#and i love them and they’ve been rotting in my closet for 3 years. and based on the other stuff in the envelope they came with the original

[trainerdawn]

seeing so many posts the last few days about using up the things that we would normally hold onto forever or use sparingly out of fear of wasting them on the wrong opportunity or whatever. i think it’s time for me to start using my beanie baby stickers

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Gibbous Chapter 9

Chapter Title: The Thought of Fresh Meat Is Making Me Ill

Summary:  It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

Pairings: platonic lamp & platonic sleepxiety

Chapter Word-Count: 5503

Warnings:  Verbal/Emotional Abuse, Anxiety, Depression, Paranoia, Arguing, Disassociation, Sensory Overload (Yeah this one isn't gonna be a particularly happy one, Virgil Is Spiraling Mentally Big Time)

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Surprise b*tch, bet you thought you saw the last of me! I'm back for my yearly update--this chapter is dedicated to all the lovely comments people have left on previous chapter! Also!! I rewrote a significant amount of Crescent Chapter 3 and added onto Gibbous Chapter 5, the latter you might want to reread as it adds a bit to the opening scene of this chapter.

Chapter title taken from "I know I'm a Wolf" from the Young Heretics!

-

In books, there was always a perfect, logical sense of progression. Stories were generally told in a three-act structure. The setup, the midpoint and the resolution. The beginning of a story established the protagonist to the reader. It gave you details about their personality, their way of living, their wants and desires. Then the protagonist found themselves upended by an inciting incident.

Something that caused their way of living to never again be the same. Tension grew and grew as they sought to come about a way to continue living. Until it reached a climax, one where after which, they either thrived or withered away. In which case, the story ended as the protagonist returned to a new sense of normalcy.

One that would last until the next inciting incident came along to shake up their world once again.

Once one found this pattern, it was hard to ever see stories the same way again. There were certain things to always expect—things you could decipher before the story’s end. Real life, however, wasn’t quite like that.

Or at least this was what Logan had come to find. Sure, in many ways events in life played out like stories. There was an inciting incident, something that arose tension as one sought to solve the dilemma. It just wasn’t as neatly bound together like a story or even a math equation. Life was messy, complicated—it threw in plot twists or details that critics would claim lazy and unbelievable.

Logan was harshly reminded of this in the case of one Virgil Raine. He couldn’t understand—he was doing everything right, remaining patient and giving Virgil a chance to open up to Logan on his own time. Yet the human shied further and further away, all development he made since working at the library immediately erased. Virgil even shut out all notions of spending time outside work without explanation. It’d been weeks at this point with no result despite the attempts of Logan, Patton and even Remy, who was arguably the closet with Virgil.

Perhaps this was something that should be expected. Virgil rarely spoke about his past, but what little he shared, he had to fend mostly for his own from a young age. Whoever hurt Virgil caused him to believe again he couldn't rely on anyone but himself.

Logan was not a particularly violent person. He'd been ignorantly cruel once upon a time, yes, but even back then he wasn't one to have the urge to kill people. The wolfish part of him begged to differ, as always. His instincts howled at him to find that person and tear them limb to limb. Better yet, they demanded he snatch Virgil away and bring him against his will to the pack, to safety. As much as Logan wanted this, logically he knew Virgil might never fully trust Patton or himself ever again despite their good intentions. Illogically, he couldn’t bring himself to do the one thing he swore he’d never do again, even if it was for Virgil's safety.

He pondered this, sitting in front of a mountain of paperwork. It was late, too late for him to still be at the library. He couldn’t bring himself to move from his desk, not until he figured something out. He gnashed sharpened teeth in agitation, gripping his hair with claw-like fingernails. It didn't help that normally this time of the month, his cognitive thinking skills were usually in a different state of being. If he wasn't careful, the cleaning staff might find a wolf rampant in the library the next morning.

His phone rang just then, some meme-related ringtone Roman picked out that he’d found funny. Logan snatched it up and answered it.

“Patton, listen, I will be home soon I am just finishing up—”

“I’m not Patton,” The person on the other line cut in, “It’s me, Remy.”

“Oh,” Logan cleared his throat, thrown off by this revelation, “is something the matter?”

“Yeah, something’s the matter alright,” Remy said, his voice hoarse, “I fucked up big time with Virgil.”

 -

It was October. A month full of cheer for the macabre. A month where humans gleefully wore the skins of those they saw as monsters. A month that Virgil generally enjoyed. It was the one month out of the year where he felt the most alive. Yet somehow, for this year’s October, he felt dead inside. Like his body had turned into the rotting corpse of a zombie and his soul was somehow still trapped inside.

He supposed it had something to do with how September slipped from his fingers much in the way that his phone slipped from Jerad’s fingers. Falling all the way down, down, down, breaking upon the asphalt below into a million tiny pieces. Tried as he might, the memory haunted him in the waking world as well as his dreams.

 Only, in his dreams, sometimes it was him that fell to the ground. Like a shoddy version of Humpty Dumpty. Remy, Patton and Logan would try to fix him to no avail. They’d always leave, scoffing that it wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t cry or reach out towards them, begging for them to return. He could only lay there, broken and bleeding, watching as they abandoned him. Sometimes Roman showed up to gloat, mocking him for thinking they ever cared for him.

The worst thing about it? He knew it was going to happen in real life. It was only a matter of time. Even Jerad knew this.

“C’mon, you really want to hang out with them and not me, your friend?” Jerad scoffed, “what have they done for you? Have they helped out you when you couldn’t pay rent? Replaced your shitty phone for the best smartphone out there?”

“Well no but—”

“Face it, V-Man, they’re using you. They set you up with a new job, making you beholden to them and it’s sickening! They don’t actually care about you. Once they’ve had their fun jerking you around, they’ll just throw you out with the garbage. And I don’t want you coming to me, bawling like a baby, when it happens!”

As much as Jerad was a jerk, Virgil knew deep down he was right. He’d been so ecstatic at their displays of friendship, he didn’t even stop to consider it was all a façade. Maybe they themselves thought it was real, that they actually cared for him. But eventually they’ll realize the truth. That he’s a loser and nothing more.

Or maybe they already knew the truth and were merely toying with him. Virgil was just a human, mortal through and through. Remy, Patton and Logan were all near-immortal, unkillable save a well-placed piece of silver and a stake of wood in Remy’s case. At least with Jerad, he was honest. He knew Virgil was a loser and made it clear he only hung out with Virgil because it was better than nothing.

Jerad had been nice to Virgil lately—or nice as Jerad could be at least. He’d insisted on occasionally giving Virgil rides to and from work. An offer Virgil couldn’t refuse—no matter how hard his heart thudded against his chest with Jerad’s sharp swerves and his blaring car radio. He taken to asking about Virgil’s day even, asking where he’d been and what he’d been doing. He even took Virgil out to bars and clubs in an attempt to get him to loosen up.

Virgil wanted to tell him he’d rather set himself on fire than willingly enter a noisy nightclub. However every time his lips went to form those words, he found himself saying yes always. So that was how he found himself dissociating in a noisy nightclub, holding onto a pink-colored alcoholic beverage he faked taking a sip from.

A hand knocked jokingly against his forehead. “Yo, Virgin!”

Virgil blinked, his gaze blearily onto Jerad. It was hard to concentrate with all the flashing lights and loud music. He wanted to crawl underneath his beloved purple fleece blanket in his dark, silent bedroom and never leave. But he couldn’t leave just yet. Jerad had been nice to take him along to the club. If he’d asked leave now, he’d get upset. He knew eventually Jerad would get upset at him for something, but he preferred to delay that as long as possible.

“Yeah?” Virgil mumbled, curling his fingers tighter around the alcoholic drink that had been hoisted upon him. Jerad knew he didn’t like alcohol—it was something he ridiculed Virgil about constantly. He always insisted on Virgil drinking, saying he’d stop being a pussy and man up eventually about it.

“Are you high or something? You looked like you were seeing into the third dimension or something.”

Virgil shrugged. Jerad laughed at that, patting him on the back. Virgil tensed from each thud of Jerad’s hand, but he did not flinch or move away. It was a friendly gesture on Jerad’s part. If he wanted to really hurt Virgil, he would’ve put more force behind it.

“Probably not! You’re too much of an anxious wimp,” Jerad said, downing the contents of his drink, “but let me know if you ever get man enough to try it—your good friend Jerad has connections.”

“Okay.” Virgil said, his voice sounding far off in the distance to his own ears.

Jerad laughed again, and then started rambling about something probably among the lines of his most recent hookup, his parents being jerks for not giving him a new sports car or the latest college professor he deemed a complete idiot. Virgil stared at him, nodding all the right moments yet barely processed any of the words being directed his way.

 Even with lungs filled with air and a warm beating heart, Virgil felt nothing. He was nothing. A worthless sentient waste of space. Like an ugly mutt nobody wanted that should be euthanized to end its miserable existence.

His phone—the replacement one Jerad gave him—vibrated in his pocket. A text, no doubt from one of the others. The fourth one this night. Virgil’s hand twitched, refraining from looking at it in the presence of Jerad. Virgil didn’t feel like losing a second phone within a month of the first.

“Um, hey,” Virgil interrupted, wincing, “I gotta go use the bathroom, is that alright?”

“’Is that alright?’” Jerad mimicked in a high pitch tone, “Dude, is this elementary school or something? You want a hall pass? Me to hold your hand the whole way there?”

Virgil stared at him.

Jerad rolled his eyes, “Go ahead, whatever. I don’t care if you take a dump, just be quick with it.”

“Thanks.” Virgil bit out, running off before Jerad could change his mind.

He twisted and pivoted around the crowd of sweaty, glistening bodies wearing skimpy clothing. The bright neon lights and loud music warped around him like something out of a nightmare. Eventually he made it to the restrooms and locked himself in the nearest stall. The pulse of his heart roaring in his ears, he drew the phone of his pocket.

Four New Text Notifications from Patton

Patton: [Image of a black cat that looked approximately a year old. It appeared to be nestled close to Patton’s chest, staring up at the camera in wide-eyed stare.]

Patton: Look at what I found on my evening walk! Isn’t she the cutest??

Patton: I’m trying to convince Logan to let me keep her. Maybe you can come visit tomorrow and meet her??

Patton: It’s ok if not! I know you’ve been busy and I want to let you know I’m here for you, you can come to me about anything okay?

Virgil’s vision blurred a bit. He didn’t understand it. Why hadn’t Patton given up already? It’s been weeks since he’s sent Patton a text. He’d been terrified, too, really. And in the few times he ran into Patton at the library, he made excuses and scurried the other way.

Logan was at least kind enough to exchange a few pleasantries and keep their verbal interactions work-oriented. And Remy? They still delved deep into discussions about their taste in music but there was an awkward unspoken agreement not to bring up what happened that one morning. Virgil also shied from hanging outside of work, hoping Remy would eventually forget about him. It seemed to be working; Remy hadn’t offered to hang out in about a week or so.

But Patton? Patton seemed determined to stay in contact with Virgil, sending his dumb silly memes and cute animal videos. He sent good morning and good night texts, while making sure Virgil knew he could respond to them on his own time. On one hand, it made sense—this was the same Patton who saved a complete stranger’s life for literally no reason. On the other hand, he wished Patton would give up. It would made things easier, make it hurt less for everyone.

His phone buzzed with a new text notification.

Jerad: Dude, did you fall in or something?

Virgil swallowed, wiping away any stupid tears running down his face. As he typed a response to Jerad with shaky hands, the bathroom door slammed open, banging against the wall. He almost dropped his phone in the process, silently cursing at how close he’d been to breaking yet another phone.

Several loud booming voices filled the bathroom, peppered with obnoxious laughter every half second. Virgil shut his eyes, resisting the urge to cover his ears also in the process. The noise was too much. It was too much in the club outside, but all those voices echoing off the small crammed walls of the bathroom made Virgil want to scream.

The door creaked open yet again, the voices venturing away from Virgil. Good, they were leaving so Virgil could finally self-destruct in peace. Or so he thought, as a set of footsteps stopped abruptly, wavering. The club music blasted from the doorway, drowning out whatever discussion took place.

Then the door swung shut, the roaring club music muted once more. Virgil waited, breath catching in his throat as the single set of footsteps took a couple strides towards him. Oh god, this was how he was going to die, wasn’t he? This was probably some serial killer with an obsession of killing people in night club restrooms.

This was, of course, the moment his phone started vibrating in his hand. A call. Someone was calling him in the final moments of his life. Virgil looked down at the caller id; Remy. His heartrate spiked, dancing so painfully close to what a heart attack must feel like. Why was Remy calling him? Was he at last going to tell him he was done with Virgil forever?

Virgil almost wanted to ignore the call. But then he glanced at the black boots hovering near his stall and gave it a second thought. If this was going to be how his life ended, it’d probably be best to say goodbye to someone at least. Sucking a breath in, he pressed the green phone icon and held the phone to his ears.

“Hi?” He whispered.

“Hey Virgil,” Remy said, echoing oddly in Virgil’s ears, “what are you up to tonight?”

Virgil glanced down at the black boots menacingly close to his stall, “Umm, I’m just home, chilling.”

“That’s a lie, Hon. I know you’re hiding in a stall of this bathroom.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Virgil couldn’t breathe.

Remy sighed, sounding so similar to the person outside the stall, “Please, let’s talk face to face, alright?”

This was some sort of trick to lure him out of the stall, wasn’t it? Still, with the hand not clutching tightly to his phone, he reached out and unlatched the stall door.

Remy stood there, expression hidden under his black shades. His hair was slicked back with gel, shimmering with a glitter of some sort. He wore his iconic black leather jacket with a black crop top underneath. His whole outfit was black, in fact, down to his ripped jeans and the ankle-length boots. Virgil had seen him wear something similar before to a college event he’d taken Virgil to.

“W-what are you doing here?” Virgil demanded.

“I could ask you the same,” Remy responded, eyebrows raised above his shades, “this isn’t your scene, Virge. What are you doing here?”

“I’m not answering unless you answer.” Virgil said, trying to ignore how much he sounded like a toddler.

“A few of my homies from the art program wanted to celebrate the end of mid-terms. This is the night club most of the college body hangs at.” Remy crossed his arms.

“And how did you know I was in here?”

“A few keen observations,” Remy mustered a thin smile. He tapped his nose for emphasis before drawing his finger close to his lips. Virgil’s eyes widened in understanding. Vampire senses, then. “But mostly, I’d recognize those faded converse of yours anywhere.”

“O-oh.”

“I answered your question, now it’s your turn, Virge.”

“I…” Virgil said, the rest of his words strangled in his throat. His phone buzzed in his hand; another impatient text from Jerad no doubt. He didn’t bother to look at it, choosing to focus on taking a breath in rather than going unconscious from a lack of oxygen.

He could tell Remy the truth. That he’d gone with Jerad—his roommate whom he used to complain to Remy about all the time. But then Remy would ask why he was with Jerad and then—well. Then Virgil would have tell him what happened the time he found him the night his phone broke and well, Virgil wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t tell Remy about his humiliating mistake.

“I…went here to have a good time completely by myself.” Virgil withheld himself from wincing because wow that didn’t sound weird or suspicious in the slightest, “So you can go catch up with your friends or whatever, I’m good hanging out right here.”

“Right here, in the restroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Honey,” Remy said, his voice washed with some emotion Virgil couldn’t identify, “Let’s ditch this shithole and go somewhere else.”

“W-what—but your friends—” Virgil stammered.

“—will be fine without me. N-G-L they’ll probably too trying to give themselves alcohol poison even realize I’m gone,” Remy shrugged his shoulders, “besides, you don’t seem as gucci as you say you are in here and it’s been a while since we really hung out hung out, y’know?”

Virgil stubbornly directed his gaze away from Remy, jaw tightening. It had to be okay, didn’t it? Jerad was most likely to get too drunk to even coherent colors, let alone that Virgil slipped off without him. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad. Maybe he wouldn’t fly into a rage and come close to hanging him off a balcony. Besides Remy would be even more suspicious if he said no.

Virgil sighed, holding the home button on the phone until it shut off completely. That way he wouldn’t have to deal with Jerad calling him, demanding to know where he’d disappear off to, despite ditching Virgil all the time without warning.

“Alright, fine.”

Remy smiled, his teeth looking a little too sharp for Virgil’s liking. Wordlessly he turned aside and reached for the bathroom door.

Virgil swallowed, shoving the phone in his pocket to be forgotten about. Tried as he might, he still flinched as lively blare of the club’s music and flashing lights greeted him with full force. He froze, cowering before the threshold of the door. A hand landed on his shoulder, soft and gentle.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, his brows furrowing together.

Molten lava settled in the pit of Virgil’s stomach—pity. That was the expression on Remy’s face he couldn’t identify at first. He didn’t want pity; Virgil knew what pity meant. He didn’t want pity of any kind, it reminded him too much of the foster parents that looked at him like he was some feral dog that could be whipped into obedience. And sure, Remy had never hurt him but it didn’t mean Virgil forgotten about that morning spent at Remy’s dorm a month back.

Eyes lit up with a burning, controlled fire. Words hissed through a clenching jaw, “Tell me their name and I’ll beat them up for you.”

If Remy was willing to hurt who he deemed as threats to Virgil, who’s to say he wouldn’t be willing to hurt Virgil? To reprimand Virgil, to let him know how much of an idiot he was being? It sounded absurd, even now, because he’d known Remy for almost a year. Remy had plenty opportunities up to now to do something and hadn’t. Yet he was a vampire; years were nothing to him. He had plenty of time to wait for Virgil to slip up in some way and make his irritation known.

And Virgil knew by now to expect the other shoe to drop in a relationship—it was why he distanced himself, isolated himself to solely to work and his cramped little room at the apartment. He was foolish to believe Remy, Patton and Logan were different. Logan and Patton especially—what was he thinking? Patton saved him, sure, but Logan had been hellbent on locking him in their basement for the eternity of time. Why had ever he allowed himself to accept their apologies, to believe something was going right in his life for once?

“I’m fine.” Virgil snarled, shoving himself forward. It was like marching into a warzone, the music assaulted his ears and rattled uncomfortably against his chest cavity. He grimaced, keeping his eyes towards the floor, away from the flashing lights. He stopped a bit before the ocean of bodies that stood between them and the entrance.

He knew if he looked up, he could make out the back of Jerad’s shirt from his spot at the bar. Stupid, this was so stupid. Why had he allowed himself to get talk into this by Remy? There was no doubt in his mind that Jerad would catch him trying to leave and rightfully demand why he was ditching him for Remy. It was a shit thing to do, after all.

Friends don’t ditch one another without explanation. Jerad left him, sure, but he always had an explanation after the fact. Virgil didn’t think Jerad would like his explanation very much. Especially when it involved Remy, one of the people Jerad had been trying to warn him about.

A hand gracefully looped itself around one of his own, tugging him off to the side rather than through the crowd. Virgil looked to see Remy guiding them towards a set of doors, ones clearly marked for employees only.

“Remy—”

“Shhh, this is a faster way outta here, trust me.” He said, flashing a smile. Perhaps it was meant to be comforting but for Virgil it only caused his stomach to churn.

Right before they made it to the doors, an employee materialized in front of them. “Excuse me, sirs, you’re not allowed back here—”

“Cindy, gurl, remember me, Lansing? Worked here last summer? Do you remember, yeah?” Remy lowered his shades to take a look at her. Virgil peered behind him, unable to view Remy’s face. He could see Cindy’s face, however. Her face pinched up in confusion, frowning, before abruptly smoothening out with a wide grin stretched from ear-to-ear. She looked right at Remy, her gaze shifting entirely off of Virgil as if he no longer existed.

“Lansing, oh! Oh yes, I remember.” Cindy said, with a high-pitched laugh. Virgil shrunk further back into Remy’s shadow, squeezing Remy’s hand tightly. Something was wrong and he didn’t like it. Remy never mentioned working as a bartender—and that wasn’t quite something Remy would be quiet about. Virgil could just  picture the outrageous bartending stories he’d have if that was the case.

Remy laughed along with her, light and airy.

“Good, then can ya do a fellow former co-bartender a favor and let us slip through, just this once?”

“Gurl, of course, just if you caught don’t let Gregory know I was the one that let you pass.” She leaned in conspiratorially, face twitching a bit.

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t see us again, in fact forget that you even saw us. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I bet you have things to do.”

She laughed again at that. “Yes, of course. It was nice seeing you, Lansing, but I have to go.”

Cindy hurried off, quickly dissipating through the crowd. Virgil blinked; what the fuck? What the fuck was that—

He didn’t even have time to process the encounter before Remy led them into the dimly lit back hallway of the nightclub. Whether it was a faster way out of the nightclub was debatable. For all his talk about previously working there, Remy seemed just as lost as Virgil in the winding hallway. He led them one direction, only to immediately pivot down the other way.

Remy wasn’t talking. Remy was always talking endlessly, as if speaking was as vital as oxygen to him. He was terrible at whispering too—something Logan would get on him about at the library. That was why he was usually stuck on front desk duty to speak with patrons, helping out at events or doing organizational work in the back office. For Remy to be this silent, like the brooding calm before a storm, well. Virgil’s lungs wanted to seize up right then and there.

Eventually, they made to a door that opened out to an alleyway, right where the night club kept its dumpster. The moon gleamed from her perch in the sky, nearly full but not quite. Like a cookie with a bite taken out of it. Virgil knew there was terms for the different phases of the moon. His mother loved taking him out to see the night sky. She’d point out the constellations and tell him what phase the moon that night was.

He wished he could remember, for her sake, what they were. Considering he knew actual werewolves, you’d think he pay better attention to it. But it was a topic Virgil never felt brave enough to venture and one that neither Patton nor Logan opened up much on their own about.

He stared at the moon, transfixed, that he almost forgotten the reason he was outside in the first place. Not until Remy murmured something before attempting to lead him off somewhere. The gaping dread from moments prior seized hold of him once more.

“No!” Virgil snapped, yanking his hand out of Remy’s grip. He stumbled backwards a few steps, slamming himself into a wall of the building in the process.

“Virgil?” Remy asked, frowning as he took a step  forward.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“What do you mean—”

“Don’t act stupid!” Virgil demanded, taking a shaky breath, “That lady—Cindy—you did something, I—I don’t know, she was acting weird! And—and you were acting weird! So I’m asking again; What. The Hell. Was. That?”

Remy stared at him, his breath hitching, “Virgil, I was just trying to get you to a quiet place ASAP before you—”

“You’re still not answering the question.” Virgil cut in, his intestines tightening themselves into knots over it. Because maybe this was just a classic case of Virgil paranoia striking again. Maybe he really was driving himself into a panic attack over nothing. Maybe he was accusing Remy unjustly.

Yet, if that was the case why would Remy flinch if Virgil struck him physically with his words?

“Virgil,” Remy said slowly, “I need you not to panic and hear me out, ok?”

Virgil’s heartrate accelerated. Not panic, not panic?! What did Remy expect but for him to panic at those words?

“Okay.” Virgil said, definitely panicking.

“What have you’ve heard about vamps?”

“That they—you drink blood. And your reflection doesn’t show up in mirrors—and—and if you get bitten by a vampire, you’ll either turn into one or get mind controlled.”

“All technically true, well I mean—there’s a fuck-ton more to the turning process than that—” Remy cut himself off, “That’s beside the point. The point is, what you call mind-control, we call ‘enthralling.’ Enthralling is…”

“Is what?”

“Enthralling is, well. It’s a form of hypnosis. Anyone enthralled by a vampire is mostly aware of it and the least likely they are to follow a vampire’s suggestions, the more likely they are to fight against the hypnosis. And it can be activated through eye-contact which is what I did to Cindy.”

Virgil couldn’t breathe. Suddenly pieces were slotted together in mind, forming a picture Virgil never wanted to envision. That faint but visceral memory of Remy with red eyes, the natural charisma Remy held with anyone he met, how Remy managed to steal confidential information from Virgil’s employee file in the back office of Kirby’s Burgers—all of it. He thought Remy, out of anybody, was safe. Past his sassy, laidback exterior, Remy was honest, willing to speak his mind about anything and everything.

If Remy enthralled a complete stranger without blinking an eye—who’s to say he wasn’t above doing it to Virgil? Who’s to say he hadn’t enthralled Virgil into being his friend? Who’s to say Virgil wasn’t an oblivious mouse in a game of cat and mouse? Oh gods, this had just confirmed all of Virgil’s worst fears and more.

“Virgil—” Remy said, reaching out, his eyes hidden beneath his shades. He continued speaking, a mumble jumbo string of excuses probably. Virgil couldn’t stand to stay around and listen to it.

“Stop—just don’t—” Virgil stuttered, taking one step and then another towards the open sidewalk. What was just a few steps then became a few hundred until he found himself leaning against the door to the apartment, hands shaking to slot the key to unlock it.

A few more steps he was inside, the usual musty smell an unexpected comfort. He sat on the couch, seconds stretching into eternity. He half-expected Remy to have chased after him, demanding Virgil to listen, why couldn’t you just listen, you’re so stupid no wonder you’re pathetic—

Virgil blinked a few times, his eyes burning with some sort of irritation. For some reason, Remy let him go. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. His head ached and so did his ears for some reason.

 Jerad entered the apartment a few millennia later. Virgil froze at the rattling doorknob, his hand clutching onto his phone in his pocket.

“There you are, you fucker!” Jerad drawled, stumbling over in a drunken stupor. His hand moved towards Virgil, but not with a closed fist. Instead he patted him on the back like earlier, “I can’t believe you did it! You finally got the balls to go and hook up with somebody! I guess I can’t call you Virgin, now huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Virgil murmured, not correcting him on that assumption. He sat there, a bit of tension draining from him. Jerad wasn’t mad for abandoning him. Jerad was still a jerk, but at least Virgil mostly knew what to expect of him. It wasn’t ideal, but that was life. It was better to deal with the devil you knew, then the devil you didn’t know. Virgil was stupid to have ever thought otherwise.

“My parents are being such dicks at the moment,” Jerad said, precipitously changing topics as per usual of him, “sometimes I wish I didn’t have to wait until they were dead to take my inheritance and do what I want to do, y’know?”

Virgil didn’t really know. Did his parents leave him money? They had to have had some sort of savings stashed away. A life insurance of some sort, right? It wasn’t like they were poor. He never thought about inquiring into that. Jerad accidentally slapped Virgil across the arm with a huge hand gesture, still ranting about something. Maybe it wasn’t an accidental hit.

Virgil didn’t know. His tether on reality felt weak, like a balloon close to floating away into the stratosphere. He almost wished he could float away, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. Jerad passed out not long after his rant, slumped half on the floor and half on the sofa. Virgil took this opportunity to slip into the comfort of his bedroom and turn on his cellphone once more.

 Seventeen new text notifications and five missed calls from Jerad greeted him, along with one new text notification from Logan. He clicked on Logan’s and his conversation, staring at Logan’s text at the bottom of it.

Logan: Virgil, Remy wanted me to inform you that he is taking a leave of absence from work. Please let me know if you need to take a leave of absence as well or need to confide in somebody as a friend, Patton or I would be happy to listen.

Virgil stared at it some more. Then he tapped out a short response, set the phone on the stool that was his makeshift nightstand and collapsed headfirst into his mattress. 

Virgil: K thanks, I’m fine

-

A/N: Hope everyone is doing well, if you enjoyed the chapter please consider leaving a comment--it's completely free and helps me out as a fanfic writer a ton! I'm technically not in the Sanders Sides fandom anymore, but I still have a lotta fondness for this fic and I will finish it, even if takes me ten years to do so :') -Kat

[littledrummeraussie]

At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 1

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 4492 words tags/warnings: past: missed flights. some swearing. slow burn flirting. room sharing. “there’s only one bed”. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia.

Ashton wasn’t sure what woke him so early in the morning – it definitely wasn’t Tyler bouncing on the bed with Bailey hot on his heels, barking from the door because he knew he wasn’t allowed in the master bedroom. And it wasn’t Henry either because he would have been already up if he heard his younger son crying for one of you. He found that the house was dark and quiet, and that his back was cold even though the sheets were wrapped around his body the way he liked them. He squinted an eye at the clock on his nightstand, the green digits showing 4.38 AM, slowly ticking towards Christmas morning.

He reached backwards, fingers looking for the body that was never too far away, wanting to wrap his arm around his lover and go back to sleep. But the bed was empty, the sheets almost cold where he grasped them, and he sleepily turned around, furrowing his eyebrows. Propping himself up on his elbow Ashton looked around the room, searching for any sign where you could be, and when finding none he kicked off his blankets, reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor to look for you.

There were no sounds coming from the closet or the bathroom so he checked the guest bedroom where he usually found you curled up in bed with the boys and Bailey for an afternoon nap. A smile pulled at his lips as he saw his sons sleeping soundly in the big bed with the dog keeping them company, guarding their dreams. Ashton still remembered the day he brought home the puppy as a gift to you, just a month before finding out that you were pregnant with Tyler. For a while he wasn’t sure that keeping the dog was a good idea, especially as he grew bigger by the day and with Tyler’s due date drawing closer he needed to realize that he was scared how Bailey would react to the new addition to the family.

But Bailey was in love with his new little owner from the moment you brought him home from the hospital, and the two of them were inseparable to the point that you let go of all the previously set rules and let him climb up on the sofa to curl around the little boy while he slept. When Henry was born you let Tyler introduce his brother and the dog to each other, ready for every possible outcome, and happily finding out that Bailey loved the new baby just as much as he loved Tyler.

Ashton stepped closer, tucking the sheets back around his sons, lightly chuckling as Bailey snored next to the sleeping boys. Tyler begged you to let them all sleep together in the guest bedroom since it was Christmas and neither of you could say no to him as he hugged the dog’s neck, both of them giving you puppy eyes and an all too familiar pout that Ashton was sure was your genetics. Henry fell asleep during the first five minutes of your bedtime story, and Tyler wasn’t far behind as he clutched his favourite stuffed animal with Bailey snuggled behind him. With the boys sleeping it was time to put all the presents under the tree and stuff the stockings you hung over the fireplace, both of you giggling as you shared the cookie and milk left for Santa. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and Ashton buried his face in your hair, mumbling one last ‘I love you’ before closing his eyes.

He made his way back to the hallway and down the stairs, ready to look for you in the living room or the kitchen. The lights were already up on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, and another smile pulled at his lips as he finally found you snuggled up in front of the window, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around your legs with an empty mug sitting on your lap. When you heard his footsteps you looked up at Ashton, smiling back at him as he leaned closer, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“There you are,” his voice was slightly scratchy, still heavy with sleep, and he nuzzled his nose against your skin, smearing a kiss on your lips. “Was scared Santa took you because I was a naughty boy this year.”

“I like a naughty boy,” you giggled, kissing his pouty lips, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of his head. “Just wanted a little peace and quiet before the boys wake up. I love them, but they are little firecrackers.”

“Wonder where they’ve got it from,” Ashton grinned, knocking his forehead against yours. “Can I join you?”

“Only if you bring me more hot chocolate,” you tapped a finger against your empty mug, making Ashton chuckle.

“Of course, hot mama,” he blew a raspberry on your cheek before going to the kitchen, your giggles making his heart skip a beat.

He busied himself with making hot chocolate for the both of you, his eyes meeting yours every now and then, sharing smiles and winks as he put an extra dose of marshmallows into your mug and a little more whipped cream than necessary on top of his own – after all, it was Christmas. You held onto both mugs as he settled behind you, legs bracketing you in, pulling another blanket around his shoulders as you snuggled up together. Ashton rested his chin on top of your head, taking small sips of his drink as he held you close, enjoying the quiet moment he got to spend with you.

“Remember London?” Ashton asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, knowing all too well that you could never forget about London.

“I kinda miss the snow, you know,” you tilted your head back onto his shoulder, looking up at him. “Makes me wish the kids could have a white Christmas.”

“I think we could take a trip next year. Maybe not London, but definitely somewhere where there is snow.”

“Yeah, I would like that,” you reached for his free hand, fingers tangling together in your lap, and you felt Ashton’s ring knock against your own, making you smile.

“I would miss a thousand flights for you,” he whispered against your temple, pressing a kiss onto your hairline while squeezing your hand.

“We both know you did not miss your flight, Ash,” you gave him a cheeky smile while tapping his nose, making him scrunch up his face in a giggle. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Thank God for snowstorms, right?”

*****

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Your eyes lifted from the book you were reading, trying to kill your time while you waited for news about your delayed flight. The terminal was packed with confused and irritated people, all of them wanting to get real information why the planes weren’t landing or taking off. The guy sitting from across you mumbled another curse as he listened to the woman talking on the loudspeaker, announcing that the flight to Sydney will be delayed for another two hours or so. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tapped his phone, rapidly texting someone before pocketing it again, legs bouncing nervously. You knew the feeling all too well – your plane back to Los Angeles has been delayed three times already, and deep down you were ready to spend the night at the terminal, curled up in a plastic chair; you already knew you won’t make it back home on time.

Another 30 minutes passed before the announcements finally came – one after the other flights got cancelled because of a snowstorm hitting London. The crew worked hard to at least help the planes land, but you caught word that there won’t be any take offs for the next few days. You still held onto the little bit of hope you had that your trip back home will happen; they did not say anything about cancelling your flight yet. Your handsome stranger wasn’t so lucky – as they started listing off another set of cancelled flights he realized that the one to Sydney won’t be taking off, making him kick his chair as he scrambled for his phone again.

He paced the floor in front of you as he called one person after the other, quickly going to the front desk for more information before coming back and continuing his phone calls. You kept an eye on his things while you’ve read just to be sure he doesn’t come back to missing bags and another misfortune to deal with. A series of colourful curses caught your attention as he plopped down in a chair, pushing the button on his phone and trying to make it work, and you were sure he was seconds away from throwing it to the floor.

“You wanna borrow mine?” you found yourself asking, and his head snapped up, blinking at you. “Or if you need a charger I can give you one.”

“Uhm– yeah. A charger would be great, thanks,” he closed his fingers around the phone before standing up and stepping to you, and you reached into your bag to hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you gave him a smile, nodding to the wall behind you. “You can plug it in here. I don’t mind.”

He mumbled another quick ‘thank you’ before plugging in his phone, and as he waited for it to switch back on he brought over his bags, settling down next to you. Another set of phone calls were made, apologies spilling out of him as he tried to let everyone know that he will be a few days late, don’t worry about him, he will figure this out, he just won’t be home for Christmas.

“Still hoping that plane will take you to Sydney?” you rested your head back against the wall when he finished yet another call. “Or are you planning on set up camp here for the next 3 days?”

“You don’t seem like someone who plans on leaving either. So where’s gonna be your tent?” he quirked an eyebrow at you, making you chuckle.

“They did not cancel my flight. Yet,” you added, knowing that it was a possibility that you have to spend the next few days here.

There was static coming from the loudspeaker again, making everyone turn quiet as the woman from before announced that unfortunately the weather was so bad that all flights got cancelled for the next few days. You looked back at your stranger who gave you a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you over all of this.”

“That my name is Y/N.”

“Ashton,” he held out his hand and you shook it, both of you holding onto the other just a little longer than it was necessary. “Should we set up camp now?”

*****

“Whose clever idea was it to rent a room and share it?” you scooped a melted marshmallow onto your spoon, holding it up to Ashton’s mouth.

“Probably mine,” he mumbled around the sticky sweetness, licking the rest off the spoon. “Not that you objected.”

“I really didn’t want to sleep at the airport,” the confession wasn’t anything new, but still to this day it made you blush. “I just wanted a shower and a few hours of sleep.”

“And you ended up with a bed full of me,” grinning Ashton pressed a series of kisses along your cheek, nuzzling close to you and rubbing his scruffy chin against your skin, making you laugh. “Shh, don’t wake the kids!”

*****

“Are you sure about it?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here.”

There was much less commotion now that people started to accept the fact that the snowstorm over London was no joke and that all flights were cancelled. You’ve spent another two hours sitting in your chairs with Ashton, talking about whatever came to mind as you waited for things to calm down, contemplating your options. He offered to buy you a warm drink and both of you moved to the Starbucks that was mostly empty now, your little corner secluded and quiet in the place that never seemed to stop.

He was scrolling through his phone for a long time before finally looking up at you, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to stay awake. Your plans originally included a long nap on the plane, followed by another 12 hours of rest to sleep off your jetlag. Cancelled plane rides and being stuck in London wasn’t on your list, yet here you were, drinking hot chocolate with a stranger who was just as lost as you were.

“I’ve found a hotel room nearby,” Ashton announced, pushing his foot against yours under the table. “We could split and stay until we can both travel home.”

“You don’t even know me,” you rested your chin in your hand, playing with your empty paper cup. “I don’t know you. Sharing a room sounds like a crazy idea.”

“What I know is that you’re about to fall asleep right at this table, and that I don’t plan on staying here for 3 days if I can help it. I also don’t plan on leaving you here since you were really nice to me and I could use the company,” Ashton shrugged his shoulder, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “And… it’s Christmas. No one should be alone.”

“So you don’t think I’m a crazy fan trying to take advantage of you?” you raised an eyebrow at him, smiling and kicking your foot against his, making him huff out a laugh.

“Geez, you’re so weird,” he shook his head. “You couldn’t even remember the band’s name even after I’ve told you it five times. Five times, Y/N!”

“You’ve also told me it was 500 Years of Winter and made me listen to a song that was called Pizza.”

“That look on your face was priceless,” his smile was wide, making dimples appear on his cheeks, and you needed to remind yourself to start breathing again.

“Are you sure about it?” you stirred the conversation back to the topic, biting your bottom lip. “Do you really want to share a room with me?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here,” he took both empty cups to throw them away, holding his hand out to you in invitation. “So – are you coming?”

“You know… I could really use a shower,” you slipped your hand in his, letting him help you up.

Something caught both of your attention, eyes meeting before slowly looking up above you, finding a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, placed perfectly over the table you’ve shared. His eyes were hazel with green and gold flecks, and you’ve realized you were staring at him for longer than you should have. Ashton’s lips were slightly parted, teeth sinking into the bottom one before quickly licking over it, another blush colouring his cheeks. A moment passed, and you both let out an awkward chuckle, stepping away from the table, mumbling about silly holiday traditions. But it was too late – the spark was already there.

*****

“I really wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe,” Ashton wrapped both arms around you, and you burrowed against his chest, head resting over his heart.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you pressed your lips against his throat, following the line of his shirt to the back of his neck, turning so you could straddle his thighs. “I remember getting lost in your eyes.”

Your fingers played with the short curls at the nape of his neck, foreheads knocked together as you stared into each other’s eyes. Ashton tilted his head forward, brushing his lips against yours in an almost kiss, tongue poking out to lick the corner of your mouth. You both giggled and Ashton curled his palms around your jaw, pulling you in for a real kiss, one that took both your breaths away.

“I wonder if you would have tasted like this back then,” he mumbled against your lips, voice full of longing and nostalgia.

“You’ve bought me a hot chocolate, so I would like to think so,” you pecked his nose, brushing the stray curls back from his forehead. “I wonder if you’ve looked for mistletoes after our missed chance.”

“I was ready to drag you under one for a kiss,” Ashton squeezed your hips, pulling you even closer to himself. “But I guess we didn’t need one in the end.”

*****

“Hey, I’ve called ahead to reserve a room for two,” Ashton lightly tapped his fingers against the counter, smiling at the girl behind the desk. “Under Fletcher Irwin.”

The lobby was heavily decorated with Christmas ornaments and sparkly garlands, and you could see a tall Christmas tree behind a set of glass double doors, probably leading to the other side of the hotel and the restaurant. You felt slightly overwhelmed by the place and the fact that you’re gonna spend the next few days here with a man you barely know, but you’ve tried to tell yourself that this was an unexpected emergency case, and anything was better than sleeping at the airport. Ashton said something and the girl giggled before looking at you, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she handed the keys to him, wishing the both of you a pleasant stay at the hotel.

Ashton stepped back next to you to grab both of your heavy bags and suitcases, ushering you towards the elevator. The ride up to the 7th floor was quickly over, and you dragged your stuff to the room at the end, ready to drop for the night. Ashton opened the door for you, letting you go in first.

“They’re sending up some dinner in half an hour,” he said as he closed the door, locking it behind his back. “In case you’re hungry.”

“If I can stay up that long then I’m sure gonna appreciate it,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Come, let’s settle down and then you can shower first,” he tugged off his jacket, moving behind you to help you with your own coat. “Here, let me help you.”

“You’re way too nice to me,” you chuckled, giving him a pointed look. “I’m onto you.”

“My Mom taught me manners,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle of his own, hanging up your coats before kicking off his shoes. “It’s just who I am.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” there was a bashful smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, and to take the attention off of him he nodded towards the bedroom. “Let’s check that out, shall we?”

You turned around and stepped into the dark room, fingers fumbling for the light switch. When you’ve found it you flicked it on, making the room light up. You felt a blush heat your cheeks as your eyes looked around the room, biting your lip in the process.

“Uhm– Ashton?”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he stepped next to you and you saw the moment realization hit him as well.

“There’s only one bed.”

*****

“Do you think we were set up?” your forehead rested on his shoulder, fingers drawing over the lines on his palm, and you felt Ash push his cheek against the top of your head, humming slightly.

“You still think the girl at the front desk did it?” his other hand settled on your waist, drawing the same patterns on your skin.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, tangling your fingers together. “Maybe not. But I do remember you asking for separate beds. Twice.”

“I did tell you I was okay with sleeping on the couch,” Ashton moved so he could pull your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing over your knuckles and your ring. “More than two times.”

“I just didn’t think it would be fair, you know?” you still played with his fingers, giving him a pout. “You offered me that we could share a room, so making you sleep on the couch after that… no, I couldn’t do it.”

“Y/N…” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, tilting your chin up to press his lips to your lips, whispering against them. “Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

*****

There were phone calls made down to the front desk, but it was clear that they couldn’t do anything about the situation – all the other rooms were full already. You pulled your legs under yourself on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Ashton asked once again if they were sure, but as he finished the call you knew he did not succeed.

“Look, it’s… it’s fine,” you’ve tried to break the sudden tension between you two, not wanting to spend the next few days awkwardly stepping around each other. “The bed’s big enough, I’m sure we can figure this out.”

“No, look, I– I’ve promised you your own bed, and I’m gonna keep my promise,” Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, giving you a forced smile. “I’m just gonna sleep on the couch. I’ve done it a hundred times before, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Ashton quirked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged your shoulder. “My Mom also taught me manners and told me to share what I have with those who have less than me.”

“Trust me, it’s no trouble at all,” he shook his head, standing up when there was a knock on the door. “It’s probably our dinner, I’ll go get it.”

While you ate your food you’ve tried a few more times to make Ashton change his mind, but he brushed off your offers even though you could sense a small crack in his armour when you gave him a pout. He made a joke about how you should stop with the puppy dog eyes, and you were quickly back to teasing each other like the discussion about your sleeping arrangements didn’t happen at all.

An hour later you were out of the bathroom, freshly showered and feeling like a brand new person. Ashton was lounging on the couch, getting used to his bed for the next few days; he gave you a smile when you passed him, eyes lingering on your form just a second too long before going back to his phone. You pretended that you did not just blush under his gaze as you pulled the robe tightly around your body.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” you leaned against the doorframe as he looked up at you again. “I see you’ve already taken your side of the bed to the couch.”

“I promise you I’ll be fine,” he chuckled, sitting up. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Are you really sure…?”

“I’m sure, trust me.”

“Alright,” you held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it to the floor. “Good night, Ashton.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You could feel his eyes on your back as you closed the door, almost turning back around to ask him one more time. You heard as he was moving around in the small living room, probably setting up his makeshift bed before going to the bathroom to shower. With the blanket pulled up to your chin you listened to Ashton’s sounds, letting them slowly lull you to sleep.

But your rest didn’t last long as you found your eyes opening in an hour or two, trying to work out where you really were. Then it all came back to you – the delayed and cancelled flights, your handsome stranger and how he bought you coffee and offered you to stay in a hotel room together. How there was only one bed and how Ashton promised you that he was absolutely okay with sleeping out on the couch. You could hear a slight bit of moving coming from the living room, quiet snores breaking the silence around you. Another moment passed and you slipped out of bed, opening the door and looking out into the next room.

Ashton was sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, a leg hanging off to the side as he slept. It didn’t look comfortable at all, and without thinking twice about it you slowly moved to the couch, crouching down next to him on the floor. You felt your heart beating in your ears, your throat working around silent words as you tried to speak them. A finger brushed against his forearm, stroking over tattoos you didn’t know were there, and he moved his arm above his head, burrowing against his pillow.

“Ashton,” your voice was only a whisper, knuckles lightly running down his arm again, slowly moving to his forehead to brush the hair back from his face. He hummed in his sleep, leaning into your touch before his eyes fluttered open.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing his eyes to wake up a bit more.

“No, nothing, I just– just come to bed, please,” your hands fell into your lap, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt as Ashton propped himself up on his elbow.

“I’ve thought we were over this,” his fingers ran through his hair, a confused expression on his face.

“I know and I’m sorry, but please understand that my conscious won’t let me sleep until you’re out here on the couch,” you were well-aware of the pout on your lips, the one that seemed to work on Ashton, and he let out a sigh. “The bed is big enough for two. We can sleep on the two ends, I really don’t mind.”

“Only because my back is killing me,” he finally sat up, moving his neck and shoulders to work out some kinks in it. “Alright, lead the way.”

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders while you grabbed the pillows from the couch, shuffling back to the bedroom with Ashton following you. You moved your bedding to the far side of the bed, piling his pillows onto his side before sliding back under your sheets. Ashton climbed up next to you, quickly finding a comfortable position for himself as he buried his face in his pillow.

“Will you be able to sleep now?” he yawned, smacking his lips as he burrowed into his blankets.

“Mmhh, yeah. Good night, Ashton,” you turned so your back was facing him, and you heard him do the same.

“Night-night,” he whispered, probably already falling back to sleep, and you closed your eyes, trying to do the same. He shuffled around a bit, lightly jolting the mattress until he settled down then a moment later you heard him mumbling. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

------------------------------------------------

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday  @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum

[bigmoodword]

11/11/11 Tag

tagged by @silver-wields-a-pen -- thanks a bunch! this was so thought-provoking.

1. Who is your favourite oc? 

probably a toss-up between the two oldest:

a werewolf who hides his cold-burning hate behind a sweet smile and endless offers to make bitchin’ cups of tea/coffee/poison/cocoa

an immortal with unhealthy escapist tendencies, livin’ that long life as if EXTRA is their personal motto

at this point, they’ve run through several names each. here’s hoping i finally set 'em in stone sooner rather than later.

2. What themes do you struggle writing? 

healthy, established romance. i can do flirtation and doomed relationships, but actually solid relationships are a whole different beast. it’s kind of funny, because although there are plenty of problems to work through even in the best relationship, i have a tendency to tidy them with too nice a bow. lucky me, that’s my life experience, but it doesn’t make for the most engaging story.

3. What’s been the best thing about writing your wip?

striking creative oil. it’s wonderful to be so enamored with an idea that all my doubts dissipate and the words just... flow. it’s a feeling i remember from childhood, and it’s a relief to know it can still strike.

4. What themes has your favourite story included? 

survivor’s guilt. betrayal. missed opportunities. miscommunication. learning to let go. learning how to love oneself. abuse. wearing a mask. class struggles. systemic oppression. the importance of hope--whatever that ultimately means for you.

honestly, these tend to pop up in all my stories to varying degrees.

5. What time of day do you prefer writing?

i tend to switch between the night owl and early bird approaches. the former pops up when i’m on a serious roll, the latter when i’ve hit a rhythm of jotting down a few hundred words over coffee.

6. What’s your favourite relationship trope to write? 

a very specific kind of unrequited love. like the two are this 👌 close to actually coming together--they’d honestly be pretty great!--except they fail to communicate mutual interest so each assumes the other isn’t. or maybe they’re too preoccupied with their own issues to have a good relationship, so temptations aside, one or both decide it’s better to pass. it’s the idea of “maybe in another life” or “if only we’d met x years ago or y years from now.” can’t get enough of it!

7. What detail about your ocs has surprised you? 

they’re all so messed up. i mean. granted, most of them are born by taking a personality flaw (whether my own or one i struggle to understand) to a certain extreme, but even those that start on an even keel inevitably hit a significant low point. i think it’s an extension of the idea “everybody’s got something” but i hope someday i can manage to have a character that’s both interesting and well-adjusted throughout.

8. Thoughts on including romance in other genres? 

i’m ace, so romance often misses the mark for me. the fact my favorite romantic trope is two people not ending up together probably says a lot on its own. more specifically, unless the romance really adds to the wider story, i prefer it in the background. i think of certain characters flirting and growing closer as sprinkles atop the main plot’s cupcake.

9. Favourite writing snack? 

coffee! i don’t tend to snack much in general, especially not when writing, but i’m always game to break out the bean juice.

10. Favourite villain trope? 

the anti-villain. as a huge “fan” of gray morality, i guess that’s pretty darn predictable. while obviously i’m not here to root for villains, i like to understand them. i think it’s important to recognize how an otherwise good person becomes villainous, and i also have a certain affection for reformed villains. j/s

11. Best scene you’ve written? 

oooo. that’s a good one. i’m not comfortable calling anything my “best” scene, but i tend to favor those where major plot points finally intersect. here’s one i still quite like--

background: urban fantasy, slayer organization, investigation into a recently caught perp

trigger warning: implied sexual abuse

Sven didn’t bother returning Nina’s call until he was in the werewolf’s ritzy apartment, and when she picked up, she immediately reported how the guy had copped to lying throughout his first interview.

As he examined the titles in the bookcases, Sven figured that meant his perp was smart enough to recognize a boon. The asshole who’d put him in a wheelchair had also thrown him a softball cover story, and if he played along, his pack wouldn’t get hurt. Lucky puppy.

Yet Nina remained skeptical. She specified how Nate—that beacon of truth—had caught the werewolf talking on the sly about a little friend. He wouldn’t just make that up, so of course she expected him to search high and low for any proof. Just in case.

He promised he’d do his best then sat cross-legged before the shelves. He put the phone on speaker, set it on a dizzyingly ornate rug, and began pulling books out. One by one, he’d flip robotically through the pages, looking for anything of note.

Meanwhile, Nina’s voice lost its authoritarian edge, “What was up before?”

“Nothing important. Just a guy. Lonely. Works at the hotel.” Having said the words, he tried not to picture her growing smirk. “One thing led to another and…”

“Good for you.” A pause. “Hey. Hey, Sven. Was he cute?”

“Quite.”

“'Quite.’” He could hear her rolling her eyes. “And? Did you, well, have a good time?”

“Debatably.”

“Huh.” Nina thought aloud, “See, you were awfully mad at me when I called you before. That would imply that you were, in fact, having a good time. Otherwise, you would’ve appreciated the excuse, right? Right. But you didn’t. Since we’re talking about you, that means something.”

He snorted.

“Really! It does, and I hope you didn’t just run this poor guy off, you know? You should try meeting up again. Do a little wine and dine. Something nice. Classy. You have that red sweater that looks nice; you should wear that.”

Sven looked down at said sweater. “… Right. Well, I gave him my number, so we’ll—”

“Damn, Sven! He must’ve been really cute!”

He remembered Drake’s anxious wiggling and cracked a smile. “Yeah, he was pretty damn cute.”

Bit by bit, he shared details, and Nina nearly blew out his phone’s speaker with a squeal. She insisted others would give up their firstborn for the kind of porno romance he apparently lived, and her office chair creaked as she huffed a triumphant sigh. She was so animated about the whole thing, as if it’d happened to her instead of him, and however briefly, he thought maybe he felt a fluttering of that same enthusiasm. He wanted to, anyway. 

Even after hanging up, something twisted in his gut every time he thought about Drake calling or, hell, simply sending a three-letter text. But realistically, that was as likely to be dread as giddiness.

With pen and pad, Sven made notes about bookmarked passages as well as the odd comment in the margins, then restored each book to its original slot. Likewise, he compiled the contents of drawers, filing cabinets, and closets. He’d come prepared to scrub the evidence, but apparently, the evidence already suggested the werewolf lived alone. 

There were no articles of clothing that deviated from the rest of his wardrobe. The master bath featured a single toothbrush, and the kitchen just enough rotting food to feed a particularly voracious adult male. He couldn’t even find a hair that wasn’t deep brown and short.

He bagged a phone and tablet for further examination, then muttered to himself about how he really should’ve done at least that much beforehand. That is, the first time he visited the apartment, but no. He’d made his catch, handed the perp off, and disappeared for a long run in the Boston fog like a coward.

To be fair, the place still gave him the creeps. It bothered him that the overturned furniture, smashed vase, and cracked mirror were all exactly where he’d left them. There were blood stains too. Deep brown and foul.

In a small safe, he found jewelry, yellowed woodcuts, and a first edition copy of Leaves of Grass. Extraordinary, sure. Cataloged, absolutely. Yet, save for the werewolf’s budding psych profile, such finds were also woefully meaningless.

He moved on to the lockbox dug out from under the king-sized bed. As with the safe, he was able to pop it open without too much difficulty, but unlike the safe, its contents raised eyebrows. 

Polaroids. Hundreds of them aggressively rubber-banded into tidy stacks, all meticulously sorted. He held his breath as he unwrapped the first only to exhale a bitter “of course” at the revealed photos.

The shots lacked faces. Just bodies. All slender. All male. All dubiously legal. Twisted. Bound. Violated. Every single one manipulated with an escalating ingenuity. Clearly, the werewolf considered it an art-form. 

After that first stack, Sven quickly flipped through the others. He was convinced the whole stash was worthless. None of the subjects had tattoos, piercings, or any significant scarring. No one depicted could be reasonably identified. He was wasting his time.

But he had to make sure, and the deeper he waded, the more his shoulders tensed, the more he felt walls close in. He caught himself listening for heavy footsteps outside the door.

Childish. At its heart, it was all so childish. 

And pointless.

Then he found a stack with a face. He found Drake.

My questions

1. Who was your first OC? 2. What was the first story you ever wrote? 3. What book (or other piece of media) has most inspired you? 4. How do you fight writer’s block? 5. What is your favorite genre to write in and why? 6. How would you describe your writing style? 7. In general, do you think you’d get along with your protagonists? 8. What do you love most about your WIPs? 9. What is your favorite character trope? 10. What is your least favorite character trope? 11. What’s an upcoming scene you’re excited to write? Tagging: @mvcreates ; @whataremetaphor ; @phloxxiing ; @gaytivity ; @jessica-shouldbewriting ; @oyef ; @blurrywhitelies ; @savannahscripts ; @imaghostwriter ; @quilloftheclouds ; @maabon

[trig-loves-clowning-around]

A Gentle Giant part 1

Okay for obvious reasons Pennywise's height is based off of Bill's but just thought it's be better to get this out of the way first so I don't have to explain his height. K hope y'all enjoy part 1/? ~~~~~ It all started in the summer when Y/n L/n had their first run in with the strangest moments of their entire life. They could remember mosying down Neibolt Street on their motorcycle, the Yamaha XS 650 to be exact, they had just gotten out of work to get home. When they noticed Bill Denborough's bike.They recognized it due the fact that they had known Bill since he was in diapers. Living next door made it easy to recognize Silver. It was at 29 Neibolt St. It sent a chill down their spine, not only could it be infested with squatters, mice, snakes, ect. ect. It also was rotting away from the foundation. 

Bill and the 6 other bike owners, who y/n assumed would be his other friends they've seen running around, could be in big trouble. They parked the Bike on the curb deciding to throw caution to the wind when they heard a symphony of screams. running toward all the kids you recognized most of them.The first thing they saw was the bleeding new kid, they had no idea who he was, but they knelled down to assess the situation when they heard a familiar scream from none other then Eddie as Richie set his bone into place. Pushing the other child to the back of their mind they rushed to Eddie,demanding for the preteens to get out of their way. They picked up Eddie trying not to jostle the small kid, telling the kids to tell his mom where he was Y/n rushed out onto their Yamaha as the sped off to the nearest hospital.

After about ten minutes at the hospital, Ms. Kaspbrak came bursting through the door demanding to know what happened to her son. "Ma'am I just heard a scream from 29 Neibolt St. Where Billy and his friends were, that was when I saw Eddie's arm and rushed him over" Y/n explained as calmly as possible, having known the woman for as long as they had, they had come to expect this act from her. She nodded her head frantically babbling about how grateful she was that they had been there and how they were an angel in disguise and how "those little devils were trying to kill her son". "Now Ms. K" Y/n interjected, "I've known these kids since they were in diapers. None of them would something like that. They were in an old house, perhaps," They paused to stoop down to her level who was on the verge of hyperventalating, "Ms. Kaspbrak you need to take deep breaths come on, in and out. in, out. That's it!" they beamed straightening up a litte. "Eddie's gonna be fine, he's tougher then he looks. When i was their age I probably explored that damn house 100 times over.It's really old he could've just fallen. Bill's not going to attempt to hurt Ed's anytime soon." "Now I know you babysat that boy when he was little but kids change!" she started up her rant again, talking about everything that could be the cause of 'Eddie's friends trying to kill him"

Y/n's patience's started to fade as they listened to the woman, remembering that she might be going into shock and that keeping her talking could be a good thing! They never had anything to do with medicine so they wouldn't really know. Though one suggestion seemed to make them lose themselves. "I bet you that they were trying to sacrifice him... Yes that's it! Sacrificing my son so that... Georgie was it? yes yes it was, for... For him to come back! Devil worshipers the whole lot of them!" which caused Y/n to turn roughly and stalk outside of the building. ~~~~ I sighed pinching the bridge of my nose as I rushed to my bike, knowing that was how Ms.K was I tried not to dwell on her words so much as I turned my focus to the road. How were the rest of them? I decided to try and make sure the kids were at least out of that damn house before I went to investigate it myself. I knew it could have something to do with Georgie, Bill was devastated when he went missing. As was I, I was his babysitter when he was only 3, it hit my family pretty hard when he was announced missing just a few months ago. Georgie was one of the most caring little kid I could've known.  He never seemed to care about my height when I hit the sudden growth spurt near my Senior year of high school pushing me passed 7 ft, no he just continued to treat me like a cousin, or family member, always asking for bike rides and if I could play. Even if I had to work or study he'd be right there trying to convince me that I could just live with his family so I could play with him. I was his "gentle giant" as some would say. My growth spurt has continued until I was a ridiculous 7 ft 4. Of course that sent mocking and self consciousness in my direction as I felt even more out of place in this sleepy little town. I got this bad habit of hunching over that only seemed to go away when I was with loved ones, like my mother or the Denborough's, now a days I was slouched over almost all the time. I drove back past the "haunted house" which, to my relief was lacking in the children's bicycle department.

Though I felt like I was being watched as I drove back to my neighborhood, deciding to take a stop at Bill's house to make sure he was okay. Parking in my driveway I walked over to his house and knocked on his door. I was greeted by his mother letting me go in to talk to him. I walked up to his room and knocked "Bill, it's Y/n" I called softly. After a sound of shuffling feet the door opened to show the tired and red puffy eyes of a desperate and sad Bill. "Can I come in?" I asked, he stepped out of the way and let my in his room. We used to always keep his door open when I was in his room but he shut his door the second I was out of the way.

"Whoa bud, what's gotten into you?" I asked started kneeling down and looking into his eyes. "I-I m-m-messed up b..bad Y/n..." He whispered. "aw hun no!" I collected him into my arms rocking him back and forth hushing the silent sobs. "I came to make sure you were safe. I also want to know what you were doing in that house Billy." I mentioned as his breathing calmed down and he seemed to freeze up in my arms. "You... You wouldn't un-understand..." he grumbled into my shoulder. "I will if you want me to know" I said straightening me, "but since I know your safe, I'll be going no-" "W-wait!" Bill grabbed my arm seeming to have an inner struggle on whether or not to tell me what happened until he muttered. "m-meet me a-at the B-B-Barrens tomorrow th-then I'll let you kn-kn...know"

I sighed, "I've got school tomorrow, my thesis isn't gonna write itself, but I'll be back at one, then I'll pick you up and we'll go there okay?" I said looking down at him. He gave me a determined little nod that made me smile. "Well," I paused to ruffle his hair, "See ya later squirt~" 

"H-hey!" He grumbled pushing my hand of his head, "E-everyone's a-a s-s-squirt to y-you Y/n!" He called after me making me smile. "Your not wrong kiddo!" I called after him as I exited the Denborough's household to walk back to mine. As long as I lived under my mother's roof, I would have to uphold the curfew.  Even though I was able to basically do whatever I want in the legal world, I was still under the control of my parents. After a quick dinner with my parents I head off to bed. After all that bullshit I had to put up with today, I half wished I could sleep forever.

After curling up for what seemed like an eternity, I finally seemed to fall asleep.

I felt it beofre I saw it. A hand creeping up my shoulders, pressing it's sharp digits into my shoulders causing a pang of pain and a yelp to erupt from my lips. I tried to trun my head before I heard him. "Y/n, don't you want to float with me?" Georgie, he was at the foot of my bed, his big innocent eyes in his cute rain slick. My eyes widened as I sat up completely ignoring the tearing feeling in my shoulders as the claw like features racked down my back. "G-goergie?... GEORGIE!" I tried to leap towards him and grab his arm but, my body seemed to hit a solid mass of dirty white pantaloons. "wh-what?" I was on my knees so I looked up at the towering figure. 'What the Hell?' I asked staring intently at the man in a clown costume.   "Where's Georgie!" I growled in confusion staring the freak right in the eyes, I started to stand up, but a surprisingly strong hand puished flat against the end of my bed. "What the Hell..." My mumbles got more unintelligible as I felt another pair or hands, seemingly coming from inside my mattress, started to strangle me. All I could hear from the freaks mouth was "You'll die if you try, you'll die if you try,you'lldiifyoutryyou'lldieifyoutry..." Then my vision faded to black.

I shot up from my bed gripping my throat taking deep breaths. I was covered in sweat, I was in my room, I was ALIVE. "Well, I did a lot yesterday" I reasoned with myself "It's just stress..."

Little did I know about the pair of golden eyes looking at me from the closet.

Not much Pennywise in this one but there will be in part 2!))

NEXT

@pumpkinwise

[spectrumscribe]

Your Home. (Our Home.)

Based on @ramskulls‘s awesome Green-thumbs AU, in exchange for some excellent artwork. Featuring police officer Casey and flower shop owner Leo, and a lot of cute boyfriend fluff. (also minor background relationships even more rare than theirs.)

AO3 version if preferred.

Summary:

Casey and Leo move in together. Accidentally. And without noticing.

---------------------------------

It starts, probably speaking, with a forgotten jacket.

It’s still casual at that point for them; coffee shop dates, movie nights, the occasional bar trip with Leo’s siblings. They’re testing the waters still, Casey and Leo, to see where they really click, and where they might need to work on things. So they’ve been sticking to light stuff; things straight out of fourth grade. Hand-holding, knees touching, and rare and momentary kisses- things that are so sickeningly sweet, its tooth rotting. It took them months to reach this point, but each slow step of the way has been wonderful to experience.

Of course, there’s always a point that a relationship moves a level upwards. Neither of them noticed reaching that point, or going above it. Not until much later.

Leo’s hours in the shop are steady, regular. He knows his schedule and work hours like the back of his hand because he’s the one who made them. Owning a flower shop can be tiring at times, especially when customers get overly picky, or cause a fuss because their rose order wasn’t just right, but it’s worth it. Mostly because he loves his work, and partially because he just likes being in charge of his own job hours.

Casey on the other hand, his hours can go all over the place depending on what tough case is on his desk that week. He’s not exactly high up in the system yet, but he’s up there enough that he’s called into all sorts of messy situations. When it’s not stressful, his work is just plain tiring, and sometimes he wonders why on earth his younger self wanted to be a police officer so much. Most nights, or days, depending on the shift, he’s pretty tuckered out from either paperwork or dealing with plain old stupid people for too many hours.

Leo’s apartment is a nice place to retreat after the worst days or nights; the plants scattered throughout the apartment, combined with Leo’s preference for calming colors and soft fabrics, makes the whole of the home one big comfy space to crash. Which Casey definitely ends up doing fairly often now, since they’ve decided to make things a little more official between them.

Casey comes over, stays the night or day, and then heads out again afterwards; taking himself and his possessions with him out into the world until he returns. The cycle goes on like that uninterrupted for a good while, without much change beyond the days of the week.

Except eventually, after a long twelve hour daylight shift at work, and Casey had been too tired to wake back up after a movie night on the couch, he spends the night in Leo’s home… and forgets his jacket when he leaves for work the next day.

Leo doesn’t notice that the coat has been left behind until he’s making breakfast for himself, and finds an article of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong to him; draped over a chair in his small kitchen eat-in.

“Huh,” He mumbles, picking up the worn but loved jacket. “He must’ve forgotten it.”

Leo runs his thumbs along the collar of the jacket, feeling the softened threads from years of use. He briefly wonders if it smells like Casey.

Then, face heating, he sets it back onto the chair. He’ll give it back to his boyfriend later, whenever they have time for another date.

Casey doesn’t notice he’s forgotten his jacket either, until a stiff breeze blows by and he finds himself shivering for a moment.

--/--

“Did you steal my socks?”

Leo has to actually pause what he’s doing for a moment- searching for clean pants in his closet- to give Casey an incredulous look.

Casey gestures at his feet, which remain bare, despite his best attempts to locate his socks.

Leo continues giving Casey an incredulous look.

Casey stares back, then glances at Leo’s much larger feet, and makes an ‘ah’ face. “Oh. Wait.”

“…Casey.”

“It slipped my mind.”

“My feet… are at least three times the size of yours.”

“I’m half awake, give me a break.”

“Three times. The size.”

“Look, when I’m spending time with you, I’m not exactly giving your feet a ton of attention. That’s not my sort of thing.”

“Oh my god.”

Casey tosses a pillow from Leo’s bed at him. Leo keeps laughing regardless of the assault.

Casey, in the end, cannot locate his socks at all, and goes to work with his feet bare inside his shoes. There are spares to be found in his locker, but still. It’s the principal of the thing, being unable to find his own god damn socks.

He blames the fact that Leo looks unfairly cute when he’s either falling asleep or just waking up, so much so Casey couldn’t keep track of where his socks went. It’s a reasonable enough excuse for their disappearance, in his opinion.

Leo rediscovers the wayward socks later that week, when he’s doing his laundry and finds clothing that is most definitely not his own in the pile of whites.

He snorts, smiling to himself, and puts them through the wash. When they’re done and dried, he folds them up into a little ball, and sticks them inside the pocket of the jacket in his kitchen. The one Casey still hasn’t remembered to take home.

--/--

“I can’t go out tonight,” Casey sighs into his phone, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“What? How come?”

The sucking, gurgling sound comes from somewhere in his bathroom again, and Casey can’t even bring himself to look. “The pipes are going bezerk in my bathroom. I had the whole tub backed up with… you don’t even want to know.”

“Oh no, that’s- that really sucks, Casey. Can I do anything to help?”

Casey, for a moment, counts himself lucky for the hundredth time his boyfriend is so sweet. “Not really, but thanks. I’ve got a plumber on the way and… I think it’s draining. Kind of. Mostly I’m just hopin’ here I don’t have to replace the floor as well as clean my pipes.”

“Are you sure I can’t help? Do you need a place to stay for tonight, or however long it takes to get the repairs started? You know I’d be more than happy to host.”

Casey gets another whiff of the smell coming from his washroom, which has unfortunately gotten into the rest of his apartment as well, and wrinkles his nose. Yeah, he won’t be able to sleep with that in the air. He’ll need to find somewhere else to go for however long it takes to get things cleaned up. And as much as he doesn’t want to impose on Leo… spending the night with his boyfriend would be much better than spending it alone in a motel.

“You know, that sounds really nice. Want me to pick up dinner?”

He ends up packing an overnight bag and his uniform for the next day, and driving over to Leo’s apartment. The smell of flowers and hints of incense greet him as Leo opens the door, and after spending extended time in sewage hell, it’s a literal breath of fresh air.

Plus, Leo’s smile is always a sight for sore eyes, and Casey probably will never get tired of having it aimed his way.

They end up sprawled on Leo’s second-hand couch, eating pizza and garden salad. It’s a million times better than a lonely motel room would have been, and they talk late into the evening as they swap dinner for ice-cream desert.

Casey wakes up with a hard edge being pressed into his arm, and he finds that the tip of Leo’s shell is pressing on him, along with Leo’s skull. The turtle mutant had apparently fallen asleep pillowing his head on Casey’s arm, like Casey had fallen asleep with his legs tangled around Leo’s.

It sucks to move out of the cozy position, pins and needles in his fingers be damned, but Casey’s phone is chiming an alarm and work is just a short while from now.

He sighs long-sufferingly, and extracts himself from the warm covers of Leo’s bed gentle as he can. Leo makes a complaining noise at the loss of heat, but mumbles sleepily a “g’morning” anyways.

Casey brushes his teeth, gives himself a quick shave, combs his hair and gets into his uniform fast as possible. Early shift plus late night equals him having slept in a little and needing to rush to work. He throws what clothes he can see from yesterday into his bag, kisses a still sleep bleary Leo on the cheek, and blows out the door.

Leo rubs his eyes and yawns wide enough his jaw clicks. Sometimes, Casey is high energy in the oddest moments. Like the morning after a late night, despite that the effect is supposed to be contrary.

Ah well, he got a cheek kiss and a good night’s sleep with a warm person he enjoys being around. An early morning is an easy price to pay.

Leo gets up slowly, swinging his feet onto the cool floor of his room, and set to starting his own potentially hectic day.

As he’s leaving, he notices that Casey forgot his civilian shoes in the entryway.

Leo shakes his head, pushes the two shoes gently together and out of the way, and goes to work. His work in the shop begins sooner than usual, but he uses the extra time before opening to double check orders in the back room.

He sends Casey a reminder that he’s now forgotten jacket, his socks, and his shoes in Leo’s home. The reply doesn’t come until during lunch hour, when Casey replies with a text of oh shit I KNEW I forgot something!!

Leo rolls his eyes, tells Casey at least you’re cute enough to make up for the forgetfulness, and laughs when Casey shoots back okay how dare you say that to me, I’m Hot not cute.

A hot Mess more like.

Ah ha ha, funny. Hilarious.

:D

God dammnit you and your outdated emojis

;D

Stoppit that’s unfairly adorable.

;3c

You put that paw away right now

3’:

….i take it back, bring back the paw

:Dc

Omg

Casey ends up staying in Leo's apartment another two days afterwards, while his pipes are fixed and the vents air themselves out of sewage stink. It's definitely not an arrangement Casey complains about, or Leo, though Casey does end up forgetting his razor and toothbrush in Leo's bathroom when he goes back home.

--/--

After the fifth time Casey falls asleep in Leo’s apartment, too content and comfy to rouse himself, Leo suggests Casey just start keeping a spare uniform in his closet; to avoid the early morning rushes back to Casey’s own home to retrieve his work things.

“You sure?” Casey asks, glancing at Leo’s closet from their position on the bed. “I don’t wanna take up space you need.”

“My closet is plenty big enough,” Leo insists, paging through his latest thrift store book find. He’s partway through, and the plot line has just introduced a possible love interest. He’s not so sure how he feels about the lizard alien just yet, but she is described to have a large sword, and swords are always excellent. “Plus, that jacket will finally have company if you do.”

Casey mumbles, “oh yeah, that darn thing,” and goes back to crushing candy on his phone. They remain in their reclined spots against the headboard for a few more hours, reading or gaming, until it’s time to go meet Leo’s three siblings and April for a late evening Denny’s supper.

Casey does in fact bring a uniform with him next time he’s spending the night; hanging it neatly on the far end of the pole in Leo’s closet. The jacket is hung next to it, because no matter how many times Leo has reminded him, Casey still can’t remember to take it home, and at this point it seems like a lost cause. Better to just give it a new home.

Joining it soon enough is a spare pair of running shoes, for the nicer days when Leo likes to jog in the nearby park, a nice dress shirt, for when they’re invited to a spontaneous dinner party at Mikey’s place, and an assortment of forgotten CD’s, hairbands, socks, and toiletries.

Neither of them really notice it, beyond finding it suddenly easier to make plans or get out the door in the morning.

--/--

The person who brings the state of Leo’s apartment to his attention, is none other than their resident genius. Which isn’t that surprising, in all honesty.

It happens because, during one of Donnie’s breaks from his free-lance coding commissions, he trips over a pair of Casey’s shoes in Leo’s entryway.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me Casey was here,” Donnie says, stepping over the black work shoes. “I would’ve prepared myself if you had.”

Leo rolls his eyes and smiles, because Donnie has a vague hopefulness in his voice about a Jones appearance. Few people can bicker as passionately as Donnie can, and Casey happens to be one of those people. Leaving the two of them together for long periods of time tends to generate rants and good-natured arguments the stuff of legends.

“He’s out with his little sister today, Donnie. He’s not even available for a date until later this week. Hasn’t been at all lately, actually, since he got assigned to a stakeout case.”

“So why’re his work shoes in your apartment, then?”

“Because he sometimes leaves them here, when he falls asleep too late to go home.”

“…his running shoes, too?”

“That’s because we go running on the weekends, sometimes.”

Donnie glances away from the shoes, and focuses on the coatrack. “Leo, is that his favorite hat? I saw him wearing that just last week.”

Leo shrugs. “He probably forgot that, too.”

Donnie puts his hand under his chin, and hums. Leo watches Donnie’s perplexed expression for another moment, before turning away and going to find his wallet before they head to the movies.

When he finally finds it, buried under his couch cushions, he finds also that Donnie has disappeared into the washroom while he was waiting. Leo opts to use the extra moments wisely and go find candy to sneak into the theater.

When Donnie comes out, he’s giving Leo a Look.

“What,” Leo asks, tucking his Snickers bar into his satchel. “something on my face?”

“Hm, no,” Donnie says in a casual tone. “I was just wondering why there’s a pile of Casey’s clothes in there.”

Leo opens his mouth, and then closes it as his cheeks get hot. “Those could be anyone’s.”

“Unlikely,” Donnie replies, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “The only person any of us know who wears that sort of punk band shirts is Casey.”

“We know Irma,” Leo points out, because Langstein is more punk than even his boyfriend.

“Yes, but I’m sure you’d be much more fearful for your life if April’s girlfriend’s clothes were on the floor of your apartment.”

Good point. April wouldn’t show him mercy at all if Leo did something like that.

“Also,” Donnie continues, smirking. “last I checked, you were homoromantic, not hetero.”

Leo’s cheeks get hotter. “We had a shower, okay? Last time he was here. I guess I forgot to pick them up again. And before you make any jokes-”

“Sensual not sexual, yes, yes I know,” Donnie waves him off. “We’ve been over how your relationship works plenty of times while you were drunk. I don’t need another lecture.”

Were he not green and scaly, Leo would’ve been red. “Shut up, like you don’t enjoy talking in-depth about relationship dynamics.”

“My status as a secret romantic will remain a secret, and thus you speak of lies.”

“Donnie, that’s about as much of a secret as Mikey’s pansexuality was.”

“Shush. Let’s just go watch people fall in love or blow each other up, shall we? Great. Off we go.”

Donnie kicks Leo out of his own apartment, and Leo forgets the comments about Casey’s multitude of things in his home until later. Which is the point when Mikey drops his elbows onto the counter of Leo’s cash desk in his store, and asks brightly, “So, you two officially moving in together? Took you long enough.”

Leo stares at his brother for a moment, and then tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Casey? Moving in with you? It’s been like, half a year or something. Get on that shit, brother.”

It’s only ten in the morning, and Leo is fairly certain Mikey shouldn’t be making this little sense so soon in the day. “Again, huh??”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Donnie told me Casey’s stuff is all over your house, I called Casey to ask about that, he says he keeps forgetting things but also that he’s got a ton of spare clothing stuffs hanging in your apartment, and then I called April to ask if that’s how it went for her and Irma and sort of Donnie-”

It’s too early in the day for this, and that’s something Leo thinks loudly as he looks at the ceiling despairingly.

“-and she agreed it sounded a lot like you two were moving in together, fi-nal-ly, which Donnie and Irma also agreed with, and then ta-da here I am taking a break from work to ask if it’s true or not,” Mikey finishes, all without taking a breath.  “So? You moving in together or what? Casey just made a lot of noises when I asked and hung up.”

After trying and failing to figure out what all those words together were meant to mean, Leo slowly puts his hands together in front of him, and says, “Mikey, shouldn’t you be at work helping Raph tattoo people?”

“No, I should be here asking about your love life,” Mikey replies straight faced.

“…I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Leo says helplessly. Mikey’s train of thought is very often too chaotic and confusing for him to follow, and this seems like one of those times. “We haven’t moved in together, at all.”

Mikey stares at him for a long, long moment, and then slowly smiles. “Ooooooh… so that’s how it is?”

Leo feels even more confused now. “How what is?”

Mikey winks at him. “Nothin’, bro. You’ll get it soon enough.”

“Mikey??”

His brother just laughs, reaches across the counter to pat Leo’s cheek, and then exits the shop in a swirl of energy and brightly colored tattoos. Leo is left standing at his shop counter, head whirling and confusion tangible.

His phone vibrates in his pants pocket right then, and he automatically takes it out, for lack of other reactions. The screen shows a series of typo ridden messages from Casey, all seeming to be him trying to phrase ‘hey did we accidentally move in together??’ without stating it obviously.

Leo puts a hand against his temple, and feels too tired for just a few hours of being awake.

--/--

“So like, should we… make it a real thing?” Casey asks later, hands curled around the tea Leo had made them both. They’re sitting in Leo’s small kitchen, feet touching under the table as they sort out their accidental semi-move in.

Leo curls his own hands tighter around his cup, feeling awkward. “I… don’t know? I mean, you spend a lot of time here already, and I have accumulated a fair amount of your possessions… do you want to? It’s a big step.”

Casey tilts his head one way, then the other, and finally makes a frustrated noise and runs his hands through his shaggy hair; mussing it all the way through. “God, I don’t know?? I love spending time with you, and your place is really nice- but jeeze, that’s a huge thing!”

Leo hums, nodding. He takes a slow sip of his tea, trying to calm his nerves. “Well… it worked out well enough for April, Irma, and Donnie. Maybe we should… try?”

Casey lets out a harsh breath, leaning away from the table and tapping his fingers on its surface. His expression looks the way Leo’s stomach feels. Finally, after what feels too long, he eventually says, “Okay, okay. Look, I love you, Leo, I really do, but I also like having my own space sometimes. Sharing a home all the time might make me kind of squirrely.”

Leo relaxes a fraction, smiling wryly. “No, I agree. I love you, too, but I do need some time alone now and again. I waited enough years to get out of my brothers’ space, after all.”

Casey relaxes in his chair at Leo’s words, smiling lopsidedly with clear relief. “Dunno how you did that, Leo. Your bros are great, but wow can they get rowdy.”

Leo laughs. “You know, I’m not entirely sure how I did it either.”

A beat of silence, filled with good warmth, and Casey asks, “So we keep doing what we’re doing, just for now?”

Leo thinks about it briefly, and smiles. It sounds about right for where they’re at, and he’s more than happy that they’re on the same page. “Yeah, I think that would be good. If and when we feel ready, maybe then?”

Casey grins back, and reaches across the table for Leo’s hand. “Sure, if and when we’re ready sounds good to me.”

Leo takes Casey’s hand, closing his three fingers around Casey’s five. Casey’s hands are always warm in his, like Leo’s are always gently cool in Casey’s. The opposition feels right, in a sense.

--/--

Casey keeps his separate apartment, for whenever they need a little space to themselves, and they continue on as they had been. Items he owns make their way into Leo’s home, and sometimes they don’t leave when Casey does. When Leo discovers the forgotten items, whether left on purpose or not, he simply smiles, and finds a new home for them in his.

The apartment is still largely Leo’s, but a good chunk of it does belong to Casey. Which is perfectly fine by Leo, since it sort of shows how they’re slowly meshing their lives together. Not completely yet, but one day.

Mikey clicks his tongue and says they move too slowly in his opinion. Leo reminds him that not everyone goes through partners and relationships as quick as his brother does, and receives, “Well yeah, but still. Slugs move faster than you guys,” in response. Raph just huffs and comments that he didn’t think they’d do it any other way. Leo nor Casey can figure out if he means that positively or negatively, and Raph supplies no further explanation than what he’s already given.

Donnie, April, and Irma exchange glances with each other, seem to shrug without actually doing so, and let the subject drop without ever saying aloud that they will. As they tend to do. Leo and Casey, privately of course, still think it’s them who have the confusing relationship here, not the two of them.

Casey’s jacket, the thing that likely started the accidental move in in the first place, has a proper home on a hook now; right in the entryway, along with some of Casey’s shoes. In Leo’s bedroom, a drawer of his dresser has spares of Casey’s shirts and pants. The bathroom has two cups with different toothbrushes and paste, and a razor kit tucked neatly in the corner of the counter.

More often than not, after a hard day or night, Casey will end up on Leo’s couch or bed. And more often than not, that’s where he’ll stay for the remainder of time before his next shift. When he does this, Leo never turns him away, and rarely suggests Casey go back to his own home.

It’s comfortable, living together and yet not. It’s not official, even though they themselves are official, but it’s more than enough for where they’re at.