#and it’d be different if I was like thin or somethin

[cherrysnax]

stress triggered chronic pain let’s goooo

[livesincerely]

[bits & bobs] common knowledge

aka the ‘Jack didn’t know they were dating’ fic

00000

One of the last things that gets packed⁠—right up there with the wifi router, the stuff for the bathroom, and Jack’s good pillow⁠—is the calendar. Davey carefully peels it from its place of honor on the front of the fridge, almost the whole of April carefully x-ed out.

“The 29th is on Friday,” he notes as he tucks it carefully away, smiling softly. “We should try and do something.”

“Dave, we are up to our ears in fuckin’ boxes,” Jack complains from his spot on the floor, a roll of tape sitting on his chest as he attempts to become one with the carpet. “We ain’t gonna get our deposit back if we ain’t outta here before the first.”

“You were out of town on a contract last year and the year before that we both had the flu,” Davey complains. “It’d be nice if we could actually do something to celebrate this year.”

It’s at this point that Jack realizes he has no idea what the fuck Davey’s talking about.

“Dave,” he says. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“The 29th,” Davey says, like that alone should be enough of an explanation.

“What’s so special about the 29th?” Jack asks.

Davey frowns⁠. And not just his Jack, you dumbass frown, but the full-blown, pinched-mouth, brow-furrowed, Jack, this isn’t funny, stop it frown that makes makes Jack’s soul want to shrivel up and die whenever it’s pointed his way.

So, Jack pivots. Hard.

“I’m kiddin’,” he lies quickly, alarm bells blaring behind his eyes. What the fuck is on the 29th? “‘Course we can do somethin’. What about dinner at that Italian place we saw on the corner? It looked like a nice joint.”

Davey’s expression clears.

“God, I would kill for some tiramasu,” he says with a wistful sigh.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Jack laughs, more relief than anything. “I’ll call in the mornin’, see if they take reservations.”

“Perfect,” Davey says, with a beaming smile that makes Jack’s heart lurch for entirely different reasons. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” Jack says weakly. “It’s a date.”

00000

Jack panics.

Well, first he calls the restaurant and makes a reservation for two at 7pm.

But then, he panics.

He calls Katherine first, which turns out to be less than useless.

“Can you please stop cackling for three seconds and fucking help me?” Jack demands into the speaker, tugging at his hair in frustration.

But Kath just laughs and laughs until Jack hangs up on her in a huff. After about ten minutes, he calls her back—she’s still laughing.

He tries Tony next.

“You’re such a fucking moron,” Tony says, after sitting in dead silence for so long that Jack pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “I genuinely don’t understand how Davey’s put up with you for so long. I should send him a medal. Or maybe a fruit basket.”

“Quit with the wise cracks and help me,” Jack demands. “Davey’s, like, super fucking excited about this dinner an’ if I don’t figure out what the hell we’re supposed’ta be celebrating, he’s gonna kick me out before we even get moved in.”

“More like he’s gonna dump your dumbass and find someone who can actually remember an anniversary,” Tony snarks.

“He ain’t gonna— I’ve told you a thousand times, we ain’t like that,” Jack says, louder than he means to, flushed and flustered.

There’s another long, judgmental silence.

“Please seek professional help,” Tony says, flatly incredulous. “You are so beyond me, you’re orbiting fucking Saturn, Jackaboy—“

Jack hangs up on him too.

00000

“Are you upset?” Jack asks tentatively.

“I’m still deciding,” Davey says in a thin, even tone that really doesn’t bode well.

….

“Jack,” Davey murmurs, close enough that he can feel the whisper of his breath against his cheeks. “Apparently you haven’t noticed, but we’ve been dating for years. Tomorrow is our three-year anniversary.”

Jack, who had been swaying towards the warmth of Davey’s body, towards the promise of a kiss, freezes dead in his tracks. “What?”

But Davey just smiles. “Three years,” he repeats calmly.

“No, no, I heard you the first time, I jus’…” Jack shakes his head, hard, as if that with somehow make any of what’s happening make any kind of sense. “What?”

“When’s the last time you had sex with anyone but me?” Davey prompts—impossibly patient, all things considered. “Or went out on a date? Gave someone your number?”

“Not in fuckin’ ages,” Jack sputters, offended at the very thought. “You an’ me, we’ve got a good thing goin’. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t cheat on me?” Davey specifies, tilting his head.

“Course not!”

“Why would it be cheating if we aren’t together?” Davey asks, pointedly.

Jack stares at him, trying to find the riddle hidden in Davey’s question. Because… Because…

“Oh,” he says blankly.

Davey laughs, curling his hands around Jack’s waist. “Oh,” he agrees.

“Three years?” Jack asks weakly.

“Jackie,” Davey sighs, apparently realizing that Jack needs this spelled out to him. “We live together. We share a bedroom. We spent last Christmas at your mom’s house and you introduced me to Charlie’s kids as ‘Uncle David’.”

“Oh,” Jack says again, because it really bears repeating. “How the hell have you managed to put up with my dumbass for three fucking years?”

“It probably helps that I’m madly in love with you,” Davey says, rolling his eyes even as another soft smile curls over his lips.

“Huh,” Jack says. It’s maybe not the best response, but it’s honestly a miracle he manages to say anything at all.

“You’re in love with me too,” Davey helpfully informs him.

“Well, I knew that part,” Jack huffs. Then, “How did you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Davey says, lacing their fingers together. “But feel free to say it aloud any time you like.”

“I love you,” Jack murmurs.

Davey’s smile is like the first days of spring: bright like sunshine, full of promise and full of hope.

And the taste of his kiss is even better.

[badsanspoly]

Day 2 - Romance

Horror x Cross short oneshot

(Ignore some mistakes I made this was made in a rush 🙏 sorry guys! Also i know its not the second anymore, hushh)

It was early in the morning, and hearing Cross exercising in the training room was no surprise to Horror. As he exited his bedroom, Horror could hear the loud grunts echoing through the halls of the castle as Cross practiced his fighting skills with a dummy. That poor dummy must’ve gone through some things, it was completely torn in different places and overall completely demolished, yet Nightmare refused to get a new one. He said the current one could still be used and he’d get a new one once this one was beaten to a pulp.

The ex-guard finally stopped slashing at the dummy after a few minutes, panting loudly as he let his comically large knife slip out of his hand and dissipate into thin air. He rubbed his forehead, wiping the beads of sweat on it as he tried to catch his breath.

Horror admired Cross, very much so. When he first met the other he had already noticed how professional and precise he was. It was sort of expected that Horror eventually found himself with feelings for Cross, which ended up being the case for the others too. How could someone not like a man like him? He was kind, did everything he could for his loved ones, and was extremely attractive. Cross was the kind of guy that girls would go crazy about in high school.

Horror got pulled back to reality as Cross went to the other side of the training room to get a bottle of water, which caught Horror’s attention. He finally remembered why he was here: to get Cross to bed.

He pushed the door open further and walked in, quietly making his way behind Cross until he stood behind him. Horror swiftly had his arms wrapped around Cross in a hug, which made Cross smile softly. He put his free hand on Horror’s arm, tilting his head up to stare at his taller boyfriend. “Hey,” Cross said with a sleepy look on his face. Horror squeezed Cross gently, pulling Cross closer in the hug; the action made Cross smile more. “Hey, muffin,” Horror responded, nuzzling Cross’ head with his nose.

“You’re supposed ‘t be ‘n bed,” Horror scolded, keeping Cross in place even as he tried to put his bottle down, he instead took another sip of the water. “I know.”

After a little bit of squirming, Cross finally managed to get out of the tight hug so he could put his bottle on the bench. Horror couldn’t help but think something was wrong, Cross was always one to take his emotions out in the gym, especially very early in the morning.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Horror asked, staring at Cross’ back as he didn’t turn to face him. “I’m okay, H. Don’t worry about it,” Cross said after a sigh, wrapping his arm around himself, basically hugging himself. Horror wished Nightmare were awake, as he was MUCH more experienced with this kind of thing. But he was having a nice and peaceful sleep, Horror could never interrupt that. The way Horror comforts people is with physical affection and food, it seems to work mostly. Sometimes not so much. Horror was unsure if it’d work in this situation, but it didn't hurt to try.

“Alright,” Horror sighed too, looking away for a second. “Wanna get food, since you’re awake? I’m pretty hungry.

Cross chuckled at that, Horror was always hungry. “Sure, I’m a bit sweaty, though,” Cross looked down at himself, releasing his hands from his arms to look at them. His black shirt was drained. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first then,” Horror said, pulling Cross in another hug that Cross couldn’t get out of anymore.

There was a convenient shower room attached to the training room, one that Cross or the rest of the group used after working out or training. Cross protested as Horror took him to the shower, Cross thought that ‘getting him cleaned up’ meant using a wet towel or something. He was wrong and was pushed into the shower with Horror joining him. This wasn’t the first time any of them had showered together, it was a common thing they did for either fun or just for the company. Horror didn’t necessarily need to shower, but he wanted in any way, making Cross blush throughout the whole thing as Horror ‘showered’ him with love.

Once they were out of the shower, Horror took it upon himself to dry and dress Cross before doing so himself, planting many kisses on Cross’ face as he did so. Despite Cross often being the professional little ex-guard he was trained to be, it was easy to fluster him. Horror loved seeing that handsome face light up like a gyftmas tree with just the smallest action of affection.

Cross was now dressed in a white t-shirt with shorts, and Horror wearing an oversized grey shirt with shorts, they were both extremely comfortable. Horror held Cross’ hand as they walked down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen so they could get food for themselves. At this point, Horror didn't care about bringing Cross to bed anymore, only to love Cross and distract him from whatever was bothering him. It seemed to be working, as Cross had completely forgotten what he was upset about.

Horror lifted Cross from the floor and placed him on the counter, giving him one last kiss on the lips before going to the fridge. Horror had decided to feed Cross and himself fruits, fruits were always good. He retrieved two translucent containers that held strawberries and grapes in them from the fridge and placed them beside Cross on the counter. He opened the container with the grapes in it and offered it to Cross, who took it with a smile.

“Thanks, H,” Cross said after a bit of silent eating, looking at the other who leaned back against the container as he ate a strawberry. “Hmn? For what, muffin?” He asked, making sure not to talk with his mouth full as he turned to Cross. “For… all this. The shower, the food, ... you.” Cross’ face turned a little purple again with blush as he said this, turning his head away from Horror so he didn't face him. Horror smiled brightly, if he possessed a tail it would definitely be wagging at rapid speed. The container full of strawberries was quickly set aside before Horror gently grabbed Cross’ face and kissed him. The action surprised Cross for a moment until he started kissing back, setting his container aside too as the two begun kissing passionately.

Horror had leaned into Cross, Cross having his arms wrapped around Horror’s neck as they stayed pressed against each other for a long time. Breath? Never heard of her. They didn’t need to breathe, they could survive as long as they were together.

The intimate moment was soon interrupted as they heard footsteps approaching, both of them having to sadly pull away from each other. They both knew who had come inside the kitchen, Killer. They both turned their heads to face the skeleton who wore nothing but just boxers, meaning he had woken up before Dust and Nightmare.

“… That was hot, dude,” he said softly, but loud enough for the duo to hear.

Cross grabbed a strawberry and threw it at Killer’s face, it splashing on his forehead.

“Hey!” “Dude, get out!”

THE END （╹◡╹)

[eunchancorner]

yessss please, I would like to know more

Have I ever told yall it feels really good when y'all are hyped for something I wanna talk about?

Anygay

November 13th, 2:34 P.M.

Jack and John looked Bob over thoughtfully as they sat on the other side of the interrogation table. He seemed so… different like this. And no, it wasn’t the thin orange jumpsuit, nor the massive cuffs needed for his wrists. It wasn’t the change of scenery, the drab grays and loneliness sharply contrasting the bright, public environments he usually staged his massacres in.

It was his calm, downcast, almost sad expression. The complete opposite of his sinister smile and gaze that stares into your soul. The way he slouched in his chair. His former sadistic air had just about dissipated and he looked like little more than a pathetic old man. He was almost a different man.

“So…” John started with a sigh, sitting forward in his chair. “You’re a cannibal?”

Bob’s gaze flicked up for a moment, before settling back on the table in front of him, humming out a quiet agreement.

“And how many of your victims have you actually… eaten?” he pressed, keeping an eye on the biggest’s every movement, studying his body language.

Bob seemed to think for a moment, counting on his hand before looking up at them again.

“I believe a bit of each… so, technically, all of them…” he finally said, his gaze lowering once again as he spoke.

“And how did this whole cannibalism thing begin, Mr. Velseb?” Jack asked.

The oldest heaved a deep sigh, emotion beginning to show deep in his eyes.

“That’s an… old tale, officers. One that I’m sure would be too borin for ya…” he said carefully, his expression just barely displaying distress.

“I’m sure a tale that ends with you as a man-eating serial killer is far from boring,” John reasoned.

“Hm… I suppose you have a point, but it’s a tale I’m not too… fond of, let’s say.”

“And why is that?” Jack questioned.

“Have you… ever been betrayed, officers? Either of ya?”

“Not yet, no,” the other ravenette answered, his partner grunting in agreement.

“Hm. ‘Yet.’ Bein realistic, I see… how else can I put this, then?” he seemed deep in thought for a few minutes before he continued.

“Have you ever done somethin you regret, but knew, in that moment, that you had to?”

“Well, yeah, of course,” Jack answered again.

“As officers, we usually have to make that decision on the field,” John affirmed, silently hoping that being a bit more open with Bob would encourage the same.

“Well… my story starts with a decision like that… or, well, the crimes did…”

He took a deep breath, finally locking eyes with the two.

“My story begins with me… and a friend. My closest friend, and maybe most loyal customer, a man named Corey, twelve long years ago. He and he were inseparable. Game nights, huntin, watchin football, every cliche thing two men could do, we were doin. And we loved it.

“He’d come by Boys ‘N Grills damn near every day at lunch, and we’d chat about whatever came to mind. Somethin new that caught our eyes, different grillin techniques, an idea about what to do after work, everythin.

“In fact, one day, Corey suggested we’d go hikin. He insisted it’d be a fun little adventure, and dammit, he looked so excited, how could I say no? Heh, it was endearin, almost cute as one of y’all might put it.

“We packed our things, and, around October 15th-ish, I believe, we set out in the woods. I remember it was right smack-dab in the middle of Spooky Month, and he was so excited for our ‘Spooky hike’, as he put it. And, I’ll admit, I was excited, too. It was nice gettin to go out and do somethin new with him.

“But, despite everythin we packed, our first mistake was leavin behind our compass. When me and him realized this, Corey assured me that we didn’t need it, that if we kept track of how many turns we made, we’d be alright. But that was our second mistake, trustin either of us to remember anythin while occupied with all the sights. After a while, all the trees started to look the same, and when I finally got scared of losin our way, it was too late. Corey kept insistin that we weren’t lost and could get back home easy, but I wasn’t sure… he should’ve listened to me…”

Bob trailed off, clutching his bandaged right hand. The searing pain from the bullet wound, when his hand had been shot to disarm him, felt like a little bug bite in comparison to the pain growing in what used to be a hollow chest. He wanted to focus more on the wounds outside than inside. He didn’t want to tell this story. But he had to, he knew he did.

“Hours turned to days… days turned to weeks… weeks turned to half a damn month we were out there. We were growin desperate after runnin out of food within the first few damned days… We couldn’t tell poisonous berries apart from safe and didn’t dare run the risk. We hadn’t brought any guns or fishin rods, and no matter how hard we tried, spearfishin always ended with us empty handed. We were lucky we didn’t see any bears or wolves out there, or I don’t think I’d’ve survived, either…”

“Are you saying that Corey died in the woods?” Jack interjected.

“If you’d let me finish, you’d’ve found that out… but yes… one day, Halloween, I think it was, somethin… happened to him. He couldn’t take it anymore. And, with the only weapon we had, a single damn pocket knife, he attacked me… caught me off-guard and cut me up real bad. The whole time I tried to fight him off, tryin to get him to snap out of it, tellin him we’d be ok, that someone would find us. Tryin to have the positivity that he’d had at the beginnin, but he wasn’t havin none of it. He kept talkin about how out there, there was no friendship. There was no partnership. There was no ‘us’…” his gaze turned to the mirror at the side of the room, “Just me, him, and hunger, and that one of us had to go, so the other could go on. I just wanted to get him off of me… I just wanted to stay alive, I…” he began to choke on his words, feeling tears trying to push past his defenses. He couldn’t cry, not here, not now. Not with two officers staring him down, probably more behind the walls. But at the same time, telling his story was hard, and it made breaking down so easy, the very last things that he wanted to do, he had to do in this confession. He took a deep breath to try to compose himself and force the tears back, trying not to hear the whispers in his mind, what the police could possibly be saying about him, and press on with his story.

“When we were fightin, I… I threw him against a tree. I didn’t think it was that hard, but… I was wrong… he wasn’t movin… he wasn’t respondin… he wasn’t even breathin… I wanted him to be paralyzed, I really did, because even that was better than the truth… but… I knew what I’d done to him… I’d broken his back, and I’d killed him… I don’t remember how long I cried, just that we’d fought around noon, and when my eyes finally cleared, it was dark. I’d killed my best  friend, officers… And… I was so hungry… I know I should have just tried to look for something else, but at that moment… I… I don’t think I cared anymore…”

“Don’t say it…” Jack mumbled quietly.

“I ate him… I ate Corey… I felt like some kind of savage animal… it was the most bitter thing I’ve ever eaten… it tasted like pennies and raw pork and was every bit as bitter as straight, black coffee… And that’s not even the worst part…” he trailed off, losing his battle against his own tears despite how hard he tried to stay composed.

Seeing him in distress like this, even if he was a wanted criminal, it almost made the two officers feel bad for him.

“What was the worst part, then?” John prompted him to keep telling his story.

“The worst part… was that they found us the next day… or, I guess… they found me the next day… Corey was nothin more than a broken, dismembered corpse… and I’d buried him, so, they never found the body… My best friend, he deserved better than that… If I’d just held off one more day, if we’d held off just one more day I wouldn’t even be here right now!”

“That’s only one killing, what about the other several over the years?” Jack interjected, standing up.

“Officers… by now you must have noticed the pattern…”

“Yes, of course we have. One to three killings, every Halloween for the past eleven years, this year being the only exception besides the years you were in prison. We’d assumed it was to disguise it as a show.”

“That’s… not quite the truth. If you remember, I told you that me and Corey fought on Halloween… I ate him on Halloween night… well… somethin must have happened that night… or maybe there was somethin in his body but… Every Halloween, I get hungry… so, so uncontrollably hungry. I spend the day fightin it off, and the night… well, you can guess…”

“Hm… well, what changed this year? Like Jack said, this is the only year, besides your prison time, when you didn’t successfully kill someone. And we got to you pretty damn late, so what was keeping you from killing someone?” John asked, leaning forward in his chair as his partner sat back down. “Did it have something to do with this?”

The brunette produced a golden amulet tucked securely in an evidence bag. The amulet had a large, circular charm with a similarly round, baby-blue gem in the center, and two flowing, feather shaped decorations on the bottom. He set it down on the table and allowed the fugitive to examine it, although a single glance showed Bob knew exactly what it was.

“Where did you get that…?”

“One of our coworkers found it while we were going through your things, checking for evidence in case someone tried to plead a case for you. Interestingly enough, it looks just like the amulet worn by the assumed cultists running around, like this one,” Jack informed Bob, placing an image of a cultist on the table for proof.

“We’ll give you a moment to collect yourself, maybe some time to let it out,” John offered, noticing how the man was still having trouble from his near-breakdown earlier, “And then, maybe you can tell us what’s going on with you and the cult.”

A whisper near the door caught the attention of the two, whipping around to see the face of one of the aforementioned coworkers, none other than Shotty themself.

“Psst, guys, we got it,” they whispered, motioning to the two.

Jack nodded as he and John stood.

“Stay put and let it out, we’ll be right back. And don’t try anything,” he warned before the two headed out, meeting up with their colleagues.

“How much you get outta that guy?” Cap questioned, peering into the one-way window at Bob, who was finally crying, now that he was under the impression that he was alone.

“A lot, but it was all how he came to be a cannibal, and his urges. Did you two get what we asked?” John asked the two.

“Yep! And can I just add, this is a great thing you two are doing, especially you, Jack. I’ve never seen you give someone a second chance before,” Shotty said as they handed the stack of papers off.

“What are you talking about? I’ve given plenty of people a second chance!” Jack argued, a little offended.

“Name one.”

“Every cop in this town?”

“There’s four cops in this town, excluding you,” Cap pointed out, “And you never needed to give John a second chance because he’s basically our boss! Oh, also, not to divert or anything, but we figured the big guy would appreciate this stuff,” he handed the two a pack of tissues and a glass of water.

“Good, thanks. You two are being… really considerate towards a criminal. Something going on?” Jack asked, a bit suspicious of their behavior.

Shotty rolled their eyes a bit. “C’mon Jack, not everyone is as mean as you. I mean, yes, he has killed, like, a lot of people, but he still deserves tissues and water. Not to mention, from what we understand, he can’t actually help it, sooooo…”

“Fair. Now, we got one more job for you,” John finally spoke up again. “We need you to go talk to the mayor about our plan. He’ll listen to you more than he listens to us, for some god-forsaken reason, so if you talk to him about it, chances are he’ll listen.”

“You got it, boss,” Cap assured him.

“We’re on it! To Evermore’s houseeee!” Shotty cheered as they and Cap left.

“Hey, wait, don't go to his-! And they’re gone… oh those two are going to get fired one day…” the brunette grumbled.

Jack chuckled quietly, shifting the papers in his arms and looking into the one-way window at a now calming Bob.

“Looks like he’s stopping, should we head back in?”

“Mhm. Time to figure out what’s going on with that cult.”

The two stepped back into the interrogation room, Jack clutching the papers to his chest and holding the door as John carried over the tissues and water for Bob, sliding them over the table to the oldest. Wiping away his tears as the door slammed shut, the killer sighed heavily, having just let out twelve years of pent-up emotions in the span of a few minutes. He took a long sip of water as John continued from earlier.

“So, now that we’ve given you some time, what can you tell us about the cult?” the brunette got straight to the point.

“Nothin… I can’t tell ya nothin,” Velseb grumbled.

“And why is that?”

“I made a promise… and I always keep my promises. A good man always does, after all…”

“Barely a good man…” Jack grumbled, setting the paperwork in his lap.

“Well, I’m a man of my word, that’s for damn sure. And my word says I’ll keep quiet about that cult. All I can tell ya is they’re far more harmless than they seem.”

“Somehow, I have trouble believing that,” John argued. “But, is there anything we could do that could possibly convince you?”

“For that, officers, you’d have to do the impossible.”

“Which is?”

“Find out how to cure whatever the hell is wrong with me…”

The partners looked at each other before nodding, a knowing look in their eyes.

“Actually, Mr. Velseb, there might be a way,” Jack informed him, placing the stack of papers on the table, sliding them over to his fellow ravenette, who gave them a skeptical look.

“What’s this?”

“Paperwork. Paperwork to get you transferred from prison to a rehabilitation facility. This could be the key to your new life, Bob. With enough effort, we could help you completely get rid of your cannibalism… curse, in a sense. You’d never have to eat another person to satiate yourself again. In a few years time, you could be living a normal life, maybe even have a family,” John explained, gently pushing the papers more towards the unwilling cannibal.

“As nice as that’d be, officers… I’m afraid my reputation has been set in stone. No matter how many years of rehab I go through, I’ll always be Bob Velseb, feared and hated serial killer… no one will trust me to be in a store, no one will trust me to be alone. I’ll be monitored by everyone, no matter how many years go by. I’ll never have a normal life, nor a family. It’s too late to change that fact. However…” he began to think further about it, “your offer is temptin. Even if I can’t have a ‘normal life’, it would be nice to not have to deal with… whatever the hell happened to me. Do ya really think it’ll work…?”

“As long as you cooperate, then I think anything is possible, including helping you,” Jack reasoned, “but we need the information only you can give us.”

“You’re askin some pretty sensitive information… these people you’re investigatin, they’re not doin anythin wrong. I know they seem odd, maybe even creepy, but in all honesty, it’s more like a lil family thing. But that’s about all I can tell ya…”

“I know you can tell us a lot more, Mr. Velseb, and we can’t give you the papers until we have everything we need. It might seem a little unfair to you, but we can’t give you any sort of reward until we get what we asked for.”

Bob sighed a bit. He hated it, but understood. He’d either have to break his promise, or live out the rest of his life with an unbearable ‘curse’ in prison, most likely solitary confinement. Frankly, one option was far preferable to the other.

“Hm. Fine, I’ll tell ya what it seems like ya need to hear.”

The two cops glanced at each other before leaning forward a bit, signifying that they were listening.

“The cult isn’t quite what ya might be thinkin it is. The cult isn’t some high-and-mighty ‘our god is the only real god’, sacrificin, blood-thirsty, cliche cult from every doomsday movie. But, one thing’s for sure… that thing, whatever the hell it is… is real. I’ve looked into the depths of the hole it’s in, and I could almost feel it lookin back at me. They wanted me to meet it, but… they were kind when I refused. They seemed to understand, they let me in anyway. The leader, he told me that they didn’t like makin people uncomfortable. That they promoted comfort and happiness in the cult. As a matter of fact, they wanted me as a scout so they could help me overcome what I went through. I help them, they help me.

“They’re like a big family, the leader actin as a dad, in a way. Said somethin bout how he has a kid at home so it’s nothin new to him, I dunno. They meet every now and again, in that house on that hill. There’s a hole in the floor there that leads right to it. I’ve never seen it personally, but some of the members described it to me. Said it looks like a giant, pinkish, broccoli lookin thing, who’s head fades into darkness above, millions of baby-blue eyes formin the stars. A huge mouth that doesn’t even look like it’s connected with huge teeth that are on the outside, and long, kinda fluffy tentacles. They’ve told me what it’s like to look into it’s eyes, or, ‘the stars’, as they call it. They’ve said it makes ya almost numb, then their memories start blurrin together. I never get a straight answer of what happens after that, except that they ‘wake up’ feelin happy and calm, and that they’re already out of the hole when they come to. In fact, it can completely change someone’s attitude and everythin. I’m actually pretty close with someone who used to be bitter and spiteful, accordin to him, but after seein that thing, he was one of the calmest, kindest people I’d ever seen.

“Maybe that’s why I agreed to their deal… maybe I thought that thing could fix me. It seems like it changes people for the better. Bout everyone there either acted like that man, or was cheerful and sweet. I thought, if nothin else, it could make me happier. But, I got scared. I wussed out. I didn’t wanna see that thing, it sounded terrifyin. But, I guess in doin so, I kinda distanced myself from them, and the odd things that they liked…”

“What kind of things?” John asked, intrigued by his descriptions.

“Well, for the most part, affection. Especially ticklin. I don’t know why, but that seems like the thing everythin is centered around in that cult. I’ll run into people who can’t so much as say the word without lightin up in the face like a Christmas tree, or people who can say it so casually that they have full-blown conversations about it. I’ll walk past two or three tickle fights each meetin, ones that, half the time, end up bein very one-sided. Sometimes I’ll even let loose and join in. Though when that usually happens, I practically get dog piled and tickled until I can’t stop laughin for damn near an hour…” he chuckled a bit to himself, “It’s fun, though… I have to admit, they’ve got a damn good idea.”

“Tickling?” Jack asked in astonishment. Something so innocent from people who he’d thought just a few minutes ago were dangerous.

“Idea?” John echoed Bob’s words, more focused on the goal of this cult.

“Mhm. Spreadin happiness through a love of ticklin. It’s said that if you don’t already like it, seein the monster makes ya love it. I, personally, don’t mind it. But it’s not a strange, super-obsessive kinda love, it’s more like a sorta… what’s the word that he used…? Hyper… hyper… hyper-something-or-other… ah, hyperfixation, yeah. Basically, it’s almost always in the back of their minds, even when they don’t know it. Accordin to them, havin this shared love, bein able to confide in each other and be genuinely vulnerable with each other is actually really nice. And they wanna share this with the town. Simple as that.”

“That’s… really it? No hostile takeover bid? No ominous prophecy? No blood sacrifices?” Jack questioned, still in disbelief.

“Didn’t I tell ya at the start? No, none of that cliche doomsday shit. They just want to turn this small town into a happy family,” Bob reiterated, slightly annoyed.

[moemoemammon]

Brothers reaction to MC suddenly holding their hands to compare the size difference uwuwuwu

Hand Size Comparison

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

As always, he asks for your company while he’s busy with his endless amounts of paperwork. You watch him scribble away and the knot on his brow starts becoming tighter and tighter, but you’re more focused on the old man’s hands.

They’re gripped around his feather quill, and you decide they’d look much better gripping your hand, so you take Lucifer’s hand and watch his eyes go wide

Casually pull that glove off and his hands are hella cold but big. Long fingers gently close around yours once he gets used to the contact, and his grip feels weary.

His skin is a little dry, and fingertips slightly calloused from gripping pens and flipping papers. The red of his nails makes his skin look even paler to you.

“Your hands are quite warm, MC. Taking off my glove like that, and in the middle of my work, too... Were you that desperate for my attention? Or maybe you noticed how tired I am, and you’re comforting me? Either way, I’m happy to take a break and spend my time with you.”

Mammon

He’s in the middle of scrolling away on his D.D.D., so you make better use of his hands and grab it into yours. Naturally Mammon nearly has a heart attack.

Gets all grumbly and ""annoyed"" with you, saying this and that about how you’ve gotta warn a guy before you go grabbing his hand, but makes no actual effort to pull away from you.

Warm hands and kinda soft, and bigger than you expected. His nails are nearly trimmed and painted, but you know that’s thanks to Asmo. 

His grip closes around your hand and it feels nearly impossible to pull away, despite how careful he’s being not to hurt you. Leave it to the Avatar of Greed to have a grip game this strong-

“What’re ya lookin’ at my hands like that for? If ya wanted to hold em, y-ya just gotta say somethin’. And you’re only allowed to hold MY hand, got it?”

Levi

His hands only know one thing, and it’s gaming. Eons of clicking away at buttons and abusing joysticks makes for quick hands. Not quick enough to get away from yours, though.

You grab his hand while he’s got his eyes on the latest episode of Ruri Hana, and Levi almost ascends to heaven right then and there.

It’s covered in light callouses, and his fingers are slender and long, knuckles prominent. It’s still larger than yours though, and cracks when he flexes it.

Clammy hands don’t even attempt to close around yours. He’s too focused on trying to figure out what you’re doing!

“This is way too much stimulation, MC! I’m gonna need a warning- no, a WEEK’S notice before you do that! Th-there’s no way I’m even at the skill level that’ll let me do this sort of thing, and- Huh? Wait, don’t let go just yet-!”

Satan

Flipping through the pages of a book and barely notices when you grab his hand, until he attempts to turn it again and finds he?? can’t??

oh. O H. Satan’s not normally one to be flustered but that caught him off guard. His eyes are a little wide, but he doesn’t attempt to pull back. He’s more interested in the way you’re studying his hand without a word, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t kinda like it.

His fingertips are rough from ages spent trailing along book pages. Hands are kinda smaller and his fingers are shorter than you expected now that you compare, but they’re nearly hot to the touch and tightly close around yours.

He gives you and affectionate squeeze and a gentle smile. You know how dangerous those hands could be, so isn’t it funny how careful they are with yours? He’s had plenty of practice handling things with care, since his favorite novels are the oldest ones.

“I don’t mind if you hold my hand like this. I only need one to turn pages with, right? You did surprise me though, but I’m not upset. This is nice.”

Asmo

He’s painting your nails when you decide to lace your fingers into his. Asmo doesn’t mind the intimacy, but couldn’t you do this once your nails dry? He’ll be annoyed if anything gets smudged!

But that mild panic melts away when he sees how delicately you’re handling him, like his hand is some sort of prized jewel. Even his hands are beautiful, right? He’s so glad you’ve noticed~!

His hands are soft and smooth, warm and careful. More slender than you expected, so they look dainty and fragile. 

There’s not a single flaw you can detect, from his carefully manicured fingers to knuckles free of hair. 

“There’s much more I can do with these hands, you know? As nice as it is to have you look at them, I’d much rather show you what I can use them for~!” 

Beel

Right hand is reserved specifically for eating, so you choose to take the left. He never minds holding your hand, so his cheeks are a little rosy and his eating has slowed.

Sticky hands, but big and warm. Feels like a hug when his closes around yours. His palms are a little rough from his exercise and fangol practice. 

His grip is always oh so gentle, like he might hurt you should he squeeze a little tighter. You can appreciate that though, since you don’t doubt it’d be easy for him to pop your bones like bubble wrap.

His hands may be a little clumsy, and detail work isn’t his forte. You know when he’s been up to something by the bandages that cover his fingers.

“Mm? Is there something on my hands? I forgot to grab a napkin, so I’m sorry if they’re sticky. But... I like this. Holding your hand while I eat makes everything taste better.”

Belphie

If he can’t cling to you like a demon koala while he naps, hand holding is a must. No you don’t have a choice in the matter, sorry.

You trace little patterns against his palm, handling his hand gently while you flip it back and forth, looking it over. It feels ticklish and makes him squirm.

Baby hands for a baby man. His hands are narrow and thin, fingers slender while his skin soft and clammy. Warm too, from always being balled into fists while he sleeps, or clenching onto something.

It’s funny to think that these hands were used to kill you, considering how delicate they feel. But his tight grip is nearly impossible to pull away from, and sometimes it hurts a little. He eases up when he realizes that though, and it reminds you of how desperate he always is to keep you close.

“Sorry, am I squeezing again? I guess I got a little carried away. I just have a feeling that someone might come in at any second, and I don’t want them to steal you away. But you’ll stay here anyway, right?”

[chaotic-theatrical-weaver]

The Hardest Part + Ellie’s isolated women, part one

Okay! Everyone gather around for a show because your Ellie IS NOT FINE. The plan is to do Part One from Elizabeth’s point of view, Part Two from Alana’s, and Part Three for the Misguided Torchbearers set. I’m going to go in the order in which I have this album’s songs on the characters’ playlists.

Starting with “Ready to Go,” which I feel encapsulates the self-fulfilling nature of Elizabeth’s fearful-avoidant attachment. I put it just before she realizes that John’s having an affair for that very reason.

“Is it what I deserve/To spend in the last of my love/On someone I knew that I’d always lose?/I stay, we’ll burn/’Til you leave first/So go, if you’re ready to go, yeah, make your move/No, I won’t follow/It’s inevitable and we both know that we’re on borrowed time”?! 

NO THE SADDEST PART IS THAT IT DIDN’T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY BUT HER FEARFUL-AVOIDANT ATTACHMENT PRECLUDES HER FROM ASKING JOHN FOR HELP, CAUSING HER TO BE MISCONSTRUED AS UNCARING WHEN SHE’S JUST DEPRIVED OF WARMTH AND TERRIFIED TO ASK. HELP. MY CHEST HURTS. You could have dropped my backpack on top of it and it would hurt less than this. Especially when you add my headcanon to this, which posits that she has alexithymia and finds emotions--both her own and others’--difficult to read, even though she feels so strongly.

This is really self-explanatory and I’m not going to add too much to it, so on to “Every Beginning Ends.” THE ENTIRE DUET IS THEIR DYNAMIC WITH ALL THIS MISCOMMUNICATION. THE ENTIRE DUET--special mention to the first verse, though. 

“You went to sleep without saying you love me/I guess I thought you already knew/You’ve been so cold and far from me, darling/Someone’s at fault, but I’m not blaming you” 

Now this goes from both perspectives, but the parallel between that and “Suspicion kissed you when I did, I never knew how I should say my love”?! It’s utterly destroying me. THEY JUST CAN’T EXPRESS IT AND THEY READ EACH OTHER SO DIFFERENTLY AND SOMEHOW EXPECT THE WORST, BUT THAT WHOLE TIME, THERE WAS JUST LOVE?! AHHH--

THEN THERE’S “My Side of the Bed” AND SOMEONE SAVE ME I AM SCREECHING, THIS IS JUST CONTINUING OFF OF “Ready to Go”!!!! Again, this entire thing is them (it’s so lyrically similar to “Every Beginning Ends,” but shoutout to the following lines:

“...I know you want space/It’s not what you said/But the way that you said that you’re fine/When you rolled over in your sleep last night/I thought you were leavin’ me/I know it’s not you, I believe there’s somethin’ missin’ in me”

AHHH THE PAIN. THE FEARFUL-AVOIDANT ATTACHMENT OF IT ALL. THAT LAST LINE--”I know it’s not you, I believe there’s somethin’ missin’ in me”--AND HOW IT RELATES TO HER BURNOUT FROM MASKING AND SUBSEQUENT FEELINGS OF INADEQUACY. “I counted myself so plain, so poorly made, no honest love should come to me”?! SOMEONE HELP WE FOUND IT. WE FOUND IT.

“My heart’s paper-thin and the softest of words can send me spiralin’/So I guess that my question after all of this would be/’Are you leavin’ me?/Oh, are you leavin’ me?’ “

I’m just gonna present this without comment. It’d hurt too much if I tried.

Moving past that into the heartbreak section--poor Elizabeth has had her fears confirmed and is left reeling. This of course leads us to “I Burned LA Down.”

“You left a hole in my chest when you left/And my heart followed you out the door/And I stood and bled in the hall, watched it all/And the mess that it left on the floor/If I gave you less, would you want me more?/And you could’ve said anything at all”

She blames herself for not being enough and wishes John had said something. If she had only known about the needs she wasn’t meeting, she would have done just about anything she could have, but it’s too late for that now.

“Ooh, embers in the dark/Can look just like shooting stars/To a bitter, broken heart/Oh, I wish I hadn’t burned the city down/’Cause you didn’t care, no, you didn’t care/Yeah, I burned LA down and you left me there, oh, you left me there”

As anyone would expect, she feels angry, but I feel like with those first three lines, it’s more at herself for genuinely believing she could have had anything resembling long-lasting happiness. The burning city represents the speaker’s own heart in my normal analysis, and that definitely fits here--for John, Elizabeth would be more than willing to burn twice as bright, even if she lost her own warmth in the process.

“You can’t even make a god of somebody who’s not/Even half of a half-decent man”

SHE PINNED SO MUCH OF HER HOPE ON HIM ONLY FOR THIS TO HAPPEN...MY HEART.

With that being said, it’s time for “Hardest Part,” where she’s struggling to come to terms with the fact that she’s no longer the same and has lost so much of herself.

“The hardest part of going home/Is facing that you’re getting older/And everything you’ve ever known/Is over/And all the paths are overgrown/The sun is down, it’s getting colder/And everything you’ve ever known/Is over, is over”

Elizabeth spends enough time staring in at her soul and “going home,” realizing that everything she thought she knew is gone:

“In your eyes, I see the fire/That so long ago was burning/Through our smiles, we tried to hide it/All the years that we’ve been hurting/We don’t get too long/That’s why I’m holding on”

THIS HIT HARD. SHE FEELS THE NEED TO MASK BECAUSE SHE GREW UP BEING TOLD TO HATE WHAT’S UNDERNEATH--THEY THINK IT’S DISOBEDIENT AND WRONG AND SHE INTERNALIZES THAT. THIS is what leads to so much of her pain! (And to think that my friend still doesn’t sympathize...Sunny, I AM IN YOUR CEILING READY TO JUMP DOWN. I can make quite a landing for someone so small...)

We finally get one relatively happy song in the healing section of the playlist: “Noah (Stand Still).” The main point of the song, “stand[ing] still” throughout adversity, is literally just the speaker coming to a conclusion on how to deal with life going forward after much reflection on the past, and it feels appropriate here:

“Just stand still/You’ll be right, you’ll be wrong/You’ll be fine ‘cause life goes on and on”

I recall a Tumblrite posting about loving life because you never think you’ll make it through things and then you always do. (I sadly can’t find the post anymore, but if anyone can, PLEASE LINK ME TO IT I DESPERATELY NEED IT.) That’s just it, a nice self-explanatory little package.

One more sad song before the torchbearing starts, and that’s “Loretta’s Song.” I’m not going to spend too much time on this because like the previous song, this one is also pretty obvious (and also since it’s a pretty personal one for Noah, even more so than the previous line, and I draw the line at comparing her real experiences to a play I’m too stuck on). Suffice it to say that “When I’m gone, don’t cry for me” and “‘Cause life’s too long for to keep regret/And love’s too strong to lay down for death/I know you’re hurting, but it’s not the end/So hold on, darling, I will see you again” reads rather similarly to John’s parting words for Elizabeth: “Give them no tear! Tears pleasure them! Show honor now, show a stony heart and sink them with it!” The ‘life’s too long for to keep regret” part in particular is also reminiscent of why he decided it was better to hang and keep his honor than live falsely and betray both his friends and his own values.

Okay, now that we’ve gotten past that, this is the last song in this post and it’s actually a relatively happy one, though also somewhat frustrated and tired: “I Just Want a Lover.” I already posted my analysis of it and as much as I’m trying not to rehash it all, I can’t help myself and I’m so sorry. Just live with it.

“In the united hate of America/The hearts are just as broken as the nation/Where all we do is tear each other down/Trapped inside this permanent staycation”

Salem goes around pretending it cares about its vulnerable, but in truth, it seems to consider some forms of vulnerability (young women and girls) worth more protection than others (homeless people, the elderly, scorned outcasts, and, from what little we see of Tituba, black people), and the ones that aren’t viewed as worth protecting suffer under this messed-up hierarchy of sorts (for lack of a better word because the only other one I could think of was “triage”), all while the town touts its so-called “protection” to make itself look like a community of godly people when it’s just full of hypocrites. The ones viewed as worth protecting (the girls) tear down other vulnerable people out of fear or for their own gain.

Elizabeth looks out at this and is righteously angered by it. She realizes she’s been living under such a system since childhood, where her “difficult” behavior was viewed as willful disobedience of authority and therefore sinful. She was reduced to her mistakes, and doubtless many others who have done worse than she has have suffered the same way. This in spite of the fact that God is also forgiving and “a mistake is just a state of [one’s] identity.” 

As the town’s hypocritical cruelty increases (”the twisting of the knife”), people try harder to pretend things are fine (”the bend until the break”) and accept the little bits of fake protection the system pats itself on the back for offering (”A kiss and I go blind/Can’t see it’s just my fate and it’s unlivable”). Elizabeth therefore concludes that society needs to fulfill its promises instead of lying and offering false hope for its own benefit: “I just want a lover who’s in love with me/Not another liar making love to me.”

The second verse is just her in Act Four: 

“I picked my conscience over clarity/And deal with the disparity/It’s anarchy/And the narcissists all run at me/With guns ablaze, no empathy, insanity” 

In other words, she chose what’s right (refusing to make John confess, even if that refusal meant losing him) over what’s clear (asking him to confess and keeping him, allowing the system to intimidate others into believing in it once more) and cannot believe just how unjust the results were. Parris and others like him try to talk her out of letting this happen, not empathizing with her desire for her husband to keep the goodness he’s long strived for.

Anyway, I am sorry for keeping you this long (THIS IS 80% OF THE ALBUM, PEOPLE, not counting bonus tracks) and it will likely happen again. Still, stay tuned for the next two parts. I hope they won’t be this bad. Please pretend this is a normal time for me to post this and a normal thing to do to procrastinate on homework with. I got barely anything done today and I’ll have to wake up very early tomorrow as compensation. I’m horrible, I know, but I hope I’ll have my redemption arc soon.

[whitherwanderer]

18 // devil's advocate

Sawyer was all but aware of eyes on her as she picked idly at her food in the mess hall, drowning out the noise with her own thoughts—a talent acquired with years of study under noisy machina. The din of voices was hardly any different, especially when their noise was nearly as meaningless as the rote and predictable rhythm of creaking gears and pounding hammers.

Seated on the bench behind her, she was aware of one of the guards’ new recruits talking loudly, his voice grating against her peace before she eventually tuned him out as well, but finally let her reverie break when she realized that her uniformed comrades seemed to not only be staring but… waiting.

She blinked at them stupidly for a moment before words caught her ears.

“...full o’ all sorts, aye, but she’s more strange than even the old crone, Chessamile. Who ever thought it’d be wise to employ a blind healer, anyway? ‘Specially one ‘talks so bleedin’ strange.”

Ah. Sawyer almost smirked to herself, but she kept her face controlled as she calmly reached for her tankard and brought it to her lips. He was new, he’d certainly learn. It was the reaction of most upon first meeting Amesha to question her odd mannerisms—Sawyer herself certainly had—but most came to accept them as a quirk of her upbringing. She’d even heard rumors that Amesha was a Eulmoran castoff who no longer pleased her patrons.

Whatever the response was to the recruit, she did not hear it. She did hear him, however.

“Ain’t natural though! Healer or not, it’s a wonder they ain’t paid closer attention to just who they’re lettin’ into the city these days. Feels like there’s stranger and stranger foreigners pourin’ in all the time.”

Sawyer couldn’t argue there. She was one of them, after all, though she had endeared herself to the city with her service and compliance with the city’s communal lifestyle. The recruit, she surmised, had been born and raised in the Crystarium and hardly seen outside the aegis, she’d wager. Not uncommon, but certainly bold talk coming from a city that depended on traders from the other realms to supply them.

“And that magic of hers… Rest o’ the Spagyrics uses alchemy and medicines, but she uses magic. Light magic. If that don’t spell trouble, I don’t know what does. Last thing we need ‘round here is someone turnin’ eater in our medical wards.”

Sawyer blew a breath through her nose. He certainly wouldn’t have been the first to question Amesha’s magic, nor would he be the last. Her blindness, the strange markings across her eyes, and her uncanny ability to wield healing magics that manifested themselves in the form of pools of liquid sunlight would indeed look strange to one who had only known light to punish and maim. More concerned looks her way earned a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. He’d learn.

“I don’t like it one bit. If someone don’t do somethin’ about it, I’ve a mind to. Our job here’s to protect the city from eaters and the Light, and if no one else’ll do what it takes, I damn well oughta.”

The hume sighed. Perhaps she’d dismissed him too soon. An over-eager guard would be a dead guard before long, and attacking one of the Spagyrics' precious few magical healers would do little good for a medical staff already stretched thin. She stood up from her spot and dusted the crumbs off her tabard before she turned around.

“Won’t be hard to find out whether she’s turnin’ or not. She’s blind. Just gotta stick her a bit and see if she bleeds red or silver—”

A yank at his red cowl pulled the mystel to face her, eyes wide, pupils shrinking to slits, and ears pinned back against his blond hair as he looked up to a stone-faced hume and a steel gauntlet ready to make his acquaintance.

“Never underestimate a blind woman gifted with magic. Even she can smell a lackwit from across a room,” Sawyer hissed through gritted teeth. The tables around them fell silent, save for a few chuckles and muttering. She released his cowl and let him scramble to defend himself for an ensuing fight, his tail flicking wildly at his back, though Sawyer made no motion to start one. Instead, she half-smiled.

“As her partner, I should know. She can pick me out of a crowd. Ware your words, recruit, or I’ll see that face matches your cowl.”

She picked up her tankard to finish it off as he spat at his feet, and she left the mess hall to stop by the command post before her next shift.

For the next month, she smiled impishly at the restless blond mystel posted to guard the Spagyrics on her way in to visit Amesha.

[hellshoundtm]

“ i thought i might find you here. ”

the more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t fucking understand why he is where he is. lux stands, tall and proud. a beacon to those that need it and for years blue has needed it   —   needed the parties and the noise and the rush of every high he could get his mouth on. burning. wild. the hound has been something constant, something unstoppable for so long that when the brakes come, he ends up with whiplash. cold; the temperature has dropped the little amount necessary so that his breath is visible at every exhale   —   steam adding to smoke as he sits and waits like some promised stray at cain’s steps. he shouldn’t be here. as time passes, he reminds himself of  this little fact. and yet he sits, quiet. lost in thought. lost in himself. the cherry on his cigarette flares as he pulls one more time but it’s nothing compared to the fire in his chest when he hears the motorcycle, when he realizes that cain is actually near. the sensation makes him pause and he knows he’s not sober   —   knows he’s far from it when he realizes that there’s actual hope in his heart. hope. something he has no business with, something he hasn’t actually had since the days of the silver city. his heart flips. he tells himself that it isn’t too late, that he could simply disappear and there wouldn’t be anything but a stamped out cigarette on the step to let cain know he was ever there. observant, the immortal would notice but it’s not like it would be something he’d actually dwell on   —   not like it’d be something cain would waste time thinking about. days. it’s been several days since they both crossed paths; the precinct has been abuzz with a new case that involved plenty of bodies. stress. focus. the hound has kept his distance to allow cain to play his role as marcus pierce, to let him spend his sentence in a way that blue is still trying to understand. serving humans. but refusing to get attached to any of them. marcus pierce is well respected   —   admired, spoken of so highly. they all have their versions of him. different songs. different notes. blue’s been writing his own but he keeps crossing out words, keeps getting frustrated. he’s not used to this. he’s not used to there being feelings that linger despite his poisons of choice. sometimes he thinks they make things worse. sometimes he drinks regular alcohol and frowns because it doesn’t come from one of cain’s bottles. impersonal. water, against his senses. it doesn’t hit the same. just like other people’s attention. and that’s starting to become a fucking problem. cigarette snuffed out on the bottom of his boot, the time for slipping away comes and goes as cain pulls in and removes his helmet. blue sits, stuck. waiting. watching   —   exhale almost white against night air as words are spoken. knowing. they solved the case, today. lapd’s beloved marcus, victorious once again. no doubt there were offers to go out to one of the many cop bars and drink to celebrate, no doubt there were high hopes that the other expertly shot down. a long day. more work to do. paperwork that he’s likely brought home with him   —   keeping him from being a liar. blue tries not to let this concept go to his head   —   tries not to wonder if cain also turned them down for this very reason, for a chance to come home and find the hound there again. again. a-fucking-gain. he shouldn’t be here. and he absolutely shouldn’t open his mouth   —   but he does.

“thought or hoped?” his own dilemma, teased as he pushes himself up and makes quick work of the few steps needed to end up down at cain’s level. the smile on his face is too familiar   —   too fond. happy. like a dog trying not to fucking jump and touch the moment their person ends up through the door. excitement radiates and yet blue is careful; he knows cain is run thin, that he will more than likely want some space. some peace and quiet. “i just came t’drop somethin’ off, anyway. then i’ll be outta your hair.” his hand ends up in the pocket of his jacket   —   closed around something small that he offers forward. fingers open to reveal a small rock. dark. so warm, due to his grasp. a piece of familiar pillars housing doors that cain is never supposed to see. impossibly rare. not of earth, at all   —   and a worthy addition to cain’s collection. a gift, terribly personal. words come, warm. sincere. “congrats   —    on th’case and everythin’. i know it was a pain in the ass.”

[passport-guardian-benrey]

How Comic met Fresh

Comic' backstory basically, throughout this Comic is refered to as Ralz, because the name change didn't happen yet

My friend helped with like half of this

Enjoy!

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Ralz teleported away from his bullies, his skull bleeding from a crack they made, he looked around, panicked.

Fresh was wandering in Classic's AU just across the bridge near Snowdin looking for chaos to cause when the damaged skeleton teleported in.

"Hey yo you look like you're not from around here little homeskillet, wassup?!" Fresh grinned at Ralz for a moment then paused. "Yo, you know your sauce is leaking bro?"

Ralz looked at him and backed away. He's really scared, he looks like someone or even multiple people attacked him. His eyesockets are filled with tears.

Fresh halted, his glasses changed to read "woah," and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Heyyyy. Yo, no need ta be spooked bro. I'm not gonna hurt ya. You uhh.. You hurt brah? Ya lookin' like you might need help or somethin my dude."

Ralz is shaking, he managed to slightly nod. Tears are running down his cheekbones alongside blood on one side.

"Uhhh ok ok umm... What do ya want me to do? I mean to be honest brah, I don't know how to help."

". . . h-head . . ." Ralz is in pain. He looks like a child, maybe 10 years old. He's small, weak and fragile, he's barely standing.

"Ok yeah.. Gotta stop that business from leakin. Hold up. I got this, check it."

Fresh takes his jacket off and starts tearing it into strips. he then approaches Ralz slowly, holding out the torn strips of fabric.

"Can I?"

Ralz slightly nodded, he's looking at Fresh.

Fresh used his ruined jacket to bandage up Ralz's head. It was oddly colorful for your usual bandages and a little tight but it definitely did the job.

Fresh looked Ralz up and down and let out a low whistle. "You got Jacked. Up. What even happened to you bro?"

" . . . b-bullies . . .th-they b-beat m-me up . . ." Ralz is trying to calm down, everything hurts him.

Fresh frowned and his glasses changed to "un-rad."

"Bullies? That's whaaaack bruh. ... So uhh what next? Wait, food helps you guys heal, right?" Fresh pulls out his inventory and rummages through it. Ralz is looking at him, waiting.

Fresh pulls out a carton of eggs and holds it out for Ralz with a triumphant grin.

Ralz looks at him, confused.

Fresh looks at Ralz, confused too "Not a fan of eggs brah?"

" . . . r-raw eggs a-aren't g-good . . ."

"Oh... I thought they totes were super healthy." Fresh without warning drops the carton of eggs and begins sifting through his inventory again.

Ralz doesn't say anything, He's still not entirely calmed down.

"Hah!" Fresh pulls a box of gushers from his inventory. "This is food... It's good too." He rips open a packet and hands it to Ralz.

Ralz took the packet and quietly began to eat the gushers.

"Good, right?" Fresh smiled at Ralz. The small skeleton just nodded.

"Well that's as bout as much as I know how to help ya with on my own broski." He held out his hand for Ralz to take.

"Can you trust me?"

Ralz looked at him, thought for a second and took Fresh' hand. Fresh chuckled.

"Probably a bad choice bro." and suddenly they were teleported to a different AU. They arrived in a dimly lit workshop with beakers and blueprints scattered about haphazardly. There was a skeleton slumped over a worktable snoring softly.

Ralz looked around, curiously.

Fresh walked up to the slumped over skeleton and shook his shoulder. The skeleton woke up with a start and rubbed at his face "C'mon couldn't you let me slee- F-FUNK!"

Fresh chuckled "Yo mind your manners Sci, there's kids present."

"I thought I told you not to come in here again, last time you contaminated everything and broke- wait kids?" Sci looked around and spotted Ralz, his eyes widening in alarm.

Ralz is nervous, he looked at Sci. He's slightly shaking.

Sci looks to Fresh angrily "Did you do this?!"

"Nah man, nah. Dunno what happened 'zactly... They said somethin about bullies but that's all I got." Fresh flicked Sci's glasses "Take a chill pill dude I just want ya to help me fix this little homeslice up."

Sci ajusted his glasses and gave Ralz a nervous glance. He switched to a low whisper Ralz couldn't hear. "Why? So you ca-"

Fresh interrupted Sci leaning in close, a dark aura radiating off of him. "Don't worry about it bro."

Sci gulped and nodded. He looked to Ralz and stood up. "Hey. they call me Science Sans, Sci for short... You are?"

"R-Ralz"

"Nice to meet you Ralz." Sci smiled warmly at him.

"Lol I totes didn't think to ask their name."

Sci shot Fresh a look and approached Ralz slowly. "Can I check that head wound of yours?"

Ralz nodded slightly, He's hurt in many different places too.

Fresh distractedly picked at his braces and Sci pulled out a chair for Ralz to sit in.

"Sit, please."

Ralz sat down on the chair.

Sci carefully unwrapped the impromptu jacket bandage and visibly winced at the damage underneath. "Sh-SHIZZ, this is bad."

Fresh looked up at the two of them.

Ralz is still shaking, He's scared and cold, a tear rolled down his cheekbone. He's still looking at Sci.

Fresh frowned and started digging through his inventory again while Sci frantically pulled out some antibacterial wipes and began gently cleaning around Ralz's head injury.

"This might sting, I'm sorry..." Sci said.

Fresh blipped behind Ralz and draped something around his shoulders.

"You were lookin a little too chill there dude..."

It was a soft blanket with neon squiggles and shapes on a dark background.

Ralz wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, "Th-thank you"

"S'nothin..." Fresh turned to Sci who was now applying something to the cut to get the bleeding to subside.

"Yooooo can I do anything to help?"

Sci looked at Fresh distrustfully.

"Maybe, if you promise to listen. because last time I-"

"I got it, I got it. Seriously, take a chill pill dawg."

Sci gave Fresh one more sharp look and nodded. "Ok."

With Sci's instruction Fresh began cleaning up Ralz's other injuries while Sci used healing magic on his skull.

Ralz is silent, He's just looking between them, sometimes reacting to the stinging and pain, He's behaving well.

"You're doin so good kid, don't worry we're almost done patching ya up." Sci gave Ralz a sympathetic smile.

He handed Fresh bandages and instructed him on how to properly use them and turned back to Ralz.

"We're mostly done here, but your glasses look busted. I can fix you up a new pair if you'd like."

"y-you can do that? i don't w-want t-to c-cause problems . . . o-only if it's o-okay . . ." Ralz is mostly calm now.

Sci laughed "I've busted mine more times than i can count. Had to figure ways to easily replace them before. " He adjusted said glasses on his nasal ridge.

"I might be able to figure out your prescription with your broken ones, it really wouldn't be too much trouble."

"A-alright" Ralz looked around the workshop.

Sci took his glasses and left the room, leaving Fresh, who had been mostly silent besides the occasional question for Sci, to continue bandaging up what was left of the major damage on Ralz.

Fresh was diligently following Sci's instruction, carefully and firmly wrapping some major scrapes and cuts on Ralz's shin when he spoke up.

"Yo... So I've been wonderin... What happened exactly? And like... Why'd they go and funk you up like this brah?"

Fresh looked up at Ralz, his expression pensive and his glasses displaying "??????"

"b-because I'm weird . . . I look weird . . ." Ralz is sad, he curled up a bit

"i was going back home from school, it was the only day my parents couldn't pick me up . . . so I was going home alone . . . and this one older kid with his group of friends attacked me . . . just because of the way i look . . ." His eyesockets are filled with tears again.

"That's super whack bro. There's not a funking thing wrong with the way you look." Fresh's mouth was pressed in a displeased thin line.

"black isn't a normal color for skeletons . . ."

Fresh shook his head and moved on to bandaging up one of Ralz's ankles.

"There's nothing wrong with you, or what color ya are. Just 'cause it's not as common in that AU don't mean jack.... Diversity is a good thing yo, what if there was only one kind of skeletons? All carbon copies and junk. It'd be mad boring all up in here." Fresh looked up at Ralz the same dark aura from earlier emanating from him.

"I'd like to see them come at me for bein different bro. Show them what I think of bulling." Then as quick as a switch the aura was gone, Fresh beaming at Ralz.

"Don't worry little homeskillet, you don't gotta worry about them again."

"but I would have to see them again when I go back to school . . ."

"Nahhh man you got options, you could come live with me if ya wanted."

"Really?" Ralz looked at Fresh.

"Heck yeah brah!" Fresh flashes a charming grin at Ralz. "And if ya ever wanna go back, you just say the word my dude."

"alright" Ralz smiled at him.

"Nice! I needed a buddy." Fresh chuckles.

"hm?" Ralz slightly tilted his skull to the side.

Just then Sci entered holding a new pair of glasses for Ralz.

"Had to replace the frames... But lucky you I had a similar style as yours already. Why don't you try these on and tell me how they feel." Sci made his way over to the two and handed Ralz the glasses with a smile.

Ralz put on the glasses and looked around, "It's great! Thank you" He's smiling.

Fresh stood up, done bandaging, and Sci nodded.

"Perfect." Sci pulled a small medicine bottle from his lab coat and handed it to Ralz. "This should help expedite the healing process, just follow the instructions on the bottle aaaaand you should be good to go. I'm- I'm sorry though.. I don't know if that crack to your skull will ever heal properly.."

Fresh looked at Sci, surprised. "It won't?"

"I mean I'm not positive... But..." Sci trailed off into uncomfortable silence.

"it's okay i guess . . ."

"Pshhhh It'll just make ya look cooler, no worries brah." Fresh waved a dismissive hand.

"Before you go.." Sci raised a finger "Are you gonna be ok? If you're getting bullied I can-"

Fresh clapped him on the shoulder, interrupting Sci. "It's all good bro, I got 'im."

Sci looked nervously from Fresh to Ralz.

The small skeleton curiously tilted his head to the side.

"Well ok then..." Sci sweats "Guess I better get back to my nap. Oh! Wait first..."

Sci hurried over to his desk and messed around in a drawer, his back to them for a second.

He turned around holding a pill bottle and handed it to Ralz. "For pain, you probably can't feel it too much right now thanks to the healing but your headaches gonna be killer tomorrow..."

Ralz nodded and took the pill bottle.

Sci nervously looked at Fresh and hugged Ralz without warning. He stealthily slipped a note in Ralz's pocket. "It was nice meeting you... Be safe." Sci said a little intensely.

"it was nice meeting you too"

"Wow Sci, brah... You never hug me like that..."

"That's because you always destroy my lab!" Sci snapped at Fresh.

Fresh raised his hands in surrender with a chuckle "'Aight then." He turned to Ralz and held out his hand. "In that case, let's bounce."

Ralz took Fresh' hand with a slight smile.

Sci gave them a halfhearted wave and the two disappeared with a fresh poof, reappearing in an obnoxiously 90's disaster area of livingroom.

Furniture that were just large cushioned shapes, an overly fluffy neon rug on dark flooring loud colorful walls with skateboards, tastefully framed pictures of Furbies and such hung up. A cluttered coffee table with things like tamagotchis, worms on a string, and a spilled over container of slime.

The whole place was littered with various odds and ends and Furbies strewn about everywhere.

"Welcome to my crib" Fresh said with a grand wave. "Mi casa es su casa."

Ralz is looking around, curiously.

"First things first I'mma get you some fly new digs, because your wardrobe is looking heckin whack right now." Fresh looked Ralz up and down.

"You're kinda small... But I think I gotchu. Hold up, be right back my dude." Fresh backed out of the room shooting finger guns "Careful of the Furbies, they get weird around newcomers. But make yourself at home dawg."

Ralz sits down and just waits for Fresh.

There's a loud thud in the other room and a rubber duck noise.

Ralz ignored the noise and looked at the note he got from Sci.

In barely legible chicken scratch it read "He's not a normal skeleton kid. Not sure what exactly it is, but there's something weird about him. DON'T TRUST HIM."

Ralz frowned and put the note back into his pocket.

Fresh skidded into the room sporting a new jacket and an armful of clothes. "YO!" Fresh dumped the clothes in Ralz's lap "Try these on for size homedawg."

Ralz tried on the clothes, the size is good, a bit too loose but it's okay.

Fresh grinned at Ralz "Ayyyyy lookin good, baggy is in ya know." Fresh's glasses flashed the words "fly af" for a moment.

Ralz smiled at him "you didn't tell me your name"

"Oh! You're right." Fresh laughs. "Call me FRESH!" There's a little fanfare and confetti pops from out of nowhere. "And I can already tell we're gonna be the tightest homies."

Ralz giggled, he's smiling "Probably"

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Modern AU - Get the Mayor a Damn Dog

What started as me trying to explain to some friends why I’m giving Mayor Damien in a Modern AU a dog ran off and had a life of its own.

For context, Modern Damien (as I write it) is part of a failed ‘second cycle’ of the WKM events. When the barrier broke after the ‘Damien’ short, pieces of the characters trapped within were sent out to be ‘reborn’ in a modern world. This means that while Damien exists because Dark is made from pieces of the twins, William doesn’t since Wilford is him. But since there were enough differences, Damien (and Celine, don’t worry!) gets the peaceful life he deserved all along.

This, coincidently, is the first time Wilford has met Damien (in some time, he thinks). What better way to do so than by deciding Damien should get a dog?

Word Count: 2,259 (hence the read-more)

-

If there was one thing to know about the city’s mayor, it was that he wanted a dog.

(And a family, but one thing at a time.)

It came up in several interviews, and various photoshoots included him posing with dogs. Some well-meaning patrons tried to gift him a dog - in other words, drop a dog at his door without any warning - but Damien was fortunate enough to have interceded before anything actually happened. For Damien, this would be a massive decision, and he wanted the choice in when and how it happened. In fact, it was why he didn’t have a dog to this point. With how busy the City Hall was, he couldn’t justify having a dog cooped up in an apartment all day. It might be spacious, it’d be heartless, and why have a dog for the bragging rights? What about the pet’s own life?

It made the days lonely and quiet sometimes, but Damien knew it was for the best. At least it started a running gag of friends giving him dog themed items for birthdays and other occasions that were dotted around his home. One such afternoon had him dusting some items, only for a porcelain dog figure to be dislodged and fall to the ground.

“Whoa there! Don’t wanna lose this pretty thin’, eh?” Damien could only watch with a bewildered expression as a man with a pink moustache who wasn’t there before caught the figurine and neatly returned it to its place. “Looks as expensive as everythin’ else here. Musta cost a pretty penny!”

“Uh, I - hold on a moment. Where did you even come from?” Damien knew the front door was locked. The balcony would be an option for only the fool who would want to climb seven stories. The intruder mimicked Damien’s action of blankly looking around like he was also looking for an answer.

“Yer totally Mark’s friend, right?” 

“Answer my question. How did you get in here?” Damien put the duster down, glaring at the stranger. When nothing happened, he gave a slow sigh. “I don’t know. ‘Mark’ is a common name. I know a few people with that name. Can you give better clarification?” 

“Good answer! He’s a little shorter than you?” No reaction. The stranger pursed his lips, making his moustache wiggle in thought. “He makes videos fer th’ internet?” That, luckily, helped Damien put the pieces together.

“I’ve been friends with him for years, nearly since we were kids. So now can you please tell me who you are, how you got in here, and what any of this has to do with Mark?” 

“Wilford Warfstache, reporter extraordinaire at yer service!” Wilford gave a dramatic, swooping bow. “I actually went ta yer office, but ya weren’t there. Th’ security fella that found me informed that it’s actually Sunday an’ no one works in th’ buildin’ that day. So then I came here, an’ here ya are! Well done fer not working!” He finished with a dramatic ‘ta-dah’ pose, complete with jazz hands. But when Damien didn’t clap, Wilford’s pose deflated (complete with sound effects that came out of nowhere). “C’mon, Dames, I didn’t even get lost. That’s a good thing fer me.” Damien pressed two fingers against his temple as he tried to follow what was going on.

“I’m going to let most of that slide, but why did you call me ‘Dames’?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“For one, it’s a nickname that only my oldest friends use.”

“Aren’t we?” Damien opened his mouth to refute the bizarre question, only to notice the genuine confusion on the other’s face. One moment, Wilford acted like they were strangers, and the next gathered they were old friends in his mind? It was a rather worrying state of affairs, but it was better to not correct him just yet.

“So, Mr Warfstache, what brings you here?” Damien clasped his hands behind his back, steeling himself for some terrible news. He had heard rumours of Mark being linked with some malicious, shadowy entity. Was this related to that? What rabbit-hole had he been pulled into? Wilford appeared lost at the question, looking around until -

“Oh yeah! It’s ‘cause yer cooped up in here all th’ time. Ya need ta get out more, talk ta people, see more things! But most of all, ya need some sorta company, an’ - wait!” Damien had turned and stormed off to find his phone. “C’mon, Dames, y’ve been like this fer years! It’s not gonna kill ya ta live a little fer once.”

“And what do you know about that? You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Damien held the phone up as a warning. “I will call the police if you keep this up.”

“Poppycock. I’m tryin’ ta help. What part of that aren’t ya seein’? Yer a man who’s obsessed with puttin’ himself last. Anythin’ that can pull yer attention from work for a split second is somethin’ ya don’t get involved with! How long are ya gonna keep not livin’ fer?”

“What I do is none of your damn business! I know the importance of my work!”

“An’ what other man in yer position would throw his life away? Any other Mayor would have a romantic partner or family who’d be there no matter what. They’d juggle everythin’ because that’s what people do! Yer not ‘sposed to be some machine who works an’ does nothin’ else!”

“But that is what I want to do! I promised to give this city my all. I’m not backing down on this.” Wilford’s hand twitched, like he was about to grab something, but he forced himself to stop. Instead, he took a heavy, slow breath. The moustache was peppered with short, black strands of hair.

“An’ neither am I. I’m not lettin’ ya throw yer life away again because yer a fuckin’ moron. No. We’re goin’. Now. Get yer fuckin’ coat.” 

“Are you listening to yourself right now? You break into my home through whatever illogical technique, complain about how I choose to live my life, and now you’re trying to bring me somewhere? You’d be mad to think I’d go anywhere with you!” Damien took a nervous step back as Wilford gave a resigned laugh.

“Mad, ya say? Wouldn’t be th’ first ta say that, an’ ya won’t be th’ last.” His head lowered at the confession. A few seconds passed before he returned his gaze to Damien with a sigh. Unlike before, it was a more sober look. “I’m not seein’ ya waste away ta be nothin’ again. All I ask is that ya come with me ta look at dogs. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Ya always said ya wanted one an’ never got one ‘cause of work. But folks love dogs! Bet we could find a little one that’ll be great in an office an’ a small apartment. Like… Like one of these!” Wilford hurried to the couch to snatch up a cushion and excitedly point to one of the printed dogs. Whatever black was in the moustache had disappeared when he turned to Damien.

“You… Do realise that’s a Great Dane, yes? The complete opposite of what you just said.” 

“An’ that’s why I didn’t pick a dog! Yer th’ expert outta th’ two of us! C’mon!”

--

Despite the tense first meeting, Damien found Wilford to be a surprisingly pleasant companion. Eccentric, yet bubbly. He had a colourful view on the world, and it wasn’t long before Damien could see why Wilford was confused on knowing Damien. They got along like a house on fire, or like friends who were simply catching up after years apart. Wilford told him about his reporting job in a TV studio, various other quirky friends he had (though photographs were needed to remind Wilford of names), and the connection between himself and Mark.

Time seemed to pass both too quickly and slowly by the time the pair arrived at the local pound. Damien had tried to talk Wilford out of this idea, but the other was indeed too stubborn to change his mind. The staff welcomed the pair in and allowed them to see the dogs that were looking for forever homes. Damien had to remind Wilford twice that a small dog was what he wanted.

(“But Dames! Look at her pudgy face!”

“Wilford, she’d need a garden as big as my entire apartment to run around in.”)

They eventually split up so Damien could walk around and see if there were any suitable candidates to bring home without running commentary from Wilford. So many dogs were lively and friendly, but far too energetic for an apartment life or would be better suited to homes with children. Despite coming to the realisation that this was the wasted trip he knew it would be, he let himself have the chance to enjoy meeting some dogs. He was reading the information on some spaniel puppies when he felt eyes on him. Damien lifted his gaze to the corridor to find he was alone. As he turned to determine where the feeling of being watched came from, he found a dog in the den directly behind him staring attentively in his direction like it was on guard. It was a corgi, and Damien guessed it was a tricolour: predominantly black with sharply defined tan markings around his shoulders, eyes and muzzle. Unlike most corgis Damien saw on Crufts, the fur was longer and fluffier.

“What’s got you on high alert, buddy?” Damien lifted the information clipboard to skim for a warning on a vicious temperament. To his relief, it was the opposite. The corgi was approximately two years old, had high stamina but was mainly calm and observant. True to the notes, the dog approached the perspex door, sitting in front of it as he watched Damien. “Or are you making sure I don’t cause trouble… Soldier? An unusual name.”

“He’s a stray,” one of the volunteers explained as they closed the storage door with the back of their foot, arms laden with a large sack of dog food. “He was found at the local army base after trying to herd some of the soldiers that were training, which is where we got the name from. It’s strange… He’s a purebred, yet there’s no chip, no alert of a missing dog anywhere in the state or in neighbouring states… Nothing. Anyone that wanted to adopt him couldn’t get him to come anywhere near them. Aside from any of us who bring him food, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Soldier get this close to anyone.”

“That is… Rather unusual for such a social breed,” Damien hummed in agreement. “I read up on them before when first checking what breeds might suit an apartment life, yet... I wouldn’t have expected to find one here.”

“It might be fate, Mister Mayor. It’s happened a few times here before. Why don’t you say hello?” Without waiting for an answer, the volunteer skirted around Damien. There was a little struggle with the weight of the sack, but they successfully opened the upper half of the door. For a moment, he considered refusing the offer, but decided otherwise. A hand was cautiously lowered to pet the dog on the top of the head. Instead, Soldier pulled back so he could sniff the hand like he had the final say in whether the interaction was allowed. Once satisfied, he bumped the top of his head against Damien’s hand.

“Oh my God. That’s the first time he’s let anyone pet him without a bribe of food,” whispered the intern. “This is like a Disney movie. You need to take him home with you. I don’t think you’re gonna find a better suited dog. Soldier is always watching and paying attention to what goes on. We have a kit that’d help you care for him, if that’s a worry. But you spend time with him and make the choice for yourself. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The volunteer hurried off with the sack in their arms, leaving Damien alone. Once the coast was clear, Damien sighed and knelt down.

“This is all quite a rush, isn’t it? We’ve barely met and now I’m being told to bring you home. I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck with a boring man like me. I work in one room nearly all day, and I don’t have a garden. I’m sure you understand that I’m not the home you deserve.” Soldier cocked his head to the left as Damien spoke, responding with a low bark. “I’m not entirely sure whether that’s in agreement or disagreement, I’m afraid. I don’t speak dog. And I doubt you can speak human either.” To Damien’s surprise, Soldier gave another bark, before rising up and crossing his space to pick up a chewed-up teddy bear. Upon his return, he placed his front paws on the perspex to offer the bear to Damien.

“Is this for me? She’s a pretty little lady, isn’t she? Even if her dress is a little tattered.” Taking the toy, Damien once again attempted to pat Soldier’s head with the other hand. This time, Soldier accepted, allowing Damien to properly pet him.

This was how Wilford and the shelter volunteer found them several minutes. The volunteer was mid-brag about how they knew it was a match made in heaven, and Wilford was quick to agree.

“He’s a handsome little fella, huh? Ya look fairly smitten, Dames.” Wilford slapped Damien’s shoulder with a grin.

“I think I might look into the adoption process… But if I do, I’m changing his name. ‘Soldier’ doesn’t suit him. He deserves a name that’s more intelligent. I’m thinking… Barnum. It rather suits such a bright-eyed fellow, don’t you think?”

[bird-in-a-cage]

Just a Prick

Sally Gibson’s house parties were legendary. Her parents were high in city council, so their house was more of a sprawling estate. An olympic sized pool and a hot tub in the backyard, a patio with a fire pit. A basement rec room with a pool table, a proper darts board, three couches for people to fall into with their significant others and make out in the corners, somewhere where it was quieter. The music still could be heard thumping through the ceiling from the living room where some very expensive speakers were housed, attached to a record player that never stopped and just surrounded by bodies, pressed together but not through lack of space. Bedrooms gradually being occupied upstairs. Empty and full cups on every surface, left abandoned for one reason or another.

Her halloween parties were something else entirely. It’s as if her parents knew that every year it was a rawkus affair so just left for the whole weekend. High school kids from other towns would turn up for the fun.

Maybe all the extra bodies were why Steve had crammed him and Billy into a small downstairs bathroom, one of two downstairs bathrooms, and slid up to sit on the sink with his eyes closed as Billy held a block of ice to his earlobe. They’d both been drinking, a lot. Had challenged each other at the keg outside, Steve thinking maybe he’d have the upper hand again thanks to Billy’s desire to come dressed as Rob Halford. Completely in leather and chains that looked far too tight to breathe in, let alone be held upside down over a keg. It was a very good look.

Steve was wrong. But he still had fun trying to win.

He held the ice when Billy gestured too, watched as he drunkenly fumbled for his lighter, taking a safety pin from his pocket to split open and heat up. Steve shuffled on the edge of the sink, trying to keep his head straight even though the room was starting to spin slightly. He kicked his bare feet off the cabinet. He remembered coming in shoes. He also remembered coming as Ferris Buller, but over the night it had changed more into that scene in Risky Business when he’d fallen into the pool up to his waist and had to change into shorts from the gym bag in the trunk of his car that didn’t really show from under the now long shirt.

No one seemed to even notice, let alone mind. Especially Billy, who had just called him ‘Legs’ all night.

The idea of Steve getting his ear pierced had started about an hour beforehand, when they were both in the kitchen, making drinks with whatever was left from emptying bottles. Two cups of straight bad ideas. He’d been stood against the counter, lazily flicking Billy’s earring like a cat with a piece of yarn while the blonde became bartender for them both.

“Did that hurt?”

Billy turned his head to look at him, glassy eyes hidden behind a stolen pair of sunglasses from someone . He didn’t speak, just pinched Steve’s lobe hard with his nails, hard enough to make the taller boy hiss and buckle his whole body to one side.

“Did’that?”

Even though it hurt, the idea was planted. It seemed like a great idea! Billy’s costume had a few pins stabbed into it and Steve could easily get a real earring in the morning so the hole didn’t close over. What could go wrong?

Billy had the sunglasses pushed into his hair, blinking hard to focus straight as he moved Steve’s hand to move the ice and pinched the lobe for the second time that evening.

“Anythin’?”

Steve beamed and shook his head like a proud child, fingers fiddling with a cork they’d picked up from somewhere. Someone had probably broken into the sealed off wine cellar. No Halloween party next year. “Totally numb!”

Billy grinned back, all teeth but no usual bite, and flicked his zippo open to start heating up the needle. If Steve had been even a little more of sound mind, he probably would have seen how much of a terrible idea this was. Especially when Billy had stumbled over nothing even getting into the bathroom and the three times it took the both of them to lock the door for some privacy. But, swinging his feet either side of Billy’s frame so that his ankles were hitting off the cabinet doors with dull thuds, this was a great idea. He pressed the ice cube that was melting over his fingers to the chosen lobe again when it started to feel not as cold.

“Last chance to back out legs .” Billy’s eyes flickered with the flame. They’d had the sense to turn the light on but he was holding it close to his face to concentrate on what was in his hands. Steve reached out to rub the leather cuff around his wrist with affection. It was warm and slick. Maybe sweat, probably spilled booze. The needle was starting to glow orange, then white.

“Hit me with it!” Steve grinned, eyes lidded with just the sheer effort to keep them open anymore. Billy rolled his eyes and moved more swiftly than he had for hours, in one fluid movement batting Steve’s hand away, taking the cork to put up behind the lobe, and stabbed the red hot needle through the flesh.

Steve yelped once, before biting his lip hard. Maybe his ear hadn’t been as numb as he thought. Billy moved the cork from where it had been stabbed, temporarily attached, rubbing Steve’s bare leg, shushing him softly.

“Don’t want folks thinkin’ I killed ya or somethin’ princess.”

Steve stared up at the ceiling and blinked back tears that hadn’t already fallen to the collar of his shirt. “Fuck that smarts!”

“I did warn ya it’d hurt!” Billy smiled, kissed one of the tear tracks on Steve’s cheek before clipping the safety pin together, completing the act. “There. Done.”

Steve had dropped the ice cube onto the floor in shock, it was melting into a small puddle by the toilet. He turned to look at the result in the mirror behind him, rolled and angled his head up, couldn’t help but grin. Yeah it looked sore and a little inflamed, but it looked cool , and there wasn’t a lot of blood if any at all. “You’ve done this before.”

Billy shrugged through the mirror. “How you think I got mine?” He had to stop Steve from trying to touch his new accessory. It jutted out at a strange angle that wasn’t up or down or even sideways. Definitely diagonal. Perpendicular with his slender neck.

It was kinda cool for a home job.

“This is gonna hurt like shit in the mornin’ huh?” Steve chuckled, wobbling his head to see if he could get it to move since he wasn’t allowed to touch. Billy’s reflection nodded. He was watching rather intently.

“You got no idea amigo.”

Steve turned back just in time for Billy to cup his cheek, his wide hand thumbing softly over the bone. His eyes were just that shade darker, and that couldn’t be blamed on the drink. Steve reached out and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, pulled him closer for a sloppy kiss. Full of tongue and feeling but not much restraint. Steve’s ankles hooked around Billy’s thighs like it was no big deal.

“You do look real fuckin’ hot with that thin’ baby,” Billy dralled, hand slipping to Steve’s jaw, thumb now ghosting over his lips.

“Yeah?” Steve playfully bit it, flicked his tongue over the rough tip. It made Billy’s eyes go even darker. Made Steve forget about his throbbing earlobe for a moment. His own hands shifted slightly, fingers working their way under the collar of the jacket to rub at sweaty bare skin.

“Yeah. Look like a bad bitch now suga’.”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle a little, but mean every word of his question, even if his brain was swimming under a multitude of influences. “Bad enough we should head upstairs?”

Billy moved his closer still, lips tucked next to Steve’s good ear, warm breath ghosting over the shell, making the taller boy shiver. “Bad enough I’mma make you scream for different reasons.”

Oh . Oh now that sounded like fun.

[therealjammy]

The End of the Line

AN: I’m just adding to the pain train. Don’t mind me. This is also an excuse to work out the hellish week I’ve had. Also, please forgive the mistakes, I stayed up way too late trying to finish this and edited all 4,100-something words in half an hour. 

Heavy angst ahead. I’m so sorry 

1. Excerpt from Nazim Hikmet’s poem “Before time runs out, my rose...” 

Read it on Ao3, too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555409

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

There comes a point in time when one realizes their own weight. It hits suddenly, like an unexpected wave when one is swimming in the middle of the ocean, and they realize the series of events leading to the wave are all in a perfect line. But how to stay afloat, wonders the swimmer, when your life preserver might go down with you? When you’re tired of fighting against the waves?

           You’ve been floating for ages, the seas calm, but lately the waves have become choppy, and what were once clear skies are now cloud-filled. And the fog… That fog is thick and it’ll just keep getting thicker, until you can’t even see what’s in front of you. And if there is a lighthouse—which you’re certain there is, on some days—the light comes in and out of focus, a candle getting brighter and then dimmer in a breeze. The light, of course, being Jamie. Always Jamie. Your lighthouse. Your anchor. Your poor, burdened anchor, who looks as tired as you feel.

           The guilt hits you when she comes home, opening the door with a long sigh, tossing her purse onto the couch. You notice the dark half-moons underneath her eyes, the result of staying up with you in the middle of the night when you’d woken from a night terror. If you close your eyes, you can still see the monochrome of it, some beautiful, long-haired woman hovering over you, face screwed up in effort, a strong, damp hand clamped over your mouth and nose.

           “How’s it goin’, Poppins?” Jamie asks.

           Papers are spread on the round kitchen table, accompanied by accounting books and expenses receipts. You remember, suddenly, you’d said you’d have the work done by the time Jamie got home. There’s more than half still to do, and a long pencil line disrupts the muted colors in the accounting book. You shake your head to clear the fog. “It’s uh… I’m sorry. It’s not done. I…”

           “‘S all right. Shit takes time, doesn’t it?”

           “Not this much.”

           “There’s always tomorrow.” Her hand settles on your shoulder, warm from the early autumn sun she’d walked in. “Take a break. Help me decide what to do for dinner. My head’s empty.”

           You hum. Lean your head against her forearm. Her skin is warm underneath your cheek. She smells like lilies and soil and berry hand soap. “Okay,” you murmur.

           There’s a drawer in the kitchen, just below the knife holder, that bears an abysmal amount of takeout menus. Some are from tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants that are no longer open that neither of you felt like tossing out. Others are from restaurants you frequent. Appetite being what it is, nothing calls loud enough for you to hear, so you pull one at random and hand it over.

           “Right,” says Jamie, giving it a glance. “Chinese it is.”

           You eat dinner on the parlor floor, small boxes of fried rice and noodles and various flavors of chicken spread between you, chopsticks clicking to each other. Jamie is a pro with them now. You’d had to teach her how to use them. It was at a sushi restaurant in San Francisco, a name you can’t remember, but you recall the distinctly Asian décor and Jamie’s sighs of frustration.

           “I’m too fuckin’ white for this, Poppins,” she said. “Better off with a fork.”

           “You’re holding it wrong,” you said, smiling. You took the top stick from her hand and set it aside, allowing her to focus only on the bottom one. “Hold this one like a pencil. Mm-hmm.” You picked up the other one. “Keep it like that. Now, let this one rest on top of those two fingers, and use your index finger to pinch it to the other one.” She did. “Just like that.” You helped her snag a salmon roll between them, but she did the work of bringing it to her mouth.

           You can’t remember when it’d finally clicked for her. Only that it had.

           Jamie cracks open the fortune cookies. Passes one to you.

           “If it’s a bad one,” she says, “I’m burnin’ it.” She takes a bite of the cookie first. You’d told her, once again in California, that it would bring bad luck if she didn’t. Jamie reads, “Let your heart give away its biggest secret today.” She sighs. “Well shit.”

           Yours says, “A very bright future is ahead of you.” You laugh. Not with amusement. Just at the irony. You flick the small piece of paper away into the shadows. It lands with a soft click. You ask softly, “Is yours wrong, too?”

           “No,” Jamie says. “It’s bang on.” A mask of nervousness descends upon her face, but you notice the nuances of excitement, too. “I was thinkin’… We could get the paperwork this week. Fill it out, have someone witness the signing… I mean, it’ll take a bit for the official certificate to come in, but…” She trails off, both giddiness and nervousness dancing on her features and in her gestures.

           “We’ll celebrate,” she continues, hands clasping yours. “Splurge on a fancy bottle of wine. Somethin’ vintage.”

           You like her dreams. They’re big and grand, a painting waiting to be seen in a gallery.

           “And we’ll call Owen. He’ll shout on the other end of the line, I’m sure.”

           The image pulls a smile from your lips. “It’s wonderful.” You lean to kiss her. The Lady, blissfully, is silent, tucked into some corner or other, claws retracted, dozing. You feel Jamie’s touch on your face. The soft press of her mouth against yours. Had this been earlier, much earlier, when you were more wholly yourself, you would’ve pulled her into you until you were both sprawled on the rug and made love there, boxes be damned, until, with much effort, you rose on unsteady legs to clean up and stumble to the bedroom, where it might continue. But you are fading like ink in water, and there is no pull of desire.

           “Oi,” Jamie whispers, holding your face between gentle hands, “what’s the face?”

           You shake your head. “I… can’t give you what you want.”

           “You think it matters?”

           “It should.”

           “I’ll tell you a secret, Poppins,” she says. “Sex is like dessert. Somethin’ you want and can have. Or choose not to have. There’s a reason it’s had last.” A tear falls warmly onto your cheek. She catches it with the pad of her thumb, wiping it smoothly away. “It’s the main course that’s most important.” She kisses your forehead. “Sweets come in other forms.”

           Like gestures. Like little kisses she gives you in passing, or a touch that lingers.

           Sleep comes easier that night, with her reminder. With her soft warmth and flannel shirt that’s gone soft from the many washes it’s had. The only dream is a string of bubbles rising to a freshly disturbed surface, obscuring two figures standing on a shore you can’t see. Like they’re floating.

 —

You go into work less and less. You do what you can from home: filling out orders in the book, writing in the specific details, filing paperwork and doing accounting. It is an altogether different weight, sometimes overwhelming. And the less you go into work, the more you find yourself getting lost in your own head, thinking of water and pale hands and feeling a simmering impatience. The drifting happens in the oddest of moments—in the middle of discussing an arrangement, or going over the different types of flowers that would suit the mood for an engagement party, or in the middle of the most mundane things. Cleaning the house. Preparing an edible dinner. Plucking the drain in the bath.

           No, you think, but the thought dissolves. You feel her stirring. Waking again to find herself still trapped. You barely hear the front door open, the thunk of Jamie’s purse as it lands on the loveseat, the clop, clop of her boots, the closing of your bedroom door so she can change into house clothes.

           The Lady’s reflection appears in the faucet.

           You stare at each other.

           Sounds from the bedroom float to your ear. The squeaking of the bedframe as Jamie’s weight settles on it. A few seconds of silence followed by a sigh, and another, heavier one.

           Once, moons ago now, on a day you had felt the Lady’s weight more prominently than you had since leaving Bly, Jamie came home while you worked on the books, diligently adding up the expenses by hand with paper and pencil. Your mind drifted until there was a strange, silent bubble surrounding you. You were barely aware of the bedroom door closing, of the sounds that happened shortly afterwards. At least until telling sighs reached your ears and told you she was not, in fact, changing out of her work clothes.

           The bubble gone, you sat and listened, everything sharp, a familiar knot tying itself in the pit of your stomach. It was quiet, what she was doing, but not quiet enough; you stood just as you heard her breathing pause.

           You opened the bedroom door. She was a silhouette in the late evening light, trembling on the heels of a first, intense orgasm, gasping from both it and surprise. It took you three strides to stand over her.

           “Dani,” Jamie breathed, “I’m sorry—”

           You cut her off with a kiss. The interruption was a pleasant surprise, and the mood that filled you was one you were glad for. You felt like yourself, in moments like these; you could just be Dani and Jamie, not Dani with the Lady crawling under your skin and pulling you back into the fog.

           She wrapped you in her arms, even as you worked her already unbuttoned jeans from her hips, even when you slid down to follow your hands with your mouth, keeping the pace slow so as not to overwhelm her. Still, she didn’t last long, already taut from the wake of the first, your name tumbling from her mouth in an ecstasy-filled whisper, the sounds thereafter muted inside her hand. You cursed the thin walls of the apartment and people’s irritating nosiness.

           “Christ,” Jamie sighed when you came back up to kiss her.

           “Hmm,” you said, smiling a little now. “Thank you for the interruption.”

           “Workin’ out some frustrations?”

           “You could say that.” You brushed a few strands of hair away from her eyes. “Our business isn’t cheap.”

           “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She kissed you softly, cupped your face tenderly between her hands. “Want anything?” she murmured.

           “Just you,” you said, helping her fumble with the button on your jeans so she could slip her hand between its sides.

           You do not go to her.

           You hear her come, a string of stilted curses and harsh, stuttering breaths, but it is far away, on some shore you cannot reach. There is only the empty tub and the silver faucet, in whose face is the Lady. All stringy, wet hair and pristine white dress. Faceless.

           Jamie will wash her hands at the kitchen sink. Pat her damp face and neck dry with the dish towel from the stove. Attempt to make dinner, thinking you’re still freshening up, only coming in when she realizes you’re taking an awfully long time, or when she needs your rescue.

           However much you want to, you find you cannot move. Even though you’re cold. You stay as if glued to the spot, knees pulled against your chest, chin resting on them, staring at the woman who is not you.

           If I reach out, you wonder, tilting your head to the side, will I feel you? Will you feel like metal or will you feel like mud…?

           “Dani?”

           You gasp. Your hand falls back to your knee.

           “Hey.” She wraps a fresh towel around your shoulders. “Been here a while, huh?”

           The Lady isn’t in the silver face. You see you, damp hair falling around your shoulders, expression that of someone washing up on shore and surprised to find they haven’t drowned. “A little while,” you say. “Is dinner…?”

           “I’ve got it started, at least. Haven’t had pasta primavera in a bit.”

           “Last time you made it, it was a wreck.”

           Jamie smiles. “It was, wasn’t it?” She adjusts the towel, dabs at a few lingering water spots on your cheek. “Let’s get you outta here, cold girl.”

           Warm dinner smells fill the apartment. Bell peppers and squash and zucchini, all tossed in a skillet with bowtie pasta. Wine accompanies the dish, a red you’d gotten from Owen when you’d gone to Paris to announce your engagement. Jamie lights a plain white candle and sets it in the middle of the table.

           “Thank you,” you tell her. “It’s good.”

           “Didn’t set off the smoke alarm this time,” Jamie says. “It’s an improvement.”

           Despite how good it is, you can only stand a few bites and a few sips of wine. You pass your plate to Jamie, who clears it, bringing back a memory of the warm kitchen at Bly, Hannah and Owen at the sink, Jamie picking over what Flora and Miles left on their plates.

           “Our human Hoover strikes again,” Hannah said. “Less work for us.”

           “Not just good at gardenin’,” Jamie said. “I’m always happy to make less work for you.”

           Later, you dry the dishes, keeping your back to the sink, averting your eyes from the plates’ shiny faces.

           “I uh…” Jamie begins after a minute. “I could use your help with somethin’ tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

           “Hmm?”

           “Just an arrangement. I need your expert eyes.”

           The phrase brings a faint smile to your lips. Your eyes haven’t felt expert for a while. And what joy there was in assisting with arrangements feels almost forced. The emotion itself is muted, along with everything else. Yet you ask, “What flowers?”

           “Roses. Simple enough.”

           Jamie brings home Starbucks in the morning. Blonde roasts, with cream and sugar. Old habits, she says, as she hands your cup over. You think of the greenhouse after your first kiss. The warmth of the autumn sunlight filtering through the windows.

           “You ready?” Jamie says.

           “Yeah.”

           The walk to The Leafling is only a few blocks. There’s a light breeze. It rustles the leaves on the oak trees, whispering through the branches. The sunlight is warm. The weather is a perfect mix of summer and autumn, but you think it isn’t you who is wholly absorbing it. The tempest of the Lady seems soothed by it, and when you walk by the market displaying the morning’s freshly picked apples, you see a field of green and a girl in a white dress sauntering after a man in clothes long out of fashion. The image disappears as soon as it had come, as brief as the scent of apples.

           The shop opens at nine. There’s a little over an hour until then. Jamie uses it to go over the arrangement, wondering which flowers should be used to compliment the roses, whose color is as crimson as blood. She says the woman whom it’s for doesn’t want a stereotypical banquet of roses—stereotypical, in this case, meaning roses paired with baby’s breath, despite the combination being a classic—and Jamie rolls her eyes as she says it. “But in America, the customer’s always right,” she continues, “as much of a pain in my arse as it is.”

           “Well…” You think for a moment. Baby’s breath is white. White and crimson are aesthetically pleasing when paired together. “What kind of tone does she want to set?”

           “Somethin’ original. I know,” Jamie says, throwing up her hands at your puzzled look, “not very helpful. Please don’t shoot the messenger.”

           You think for a minute. “We could try something smaller and… white. Daisies, maybe.”

           Jamie nods. “All right.”

           You hold the roses in a plastic sheet, telling Jamie where to place the daises so it’ll look the best. Two between the roses in front, and two between the three roses in the back. She’s careful not to touch either flower’s petals. She steps back to admire it from afar. This close to you, the roses are overly sweet, the smell cloying, reminding you of clothes stashed away, of how the petals were once used to mask the scent of death. Jamie’s mouth moves in the shape of Y’know, I think that is the least stereotypical thing we’ve made. Her smile is small, but proud and bright. You see it. All you can think of is a deathbed.

           “You all right?” Jamie says. “Does it look wrong?”

           You shake your head no.

           Gently, she takes the banquet from you, setting the bunch carefully in an empty glass vase. “What’re you thinkin’, Dani?” she asks.

           The words are soft when they leave you. “They smell like death.”

           The mask of worry becomes darker on Jamie’s features, and you wonder, after you’ve told her, if she’ll think every flower in the shop reminds you of death. You hate the feeling coursing through your chest—worry that she won’t want you here, in the place you’d dreamed and built together, that she’ll want to hide the flowers for the sake of keeping you comfortable.

           “That’s a new one,” she says quietly, and you nod in agreement. She sighs, gives the arrangement a quick once-over. “We can go with the daisies, then. It looks pretty. Romance and new beginnings.”

           The banquet that had been the two of you once gets picked up later that morning by a man in his mid-thirties planning on proposing to his girlfriend. He’d looked happy, you think, sinking into darker thoughts, love making him punch-drunk. Their future stretched like a highway before them, time not a question on their minds but something infinite.

 —

On a Sunday, when The Leafling is closed, you accompany Jamie to pick up the paperwork. Nervousness travels between you like electrodes. You feel it on the walk to the county clerk’s office (?), and inside it. You’re joined by other couples, all with the same goal in mind. It all feels odd. Not in a bad way, but in a surreal way. Time, it seems, has been as kind as it can, letting you get this far. But the cruelty lies in the unknown, in that dark space that asks, How much longer?

           Your handwriting is not what it used to be. Neat cursive has turned into half-legible chicken scratch; next to Jamie’s curling print, it embarrasses you. Such a silly thing turns your cheeks into burning coals.

           “Oi,” Jamie whispers, sensing as she always does, taking your hand in hers. “Least it’s not Russian cursive, yeah? Completely illegible.”

           It gets a laugh. A soft one, but a laugh nonetheless.

           “There we are,” Jamie says.

           You get home and Jamie pulls a bottle of white wine from the liquor cabinet. A Gewürztraminer. The bottle is green, the label white.

           “Where’d you get that one?” you ask.

           Jamie pauses in pouring the first glass. “Napa Valley.”

           “When…?”

           “Three years ago.” She turns to the fridge and plucks a postcard down. Classic lettering, with NAPA VALLEY spread across the bottom. The picture is of acres of grapevines, with a large white building in the background.

           “Livin’ here wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Jamie said. A pale arm hung out the rented Land Rover’s window, whose view was of the rolling hills and the sharp bunches of grapevines. “We could get pricey wine whenever we wanted.”

           “And wine drunk every night,” you said, leaning to kiss her cheek.

           “Sure, Poppins, if you want a hellish hangover the next day.”

           “God,” you say, this time covering your face with both your hands. “Ninety-seven. I…” The water’s coming in fast. Too fast.

           Hands find your shoulders. “Dani,” Jamie says, her tone serious but soft, “it’s all right. It’s okay to forget things. Memory’s fallible.”

           Fallible. It is. And everything else, too, if one wanted to get philosophical about it.

           “Come on,” she says, leading you to the couch. “Let’s give the religious nuts a reason to complain further about us disturbin’ the Sabbath with our agenda.”

           Jamie fetches a book from the small shelf in the room and carries her wineglass over. She propels you down until your head is lying in her lap, one hand tracing lines over the soft hair just above your ear. Exhaustion pulls at you. Your eyes drift closed as she flips through pages. Darkness fills them when she reads from a page.

 Before time runs out, my rose,

before Paris is burned and destroyed,

before time runs out, my rose,

and my heart is still on its branch,

in this night of May on the quay we must sit

on the red barrels in front of the warehouses.

 The canal across fades into darkness.

A barge is passing,

my rose, let’s say hello,

let’s say hello to the barge with the yellow cabin.

Is she on her way to Belgium or to Holland?

In the cabin door a woman with a white apron

       is smiling sweetly.

 Before time runs out, my rose,

before Paris is burned down and destroyed,

before the time runs out, my rose…

People of Paris, people of Paris,

You mustn’t let Paris be burned and destroyed…1

 —

The call comes on a Tuesday. Jamie, detaching herself from the last of the dishes that need drying, turns business-like, posture stiffer, voice more professional.

           “Clayton residence,” she says.

           “Flora residence,” Flora said, attempting to sound adult but failing. “Hello?”

           A pause.

           “Speaking.”

           Another.

           “Oh.” Her tone is lighter. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

           “What was it?” you say once she’s hung up.

           There’s a large smile on Jamie’s face. “It’s the certificate.”

           You smile, too, as much as you can. She captures it between her hands, pressing her forehead to yours. She says, “I’ll go. You stay. Find us something to celebrate with.”

           “Oh…” You trail off. There’s plenty of wine in the liquor cabinet. And candles on a little iron shelf in the bathroom. An idea forms. “Sure you can trust me with that?” you ask.

           “Definitely.”

           She changes into something more appropriate while you light the candles. Pauses next to you to tell you she’ll be back. Kisses your hair. Says, “Keep those burnin’, yeah? And make room for two.”

           Time slows while she’s gone. And despite the better day, the fog rolls in, filling your head while the tub fills with water, until you’re leaning, and the Lady is your shadow. You are dead to the world until Jamie, home again, shakes you away. The tub has overflown. Water pools on the tile, travelling over it and to the wood of the hallway. You didn’t realize, you say apologetically, to which she says water’s easy to clean up.

           You ask if she sees her.

           She says, “I only see you.”

           You nearly collapse into the steadying arm she holds against your back. “I’m so tired, Jamie,” you tell her. And you are. You’ve been treading water too long. There is no anchor, except the one you cannot cling to anymore. No lighthouse. No life preserver. Jamie declines your words, firmly, fighting back tears. Shaking her head as if the very action will change the course of everything.

           “No one’s going anywhere.”

           But I’m sinking, you want to say. I’ve been sinking since I invited her in. I’ve been clinging to everything I could, and it still isn’t enough. You shake your head, too. “What if I’m here,” you whisper, “sitting next to you… but I’m just really her?”

           “One day at a time,” Jamie answers. The age-old mantra.

 —

There comes a point when one realizes their own weight. It isn’t so sudden anymore. You’ve become used to it. One day at a time. Treading water, still. Looking for the lighthouse. For the life preserver, finding her living, too, in shadows she won’t talk about. And still you go to her. You wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on her shoulder. Her familiar smell fills your nose. You want to confess everything into the soft skin of her neck, adding more to what you’d told her the night she’d come home announcing your union was civil, but it would be too much, right now. Too much weight for your Atlas to bear. You hold her as tightly as you dare, and you whisper, “I love you.”

           She squeezes your hand. I know, it says. I always have.

           You fall asleep with her beside you, your arm thrown over her, lightly gripping her favorite flannel shirt.

           The Lady, awake again, brings you claws and teeth.

           A dream of water. Jamie standing over it. An arm, clearly yours, breaking the surface and grabbing her, pulling her to the depths.

           You wake with your hand reaching out for her neck.

           You relax it. Knowing, now, it was high time to let the life preserver go.

[orangeoctopi7]

Return

All the excitement and time in the sun yesterday meant Ford slept soundly through the night. He had no visits from Bill, nor any dreams. The rising sun woke him as it shone through his window. 

Ford got up and dressed in a rush. He may have had a good time with Stan at the lake yesterday, but that didn't mean he wasn't annoyed with his brother for prohibiting study of that mysterious tooth. The researcher hoped it was still there this morning, but he also knew the supernatural had a tendency to disappear after its first sighting, even here in Gravity Falls. But even if it was gone, he needed to get back to that beach and check for any traces of weirdness.

However, waiting for him at the front door was Stan. Ford was shocked. Stan never got up this early! And yet here he was, already dressed and looking like he'd been up for a few hours.

"You were going to go check out that tooth without even having breakfast first, weren't you?" Stan asked with a raised eyebrow, blocking the front door.

"So what if I was?" Ford asked indignantly. "I'm an adult, I can skip breakfast if I so choose!"

Stan rolled his eyes and shoved a donut into his brother's hand. "Here, at least eat something on the way."

"Where did you even get this?"

"I stopped on the way back from running an errand this morning." Stan smiled smugly. "There's a pretty good bakery on main street. I know you haven't been there, because nobody said 'Hey, you're that mysterious loner scientist who lives out in the woods' while I was there."

Ford's face flushed as he scowled and pushed past his brother to the door. Stan followed him out, jangling his keys.

"You need a ride?"

"Or, you could give me your keys and let me drive myself."

"Not happening."

Ford grunted with frustration and squeezed between the wall and the passenger side of the car. "Why did you park so close!?"

"Because I'm not lettin' some tree monster get the Stanlymobile! Just wait in the driveway, I'll pull up to you."

Ford's irritation with his brother grew as they sped off to the lake. Stan's inexplicably smug attitude this morning didn't help.

Stan hadn't even put the car into park before Stanford was out of the door and dashing down the lakefront.

"H-hey, wait up a sec!" Stan called after him.

"Well then you should Keep up!" Ford shouted back, smiling at the irony. He stopped short when he rounded the hill and found the tooth. It was still there! And it was covered in webbing. The researcher's jaw dropped as he took a closer look. It looked just like the fibers produced by his web shooters.

"Stanley, did you--?"

"Hah, you should see the look on your face right now!" Stan chortled in reply. "That is so worth waking up at five in the morning for! Well, that and the twenty dollars you owe me."

"What? I wasn't being serious!"

"Hey, I warned you! I said you should know better than to bet against me."

Ford groaned, but he couldn't help but smile. He just couldn't stay mad when his brother had gone through the trouble to secure a paranormal specimen for him.

The researcher began sketching the tooth in his journal right away, as Stan began pulling off the strands of webbing so his brother could see the thing better. After the preliminary sketch was done, Ford brought out his instruments and began taking measurements. First of the tooth's dimensions, then of the residual radiation, spectroscopy, and other weirdness indicators. He used a chisel and some dental floss to pry off samples for later study. Ford's initial theory of this giant tooth being a result of the size-altering crystals proved to be wrong; the spectroscope readings were all wrong. He'd need to do more investigating to find another feasible theory.

The hours flew by as Ford investigated the tooth, the beach, and the lake, looking for more clues to where the thing could have come from. Something was different from yesterday, but he had a hard time putting his finger on what exactly that something was. He walked back toward the beach where they’d been playing yesterday, trying to jog his memory. That’s when it dawned on him. Yesterday, this part of the beach had opened up into the open water of the lake, with plenty of room for swimming and swinging. Now, there was a small island just off the shore, close enough that Ford was sure they would’ve been able to swing to it on their longest jump yesterday.

The researcher immediately pulled out his Journal and began sketching again, a new hypothesis forming in his brain. Was it possible that the giant tooth came from a living island?

He was so caught up in his studies that he didn’t even notice that Stan had left and come back at some point. But then his brother plopped a taco into his lap while he was trying to take water samples closer to the moving island, so Stan must have left to get lunch somewhere.

“Don’t forget to eat, genius.” He grumbled.

“Thanks.” Ford took a bite as he checked the electrolyte levels of the water. He watched a few bits of tortilla shells fall in, which were quickly snapped up by little fish. An idea burst into his head, and he chucked the remainder of his taco toward the island.

“Hey!” Stan cried.

“I need bait!”

“You need dinner!”

“...Don’t you mean lunch?”

“You skipped lunch, poindexter.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “What time is it?”

Stan glanced down at his watch. “A little past six.”

The researcher smacked his forehead. “Fiddleford could be back any minute!”

“Oh yeah.” Stan nodded. “I forgot he was coming back tonight.”

Ford gave one last glance back to  the lake where he’d thrown the taco just a moment before. All he could see were a few bubbles popping up. He turned away and ran back towards Stan’s car.

“Uh, you want me to web this back up? Maybe try and bring it back to the cabin?” Stan asked.

“No time! I’ve learned all I can from it, I’ll come back and investigate the island further at a later date. Right now, we need to get back home and before Fiddleford does.”

“Why is it so important you get home before him?” 

Ford gave a frustrated huff and he pulled his seatbelt on. “To get things cleaned back up! I don’t want any more comments about my bachelor pad from him.”

* * *

They got home with just enough time to clean up the kitchen and the living room when McGucket returned. The young inventor certainly seemed happier and more relaxed after his short vacation. However, something was bothering him. He had some important information to share with Stanford. 

“I know you’ve been eager to get back to work on the portal project, so I was doin’ some calculations while I was away.” He explained as he unpacked a stack of notebooks, his knee bouncing up and down rapidly, as it often did when he was agitated. “We got a problem! In order to create a polydimensional metavortex big enough to actually send somethin’ through it, we’re gonna need some sorta temporal displacement generator. That kinda technology doesn’t exist anywhere on Earth! Even if all the greatest scientific minds of humanity got together and put all their resources together to try an’ develop one, it’d likely take thousands of years!”

Ford smiled coyly. “The technology doesn’t exist anywhere on Earth, eh?”

“I don’t see what you’re smilin’ about, this isn’t the kind of setback we can just find a workaround for. We may have to abandon this entire concept!”

“We won’t have to abandon anything. I know where we can find a hyperdrive that should do the trick.”

Fiddleford just stared at his friend blankly for a few seconds. “...Is this some sort of prank yer brother put you up to or something?” He finally asked.

“Definitely not.” Stan answered as he entered the room. “My pranks are way better.”

“Stanley, were you eavesdropping on us?” Ford complained.

“Kinda hard not to when I’ve got super-hearing.” Stan shrugged. “Although I think it might be giving out on me. Did you just say you know where to find a hyperdrive? Like from Space Adventure?”

Ford looked around suspiciously, before beckoning his brother and McGucket to the hidden entrance to the secret lab. The entire ride down the elevator, the researcher did his best to maintain an air of mysterious silence. Stan and Fiddleford gave him odd looks the entire time. Finally, in the secluded privacy of Ford’s secret study, satisfied that there could be no more eavesdroppers, he sat his brother and his friend down on the couch.

“What I’m about to tell you will change your entire lives.” He said solemnly.

Fiddleford was waiting on bated breath, but Stan looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“Just over two years ago, I began mapping magnetic anomalies here in the Gravity Falls.” The researcher continued. “They all converged on a hilltop just south of the center of the valley. I hiked up there, my compass spinning, to try and find what caused the magnetic disturbances. What I found was…” He paused for dramatic effect, “a crashed extraterrestrial ship! Lake sediments and aluvium have buried most of it far underground, but the very top of the central dome forms this hill, where only a thin covering of topsoil and plant life hide it from view. I studied it for months before, well, I hit a bit of a roadblock in my studies. Luckily, I found a little help from a friend, and I was able to move forward with my research, but I haven’t had the time to return since.”

Fiddleford’s eyes were wide, and his fingers were curled through his hair. Stan’s expression was hard to read, but Ford got the distinct impression of concern from it. 

“Now, I’m sure both of you can understand why it is imperative that this information not be leaked to the general public or even worse, the government.” The researcher continued. “Outside the confines of this lab, you are to refer to this information as Crash Site Omega, whether in writing, speaking, or otherwise.”

His companions stared back at him blankly for a moment, just letting what Stanford had just dumped on them sink in.

“Sooooo…” Stan finally broke the silence. “There’s seriously a UFO buried under Gravity Falls?”

“Gah!” Fiddleford cried out as he stood suddenly, pulling out a couple of handfuls of hair in the process.

“Whoa, easy there, buddy!” Stan reached out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but McGucket turned away and began frantically pacing laps around the lab.

“I should have known this would set off his anxiety.” Ford said, torn between being amused and worried by his friend’s reaction.

“This explains… I knew he wasn’t crazy! ...And the fault gouge along the floating cliffs… the valley resembles an impact crater… no outlets… my whole life I wondered… and if any of the technology could be salvaged…!” The inventor muttered to himself as he continued to pace, occasionally tugging at his hair. 

“Ford, I can’t believe you’ve been sittin’ on this for two years!” Stan exclaimed. “If you went public with this, you’d be world famous!”

“Yes, and then the government would cordon this entire valley off and I’d never be able to visit the site again. Either that or I’d suddenly have to compete with thousands of other scientists coming to study it themselves. I’m not going public with this information until I’ve learned everything I can myself. And I ask you to respect that decision, and not try to use this top-secret, world-changing discovery for some get-rich-quick scheme!”

“Hey, no danger of that here!” Stan threw up his hands defensively. “I get it! You think I want some government spooks showin’ up and findin’ out about my powers? Dragging me off to some super-secret lab and runnin’ experiments on me?” He chuckled, remembering where he was now. “I mean, I doubt they’d be as considerate as you guys have been.”

“Honey fogelin', saltlickin' skullduggery Stanford!” McGucket shouted, signaling the end of his pacing. “I cannot believe you have actual proof of not just extraterrestrial life, but that they’ve been here! I never told you about this when we were in college, ‘cuz I figured you’d think I’m nuts, but when I was little my grandma disappeared. Now, the only person there that night with her was my cousin Thistlebert, an’ he always said she was ‘taken by them saucer people!’ The police thought he was just crazy, but I always thought there had to be somethin’ to his claims. Thistlebert might not’ve been the sharpest tool in the McGucket family shed, but he wasn’t crazy, and he definitely wasn’t a liar.

“I can’t believe I never figured it out myself!” the inventor continued to ramble. “The shape of the floatin’ cliffs, the ellipse of the valley, the placement of the waterfall, the fact that there’s only one pass in or out of the basin… all the geography points to it!” He turned to Ford, an excited grin on his face. “I have so many questions!”

“You’ll be able to answer them yourself soon!” Ford assured him. “We can leave tomorrow. It’s a two day hike out to the only entrance up on that hill. We’ll need to pack plenty of camping supplies, as well as radiation equipment and gear to navigate the ship’s interior. That’s where you come in, Stanley. Your powers and the web shooters should help us explore more easily.”

“Wait, two day hike?” Stan asked incredulously. “You said it’s just a hill in the middle of the valley, why don’t we just drive? It only takes three hours to drive here from Portland, it can’t take more than one hour to drive to some place you can see from town.”

“It’s in the middle of a large cow pasture on a local farm’s property, there aren’t any roads up there.”

“Yeah, but there’s gotta at least be a road to the farm, right? Then we’ll only have to hike for a couple of hours, and not spend the night in monster infested woods.”

“Well, what better way to explore and find new anomalies to study!” Ford protested. “Every monster we find in those woods is another step closer to understanding why Gravity Falls is such a hot spot for weirdness!”

“I-I’m with Stanley on this one.” Fiddleford admitted. “I know the whole reason you came out here was to study them monsters, but I’m just here to assist in buildin’ yer portal project. I’d prefer to stay outta the monster huntin’.”

Ford deflated. He loved spending time out in the woods of Gravity Falls, finding new creatures and hidden places that no human eyes had seen for hundreds of years. He’d really be looking forward to sharing them with his friend and his brother… and honestly, he’d been looking forward to just camping with them.

“Well, it seems I’m outvoted.” he grumbled in defeat. “Especially considering I’m the only one among the three of us who doesn’t have a functioning vehicle. We’ll still need to pack the necessary equipment. In addition to the radiation gear and web shooters, we’ll need the magnet guns I developed from technology I found at the crash site. They’ll be necessary to scramble the ship’s security systems, but they’ll also be helpful for getting around. Just be careful not to aim them at the sky. I, uh, accidentally crashed one of the Northwest’s helicopters once. Luckily no one was hurt, and they could never prove I had anything to do with it, but I’d rather not have a repeat of that incident.”

USG’N NBIVR, ZFEUWR, C’CY DEDY JHII RIL TLCL AVG KS AUMR PSNL DBEWMYI ULRM.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

This is for the prompt thing! #61 with modern reader, maybe Arthur finds a way back to his family (he comes to the future/out of the game idk u decide) angst but maybe a happy ending? Or not I'm just ready to bawl my eyes out either way. (I love ur writing by the way, you are one of my favs on here 💖)

Oof ya gotta hit me with them feels nonny? Number 61:

So this is more of a “what if?” rather than a “canon” part of the modern!reader series since it doesn’t necessarily fit with any other part of the story.

A door opening aroused you from your light slumber. Blinking your eyes open, noting Arthur had walked in. “Good morning.” you rasped, yawning widely as you sat up. As the bleariness cleared from your vision, you realized he’d been wearing something different.

Not that it was unfamiliar to you, as you recognized it as his default outfit from the game. Not any of the clothes you’d bought him, or the outfit you’d personally picked out in gameplay prior to his arrival.

Curiosity spiked. “Uh, where’d that come from?”

He glanced at himself before looking to you. “You ain’t gonna believe this.”

The last of the morning tiredness had dissolved. You swung your legs over and stood up. “Believe what?”

“I…” he paused, looking own as if he were searching for words. “I found my way back to my…my own time.”

His own time. The words didn’t seem to process correctly in your mind. “What?”

“My own time,” he repeated. “My life before…here.”

Somehow that sentence hit you like a ton of bricks. He’d been here, living with you, for several months now. He showed up with no rhyme nor reason for his existence in this world, no indication of what brought him here, and nothing to ever send him back.

And now, after all this time, he found a way back.

“How?”

He shook his head. “Can’t even tell ya how. I went to go to the bathroom. Opened the door n’…I was back in Shady Belle.”

You gave him a look of confusion. “You sure it wasn’t a dream?” you asked, unable to believe your bathroom door had suddenly become a portal to his world.

“Wouldn’t be wearin’ this if I was, Y/N.” Arthur pointed out, holding his arms in a gesture to himself.

Right… you approached him slowly, your stomach churning as you gazed at him from head to toe. You had to make sure you weren’t dreaming yourself. You reached out, feeling the worn fabric underneath your fingertips. His skin was damp from sweat, a slightly gritty texture of dirt to accompany it. At this time of year it would be impossible from how cold and dry it was.There was a slight swampy smell to him, along with a faint tinge of gunpowder, further solidifying his claim. “You really did find your way back.” you said breathlessly.

“Still dunno how I did,” he chuckled slightly. “Kinda amazed that it happened.”

You met his eyes, noting the tinge of excitement on his face. “What did you do?” you casually asked.

“Walked ‘round a bit, saw everyone…spoke to them. Carried on like normal, as if I was never gone,” he said with a sigh. “Rode around, did some things. Came back when it got dark, now I’m back here.”

“How did you come back?”

“Same way I got there…jus’ opened the door,” he answered. “Didn’t work when I tried again after.”

Your stomach churned, a question looming in your head that you didn’t want to ask. “Did you…want to come back here?” you murmured, your voice sounding detached from yourself.

He looked at you, his blue eyes dark and guarded. “Uh…”

The hesitation, the look of his face. Your heart sank. “You didn’t.” you said, more as a statement than a question.

“No!” he exclaimed, holding out his hands as if you hold you. “I mean-yes. ‘Course I wanted to come back, but-”

“Your family, right?” you finished dejectedly, stepping out of his reach and tearing your gaze away to stare at the floor, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your heart beat painfully beneath your ribcage.

You heard him sigh once more. “You know I missed ‘em, Y/N.”

“I know,” you mumbled, turning away to walk back over to your bed, sitting on the edge. “I can’t compete with the people who raised you for the majority of your life.”

Footsteps followed you across the room, the mattress sinking as he sat next to you. Refusing to look at him, you stared out the window.

“Y/N…”

You remained silent.

“Y/N, look at me.” his tone was soft, yet pleading.

Slowly, you turned to fix your attention to him.

“I love you, you know that.” he whispered, taking your hand in his own, entwining your fingers together.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice cracking slightly as your emotion threatened to break the thin control you had. “but I told you not to fall in love with me.”

“I know,” he rumbled, squeezing your hand. “In case somethin’ like this happened.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, contemplating your next words. What would happen after this? Would Arthur return to his world for good? You didn’t want to ask, afraid of what the answer would be. However, you knew the smart option would be to ask anyway. You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage. “What do you want to do?”

He peered down at you, a look of contemplation crossing his face. “I don’t wanna leave you, Y/N.”

“But you want to be with your family.” you stated quietly.

“I do,” he sighed. “More than anything.“

You fell silent again, detecting the inner turmoil that took hold of him. You knew you couldn’t force him to stay. And despite all the happiness between the two of you, he was an outlaw at heart.

Still, the thought of him leaving was like ice gripping your insides. You’d be alone, nothing but your memories and the game itself to remember him by. That is, if you could ever find yourself playing the game afterward. Your vision blurred as tears began to fill your eyes.

“Maybe it ain’t the best idea.”

You blinked in surprise, rubbing your eyes for a moment. “What?”

“We know what happens,” he continued. “to others, to me. I ain’t sure if I can change that.”

It took a moment to realize what he was referring to. Those times where you found him playing the game, going on as himself as he further progressed along his own storyline. It’d been a while since he touched the game after the diagnosis of his Tuberculosis, having suffered the same ailment as his game counterpart. Though he was treated with antibiotics, you both knew it would be impossible in-game.

“So, you’re not leaving?” you asked, your heart hammering once again.

“I can’t,” he responded. “Not when I got you here.” he raised your hand to his mouth to place a kiss upon it.

A twinge of bewilderment clouded your mind. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you to stay.”

“‘Course not,” he shook his head. “But it ain’t fair to up and leave you, after all this time. Took me in when I had nowhere else to go. Showed me livin’ a normal life ain’t bad. And showed me love.”

A smile slowly appeared across your face as a rise of emotion bloomed in your chest. “How else am I supposed to take care of an 1800′s outlaw that just showed up randomly in my home?” you lightly joked, though your voice wavered.

He chuckled in response. “And for that I’m always grateful.” he reached over with his other hand to wipe a stray tear that escaped your eye.

Smile widening, you pulled him into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you, squeezing you to his torso. You buried you face into his shoulder, enjoying his musk and the smell of nature that trapped within his clothes. Though the slight stick of his sweaty skin was left to be desired.

“I think you need to shower.” you said lightly, leaning back to look at him.

He scoffed. “Well, least I know the bathroom’s back to normal.” he laughed. With his arms still around you, he hoisted you up with ease before standing up, carrying you towards the bathroom.

---

Send me a prompt!

[corpse--diem]

Leave What’s Heavy Behind | Nic & Erin

Summary: Now that the party’s over, Nic and Erin address the mind-controlling squid in the room.  Featuring: @bountybossier and Dundee When: Immediately following this chatzy (May 2, 2020)

Erin tossed what felt like the fiftieth red solo cup into the trash bag in her hands. It was like a scavenger hunt at this point with the way they kept popping just when she thought she’d found the last. Not that she minded. With all the effort that Skylar and Nell had put into Nic’s surprise party, cleaning up however she could only felt right. It had been her best excuse to stay long after most of the guests had made their way home too. When she set the garbage bag down, the crinkling ceased and the house shook with silence. A good silence. Like the pause you took to catch your breath after a long, hard laugh. Today was a good day. “Did you have a good time too, buddy?” Erin cooed softly at the tiny dog passed out on the couch, gator suit still intact. She still struggled to wrap her head around it. A big man, his tiny dog, in their very real home, surrounded by people who genuinely cared about him. Living instead of existing. It was a hell of a thing, and far from how she’d originally found him. Holed up in a dirty hotel room and drinking himself stupid. He did good here. Real good. Her brow narrowed, derailed suddenly by her own thoughts. How many of those guests knew what he’d done but chose to come anyway? Were they afraid? Had they been there for him when her own fears had held her back?

Fuck. Guilt that she’d been ignoring all day crept back in with a fury. Nearly convinced her to duck and run. Disappearing would only make this worse, she did know that much. Didn’t take long to find him again, or to ease a gentle smile back onto her lips. That much always came easy around him. “Think I’m gonna head out,” she gestured towards the front door with her thumb. Felt that tension return with a snap. “Can I—uh, I mean—do you need anything before I do?”

The joyful noise of the party and the silence of its after became a liminal space that Nicodemus settled into. Settled. He had, in a way, hadn’t he? He was cleaning his house. A house he shared with someone he cared a great damn deal about. Not some crumbling hotel room or his own little space in the woods. It was a wide space with so many damn doors and windows, so many walls, that he didn’t know whether he was being constricted or allowed to breathe. He told Skylar he wanted to make it safe. Make it a home by any definition that they wanted. He meant that. His brow furrowed as he moved about, cleaning messes as he went. It didn’t take him long to figure out what Walker left him and he tucked that away into his room. He could hear Erin moving about in the other room. Smiled a bit as he heard her talking to Dundee. It felt like one of those tv shows he caught a sneak at when he was younger. Nearly just as distant too. Surreal. Damn the quiet. He was thinking too much.

Everyone had parted, exchanged their gifts and their goodbyes, but she remained. She didn’t have to but she did. Even after. Was she still afraid of him? He didn’t blame her. Wouldn’t ever. There many things he didn’t know, like how to rightly read the space between them, but he knew that. When she spoke to him, he looked over and for a breath, let the silence settle again. “Yeah, it’s gettin’ that time, huh?” He finally said, hands loosely together. “I can, uh, walk you out.”

Oh, yep. This was weird. It’d been easy enough to avoid the awkwardness with a house full of people the entire night but it was here. Screaming between every pause. He’d always been hard to read, and maybe it was the guilt needling Erin’s insides, but she had to wonder if he was relieved she was finally leaving. “Sure, yeah. I’d like that,” she answered finally. Forced another smile when words felt too hard again, then headed slowly for the door. Hesitated when they got close, turning just enough to glance over at him. “You had a good time tonight, I hope?” She asked, shoving her hands into her back pockets when she didn’t know what to do with them. “I haven’t seen you laugh like that since…” she paused, narrowed her brows together, though her smile grew more genuinely. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much in one night.” A nervous laugh slipped from her and she was looking over at the door again before meeting his eyes the best she could. “Looks good on you. Should try doing it more often.”

Shit, he was making it weird, wasn’t he? It was hard to match a bigger elephant in the room than mind-controlled murder. The blatant admittance of it. “You got it.” As they walked to the door, Nicodemus kept trying to grasp what to say in his hands. It slipped through like fresh blood. He fought to keep them from clenching. A nervous, cold sweat chilled his back. Had his bones shaking like something anomalous. Damn it. Damn it. Could load a gun after being shot but he could hardly speak as he was about to leave. He blinked. “Huh?” Jesus. “Oh, yeah. Was nice. I didn’t even remember it was comin’ up,” he said. Nearly grimaced. He didn’t think of his life in birthdays or holidays. It was days not dead, days not being the one in the bag. She didn’t need to say it to know what she meant. It was hard to forget. “Unexpected but not...bad.” Just as much as he remembered shaking from near-death experiences, near-life experiences registered about the same. His smile, small and uncertain, crawled out from under a mossy rock. Then she was looking at the door and it went away. Right. “Think so?” His brows lifted in muted surprise. He was mindful as he could be as he passed her to open the door with a soft click. “Guess it’s better than blood, huh?” Immediately, he winced and nearly buried his teeth into his cheek.

There it was again. He smiled and for just a second all the awful things sitting between them felt not nearly as impossible. Then he opened the door. Erin’s chest jarred. Oh. She didn’t need to be told twice. “Yeah. Just a little bit,” she laughed quietly, hoping to dispel some of the anxiety crawling back up her throat. She stepped just past the threshold. Couldn’t muster the more clever banter they usually tossed back and forth. It felt wrong. This all felt wrong, and no part of her was able to turn around and walk up that driveway yet. So she stood still, quiet, for a few moments more. Felt her cheeks burning as her brain urged her to say or do something more than awkwardly stand on this his doorstep. “I’m sorry,” she finally blurted out. It felt loud in her head and she hoped it was just because of the sobering silence. But she nodded, swallowing thickly as she continued. “About—I should have been there for you and I wasn’t.” It was simple and it wasn’t. They both knew that. He had killed a man. He didn’t want to, wouldn’t have, if he had any control over the matter. But he’d asked for her and she didn’t come. Turned her back to the person she was closest to in this entire fucked up world when he’d needed her most. Her reasons were logical—he could have been dangerous. Still could be. Wasn’t like they knew how this worked.

She took another breath. “I fucked up and I get it. I get it if things aren’t--” The words felt like razors in her throat and her eyes glossed wetly. Fuck. That didn’t take long. “If things are different now. Because you wouldn’t have hesitated. Not for me or anyone else who showed up here today.” She took an unconscious step backwards, letting her arms hang loose at her sides, clenching and unclenching her fists. Terrified, but not of him. “I get it and I’m sorry. But, uh--you deserved today. Don’t let me ruin that. Just wanted to make sure you knew it. All of that.” Oh, god. She had to force herself to stop rambling. Fucking nerves and emotions and mysteriously strong green alcoholic refreshments didn’t mix. Her hands shook and she nodded at him, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Time to fucking go. “Happy Birthday, Nic,” she added and turned to retreat.

He couldn’t blame the alcohol for the twist of his guts or the cold heat that gripped his skin. He had stopped drinking hours ago. No, it was different. It was fear. It was restlessness. It was an anxiety that gripped him tight, compressed him into something small. It was new. Wholly new and it caught his breath in a dead man’s grip as Nicodemus looked at Erin. Shit. Had his lung been punctured? Was it collapsing as he stood there? It felt painful, that side pain that nudged against his insides like a thin spearhead. Then she apologized to him and he froze, hand against the doorframe. He tried not to splinter it. Everything felt too fragile as it was. Dark eyes stared at her. Stricken. It was a slow bleed, the way he looked at Erin. The initial sharp sting, the acceptance. How it had changed over time, what time was even left, startled him. Words failed him as he looked at her. Couldn’t look away from her. She turned to leave and he moved.

Fragile.

His hand caught around her wrist, thumb against the pulse point inside of her wrist. A quiet thunder rumbled overhead in the grey. The grip he had was loose yet secure. “Don’t,” he said, voice alive with a faint tremor. “Ain’t got shit to be sorry for, Erin.” He said as he simply held her wrist and didn’t move. He was dangerous. He knew that. Had made a life off of that simple fact. The talk he had with Skylar hummed in his head. “You wanted to be safe, Erin,” he assured, brows furrowed in disbelief. “I want you safe too. I know I ain’t always that.” It was odd to voice it, but he wanted to be. For her. For Skylar. Orion. Nell. Everyone that he had met and given an inkling of a damn about. He didn’t know when that had started. Both warning and safety, could he be that? He didn’t know. Couldn’t wrap his head around it. His tongue wet his lips as he looked away. Swallowed the nervousness that tasted like sea salt. “Maybe shit’s different, but…We can be here now. That’s somethin’.”

Safe. It seemed like a hell of thought now as she stood here. Fear was at the heart of all this agonizing but Erin couldn’t feel that anymore, she realized. Not any fear of physical harm, anyway. She’d barely blinked as he stopped her. Like one of those things you saw in movies that you hoped would happen but didn’t actually experience in real life. She wasn’t afraid of him. It’d been a slow trickle all day as it left her, leaving that well dry. The only fear she had was of her own making. Maybe there was something more hiding behind his dark eyes, something to fear. There was a reason, a very good reason, to stay away. But she couldn’t see it now. And even if she did, the vulnerability in his voice crushed all good reason to dust. “You do. Feel safe, I mean,” she admitted quietly, a somber smile briefly gracing her lips. He’d killed a man, maybe didn’t have his mind completely to his own, but her logic was wrong. Maybe there was something more wrong with her for feeling like this, but—here she was.

Her eyes dropped to the hand covering her wrist, and she turned them enough to graze her thumb against his palm. “I can be here,” she nodded in agreement, her feet cementing themselves squarely in front of him. “I want to be here.” Admitting that was maybe the most terrifying part of this whole thing so far, she thought. But she was glad for it. Her chest felt a little lighter, calmer. “Different doesn’t always have to be bad, right?” She asked, glancing up at him with a little more courage than before.

His lips parted by a fraction, cold breaths puffed against slightly chapped lips. Her wrist was warm in his hand. Real and tangible. Alive. Nicodemus was too. The difference between being alive and living was manifesting itself slowly in the space between his heart and his head. A barren space that had long been detached from one another. Drop a little red into it and watch the way it expanded. Ran along the grooves of something not quite empty. Not quite hollow. The worry that had haunted him from the corners of his skull were banished, exorcised, when Erin smiled at him. Breath filled his lungs and his eyes slipped shut for a moment. Thank fuck, went unsaid, but he felt it nonetheless. She had come to mean a great deal to him in such little time. A friend, something dear. A handler of the dead guiding a man with one foot in the grave already.

“I’d, uh, like it. If you were. Here.” He wasn’t much for metaphor or fancy words, but he was human and he could feel more than he could ever say. Her thumb tracing shapes compelled him to meet her eyes as she stood in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t so much a mess as he thought. Still a mess, but not as much. It was in their natures to be a little messy, wasn’t it? “Nah,” he finally said, pulling himself from his quiet. Quiet, tender like a bruise. “Maybe not always. Not right now, at least.” Whatever it was, he wanted to pull it out of River Styx and keep it between their hands. “D’you want to come back in?”

Erin’s worry from earlier felt so unfounded suddenly. She would have felt mortified for the dramatics if she could think about anything other than the way he was looking at her right now. Like he was thankful she wasn’t walking away from him. It was odd being looked at like that. Knowing maybe someone needed her as much as she needed them. Need. First time that word crossed her mind when she thought about the man in front of her but it fit in a way she didn’t expect it to. Her smile felt a little stronger when she looked up at him again, tilting her head slightly. “I think it’s pretty obvious I do, dumbass,” she teased, her voice soft and quiet. She squeezed his hand. “Don’t, uh--get weird on me here or anything, okay?” Watching him, she took the most gentle step forward. So tentative that she was probably being overcautious, but she hadn’t forgotten the fate that poor, inflated crocodile had met when they entered the party. In the back of her mind, maybe there was some genuine worry, but her arms were coiling around his sides anyway, pulling him in against her. If he wouldn’t accept her apology, he couldn’t ignore this.

He didn’t think he’d be happy to hear the words dumbass again but hell, there it was, causing him to smile to himself. Yeah, sure he was a dumbass. Nicodemus, over hours and days and weeks, had come to the realization that he was something more. Even just slightly. He could smile and laugh, could care and maybe even be cared for too. It didn’t change what he was, but just maybe, who. It was a damned silly thing to hope and he knew that. Hope didn’t last long. It was the first to die on any given field. But maybe, when she smiled at him, he could believe in a silly thing. Just for a little. Just until he looked at another crumpled paper and decided what it was worth. “That depends, y’know. People already think I’m pretty fuckin’ weird.” Reflexively, he braced as she took a step toward him. Not her fault. Then she had her arms around him and he realized that he was standing there like a bies had caught his eye. Like...a dumbass. Damn it. Carefully, his arms went around her too. Gently. With his eyes closed and a slight smile, he murmured by her ear. “I don’t think Dundee’d mind if we scooted him over on the couch,” he said. He pulled away for a second to look at her, the slightest worry etched into his face. “If you wanted to come in. Lookin’ like it might rain.”

“Because you are. Weird. I thought we went over this?” Erin huffed out a laugh, relief trickling from her chest. When his arms finally wrapped her, she squeezed him tighter. His arms were warm and comforting in all of the ways that they probably shouldn’t be. “If he’s got a problem, he can take it up with me,” she chuckled again, pulling back when he did. Thunder rumbled above them almost as if on cue. She nodded, one hand moving almost without thinking to cradle his jaw. “I already told you I do,” she insisted, raising a brow. She was here, after all. And maybe it was because of the shadows, but his worry lines seemed deeper than she’d seen them before. Her tone remained soft though and she ran her thumb against his cheek for a moment. When the sky rumbled again and broke above them, she pulled away completely as the rain started to come down and ran inside. Dundee didn’t seem to be bothered by the noise, and she watched him carefully to make sure he was still breathing as she took her jacket back off. “There any birthday cake left?” she asked, glancing back at him once she was sure.

Nothing ever felt real until it was taken into someone else’s hands. Erin’s skin against his ground and brought him back from that place he wandered off to. It wasn’t a good place. He had decided that much. Nicodemus sighed out something of a laugh through his nose. Shook his head slightly. How the hell had he gotten here? By the word of someone that promised a fruitful bounty in White Crest. How far off that seemed. Then again, life came by quickly and it never came assured. “Don’t know about that, he can be real particular,” he rumbled out. “You’d think he was a bigger dog sometimes.” He had never been intimidated by a rat dog before, yet there he was. She had, hadn’t she? Assured him that she wanted to be there. Hell, it was real. It was good to have something real after having his mind held in the hands of something else. As the sky opened up, he followed behind and shut out the rain. Took in a breath that pained the constriction of his ribs. Exhausted and alive all at once. Human almost. “I’m sure there’s some gator bits left, yeah,” he said as he approached Dundee. Black eyes met his own and they looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, the dog acquiesced and scooted. One point for him. The hunter paused before he looked over at Erin. “You...You can ask. About the whole thing. I don’t mind talkin’ about it.” Maybe it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t. But to have it sit back on his neck, even after he had talked to Nell, was choking him.

Erin didn’t actually want cake. Or food. Not even whiskey, really. It was just filler, and he cut right through it without her having to make the crude segway. She wrung her hands together, hovering above the couch. Where to start? “Did you know what you were doing? I know you couldn’t stop it but--could you see it as it was happening?” She asked, sliding into the spot beside him. There was nothing but genuine curiosity. Losing control like that? God, that was fucking terrifying. Her spine went cold at just the thought. She narrowed her eyes, another question popping out before she could stop herself from asking. “Is it--whatever it is--still in there?” In him. A little lurch of fear jumped back up her throat. She swallowed it down just as fast. She wouldn’t leave, and she intended on keeping that promise. Her shoulders rested against the back of the couch to emphasize it. Nope. Not going anywhere.

Nicodemus worked out the rust of his jaw as he sat. He thought he had done that during the party but no, it wasn’t the same. That was small talk, words to pass the time and fill in space. Not that he had minded it. But it was inherently different. In a way, talking about it might be a way to purge it. An experience like that didn’t just go away, but it didn’t need to consume. He needed to have bigger teeth, a stronger jaw. Bite back harder. He just didn’t know how. “I did, yeah,” he said. “It was uh, out-of-body. I was there but I wasn’t. My hands doin’ shit but it wasn’t me.” He could still feel the way flesh gave when he stabbed into it, the weight going limp as the poison seeped in. He breathed in through his nose sharply. Her question was a fair one. Couldn’t blame her for asking. “Nah, I don’t think so. I feel different, yeah, but not...that different. If that makes sense.” He glanced over at her, dark eyes on her blue ones. “Think it’s just me now.”

That night was playing out behind his eyes and Erin could see the bitter struggle that took hold of him while it looped. This wasn’t something they could ignore or pretend wasn’t happening. Only way past it was through it. And he was doing just that. Talking about it the best he could. It was a start. “It makes sense,” she assured him, holding his gaze. Couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she missed before. A spot or darkness--anything at all to let them know everything wasn’t alright, wasn’t alone in there. There was nothing different. Knew it the longer she stared. She didn’t know what to make of that either. Just knew she still felt that good kind of ache in her chest when he stared back. “Feels like it’s just you,” she said softly, a little smile lifting the corner of her lips. “I’m sure it’s hard to disconnect the two but,” she shook her head, reaching for his hand. “What you did wasn’t you. I know that. And I think somewhere in there, you know that too.”

Did it make sense? Hell, it hadn’t to him. Not at the time. A month’s worth of disorientation had left Nicodemus winded. Tired. Confused. But it would come back. Between Skylar, Nell, and Erin, he was being brought back. Pulled in from the tide that had wrapped around him and pulled him to the sea. Fuck that squid. Whatever the fuck it was. Demon or otherwise. He could feel sorry about what happened or he could be angry. He chose anger. Perhaps even acceptance. The past couldn’t be changed. That made sense. He held onto that, the same way he held Erin’s gaze and her hand. “Gettin’ there, I think,” he muttered. “The disconnect. The person that did that doesn’t have the shit I do now. I’ve been tryin to keep that in mind.” He matched her smile with a tired one of his own. Then startled slightly when he felt paws digging into his thigh. Dundee looked at them, perched atop his leg. Looked at them for a long moment before, like a long-haired blonde sausage, he laid himself out across the small space between them. The hunter went quiet. Then he snorted. Finally, a full laugh came out of him. “Yeah, don’t think anything’ll happen to us with this little shit here, huh?”

“You will get there,” Erin nodded firmly, repeating his words back to him. There wasn’t much she could do but listen and assure. He would get past this. That wasn’t something she’d bend on. They were in whole new depths and the most they could do--what she knew she could do--was help keep him anchored before his own thoughts drifted him too deeply off to sea. Her eyes dropped to his hand wrapped in hers. The same hand that had was drenched in another man’s blood and capable of so much darkness. And still, the same one that squeezed her own with the kind of softness she saw in his eyes. It’s why she would stay and would always stay. As long as he’d have her. “Both of those people deserved better. And you’ve got a lot of people who love you to remind you of that,” she smiled softly, the proof in the mess they hadn’t gotten to cleaning up, scattered around them in the shape of empty beer bottles and Clint Eastwood cutouts. Cheesy, sure. But true. A support system as strong as an army to keep him anchored. That’s what they were there for. Even the sad excuse for the dog that suddenly rose back to life was on his side. Fuck. She’d nearly forgotten about Dundee until he popped in to nestle between them.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” she laughed, petting the top of his head once he was good and comfortable. “Am I hogging all of your daddy’s attention, buddy? I’m so sorry,” she cooed, scratching behind his ear. “Honestly, I’m not sure you need anyone else but this guy on your side. He’s pretty tough,” she said, starting off serious before dissolving into another fit of giggles as the dog stared between them, still snug in his gator suit.

She seemed so...sure. Nicodemus had been so sure before too. He had been sure of plenty before he had wandered into White Crest with his hands around the wheel of a rusted truck and a clean gun under the seat. Certain that he wouldn’t spend longer than a month there. Certain he would fade away over state lines as quickly as he had arrived. That he wouldn’t leave a mark or get attached, as he was certain that he wasn’t the type to. Loneliness unheard had a way of echoing such things. All those certainties faded as the seasons changed. Fluttered to the earth and then turned over, grew into something new. New and not quite understood. A lot of people who love you to remind you of that. That ‘L’ word flared up a fear in him that turned his insides, shot momentary panic through him.  But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not with Dundee where he was and Erin where she was. Not without a sudden violent shift. Maybe that was the point. His mother had wanted such things for him. Wanted him to choose that over the knife. Even still, he chose the latter. In a way, perhaps, they were both knives. One opened a wound to a beginning and the other to an ending. A sardonic smile shifted his face.

It wasn’t unlike him to consider the edges.

“He’s confusin’,” he muttered as he idly ran his fingers down Dundee’s crocodile-covered back. The dog didn’t seem particularly bothered one way or the other. “One second I think he hates people and then he goes and does this shit.” He gestured to the complete relaxation that the creature had settled into. The hunter breathed in slowly, let it out just the same. Then he looked at Erin with slight concern. “Thanks. I wanna try, at least. Not sure at what, but I...dunno.” He looked forward again and worked his jaw. “Can...Shit, can I kiss you? That weird? I know the dog’s right here an’ all…”

There would always be more Erin wished she could do or say to calm some of that chaos in his mind. It wouldn’t happen overnight. Probably not tomorrow, or the night after that even. But he had the tools. He just had to see them for what they were, who they were, and to let himself heal, she supposed. Try to, like he said. Trying was all they could hope for. Just like how she’d try to be what he needed during this. They were both learning, both trying. Her head rested gently against his shoulder, hiding a smirk that came on as he pet Dundee again. “Maybe that’s why you two get along so well,” she teased, running her hand along his arm. Really wasn’t that far from the truth, she realized. She opted to keep that part to herself.

Couldn’t help but let another laugh out, short and soft at his question. So sweet and earnest that it had taken her off guard. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ she shook her head, biting back another one. Finally chanced a look up at him, turning just enough to face him without startling the man or the dog, though she cared considerably less about scaring the latter away right about now. “Yes,” she answered, carefully turning his jaw towards her, her hand lingering against the warm skin there. She could understand his hesitation. Disaster after disaster had ruined every chance they’d had to talk about that since it’d happened, so it was a simple question but a good one. One that brought a sense of relief from that other tightness she’d almost forgotten was still sticking to her ribs. She was already leaning in, tugging him closer, lips inches from his when she paused. Swallowed hard, meeting those dark eyes with her own. Felt her heart race. “Next time you don’t have to ask, okay?” She asked, still smiling, though her tone was all but telling him. Whatever this was, she was in it. All the way. Just hoped what she couldn’t say right now came across with that small offering.

Any slight flare of negative emotion that came up when Erin laughed quickly went away when she looked up at him. Nicodemus fell into an easy, tired smile. In a funny kinda way, it was about the falling to begin with. Slow. Unsure. Maybe not every fall had to be a terrible, disastrous event. Cataclysmic. It could be quiet. It could be gentle. When her breath warmed his lips, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Next time, huh?” The faint laugh didn’t hide that anxious tilt of his heart, his head, but she had said it. Her words were between them and he’d hold onto  them. His hand came up to cup her jaw like something delicate. His forehead pressed against hers before finally, he kissed her.

The future wasn’t something he looked forward to. Nothing he ever saw as guaranteed or deserved. But if she wanted him there in a way that he also wanted to be, in a way that terrified but prevented him from fleeing, he would be. The next day and the day after. One small defiant handful of grave dirt after the next.

[okayohay]

I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too (Chapter Three)

Here is Chapter 3 of my fic. Hope you enjoy and it gives you something to do while you scroll through tumblr. Cheers

I Just Wanted To Be Edgy Too

Chapter Three

Van

I kept my sunglasses on as we drove through the rainiest parts of America and stared out the window of the bus. The tea in my hands grew cold an hour ago, but I was too tired to get up and heat it back up. Tea in the microwave never tasted the same to me anyways.

I tapped my finger on the side of the mug as Larry sat down in the bench seat across from me. I offered him a lazy half smile and brought the cup to my lips, pretending not to notice its lack of warmth.

"No sleep again?" Larry kept his voice low, but I could still hear him over the hum of the television a few feet away. Benji was sucked into a show on Netflix and Bob seemed just as interested.

I nodded and looked back out the window. Sleep and I were in a war with each other, and for the last six months I'd been losing. Some nights were easy, and I'd drink myself into a fog and have no problem surrendering to it, but I'd wake up rotten, full of aches and regrets. Most of the time, I'd nod off for a few hours here or there and wake up restless. No amount of writing or attempting to write new material could stifle the urge I had for sleep.

Larry knocked his knuckles against the glass and traced the droplets off rain with his index finger. We shared an ability to speak in silence, Larry and me. He'd been my best mate since we were kids, and even though he couldn't play a song to save his life, I couldn't imagine my band without him. He was a great tech, and someone who loved whatever job I'd appoint him to do. I could read his mind as he stared out the window, looking much older than the boy I used to laugh with in my parent's basement until dawn.

"I miss home, too." I said softly as I took another sip of cold tea.

Larry nodded on a shrug. "Steve said he messaged everyone about the itinerary for the holidays. Looks like we won't be going home until February."

I nodded. I used to feel personally attacked when someone wanted to go home and couldn't because of our schedule. I used to let it eat at me until I'd explode, but I'd learned to channel it into words and not take things so personal. I drove the band into this, it was my responsibility, but not one of us could have expected the success we were given. I warned them years ago that it would come with a cost. No one cared then, but that was before we all lost things that were important to us.

"Maybe we'll have some time off when we get there. Time to ourselves, it can be like old times."

Larry half smiled. "Will it ever be like old times again?"

I turned to look at him leaving my glasses on so I could keep my eyes hidden. I didn't want him to see the truth in them. I didn't want him to see the exhaustion, the worry, the fear. "It'll always be like old times."

Lie. I already told you, never trust a writer. By all means, I was a writer. But if I could pacify my best friend with a bit of a white lie to ease the tension at the table, then I would.

Larry nodded and smiled again, hope furrowing his brows. I wished it could be like it old times. I wished that more than ever. All of it happened so quick, and when we did catch fire, we kind of scorched everything. I burnt a lot of bridges I didn't mean to, and we all started to feel differently than we did years ago. It was heavier on our shoulders now though. A bigger chip. It didn't help that I hadn't been able to write new material in months.

"What was the deal with you and Barns at soundcheck last night?"

I was thankful he changed the subject, I'd had just enough of the heavy. I laughed a bit and leaned into the back of the bench seat. "He's awful inn't he?" I let out a long sigh and shook my head. "He reminded me not to let onto his girlfriend that he's been shagging other girls."

Larry shifted nervously in his seat. He knew I didn't like to talk about cheating, he knew I didn't like to bring up faithfulness in relationships. I had made mistakes too many times in the past for things I'd never forgive myself for. It was my crutch. "What brought that conversation on?"

I shrugged. "She was at soundcheck writing in a notebook and she had a camera. I assumed she was an interviewer and I was on one, so I kinda let her have it for a minute."

Larry leaned forward, a smug look on his face. "You ever seen an interviewer carry a notebook and hand write anything?"

I thought over his question and reached across the table and ruffled his hair. "I said I was proper on one, don't give me that."

"Alright, alright, mate. So, is that what worked up good ol' Barnsy then?"

"I couldn't say. Maybe. I'm not sure how much of it he heard. He was more worried about me slipping up to her I think. I'll be glad when this tours done. If I had any say innit I'd have him gone now. Call up someone else to finish the next leg."

Larry nodded his silent agreement to me. "You're not going to tell her...are you?"

I turned back to the window, glancing out at the endless highway and dull green landscape that rolled alongside of the bus. "I don't even know her, Larry."

"That's not the answer to the question I asked."

I waved my hand through the air. "I don't even know her so I why would I go out of my way to meddle?"

Larry stuck his lower lip out and nodded a few times before responding. "Because you hate Barns."

I laughed.

"I'm not being funny."

"I know. But I'm not getting in their business. That's on them."

"It's just not like you to not say somethin', especially somethin' about things like that."

"Well, I'm not. I don't care."

And that wasn't a lie. I didn't.

**

Bondy woke me up around nine thirty, when the bus came to a stop outside of a hotel in Nashville.

"You don't want to crash here for the night, mate. They got us rooms. C'mon, up you go."

"How long was I out?" I scrambled for my notebook, hoping I was able to get something down before I dozed off, but the pages were nearly just as blank as they had been when I started. The only words I had written down were "edgy" and "I don't know what to say". I didn't have any idea where I had been going with either of them. I tossed the book into my bunk and rubbed my eyes.

"Maybe forty minutes."

"Feels like I slept for days."

"You need to sleep for days, it'd probably fix you up."

I grabbed my bag and followed him off the bus and into the lobby where Steve stood with keys for us. The hotel was all marble tile and glossy counter tops. A chandelier hung from the center of the room and reflected onto the floor. The place looked a little too fancy for any of us. We all stood in dark jeans and leather jackets that were unnecessary for the warmth outside. We didn't fit in here, clearly. The manager of the hotel stood at the desk, a thin line of sweat coating his forehead. Luckily for him, it wasn't us he had to worry about. We weren't the rowdy ones...typically.

"Be down here by noon tomorrow, Van." Steve spoke sternly as he handed me my room key. He was still pissed about us playing Overlap and not telling him. I could hear it in his voice.

"I'll be here."

"You've got two interviews before soundcheck."

I raised up my hands and nodded. "Then let me get to my room so I can sleep."

I brushed past him and ducked into the elevator with Benji. Bob and Bondy were still talking to Steve and nodded their farewells to us as the elevator doors closed showing our reflections in their bronze walls. We both let out long sighs.

"Calling it an early night, Blakes?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be. And I can't stop thinking about that show we were watching. I'm going to soak in a few more episodes."

The doors opened on a ping and he stepped out, but paused for a moment and held his hand against the open door.

"Unless you want to do something." His statement sounded more like a question, and judging by the look on his face, it was a question he feared the answer to.

I shook my head. "I'm alright, probably gonna try to get some more sleep. Maybe I'll have some more luck like on the bus."

"Alright V. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Noon." I said in my best Steve voice. He laughed as the doors closed.

I rode the next three floors in silence staring at the ceiling the whole time. When the doors opened to my floor, I stepped out into the foyer and turned the corner to find my room. Just a few doors down from me stood Barns, fumbling with a key, Ellie at his side. I looked away quickly, down at my own key and pulled my bag over my shoulder tighter.

"Hey Hey!" Barns yelled out. I glanced up and half smiled, more so at Ellie than him. I owed her an apology, but now wasn't the time. I needed to do it when he wasn't around, because it needed to be sincere and I didn't want to slip up and say something about Barns.

"Hope we don't keep you up, McCann." Barns laughed loudly, flashing me his perfect teeth and tilting his head back. I glanced at Ellie, who blushed and pushed her way past him into the room. They disappeared behind their door just as mine opened. A fire burned in me that I didn't understand. Maybe it was just low tolerance for Barns and how vile he was. Maybe I was just jonesing for a drink.

I tossed my bag on the bed and glanced around the empty room for a few minutes before deciding I couldn't be in it. It was too hollow, too empty and quiet, and my mind was being loud and needy. I didn't want to sit in here alone and try to find sleep when I knew it wouldn't come. I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed in Benji's number.

I'm going down to the hotel bar. Turns out I need to do something else. You can meet me if you're up for it.

I shrugged my coat off and rolled the sleeves of my shirt up before sticking my key into my pocket and opening the door. I paused for a moment before making sense of who was looking back at me.

Ellie.