentioned something about Karma before, and well…" They break the silence and snap him out of those thoughts. "I've made a lot of bad choices and awful mistakes, so that makes me wonder if, m- maybe…" Tears form in their eyes as they breathe in -- once, then twice. "If maybe I don't deserve any of this kindness or forgiveness that I've been getting recently, and… And that maybe I don't belong in this story, y'know? Frisk has done all the work here so far, and they've overcome plenty of obstacles, too. Meanwhile, I- I'm a weak, ill person with a dead-end job -- trying to keep a holey row boat afloat with napkins." They let out a shaky sigh and fail at a smile. "I get that you like me, and I can't deny or ignore my own feelings for you, but I'm… I'm an unworthy, ungrateful person. We've known each other for barely half a year. Th- There's stuff you don't know about me yet -- just as I don't know about you."

Their face shines with tears, these they can't bring themself to stop with how many pour down, and how fast these are. "I've already troubled and hurt Frisk enough as it is, and I've... I've troubled well-meaning family like Brenda just as much with my mistakes." They cover their face as they sit down in bed, trying to contain their sorrow. "...And then I have these awful, intrusive thoughts that seep in whenever I think I'm doing better. I don't want to bring trouble to you or any other monsters, either, but reminding myself of my past worsens these feelings, kn- knowing I might screw up again and again and again."

Feeling the situation's getting too rough not to establish some control over it, Sans sits down with them and grabs their wrists, tugging at these for them to look down at him.

Fear reaches their gaze as they stare at his irises, completely overcoming their bright and cheerful attitude from earlier.

"Breathe," he says, voice low as he loosens his grip on their wrists -- at the feeling of them shaking almost violently under his hold. "We'll go to the Hall in a few. But, first... I'm gonna need you to calm down a lil' more." He lets go.

They nod, close their eyes, and let a few more tears drift down before he dries the rest of these off with the sleeve of his jacket. "...Alright."

When they shudder, sniffle, and recover some sense of tranquility, they look at him again and smile. "And thank you for showing me patience."

He smiles back and brings them in for a hug -- long, tight, and strong. "That I've got plenty of, puddin'."

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[noona-clock]

The Demon 👿 Zombie

Genre: Office!AU

Pairing: Jae x You

Warnings: Some Emotional Angst

Words: 2,342

Day and Night  👿 Zombie  👿 Tick Tock  👿 Love me or Leave me  👿 STOP   👿 1 to 10  👿 Afraid

Breathin’ but I’ve been dyin’ inside Nothin’ new and nothin’ feels right Deja vu so I close my eyes Let the demon sing me a lullaby

Today’s a present that I don’t want So I’m wonderin’ in this world Am I really the only one Who’s been wantin’ to hide out from the sun And run

You immediately let out a whining groan when you heard your morning alarm pierce through the air.

You knew you should be thankful you had a steady, well-paying job. You should be grateful you could keep a roof over your head and food on your table.

But, good grief, you just didn’t like it. You didn’t hate it, but you sure didn’t love it. It was a fine job. Mediocre, at best. You just had trouble mustering up any positive energy whatsoever when it came to getting up and going to work.

Once you actually got to work... Well, to be honest, it wasn’t much better. You trudged through each workday because you had to, not because you wanted to. You simply went through the motions every day, like a robot on autopilot.

You know that song that’s like “Everybody’s workin’ for the weekend’?

You were convinced that song was written about you. Friday evening was your absolute favorite thing in the entire world.

And Sunday evening was your absolute least favorite thing in the entire world.

Up until just recently, you’d been able to make it through each day, each week. It wasn’t pleasant, but you did it.

For the past few weeks, though, you’d felt the dark unhappiness creeping into your brain. It was getting more and more difficult to force yourself to get out of bed and head into the office. So much so that you were on the verge of taking some time off. It sounded more than heavenly to just be able to stay in bed and laze around all day -- hole yourself up and do anything but go to work.

When we live a life Always dreamin’ for a dream to come true So I live this life Wanting somethin’ I can’t see And something I can’t reach Or somethin’ that could not exist

To be honest, one of the only things keeping you going right now was your co-worker, Jae.

The two of you had started this job at just about the same time, so the newbie status instantly pulled you together. The fact Jae could successfully distract you with both memes and profound thoughts at the same time was what kept you together.

Whenever you needed to rant about another co-worker or a client, Jae was there. Whenever you needed to get out of the office for lunch and satisfy your craving for fast food, Jae was there. Whenever you needed to relieve boredom or waste time -- you guessed it. Jae was there.

He was basically one of the only reasons you continued working this job, and you liked to think he felt the same way about you.

After reaching over to pick up your phone and turning your alarm off, your whining groan turned into a weary sigh. Normally -- as in, before your jaded attitude about your job had set in -- you would turn off your alarm and almost immediately get out of bed. Now, however -- and especially more recently -- you found you had to scroll through your overnight notifications on your phone before you could even think about getting up.

And that’s exactly what you did today.

Your eyes scanned all of the alerts you’d received, stopping when you noticed one of them was a text message from Jae. Unsurprisingly, he’d sent it way after you’d gone to sleep, knowing you wouldn’t see it until you’d woken up this morning.

Just two more alarms for the week, dude. You got this.

You really weren’t sure why because it was literally just a text message, but... reading Jae’s words actually helped you get out of bed. Maybe it was the fact you knew someone at work was on your side, or maybe it was the fact someone else understood how difficult it could be... or maybe it was a reason you truly couldn’t understand.

Either way, you quickly typed out a reply (‘WE got this, bro!! See you soon!’) and then swung your legs over the side your bed.

I feel like I became a zombie Not alive but I’m still walkin’ When the sunrise is upon me I’ll be waitin’ for the day to pass by Oh why

I became a zombie And there’s nothing that can cure me So tomorrow I know I’ll be Just the same, you’ll see me Wishin’ to stop and close my eyes

Unfortunately, Jae’s text message only gave you enough positive energy to get through your morning routine. As soon as you stepped outside and headed toward the bus stop, you turned into the robot on autopilot again, simply going through the motions of getting to work.

You got on the bus, swiped your pass, sat down, stared out the window as it began to roll deeper into the city.

It was times like these when you found yourself zoning out entirely, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time.

Your gaze became focused on the sunrise peeking through in-between the buildings, and your mind became unfocused on just about everything. And it was usually during your morning bus ride when you felt the most like a zombie -- half-alive. Or, rather, physically alive but emotionally... not alive. Probably because you knew the day was just beginning, and you had so many hours ahead of you to get through.

You closed your eyes, tilting your head and pressing your temple to the cool glass of the window.

Just before you were going to let out a deep but silent sigh, you felt your phone vibrate inside your bag.

With a small jump, you opened your eyes, sat back up, and reached in to see what the notification was.

A small smile crept onto your lips when you saw Jae had texted you again.

B R O. I need COFFEE. Want anything?

Soy hazelnut latte maybe?

What about food? You can treat me to lunch later as a thank you.

LOL okay deal. Everything bagel plz!!!! You’re the best!!!!

You would say one thing: it was definitely easier to get through the morning with some caffeine and some food. Hopefully, you would feel more like a person after you got some breakfast in you.

Yeah this is my life Always dreamin’ for a dream to come true This meaningless life Wanting somethin’ I can’t see And something I can’t reach Or somethin’ that could not exist

No more of this I wanna cry Dried out but feel like I should cry Tell the world that I’m still here tonight Oh oh

Besides the very end of your shift, lunchtime was your favorite part of the day. You especially enjoyed it when you got to eat with Jae, and even moreso when you ate out at a restaurant -- I mean, if you classify McDonald’s as a restaurant. Which you totally did.

Since Jae had so graciously provided breakfast for you this morning, you followed up with your promise to treat him to lunch. He had announced that he was craving a McChicken sandwich, so here you were sitting in a booth at the McDonald’s across the street from the building.

And, apparently, you were sitting in the booth more listlessly than you realized because as you were swirling some fries around in your ketchup, Jae kicked you gently under the table.

“Yo, what’s up?” he asked. “You okay?”

You blinked rapidly, shifting your gaze to look at Jae across from you. “Hmm?” you hummed. “Oh, I -- have you ever felt like your life is basically meaningless?”

...Had you meant for such a profound question to come out of your mouth?

No.

But there was no taking it back now.

Jae practically choked on his McChicken, his eyes widening and his brow furrowing deeply. “Say what now?”

You shifted awkwardly in your seat before replying, “Never mind.”

“No, no, no -- meaningless? Is that how you feel? Like your life is meaningless?”

“...Kind of?”

Jae’s forehead wrinkled even more, and he leaned forward closer to you. “Dude, that’s not true at all,” he said quietly and with the most sincere tone. So sincere it almost made your heart break. “Why -- I mean, why do you...?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I just feel like... every day is a chore to get through. I’m just waking up and going to work and going home. I don’t feel like I’m actually... doing anything. And like there’s no end in sight.”

Jae let out a soft sigh and set down his sandwich before folding his arms on top of the table. “I mean... I knew you didn’t like this job, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

To be honest, neither had you. Not until just now. You’d known you weren’t particularly happy, but you hadn’t truly understood just how unhappy you were.

“...Yeah, I guess it is,” you murmured.

“So... find a new job.”

You automatically let out a breathless chuckle and shook your head. “Like it’s that easy.”

“Listen,” Jae began. “I don’t want you to find another job. For my own selfish reasons, I don’t want you to leave because you’re definitely my favorite part of work. But... dude, if you’re that unhappy, you have to leave.”

You didn’t answer him right away; you simply bit the inside of your cheek and gazed at your food.

“I have friends with all kinds of jobs,” he continued. “I could ask around and see if they can help. You’re smart as hell, I know there are plenty of jobs out there you would be so good at.”

His words -- and his earnest tone -- made your throat tighten with emotion and your eyes fill slightly with tears. “Really?” you choked out. “You would help me like that?”

When you finally looked up at him, you anticipated his expression to be one of ‘You’re kidding me, right? Of course, I would help you like that.’

Instead, his expression said something more like... Well, you weren’t sure what. The best way you could describe it was... shy.

“Well... yeah,” he mumbled. “I... I just want you to be happy.”

I feel like I became a zombie Not alive but I’m still walkin’ When the sunrise is upon me I’ll be waitin’ for the day to pass by Oh why

I became a zombie And there’s nothing that can cure me So tomorrow I know I’ll be Just the same you’ll see me Wishin’ to stop and close my eyes

Unfortunately, no matter how badly you wished for more time, your lunch break was only an hour long.

Jae had double-checked that you were all right before the two of you went back into your office building, and he even sent you messages here and there throughout the day -- including one informing you that he had texted all of his close friends about job openings, and he already had some good leads for you.

At this point, though, you didn’t really want to get your hopes up.

Jae typically didn’t leave at the same time as you because he preferred to finish everything he’d started that day; you were the type to leave right when the clock struck 5 and not a minute later, so unless Jae finished early for the day, the two of you never walked out of the office together.

But Jae must have finished early for the day because the two of you walked out of the office together.

As soon as you stepped out of the building, Jae nudged you gently with his elbow. “So, are you gonna quit?” he asked quietly.

“Well, not right now,” you replied. “I still need to pay my bills.”

“Yeah, but -- if one of my friends can get you an interview, will you go to it?”

“I -- I mean, I guess so!”

To be honest, you wanted to leave this job, but... change was really scary. Starting all over at a new place, getting to know new people, getting used to a new schedule? It didn’t sound inviting.

But, then again, neither did keeping on with your current situation.

“I promise,” Jae said with raised eyebrows. “I will help you get out of here.”

You had to stop walking at that.

Your brow furrowed as Jae suddenly stopped, too, turning to face you.

“...What?” he asked.

“Why are you so determined to help me find a new job?” you asked, though there was absolutely nothing accusatory about your words. You were just... curious. I mean, it’s not like you and Jae were extremely close. You were best work friends, for sure, but you hadn’t hung out a whole lot outside of work.

Again, Jae’s expression turned shy the same way it had during your lunch conversation.

“I just...” he began, but then he let out a sigh and brought one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. 

...And then it dawned on you.

Out of the blue.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks that you had only stayed here because of Jae.

He wasn’t just one of the reasons you could manage to keep going. One of the only things you liked about your job.

He was the only reason. The only thing.

You were so hesitant to get another job because you knew you wouldn’t get to see him everyday, and seeing him everyday was the one thing in your life that actually made you genuinely happy.

Before he could continue on with his thought, you stepped up to him. You slid your arms around his middle and circled your arms as tightly as you could and pressed your cheek to his chest.

“Whoa,” he muttered, but he didn’t leave enough time for you to start second-guessing yourself because he almost immediately returned your embrace.

“I don’t --” he mumbled. “I don’t want you to leave because not seeing you everyday would... suck. But I don’t think I can keep seeing you everyday knowing that you hate it.”

You simply shut your eyes tightly, nuzzling your cheek against the silk fabric of his tie.

“I can’t see you everyday knowing that you’re -- you’re a working zombie or something. So... please. Please say you’ll leave.”

“I will,” you murmured. Because even though Jae made you happy... it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t continue to rely on him to get you through the day; it wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

“But...” Jae added, his voice quieter and a bit more shaky. “Please say... you won’t leave me.”

Your lips curved into a wide grin at his words. He was hugging you back, yes, but you still hadn’t been certain that he felt the same way as you did right now.

But now you knew.

“I won’t,” you assured him, squeezing him even tighter.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of... Well, you weren’t quite sure. Hope? Happiness? Love? Or maybe just... different?

After living your life in the same way day after day, week after week, month after month... something different had happened.

So, I guess the best way to put it was for the first time in a long time, you felt that tomorrow could actually be different.

And that was all you needed.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Jigsaw // Red: Part One

Valhalla 

A/N: Picking up right where we left off with Blue (which you can find on the Billy Russo page of my masterlist). Billy’s on the run and needs to find a place to hide out while he comes up with a plan. 

Warnings: character death

Word Count: 3,730

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Left. He hit the sidewalk and immediately turned, shifting himself sideways to disappear down the alley. Go, go, go. Legs turning over with perfect form, he ran between the buildings, a blur of red brick on one side, pale gray concrete on the other. The sound of his breathing drowned out everything but the voice in his head telling him where to turn. Right. Coming through to the next street, he spun, socked feet splashing through a puddle of condensation from the A.C. unit in the window above. Alley, now. A trash bag lay across the opening of the narrow space. Jump it. Right leg extended, he vaulted over the garbage heap, springing off his coiled left calf and landing in stride, continuing to run without missing a beat. An aluminum chain link fence greeted him at the end of the alley, and he quickly calculated the necessary motion to climb it. Wait! Back pressed against the grime covered wall, he held his breath in the shadows as two police cruisers flew by, sirens wailing. He counted to ten, waiting to see if any more were in pursuit. He could hear more sirens joining in from other parts of the city, but for now the way was clear. Go, up and over. Securing the folder inside his zipped sweatshirt, he jumped and gripped the fence with both hands, fingers curling through the wire diamonds. He pulled himself up with ease, throwing one leg and then the other over the top and landing hard on the soles of his feet.  

Keep fuckin’ going. Listening to the commanding voice in his head, Billy immediately took off running again. His lungs were on fire and he had a cramp in his gut but just like in an active warzone, he knew that he couldn’t rest until he’d reached the checkpoint. Not that he had one in mind when he broke free, but as he scaled the fence he realized that his legs were taking him to a specific location- an abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. Of course. He coughed, wheezing slightly as he pushed himself to follow his feet as fast as he could. Of course that’s where I’m goin’. He reverted back to auto pilot, following the commands to make turns and slip through alleys, allowing his thoughts to traverse the labyrinth in his brain like a mouse in a maze, desperate for the cheese. With a wince and a jerk of his head, a memory tumbled to the frontlines as he got closer to his destination.   

 ..  .. ..  .. .. ..  .. 

‘S’just an idea I had,” Billy shrugged and shoved his burger haphazardly into his mouth, filling it with food so he’d have an excuse not to elaborate too much. You watched him from across the retro red table, tapping your thumbnail against the grooved aluminum edge.

  “It’s a great idea, Billy,” you’d said encouragingly, French fry suspended over your plate, a dollop of ketchup plopping off the end of it.

 He chewed around a small smile, keeping his eyes on you as he reached for the pebbled plastic soda glass in front of him. He swallowed the bite he’d taken and chased it down with a few loud slurps of his drink before setting what was left of his lunch back on his plate. “I dunno about great,” he said with a minute shift of his shoulders. “Still got a lot of work to do. Gonna need investors and warehouse space and-“

You stopped tapping at the aluminum trim and stretched your hand across the small two top booth to grip his, giving a light squeeze. “Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Yeah, you got a lot of work to do. But the idea is a good one, and a lot of good people will benefit from it.”

She gets it. He cleared his throat and sniffed, nose wrinkling up. “Yeah, I mean… just thinkin’ about guys like me’n Frankie. Guys that gave decades of their lives to the military. Guys that need to have somethin’ to fall back on when they get home… what kinda jobs are gonna hire 38 year olds with no experience, ya know?” He was talking mainly about Frank, but he wasn’t far behind his friend in terms of age or the things he was willing to risk as that number went up.“Give ‘em a chance to use the skills they have instead’a tryin’ to scramble to fit in to some 9-5…” Let ‘em be with guys who understand…

 “So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?” You’d pushed your plate aside to give him your full attention, one hand still linked with his over the scarlet and silver boomerang patterned laminate.

He’d hesitated to tell you about his idea of starting his own private security company, because saying it out loud meant that it was real. Telling you about it was essentially sealing a promise to himself...and to you, that he’d make it work, and he wasn’t sure that he could. But the way that you asked those questions, with nothing but clarity and belief in your tone, the way your hand never left his, it made him feel like maybe it wasn’t so crazy. Maybe I can. “Well, I gotta figure out how much I need to get started. Equipment, endorsements, facilities,” He ticked those off on the fingers of his free hand before his tongue came out to lick his lips.  “I...actually, I looked into this one warehouse in Brooklyn already. Not that I’m expectin’ it to still be available when I’m ready to pull the trigger but… I wanted to look into the numbers.”

“Will you show it to me?” The excitement on your face pulled his cheeks up slowly, almost making him laugh.

“What?” He shook his head looking down at your hands. “Nah, you don’t wanna,” he looked back up to find that you hadn’t so much as blinked. “I only got two days left, you wanna waste one of ‘em in a dirty old building?” But even as he tried to talk you out of it, Billy realized that he did want to take you there.

The server came over then, coffee pot in one hand and stress written all over her tired face despite the fact that there were only three other occupied tables in the joint. “Get you two anything else?” The way she asked the question dictated what she hoped the answer would be.

Without missing a beat you turned to respond to the woman. “Nope, we’ll take the-” she dropped the puffy black check presenter on the table where it clapped together with a soft thud. “-check, thanks!” You pulled your hand from Billy’s and let him inspect the bill before he dug his wallet out, tucking some cash behind the curled thermal paper and then placing it on top of the dented silver napkin holder.

When he had returned his wallet to the back pocket of his dark jeans, you tilted your head and cocked one eyebrow. “What?” He asked, to which you’d only changed the angle of your chin. “Really?” Your smirk answered and he felt a swelling in his chest at your stubborn faith in him. “You’re serious.” That one wasn’t a question.

 You stood from the booth and wrapped your scarf around your neck before slipping your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. Billy did the same, following your lead. When you’d both donned your outerwear, you pulled your hair up and over the thick cable knit loops of your neck covering and bounced up on the balls of your feet to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I am, Russo.” Motioning toward the door and lacing your fingers with his, you licked your candy apple lips. “Lead the way, Billy.” 

 ..  .. ..  .. .. ..

His breathing picked up, uneven and ragged, fingers shaking as they clutched the rusty gate, swinging it open. The chase was over and his body reacted accordingly, heightened senses returning to normal levels, the adrenaline slowly draining from his blood. The greedy gulps of air he was taking would make him sick. He knew that, but there was nothing he could do. His survival instincts got him as far as they needed to before vanishing into the abyss, leaving him alone. Closing the gate behind him, Billy staggered through the fenced in loading dock of the abandoned warehouse, shoeless feet tripping on the cracks in the pavement where stubborn weeds were pushing through the concrete. Broken glass littered the ground as he got closer to the building, an entire pane having fallen from the third story, nothing but a few jagged spears remaining in the window frame.

The crunching, crashing sound of glass shattering echoed in his ears, forcing a wince and a pitiful hissing sound that was a mixture of pain and fear. Tearing his eyes from the fragments, he gripped the top of his head and shook it hard, jogging the sound and the visions that came with it from his mind. The blare of a bus horn from a few blocks away brought him back to the moment. Chest heaving, Billy gripped the folder that he’d tucked under his sweatshirt, confirming for the tenth time since his escape that he hadn’t lost it. What little relief was left for him trickled through his body as he finally reached the door and found it unlocked.

Tugging the handle he pulled it open, flakes of rust falling from the hinges as they creaked and screeched their disuse. The bottom of the door dragged over the concrete, scraping a crescent shape into the ground. He stumbled inside and yanked the door shut behind him, giving three hard pulls to close the stubborn portal. He kept moving, using the sunlight that filtered in through the thick, clouded windows to seek out the staircase on the near side of the vast and empty space. It had been over a year since he’d last been there, but he was confident that the steps hadn’t decayed past the point of use. Testing his weight on the bottom few he saw that he was right. He gripped the oxidized rails, the peeling metal rough against his palms as he climbed to the second floor, footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space.

This wasn’t Anvil’s home, but it might have been, almost was. There was more graffiti than there was the last time he’d set foot inside, depleted spray paint cans littering the ground and coming into view as he took the last few steps. The word Valhalla was scrawled across the bricks in the loft, accented with flames and shadows, a few broken, lumpy chairs and mattresses spread beneath the mural. The room had clearly been used as some kind of illegal den for drugs or other illicit activity, and simply hadn’t been cleaned out when the inhabitants had been dispatched. A rat scurried out from under one of the dilapidated pieces of furniture and found refuge inside of a potato chip bag in the corner. Billy stood before the painted wall. Valhalla. What a crock of shit. He recalled the way that he and his brothers in arms had often compared themselves to the Vikings, to the Gods of War, talking about valor and the glory that was waiting for them back home. There’s no glory left, no good death for me. He tore his eyes from the lettering and sank down onto one of the badly torn couches, a broken sound coming from his throat as he pulled the folder from where it was tucked beneath the zipper of his sweatshirt, letting it fall to the ripped cushion beside him, his head falling to hang between his hands.

Outside, the clouds shifted in the sky letting hazy afternoon light find its way through the damaged windows. It created a spotlight effect that drew his gaze to a hastily sprayed “X” on the floor in the center of the room, the splotchy ruby red paint scuffed from where careless boot soles had stepped over it. His mouth fell open, an incredulous breath bursting forth as he dragged his palms over the close cropped hair on top of his head, fingers curling around the helix of his ears and memory hurtling back to the last time that he’d been in that building.

..  .. ..  .. .. .. 

You reached the door before he did, both hands gripping the chunky steel door handle, eagerly trying to tug it open but struggling to do so. He watched your shoulders hunch up as you tried to pull harder before you turned to look back at him. The excitement on your face would have been more suited to opening the door to a luxury suite in a gilded mansion than a rundown old paint factory with more broken panes of glass on the floor than existed in the window frames, but he knew it was there and it was real. Because she loves me. That simple, overwhelming thought was the hardest thing he’d ever wrapped his head around. He shook his head as his lips parted, one side quirking upwards involuntarily. “Easy there killer, lemme do that.” Billy reached passed you and grabbed the handle, a flush of warmth flooding his veins as you leaned back into his chest, your fingers falling away from the door as he gave a hard pull to pry it open, the bottom scraping the ground. “Still can’t believe this is what you wanna-“

  You turned quickly and pressed two fingers, skin chilled from the early spring air, against his lips to silence him. “Believe it. This is where I wanna be. Nowhere else. Now,” You winked at him and turned back towards the darkened entry that he’d just wrenched opened. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Russo, but you were going to take me on the tour of your new facility, were you not?” You started to take a step through the door when his arms quickly circled around your waist, stopping you. They flexed, tightening his hold and forcing a bubbly laugh to spill from your soul.

  “Yeah,” he brought his lips to your ear, pressing them to the flesh behind it. “Right this way, ma’am.” He unwound his arms and took your hand, carefully leading you into the building. The heavy door swung shut with a thud and you jumped slightly. “I got ya,” he said, squeezing your hand as the metallic sound of the door echoed throughout the cavernous space. You squeezed back and threw a smile in his direction.  

  Late afternoon light was streaming in through the remaining glass panels, showing off an iron staircase that lead to a lofted office area, and behind it an enormous room with concrete flooring. “So down here we’d build this out for training purposes,” he motioned to the space with the hand that wasn’t holding yours. “Put up walls, build rooms for guys to run tactical drills in. S’enough square footage to run two teams through drills at once.” He cleared his throat and nodded. “I uh, I looked into that, too.”

  He’d looked into more than he let on at the diner, already researching contractors that might be willing to work with a US Marine vet when it came to budget. He watched you take in the room, blinking slowly in the dim light, breathing quietly in the musty air. “It’s perfect, Billy.”

  He shrugged but allowed his cheek to twitch up towards his eye in a one sided grin. “It’s not. But it doesn’t haveta be. Just has to be big.”

  You dislodged your hand from his to explore the space some more, wandering between the support poles that ran from cracked floor to vaulted ceiling. Swinging around one of them, your hair fell like a curtain over your face and you pushed it back. “Well it’s definitely big. So check that off the list.” You came back towards him as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “What else?”

  “Well,” his eyes darted to the staircase, yours following until they came back to meet. “Up there is where the offices would be.” Tongue flicking out to lick his lips and teeth flashing behind them, he said, “Where my office would be.”

  Your grin turned mischievous. “Oh yeah?” He nodded. “Just up those stairs?” Another nod. “Well this I gotta see,” you said, taking off in the direction of the loft.

  “Hang on, wait,” he shot his arm out, catching you by the wrist and wrapping his fingers around it. “Lemme… I dunno if the stairs are…” you let him go ahead of you, testing his weight on the rickety staircase. Satisfied with their structural integrity, he looked back at you. “Okay, c’mon up.” He gave you his hand again and you took it, the familiar weight of it grounding him.

  The top floor boasted an exposed brick wall to the right and a huge half circle window high up near the ceiling to the left, long narrow windows running down beneath it. A series of smaller offices overlooking the first floor could be seen down a short hall. A few stray papers and paint cans were strewn about, and a pigeon cooed as it fluttered from rafter to rafter over your heads. You spun in a slow 360 degrees, directly in the center of the beam of light filtering in through the lead glass semi-circle. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is perfect. “So what do you think?”

  “I think your desk should go right over there,” you pointed out a spot in the middle of the large brick wall. “You close this off,” you moved your arms to indicate the area around where his phantom desk stood. “Your secretary can sit-“ you looked over your shoulder at him, devilish grin climbing your lips to change the color of your eyes to a darker shade. “She’s not gonna like me, I can tell. But she can sit over there,” again you moved your arms to indicate where walls would be. “Outside your office. More privacy that way.” You’d come back to stand in front of him, slipping your arms beneath his and pressing yourself tightly against him.

  Billy looked down through his lashes at you as you reached up to fix a stray lock of his hair that had fallen in front of his eye, tucking it back in order before trailing your fingertips down the stubble on his face. “S’not what I-“

  “I know.” You gripped the back of his neck and flexed your fingers. “I know that’s not what you were asking. You wanna know what I think, Billy?”

  His hands came up to either side of your face then, eyes searching yours. “Yours is the only opinion that matters,” he said. “So yeah, I wanna know what you think.”

  You looked around the space again, hand dropping from behind him as his fell away from your cheeks. Finding what you were looking for, you smiled and took a few steps into the corner, bending down to pick up an aluminum can with a bright red plastic top. You shook it like a maraca, the liquid inside sloshing around to tell you that it wasn’t empty. Popping the top off, you walked over towards the area you’d cordoned off for his office, finger resting atop the depressor.

  “What are you…” his sentence fell apart as you stooped down and sprayed a big “x” on the ground, dropping the can and letting it clatter by your feet.

  “There,” you said, wiping your hands together and then brushing them off on your jeans. “X marks the spot, Billy. That’s what I think. I think now you have two things to come home to, lieutenant.”

  He shook his head and moved closer to you. “That’s not even… ‘course I’m coming home to you, that’s not-”

  “Yeah, you better.” You stood on the wet X, not caring about getting paint on your shoes. “But this? This place, this goal? I think there’s no way in Hell you don’t make this happen, Billy.”

  He reached for you then, pulling you off the X and into his body, wrapping you up as tightly as he could. “X marks the spot,” he said, lips covering yours, glad that this was how you’d ended up spending the rest of the day.

  ..  .. ..  .. .. ..  ..

  He stooped down to run his fingers over what was left of the red mark, the patterns from the soles of your shoes faintly visible in the splotchy paint. She should be here. She should be here and she’s not. Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled fat and heavy onto the floor as rage roiled in his blood. Frank did this. Frank and… and Madani. He stood then, shuffling back over to the folder in the couch. There’s gotta be… He knew needed to get their attention. Gotta be some way to flush ‘em out, to… 

He flipped through the file, the photos of the two of you from the park socking him hard. Military records, session notes, accomplishments, crimes, details from every aspect of his life typed out neatly in 12 point double spaced font. One name caught his eye as he turned the pages, one name that he’d only ever shared with three people in his adult life: Frank, Madani, and you. 

“So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?”

  Your voice filled his ears then, and he knew what he had to do to make Frank take notice.  

  Thoroughly exhausted from the events of the day, from the pieces he’d put into place and the staggering realizations he’d come to, Billy took the photo from the folder and fell into the broken couch. Outside, the sun had started setting, darkness slowly swallowing the world and ending the day. They took her from me. Slow, shaky breaths puffed through his nostrils as he crossed his arms over his chest, aching to hold you one more time. They took her from me and they’re gonna pay. 

  Though it felt like his anguish would keep him from sleep, his eyes slipped closed and he drifted off, holding your picture and repeating an address over and over, like counting sheep; an address he couldn’t believe he remembered after all these years. 

 They’re all gonna pay.

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @lexxierave @songforhema @thesumofmychoices @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget @obscurilicious @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!  

[clarkeysbog]

Protective!Losers Club x Original Female Character

Chapter 2 - What Time Is It? SUMMER TIME!

Today was the last day of school, and Brandi was on her way to the high school to meet up with Bill, Stan, Eddie and Richie, as they told her to do since the day Georgie 'died'.

She stopped at the farm to catch her breath and saw a boy around the same age as her friends. He had a gun in his hand, pointed towards a sheep, it looked as if he didn’t want to kill that sheep. But the man who was telling him to, Brandi thought he was his granddad, took the gun from the boy and killed the sheep himself. Which made Brandi flinch.

Brandi looked on in fear, and Mike looked at the girl and thought to himself ‘great, I’ve just scared a little girl’.

“I’m sorry you have to work here…” Brandi said softly, smiling a little.

“I’m Brandi, Brandi Foster.” She introduced herself, holding out a hand for the boy to shake.

“Hey, I’m Mike. Mike Hanlon. Shouldn’t you be at school?” He introduced himself before asking that question, shaking her hand.

“I just got out, summer vacation.” She stated, smiling, glad to finally be out of school for three months. Which made Mike nod, understanding what she said. The girl looked down at her wrist and saw that the time was 2:30, as she saw the time her eyes widened, “Oh my goodness, I better go, nice meeting you Mike!” The girl called as she ran off and headed towards the high school.

-

As the bell rang, signalling the end of the day, Richie, Bill and Eddie walked down the halls, talking about what they thought would happen at Stan’s Bar Mitzvah.

“So there’s like this church full of Jews, and Stan has to take this super Jewy test.” Eddie explains to Bill.

“But how does it work?” Bill asked not really understanding.

“They slice the tip of his dick off.” Eddie said, putting his hands up in a ‘surrender’ motion.

“But then Stan will have nothing left!” Richie laughed, which made the smaller boy nod in agreement.

Stan looked down the hall as he came out of the classroom, and caught up to the group.

“Wait up you guys!” He called.

“Hey, Stan, what happens at the Bar Mitzvah anyways? Eddie says that they slice the tip of your d-d-dick off.” Bill asked, wanting to get confirmation.

“Yeah, and I think the rabbi’s gonna pull down your pants, turn to the crowd and say ‘Where’s the beef?’.” Richie said, laughing at his own joke that wasn’t even that funny.

“At the Bar Mitzvah, I read from the Torah, and then I make a speech and suddenly I become a man.” Stan explained what actually happens at a Bar Mitzvah.

“I can think of funner ways to become a man.” Richie stated not using correct grammar.

“More fun you mean.” Stan corrected.

“W-w-we have t-to w-wait for Brandi at the front of the school..sh-she’s probably be-being push-pushed around by s-some of the older k-kids by now..” Bill stumbled upon his words.

As they passed by the Bowers gang, Patrick smirked, licking his lips creepily, Henry glared at the group, and Vic and Belch smirked at them.

“Think they’ll sign my yearbook?” Richie asked the group sarcastically, “Dear Richie, sorry for taking a hot steamy dump in your backpack last month, have a great summer.”

As they left the front of the school, Brandi was there waiting for them and hugged all four of her friends.

The older boys dumped their books and everything in their bags out into trash cans and Stan said, “Best. Feeling. Ever.” To which Richie said, “Try tickling your pickle for the first time.” “What does that mean?” Brandi asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re too young to know, little bird.” Stan smiled at the girl, ruffling her hair.

“Hey, what do you guys wanna do tomorrow?” Eddie asked, and Richie replied with, “Start my training.” “What training?” Brandi asked.

“Street fighting, midget.” Richie smiled.

“Is that seriously how you wanna spend your summer, inside an arcade?” Eddie asked him, but instantly regretted it knowing what the answer would be.

“Beats spending it inside your mother. Oh.” Richie laughed, and put his hand up for Stan to high five him but Stan put his hand down and Brandi scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“What if we go to the quarry tomorrow?” Stan suggested, which Bill quickly shut down by saying.

“Guys, we have to go to the Ba-Ba-Barrens.”

“Can we get ice cream after?” Brandi said with puppy dog eyes, which the boys can’t deny was really adorable and they can’t say no to her when she does that because then they’ll feel bad.

“Yeah, we can go for ice cream after.” Richie smiled down at the little girl

Brandi pointed out that Betty Ripsom’s mom was standing by the police.

“Does she really expect to see her coming out of school?” Stan asked no one in particular.

“Dunno, as if Betty Ripsom’s been hiding in Home Ec. for the last few weeks.” Eddie answered anyway.

“You think they’ll actually find her?” Stan asked the group.

“Yeah, in a ditch, decomposed, covered in worms and maggots, smelling like Eddie’s mom’s underwear.” Richie laughed at the end, and the young girl with them scrunched up her nose in disgust.

“Shut up! That’s fricking disgusting.” Eddie said, trying to refrain himself from swearing because of the fact that Brandi was with them.

“She isn’t dead. She’s m-m-mi-missing.” Bill said, hugging the young girl to him, because he knew she saw Georgie go missing that day of the storm, as he saw her tear up.

“Sorry Bill, she’s missing.” Richie apologised quickly.

As the group were walking away from the trash cans, Richie said after putting his glasses right, “Y’know the Barrens aren’t that bad. Who doesn’t love splashing around in shitty water?”

Henry Bowers pulled the top of his backpack and practically pushed him into Stan and as the two fell, Stan’s kippah fell off his head.

Patrick picked up the kippah and said, “Nice frisbee flamer.” 

As Stan said “Give it back” and reached for it, Patrick threw it into a passing school bus window, saying “Fuckin’ losers.” As Henry pushed passed Bill, the smaller boy said, “You s-s-s-s-s-suck Bowers!” “Shut up Bill!” Richie scolded as Stan pulled Brandi into him protectively.

“You s-s-s-s-say somethin B-B-B-B-Billy?” Henry ‘stuttered’ mocking Bill, and continued saying, “You got a free ride this year because of your little brother, ride’s over Denbrough. This summer’s gonna be a hurt train, for you, your faggot friends, and the little shit-stain behind the Jew.”

Brandi flinched at the ‘nickname’ Henry had given her since she started hanging around more with Bill, Richie, Eddie and Stan.

Brandi hugged Richie’s waist, the boy pulling the younger girl closer to him, as he said, “Wish he’d go missing..” “He’s probably the one doing it.” Eddie glared at the group of bullies as they pulled away in Belch’s car.

The group of boys went towards where they put their bikes and Brandi got on Bill’s as she always did, her backpack still on her back.

“Can we play with my toys when we get back, Billy?” Brandi asked the older boy, who nodded in response.

A/N I already have an idea for the ending. Let's just say Georgie isn't dead.

[theflashdriver]

Light Reading

This is the second part of my Sonamy Week catch up! This fic was written for the diary prompt though, arguably, it could fit with movie night as well! It’s a little over 5.2k words long, I hope you will enjoy!

Sonic gets caught in a storm and, with few other options available, takes shelter in Amy's apartment. It's an awkward situation, one he's thoroughly unprepared for, but the discovery of a little blue book will turn the whole situation on its head. 

The rain was falling in sheets, lashing against the frosted glass of the bathroom window. Sonic was shivering, both at that sound and the frigid dampness locked deep in his fur. Try as he might, dragging a soft, pink, towel through his spines time and time again; dryness seemed just out of reach. A groan slipped his throat; hanging that towel back on the radiator-rack he reached for another only to find it warm but damp. Despite his pouting, he still opted to take it; brushing his spines in an attempt to use it for all it was worth. If only he had space to run, to simply shake the water from his fur. Alas, Amy's apartment was much too tiny and that storm wasn't going to let up any time soon.

He'd been out late running, what a surprise, when the rain started. There was a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder and before the dark skies opened and rain poured freely. For what felt like hours he'd been stuck dashing from bus stop to bus stop, lingering under bridges and hiding literally anywhere that would keep him safe from the torrential downpour. But his mind wouldn't let him linger in any of those places, as much as he hated the rain he needed something to do, so when he happened to arrive outside Amy's apartment building he wasn't in a position to refuse.

She'd been overjoyed to see him of course, insisting he come in to dry himself before he could even ask and proclaiming he could stay the night before that thought had even dawned on him. The moment he agreed, to the former at least, she'd dragged him inside without hesitation; surely soaking herself in the process, but smiling and openly scheming without a care in the world. Talk of a movie had come up, something distracting enough to kill time till either the storm died down or they managed to doze off. Sonic knew he had more than enough excuses to stay, he was a long way from Tail's workshop and the rain didn't look like it'd be letting up any time soon, but wasn't this all more than a little roman…

The blue blur caught himself, he brought the soaked towel up to his already dry muzzle in an attempt to relieve his blush. Sonic didn't like thinking; that was why he ran. If he went a mile a minute, he wasn't forced to consider these things. Whenever he was stranded, be it beneath a bridge or within a cramped bathroom, he knew his mind would start to question what he really wanted and where he truly wanted to be.

Was it really any wonder he'd ended up outside her house? He'd been thinking way too much, thinking about her in particular way too much. Yet, it was because of that thinking he doubted he could bring himself to leave; seeing the smile his arrival had caused…

Feeling thoroughly uncool, yet paradoxically wet, Sonic quickly returned the towel to the drying rack. There had to be a quicker way to get dry and, more importantly, he had to get out of this room. Much of his fur still matted, he managed to push his way out of the bathroom and down her apartment's short hallway.

"Amy, do you have a hairdryer or somethin'? I'm still soaked." He padded his way into her living/dining room, surely trekking water all the way.

The room was split by a black countertop; on one side a small kitchen area while the outside was a more general living space. He had no idea how long he'd been in there, but it'd been long enough for her to prepare quite the spread. A wide selection of movies had been laid out, ranging from the romantic comedies he'd expected to the musicals he'd somewhat anticipated to a surprising array of horror and action movies. Her couch wasn't just for sitting anymore, a pink duvet and additional pillows had been added to it. Assumedly they were for both the movie and him to sleep with afterwards. It was embarrassing but, in truth, he'd expected that the two of them would end up bundled together beneath a blanket of some sort. Well, they wouldn't if he couldn't get dry. A glance toward the kitchen showed him that there was a large bag of microwaveable popcorn lounging in an open microwave, prepared for popping.

Still, despite all the signs that she was around; Amy was nowhere to be seen. A glance to her front door proved the chain-latch was still on, she was in the apartment but not this room? Stranger still, she was in the apartment but hadn't heard him? Her pad was small, consisting of only the room he stood in, the bathroom and two more rooms he'd never actually entered. One had to be her bedroom, despite the blankets and pillows he knew she didn't sleep on the couch, while the last was maybe… storage?

Sonic turned around, dark navy carpet still underfoot, and made his way back up the hallway. One mystery door was opposite the bathroom, the other the very end of the hallway. Unsure what to do, he called out again. "Amy, you're still here, right?"

Again, there was no answer. He arrived at the first door and gave it a knock, trying not to be too light but (at the same time) not too heavy-handed.

Finally, he heard something; the dull thud of falling books coupled with a squeal. "Oh, Sonic!" Stomps followed the outcry, her bedroom door was quickly thrown open and a garish (very pink) room was exposed. The walls were a subdued shade of magenta, even in its stripped state the pink bedposts characterised the bed, he couldn't help noticing coloured her closet doors were painted a sunset hue and even her room's light bulb was tinted. The only exceptions to this pink rule were the blue picture frames that hung above her bed. Books were splayed across the floor, having fallen from the shelf above her desk. He was struggling to make out their names but, more importantly; Sonic was trying to do anything but stare at Amy.

When he arrived she'd been in her usual garb, but somehow (between pushing him into the bathroom and preparing the living room spread) she'd found the time to change into a set of pyjamas. The first thing he noticed was her quills, rather than being pushed back by a hairband she'd pulled them into a small, messy, braid. He didn't know such a thing was even possible, but soon his eyes drifted lower. Amy was wearing a white t-shirt with tiny pink roses embroidered into what looked to be a soft cotton material. This would have been fine, perfectly fine, were it not for the shirt's cut. It looked baggy and comfortable but at the same time, somehow, small? It was as though the shirt was hanging on her shoulders rather than simply covering them; as if it would pass beyond her midriff if she stretched too far. Sonic heaved his eyes away before he could fully take in her pink pyjama bottoms, trying to stare literally anywhere else.

The blue blur's heart was pounding and the butterflies in his chest were flapping in time. He'd felt this many times before, but never so strongly and certainly never without some kind of contact. He tried to swallow his blush as best he could.

She was trying her best to smile, trying to look natural, but even in his current state he knew something was wrong. "Sonic, nice of you to drop by. Do you want the full tour?" She'd clearly caught his scanning, matching it with her own wit despite her clear puzzlement.

"Long time no see." He choked out, still trying to focus on her open room rather than her garb. "I-I was just looking for a hairdryer? The towels weren't quite enough."

"Oh, right, that makes sense. Just…" Her mind seemed to be elsewhere but she quickly caught herself. "Give me a second." Amy quickly returned to her room, glancing at the book pile as she sidestepped it, before turning and opening the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet. He attempted to pin his gaze to the book pile as best he could, hearing a brief shuffling of plastic before catching her eye again upon her return. "Sorry for leaving you out there."

"I'm just surprised you weren't waitin' for me." Did that sound possessive? He was trying to show some kind of confidence. "Is everything alright?

"Oh, everything's fine. I'm just looking for something. It's not really important," She insisted, eyes already darting from him to scan the room. "Just a little part of my evening rituals, the final thing I do to sign the day off."

Sonic wanted to pry, he truly did, but the heat on his face was simply too much. If he couldn't stand next to her for five minutes, help her search for whatever this was, how was he going to manage one movie let alone the whole night? Did she have to dress like that? More importantly, why did he have to care that she was dressed like that?

"Y-Yeah, no sweat. Take all the time you need!" He wanted to ask what she was looking for, try to be of some help, but the best he could manage was. "Thanks for the drier."

"No problem, there's popcorn in the microwave if you want to start it?" Amy recommended, "I set out some movies on the coffee table too, you can go ahead and pick. I'm happy watching whatever, as long as it's with you." Usually he could handle flirts like that, but with her being dressed like that Sonic found himself blushing brighter.

A particularly loud thunder-crack punctuated the momentary silence between them. The rumble gave him a moment to consider his next move but it was much too brief for him to come up with anything of worth. He couldn't muster the gall to hold eye contact, let alone offer his assistance.

Well, if he couldn't do that, he could at least be encouraging. He shot her a thumbs up and a small grin. "Like I said, take all the time you need, Ames. The storm ain't goin' anywhere so neither am I."

"Still, I'll try to be quick. I've got you here all to myself, you think I wanna miss a moment?" She promised and joked, still managing a more genuine smile. "I'll be through as soon as possible."

Their vow made, the pair went their separate ways. Sonic was just happy he could look directly ahead of himself again without blushing. He felt uncool, very uncool, but at least his heartbeat was gradually slowing. Was her dress choice intentional? He assumed not but that didn't reduce its embarrassing effect. Perhaps when they started watching films it would be better, she'd surely try to snuggle up against him at some point but at least his attention would be drawn elsewhere.

Well, hopefully, it would be…

Finding his way back into the kitchen, Sonic quickly scanned the popcorn bag; four minutes at full power, easy enough to prepare. He turned the dial and slammed the door; soon a combination of humming and popping filled the room. Food like this made up more of his diet than it probably should have, not that he really cared; he could run on just about anything. Come to think of it, Amy had reprimanded his diet a number of times; dragging him off to restaurants for what she'd insist were gourmet chilli dogs.

The moment she re-entered his mind the image of that outfit did too, as did the fact he'd so thoroughly failed to offer his assistance. This whole situation was just so embarrassing, so uncool. He usually let his heart decided where he'd wander, it was to be expected that it would lead him to her every so often. But did it have to do that today? Tonight especially? He'd been unable to refuse himself so, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't place the blame solely on his hatred of water.

Turning his attention back to the microwave, Sonic found only ten seconds had passed. Evidently, the world was moving much slower than his chaotic mind. Four minutes, just four whole minutes to microwave… four minutes. He needed to distract himself and stop thinking about Amy for four whole minutes…

Oh, right; he'd gone to her for a hairdryer. Sonic quickly found an outlet, the extension cable connected to her TV had an empty socket, and set about drying himself. The wheeze of the device was added to the crackle of thunder and roar of the microwave. Naturally, his quills were still the wettest part of his body but his spines and tail still felt rather waterlogged too. It would take time for him to dry and, with time, his thoughts would surely return to her. He wanted to be cool by the time she came back, that was his top priority. If he could find something to focus on, something to invest himself in, he might stand a chance.

Searching desperately for another distraction, Sonic found himself taking a closer look at the various movies she'd laid out. She'd asked him to choose and, even if he did plan to let her have the final say, it was worth knowing what he was getting into. None of the names were familiar, but then he didn't often have the patience to sit through most films; they had to hold his interest constantly, any lull and he risked dozing off. Running his hand through his quills, parting them to dry nearer their base, he noticed an outlier in the pile. Among the boxes, placed just slightly askew, was a blue book; small, like a storybook, and a size thicker than the disk boxes.

There was no blurb on the back, no way to determine what kind of book it was without flipping it to see the cover. Freeing his hand from his quills he reached out and picked up the book, wiping his hand on a drier section of his fur beforehand, but turning it over didn't cure his curiosity. The cover of the book was entirely bare, marked neither by words nor pictures; there wasn't even a title on the spine. Now this was a distraction, he was interested already! He flicked the book open, rather than starting at the beginning opting to let the chose where he would start reading.

This immediately proved to be a mistake.

His eyes were drawn to the upper left corner, rather than an opening line they fell upon a date; June 12th, as he looked to the rest of the page Sonic realised what he was holding. It was handwritten, this book was handwritten; it wasn't even really a book. This was a diary and by its position in this house, not to mention its lightly cursive font and the hearts that dotted every i, he knew it to be Amy's. This must have been what she was looking for, for a moment he was tempted to return it… but then he realised, if she caught him with it, the pink hedgehog might destroy him. She'd assume he'd taken it, that he'd read it too, wouldn't she?

A cacophonous rumble jump-started his panic, on a reflex he threw the book across the room. Before it could even land the world was cast in darkness, the breath of the hairdryer died and the hum of the microwave came to an abrupt halt. In what couldn't have been more than four seconds everything that could have gone wrong had, he didn't think such awful luck was even possible.

A cry sounded from Amy's room, more a groan of annoyance than a panicked scream; he heard stomp into the hallway. "Sonic! I think the power's out!"

"I-I've noticed!" He managed to call back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine just… feeling my way to the utility room, I know I've got a torch or two in there. I'll be through in a second!" She answered. That meant he had time, Sonic blindly rushed forward… and immediately banged his knee on the coffee table. "It sounds like the storm is getting even worse!"

Sonic grabbed his knee, biting back a yelp. "Y-Yeah! Sounds like it's getting pretty wild out there!"

Turning around, he managed to bumble his way to the curtains; pulling them open and allowing the streetlight to filter inside. It wasn't much help, Amy's flat was far above the streetlights, but it was the best he could manage. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, he managed to round the table and fumble his way toward the far wall. Once there, he knew the book had to be nearby; he dropped to all fours and spread his fingers wide, running them along the carpet. With the thunder ringing in his ears, he wasn't sure if the book had hit the wall but he knew he'd thrown it hard enough that it should have. Just as his eyes started to adjust, a flash of lightning illuminated the room; but he was ill-prepared to capitalise on the vision it granted. All it told him for certain was that the diary wasn't in front of him. Turning around, head toward the hallway now, he continued to search.

Lightning struck again, before the rumble could even arrive Sonic sighted the book just beyond this reach. He lunged forward, grasping it as the clap came, but in the wake of that rumbling another light arrived and managed to fully blind him. For as quick as he'd been, he hadn't been fast enough. Amy had found a torch and he'd fallen in the immediate path of its light. She could surely see him and that meant she could undoubtedly see the blue book in his hand. The blue book that had fallen in an open position and been picked up open, albeit its text was facing the ground.

The rain's continuous spit still rapped against the windowpanes, no thunder broke the silence this time. He squinted to see through the torchlight in an attempt to read her face, but he was too blind to properly meet her eyes. She wouldn't be having the same problem.

"I…" He started, still flubbing for what to say. "Swear this isn't as bad as it looks and that I didn't read anything?" It was blunt, honest, but he feared it wasn't enough. Before he could finish that statement, he started another. "And I would have just brought it to you but I only just found it when the power went out, it was on the table with the movies, and I panicked so I threw it and-

"Sonic." She halted him, approaching down the hallway. "Are you alright?"

The blue blur blinked in confusion, was he alright? Was she only asking because he was on the ground? Did she think he'd fallen? In an attempt to calm her he rose to his feet, but as he did Sonic recognised what had worried her. He felt a stinging sensation, no further than half an inch beneath his knee there was a throbbing patch. The light was angled down; he blinked to clear his vision and discovered he'd gone into the table quite a bit harder than he'd thought. The gash wasn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but blood was running down his leg. Atop that he'd knocked many of the movies from the table, panic had clearly overridden all of his other functions.

"I thought that was more thunder, I didn't realise you'd gone over the table." Amy fretted. "Give me a moment."

Sonic just stood there, awestruck. She hadn't taken her diary from him, it was like she hadn't even seen it; she'd clearly been flustered looking for the book… hadn't she? This was what she'd been looking for, wasn't it? The blue blur knew Amy's wrath when she was angry, her heart was always clearly bared to him, for her to act like this dumbfounded him.

He could only watch, helpless and useless, as she went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a roll of bandages, gauze, antiseptic and a sponge pad before quickly approaching him. Lightning cracked and thunder crashed behind him but, stupefied, he didn't even flinch. He finally reacted upon her full arrival, standing directly in front of him, opening his mouth but not finding the right words to say.

She tilted her head, confusion had spread over her brow; but her tone was chipper as ever. "Take a seat so I can bandage you up."

Despite being able to see he stumbled like he was blind, slowly making his way around the table to sit atop the duvet; his remaining dampness fully slipping his mind. She quickly knelt down in front of him, passing him up the torch to free her hands and let her work. The injury was tiny, hardly even worth the effort she was putting in, but Amy was treating it incredibly seriously.

Finally having, almost, come to his senses, Sonic managed a few words; "So… this is your diary, isn't it? I didn't read it but I opened it and saw the dates and your writing so I assumed…"

"Well yeah." She quickly responded. She was very much focused on her task, but she managed to loose a quick quip. "Who else is it going to belong to?"

"You're not gonna freak out? You're just gonna believe me? I figured reading a girl's diary was just about the worst thing you could do, I thought it'd take a little more than that to convince you I hadn't read it." He grimaced, in hindsight, more than a little too quickly. He was forced to keep staring at her so as to provide the light.

"There's nothing in there you don't already know about." Her mischievous smile was bared plainly to him, she looked from her work up to him. "Of course, a girl has her secrets to keep and if you did read it that's very rude of you. Clearly content with her mocking, she tied off the bandage. "But I wouldn't love you unless I trusted you my darling Sonic, isn't that obvious?"

"Well yeah, but…" He started, not sure where he planned to stop.

"Awww, you don't want me to think you'd do that; you're worried about what I think of you. Do I need to make it even clearer that I love you?" He knew she was only half kidding.

"Th-That's not it." Was that it? That might have been it. He had to think of a comeback or some kind of quip. "I just figured, with you losing it and all, you're lucky I showed up today and not someone else. You need to take better care of this stuff."

Well, that was lame but, regardless; Amy responded with a chide of her own. "I just feel so much safer around you my dear, you put me at such ease. I can't contain my deepest secrets around you." Her job done, the pink hedgehog jumped up to sit beside him and finally took back her diary. "I wanted to write my entry before we had our movie night… but I suppose that won't be happening at all now. Who knows when the power will come back on…"

There was some genuine sadness in her voice, his hand found itself in his almost-dry quills. What was he supposed to say, what could he say? "Well, even if we can't watch a movie we shouldn't waste the evening. At least half of that popcorn's gotta have popped, how's that for a start?"

Emerald eyes connected through the dark, "A start?"

"I said I'd stay as long as the storm was around, didn't I? I've gotta keep us entertained somehow." Taking the torch, though his eyes had almost fully adjusted, Sonic made his way to the kitchen; pulling open the microwave door and retrieving the salty snack. A quick shaped confirmed that many of its occupants were still in their seed form, but bursting it open and sniffing he was sure there was some good grub in there.

Returning to her side, he pulled back the duvet. "Ladies first." Perhaps it was a little flirty, but it was the closest he'd managed to a successful quip in hours.

"Bundled up on the couch with the hero of my dreams." Amy chuckled. "Huddled together in a storm, so romantic. Just try to keep your damper spots away from me?"

The pink hedgehog slipped beneath the covers before, embarrassed as he was, Sonic followed suit. He planted the torch between the couch cushions, allowing for its use as a makeshift lamp, before holding the bag out to her. As she claimed a handful he noticed the diary was open in her lap, a pencil lain down its centre.

Her handful collected her turned the bag back to himself. Picking through the kernels, he managed to collect a good handful. "So, what kinda stuff do you write in there?"

"Oh, just typical stuff. What I did over the day, any interesting thoughts I had and future plans." Amy recounted. "There's a lot about you in here, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Well, seeing as I already know its contents…" He popped a piece in his mouth, making sure to carefully watch Amy's disposition. "Are there any highlights you wanna share?"

She hummed for a moment, beginning to flick back through the pages. "I suppose I could read you a page if you're really that curious. It'll help to kill a little time." She proposed. "But nothing on it leaves this room, alright?"

"Ow, that hurts; you just said you trusted me, Ames. Is our love a lie?" He mocked being wounded, clasping his hands over his heart.

"Trust is one thing Sonic, but we both know that if I give you an inch you'll run a mile. That's why I hug you so close." She half sang, seeming to finally settle on an entry. "Do you promise?"

"Of course I do Ames, I know what'd happen to me if I didn't." Her stare told him that was too casual, he reaffirmed his words. "I promise."

It was with that Amy began to share her written history, holding the book so he could see. Back and forth they'd take over this impromptu narration of Amy's past life, open laughing and blushing soon a commonality.

What started as just one page soon became just a few and from there somehow slipped to take up a good hour's worth of entries; all with minimal prodding from Sonic. The two hedgehogs would gradually come to shuffle closer, the book eventually shifted from Amy's lap to reside in the duvet between them. Every so often hands would brush as they reached into the nigh-empty popcorn packet. She'd started with a rather simple entry, a rather basic day consisting of little more than shopping with Cream, but Amy's descriptors could liven any story; hyperbole seemed to be her speciality. What should have been a simple chocolate cake stain on her dress was described as 'a dark betrayal by one she'd though so lovely and sweet' and a scary old man who'd offered her his umbrella was dubbed 'a frighteningly wizened gentleman with a heart ten times what his chest could possibly carry.'

This being the diary of Amy Rose, the self-proclaimed lover of Sonic, the blue blur himself was mentioned quite a lot. Descriptions ranged from calling him 'her hero' and 'the love of her life' to 'the apple of her eye, the one who drives her every thought and causes her heart to soar.' One entry, in particular, she'd caught herself midway through reading, quickly trying to insist the day was plain and boring when he recognised it for what it was; mainly because he was there. Teasing her, he'd managed to reach his initial description and read it; "It was then that my darling arrived. His cocky, suave, attitude was so freely exposed; windswept quills and the slight sweat on his brow cementing his place in my heart more and more with each passing second. With a single look, he'd blindingly brightened what'd already been a sunny Summer's day!"

It was strange to think, for as plainly as her heart was bared to him at all hours of the day; Amy Rose' infatuation had a depth even he hadn't comprehended.

It was after countless pages, giggles and a seemingly endless amount of ribbing that the power finally flickered back on.

"Th-That clearly signals enough for now." Amy insisted, quickly flipping forward to today's blank page. "It's better to leave you wanting more rather than show my full hand."

Even blinded by the returned light, Sonic could see the red tint to her cheeks. Her little diary had rather reversed their positions; though it was embarrassing to hear about himself she clearly had the stronger blush. Even if she hadn't intended to embarrass him so much, he was finally going to get his own back!

"Come on Ames, I wanna see what else you've written about me." He nudged just a little closer, draping a soggy arm around her shoulder and finally allowing himself a proper smirk. Having endured so much embarrassment, it was nice to see her just a little flustered. "It's more interesting than any of these movies would be, I'm sure of that. Let's just keep goin'."

"You'll get to a read them in the future, you're lucky I showed you any in the first place." She insisted, twisting to face away from him. "There's a handful of secrets that even you can't see yet." Sonic tossed another handful of popcorn in his mouth, prepared to sit back and enjoy the rare sight of a truly flustered Amy. It was, however, foolish of him to assume she wouldn't push back. "After all, I keep our wedding plans in here."

Sonic almost choked to death then and there, saved only by a well-placed whack on the back by Amy; almost throwing him from the couch. Be it from the rain or his own embarrassment, she was always there to save him when he needed her most.

[reidandwrite]

Italian Food and Rom-Coms (Spencer Reid)

Overview - In which Spencer comes to the reader for advice on his love life (or, perhaps, lack thereof).

A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback on my first story, I hope this quick little one-shot can follow! Requests are always open (unfortunately I don’t do smut, though). Enjoy :-)

“Hey, (Y/N)! Wait up,” I hear someone call out behind me as I’m making my way out of the BAU and towards the elevator. I put my phone in my back pocket and turn around to see our resident genius, Spencer Reid, briskly walking my way. His short, yet shaggy, brown hair is a beautiful mess on top of his head and the sleeves of his dark blue button up are rolled up to his elbows. His bag is hanging off of his left shoulder and a book is held in his right hand. His dark brown eyes are wide and a smile appears on his face as we lock eyes.

“Oh, well hello Doctor, what’s up?” I reply with a smirk and face him completely. 

“So, I was thinking about asking this girl out with me sometime but I have absolutely no idea how to approach it.” He rubs the back of his neck and looks at me with a hint of embarrassment plastered over his face. 

Him mentioning that he wants to ask a girl on a date hits me like a bus and it takes everything in me to control my micro-expressions from the profiler standing before me. Of course the guy I’ve been in love with for the past 3 years is interested in another girl. Ha, my life in a nutshell. 

“Um, Spencer, don’t take this the wrong way but... why are you asking me? I’m sure Derek could help you out a lot more than I ever could,” I joke in an attempt to hide how badly my heart is hurting right now.

“I actually did ask him but, you know Morgan. His advice was to tell her I think that she is, and I quote, the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid my pretty little eyes on and she’s stolen my heart so the only way to repay me is to let me take her out for a little somethin’ somethin’.” He retorts his face in a way that I’ve only seen from him a few times and I can hear a trace of confusion in his voice. I giggle a bit and picture Derek saying those exact words to Spencer followed by Spencer replying with a quick thank you drowned in disgust and puzzlement. “(Y/N), please help me. I really really like this girl; I may even be in love with her and I don’t want to blow it.”

“Haha, oh god, please don’t say that to any girl. Ever.” I give a slight laugh as I imagine Spencer trying to use that line. “Okay... uh, just strike up a conversation with her. Start simple. Keep it casual. Then, before you move onto the next subject of the conversation, slip in that maybe you’d like to take her out sometime.” As much pain as I feel in my chest just thinking about Spencer with other woman, I give him the best advice I can think of. I love him and want him to be happy- even if it’s not with me.

“Okay, okay, got it,” he nods and looks up as his tries to remember everything I just told him. For someone with an eidetic memory, he’s trying awful hard to remember the few sentences of advice I’d given him. “And then what? Like where do I take her?”

“I... uh, I don’t know, Spence, I don’t know the girl. What does she like? What kind of things is she into? Take her to a place that can relate to those things.” 

“Well, where would you want a guy to take you on a first date?” He inquires and I can tell just by looking in his eyes that he’s really serious about this girl. I have no clue who she is but, damn, she does not realize how lucky she is.

“Um, I guess you can never go wrong taking her to a nice restaurant. It doesn’t have to be too fancy, but somewhere nice and kind of quiet so the guy and I could talk and just get to know each other. Maybe Indian food. Or Italian food. Oh, no, yeah, scratch that, definitely Italian food! And then maybe a movie; any rom-com would be great. And then we could walk to a dessert or coffee shop nearby after to talk and laugh about the movie,” I say, gazing his way. I silently kick myself for staring at him so lovingly while describing a date that I’ve been fantasizing about with HIM. “But, yeah, Italian food and a romantic comedy sounds like a good idea.”

“Wow, you really thought about that hard didn’t you?” He raises an eyebrow at me and chuckles. 

“Shut up,” I laugh back, struggling to hide my repulsion for the idea of him on a date with a girl. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been on a date with a really nice guy and I was just imagining what it would be like to do it again. You, out of all people, know how hard it is to find time to date people.” He shrugs and nods in agreement.

“Okay, Italian food and a romantic comedy. Got it. Thank you, (Y/N). I can’t explain how much your advice and this girl mean to me,” he murmurs and offers a grateful smile. Ouch. I attempt to shoot a quick smile back. 

“Going down?” I gesture to the elevator as I try to finally change the subject. He nods, still smiling, and I turn around to press the elevator button. A few seconds go by and the big doors in front of us open. I take a step inside with him following right after. The doors shut and the small space is filled with an enormous awkward silence. Ding. Ding. Ding. The elevator chimes as we pass each floor, getting closer and closer to the first floor. There are numbers above the door that start from 1 and end with 20, with the 4 lighting up, indicating that we’re almost to the bottom.

“So,” Spencer clears his throat and his voice fills the awkward silence. I glance at him shortly and notice him ruffling his long, slim fingers through his hair. “what are your plans for this weekend?”

“Oh, I have this glamorous date tomorrow night cleaning my bathroom. I bought a toilet scrubber and a brand new pair of sweat pants for this fabulous occasion.” I joke and giggle. He shares a laugh with me and shakes his head.

“Sounds... fun?” He laughs even more and I nod, still giggling. “But, if you’re able to reschedule this exciting night filled with a toilet scrubber and some bleach, we should hang out.” He offers.

“My toilet scrubber is going to be very disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll get over it,” I grin and continue the running joke.

“Perfect.” He beams and flashes me his pearly whites. I notice him blink slowly and take a big breath. “So... do you happen to like Italian food and romantic comedies?”

[masterlist]

[regdaran]

The Day Hell Came to Earth. Chapter one: The Shift.

Chapters: | 1 |  |       

Carth had always thought Joan was the laziest of the group, But skipping out on the first day of the new semester was an entirely new level of slacker. The bus pulled into place along the sidewalk. The three of them all boarded and waved their student passes at the driver. Of course Dominic and Hiela had to come along with him. The second he asked Hiela to take extra notes for class, she had grown suspicious. Hiela then in turn asked Dominic to take extra notes for their shared classes, this brought him into the ever continuing domino line. All of which led here, to the three of them trying to find Joan through his cell signal, finding he had boarded a bus at 6:30 in the damn morning, and then the three of them boarding a bus at 8:00 going the same direction.

"And you're sure that he's still right there?"  Dominic poked at Hiela's phone, the display flickering and cutting in and out.

"HEY! Watch what your doing! Ah! What did you do to my phone? Did you break it?"   Hiela was shaking her phone, despite knowing full well that wouldn't stabilize the screen.

"It's not just yours, mines on the fritz too."   Carth picked up his phone and showed the static that was displayed on the screen. All of their phones had been acting strangely for the last few days. According to the message boards on campus, it was caused by some error in the last big software update.

"To answer your question Dominic, I'm not sure. All I know is thats where his phone was the last two times I pinged it."  Hiela was a savant when it came to tech but with their phones problems effectively running interference, she was limited in what she could do. Honestly Carth was amazed that her phone was working at all.

     "What is he even doing at a construction site?"  asked Dominic as he adjusted his coat so he could sit down. The thing was a tall as he was, with so many pockets inside he could hold half his room in there. "I don't know."  Replied Hiela as she straightened her back pack. They weren't going to make it to class today, why in the world did she bring it? "Did he get a job or something? Why didn't he tell us?"  Dominic kept asking question after question. All of which were answered by "I don't know."  or "Why don't you ask HIM that when we get there?"  Carth could feel the rising irritation from the small woman next to him. He decided to intervene before Hiela killed Dominic. "Let's just focus on what we know for sure. We know he asked me to take note for him yesterday, so he had to have planned this. Aside from that, what do we know?"  Carth looked around at his friends, he really hoped that they weren't as clueless as he was. "I heard..." Dominic said. "That place is haunted. Actually, I think Joan is the one who told me about it."  Now that was lead. "He kept sayin somethin' about demons, or maybe it was monsters. Ya know, urban legends and stuff."  Both Carth and Hiela let out a pair of long, suffering sighs. All three of them had dealt with Joan's little obsession before. "What kind of fun does he find in chasing down these rumors anyway?"  

      The bus bounced as it hit something. There was a 'pop' and the driver was having to work hard to make sure that bus didn't tip over. The sound of metal scraping on asphalt was deafening. "HOLD ON!"  the driver yelled as the bus went into the sidewalk. The sound of rending metal and splintering plastics could be heard as it ground into the concrete next to the road. The bus ever so slowly came to a stop halfway off the road. "Shit! Is everyone okay?"  Dominic helped Carth get back to his feet. "What did we hit? A bear trap?"  Hiela dusted herself off and stepped out of the bus. "There she goes again. Come on Dominic."  The pair of friends followed Hiela out of the beached wreck that was once a bus. "Oh God!"  What they saw was horrific, a red smear led from  the bus to a lump of meat and bones. It was about the size of large dog and it was covered in bony protrusions. Carth was walking over to it before he knew what was going on.

"I-Is it dead?"  he heard Dominic ask.

     "I don't know, but I plan to find out. Hiela, call animal control. If this thi-"  Carth didn't finish his sentence for one very important reason. The thing that they hit had started to move. It got up and started to limp toward the bus. It looked even worse moving, like the love child of the chupacabra and a hyena. It was covered in a wrinkly mottled red hide. It was also almost completely bald, except for a stripe of brown fur down the middle of its head. That same head had twin horns pointing Carth. It's eyes fixed on him, and it started charging. "Oh CRAP!"  Halfway through it's charge. Its front legs gave out and it crashed into the ground in front of him. Dominic and Hiela came running beside Carth. Dominic reached into his coat and pulled out a knife of all things. The blade was nearly half a foot long, and one edge was serrated. Just as the thing was getting up again, there was a loud BANG, and its head caved in as the bullet passed through it. Everyone looked behind them to see the bus driver, still holding a handgun. "What? It was obviously rabid, just don't tell the cops that I had this thing alright. I'm getting out of here. They don't pay me enough to deal with crazy animals."  With that the driver and the few other people who were in the bus all walked toward the small building that served as a bus stop.

     "What the hell is this thing?"  Carth was crouched next to the dog like thing. "I don't know, but man is it nasty."  Dominic was poking at its side with his knife. "Are we going to talk about the fact you pulled out a weapon from your coat?"  Hiela was about 5 feet away from the pair of idiots who were messing with the monstrous thing. "Do you mean to tell me, that in that massive bag you take everywhere, you don't carry anything to defend yourself with?"  Dominic sounded absolutely confused. "Well, I have pepper spray."   Hiela said indignantly. Both Carth and Dominic looked at her in a way that said 'really?'. "Carth isn't carrying anything!"  In response Carth reached into his boots and pulled out a pair of 3 inch blades. "You were saying?" Hiela looked away out of embarrassment, she saw the people from the buss sitting down at the stop. "We should probably go, having to wait around for hours answering the police wouldn't be the most productive use of out time." That was something Carth definitely agreed with.  "Hiela, how far away are we from Joan?"  This time she was the one giving a look. "Wha- Oh. You can't be- Fine!"  Carth couldn't believe she was being a stickler on this! "How far are we from his phone?"  Hiela pulled out her phone and started swiping through one of the apps she had on it. "According to this ping, we are about a mile away... guess we should start walking..."  

      20 minutes and a lot of complaining from Dominic later, they arrived at the construction site. A concrete building, nearly four stories high, loomed before the group. There was trash all over the place as they entered. Old bottles of every shape, size, and color, were strewn about. Some had been smashed and sharp glass littered the floor in many places. There were signs that people had been living here, bed rolls and cardboard boxes were gathered in various corners on the first floor. Despite the lack of work done on the inside, the building was nearly finished. Though, the work of years had given the place a worn down feeling. "Hey Carth, why was this place abandoned again? It looks like solid construction, hell it's better than half the stuff on campus."  Carth set down the red stained cloth he had picked up. "I don't know, but I heard it was something about public outrage at where it was being built. I think the city council tore down a church or something to build this place."  Hiela rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a flashlight. Shining it at the two of them, she said. "Are you guys going to spout trivia all day, or are we going to find Joan? Come on, my phone says his phone is up."  With that she made for the stair well. When she opened the door, she was greeted by pile of bones high enough to mostly block the stairs. There where femers, tibia, hips, and skulls. All of which Carth recognised from his Anatomy classes. They were all human bones. There was a long silence before "Jesus Christ!"  came out of Dominic, who then singed the holy cross on his body. "Nope."  Hiela closed the door, turned around, and started for the fire escape that sat on the out side of the building. "Nope. Nu uh. Not today."  She climbed out the broken window next to the stairwell and then reached for the chain that connected to the pull ladder. Carth and Dominic joined her shortly, "Having a bit of trouble there shortstop?"  Hiela hatted being reminded of her height, or lack there of, And both Carth and Dominic knew it. The attempt at a joke seemed to highlight the horror of what they had just seen, instead of distracting from it. Then Dominic, in all his 6 feet of glory, pulled the chain and ladder down with one hand.

   The three of them were climbing the ladders and stairs that comprised the fire escape when they heard a blood curdling scream. Suddenly the whole building shook as an earthquake hit the area. A blast of lightning hit the roof of the building just as they were reaching the top of the final ladder. When any of them could see again, what they saw would stick with them for the rest of their lives. There was tear in the air, light was bending around the edge of it and a red barren landscape could be seen through it. They also saw Joan, holding a long bone dagger. Said dagger was also sticking out of the skull of someone belt over an object on the other side of the roof.

"What the HELL IS GOING ON!"  Yelled Dominic once again.

Joan turned around. "Oh crap! I can explain later. Right now I need your help killing this guy."  

[aceofintuition]

tricks n treats

Once upon a time Ace wrote half a halloween drabble about Snowy and then finished it like 5 months later.

Joey, Henry, Ana, and Joy encounter a surprise while out trick-or-treating.

They’re just heading down the last street or so when Henry’s eye catches on something up ahead. He blinks a couple times, squinting at it and trying to make it out. Henry nudges Joey, cutting him off mid-sentence of his conversation with Ana, and points.

Joey’s lips part, and he raises a hand to his eyes, looking at the shape in the light of the street lamps. “Henry, wha—”

“Look.”

Joey frowns as they walk every closer, and then his mouth drops open. “Is that…”

Henry nods. “I think so,” he agrees, a smiling curving his own lips.

“Oh my goodness,” breathes Ana, raising one hand to hide her own smile.

Up ahead, standing underneath one of the streetlamps, is a couple and their own child. The kid’s silhouette is easily readable once they get closer up; mostly dressed in black, but they have a very distinctive hood on—one that gives them a pair of large, inward curving horns. And as the Drew family continues walking, Henry can start to make out more details; a pair of distinctive white gloves, some oversized black boots, and a shining white bowtie. He also recognizes the short black dress and cute devil horns topped with a halo of the woman, and her companion sports a cute pair of long ears, some overalls, and a painted-on black button nose. They also have similar white gloves on, but Henry finds himself drawn to the kid again and again.

“Oh my god,” Joey repeats, one hand instinctively reaching out to grab Henry’s shoulder. “Henry, that’s—him. That’s—shit, what do we say to ‘em?”

“You should probably start by not swearing, Joey,” Ana quips dryly, and Joey leverages a panicked look at her.

“Ana, please, what do we say to ‘em?”

“’Thanks for cosplaying my characters’?”

Henry laughs and Joey groans. “Darlin’, you are absolutely no help sometimes.”

“Oh, I’m glad you noticed,” Ana teases. “I try so hard.”

“We—I can’t—just say nothing—! Y’want me to just walk right by ‘em ‘n pretend like I don’t—”

“No, Joey, I just don’t know what to say any more than you do, honestly.”

Joy has been studiously looking through her own candy bag this entire time, not paying too much attention to what her parents have been saying, but eventually she looks up. A gasp escapes her tiny mouth, and she whirls around. “Papa that kid is dressed up as Bendy!!” she exclaims, pointing behind her, her candy bag swinging haphazardly.

Joey gives her a grin made toothier by the set of fangs he’s sporting tonight. “They sure are, sweetpea!” he says.

“I’m gonna go say hi to them!!”

Joey’s, Henry’s, and Ana’s eyes all widen simultaneously. But before he can even say anything, Joy is off like a shot, barreling down the sidewalk towards the unsuspecting other family. There’s a moment where all three of them pause, and then Joey leaps forward after his daughter. “Darlin’, wait!” Henry watches as six-foot-four-inches of absolute clumsiness somehow completely fails to catch up to a three-year-old less than half his size on a mission. As Joy closes in, Henry gives a long sigh and thrusts his cane forward to pick up the pace, Ana walking more leisurely behind.

Joy skids to a stop in front a kid about her own age, who squeaks in surprise. “You’re Bendy!” she declares, pointing at them. “And you’re Alice and you’re Boris!”

Joey runs up behind her, panting. “Darlin’, it’s not polite to just run up to strangers ‘n start shoutin’ at ‘em—” he begins.

The other kid looks at Joy with wide eyes. “You know Bendy?” she asks tenatively, her gloved hands clutched around her own trick-or-treat bag.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Joey says apologetically. “She didn’t mean to startle you none.”  Alice’s eyes widen as she catches sight of him. But down at his feet, Joy beams.

“My papa MAKES Bendy!” she exclaims. Joey lets out a short nervous bark of a laugh, flushing a tad.

Bendy’s eyes seem to get even wider. “Wow, really?” Joey looks down, about to answer her, but Alice gives a gasp herself.

“Are you—uh, you’re Joey Drew, aren’t you?” she stutters, causing her companion to shift in surprise too.

Joey gives a smile as Ana and Henry finally catch up to them. “At your service, I suppose,” he says with a bit of an embarrassed chuckle, offering her his hand. “’N, uh, this is my wife Ana ‘n my partner Henry. ‘N the little munchkin is my daughter, Joy.”

“I—oh my god,” Alice squeaks; after shaking his hand, she places her own to her mouth. “I didn’t recognize you because of the costume, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—I mean my daughter and I, we just really love your show—”

“No kidding, huh?” says Joey.

Henry rests a hand on his shoulder. “Your costumes all look really great,” he adds sincerely, with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” Joey picks up. “No, please, believe me, we’re super excited to see ‘em. Henry ‘n I, we were tryin’ to figure out how to start up a conversation—”

“You were just panicking, Joey,” Henry teases, and Joey gives a good-natured groan.

“Throw me under the bus, why don’tcha.”

But Alice finally pulls her hand away from her lips, a small smile matching that of Boris’s next to her. “We knew the studio was close but I don’t think we expected to actually run into anyone working there tonight, is all,” says the Boris of the group. “Let alone the man himself.”

“Ah, well, we kinda live out ‘n the middle of nowhere,” Joey mumbles. “Gotta travel a bit t’ do this whole Halloween business.” Ana starts talking with Alice, and Joey turns to his daughter, squatting down beside her.

“Don’t forget to introduce yourself, darlin’,” he reminds her, and Joy starts.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’m Joy,” she says, extending her own tiny hand. The other girl looks tentatively between her and her father before taking her hand.

“’M Kelly,” she mumbles. “Is it true you make Bendy?”

“Sure is,” Joey returns, with a soft smile. “ Me ‘n my partner here. Did’ja help make that costume?”

Kelly nods, rocking on her feet a bit. “My momma made most of it, but I helped.”

“It’s a great costume, kiddo,” Joey says. “Why, I thought I was lookin’ at Bendy himself when I first saw you! You ‘n your mama are real talented artists.”

Kelly nods again, giggling, and Henry finds he can’t resist the smile creeping onto his own face. “I’ll bet it was lots of fun,” he prompts, and the little girl looks up at him with a shy smile.  

“We worked really hard on it!” she chirps.

“And it shows,” Joey returns, with a lopsided grin. “You’d fit right in at the studio, no problem. Bendy himself would think he was seein’ his own reflection come to life!”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” Joey’s tone is one of sincere confidence. Joy beams. “I think we’d love to take a photo with you folks, if you don’t mind?” His smartphone is already out of his pocket and in his hand. “This’ll sure be somethin’ to share around the studio come Monday mornin’.”

“What do you think, Kelly?” Boris asks, and the little girl offers a chipper “yes!” in response. Joy echoes the yes, and Henry glances over to Ana. She tilts her head.

“It’s your cartoon, boys,” she says with an easy grin. “Seems like you should both be in it, si?” Joey darts back over to give her a peck on the cheek of thanks, and then he and Henry join the little group. Together they sandwich the family in the middle, Henry sharing a look of amusement with Boris as Joey takes up next to Alice. Kelly finds herself front stage with Joy next to her, beaming. Ana snaps the photo, then steps forward to trade out Joey’s phone for Alice’s.

“You should come to the studio sometime!” Joy proposes eagerly, and Henry watches Joey latch onto the idea, his eyes lighting up even without the help of the camera flash.

“Joy darlin’, that is a wonderful idea.” Joey smiles. “We’d—Henry ‘n I,” he amends, stepping back over to sling an arm around Henry’s shoulder—”we’d love t’ give you the grand tour if you ever feel like stoppin’ by.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Drew,” says Boris, with a soft smile that matches his daughter’s.

“Please,” Joey says. “Just ask for Joey ‘n Henry.”

[carry-the-sky]

karen runs.

(for the lovely @thestarsbeyondthestorms and @edourado​, who requested ‘things you said with too many miles between us’ and ‘things you said on the phone at 4am’. UH THIS PROMPT COMBO. RIP ME. also posted on ao3.)

She’s had a bag packed since Fisk moved out of prison and into the penthouse. All she has to do is use it.

.

.

There are flowers, on the kitchen table. White roses. Not the ones he’d given her, but they may as well be. She can’t buy flowers anymore without thinking of him.

They catch her eye as she’s hugging Foggy, and she feels the breath leave her lungs, swooping out in the space between heartbeats. Tensile strength, she thinks. Kevin was taking AP Physics the year he died, the year she killed him. She remembers helping him study. Ultimate tensile strength, he’d recited from his flashcards, measured by the maximum amount of stress an object can withstand without breaking —

Karen leaves, and doesn’t look back.

.

.

She uses her credit card to buy a southbound bus ticket to Baltimore, hopes the paper trail will buy her a little time. Fisk and his goons have probably already started sniffing her out, but she’ll be long gone by the time they catch on.

She’s heard the Rockies are beautiful this time of year.

.

.

The plan is to lay low. The plan is to limit contact with other people, as much as possible. The plan is —

“This seat is — taken?”

Karen glances up. The woman staring down at her from the aisle reminds her sharply of Mrs. Cardenas — same toothy smile, same hopeful eyes, and Karen feels like her chest cavity has been scooped hollow.

“Uh — no,” she hears herself say. “Not taken.”

Karen left a lot behind in New York, but her inquisitive tendencies have stuck. It’s not long before she knows more than she probably should about her seatmate — Sofía Rosales, sixty-seven years young, three grandchildren with a fourth on the way. She talks with her hands and very kindly doesn’t laugh at Karen’s mangled Spanish. Karen likes her immediately, and that’s when the sirens start going off in her head, that’s when everything starts spiraling. She ruins everyone she touches, no matter her intentions, even when she tries to be kind and good, even when she tries to do the right thing it all goes wrong —

(That’s what you do, Karen. That’s what you do.)

She switches seats in the middle of the night and doesn’t talk to Mrs. Rosales again.

.

.

Karen ditched her phone before she left, but she has a few numbers memorized. Ellison, Matt, Foggy, home.

David Lieberman.

She’s not sure why his number stuck, but it’s there, burned into her hippocampus. Just one of the many details she learned about him while digging for info for Frank.

She has an hour to herself in the station in Columbus, where she’s transferring buses, so she slides into the nearest coffee shop and fidgets with the burner in her pocket, to give her hands something to do. Flips it open, then shut again. Open, shut.

She thinks of the elevator — him leaning into her, closing his eyes and aligning his breath with hers, all those unsaid things in that quiet cocoon of space — and laughs aloud.

And she sort of owes him, right? For saving her life. She owes it to him to let him know it wasn’t for nothing, that she is, in fact, still breathing.

There’s an open single seat in the very back of the new bus. She sinks into it, waits until they’re on the highway again before punching in David’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hello?”

It takes a second for her lungs to catch up with her brain. “Hello, David?” she croaks. “Is this David Lieberman?”

There’s a slight pause. “Who’s calling?”

She should hang up, now. Trash the burner, never, ever, do something this fucking stupid ever again —

“Karen?”

Every muscle in her body tenses. He sounds uncertain, but there’s something about his voice, even over the phone. Something layered beneath. Karen doesn’t know much about this guy, but he seems like the type of person who wouldn’t ask a question he doesn’t already know the answer to.

She blows out a breath. “Yes. Jesus, you’re good.”

“Holy shit. Holy— shit, it’s good to hear from you.”

“I guess you know why I’m calling, then.”

"Yeah,” David huffs out a laugh, “yeah, I have a pretty good idea. I gotta tell you, Karen, our mutual friend has been, ahh, more of a pain in the ass than usual, as of late. I’m sure you can relate.”

She’s gripping the phone so tightly her tendons are starting to burn. There’s breath somewhere in her body, right? Beneath her ribs, maybe, threaded through the struts of bone. She just has to find it. Just take a breath, Karen, just one.

“Our — friend,” she says carefully, past the lump in her trachea. “I need you to let him know that I’m okay. I’m just taking some time, away from the city. But I’m alright. If you could tell Fra —” she squeezes her eyes shut. “If you could tell him that, I would really appreciate it.”

“Karen, hey —”

“Thanks, David,” she says, and hangs up.

.

.

She’s fine.

.

.

After two nights on the bus, Karen decides she needs some actual sleep. She finds the cheapest motel she can and collapses once she’s in the room, asleep before she can even take off her coat or shoes.

She dreams about Fisk, then Kevin, and jolts awake long before the sun comes up.

There’s a pad of paper in the nightstand. You’re okay, she scribbles out, over and over.

You’re okay.

.

.

He’s never far from her thoughts. She knew she wouldn’t miss him like she misses Matt and Foggy — he exists in her mind in splinters, a kaleidoscope of sounds and images and feelings that she can’t quite piece together. She knows who Frank Castle is from a distance. It’s when she looks closer that everything gets blurry.

.

.

She cycles through her burners. The one she’d used to call David stays in the bottom of her duffel. She hasn’t turned it back on since then, but she can’t make herself get rid of it, either.

She calls Foggy, once, in a moment of weakness. The line rings and rings and she hangs up before he can answer.

She wonders if loneliness can actually kill someone.

.

.

They ride the bus with her, sometimes.

Kevin pops up the most. The first time, he’s hunched over his guitar, the one mom had given him before she died. He’s picking the strings randomly, strumming chords to life that Karen swears she’s never heard before.

“Stop showing off,” she jabs.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t have a musical bone in your body,” he smiles, not looking up.

“Ouch. Where’d you learn to be so mean, kid?”

Now he snaps his eyes up. “I’m not a kid.” 

You are, she thinks. You’re just a kid, you’re so, so young. Your whole life is there, just waiting for you to fill it —

Paxton visits occasionally. He never says anything, just sits and stares out the window. They’re driving through Kansas now, nothing but grass and plains for the past day and a half. Karen wonders if her father is thinking what she’s thinking when he looks out, if he’s wondering what it would be like walk off into the sun and dust, feet to the horizon.

“Hey.”

(It says something about the state of her life that Frank’s voice does something to her, even when it’s in her head.)

“You found me,” she says, not turning. She sees him in the window, his reflection distorted slightly.

“Thought I wouldn’t?”

“Hoped.”

He rumbles a laugh between his teeth. “You know me better than that, Miss Page.”

“Why,” she says, “why are you always here?”

“I just got here, Karen, what’re you —”

“I mean, in my life.” She looks at him, finally, taking his face in like she always does in case this is the last time she sees him. “Every time you leave, you come back. I’m tired of trying to figure out why, Frank, so if you could just fucking tell me —”

His hand is warm as he slips it through hers. She can almost feel the calluses on his fingers.

“You mean somethin’ to me,” he says. “Don’t you know that?”

He’s gone, when she looks again.

.

.

She runs until she hits mountains. Denver seems as good a place as any to stop, at least for a little while. There’s people here, not like New York, but enough for her to blend in, go unnoticed. Just one face in a million.

She finds an apartment and scoops up a night shift at a local bakery. It feels good, working with her hands. Making things instead of ripping them apart.

Time passes. Karen tries counting the days at first, but soon loses track. Weeks, months. She’s still here. She’s still here.

.

.

I killed him, she growls at Wilson Fisk, again and again. Sometimes it’s him. Sometimes it’s Kevin, or Ben, or Mrs. Cardenas, or —

She’s not sure she knows who she’s hiding from, anymore.

.

.

It had to happen, eventually. A material can only be stretched so far until —

.

.

She shouldn’t do it. She knows —but she’s starting to forget people. The color of their eyes, the sound of their voices. She just needs something, something to remind her she used to have people in her life who knew her real name, who cared she existed.

She calls home.

A strange voice answers. “Hello?”

“Uh—” she sputters, thrown off. “Hi, I’m — I’m looking for Paxton Page?”

“Shit, I really need to get this number changed. He moved, about, oh, a month and a half ago? Doesn’t live here anymore.”

The pit of her stomach turns to ice. “He — he moved? He’s gone?”

“Yeah. Think he said he was going out of state, too. Didn’t leave a forwarding address, though. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Karen sinks, melts into the floor, lets the phone slide out from between her fingers. Stupid, stupid. He told her himself, all those years ago. I don’t want you here, Karen. She thought, maybe, maybe if enough time passed, maybe the wound would start to scab over. Maybe he’d change his mind, and they could try to be some semblance of a family again.

I don’t want you here, he said, but what he meant was —

I don’t want you.

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the empty room, the universe. Anyone who’s listening. The answering silence is what finally does it. She unravels, slow tears at first that quickly devolve into throaty, heaving sobs that rock up the length of her spine, fan out across her shoulders, rip through bone and marrow and every little thing that’s holding her together.

She cries until she can’t anymore.

.

.

Karen blinks and the world pieces itself together. Floor, beneath her, every muscle in her body protesting loudly as she rolls into supine. Her brain feels like it’s bursting out of her skull. She must have slept here. It’s still dark — just before four a.m., the clock on her nightstand says.

C’mon, Karen. Sit up. Just sit up.

It’s muscle memory, after that. Stand, shuffle over to the sink, splash water on face.

Cross the room, dig through the duffel in the back of the closet. Find his burner.

It’s muscle memory, switching it on.

He calls less than a minute later.

“Karen? Karen —”

“Hey, Frank,” she says.

He makes a fractured noise on the other end. “She’s here, Lieberman, she’s — christ, Karen, you’re here, I can’t — you’re okay?”

“No,” she says with a low laugh. “But I’m here.”

“I’ll take it,” he says. “It’s — shit, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’m sorry, Frank.” She sinks her fingers into her hair. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t do that. You don’t do that with me, you got it? Jesus, Karen, I — I thought that was it. Thought—” he goes quiet, and she can almost see him tilting his head down, working his jaw. She can almost imagine wrapping her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder and her hands in his hair, the smell of him, how he feels pressed against her, warm and safe.

“I miss you,” she says.

She hears him pull a ragged breath between his teeth. “You have no idea, Page.”

Her fingers are wet, when she swipes at her face. “I don’t — know what to do. I don’t know what to do, Frank, please tell me, because I can’t do this, I can’t.”

“I’m here, Karen.” His voice swells, crests like a wave, and she realizes he’s crying, too. “Right here, yeah? I’m here, always.”

Just take a breath, Karen. Just breathe.

In, out, in again — and across the miles, she can hear Frank breathing, with her.

[tumblunni]

Stuff to appreciate:

* the pokemon theme remix sounding like football/rugby/otehr sports tourney music! we’ve seen it confirmed that there’s poke-football here so i hope they do reference rugby too and maybe some hockey? we’re honestly a really sports mad nation, tho not as much as america perhaps

* All the lil touches of random normal british stuff that i just TOTALLY MISSED the first time watching cos well its fuckin normal for me lol! im just realizing this is the first time ive seen a house have a wheelbarrow out front in a pokemon game. do other countries just not have as many wheelbarrows or do you like to hide them or somethin?? HOW DO YOU GARDEN! we like wheelbarrows so much there’s several characters in old kids shows thatre just a wheelbarrow, and lots of grandmas like to keep broken wheelbarrows and turn them into plantpots just for the aesthetic of wheelbarrows. Also welly boots!! what do people even call them in other countries cos wellingtons is a very british thing right?

* other nice touches: route signs being like our traffic signs LOL IM CONSTANTLY GONNA MISTAKE THEM FOR A SPEED LIMIT, a lot of those nice pastry crust lookin turf-roof cottages even tho sadly they arent super common anymore nowadays, generally showing a LOT of different british housing architecture like even got the old london double chimney stack things!

* oh man they even got those ground staircase things what is even the name of those actually? i always like the aesthetic of country villages that are more in harmony with nature and it sucks that so much of britain is more industrialized instead nowadays

* BIG BAGS like lol i was going OMG IM SO GLAD THE PROTAGONIST FINALLY HAS A BIG BAG even before i realized it was britain like wow is that a stereotype about us that we carry giant bags everywhere cos thats fuckin true. ‘tardis purses’ are really common amoung anyone who doesnt use backpacks, like everything has to be hybridized with a backpack somehow or else u wear a cardigan just cos stupid modern clothes aint got good pockets FUCKIN HELL I COULD FIT A WHOLE HOUSE IN A CARDIGAN i still remember how in high school i cut a hole in the bottom of my pockets so i could stuff things into the entire lining of the jacket and basically wear a bag like OH i just realized this stereotype must be really old and maybe thats legit where the tardis/mary poppins/d&d’s bag of holding actually came from? you ask for literally goddamn anything on a train in britain and someone’s gonna pull it out of apparantly nowhere, being prepared is just a Thing here

* lol they cant really show how much Pub Culture we have over here in a kids game probably? like we’re one of the world’s biggest consumers of alcohol and HOO BOY, drunken riots are a frequent occurance along with the sports obsession. also over here we straight up dont have non alcoholic cider and i was REALLY CONFUSED that america ONLY has non alcoholic version like i DIDNT KNOW IT EXISTED so i just thought they gave their kids beer?? cider festivals over here are real fun, its part of how ‘pub culture’ is kinda an all ages thing even if the kids cant drink the stuff. like there’s all fun farm events and kids rides and bbq and stuff at a cider or ale brewing town festival thing. and basically the difference between pubs and more american style bars is that pubs are..like.. homey? they really are just the ‘jrpg tavern’ thats a thing of old history in america. its more of a hangout spot thats open all day and is more spacious with comfy seating and they do food and gardens and stuff. its common to bring kids to a pub during the day and its only in the evening that its adults only, which is kinda arbitrary cos i mean they still sell booze in the mornings its just that its ONLY booze in the evenings and the family meal kitchens close. also in the mornings they still have all the gambling machines turned on and lol as a kid my dad used to plonk me down on them so i could ‘play games’ while he talked with his friends. it was extra funny how the european gambling laws made them take the game corner out of pokemon cos i knew what a slot machine was even before i played pokemon and i was like 4 when it came out XD

* yay for big fancy libraries and museums!! i hope maybe they also show buses and trains? its generally a thing that we have more extensive and well funded public transport and buildings than america. like no offense but i was fuckin FLOORED when i learned that there’s whole states that have no trains! like over here buses and trains are used even more than cars! having even one single place unreachable by bus is enough to cause protests! also maybe have some hospital themed gym leader to symbolise good healthcare but honestly they could have put that in ANY of the regions so far except for unova. srsly im always so scared for my american friends cos of that...

* IS THAT A FUCKIN REUSEABLE CARRIER BAG?? like what a weirdly specific thing to reference! do other countries have the carrier bag tax too?

* also LOL putting stickers on the back of the wardrobe!! thats such a brit kid thing, whenever u move to a new place and it has furniture included you’ll always turn something around and see a bunch of stickers someone left from years ago. it was alwyas funny as a kid to see which ones got wrecked in the move, i dunno why a headless bugs bunny was the height of my afternoon at age 9

* Weird notice: this house looks a lot like the Old Chateau from sinnoh? except obviously its more modern and not abandoned and all. makes me think that the dub kinda hecked up by calling the place french and it might have been intentionally meant to be british? its just called a ‘foreign style house’ in japanese, not a chateau.

* ALSO SINNOH FEELS! please bring the minigame back! i always felt an odd kinship with oreburgh town as a kid cos the town i grew up in was also a former mining town that turned from a capitol city port into absolute disrepair after the industrial boom ended. struggling to find a new identity and mostly getting by on tourism value of the mines and all. so makes me think this is actually legit a wales town and maybe even cardiff in particular? or other former mining towns of britain. cos having an extensive cave network thats completely unused and youre just allowed to walk around in it like its no big deal = honestly 100% accurate, the underground minigame would completely fit us. i wonder if japan really does have a similar case of the mines all being 100% abandoned and only repurposed into history museums and travel routes?

* this npc is cute and also i appreciate the accuracy to school uniforms over here! this is usually what its like for primary school (i think thats elementary in america?) and itd be in different colours for different schools and have the school badge on the left side there. and summer uniform is often just taking the jumper off and then the shirt underneath also has the same logo on it. but in my school as a kid they annoyingly made us buy a whole separate set of identical shirts but in a different colour to indicate summer uniform like GEEZ DUDE its already expensive enough! made more sense in high school where winter shirts are button up blouses like suit jackets and its only summer that gets a regular cotton shirt. but there you also wear blazers (kids’s suit jacket) instead of jumpers, and jumpers are optional if it gets extra cold but its more of a light cardigan style instead. also boringly every damn school’s colours are black blazers except like one or two rare exceptions. i got extra unlucky and the two high schools i went to also had red shirts so i kept getting them mixed up until i noticed the wrong logo halfway thru the day

* hey lol literally the park behind my house. we get real shitty weather here and i actually kinda hope maybe umbrellas are something we could pick in character customization?

[honeylikewords]

“You don’t need to leave so soon.” for Sam Rossi, please, if you're still taking prompts :)

oh, sure!! sam is a GoodBoy who needs More Love and Appreciation around these parts!!

The mountains around the Sweet Virginia Motel aren’t like how Sam remembers the Appalachians. These mountains rise higher and higher, great and broad and sky-brushing, and he, despite his stature, feels small under them. He doesn’t know if that bothers him or not. He tries not to think about it.

He’s standing behind the check-in desk; the girls are all out today. He gave them the day off, feeling like they deserved the rest, or, perhaps, that he deserved the extra workload. He’s sifting through the hand-written ledger book of check-ins, quietly mumbling to himself to keep track of running totals. 

It’s the off-season, if there ever can be an on-season for a motel in Alaska, so there have been fewer and fewer check-ins. He has a current count of only twelve people staying in the motel at this moment. Two sets of couples and eight singles. Sam murmurs to himself that a honeymoon suite at the motel would be funny; imagining his little motel as a place that anything remotely romantic could happen is far-flung and ridiculous to him.

When the bell over the door rings and he looks up, he suddenly doesn’t think it’s all that ridiculous anymore.

Her hair is wild and matted from travel, and she’s slightly out of breath as she gives him a brief, warm smile, lugging her bags into the reception office with a “huff”. The door shuts behind her as she thuds her bags to the ground and she pushes a hand into her hair, trying to keep it out of her face.

She’s a mess. 

She’s beautiful.

“Hi,” she breathes out, leaning on the front desk for support. “I’m, uh, here for a room?”

Sam balks for a moment, realizing that he’s wringing his bad hand and pressing it up against his chest defensively. It’s the posture he adopts when he’s uncomfortable and anxious, and when he realizes he jumped into it upon her arrival, he feels embarrassed. He’s a grown man. He can’t be getting jittery just because a pretty woman walks into his office.

“A room, yeah?” He runs a thick index finger down the column indicating empty rooms, intentionally skipping over that one where the awful little man had stayed. He’s blocked that room off and only gives it to guests who are vitriolic or rude to his girls. “Right. I got, um, room 206 open. That okay?”

“Is it close to here?,” she laughs exhaustedly, lifting one of her bags in a weak hand. “I don’t think I can lug these much further.”

“Ah, jeez, ma’am, how far you been carryin’ those?”

“From the bus stop.” 

Sam’s mouth falls. The bus stop is at least ten miles from his motel. Flustered, Sam stammers and gestures at her bags and then at her with worried eyes and a furrowed brow.

“Ma’am, that’s-- that’s real-- that’s so far, you shoulda called! I coulda-- coulda picked you up or somethin’!”

“I just walked ‘til I saw the place,” she smiles. “I didn’t wanna be a bother.”

“Wouldn’a been any bother,” he grumbles back, wringing his hands. “You shouldn’a walked with all that--” he gestures at her bags and suitcases-- “--on your back. It’ll hurt ya real bad. I know.”

He holds up his shaky hand and lets her sees the tremors, making her mouth pop into a little “oh” gasp, her face falling in a frown, eyes soft with sympathy. He feels embarrassed of himself; normally, he hides the shakes he gets, especially from people whose opinions he values. 

“I am so sorry...”

He wishes he hadn’t made such a fool of himself, not wanting her pity but just to make a point. He just wants her to not hurt herself, especially when he can be there to help. No one should go trying to handle everything alone... well, almost no one. He always exempts himself from those thoughts.

“It’s fine,” Sam says. “Just don’t go pushin’ yourself, okay? Lemme help.”

“No, I can’t, now that I-- that I know--”

“No,” Sam insists, rounding the desk to grab her bags all himself, despite her fumbled protests. He feels strong with determination and a desire to impress her, some glimmer of that juvenile rodeo star still shining through.

He grabs one of the keys to room 206 on his way out as the woman follows behind him, periodically murmuring about how she can carry something, but Sam just grunts, ignoring his aching muscles. He wants to do this.

When they reach the opposite end of the courtyard and Sam is in front of the door for 206, he maneuvers himself carefully and opens the door, despite the fullness of his arms and hands. He tiptoes into the room, then, one by one, lays her luggage on the bed, gentle as can be. As he places them on the bed, he makes an unwitting grunt of pain.

His bad shoulder aches and his bad leg feels funny, and now he realizes that he probably should’ve followed his own advice... he makes a loud groan of pain when he puts a hand on his sore shoulder and squeezes.

“Oh, dammit, I knew I should’ve helped!”

Sam tenses when he realizes she’s heard him do that. He flushes across the face and tries to turn out of the room and run off to cower in his office, but he feels a hand stop him, squeezing around his wrist. 

“Please,” she says, “Sit down for a minute, sir. Just take a second, okay? You don’t need to leave so soon.”

Finding himself unable to resist, Sam lowers onto her bed, letting out a tired sigh as he rubs at his tender muscles. He’s terribly embarrassed, but he feels her settle next to him, and when he looks over, she’s smiling.

“I had a friend with chronic fatigue syndrome,” she smiles, shrugging her shoulders. “Needing some help isn’t bad.”

“I think both of us could learn to accept some help,” Sam chuckles as he shakes his head. “Moderation ‘n all that.”

“Yeah,” sighs the woman at Sam’s side. “The effort’s gotta be equitable, huh?”

Sam quirks a brow at her with her particular use of that word, and she snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Just unexpected. Not bad.”

She sighs and eases into the mattress a little more, which Sam finds incredibly pleasing. There’s something undeniably comforting about knowing that someone can feel at ease in your presence, and Sam feels a little better about his ability to be a welcoming host.

They sit like that for a moment, Sam breathing deep and steady the way the doctors tell him to when his shakes get real bad. Sam lets himself lean forward and relax a touch, the two of them letting the quiet be its own reward.

He tries to stand up abruptly, then feels his weak leg give out, sending him back onto the bed with a soft “whoop!” as he falls. He lands on his ass and he hears her make a combination of a gasp of concern and a quick laugh at his flustered expression, and Sam smiles sheepishly.

“I must look like a fool,” he says. 

“No, you look like a man who has to catch a break. Can I ask...?” She trails off and nods at his shoulder and leg, making Sam clench with a little bit of embarrassment. He nods. “I don’t mean to impose--”

“Nah. It’s okay. Nerve damage. I, uh, took a few too many knocks ‘round the head, right?” He gives her an awkward crescent-moon smile, still bright even in its waning. “Docs say it coupled with early-onset ALS. Makes me shaky, kinda weak sometimes. I can handle it, though.”

“Oh... I see.”

“Don’t let it color your image of me, please, ma’am.” Sam’s voice is sincere and intense, making her look up at him with an aura of concern. “I don’t much care for pity. I’ll be just fine. Always have been.”

“I don’t pity you, Mister...”

“Rossi,” Sam mumbles. “Sam Rossi.”

“Well, Mister Rossi,” she says, patting his knee with her hand, reassuring. “Do you know why I’m here in Alaska, of all places?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“I just inherited a house. The movers are still setting it up, but... it came to me from my uncle.” She drifts off, looking into the middle-distance, smiling vaguely. “My uncle passed a couple months back. But I never pitied him, even in his later years. He was as strong a man as ever, even if his body wasn’t up to everything it might’ve been once upon a time.”

She shrugs and pats his knee one more time, then takes her hand away, settling it back on her own lap. Sam finds he’s saddened to no longer feel her warmth on him. She fidgets with her fingers, a sad and removed aura settling around her.

“Well, Mister Rossi, what I’m trying to say is... don’t mistake my empathy for what you’re going through for anything else. You’re just a man with certain needs. We’re all people with certain needs. Your set of needs just happens to have an acronym.”

For some reason, Sam finds that to be the most reassuring, kind response anyone’s had to him explaining his illness thus far. Most of the time people tell him bullshit like “it’s part of God’s plan”, or “this is just to make you stronger”, or they treat him like he’s made of glass. But when he looks over at her, she’s not looking at him like he’s porcelain and petals: she’s looking at him in a way that makes his tummy twitch and his heart start to glow.

He coughs into his fist, trying to stay focused and un-flushed. He looks down at his boots and shifts his weight on the bed, smiling a little to himself, wrestling with all manner of emotions. Everything feels funny and new and tingly, and Sam’s a man well enough aware of himself to know that he’s toeing at the deep end of love again.

Sam’s got a big heart and as he looks at her, he can see a warm, big heart in her, too. He lets himself smile at her, and rejoices inwardly when she returns the smile tenfold.

“You wanna... get a coffee with me? Machine’s back in the check-in,” Sam mumbles. “It’s not perfect, but it’s good, and you can tell me more ‘bout that uncle. If you want.”

“I would very much like that, Sam. So long as you tell me a thing or two about yourself. Ya know,” she says, playfully grinning. “Equitable.”

“Equitable, huh?” Sam lets his smile get bigger. “Alright, missy.”

And for once, Sam feels a little less ashamed of the space he takes up, and is happy to be exactly where he is, how he is. Otherwise, he’d never have met her. And that would be a very real loss, in his estimation.

(Send Prompts From This List!)

[loftyexecutor]

clean slate (11/?)

Pairing: (eventual) addcest [LPDE] & elsain [LKATh] WC this chapter: 3600 Rating: T+ TWs: (past) abuse AU: modern/single parent Lusa (with his tiny son Arc) + runaway Esper (hah) Notes: i wont spoil anything but i feel like this is my favorite chapter so far 

ao3 link

It’s with a heavy heart that Esper shoves a shirt into his backpack and then, after a second’s deliberation, grabs another one, Lusa’s, from where it’s thrown over the laundry basket. He’d never thought he would feel like this one day, throwing essentials into a bag to leave, heart in the pit of his stomach. He’d never thought he’d get attached to a place.

The last time he’d done this, much less peacefully, he’d been full of adrenaline, panic coursing through his very veins. He remembers looking over his shoulder the whole time, watching carefully if his father stirs from his unconsciousness. He doesn’t to that now; doesn’t have to, since he’d hear either Lusa or Arc coming long before they’d see him pushing all the overflowing things further into the bag to zip it up.

He can’t help but wonder if he’ll be missed. Arc had grown attached to him, and Lusa was nice to him, but ultimately, they’d go back to how they were before he’d turned up. Lusa will probably be happier, having his workshop all to himself again, not having to care for Esper’s untimely outbursts.

He resolves to stop thinking about it lest he start crying and wakes someone up with the sound.

He throws the bag over his shoulder and then picks up the note he’d spent an agonizingly long time writing up. He places it onto the dining table for Lusa to find easily in the morning. He would feel bad for leaving without even saying a goodbye, but he can’t exactly do that without Lusa attempting to stop him. He could also go for a hug that he knows Lusa would provide more than happily, but he also can’t have that, even if he feels so, so cold. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like the summer anymore.

Esper shakes his head to clear it and then slips on his shoes. He can’t handle turning around eve once more to look at the house he’d come to call home, a real home as it’s defined in the dictionaries, as opposed to the prison he’d spent his life at before.

He steps onto the dark street with quaking shoulders.

                                                         —

“Heey! Give back my dinosaur!”

“Shea!”

“But da-ad! It’s my turn!”

“That’s my dinosaur!”

“Shea, you lost your dinosaur last week. Give it back to your brother.”

“But da——d!”

“No buts! Give it back and go brush your teeth, both of your. It’s way past your bedtime.”

“...okay…”

Arme sighs, adding ‘get Shea a new toy dinosaur’ to his mental to-do list. He turns to Knight, who is still sitting on the sofa, fiddling with his phone and the strap on it. Arme’s expression melts as he sits by him, enveloping him with an arm.

“You tired?” he asks, bumping into Knight’s head with his.

Knight chuckles and returns the gesture. “A little. I still can’t believe what happened to Lusa today.”

Arme’s answer is a nod. He takes the phone from his husband’s hands and puts it onto the coffee table. The entire conversation is ingrained in his brain just as much as it is in Knight’s.

Knight had called Lusa to ask about going bowling next weekend, but it’d been obvious Lusa was not alright just from his tone of voice. Knight had put him on speaker then, and Arme had found his way into the living room, drawn by their discussion.

Lusa told them what had happened, and then promptly cried soft sobs into the phone. He didn’t want to wake up anyone, but Knight and Arme were lending an ear, he just couldn’t help it.

Knight had assured Lusa he’d personally be of help hiding the body if Asker were to ever show up again. Arme wasn't sure how to feel — because on one hand he completely agreed, but he also kew Knight was completely serious, so on the other hand he wished it wouldn’t come to that.

Finally, they managed to coerce Lusa to get some sleep, but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ never really worked its supposed magic with them.

“We’re a family,” Arme tells Knight, slow and deliberate. “We protect our own. God help those who would try harming Esper.”

Knight grins tiredly and then leans up to place a kiss to Arme’s temple. His lips linger there for a moment, and when they leave, Knight’s entire head rests on Armes shoulder instead. “You always know what to say.”

“Don’t make fun of me—”

“I’m not! I’m not,” Knight defends himself, “I mean it. That was very ice.”

Arme huffs. “You didn’t marry me because of my linguistic abilities or lack thereof.”

“You’re right, I married you for that sweet cheque you bring home every month.”

“Elsword Knight Sieghart-Ishmael, I swear—”

“Dad! Papa! We want a story!” Anpa cries from the upper floor, much to Knight’s elation. He uses the distraction to slip out of Arme’s hold and heads upstairs.

Arme watches with a fond look. He also adds ‘buy Knight something nice from that sweet cheque he brings home every month’ to his to-do list. It’s really getting too long at this point.

It’s not much later that he follow upstairs, stationing himself at the door of their boys’ room like a guard, listening in on every soft word Knight reads from the boys’ favorite storybook. The story of the fearless knight and the crystal of life. Arme knows it by heart, could probably wi a recital , that’s how many times he’d read it already. And Knight alike, probably even a few more times than him.

Still, there is no such thing calming like his husband’s voice piercing the nightly silence, and Arme closes his eyes to enjoy it to the fullest. It’s not like he can’t picture Knight’s smiles and fond looks aimed at their sons with perfection anyway.

He’s almost lulled to sleep himself by the time Knight finishes the story and places kisses on their boys’ heads, doing his best not to wake either of them. He’s smiling sleepily as he leaves the room, the click of the door handle hiding the smack their lips make as they come together.

“Let’s sleep, too,” he whispers, and Arme is nodding along with practiced ease, though he swoops down to get one more kiss beforehand.

Knight is tugging his shirt off before they’re even in the bedroom, sending it flying towards the direction of the bathroom. Arme would laugh if he didn’t feel similarly tired. He starts working his clothes off when Knight pipes up from the dresser, holding their pajamas in his hands with unnatural stiffness.

He’s staring out of the window as if transfixed.

“Is that—” He leans over the dresser, knocking over a — fortunately unlit — candle holder. “Is that Esper?!”

Arme frowns, running over so he can look out the window himself Sure enough, the figure passing their house has Esper’s hair, and is tall enough to pass for him. Arme’s breathing stutters as soon as he notices the bulging backpack on the figure’s back.

It might just be a coincidence, but then again…

There’s no one in the town who resembles Esper, especially not like that. Arme is rushing to get his phone from its charging station on the bedside table.

“We have to call Lusa,” he says, already doing just that. Knight peeks peering out the window, watches the figure go further and further down the street.

“What’s that way—?” Knight asks, but it hits him almost the second the words leave his lips. “The bus stop! Arme, he’s planning to leave!”

Knight’s panicked words only serve to make the dialing tones more terse. “Pick up, pick up, God, make him pick up alread—”

“Hm? Arme?” Lusa slurs from the other side of the line, obviously having been just awoken.

“Lusa, is Esper home?” Arme asks in a rush.

Lusa sounds confused, and Arme can almost see the little crease between his brows. “Wha? He went to bed before me…? Why’re you askin’?”

“Lusa, I need you to go check Esper’s room right the fuck now. Knight, I’m gonna start the car,” Arme instructs, pulling his shirt back on haphazardly.

There’s a distant, “Wow! Language!”

“Did something happen?” Lusa asks, starting to wake up more. Arme isn’t sure whose heavy footsteps he hears; Lusa’s or his own. The automatic light turns on as he steps onto the porch, already clicking the car lock off.

“Fuck!” Lusa hisses into his ear, “He’s not here! It’s a fucking mess, what happened?” He sounds just as panicked as Arme knows he is.

“Knight saw him going down our street a few ago,” he tries explaining. Hes jabbing the key into the ignition and pushing the phone against his shoulder with the side of his face as he peels off the driveway, making a sharper turn than he ever would during daylight. “He had a bag. Knight thinks he’s going to the bus stop.”

“Fuck! What’s he thinking?”

Arme has no answer for that question, but he knows Lusa does. There’s silence for a few blocks and then Lusa breathes heavily into the receiver and says, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Please, stop him.”

“That’s the plan,” Arme cuts off, Lusa’s voice fading off with the end of the call.

                                                        —

Lusa’s hands tremble as he holds the paper, wrinkling it with the force of his grip. He wishes he could unread something, but alas, he has no such powers or luck.

— Lusa,

I hope you had a good rest. I decided it was too dangerous for me to stay when father knows there this is. I can’t imagine if he’d hurt you or Arc and I can’t risk it. Sorry I left without a word, but I don’t want you to try to stop me. It’s better this way. You’ll be safe if you don’t know where I am. My father is a dangerous man, you’re lucky nothing happened to you yesterday. Please please don’t look for me.

Thank you for everything. I hope I can repay you one say, somehow.

— Esper

Lusa feels like what he’d just read isn’t real, but Arme had made it all too real, and painfully so. He’s grabbing his keys before he can think about it a second longer, running out in nothing but his pajamas and bedheaded hair.

The letter gets shoved into his pocket haphazardly and Lusa wants to forget it exists, but it’s burning a hole through his jeans and soul alike. Nothing save it feels real at the moment; the dark and quiet transforms the town into something unfamiliar, strange.

The drive feels at once endless and over too soon. Lusa’s sneakers drag over the concrete as he half-jogs to the bus stop, breathing out an immediate sigh of relief when he spots a hunched-over figure.

Esper sits on the bench, the lone street lamp that reaches the secluded spot casting long shadows over his figure. Sure enough, there’s a bag on his shoulders. He was really planning on leaving.

Lusa can’t breathe.

“Esper!” he cries, breaking out into a full run and almost tripping himself over a curb.

Esper jerks, turning a wide-eyed face towards him, recoiling almost immediately. Lusa comes to a halt when he reaches him, panting and with equally wide-eyed stare. Esper is holding up his arms in front of his chest as if waiting to be struck down, to defend himself. The implications churn Lusa’s stomach in the very opposite of a good way.

How does he show Esper that he wouldn’t hurt him, never ever again? Each day, each tiny jolt and jerk and careful, fearful glance he beats himself up for contributing to it, wishing there was a way to re-do history and change not only his meeting with Esper, but everything else as well.

He only just notices Arme sitting next to Esper when he leans to look at him closer, frowning like Lusa had done something awful. And, fuck, Lusa doesn’t need him to remind him too; he’s very capable of kicking his brain himself, thank you very much.

He all but collapses at Esper’s feet, reaching out to grab his hands in his, enveloping them and warming the cold skin. He can’t hold back the tears that he didn’t even know he still had after all the ones he’d spent today.

Esper stares down at him, mirroring him with a look of agony that Lusa wishes will never cross his face ever again.

“Please, please, please don’t leave,” Lusa chokes out, back bending down in tandem with the quiet wail that leaves his chapped, bitten-up lips. His forehead comes to rest against Esper’s knees, yet he keeps talking. Esper and Arme hear him clear as day, no matter the mumbles or sobs. “Please, I promise nothing will happen to you anymore, so please, rethink it— I don’t want to lose you, Esper, please…”

Esper weeps — one would think he’d also have no tears left to cry anymore, after a day full of them, but no, his tearducts are as functional as ever and provide the saltiness diligently — and he leans over Lusa, squeezing his hand with his trembling ones. Lusa squeezes back and that simple human contact warms Esper like nothing else could.

“I—” he gasps, sniffling like a whining puppy that had been kicked. His face is a mess of various fluids and he’s thankful for the bad light so the others don’t have to see him like that. “I don’t want to leave…!”

“You don’t have to, you don’t, so please,” Lusa begs, gripping onto Esper like his entire life depends on it.

Maybe it does.

Arme rubs Esper’s back in silence. He knows there’s not much more he can do than he’d already done, or say more than he already had. He’s glad Lusa didn’t have to see Esper when he’d first realized he’d been caught in the act, fighting and begging. Really a sight Arme himself wishes to erase from his memory. He’s not sure how Lusa would have reacted.

Esper shakes between the two of them, trying to stifle his sobs and hiccups. His success is debatable, but it’s not like either of them is going to start the debate.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not without his voice breaking in the middle though, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Lusa echoes back back to each of Esper’s apologies, pulling the man closer, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He doesn’t want to ever let go, ever let Esper slip from his fingers like he’d tried.

They’re pulled out of their thoughts, out of their tears, by the bus coming up to a stop by their little bench, tires screeching too-loud in the night.

Lusa stares at the vehicle and then looks back at Esper, holding him in place with a terrified look. With wide and bloodshot eyes and tear streaks running down his cheeks like rivulets of pain, Esper isn’t sure he’d ever seen Lusa look this scared before. Lusa was strong, he was the one who didn’t cry — today is the first time Esper had ever seen him shed a tear, and what a way to find out.

“Please,” Lusa chokes out, no more than a cut-off whisper that gets stuck halfway up his throat, “I won’t— I can’t make you stay if you don’t want to, but please— please don’t go.”

Esper sobs again, lips wobbling as he grits his teeth and fights not to screw his eyes shut. He almost knocks Lusa backwards with the force he throws himself at him again, clinging like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Lusa feels like an anchor, holding him down so he feels real again when everything feels like a bad, bad dream.

“I don’t want to leave,” he confesses again, straight into the fabric of Lusa’s already wrinkled shirt.

“Then don’t! I promise everything will be alright.”

Esper lets himself get lulled by the soft words until the bus drives closes the doors to the vehicle again and speeds off, disappearing into the distance as its tail lights fade out of view.

“Would you like to go home?” Lusa asks, peeking at Arme over the tremble of Esper’s shoulder. They share a look full of nothing but relief, though Arme knows Lusa feels much more of it than him.

Esper nods, choppy, timid. It would’ve gotten unnoticed if he didn’t have his face pressed into the crook of Lusa’s neck and Lusa couldn’t feel even miniscule movements.

“Then let’s go, let’s get some rest.”

                                                        —

“Thank you, Arme,” Lusa says, standing in the doorway. He looks so tired now, with bags under his eyes and unable to even form a real smile.

Arme shakes his head, arms folded not defensively, but pensively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll Knight everything is fine, he must be worried sick by now.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Again, not your fault. Not Esper’s, either. Please go get some rest.”

Lusa nods, staring off into nothing again. “Yeah,” he says finally, when the sound of boiling water and the kettle squeaking reaches his ears. “Be careful on the way home.”

“I will. Good night, Lusa,” Arme tells him. He hesitates for a moment, though, then reaches up and softly claps Lusa’s shoulder. Then he’s heading back to his car.

The clock on the hallway wall reads 3:19 when Lusa closes the door and leans back on it to catch his breath, way past his or Arme’s bedtime on a weekday. They’re all going to be messes tomorrow.

But there’s someone who’s a mess right now who needs attention. Lusa paddles his way to the kitchen to find Esper pouring tea. He’s handed a steaming mug and Esper gives a wide smile to go along with it.

“Here. I thought it might help you sleep. It’s chamomile.”

Lusa puts the mug down onto the table. “Esper,” he says sternly, but not unkindly, “You don’t need to act like nothing happened.”

Esper’s falls off like a leaf in the autumn breeze. He holds his own mug close, fingers wrapped around the colorful ceramic. It’s Lusa’s, the one he keeps, the one that has the terrible cat pun on it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and gazing down.

“Come on, I wasn’t looking for an apology. I’m not angry at you, okay?”

“Uh-uh,” Esper nods, staring into the moving surface of his tea like it holds the secrets to the universe. He plays with the teabag absently, yanking at the damp string.

“I wanna… talk to you about it again, but not now,” Lusa says. His voice is soft, as gentle as he can make it. “For now, I bet we’re both tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Esper…” Lusa hesitates. Gathering all his courage to ask this, he goes ahead with it, but not until a few tense moments pass. “Would you consider sleeping with me tonight? In my room, I mean— I know, it sounds weird, but I’d just like to make sure you’re here, y’know?”

“Okay,” Esper nods, but Lusa frowns.

“You don’t have to say yes. If you don’t want to, nothing will happen. I won’t get angry.”

“No. No, it’s okay. More than okay— I’d… like to not be alone, actually,” Esper explains, a quiet confession like a giant secret no one was supposed to find out.

Lusa opens his arms and waits for Esper to put his tea away before he hugs him again. The lankier man reciprocates, squeezing Lusa with all his strength.

“Today was… long,” Lusa says as he pulls away, “I promise you everything will be alright. So let’s sleep on it, okay?”

Esper hums, nodding with a small, crooked smile. He can’t wait to sleep, really; is sure he’d pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Now that the adrenaline is gone from his system, his limbs feel like lead and head pounds with a headache from all the crying.

They take their teas and sip them slowly, savoring the sweetened taste. Esper makes the best tea, Lusa had decided. And the best food. And the best desserts.

He has the nicest laugh. He’s so funny. He gets scared by horror movies too easily. He gets that wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates too much. He’s skilled with anything he picks up almost immediately.

He’s family. Lusa can’t imagine life without him anymore, just like he can’t imagine life without Arc.

Esper drags himself more than walks up the stairs and Lusa can see just how badly this has affected him. Not that he couldn’t before, but with the storm — hopefully — behind them, it’s time to see what hasn’t gotten flooded. Esper hesitates in the doorway of Lusa’s room until Lusa motions him inside.

It’s okay, he repeats. To himself, to Esper. To the both of them.

They collapse onto the bed, teas forgotten on the bedside table. It should be weird, sharing such a small bed with two of them, but it isn’t. Lusa’s arms come to wind around Esper, to keep him close, almost unconsciously, and Esper kicks away the blanket so they’re not overheating. They’re still wearing their clothes — or, at least Esper is, Lusa had just thrown a shirt on to go along with his sleeping sweatpants. That should also be weird. Possibly uncomfortable. But Esper doesn’t even peep.

Just as he’d predicted, the sweet embrace of sleep takes him into its hold just as easily as  Lusa does, and he snuggles up to both.