#and i take out my fucking headphones or turn down to inaudible until i see the video change/ads stop

[teophan]

i would like to request that either stephen crowder dies (preferably either too abruptly to entertain the thought of “saving” him, or so gruesomely that there isn’t a possibility of it as the light slowly leaves his eyes day by agonizing day until someone pulls the plug)

OR that spotify free allowed you to skip/request less of anything in video ads the way you can say “hey i’ve heard this too much” on audio ads, or just outright say “do not advertise this sort of content”

because earlier i got four “louder with crowder” ads, back to back, with no other content to break them up, and now that it’s not christmas and i don’t have to be on that holly jolly bullshit:

i can confidently say the world would be a better place without him or his content in it :) change my mind.

[suituuup]

that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of

Has Beca mentioned that she hates his guts? Everything is just too… annoyingly nice. His charming smile, his messy but not too messy hair, his sense of humor, and well, his taste in women, as he’s dating the girl Beca happens to be in love with.

Word count: 2005

Rating: T

Entry for Bechloe week, day one: “Because I'm in love with you, dumbass.”

Beta by the lovely @snowonebutyou and thanks to @green-eyed-weirdo for bouncing ideas with me <3

READ ON AO3

*

The muffled giggle greeting Beca when she steps through the door makes her groan. The deep voice that follows confirms that Chloe is indeed not alone, and Beca briefly considers turning around and… going for a walk or something.

But her feet are about to fall off, she feels gross from her overcrowded subway ride home where she’s pretty sure a dude sniffed her hair, and she is really fucking tired.

She’s just flopped down face first on the pull-out couch when the door to Chloe’s bedroom opens, and two sets of feet grow closer.

“You alright, Becs?”

Beca grunts something inaudible in acknowledgment before she rolls on her back. “M’fine.”

“Hey Beca,” Chicago greets her with a soft smile, and Beca somehow manages to leash in her sneer.

“Hey,” she mumbles, the best she can muster when it comes to Chloe’s boyfriend.

Has she mentioned that she hates his guts? Everything is just too… annoyingly nice. His charming smile, his messy but not too messy hair, his sense of humor, and well, his taste in women, as he’s dating the girl Beca happens to be in love with.

Yep. It’s only been four years and a half; not a big deal.

She was this close to admitting her feelings to Chloe, still reeling with adrenaline after her solo performance, when Chloe ran to Army Boy instead. Beca doesn’t think she knew what a broken heart felt like until that very moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Chicago asks, setting his hands on Chloe’s hips.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees and leans up to kiss his lips. Beca rolls her eyes, grabbing her phone from her back pocket as a distraction from the display of gag-worthy affection.

The door finally clicks shut behind Chicago, and Beca hears Chloe sigh. That kind of content sigh that has jealousy flare up within her because Chloe should be sighing like that because of her.

“I thought he was leaving tomorrow morning?” Beca asks as she scrolls through her Instagram, not really registering the photos zooming past her eyes.

“Not anymore,” Chloe says, biting on her bottom lip like she’s trying to prevent a smile from breaking through. “He’s um, going to be stationed in Brooklyn. His request just got granted.”

A huge lump forms in Beca’s throat as she registers the news and an uneasy feeling seized her stomach. “That’s--” she swallows with difficulty, swiping her tongue over her dry lips. “That’s great, Chlo.”

She soon exits Instagram, opening her safari to look for apartment listings.

*

Finding an apartment in New York City within her price range, as it turns out, is pretty fucking difficult.

You would think Beca was aware of that given the fact that there used to be one more person living in her current studio, with a simple curtain acting as bathroom walls.

(she definitely has PTSD from that night Amy had food poisoning from Taco Bell.)

When Amy moved out, Chloe took her room, because Beca is the night owl of the two, usually coming home late from work or cooking dinner after Chloe has gone to bed.

It’s pushing eleven by the time she makes it back that night, and she prays that Chloe is already in bed. The past couple of weeks following the news have been… weird, to say the least. Beca has been avoiding Chloe, coming up with excuses whenever Chloe asks her if she wants to hang out.

She makes herself a quick dinner (okay, makes might be a bit of an overstatement: she just pours some hot water over instant noodles. Don’t come at her.) and messes around on her laptop for a while, turning the lights off just after one am.

A moan reaching her ears just as she feels herself dozing off has her eyes fly open. A moan that very much belongs to Chloe, and Beca just wants to disappear off the face of the earth. Quiet laughter follows, and when the bed starts squeaking, leaving no doubt regarding what they’re doing in there, Beca ponders smothering herself with her own pillow.

She grabs her headphones instead, hastily placing them over her ears before she hears something that will most likely scar her forever. It somewhat cancels out the sounds, enough for Beca to fall asleep. She flees the apartment before either of them is awake, drowning her sorrows in a double espresso from the corner coffee shop.

Over the next few days, she excels in avoiding Chloe. She knows Chloe’s schedule well enough to come back when she’s either asleep or not there. Or at least she thought so.

“Hey.”

Beca freezes as she closes the door, looking over her shoulder to find Chloe popping her head out of the fridge.

Beca clears her throat, rubbing her nose with her knuckle as she stares down at the scuff of her shoes. “Hey,” she echoes, setting her keys down on the counter.

“Long time no see,” Chloe says as Beca sits on the edge of her bed to take her boots off.

“Yeah um, I’ve been busy,” Beca mumbles as she undoes her laces.

“Busy avoiding me?”

Beca’s spine snaps straighter at that, and she looks up to meet Chloe’s eyes. “No, just--” her shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “I figured you and Chicago might enjoy some private time together.”

Chloe hums like she doesn’t believe her. “You’d tell me if-- if something was bothering you, right? I feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

Beca swallows. “It’s not you, Chlo. I’m just--” she sighs, feeling her frustration rise as she scrapes her brain for a believable lie. “Work sucks and I feel like I’m getting nowhere, so I’ve been crankier than usual.”

Chloe nods, her lips curving in a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time at work,” she says. “We should go out tonight! It’s been forever.”

Beca’s rebuttal lies on the tip of her tongue, out of reflex. She swallows it back, because Chloe is giving her those puppy eyes she’s mastered so well, and Beca knows damn well she can’t resist. Besides, she could definitely use a drink. Or ten.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

That’s how they find themselves in an overly too loud, busy club a handful of hours later. Beca is definitely tipsy, and Chloe has just ordered shots, so she knows she’s likely to finish the night with her head in the toilet. But she hasn’t laughed like that in a while, and it feels amazing to be… Beca and Chloe again.

It’s ruined just after Beca downs her first shot, when Army Boy shows up.

“Hi!” Chloe exclaims, springing up from her stool to hug him.

Beca grits her teeth so hard that she’s half-concerned they might break, her eyes throwing daggers at Chicago’s head.

“Hey Beca,” he says, apparently oblivious as he slides on the vacant stool.

Beca simply tilts her chin towards him, along with a tight-lipped smile. As Chicago orders his drink with the waitress, Beca shrugs her jacket on. “I’m gonna go,” she announces over the music, not caring one bit that it’s obvious as to why.

She doesn’t wait for a reply, letting her legs carry her towards the exit as quickly as possible as tears burn her eyes. She bumps into someone in her haste and mumbles a disoriented sorry, sucking in a much needed breath as soon as she steps outside of the club.

The music gradually fades away as she starts down the sidewalk, tugging her jacket tighter around her frame when a chill rolls down her spine. She’s not even sure in which direction she’s going, set on hailing the first cab she finds.

“What the hell is your problem??”

Beca freezes at the familiar voice, swallowing around the forming lump in her throat before she turns around. She barely meets Chloe’s eyes. “I’m just tired, Chlo.”

“Bullshit,” Chloe spits out, a scoff flying past her lips as she shakes her head. Her typically warm eyes are bone-chilling icy. “You left the second he got here.”

Beca sighs heavily, her hands forming fists by her sides in an attempt to tame her growing irritation. “Yeah well, maybe I didn’t feel like being the third wheel. I thought it was just going to be you and I, tonight. But you two have been attached to the hip and all you can talk about is Chicago this, Chicago that.”

“Well I’m sorry if I enjoy his company,” Chloe fires back. “You know, the least you could do is be happy for me.”

“Oh great, the guilty card,” Beca says, eyes rolling skyward. She sucks in a sharp breath. “I can’t be happy for you, Chlo.”

Chloe staggers back as though Beca’s words slapped her in the face. “What?”

“I said, I can’t be happy for you,” Beca repeats, her tone rising along with her frustration.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Chloe asks, a mixture of anger, hurt and confusion surfacing in her features. “Why can’t you be happy for me? That’s what best friends are supposed to do, you know. I mean, are you even still my best friend? Because you haven’t been acting like one those past--”

“Because I’m in love with you, dumbass!” Beca finally blurts, a lot louder than necessary. Her declaration catches the attention of a few bypassers, but Beca is too focused on Chloe to care.

She watches as realization dawns in Chloe’s eyes, and all she can hear is her heart beating madly in her ears. She swallows, glancing down at the crack in the sidewalk. “And I’m the biggest idiot in the world,” she mumbles, roughly wiping at her cheeks when she feels a few tears rolling down her skin. “I’ll be out of the apartment by tomorrow.”

Beca is thankful Chloe doesn’t follow her when she turns around and resumes her journey home. She ends up walking all the way, too embarrassed to break down in a cab like in those stupid rom-coms. She texts Amy when she makes it back to ask if she can crash at her fancy apartment, fishing out her suitcase as soon as her friend agrees. Tears keep leaking out, and Beca wipes them away with her sleeve before she starts shoving her clothes into the suitcase, trying to ignore the way her heart aches.

A key slides into the lock just as she’s done packing. Beca straightens and hastily wipes her cheeks dry, even though she knows her bloodshot eyes will betray her.

“You’re really leaving,” Chloe murmurs, her voice barely audible.

Beca sniffles as she heaves her suitcase off the bed and sets it down. “Yep.”

“Why?”

Beca bites back a humorless laugh. “I don’t know, maybe because I’m not a masochist?” She deadpans. “Seeing you and Chicago together isn’t exactly fun.”

“We broke up.”

Beca’s breathing halts as she registers the words. Her jaw slacks. “What?”

Chloe clears her throat a little, taking a step closer. She’s fiddling with her keys, something she does when she gets shy, nervous or nervous, or excited. “Well, I broke up with him.”

“You did?” Beca croaks out.

Chloe nods, the corners of her lips upturning in a sheepish smile. “Because it’s always been you, dumbass.”

Beca’s lungs flood with oxygen, and her shoulders slump, releasing the tension at once. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Chloe echoes, raising an eyebrow as she takes another step.

Beca closes her eyes briefly, her head tilting as she frowns. “Sorry, I think my brain needs to be re-booted. Could you um, could you say that again?”

Chloe chuckles, finally closing the remaining distance between them. She cups Beca’s cheek and joins their lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Beca’s knees quake as a bunch of butterflies release in her belly, and she can’t quite believe this is really happening.

She licks her tingling lips when Chloe pulls away, feeling a bit dizzy. “Um, I’m not sure I quite got that one, either. Care for an encore?”

The first of many, many ones.

[winterscaptain]

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you. 

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?” 

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.” 

“Excellent.” 

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it. 

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why. 

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden. 

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles. 

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?” 

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears. 

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.” 

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?” 

“On the field.”

But where? 

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low. 

You hear sirens. 

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?” 

You almost hate to ruin his mood. 

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?” 

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain. 

“Ye - Yeah...Why?” 

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -” 

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -” 

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.” 

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you. 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee. 

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…” 

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.” 

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders. 

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze. 

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass. 

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse. 

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

 You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.” 

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?” 

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks. 

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile. 

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.” 

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.” 

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.” 

“Alright.” 

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.” 

“Okay. Thanks, bud.” 

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.” 

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow. 

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?” 

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.” 

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall. 

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.” 

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her. 

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night. 

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah. 

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you. 

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?” 

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile. 

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.” 

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side. 

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.” 

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.” 

That’s okay. She’s okay. 

Better soccer goes than her life. 

Soccer is her life. 

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing. 

“Is that the worst of it?” 

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.” 

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment. 

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all. 

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan? 

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one. 

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you. 

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake. 

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.” 

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest. 

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“What did she say?” 

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.” 

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.” 

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.” 

“Never more than we can handle.” 

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.” 

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question. 

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.” 

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.” 

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.” 

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.” 

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big. 

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs. 

“Can you hand me my headband?” 

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease. 

She’s just like her dad. 

What? Loyal? 

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.” 

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.” 

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything. 

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.” 

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes. 

“Who is it?” 

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.” 

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.” 

“You could get damn close.” 

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other. 

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project. 

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters. 

His phone rings. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Bella.” 

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too. 

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack. 

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?” 

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?” 

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.” 

“I do. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?” 

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.” 

Soph and Alice share a look. 

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.” 

“Fair enough.” 

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart. 

“Aaron?” 

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?” 

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.” 

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little. 

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you. 

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.” 

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower​ @hotchslatte​ @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Stability Chapter 7

Otis Driftwood x Reader

( I don't own these gifs)

"I'll never be your beast of burden

My back is broad but it's a-hurting

All I want for you to make love to me

I'll never be your beast of burden

I've walked for miles, my feet are hurting

All I want for you to make love to me"

Otis heard you before he saw you, dancing and singing in your cut off shorts and tired shirt. Your walkman swung dangerously back and forth on your hips as you sang to the rolling stones song while you washed your car. It was a super hot summer day in the unforgiving heart of texas. The car was your baby. It was a gift from Otis for your birthday, you had fallen in love with it when they towed it to the house after the last group of victims was captured. You told him you always wanted one of these so he and Rufus secretly fixed it up for you. He still insisted you go everywhere with him in his truck but you convinced him to let you drive yourself once in a while ( but not too far ) Spraying the hose over the hood you leaned over to get the farthest part, your ass poking out in the air.

"Am I hard enough?

Am I rough enough?

Am I rich enough?

I'm not too blind to see"

It was obvious the music was so loud you didn't hear him as he dragged a screaming victim toward the shed in the back. He stopped dragging her for a second to watch you and laugh softly. Well, that's adorable and hot as shit he thought to himself. The poor girl he was currently dragging took this opportunity to claw and bite at his hand in an attempt to get away in. For A split second she did, She wiggled out of his grasp and tried to take off towards the road. He quickly grabbed her and threw her on the ground pulling her by the hair back towards the house. All this while you were none the wiser, enjoying your song on your headphones. He resumed his spot leaning against the house staring at you.

"I'll never be your beast of burden

So let's go home and draw the curtains

Music on the radio

Come on baby make sweet love to me" 

 

You sang the last part a little louder using the sponge as a microphone. You were getting into this what you assumed was a solo performance. Swinging your hips back and forth you grabbed the hose and sprayed all over the trunk of the car. He was thrusting the girl back and forth by her hair to shush her as he leaned against the side of the house watching you. "Damn bitch shut the fuck up!, I'm trying to enjoy the view". He looked toward her in disgust that she would dare shrek and distract him. "Mister please let me go, I won't tell anyone". " I SAID SHUT UP" 

He suddenly heard the music better now, he looked up to see you with your headphones down now around your neck the music softly playing in a muffled tone. Staring at him with a smile slightly leaning against the car. " Whatcha doing there is handsome?". " Watching you " he smirked. 

"Am I hard enough?

Am I rough enough?

Am I rich enough?

I'm not too blind to see"

"Oh are ya now? So ...what are you gonna you do with her?" You pointed with the sponge at the dry heaving girl still on the ground with her hair in his fist. "Ah I don't know" he looked down at her then back at you " any ideas?" He lifted an eyebrow at you. "Maybe a few" you bit your lip a little tilting your head to the side. " I was going to tie her up in the shed and try that experiment I was running with you the other night but I don't think she's gonna survive. She also won't stop squirming", he chuckled and thrust her a little bit more back and forth. She muttered something inaudible. "That's fine," you said, tossing the sponge into the bucket. " We can tie her to the bed after she might stop squirming then." You flashed him a wicked smile.

 He winked at you, "my god woman you are wicked...have I told you I love you lately?" He asked, clearing his throat, the bulge that started to grow in his jeans was becoming more and more distracting. "Hmmm" you replied " maybe but you can show me how much you love me later" you leaned on the hood of the car allowing for him to get a good view of your shirt.

 He hastily sucked in the air standing up quickly, "hold that thought" he says turning back toward the shed. "Hey! " You shouted he turned back to you real quick, spinning the poor girl as well, her feet and legs dragging.  You took the soapy sponge and tossed it at him, smacking him in the chest soaking his white shirt. He cursed under his breath then laughed, wiping his face with his other hand. "You are gonna pay for that as soon as I'm back from tying this bitch up". He looked back at you one more time while heading back to the shed. 

Oh, little sister

Pretty, pretty, pretty girls

Ooh, you're a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl

Pretty, pretty, such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl

Come on, baby, please, please, please

 

"God I hate this fucking song can you change it?"... "OTIS hello?". Baby sat up from the floor of the van and snapped her fingers at Otis. "Hey get your goddamn fingers out my face woman the fuck is wrong with you" he angrily swatted at Baby's hand as she attempted to snap in his face again. " I said I don't like that song so change it" "I don't give a flying dick what you like, I'm drivin' and we're leaving this song." She slumped back angrily onto the floor. Earning a chuckle from her father Spaulding. "S'not funny daddy" she snapped at him crossing her arms. "Oh lighten up there kiddo you know the rules, the driver picks the music". 

Spaulding had finally met up with both of them at the motel. Although it had taken him a while due to some personal delay he arrived there in the nick of time to help finish off torturing the poor victims. After killing the rest of the family the daughter of Roy and Gloria was left to wear her father's skin on her face and be hung up behind the door to scare the unfortunate housekeeper when coming to assess the room. unable to get her father's skin off and running in a frantic the daughter unknowingly ran into the highway to be hit by a semi-truck. Using the van they stole from them they attempted to meet you at the next stop. 

Otis only hoped they weren't too far behind you. Suddenly Baby perked up and glanced at the passing billboard." Just in case anyone's interested, I think I'm gonna be wanting some ice cream in about 10 miles" she excitedly looked back toward her father and then to Otis. Otis looked over at her and repeated her [in a mocking tone]  "I think I'm gonna be wanting some ice cream in about 10 miles." Baby looked back at home with an angry expression "Hey DON'T you fucking imitate me, it's fucking rude!"

Otis:" Fuck you", Baby: "Fuck you! "Two fucking seconds for the kid, is that gonna kill you?" Spaulding interjected getting real sick of the interaction between the two of them.

"Yes, it is going to kill me! I have calculated the time, and two seconds is the exact amount of time that is a hazard to my fucking health!" Otis replied visibly getting more and more annoyed with the idea of stopping. " What the fuck is your problem? I'm in and out in two seconds!" Baby snapped at him. 

   

Spaulding laughed a little "You know? I think I'm gonna get me some tutti fucking fruity." "Tutti fucking fruity, that sounds good!" Baby said nudging her father. "I'm glad that finding y/n doesn't mean shit to either of you now I know who is taking this seriously" he gripped his hands on the steering wheel in anger. These fucking idiots he thought to himself. " Wow excuse you…. How dare you imply I don't care about finding my BEST FRIEND. You know she meant the world to me before She meant the world to you, she was my best friend before she was your wife ok? I met her first… don't think because I'm not sulking like you I don't worry about her. But she's stronger than you give her credit for and you've been treating her like a child!!!". Otis didn't respond to her, he was getting madder by the second. He simply gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

 "I suggest we go see Charlie lay low there for a night before heading to the next motel," Spaulding said looking over at Otis. " Why the fuck would we do that?" Otis asked, slightly gripping the steering wheel even harder. Being away from you this long was not good for his mental health. It was throwing him off his game. It was making him anxious and nothing made him anxious. This was a very foreign and uncomfortable feeling to him. He wanted to get rid of it and to do that he had to find you. He only anticipated being away from you for maybe 12 hours and even the thought of that made him very uncomfortable. 

It's now been days this is unacceptable he needs to find you. "Look I saw on the news that the police are already on your tail. It's best that we throw off their scent a bit and lay low one more day can't hurt y/n is a smart girl she's gonna be alright". Otis didn't reply, he simply looked at the long stretch of road. Spalding continued, "I would hate to lead anyone to her Otis, Baby is right we care about her too but she's tough and smart I'm sure she's seen the news she will get the idea why we aren't there". "I don't trust that fucker Charlie" Otis finally replied with a sigh. Spaulding chuckled "yeah welp get over it". 

They drove through the rest of the afternoon only stopping for ice cream of course to prevent any distress from Baby and Spaulding. Pulling up to Charlie’s fun town, Otis’s annoyance grew more by the second. He hasn't been back here in years, he used to come on occasion to enjoy some of the girls here, but that quickly changed when you came around. He didn't like or trust Charlie, he had an inkling that this man was only out for himself no matter what Spaulding said. 

[radramblog]

Radiohead Retrospective Part 9: Hold me, hold me

We’ve arrived at the final Radiohead album to date. The only one to come out since I became a fan, and as such the one I can actually remember listening to for the first time. On a cold winter morning in Perth (so not that cold), releasing on a Monday, I excitedly ran up to buy the album on iTunes and download it before I had to catch the bus to uni. The last time I think I will ever have bought music on that platform, at this point. I remember listening to the opening two tracks, the two that had dropped with gorgeous videos over the weekend, before diving into the album proper.

And then a mate showed up at the station when I was transferring buses so I ended up talking to him instead of listening to the second half, and I didn’t get to do that until the afternoon.

I think it’s fitting that this album be the one with such a story attached, considering how personal an album it is compared to the previous few. A Moon Shaped Pool is a clear reflection of the events surrounding it- Thom’s divorce from his partner of 25 years, Rachel Owen, and her subsequent early passing from cancer, and the death of producer Nigel Godrich’s father during the recording sessions. There’s a deep loneliness and tragedy in the album, and one that seriously resonates with the times.

With that in mind, Burn The Witch is kind of an odd fit for the album. Themes of mob mentality and moral panic, images of medieval plague houses and witch hunts don’t quite suit the tone A Moon Shaped Pool generally conveys. Which is why it’s probably for the best that the song appears at the very start of the album, somewhat separated from the bulk of the work.

This might imply that I don’t like the song. Far from it, for a while, Burn the Witch was my favourite track on the entire thing. I adore strings on rocky music, and in this case, they almost chug, like the guitars on a System of a Down song, with the electronic elements being such an excellent subtle contrasting part of the music. Thom’s vocals are all-encompassing in the chorus, and the timing of the strings getting that little psychotic edge to them at the same time is so perfect.  

As much as the album is separate from this song, it’s still an excellent choice for an opener, both in the tracklist and the promotion. Because like a fair few other songs on this album, Burn the Witch has been a Radiohead song without a home for a very long time, as early as the Kid A era, with early versions of its lyrics showing up in the Hail to the Thief art and website. It was something hardcore fans had been clamoring for for more than a decade, especially after one live show where Thom responded to the cries by playing the first few bars- and then saying “alright for the rest of it you’ll have to wait until we get the orchestra” (paraphrased). And get the orchestra they did, with its majesty in this song being a statement.

Daydreaming is an extremely different song from Burn the Witch, as one would imagine from what I’ve said previous. Piano driven and muffled with allusions to Plato’s Cave, it’s a song that sounds like giving up, and all the pain (and all the comfort) associated with it. The song is a slow, slow build to an emotional climax who’s lyrics are incomprehensible on account of being backmasked. For the record, it’s commonly believed that they’re “Half of my life”, a reference again to Thom’s relationship with his late wife.

The song is relaxing for its majority, the soft pianos and vocals a cold comfort to the defeated emotion the song portrays. This is sort of shocked out of the system 5 minutes in, as the strings are louder and clearer, and the backmasked vocals get more distorted, and loud, sounding like snoring, drowning out the gentler electronic sounds. This does eventually settle, with both strings and vocals lowering to more of a rumble, everything else fading out until they are all that remain. The note the song ends on is kind of disturbing, frankly.

It’s somewhat awkward that the two songs with music videos are at the very start of the album, leaving the rest of this to be a wall of text. I’ll find something.

Track 3 presents an interesting parallel with OK Computer, with both Decks Dark and its Subterranean Homesick Alien using UFOs as metaphor for the human condition. Instrumentally, of course, they’re completely different, but the thematic tie is there. Decks Dark has also at some point vied for the place of my favourite track on the album, the very fun, rhythmic delivery of the vocals in the verse something I’m fond of singing along to, and that absolutely killer backing choral giving the song a haunting feel.

Decks Dark effectively has four distinct sections- Chorus(?) 1, Verse, Chorus 2, Outro. The first chorus is this very mysterious thing, light on instrumentation aside from an electronic drum beat and a simple piano line (with heavily panned noises that I’m pretty sure are only in the right ear). The verse, as I mentioned, has the haunting choral and fresh bars, a heavier piano laden into its airy instrumental, a quiet but killer bassline that gets to kind of show up in the second chorus. Chorus 2 feels like a reflection of the first, a bit more grounded, the mystery explored, and the outro is… I mean the bass and piano are great but I always forget about this part of the track, like I could take it or leave it. Fortunately for said outro, the song is very much more than the sum of its parts, and it’s an excellent fit for the album.

Speaking of being able to take or leave things, I’m not particularly huge on Desert Island Disk. A low acoustic guitar-based track, with a distant echo of an electronic piece playing only in your left ear for like, half of the track, with less subtle electronic sections following up, panning between ears, that (and I mean this as a compliment) remind me of the Spore soundtrack. Christ that’s a weird comparison.

There’s an interesting moment where a new acoustic riff comes in right as you’re getting lost in the haze, cutting through the electronic fog (as it becomes the only instrumentation present), which is honestly a very precise bit of musical timing. I do enjoy the lyrics to the song as well, what with its final line probably not deliberately being an LGBT+ affirmation but sure working as one. The song is, basically, pretty okay, but don’t be surprised if I skip it on my next (less thorough) listen-through.

Ful Stop is a track that often convinces me I’ve fucked up my headphones or something, because of how quiet and how slow the buildup for its introduction is. It’s probably the angriest track Radiohead has put out in the last decade, harsh electronics and accusatory vocals kind of a surprise after the chillness of Desert Island Disk. The bass is killer in this song’s first half, and the almost cyclical presentation of its various elements as the bass and drums are still slowly getting louder and clearer is excellent until it breaks into its second half. I…forgot how long the first section of the song was, frankly.

The second section is really interesting, with its twin vocals making like the instrumentation as “Truth will mess you up” slowly gets quieter and quieter to the point of inaudibility and “All the good times” rising into clarity, all while the instrumentation just keeps chugging. I understand this one is one of the songs that predates the album (and unlike Burn the Witch was actually played live), and I’d like to see exactly how that particular one panned out before A Moon Shaped Pool took it’s approach to it. Good track!

Glass Eyes somewhat reminds me of Faust Arp, in that it’s a much quieter, shorter, and vocally driven track than what surrounds it. And just like Faust Arp, I really enjoy it. This track is distilled, purified anxiety, brutal yet familiar lyrics and a soft, hesitant piano line to accompany it. The strings are absolutely beautiful on this song, rising and falling with the lyrics, and especially with the second verse.

This song feels intimate, particularly with its last two lines. “I feel this love to the core” is a great illustration of how, when surrounded by harsh reality and anxiety, positive feelings like love can be amplified in context and touch deeper than they otherwise would. Of course, it’s followed up by “I feel this love turn cold”, as this album is, in fact, about tragedy- what do you do when that source of comfort goes as icy as everything else?

Track number 7 is Identikit, and no I don’t know what that means. Actually I don’t really know what any of this song means, to be honest, but it is kind of a jam. It’s also the track where the album’s title, and this post’s one, come in, in a nigh-incomprehensible background refrain in the first section that I’m pretty sure we only know the words for thanks to the lyrics booklet. The first half of the track is fairly simple, vocals (+ that refrain) along with a simple drum loop and guitar line.

And then the bridge comes in. Larger-than-life, especially as the electronics and backing vocals come in for its second section, but it’s always briefer than I recall. Most of the song stays in the relatively relaxed mood of the first verse, with the second being basically the same as the first instrumentally, though the guitar is doing some really fun noodling and there’s some electronic stuff going on in the other ear. I kinda forgot how much panning there was in the album in general- not the type of album for those with only one working headphone. Identikit is a track for which my feelings are a lot more muted than they used to be- not a bad one by any means, but I used to like it more and I’m not sure what changed.

The Numbers opens with n o i s e s and this luscious piano section, experimental and jazzy but ethereal and vague, before its main guitar and drums kick in. It’s a very folksy track by and large, still having the feel of the rest of the album but with a twangier guitar and more consistent percussion, grounding the more airy elements of the track with this very real instrumentation.

Speaking of Very Real, this might be surprising for people who only follow Radiohead’s music and not their politics or people, but The Numbers is actually a climate change protest song. It gets a bit more obvious in the second verse, as the strings come in with this very determined mood, and the lyrics get a bit less subtle about the whole thing. I can’t say I know if anyone’s played this track at a climate rally I’ve been to yet (but they should), but it’s kind of interesting that it took this long for such a song to get made, considering how long Thom in particular has been a staunch supporter of, well, not having oil companies burn the world down.

Our next song is Present Tense, one which I think currently sits as my favourite from the album, but boy does it shift. It’s a very groovy piece, almost liquid in its presentation, one I can’t help but jam to a little bit when listening to. There’s some really surprising elements in the track, a…shaker, or whatever you call those things that aren’t quite maracas, as well the echoing vocals feeling like backing singers, whispering almost as they’re layered on top of each other over and over.

The lyricism in the song kind of speaks its own mood- “As my world comes crashing down, I’ll be dancing, freaking out”. It’s a dance of rejection, of denying reality and shutting down to avoid the world and its pain, but you know, while groovin’. There’s a duality to them, with the verses presenting this anxious spiral and its avoidance, as the chorus’s one line- “in you I’m lost”- suggests a lifeline for the person experiencing this scenario. All in all, it’s an excellent track.

Our penultimate track is one with a total so long that Spotify really doesn’t want to show it all, Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor Rich Man Poor Man Beggar Man Thief, which I’m not going to repeat because this post is already super ridiculously long. Fortunately, I have surprisingly little to say about this song. The majority of the track is pretty much fine, good vocals, a relatively basic instrumentation that gets more luxurious for the second verse/chorus, with a second clearer piano line and drums overlaid on their electronic substitutes from the first.

And then the final minute and a half happens, and it’s incredible. There’s no way they could have kept this up for the whole song, but the orchestral section in this part of the song is utterly mindblowing, a beautiful crescendo that serves as the album’s climax, more and more things and strings adding on as the progression of the song just goes and goes until it just…ends. I do wish it was longer, frankly, because there is a whole like half minute of outro that I just wish was more of that instrumental.

The final track on A Moon Shaped Pool is True Love Waits. But to talk about True Love Waits, we need to talk about True Love Waits.

That is to say the live version of the song from a 2001 Oslo concert, present on both I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings and Radiohead: The Best Of (the closer for both and the concert itself), since along with other tracks from the album this was one that had existed for a while before it finally got put to vinyl. It’s a lovely but surprisingly simple acoustic love song, depressing lyrics and wavering vocals aside. The chorus of the song is “just don’t leave, don’t leave”, a desperate plea for companionship that, in this case, seems to have succeeded. The track genuinely feels happy despite itself, a hopeful end to what was surely a melancholic concert. The video above isn’t that version, it’s from a different performance, but it’s close enough.

But of course, in reality, she eventually did leave. And then she died not long afterwards. This tragedy is reflected in the A Moon Shaped Pool version of True Love Waits, an utterly crushing piece of music. Those same lyrics over a simple piano version of the instrumentation, one that feels almost empty, or hollow, echoing into the void with only itself to answer. Those same lyrics that now feel so much more pained, an awful reminder of what was. The line “I’m not living, I’m just killing time” is so much harsher when the song doesn’t have that bright undercurrent to keep it going. While there’s a lot of emotion packed into the rest of the album, True Love Waits is the sonic equivalent of weeping.

It’s…hard to listen to. I believe it was literally scientifically determined, as far as something like that can be done, to be the most depressing Radiohead song. It’s basically not a song I ever listen to as a result- I really don’t need that energy in my life, honestly. Grieving is hard, obviously, but it’s not really a zone I want to deliberately put myself into.

And that is, ultimately, how A Moon Shaped Pool, and Radiohead’s current album legacy, ends. Not on a whimper, but something kind of like it. It’s a very good album, clearly, but there are moments from it I’d rather pass on most of the time- hence I don’t think it’ll ever be, like, top 3 for me.

At this point, Radiohead’s future is kind of uncertain. The members of the band took a break after this to work on solo projects and the like, but at this point, all of those have pretty much wrapped, and so the rumblings of LP10 are likely on the horizon. There’s no way of knowing what another album would look or sound like at this point, so we’ll just have to see. The band did release a 20 year anniversary edition of OK Computer, though, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see one for Kid A/Amnesiac within the rest of the year. It would, uh, have to be within the rest of the year.

The future of this series is of course similarly unclear. While I could and probably should end it, move on to talk about other albums and bands, some part of me does want to go back and take a look at some other Radiohead stuff. There’s B-Sides, there’s solo projects (which I really haven’t delved into personally), theres TKOL RMX 1234567, the list goes on. I guess you, and I, will both have to see next Tuesday. I hope to see you then, whatever it ends up being.

[lordseochangbin]

i wish it rained every saturday

a/n: lee felix angst + fluff. haha i love fefe, not proofread

for @0325stay ,, almost based on the cute guy that works at my local starbucks that ive literally never talked to sksk

“remember y/n, you can only write ONE WORD on the coffee order? no ‘girl with ugly pants’ or ‘cute boy thats comes every saturday when it rains”. thats just stupid’”

“that’s literally all you ally, now shut up. i actually write THEIR NAME on THEIR ORDER like youre supposed to” you closed the door to the coffee grains and passed ally, giving her a little shove to credit her obnoxious behavior.  

ally rolled her eyes, about to grab your shoulders on the spot before the bell rang near the entrance. thats right, it was saturday.. and it was raining. you felt a sudden pressure applied to your arms before you found yourself on the floor

“hi this is lordseochangbin’s coffee room [i hate how i implemented my user but i didn't feel like making up a name], how can i help you?” ally straightened her apron, giving a quick “don’t you dare fuck this up for me” look before diverting her attention back to the blonde boy. 

he was pretty, you had to admit. freckles spotted on his cheeks like a pretty dalmatian, you couldn't help but the count them all as if he were yours. but of course, it was a never ending count and the time to hand over a coffee to his table and say “here your coffee! -insert fake ass smile here-” was not enough to comply.

and how could you not notice that jawline? from the floor captured a good angle of his, and for a second you despised the insects on the wooden ground that you forgot to sweep earlier for they had rights to simply look up and see what others may call the sun. but as this all processed through you brain you noticed it wasn’t the ants looking at him- it was him looking at you.

“yeah i think i’ll get that” he nodded to quickly reassure himself. he smiled without his teeth, his lips forming a sideways line. kinda like that one emoji. “also.. are you okay?” he pointed to you.

ally raised her eyebrows in shock before turning to see you on the floor “oh yeah shes-”

“im fine” you got up, brushing your knees off of the dust “thanks for asking”. you shot him a quick smile, quickly returned by himself before he could say, “no problem, and dont make it to ‘cute boy that comes every saturday when it rains’, some people actually read that you know?”

you almost bursted in laughter as the boy walked away. leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and black doc martins. he seemed like the boy of your dreams, and now that you had experienced a bitter taste of his personality you liked it. not to the point like black roast but, somewhat sweet like vanilla. you loved it.

ally threw the small sized cup to you, the name tag unfilled and order still remaining. “chop chop!! get that coffee making, im gonna go apply some perfume and when i get back have that ready so i can give it to him” 

you rolled your eyes at ally, “fine” you muttered under your breath before turning on the coffee grinder, staring outside the window at the pouring rain

you noticed felix as well, staring outside with his wireless headphones in his ears. his lips pursed, and you could tell he was humming a really good song or just really thirsty.

after making the coffee you realized ally was probably doing her makeup as well, and as a few minutes passed by you assumed she may have been doing her hair. but the poor boy looked like he couldn’t wait any longer, so you picked up the coffee before realizing it had no name on it. 

with a marker in your hand, you’d realized he never really told you what to put. nor what to call him. he just told you what you shouldn’t call him. after a few seconds of contemplating, you decided to act like ally. except not in a few words, in one word.

i

thats what you wrote on the coffee cup before giving it to some other waitress to give to him. you watched from behind the counter as he received the coffee, taking it in his hand before checking out the name tag. “how” you could hear the words leave his inaudibly leave his lips and the hint of curiousness behind it.

your plan was working.

the next few days consisted of pure boredom. getting bullied by ally behind the counter and having to stay late at night as well. one week finally passed and you kept your hopes up that the weather app was correct, it would be raining. and the 80% chance gave you the strength to wake up and do your hair. for no reason though, because you knew ally would want to take his order and ally would want to talk to him.

but just in case, what’s to lose in dressing up decent for once?

you were on your break when felix came this time, but instead of ordering he walked straight to your table. your looking around in case he was mistaken as he sat across from you.

“hey, you’re the girl from earlier right?” he asked, dropping his things on the table in front of you.

“yeah, the one on the floor” you laughed to yourself

“my god” felix laughed along with you, sympathetically shaking his head “im so sorry about that”

“you knew why i was there?” you asked curiously

“oh come on, i know the little secret messages from your friend over the counter. but i really like your coffee, when are you back on your shift?”

“i never thought a guy would ask me to get back to work” you responded sarcastically, looking outside as the water droplets hit the cobblestone floor

“hey now, i just really like your coffee. can I get the usual pleaseeeee” felix begging in a baby-like voice caught your eye as you stared into his puppy eyes, immediately making you fall for them.

you quickly rolled your eyes before getting up from your chair, “fineee”

felix smiled at you, his cheeks turning a faint pink shade as he watched you go to the coffee grinder. “thank youuu”

you quickly put together his favorite order and gave it to ally, stealing a sharpie to write down a word on the name tag

really

“seriously?” ally asked, “can’t you just write down his name?”

“i don’t know his name, shouldn’t you?”

ally took the coffee from you, “watch me, ill get his name and his number” she was on her way to felix, placing his coffee in front of him and sitting in your seat from before.

you watched felix grab the coffee, looking at the word in awe. he picked it up, staring at post sides for a possible hidden message which made you chuckle considering he was more intrigued by the cup than the girl in front of him.

he looked towards the front counters, maybe in hopes of seeing you there but no- you hid behind as he walked out into the cold ran. and from there, according to the weather app, it wouldn’t rain until another 2 weeks.

the next saturday you didn’t expect his arrival. you constantly imagined it however. the way he’d take down his umbrella the second the door shut behind him, looking around for any open tables to accommodate. his pretty outfits made it harder not to fall in love as well, but you had to admit: a boy that came every saturday when it rained. why every saturday? why only when it rained?? it was a mystery behind a perfect man and you were the only one that speculated about it.

“hey y/n, can you do my midnight shift today? the cute boy isn’t coming so there’s no point in staying?” ally asked, her purse already in her hands

“you don’t think i have anything better to do?” you responded before getting a quick response.

“no, probably not. but i do, so see you later!”

and before you knew it ally was out the door.

you watched as people drank their coffees and read books or socialized with others. it was nice to know that people were still innocent enough to spend their saturdays like this. in a coffee shop like you were. but you knew they were doing so much better than you, better than the girl that was wishing itd rained this saturday, so you can give a message to the cute boy.

when everyone started to leave, you began to clean up before looking outside at the downpour. “mother nature, a little too late to comply to my wishes” you muttered to yourself. but almost on cue, you jumped on the spot as you saw the cute boy rush in- this time without an umbrella- into the store.

“am i too late?!” he asked, his heart beating out of his chest and his hair wet from the weather outside.

“dude you’re like soaking wet-”

“where’s the girl?!” he interrupted, looking past you to see no one there

“what girl?” you asked

“the girl that’s always behind the counter, always giving me those stupid messages. god, all i can think about is how her message will end. i have two words but i can’t seem to figure out the rest?! im 100% sure i have an idea but-“

“wait...” you interrupted, dropping your mop to the floor “you didn’t think ANYTHING of those messages? like maybe they actually came from someone’s heart or something?”

“oh come on” felix retorted, “it’s obviously she just likes me cause she thinks im cute or something. i mean who writes messages on coffee cups?”

shy girls that work till 12pm and get bullied by their own co-workers. you thought to yourself

“me... i do” you said in a somewhat like whisper but loud enough for him to hear

“it was you?” he responded in shock

“yes, but if it really meant nothing then i apologize. im sorry i bothered you with my ‘stupid messages’”

“no no!!” the boy grabbed your hands, holding them in his palm. they were freezing cold and no matter how much you hated him in that moment you wanted to hold them forever. “im sorry.. i didn’t mean it like that”

“yes you did, the whole idea was dumb and im sorry for that”

“y/n..” he read off your tag, “finish the message. i promise i won’t judge” he gave your hands a little squeeze making you look into his dark brown eyes. his breaths were softer in the moment, making your heart beat increase and you felt him come closer to you.

“i really... i really like you” you said, closing your eyes at how stupid it sounded at loud.

“you really like me?” he questioned, looking into your eyes as your slowly opened them

you nodded your head before he could pull you into a hug, “i really like you too, almost as much as i like your coffee”

[starstaiined]

Would You Lie With Me & Just Forget The World?

Chapter 2

SUMMARY: The world is a dangerous place. It can be big, scary, and almost overwhelmingly dark. But despite all the negative aspects, despite all the pain and turmoil, Katherine Howard has always found a brief reprieve in the other queens. Particularly, in her older cousin. (And as loathe as they are to admit it, the other queens have to agree with her.) Anne Boleyn can be chaotic, wild, and reckless  … but she’s also passionate, kind, and effervescent. Her boundless energy acts as a barrier against the bad in the world. But when that barrier breaks and the world turns on its head, can Kat manage to navigate the turbulent waters without her cousin by her side?  

CHAPTER ONE // 

TW: Implied abuse/neglect, Implied sexual abuse, Panic Attack, Car crash 

A/N: sorry this chapter took so long! I ended up having to trim parts out and it isn’t as smooth as I was hoping for, but this is one of the rougher chapters to set up because of all the background. (I’m setting this in my own AU verse/idea that I’m still writing up the lore for, if anyone wants to hmu for that feel free!) 

TAGGING: @the10amongstthese3s  @radcowboyalmondtree  @tonight-we-are-live  @the-queen-bee-is-here  @everything-insanity  @whoufflewhovian200311  (if you want to be added, just reply to this post, send me an ask, or hit up my ims! these are the people I know who were interested!) 

“Annie, I’m scared.” 

Anne froze, the almost inaudible admission tugging at her heart. She climbed down from the garage roof as easily as she’d climbed up. “You don’t need to be scared, Kit. I’ve got you, okay? Just trust me.” Anne smiled mischievously, shooting her brightest gap toothed grin at her cousin.

Kitty visibly relaxed, and Anne showed Kitty how to use the materials lining the side of the building to get to the top. (After it, it wasn’t more than a few feet in the air.) But as ordinary as the view may have been, it was extraordinary because they were there together. 

Anne dropped to book bag she’d brought with her, unrolling the blanket and wrapping it around Kat’s shoulders. “Can’t let the birthday girl get too cold now, can I?” She asked with a teasing grin. She reached into the bookbag, unaware of the surprise on her cousin’s face. She handed Kat some silly plushie she picked up at the store, and a (terribly smashed) attempt at a cupcake. 

“You...you remembered?” Kat asked, looking down at the presents her cousin gave her as if they were the greatest thing in the world. The genuine shock in her voice startled Anne. 

“Of course I did Kit...why wouldn’t I? It’s not everyday your favorite cousin turns seven, after all.” 

“Dad and the boys sometimes forget...” Kitty attempted to appear nonchalant, although it was obvious she was upset. 

“They do what?” Anne growled, and Kitty flinched away at the change in her voice. Not now, Anne chided herself, using every ounce of teenage self restraint she had in order to plaster on the cheesiest grin she could muster. “I’m sure they’re just...planning a surprise or something.” 

“Maybe.” Kat mumbled, but it was clear she didn’t believe it. 

They sat in silence, before Anne’s lips curved back into their usual grin. She nudged her younger cousin. “Why don’t you spend the night? We can play board games and watch movies. I’ll even let you-oh.”

She’d been cut off mid sentence by a hug, and found Katherine peering up at her. “You’re the bestest, Annie! I love you.” The younger girl’s face shone with excitement that hadn’t been there moments earlier. 

Anne couldn’t help but mirror that joy. She ruffled Kit’s hair, laughing at the expression it produced. “I love you too, Kit. And I’m here for you. Always.” 

But their short moment was cut short as her father’s voice echoed up from the ground down below. “ANNE BOLEYN, GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW! THE LAST THING WE NEED IS YOUR POOR HABITS RUBBING OFF ON LITTLE KATHER-” 

And with that, Anne woke with a start. She damn near fell off her bed with a yell, catching herself last minute and blinking sleep out of her eyes. The other side of the bed was empty. Thank god. It meant Kat had slept with Jane instead, and she hadn’t accidently interrupted what little sleep the girl managed to get. Anne flopped back down on her bed with a sigh. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, energy buzzing in her exhausted muscles demanding that she get moving. She glanced at the alarm clock. 6:03 A.M. 

Well, that was as good a time as any to start the day, wasn’t it? She rolled out of bed, quietly, and made her way to the bathroom. She ran through her usual morning routines : brushing her teeth, throwing her hair up in a tight bun, changing out of her pajamas and into running gear. By six thirty, she was ready to run. With her headphones fixed firmly in her ears and music blasting, she let her muscles guide her. The song playing pulled up another memory, a little fuzzy around the edges but still soft enough to pull a smile from her. 

Family Christmas parties, everybody’s favorite time. Except not really. Anne dealt with it as best she could, which was ignoring damn near everyone and doing her own thing. She was choreographing a dance routine to a song that had just come out, earbuds in and focus completely on the movement of each muscle in time with the beat. Which is why she didn’t notice George until it was too late. He slammed into her side roughly, knocking her off her feet and sending her sliding across the floor. Anne stared slack jawed for a moment, recovering her breath, before yelling “What the fuck George!” 

“Careful Ninon, don’t let dear old dad hear you using that language.” George answered with a smirk, towering over her. The gleam in his eyes made it clear he was in one of his moods, which meant Anne was in for it. If there was one thing George excelled at, it was pushing her buttons. 

“Why don’t you go bother Mary for once?”

“Because Mary’s actually socializing with the family, unlike you.”

“Sorry, not sorry, but I’m trying to have fun. I’m not interested in being judged for stupid reasons, okay? I just want to be left alone.” 

“Don’t want to be judged, don’t give them reasons to judge you. It’s simple, really.” George answered with a shrug. “Besides, considering your …. reputation I don’t think they’re stupid reas-” 

“I don’t really care about your opinion, George.” Anne snapped, face immediately heating up. She pushed herself to her feet, taking a couple steps away from him. “Maybe you should shut up.”

“Maybe you should stop being such a sl-” He didn’t get to finish that thought as a pink blur knocked into his legs. It caught him off guard; he flailed his arms wildly to no avail and ended up tripping over his own feet and landing on his ass. Anne blinked in surprise. George pushed himself to his feet quickly, visibly seething. “What the fuck!” 

Ten year old Katherine Howard, about two feet shorter and at least a hundred pounds lighter, didn’t break eye contact with George from where she’d positioned herself; she stood directly in front of Anne as if she were a human shield. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.” She deadpanned. 

“Brat.” George hissed, pointing a finger at the young girl menacingly. 

Kat just shrugged, but she could feel her hands trembling. “Takes one to know one, right?” 

Anne laughed, making her brother’s face flush six different shades of red. George, thoroughly humiliated and beyond angry, stormed off. Almost immediately Kat’s shoulders deflated. Anne pulled her younger cousin into a side hug. “KitKat, you are my hero.” 

“We’re family.” Kat answered back, her voice muffled by Anne’s shoulder. “We always protect each other, don’t we?” 

Anne smiled. “We do.” 

The memory faded. The burning in her muscles, and the unfamiliarity in her surroundings, made it clear she’d gotten lost in her head longer than she’d meant to. Crap. It took her nearly an hour to find her way back. She made a beeline straight for the fridge once she did. She gave the calendar a quick glance as she opened the fridge to pull out a carton of orange juice, before doing a double take. 

November 4th. Kitty’s birthday was less than a week away! How in the hell had that happened? Anne was usually on top of these things, but between the interviews and the show and her work on choreo...she could feel guilt flooding her system. Shit. She wracked her brain, trying to remember whether or not Kitty had been acting strange recently. She’d seemed a little lethargic but Anne had chalked that up to being overworked with the show…

She didn’t think twice. She rushed up to Cleves room, flinging the door open in a panic as she shook the other girl. “Anna!” She hissed, voice low but pressing. “Anna, wake up!”

“Anne…?” Anna asked groggily. “What time is it…” 

“It’s eight.”

“What are you doing up? We didn’t go to bed until almost tw-”

“Shh, that doesn’t matter right now. I’m going to the store. Do you want to come?” 

Anne’s voice brimmed with urgency, but Anna was too tired to register it. She buried herself deeper into her blankets. “With your driving? No thank you, Miss Boleyn, I choose life.” She waved a hand dismissively, eyes never so much as cracking open. The warmth of her bed was too enticing. 

Anne heaved a sigh, but accepted Anna’s answer. She ran to the kitchen, scribbled a quick note on a post it, and attached it to the fridge. 

Need to run some errands. Urgent. Be back later. XO, Anne. 

And with that she disappeared through the door, the orange juice still sitting forgotten on the counter. 

The shopping went quickly. Or well, as quickly as it could go when Anne Boleyn was involved. She spent hours loading her cart with Kitty’s favorite snacks and movies, picked up random little knick knacks that she thought Kitty might like. (Hell, she even managed to find some cute presents for the rest of the queens.) Brimming with excitement about her haul, and eager to show it to the others, Anne was in a phenomenal mood when she hopped back in the car. She was jamming along to every song coming over the radio, grinning from ear to ear. 

The buzzing of her phone on the seat next to her snapped Anne out of her private karaoke concert. It was probably just Kat calling to check up on her. She could feel warmth spreading through her chest as she let out a breathless giggle, turning down the music and running a quick hand through her hair. She found Kitty’s worry endearing, although she half wished Kitty would realize that Anne would be fine. After all, she always was. 

She half debated it letting it ring to voicemail, just until she could answer without taking her hands off the wheel. That was….until the name on the caller ID caught her attention. 

THOMAS HOWARD.

Suddenly, all the mirth she’d felt drained out of her like air out of a popped balloon. She hadn’t spoken to her uncle in YEARS. The last time she’d seen him was the day that she had left, Kitty tucked under one arm and spare clothes under the other. He made good on his promise to ostracize both of them.

Kitty’s head is buried in the crook of her neck, tears staining the collar of her shirt. “I’m sorry,” Kitty chokes out between sobs, barely comprehensible. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Anne, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 

Anne could feel a storm building beneath her skin, aching to break free and wreck every single person that had driven her cousin to this. SHE WAS A CHILD! But over the last few years, Anne had watched the light drain from her eyes. She was just kicking herself for not realizing what was going on earlier… But she can’t focus on that. Not right now. Instead she rubs soothing circles on Katherine’s back, rocking the girl back and forth. “It isn’t your fault, Kit.” Emotion rubbed her voice raw, and it takes everything in her not to cry. “None of it is. Not a damn thing. Do you hear me? Not a single damn thing.” 

If anything, that just seems to make Kat cry harder. “It is, it is Annie. I know it, and he knew it, and, and, and everyone knows it.” She’s cut off by a sob that shakes her frail shoulders. “He knew it, he said it, he-”

“He’s a piece of shit, Kit! I’m sorry, but it’s true. Your dad sucks. I wish it weren’t true, I wish you could’ve had the life you deserve. Somewhere far away from this bullshit.” Anne croaked out, a few silent tears falling as she fought to maintain a steady voice. “But you didn’t get that, instead life gave you a crappy hand and I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything. But I can promise you one thing.” Anne tucked Kitty’s head under her chin. “I know it isn’t much, but I’m here for you. Always. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’m right here. And I’m always going to be right here, okay?” 

With a few sniffling breaths, Kitty nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, she held out a hand with her pinkie extended. In a small voice, she asked, “Pinkie promise?” 

Anne was all too happy to link their fingers. “Pinkie promise.” 

They made themselves more comfortable in the living room, still a tangle of limbs but this time a tangle of limbs under a blanket. Before drifting off to sleep, Kitty squeezed Anne’s hand. “Annie?” She asked, drowsily. 

“Hm?” 

“Earlier...earlier you said that you weren’t much...but you are. Okay? You’re the best. And I love you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

Anne squeezed her hand gently three times. I love you. “Don’t worry KitKat, you’ll never have to find out.” 

Anne’s thoughts flashed to every time since then that Kitty’s tears staining the collar of her shirt, to the way the poor girl had trembled from nightmares that stole her breath. She remembered rushing out on errands like this, doing anything and everything to pull a smile out of her cousin, who spent the week leading up to her birthday WISHING for that call from the rest of the family. Thomas Howard failed as a father consistently over the past two years, and there’s almost no one Anne hates more. (When she thinks of him, all she can see is Kat trembling, crying out my fault, my fault, my fault. Just thinking about it makes her jaw clench.) Even now, in what she assumes is an attempt to make amends, he was calling her and not Kitty!

She reached over, answering it swiftly and bringing it to her ear. “Don’t. I don’t want to hear what you have to say, I need you to shut the hell up for two seconds and listen to me, Thomas.”  Anger boiled in her veins and sharpened her tongue, but blurred everything else. In the haze of her own hatred, her focus on the phone pressed to her ear, she missed the truck that was swerving on a path directly towards her.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Embrace

(final prompt for @whumptober2019: Embrace! Since yesterday’s was such a sweet, genuine bit of brotherly loyalty and love and comfort, today is... well, it’s the exact opposite of that. TW: there’s some pretty much outright torture here. Blood, knives, stress positions, dehumanization, it’s all here, folks. Abraham Denner is very, very good at what he does - and what he does is terrible)

“Did you think you were my first?” 

Abraham sits back in the folding chair, looking down at the slim, sharp knife he holds in one hand, chosen expressly for today's purpose. The end of it is still red, and he tilts the knife down, watching a single drop coalesce at the tip, swell and grow fat, shimmer in the dim light, and finally drop to the ground.

There is a tiny spot that briefly darkens where it lands and then is indistinguishable from all the other blood soaked into the earth here - insignificant, like the puppy’s life.

A life he has broken and remade in his own image.

Red is kneeling, in the dim light and cured-meat smell of the smokehouse. Kneeling and bent totally at the waist, folded in half with his arms out in front of him, forced straight until they pull, a little, at his shoulders by the ropes cutting hair into his wrists that tie him to the hooks in the wall near the ground.

Bram reaches down to pull his fingers against one of those ropes, then lets it go, and smiles at the twang and the groan from the back of Red's throat, forced unwillingly from behind the muzzle.

"Oh, right, your shoulder isn't quite healed yet, is it? Silly me. Well, I suppose we should keep talking, hm? Or I should. You can't really hold up your end of the conversation today, can you?"

Red doesn't even try to look up, and Bram smiles at the sheen of sweat on those muscled shoulders, along the line of his arms, the trickles of sweat that run over the clear shadows along his ribcage.

It's hot in here, today.

Abraham feels it as a gentle, comforting warmth, but the sweat on Red is a giveaway that he feels the heat very intensely. 

Funny. Bram never feels warm unless he’s in direct sunlight.

Red’s hair is a riot of mess everywhere that it isn't plastered to his forehead and neck with the sweat or the leather isn't pushing it in. Abraham’s are caught, for a moment, by the metallic glint of the little padlock laying against the back of his head.

He smiles at the curve of the grid he can see along Red's cheek and jaw, the way it's red there, too, smeared around from Bram's thumbs. 

But that doesn't hold a candle to his back. 

His back is a beautiful mess. Abraham's been working on it for the better part of two hours now, carving into the skin with a steady hand and a practiced eye for anatomy. Never too deep, never even grazing anything he can’t live without. 

You can't see the design through all the blood, but you will, soon enough - and when it scars Bram will get to feel the twisting patterns he’s made himself, run his fingertips over them and watch Red hold himself so carefully, perfectly, obediently still. 

For now, kneeling and prostrated and bloody, he looks like a flagellant. As though he’s a pilgrim out of time, a penitent being bloodied in purification, bleeding out the weight of his sins before God. 

Bram Denner is not God, of course.

The puppy that used to be Daniel Michaelson prays to him now at night, though, and that's close enough.

“Did you think I was born with this knife in my hand? That I sprang fully formed from my father's forehead like some slightly less muscular and significantly prettier Athena?"

Red doesn't answer - but then he can't, with his voice locked away. The only sound from him is the harsh breathing through his nose and low, ragged sounds coming from the back of his throat as the position he's in stretches his shoulders just a little too much and aggravates the still-aching too-recently dislocated joint.

Bram only left it like that for a few hours, but these things take time to heal, and Bram has never been a fan of letting old wounds heal before creating new. 

The sweat runs into the cuts all over his back and makes them sting, no doubt. Maybe Red can't even feel it any longer, though. 

Doesn't matter.

"No, this is the kind of thing you discover in yourself and then cultivate, puppy. You understand, right? You sure showed me some hidden talents that we got to cultivate together, hm?" 

He kicks out his legs, landing a glancing blow into the puppy's shoulder, and Red coughs behind his teeth, whining a little at the ache and the pain as he inadvertently tries to force his jaw open and fails.

"You paying attention, puppy?" 

Red doesn't even try to look up, nodding with jerky, dazed movements. Honestly, he's probably lost enough blood by now to be feeling pretty out of it - and he has that trick where he leaves his head when the muzzle is on, too. Abraham hates that trick. But the only thing that seems to prevent it is the headphones, and he wants little Red to really hear his voice today, in whatever part of him can still hear.

“Good boy. I know what you’re thinking. Why is this happening? What possible mistake did you make to earn this punishment, what lesson must you learn? What rule did you break?” Bram laughed, the deep, low little rumble of sound that he used to charm the bodies out there in the world, all of them collections of organ and bone waiting to be made better, to be fixed.

 But Bram was only one man, and even his prodigious skills could only be utilized on so many people at once. Besides… he’d hate to be distracted away from the puppy. 

Bram was very devoted to the puppy.

“Let me reassure you, little Red, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong this time.”

Red made a sound like a sob that came from somewhere deep within his chest, giving a single full-body shake, and fuck, he was so beautiful like this. Bram leaned over and tilted his head, looking carefully for a clean spot of skin. It was hard to find but eventually he located what he was looking for and smiled. 

“This isn’t about punishment, little Red. This is about honing a craft. I had to learn these skills that make good boys like you over… years… You know, we all have something we’re good at, but you have to really practice to turn a basic talent into a real skill. You’ve been so good lately, but I can’t just… waste these talents just because you’re getting so good at keeping me all kinds of happy, you know?” 

Bram leans down, thoughtfully, and slides his hand along the metal muzzle that locks Red's voice up, smiling at the pinpricks (not pain, not really - Bram never feels much pain at all) as his thumb finds the spots he turned into little jagged edges that pop up from the wires to cut and poke and tear. When he lifts Red's chin, he finds empty blue eyes staring up at him from above the muzzle, hair hanging over them that goes unnoticed. 

Bram hums appreciatively at the sight. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, just taking it in. 

Wide, nearly sightless blue eyes under sweat-soaked red hair. The slight unconscious nearly inaudible whines, vibrations Bram can feel against his fingers when he presses them to Red's throat. The red smears where his skin is retorn every time the muzzle goes on or off.

Nate never appreciates it - he’ll be angry once Bram finally lets the puppy back in the house, he’s usually angry these days anyway. He’s been pulling away from Bram’s kisses, acting differently. It takes longer - and takes more incentive - to make Nate be his black-haired prince, his true love, like he used to be. It’s confusing and troubling to Bram, but he tries not to think about it, too much. It had taken him months to hunt Nate down when he ran - and he can’t run, not here in the middle of the woods with his bad leg. There’s nowhere to go.

He’ll come around, Bram is sure of it - it just might take a while. But as long as Red is here, Nate will never, ever try to leave… that, at least, he’s sure of. 

Nate just doesn’t understand, is all, because he’s not really a Denner yet. Those things take time, but he’ll get there, he has to. He doesn’t grasp how all of this builds, layer on layer, into a perfect portrait of exactly what something like Red was born to be.

The dim light that comes through the cracks in the wood slats makes Red’s blood too vibrant, nearly surreal. It looks like paint, like his puppy is a Renaissance painting with those bright blue eyes and that wavy red hair. He’s pure unadulterated beauty in every line, scar, and bruise. 

Red had cried when they started in here, but he was far past tears now. Now he was blank, and empty, locked inside his head just a little further than Abraham Denner could follow. He would be back, later, and the pain would still be there for him, to shape him.

He didn’t need to be here to learn his lessons.

All Bram needed for those was his body.

“I have made you,” Bram murmured. “I have made you from the dust of your life and you are my creation, little Red, and I call you good.”

Maybe he was a little bit of a god, after all.

He slid his hand over Red’s hair, feeling the damp softness of it in between his fingers, before forcing his head back down until Red’s chin was pushing into his collarbone, baring the back of his neck to Abraham’s eyes.

A bit of clear, unbloodied skin. A blank canvas, ready to be painted. A piece of creation, like the dark and formless sea before it split to make the heavens.

“You belong to me,” He says softly, marveling at it, at the miracle of coincidences it took to bring little Red into his orbit at just the right time, the right place, when he needed something to help him hold onto Nate, when he had gone too long without someone to remake. “All of you, forever, belongs to me. You’re all mine.”

He moves his chair closer, watching Red shift around, trying in vain to find a way to take some of the pressure of the position he was trapped in off his knees and thighs. 

“Poor thing, your feet went numb ages ago, am I right? And your legs must ache. Don’t worry, I’m almost done. Just one more thing, puppy, and then we’ll go inside and get you all washed up and bandaged, okay?”

If Red even hears him now, he doesn’t react, only continues breathing harshly and quietly towards the floor. If he could talk, Bram thinks cheerfully, he would probably tell Bram he was busy being someone else.

It’s a neat little trick, but it never lasts long after the muzzle comes off - and when Red comes back, he feels all that pain he worked so hard to escape. 

Bram moves the knife, with its thin, razor-sharp blade, to the back of his puppy’s neck. The clear skin splits apart like darkness and light - like the land and the sea - opening and welling up with the same brilliant red blood. Bram carves two careful straight lines at diagonal angles that meet at the top, connects them with a shorter line through the center. 

Red groans again, but it’s fainter, now - more distant and hazy. He’s begun to shake helplessly, and Bram frees his hand from Red’s hair to rub soothingly at his shoulder while he lowers the knife to carve again. “Good, you’re doing so very well, my sweet boy. Just a little more.” 

Another straight line, vertical this time. Then a half-circle curved to meet the line at either end. He continues to soothe Red with one hand while cutting him with the other, and feels the man’s shaking grow more and more noticeable under his hand. 

He’s pushed him nearly too far, right up to the line of what his body will take before it simply drops him into unconsciousness in a desperate attempt to escape. That’s all right; Bram knows how to walk the line very carefully. He learned that skill a very, very long time ago.

Finally, below the first two letters, he carves the final one. One straight line up, one diagonal line to the side and down, then another straight line up. The blood is smeared and running down the sides of his neck now. Bram leans down to lick it up, feeling Red shudder but try to hold himself still.

He doesn’t try to pull away, even like this.

“Good. Very good, sweet boy. We’re all done now.”

Bram looks over his handiwork with a satisfied eye, then moves to the ropes that hold Red’s arms out, taking his sharp little knife and slicing right through them until the wrists are freed, wrapped in deep red welts that will bruise, in time.

Red bruises so very, very easily. Something about pale redheads, Bram thinks. Makes him irresistible when you can see all those pretty marks.

Red falls forward without the tension to hold him, collapsing onto the ground with little choked-off cries of pain as he tries to pull his arms back and his shoulders - stretched for hours - protest any attempt to bring them back to his sides. He can’t unfold his legs, and just rolls onto his side to take the pressure off, trying to sob without opening his mouth even as his eyes are still glazed, fogged-over, and empty.

Bram lets the knife drop to the side and kneels down himself, bundling the bloodied redhead into his arms, heedless of the blood he smears, enjoying the little hisses of further pain as he presses his palms against the new cuts along his back. 

Red doesn’t fight him, and that’s perfect - just curls up against him, head under his chin, clutching weakly at Bram’s shirt with shaking fingers, whining and pleading behind his teeth. Bram knows the different sounds so well by now, has beautiful dreams about them. 

“Don’t worry, you’ve been so good,” He soothes. “No more for today. No more. I’ll take you inside and get you all clean. We’ll bandage you right up, you can take a little nap on your mat, then you’ll get some dinner made for Nate and I tonight, hm? You were so good, helping me keep my skills up. So very, very good, little puppy. Do you know you’re my very good boy?”

There’s a movement of the soft sweaty red hair as Red nods against him, fingers finally able to get a good grip in his shirt, twisting into the fabric the way a child might hold onto their mother. Red’s eyes are closed and he breathes, in and out, in stutters and stops.

He's very nearly unconscious, and it makes him weak and pliable in a way that sends sparks of joy through Bram's mind.

Bram smiles, sitting back into the dirt, keeping the other man sitting right in his lap, letting himself be soaked in the blood. He lets his fingers run over the new letters carved on Red’s neck - A, D, N - and licks the blood off them enjoying the sparks of life on his tongue, the taste of pain and misery and I give up that has been forced into Red’s veins. 

"Oh, you sweet thing.” Bram presses a kiss into his hair, feels Red boneless against him, maybe even pushing himself a little more against the cool skin in the baking hot smokehouse, taking the comfort Bram chooses to give with gratitude, because this is better than the pain, and it’s all the choice he gets. 

He takes Red by the muzzle that runs along his jaw and tilts his head back, leaning in to kiss the sweat-soaked forehead, feels the flutter of Red’s eyelashes against his cheek when he nuzzles into the side of his face.

One of Red’s hands moves up to touch Bram’s neck, to curl around it, to pull him back to kiss his forehead again, wordlessly, whining low in his throat, desperate for any sense that the pain is really over, that Bram can be kind if only for a second.

He’s praying for mercy, Bram thinks with a laugh bubbling in his throat. I think you’ll find I can be a merciful god. The joke would be wasted now; he'll have to tell Red later, when he comes back to himself. 

Red won't laugh - but he'll give that tremulous, trembling little smile that never reaches his frightened eyes, and that's even better. 

Bram smiles, and kisses each closed eyelid. Red slowly starts to truly relax, to trust that for this moment, at least, it’s over. 

“You're not my first,” Bram breathes into his ear. “Not by a long shot.”

He tucks a little bit of red hair behind one ear, feels Red's pounding heart start to slow. Those empty blue eyes look right into his, and he wonders what little Red can even see. 

“You’re not my first, and you won’t be my last, little Red, but I think you might be my best."

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall, Chapter 5

a/n: No secret quite yet, but more clues! Plus Brothers Jones and Emma. I have to give special thanks to @darkcolinodonorgasm for giving me a new perspective on Liam, who I’ve never particularly liked as a character. I hope you like him here! 

New, serious-this-time-summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with.

Rating: T+

Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Tags for: @jennjenn615 and @resident-of-storybrooke

Chapter 5: 

It was astounding and rather disturbing to Killian how different his life at Storybrooke High became after Emma’s party. Where before he had been largely able to repel his classmates by hiding behind his laptop and headphones, turning Neal’s attempted frame job around on him seemed to have garnered Killian something of a reputation. Suddenly everyone was interested in knowing him better. People he didn’t think he’d ever even seen before were now greeting him by name in the halls, and the giggling girls who were so fascinated by hearing him pronounce simple words had unaccountably multiplied. He took to hiding out in a quiet corner of the library at lunchtime, just to get some peace. Fortunately the library was a bridge too far for most of his newfound fans, and only Emma managed to hunt him down there. 

He didn’t mind that so much. 

“I was worried people would be mad when Neal got suspended from the football team and blame you,” Emma confessed to him one Friday lunchtime in November, about three weeks after her party. “But it turns out everyone pretty much hated him and only put up with his crap because he won football games. And it helps that August has really come through. He’s a junior, and never had much chance to play until now because Neal hogged all the game time, but I really think he’s got more talent than Neal. He’s better at calling plays and doesn’t throw so many dumb interceptions because he’s trying to make a big play to make himself look good. And our running game has gotten way better because Neal always wanted to run passing plays, even on third and short yardage. It was seriously annoying sometimes.”

“Swan,” said Killian in exasperation, “You do know that I only understand about one out of every three of those words, and no one has yet been able satisfactorily to explain to me why a you call this game ‘football’ when only one player’s foot ever even touches the ball. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Emma laughed. “Sure. You doing anything this weekend?”

Killian flushed pink. “I’m going sailing with my brother, then we’re cooking dinner together.” 

“That sounds great,” said Emma, wondering why he looked so embarrassed. “Any special occasion?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “It’s my birthday,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. 

“What?!” 

“It’s my birthday, okay? Today, actually. But of course I have school and Liam has work, so we’re celebrating tomorrow.” He noted with alarm her wide eyes and excited face. “Emma, no,” he begged. “Please don’t make a big deal about this.”

“But it’s your birthday!” 

“And I just want it to be a low-key day, no big celebration, no stress.” 

She tried not to feel deflated. “Just you and your brother.” 

“Unless you’d care to come along?” Killian tried not to sound too hopeful, tried not to be too hopeful, though the idea of spending a whole Saturday with Emma, even with Liam along as well, was just about the best birthday gift he could imagine. 

“Could I?” asked Emma, not troubling to hide her own hopefulness. 

“Um, do you want to?”

“Well… yeah, actually. It sounds really fun. I haven’t been sailing in ages, and I’d kinda like to meet your brother. You talk about him so much I feel like I know him already.” 

“Funny, he says the same about you,” said Killian without thinking. 

“You talk to your brother about me?”

She had that look in her eyes again, the one she’d had at her party right before she kissed him. The one that said she wanted to kiss him again. The one that made him want to let her. Killian gave himself a mental slap. Damn it, no! “Well, you are basically my only friend, Swan, who else would I talk about?” he said, attempting to cover his slip. 

“Maybe I was your only friend, but you seem to have acquired quite a few little admirers lately.” She sounded disgruntled, and he felt absurdly pleased. 

“You’re still my only friend,” he assured her. “And I would be honoured to have you accompany Liam and me on my birthday sailing trip. And to dinner too, if you like.” 

“Didn’t you say you’re cooking together?” she said hesitantly. “I’m not much of a cook.” 

“No, nor I, but Liam is a master of the barbecue, so we’re going to do steaks.” 

“What, outside?” He nodded. “In November? In Maine?”

“We’re from England, love, if we let a little miserable weather deter us from barbecuing we’d never get steak.”

“All right,” she laughed. In that case, I’d love to.” 

His answering smile was radiant, sending the familiar butterflies dancing through her belly, this time in a sophisticated cha-cha-cha. She wanted to kiss him so badly when he looked like this that resisting the urge took a physical effort. 

“We’re scheduled to cast off at ten, so why don’t you meet us at the marina at nine forty-five?” he said. 

“Okay,” she agreed, just as the bell rang signalling the end of lunchtime. They gathered their things and walked to their history class together, not holding hands but both definitely thinking about it, wishing they could, their arms hanging loose at their sides, hands as close as they could get without actually touching. Upon arrival they went to their desks at opposite sides of the classroom, their history teacher having assigned seats at the beginning of the semester. Emma scowled slightly as she watched Killian take his seat between Aurora and Tina, two juniors who had always giggled to each other over him but whose flirting had reached new hights of coquetry In the weeks since the party. She watched as they peppered him with questions and he smiled and charmed them with his replies, and she couldn’t believe they didn’t see how tense he was beneath the charm and how he visibly relaxed when the teacher stood up and started the class, drawing their attention away from him. 

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

“So what time is your girlfriend getting here?” shouted Liam, loud enough to wake the dead. 

Killian sighed. He knew that Liam was just trying to lighten the mood with his teasing but really wished he wouldn’t. His brother knew perfectly well that Emma wasn’t Killian’s girlfriend. What he didn’t know is how the knowledge that she could be tormented Killian, and how any teasing on that point just drove the knife point deeper into his heart. Knowing that he could have her, her smiles and her kisses and her hand in his as they walked through the halls at school, that all that and more was within his reach if he could only forget about all the reasons why he couldn’t take it ate away at him. If he could just bring himself not to care about the consequences, to be a heartless bastard who didn’t give a damn about anyone else, then he could have what he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he longed for Emma, he couldn’t do it. 

Liam was thrilled he’d made a friend, and that the friend was a girl. He thought it meant that Killian was forgetting, moving on, and that Emma actually becoming his girlfriend was only a matter of time. 

But Liam didn’t know the worst of it, the full weight of the burden Killian carried, bearing it alone because he didn’t dare share it. As much as he wished to tell Liam or Dr Hopper or Emma or anyone —really, anyone, as long as it wouldn’t be his alone to carry anymore— he was too scared of what they might do, of the potential consequences of people bumbling in trying to fix what they didn’t understand. He would fix it, when he got back to England. It had to be him. 

It had been four months. Another five to go. Nearly eight until the AP exam results would be released. Killian felt panic rising in him at the thought of that three month gap, but he swallowed it back. It would be okay. He forced himself to breathe deeply, calmly. It would be okay. He would fix it. 

Before he could answer Liam’s question, Emma’s yellow bug swung into a parking space right near where their boat was moored. She hopped out, smiling brightly, and Killian’s heart leapt and tumbled in his chest. She was so impossibly beautiful, he thought, so beautiful and bright and pure and good, and just everything he could ever wish for in a girl. Everything he could have had if he hadn’t made made such terrible mistakes, hadn’t completely fucked up his life before it had even really begun. But he pushed those thoughts away. She was here now, to celebrate his birthday with him, and he intended to enjoy what time he had with her. He grinned foolishly as she approached, keeping his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets to stop himself reaching for her. 

She was dressed in chinos and deck shoes and a bright red woollen coat, with a beanie on her head and a large scarf wrapped around her neck. She laughed. “It’s freaking freezing out here, Jones,” she said. “And it’ll be even colder on the water. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“It’s not cold, Swan, it’s bracing,” he said firmly, and she laughed again. He was so caught up in the delightful sound of it that he didn’t notice Liam appearing at his elbow until his brother loudly cleared his throat. Killian glanced over, grimacing at Liam’s appraising look and raised eyebrow. 

“Um, Emma, this is my brother Liam,” he said grudgingly.  

“Mr Jones,” said Emma, flushing slightly and looking suddenly nervous. 

Liam’s smile widened. “Call me Liam, I beg you,” he said. “There must be no undue formality between the only two people in the world able to stomach the company of my little brother.” 

He elbowed Killian, who rolled his eyes. “Younger brother,” he muttered, not quite under his breath. 

Liam chuckled and gestured for Emma to follow him onto the boat. “So, Emma, what sort of sailing experience do you have?”

“Well, my dad has a boat.” 

“Ah, yes, Sheriff Swan. He’s been down here a few times.” 

“Yeah, when I was little we used to go sailing quite a lot, but for the past couple of years it seems like we never have the time.” 

“Your father mentioned you were busy with cheerleading and college applications.”

“Yeah, that’s mostly it.” 

“Where are you planning to study?”

“I’m hoping for Columbia, or else NYU or Boston University.” 

“Any ideas about your major?”

Killian scowled as his brother drew Emma away, busying her with pre-sailing tasks as they chatted. How the hell did Liam know so much about American universities all of a sudden, he wondered crossly. He’d only just learned what a major was himself. 

“I’d like to do psychology, maybe with a criminal justice minor. I’m thinking of being a forensic psychologist.” 

Killian’s scowl deepened. She’d never told him that. Of course, they’d never really discussed their plans for the future aside from his intention to return to England. Suddenly he felt desperately sad, realising that he’d likely never know if Emma achieved her goals. 

Though he had little doubt that she would. She was brilliant and determined, there wouldn’t be much she couldn’t do. If only he could be there to see her succeed. 

“Ahoy there, Killian, don’t just stand there like a lump!” shouted Liam. “Come and help us prepare to set sail. You check the sheets while Emma tells us what exactly a forensic psychologist does.”

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

They sailed out to the edge of Storybrooke’s cape then around the harbour before heading back to their mooring. It was just as cold as Emma had feared, the icy wind whipping her hair into a frenzy and turning the tips of Killian’s ears so red that she worried he’d get frostbite. Pulling her beanie off her head, she thrust it at him. “Put this on,” she commanded. 

“What?”

“Put the hat on, idiot, before your ears fall off.” 

“And what about your ears, Swan?”

“I’ve got my scarf. See?” She wrapped the scarf over her head and around her neck, securing it underneath the collar of her coat. “It’s actually better like this because it holds my hair down. Now put on the damn hat.” 

“Such language, princess,” he teased, pulling the hat on over his ears, where it looked just ridiculously cute. “I’ve never heard you curse so fluently. Is it the influence of us rough seamen?” He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed, throwing back her head and shoving him playfully in the chest. 

Liam watched their byplay, not bothering to hide his delighted grin. It warmed his heart to see his brother smiling like that again, and after meeting Emma he had no qualms about encouraging their relationship. They were both so obviously smitten, the looks they gave each other so positively brimming with teenage angst and longing that Liam felt it could only be a matter of time before Killian finally gave in and asked her out properly. He had clung far longer than Liam had expected to this obligation he seemed to feel towards Milah Gold, but that was firmly in the past now, and Liam had no intention of letting his brother stumble down a similar path ever again. Killian was seeing Dr Hopper regularly and making good progress, according to the psychiatrist’s reports. He was getting good marks in school, seemed to enjoy playing his music again, and now he had a pretty girl his age who was clearly crazy about him. The tight knot of anxiety that had taken up residence in Liam’s chest the previous summer and had been his constant companion ever since eased slightly. The decision to move Killian to America despite his vehement protests had been the right one, Liam was more sure of that now than ever. His little brother was healing, slowly, but he would get there. Soon he would be his old self again. 

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

It was well past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself away from the Jones house after one of the single best days she could remember, sailing and grilling and eating steak and loaded baked potatoes and birthday cake until she couldn’t eat any more. Killian had played his guitar and Liam had sung along; even she had joined in after considerable coaxing and teasing from both of them. She didn’t think she’d ever laughed so hard in her life. Resolutely, she ignored the plaintive voice in her head urging her to stay just a few minutes longer, knowing that she needed time to drive slowly through the icy streets in order to make it home for her midnight curfew. 

Killian walked her to her car. “Thanks for coming today, Emma,” he said softly, taking the beanie from his pocket and pulling it down onto her head, letting his fingertips brush through her hair as he did. “It was the best birthday I’ve had in a while.” 

“I had a great time,” she replied. He dropped his hands from her hair but she caught them and placed them on her hips, stepping closer and leaning her head against his shoulder, smiling as she heard him catch his breath. She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her own breath for an anxious few seconds until he finally pulled her close, his arms enclosing her tightly. Sighing, she melted into the hug. “Happy birthday, Killian,” she whispered.  

They stood like that for as long as Emma dared, until finally she knew she had to get going. As she started to pull back Killian’s arms tightened around her almost reflexively, as if not wishing to let her go. She looked up at him, their faces so close there was barely a breath between them, and willed him to kiss her. 

She knew it had to be his move. She’d made the last one, now it was up to him. 

He swayed towards her, his eyes fixed on her lips as his own parted slightly, and she fisted her hands in his coat, forcing herself to wait. She could almost feel the conflict within him as he struggled against his attraction to her, and against whatever he was holding inside that wouldn’t allow him to act on it. The tension stretched her nerves tight and the butterflies performed an energetic jitterbug in her belly until Killian seemed to pull himself out of a trance, blinking rapidly and shaking himself and then abruptly his arms were gone and he was stepping away. 

“Drive safely, love,” he said hoarsely. 

Emma hid her disappointment behind a bright smile. “See you at fencing club tomorrow?” she asked, her own voice lower than normal. 

“I’ll be there.” 

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

Outside the door of Dr Hopper’s office, Neal waited. This time of year darkness fell quite early in Maine, and the sun had long since set by the time the psychiatrist went home for the day, whistling as he went. The office door closed behind him with a decisive click and he followed an eager Pongo to the exit, not noticing the boy hidden in the deep shadows of the darkened hallway. 

Once he was sure he was alone Neal knelt in front of the door, withdrawing a set of lock picks from his pocket and quickly jimmying the door open. No security at all, he thought scornfully. You’d think the man guarding Storybrooke’s darkest secrets would have a sturdier lock. He hurried to the filing cabinet, picking that lock just as easily, and soon he had in his hands the thick manila file bearing the name of Killian Jones. Placing it on the coffee table, he made himself comfortable on the sofa and flipped the file open, illuminating its contents with the flashlight from his phone. 

Several minutes later he sat back, feeling gleeful and exhilarated, and thoroughly pleased with himself. This was fucking huge and with it he could annihilate Killian, not just at school but also with Emma. There was no way she would forgive him. Not a prissy little prude like her. Not for this. 

Grinning smugly, he snapped a few pictures with his phone then returned the file to the cabinet and locked everything behind him as he left. For the first time in his life, he couldn't wait to get back to school

(We’ll get the secret in the next chapter, I promise!)

[e-ziz33]

3:33 - Antisepticeye

Pairing: Antisepticeye x Y/N

Summary: Y/N wasn’t in the best state of mind when Anti finally visited her

Warnings: demonic nature, creepy, triggering

Word count: 1122

Her hand trembled as she approached the warm mug. It has just struck 3:32, the latest she has stayed awake in a while. The night was eerie, she felt as if she was being watched – however she chose to ignore it. While raising the mug to her lips, her eyes stayed drawn to the bright word document; scanning the page. She found herself re reading the same line twice. Due to her eyes falling heavy as if the dark circles under her eyes were weighing them down. Delicately, she placed the mug down.

A sudden wave of melancholy shook her body like a sudden storm. Her frail hands raised to her face, catching small tear drops that abandoned the corners of her eyes.

“You’re crying again.” A sinister slither like voice whispered in her headphones. She shot up looking towards her screen, seeing the same extensive spread of words. Instinctively, she wiped her eyes before searching for the source of the voice. Her eyes scanned through her open tabs. All still like she left them. “You can’t see me for now.” It was almost like static, nearly inaudible. “But I am here.”

She became scared, feeling sick.

Anxiety.

She stood from her chair turning away from the screen, the light barely lit the room but it was enough for her to find her way toward her chest of drawers. Where she pulled open a drawer, listening to the rattles of medicine in their containers. She took a deep breath in, looking at the labels: Prescribed to Y/N Y/L/N. She lifted the one she needed, looking at the label again. Her hands twisted the cap, struggling at first but then finally being able to access the pills. Turning on her heels, she gazed upon her screen…

It wasn’t her screen anymore.

There was a face, tinted green like a glitch with eyes black and hollowed out. Her hands became loose dropping the container. His mouth was moving, but his voice was quiet as it was going through the headphones.

She edged slowly towards her desk, the small whispers becoming louder as she placed her headphones on.

“You can hear me now, right?” the voice echoed, like before; in static. Y/N slowly sat on her chair, intrigued yet terrified. “HELLO?” He yelled almost pleading for attention. Y/N winced, he smiled. “Why are you shaking?” his words were the only thing heard in the silenced room. “TALK! FOR FUCK SAKE.” He was angry, but by what is a mystery.

“What do I say?” her voice was tiny, like a whisper. She gazed upon his face, he was pale, with a minimal facial hair. He looked like a normal person, yet he didn’t. A scar wrapped around his neck, hair acidic green.

The screen flashed, he was now smiling. His teeth were surprisingly white, all blunt except his 2 pairs of canines.

“Your voice gives me great pleasure, Y/N.” he spoke, head twitching. She swallowed making her realise that her throat is suddenly dry.

“Who are you?” Her voice cracked, peering in. He licked his fangs, grabbing his tongue between them. His eyes flashed from his black orbs to a baby blue- for a second his eyes looked normal and as if in pain. His actions were continued by him licking his bottom lip, a streak of blood following his tongue.

“You wouldn’t know,” He stated bluntly, wiping the bottom of his lip with his thumb. “However, you might know him.” His eyes dragged away from her. She tilted her head in confusion. He caught that.

“Watch.” He demanded. She gave a single nod, leaning back in her chair she did exactly what he told her to do. The screen glitched once again, now he had a dagger resembling a kitchen boning knife. In a blink of an eye, his wrist was in screen. There were scars on the pale skin- previous cuts. Y/N looked down to her hand in her lap, sudden tears falling. “LOOK AT ME!” His voice boomed in her headphone causing her to wince and look up. He laughed, dragging the pointed dagger from his wrist down to his elbow, thick dark blood spilled out.

He continued to laugh until the screen flickered once again and loud distressful scream was let out. It was no longer him. On her screen was a man with features he shared with the other however his eyes were not black but baby blue; the same ones that flashed earlier as the alter ego bit on his tongue. His skin was brighter with life still living inside him. He hissed in pain, exposing his teeth. The fangs were gone.

“Hello?” her voice cracked. The man shot his head up, tears in his eyes.

“Help me.” He pleaded, his right-hand gripping on his left. “Anti... he is a virus.” With that the man was gone and his evil alter ego returned.

“SHUT UP!” Anti screamed to himself. “FUCK OFF!” his large hands shot up to his hair, pulling manically. “DON’T MAKE ME DO IT!” he glitched again, boning knife back in his right hand. “STOP SCREAMING!” He drove the knife into the previous wound.

The man was back, his innocent eyes pleaded.

“ANTI.” His voice croaked, tears falling onto his black shirt.

Y/N sat still wincing into her hands, she couldn’t take it.

“What’s going on!” she cowered as Anti came back. He looked at her shooting a sinister grin. Pulling the knife out of his arm and dropped it. He suddenly became weak. Eye lids shutting close, the same glitch repeating itself; Anti laughing then begging for attention. His final ear-piercing scream faded into static. Then my word document was back.

 Y/N shook her head confused and scared. She turned back the tablets spilt across the floor, quickly the scurried towards them. Grabbing a clean but excessive amount, she went back to her desk grabbing the now cold beverage – swallowing the two at the same time.

After a moment of picking herself up, she finally closed her saved document. Pulling up a new tab with an iconic red logo she scanned her subscriptions.

Nothing.

Then scanned the trending section, she looked upon the clickbait titles. Nothing she hasn’t seen before. She scrolled further down. A breath hitched in her throat.

What’s happening with Jacksepticeye

The face in the thumbnail was the man with Anti’s features and the scars he left on him. Hesitantly, I clicked on the video to a loud woman with obnoxious gestures.

“It is no secret that Seán McLoghlin has been going through some things…”

Little do they know.

[im-an-eh-sayer]

The Man in the Alley

Jungkook x reader

Words: 3k

Genre: Horror, hero!Jungkook, neighbor!Jungkook

Here @bangtanscript this is what I was writing when I freaked myself out.  Haha I’m a scardy cat, it’s not even scary.  Actually re-reading it, it’s kind of dumb😂  oh well I still hope you like it!!

******

It was dark now, as you had arrived home from work later than usual. You sighed as you changed into your jogging clothes, you hated running at night but you knew yourself well enough to know that if you skipped one night you would stop all together and have to start at the beginning again.

You plugged your headphones into your phones headphone jack and fastened your phone to your arm, grabbing your keys and stepping outside.

As you turned and locked your door you could see your breath against the cold night. It was winter but you were still jogging as the snow had mostly melted and the sidewalks were cleared. You gave yourself a silent pep talk before starting your jog through your neighborhood.

You knew your neighborhood to be a safe one and during the day you loved being outside, but there was something about the night in your neighborhood that always made you feel on edge.

You had been jogging for about 20 minutes before a shiver went down your spine making an unsettling feeling of unease creep into your stomach. Suddenly you were all to aware of the dimly lit streets and the dark houses and businesses around you.

As you continued to jog on you found that the feeling would not subside. Nervous you lowered the volume of your music, even taking out one of your ear buds to be more aware of your surroundings.

As it was you were to far from your house to turn back, you were better off continuing on your course instead, and so you strengthened your resolve and pushed forward, convincing yourself you were brave. And soon enough you started to believe it.

As you rounded a corner, one of the last on your trek you even began to feel better, convincing yourself you were merely paranoid because of the cold darkness surrounding you. You even slowed your pace to one that was more comfortable determined to finish your jog relaxed.

Finally as you were coming nearer the last street on your route you let out a relived sigh and even chuckled a bit at how much you had worked yourself up over nothing. That is until you rounded the corner coming onto your street and heard the deranged laughter of a man standing farther down the same sidewalk you were running on.

You stopped in your tracks and had to clap a hand over your own mouth to stifle a gasp. You were terrified, the laughter for the man getting louder and more crazy by the second. You were breathing heavily your fear growing with every moment that passed.

You stared at him his back facing you as you tried to tell your legs to run, something about this man wasn’t good, wasn’t right. Soon enough your leg had manged to move and you took a silent step back, and that was when the man went quiet, his laughter stopping.

Slowly, ever so painfully slowly he turned to face you. You wanted to scream when you saw his face, pale white, emotionless and his empty, almost dead eyes staring at you. You wanted to get away, to run to scream to ANYTHING but you just couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried. You could only stare back at him and watch in horror as he slowly cocked his head to the side. A huge, evil smile then spread across his face and he slowly pulled something that shone in the light from his pocket.

“Will you help me?” He asked you cocking his head to the other side. An ear splitting scream finally erupted from your chest as he took a slow deliberate step towards you and then charged off in a full sprint directly towards you, and that was when you finally turned and ran off like a shot in the other direction in an effort to get away from him.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks blurring your vision as you ran, and over your terrified sobs you could hear the footsteps of the deranged man behind you and something, maybe metal dragging across the pavement. You were starting to get tired, and that simply added to your fear, you started to stumble, but always managing to save yourself before falling.

A loud sob escaped you as you heard the man catching up. I’m going to die, you thought to yourself as you rounded another corner. You were on the verge of giving up when hands, two hands reached out from a darkened alleyway one covering your mouth and the other dragging you back into the sinister depths of the alley.

You kicked frantically trying to wriggle out of the alley’s phantom grasp, your sobs almost inaudible beneath the cold hand over your mouth. You could hear the deranged man, still laughing as he ran down the street and you wanted to throw up at the thought of him finding you, at the thought of what he and his friend who had grabbed you had planned.

You were dragged farther and farther into the alley the hope leaking out of your heart as the street you were once on grew farther away from you after every passing moment.

Suddenly the hands on you faltered, the legs that were helping drag you into the abyss of darkness stumbled and that was all you needed. You reared your leg forward and kicked back as hard as you could. Again the hands faltered loosening their grip, this was your chance you struggled as hard as you could to escape, to run, to be free of the darkness that was so desperately dragging you into it. But it was no use. No sooner had the hands faltered after your kick, then they had regained their hold on you this time dragging you behind a dumpster and roughly shoving you against the cold brick wall. There was nowhere to go now. You were stuck between a wall and a man who had no intentions of letting you go.

You started shaking violently with fear as you heard the mans deranged laughter get closer and closer to the alley entrance and you squeezed your eyes shut, listening, waiting to hear him stop running and start down the alley towards you and his accomplice.

But it never happened, instead as the laughter grew louder as the crazy man approached, the alley man pushed into you even more practically flattening you against the wall. And then it happened. The laughter reached the alleyway, and you heard him stop running as he stared into it. You waited for him to walk towards you again but he didn’t, instead he let out another loud roaring laugh that made you tense up and then he continued running, but to your surprise away from you, past the alley continuing down the street you were no longer on.

Suddenly you heard a tense sigh escape the alley man’s mouth and he loosened his grip on you.

“Jesus Y/N!” The alley man whisper shouted at you. “What the fuck are you doing out at a time like this!” You recognized the voice almost immediately and your eyes flew open, once more filling with tears, but this time tears of relief.

The man fully released you and you turned to look at him, your neighbor Jeon Jungkook. You wasted no time in grabbing hold of him to make sure he was real. To make sure he was actually there and you weren’t dead already. But he was there and he was real, wrapping his arms around your shaking frame. You tried hard to breath choking on your sobs and Jungkook had to replace his hand across your mouth. 

“Shh. He may hear you and come back!” He chided you “hurry let’s go” he said wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you as he guided you deeper into the alley, which you now recognized was the one that led to his house.

With shaky steps you finally managed to make it to Jungkook’s backyard fence and he let go of you reaching up and over it to unhitch the lock.

Quietly he swung open the door and you both stepped into the familiar yard. You only paused a second to wait for Jungkook as he closed the high fence gate shut and replaced the lock. You were still shaking and had tears running down your face but you refused to leave his side, opting to wait for him instead of entering his house alone.

Jungkook made quick work of the gate and was back at your side in no time, once more wrapping an assuring steady arm around your waist as he guided you across his back lawn and up the back porch steps to his door. He took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He opened it and as you were about to step into his house you both heard a sound that made you pause. Loud laughter. You both looked at each other and Jungkook practically shoved you inside following you right away, quickly closing the door and locking it behind him.

Finally inside you broke down, your legs giving out from under you and loud sobs erupting from our chest. Jungkook crouched down beside you rubbing your back as he pulled out his phone and called 911. He explained everything to the dispatcher and agreed to stay on the line until the police arrived.

There was a pause and the room delved into silence only broken by your sobs. Jungkook let out a curse and then started in on you.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” He practically yelled at you making you flinch. “Don’t you watch the news Y/N?! There was a goddamn citywide alert out for this guy! People were advised to stay inside and lock their doors! Jesus what were you thinking?!” He ripped into you with no remorse, not caring how terrified you still were, all his efforts to comfort you now gone, replaced by his harsh scolding.

“I didn’t know!” You cried “i got home late from work and i went straight out for a run i didn’t even turn on the TV or the radio!” You paused to take in a gulp of air through your sobs. “I’m sorry!” You whimpered looking up at him.

His face softened immediately. “No i’m sorry” he said “you’re absolutely terrified but i just yelled at you! I was just worried about you! If i hadn’t of come home early and seen you run by my house-” he trailed off his hands balling into fists his knuckles turning white. He didn’t continue his sentence instead opting to wrap his arms around you pulling you tight against his chest. “You’re okay now” he said his voice soft, “you’re with me now i’ll protect you”

You couldn’t help yourself, you clutched at his shirt balling the fabric into your fists as you trembled in his tight embrace.

After a few minutes your tears finally slowed and you loosened your grip on his shirt. You sniffled, turning your gaze up to his and opening your mouth to say something. But you stopped before you could get the words out as you heard a knock on the wall coming from outside. And you heard a muffled voice ask

“will you help me?”.

At the sound of the voice coming through the wall from outside you froze, a shuddering breath of terror escaping your lips. Jungkook was quick to pick up his cell and tell the dispatcher who was still on the line that the psycho had found the two of you and was right outside his house.

The man outside knocked again, softly, repeatedly, his knocks getting louder and louder until he was banging on the wall. You whimpered terrified, pressing your hands to your ears like a child in an effort to make yourself not hear the banging.

Suddenly Jungkook grabbed you practically lifting you up off the floor and carrying/dragging you upstairs to his room, where he let you go and closed the door locking it behind him and trying to push a few pieces of furniture in front of it. Suddenly the gravity of the situation dawned on you and you were up on your feet helping to try and push Jungkook’s furniture against his door barricading it. 

He then grabbed your hand and led you into his en-suite leading you to his tub and guiding you to sit down on the edge of it. He then turned away from you a closed the bathroom door, again locking it behind him.

You hadn’t stayed sitting on the edge of the bathroom oh no you had crawled into the corner, your back pressed up against the cold wall. Jungkook joined you wrapping you in his arms again petting your head and talking into the phone telling the 911 dispatcher what was happening.

Suddenly the banging downstairs stopped, only to be replaced a moment later with the sound of shattering glass, and then laughter filled the air, growing louder as you guessed he made his way up the stairs.

Again you were reduced to a shaking mess of fear on the ground waiting, simply waiting to see if he would somehow manage to get in. If he would somehow manage to get you.

The laughter stopped, again replaced by knocking like the man had done while he was outside. You felt the urge to throw up as bile climbed up your throat, and you heard him ask the question again, even more muffled as he was two rooms away and you knew he must have been screaming it.

“Will you help me?”

You felt Jungkook tense up when the man asked the question and you knew he heard it too. After a moments pause the banging resumed once more constant and getting louder. This continued on for what seemed like hours until you finally heard sirens approaching. You thought the banging would stop now, that the man would run to avoid capture, but it didn’t stop instead it got louder, more frantic, like he was desperate to get in. To come get you.

You heard the splintering of wood and shivered when Jungkook whispered almost in disbelief “he broke the door”.

With a frantic grip you pushed your back even harder into Jungkook’s chest as he was sitting behind you, in an effort to get even farther away from the door as you already were, wishing you could disappear into the wall itself. You gripped Jungkook’s wrist that was around your waist trying to keep your fear in check as you waited in terrified agony for the man to break into the bathroom you were hiding in.

Instead you suddenly heard shouts and running footsteps, and then gunfire from the hallway of Jungkook’s house and after a few minutes the gun fire ceased and an eerie silence filled the house.

Now you heard a different voice shouting that it was safe to come out. Jungkook shifted from behind you but you grabbed his wrist and held him tight.

“What if it’s a trick?” You cried. Jungkook looked at you then started talking into the receiver to the dispatcher again. After a few moments he assured you that it wasn’t and that the police had gotten him. You hesitantly let him go and he walked slowly towards the bathroom door, unlocking it and opening it slowly. 

You stayed crouched in the corner as you saw Jungkook leave the bathroom and you waited for him to tell you everything was okay now. Soon enough you heard voices from the bedroom and Jungkook walked back into the bathroom towards you, a relived smile on his face.

He bent over offering you his hand. With a shaking hand you grabbed onto his and he pulled you up, putting his arms securely around yours as he lead you out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and eventually out onto his front lawn where he walked you to a waiting ambulance surrounded by police cars their lights flashing.

A blanket was placed around your shoulders and you just sat there clutching onto it blanket as Jungkook stood beside you giving the police his statement.  

Soon enough you had finally calmed down enough to recount what had happened telling the officer everything, your voice shaking. You were then informed that the man had been caught trying break down the bedroom door with a large knife in hand and when he had seen the police he attacked them, causing them to shoot and kill him.

You felt better though you were ashamed to admit it, knowing the man was now dead. You thanked the officer and he left. Then you turned your attentions back on Jungkook who wad getting an injury on his wrist treated.

��Did i do that?” You asked him remembering you tight grip on him in the bathroom. “It’s fine” he said smiling at you “it’s not that bad.” Tears spilled down your cheeks once more and he was on his feet in an instant asking what he had said.

You smiled at him. “Nothing, you didn’t say anything” you said through your tears “thank you so much Jungkook if it weren’t for you-” he cut you off when he brought his warm hand to your cheek, gently brushing your tears away. You smiled at him through your tears and he hugged you. 

“Come on Y/N let’s get you home” he said gently. You nodded and he held your hand as he walked you home a police escort following closely behind you just in case.

As you stood outside your apartment fumbling with your keys you mumbled about being to tense to sleep that night, and Jungkook agreed. You asked him if he was even allowed to go back home since it was the scene of an investigation now and he told you he wasn’t.

“Then just stay here” you said finally unlocking the door, “I’ll make coffee and we can watch a movie or something,” you said looking down. “I could use a cup of coffee” he laughed and you smiled.

“Besides” he said stepping into your apartment behind you “this way I’ll be able to protect you better.” Your smile grew as you showed him to the living room and excused yourself to start the coffee. Finally. Finally you were safe again. Safe with Jungkook by your side.