#knocked out dead on this early monday morning

[gojoest]

anytime i am reminded of how insanely tall satoru is i think about him fucking you standing up effortlessly holding you over his groin and splitting you in half while you’re gripping your hands around his neck with no other choice than to take the fall on his cock over and over and over and over

[msschemmenti]

monday morning guest

emily prentiss x reader

summary: emily gets a surprise visitor in the bullpen on monday morning.

a/n: crack idea i got driving past my neighbors house.

monday morning— bright and early. the bau team was finally back from a two week stent of back to back cases and emily was finally starting to settle into her role as unit chief. she was no hotch, but she was relying pretty heavily on her interpol experience and the bond the team had built over the years. with such a close knit team, it was always very easy to spot new comers in the office.

so when a woman breezed through the glass doors of the bullpen, emily wasn’t surprised to catch garcia’s bright pink cardigan hurrying after her to intercept the mystery woman. what she was surprised to see was a face she knew all too well.

y/n y/ln. in dc. in her bullpen? what alternate universe could she possibly have walked into this morning. she turned hastily to the mirror she kept in her office and started fluffing her hair quickly. she hadn’t seen y/n since her college graduation and it’s safe to say she looks very different now. not bad per say but older. feeling satisfied with her hair she rifled through her purse for some lipstick and anything to make her not look like it was monday morning.

down in the bullpen, y/n smiled at the brightly colored woman she’d just been stopped by. she scanned the bullpen over her shoulder hoping to catch sight of emily. after hearing the older woman had returned [allegedly from the dead], she hoped on the opportunity to pay her a visit while she was in town.

“good morning beautiful stranger. welcome to the bau, my name is penelope. can i help you with something?” the woman bounced in anticipation.

“hello, penelope. i’m actually looking for someone. your new unit chief actually.” y/n spoke as she shuffled the folder in her hand to shake penelope’s hand.

“emily? emily prentiss? do you have a crime case you’d like assistance on?” garcia asked.

“yes and no. she and i have some business to take care of, now that she’s returned stateside.” y/n smiled waving the folder in front of garcia.

“oh? business to take care of…” garcia repeated sweeping her eyes from the woman in front of her and emily’s office.

“mmhm. do you think she’s available for a little chat?” y/n asked nodding in amusement at the quirky woman.

“well i would think so— who should i say is here?”

“oh where are my manners, i’m y/n. she should remember me.” y/n smiled as garcia nodded her understanding before heading up the stairs to emily’s office.

“ma’am,” garcia spoke knocking on the open door of emily’s office.

“please stop calling me ma’am.” emily sighed wearily.

“sorry, im just nervous. there’s a really pretty woman down there saying she’s here to see you. and that you’ve got official business to take care of. well i don’t think she said official but she definitely said business. and she waved a folder in front of me. are you being sued or something?” garcia rambled.

emily eyed the tech analyst as she rambled and as she took a breath she held her hand up to stop her before she could start again. “y/n y/ln, right?”

“y/n— yes. i don’t know her last name but she said you should remember her. do you want me to go get her?”

“no, no. i’ll come down myself.” emily rose from the desk, giving herself another once over in the mirror before moving toward garcia and the door.

“wait, what was that?” garcia asked curiously.

“what— what was what? what are you talking about?” emily asked obliviously.

“did you just check yourself out? are you primping yourself? did you reapply your lipstick? oh this just got so much more interesting. who is this woman?” garcia jumped.

“i-what no to all of that,” emily lied as her cheeks heated. “and she’s just a friend from my college days.”

“yeah but what kind of friend? i don’t primp in my office when my college friends come to see me.”

emily peeked around the door frame into the bullpen and caught sight of y/n looking right back at her. the woman sent a flirty wave up toward the office and laughed softly as she watched emily’s cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“not now garcia.” emily mumbled as she straightened her clothes out one more time before descending the stairs to meet y/n. “y/n, what a surprise. what’s it been 10 years?”

“far more than that, em. you look good.” y/n smirked.

“wow, obviously not as good as you. garcia said you came on business?” emily replied trying and failing to tame the blush she’d been sporting since she headed down to the bullpen.

“well yes. and may i just say, you are one hard woman to track down.” y/n shook her head with a laugh.

“oh don’t i know it!” garcia piped in from her placed leaned against jj’s desk. at the intrusion, emily sent a glare her way. penelope grimaced and turned to face jj in fear.

“you’ve been looking for me?” emily asked curiously.

“i have for quite a while actually,” y/n smiled softly before waving the folder in emily’s direction. “we’re still married. and have been for about 20 years now. and let me just say, you’ve got a hell of a lot of anniversary gifts to make up for babe.”

“married?!” garcia exclaimed before slapping her hand over her mouth.

emily’s eyes widened exponentially as she caught all of the team’s eyes on her. the shock was evident on everyone’s face and she honestly couldn’t wash it off her own face.

“how about we go to my office and talk about this?” emily recovered, grabbing the folder and nodding toward the office upstairs.

“of course.” y/n nodded and followed emily into the office.

emily pointedly closed the door on prying eyes and turned to face y/n, “now that you’ve successfully fueled the office gossip fire for at least the next month. married for 20 years? is this about the netherlands? didn’t we get that annulled after we got back?”

“i thought so too. until i was a few weeks out from my wedding and they let us know that i was still in fact married according to netherlandian law.” y/n shrugged collapsing onto the couch.

“well i don’t think they call it netherlandian law,” emily paused catching the first part of what y/n said. “oh! you’re engaged. and i’m keeping you from getting married. i can try to get garcia to pull some strings online to help get the divorce finalized faster. or i can call someone over at interpol, im sure they can do something.”

y/n chuckled affectionately, “well while i appreciate the fact that you’d abuse your access to government resources for my sake. that ship has long sailed. the fact i was still married was the least of our problems. but i found that out and tried to track you down and that’s when your mother, still as lovely as i remember, let me know you had died.” y/n deadpanned, leveling emily with a look she knew very well.

“yeah, that was a whole thing.” emily grimaced.

“uh huh, im sure it was. after that, i just went with the whole widowed thing for a bit. until i heard again from your mother, so lovely, that you were alive again.”

“i didn’t realize you and my mother spoke so frequently.” emily mumbled taking a seat on the couch as well.

“you just keep giving us reasons to gab. anyways, i was in the states and figured id try to catch you after all these years. i brought the papers and figured you could sign them.”

“of course. i wouldn’t want to keep you from another marriage.” emily nodded hastily grabbing a pen to sign off.

“ah i figured you’d have run into the issue before me.”

emily dotted her and slid the folder back to y/n, “no, no one worth marrying. well besides you apparently.”

y/n smiled and giggled, “had i been aware, i would’ve been a far better wife to you but at least i didn’t widow you.”

“oh come on! what do you want me to say? had i known we were still married, i wouldn’t have died?” emily laugh incredulously.

“you had a wife to come home to, it could’ve been motivation.”

emily’s smile was free and contagious, “god you haven’t changed a bit.”

“not much sweet, but i can tell you have. lot of responsibility you got here agent.” y/n smiled sadly. “i hope you’re taking care of yourself. and your team.” there was a beat of admiration that washed over y/n’s face before she sighed and gathered the papers. “listen i’ll get out of your hair. thanks for divorcing me. always a pleasure seeing you.” y/n stood from the couch, emily following.

“of course, are you headed back right away?” emily asked hopefully.

“no i’m in the states for a bit for work, why?” y/n asked.

“oh i was just curious. figured maybe i could make up for this 20 anniversary dinners i missed.”

y/n grinned, “agent prentiss, are you asking me on a date?”

“i think i might be asking you on at least 20, if you want to of course.”

y/n walked over to emily’s desk and grabbed a pen and sticky note. scribbling something down and tucked the post it in emily’s blazer pocket with a smirk. “you better get planning then.” y/n threw a wink over her shoulder and left the office with a smile. all the agents scattered to make it seem like they weren’t intently trying to figure out what was going on behind the closed door. y/n stopped at garcia and smiled sweetly, “thank you penelope. have a good day everyone.”

everyone mumbled their replies and watched as emily’s alleged wife exit the bullpen. as soon as the elevators closed they all hurried up the stairs to emily’s open door.

“you’re married?!” garcia was the first to exclaim and emily sighed in exasperation. she eyed her chosen family and knew she wasn’t getting out of answering this. at all.

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part iv

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, death, mourning/grief

Words: 8100

A/n: This acts as a final part and an epilogue. Also available to read on AO3.

In early June, Lois Bennett knocks on the Wheelans’ front door. She has tears in her bright blue eyes and her hands are shaking.

“It’s our Tom,” she says, when Kitty has sat her down at the kitchen table and made her a cup of strong tea. “He’s missing.”

A hole tears itself in her chest.

His ship had been part of the evacuation at Dunkirk– a triumph, so the headlines say. But that’s the way of the world, she thinks, men lay down their lives, others have their lives taken from them by force, and all the while the press and the politicians declare each one a step towards peace.

“You think Churchill and Hitler give a flying fuck about peace?” her father says one night as he nurses a glass of whisky. “They want victory.”

Every night as she lies in bed, she imagines some new possibility. Tom could have run to safety, sought refuge in the town or gone elsewhere. Maybe he’s just biding his time, maybe he’s on his way back to her.

He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

He promised he would come home to her.

Monday 2nd September, 1940

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sirens, that blunt, whirring, wailing noise that sparks a primal fear in her chest. Somehow she always wakes up before they go off, like her instincts can alert her of what’s coming just a second before the noise begins.

The baby starts to scream from the space beside her– since Lois has started working as an ambulance driver, she leaves Vera with them most nights. With shaking hands, Kitty takes her into her arms, keeping her close to her chest as she fixes a woolly hat over her head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know,” she says, pulling the hat over Vera’s ears. She keeps meaning to buy some earmuffs for her, but then, it’s not her baby.

It’s pitch black in the house, it has to be. No lights or candles allowed unless you want the Germans to drop a bomb on your house. Kitty keeps one hand on the wall as she finds the stairs, and hurries down to the kitchen. Mam and dad’s footsteps follow behind her.

They have a routine by now. Dad grabs a coleman and a box of matches, mam grabs a photo from the front room and a basket with bread and blackberry jam, and Kitty holds tight to Vera. Then they file out the back door, into the garden, down the ladder into the shelter. Dad shuts the door, lights the lamp, and finally they can all see each other. 

Then comes the waiting. Some nights dad sings The Fields of Athenry and Kitty joins in. Vera seems to love singing, her eyes go wide and she lays completely still against Kitty, hypnotised by the humming in her chest. 

After a few slices of bread to keep them going, dad lies along the bench and closes his eyes and mam takes Vera into her arms. “Get some rest, love,” she tells Kitty.

How can she? Beyond the shelter the world is nothing but uncertainty, sirens sounding, bombs booming, spotlights and distant fires cutting through the darkness. Only the morning will tell what the true damage is, once the sun starts to rise and the smoke and dust have settled. Houses and livelihoods will be left as rubble. More lives lost, people who didn’t sign up, people who couldn’t, people who thought they might at least be safe in their own homes.

She looks at the photograph mam always brings in from the house. It’s of the four of them, Eddie, Art, Stevie and Kitty, lined up in the front room before the eldest two Wheelans left for the continent, over a year ago now. Eddie and Art look handsome in their uniforms and Stevie is uncharacteristically glum. He hated that he didn’t sign up sooner, he said he didn’t want to look like the one being left behind.

They all came home after Dunkirk, a few precious weeks when the world felt normal again.

Only not quite.

Because she still spent every night alone, and Tom Bennett was still gone.

“Where’s Douglas?”

Kitty snaps her attention to mam, as dad starts to stir on the bench.

“Eh?” he grumbles, “he’ll be along now in a minute, I’m sure.”

They wait. 

And keep waiting.

The bombs dropping on Longsight are louder than they’ve ever been before. Closer than they’ve ever been before. Each thunderous crash rocks the ground and the walls of their shelter.

BOOM– the roof trembles.

BOOM– dust and dirt fall from above them.

“We’ll be alright, here,” dad says, beckoning Kitty to sit between the two of them. 

They huddle together. Kitty curls her knees into her chest like a child and leans into her father’s embrace. Mam has Vera on her lap and places a hand on Kitty’s knee.

BOOM– mam whimpers and Vera is crying again. Dad holds her tighter.

BOOM– Kitty reaches for one of Vera’s tiny hands, and she clutches tightly onto her finger.

Then a final, earsplitting BOOM. The bench jolts beneath them. Kitty clings to her family and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for something awful to happen.

Only it doesn’t. The bombs become fainter.

They slowly pull away from each other, looking each other in the eyes and nodding, to make sure they’re all alright– as much as they can be.

When the all clear sounds, they make their way back into the house.

Glass litters the floor of the front room. The windows are shattered, so is the glass cabinet with mam’s best china, photographs are cracked. Anything that isn’t broken has been blown back by the force of a hit.

Through the tatters of the curtains and a haze of smoke, a fire burns out on the street. 

Dad calls her name as she runs for the front door and yanks it open, but she can’t bring herself to step past the threshold.

The feels the heat against her face, as number 27 has been reduced to a pile of burning rubble.

The AFS arrives in time to stop dad from digging through the remains in search of Douglas himself.

Everything that belongs to the Bennetts is crushed under brick or goes up in flames. 

It’s like losing Tom all over again. The house where he grew up, the kitchen where Josie used to feed the Bennett and Wheelan kids ginger beer and sandwiches, the bedroom that smelled of cigarette smoke, where he told her he loved her, exist only as memories.

She doesn’t go to bed that night– there are only a few hours until daylight anyway. She sweeps up the glass in the front room and the bedrooms while dad boards up the window frames. Hardly any light reaches inside the house, the air is still thick and hazy with lingering smoke, so they keep the back door open. It airs the place out, but lets in the cold too.

When Kitty answers the door in the morning, Lois’ back is facing her. She’s still in her uniform with her hair in a neat bun and a helmet in her hand. 

“Lois?”

She turns towards Kitty with her lips slightly parted in a passive expression. “Dad’s gone,” she mutters. And once she says it the vacancy melts into grief. “He’s gone,” she cries, “everything’s gone!”

Kitty leads her into the house, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit. The front room is in tatters and the kitchen is a mess with everything they’ve managed to salvage piled onto the table and chairs. 

“Tea?” Kitty asks quietly, but she feels stupid for asking.

Lois leans against the wall and holds her face in her hand as she cries.

Kitty unsurely places a hand on Lois’ shoulder and tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

First her mam, then Harry, then Tom, now her dad. She must feel like her life is slipping away.

Mam appears from upstairs, dressed for the factory with Vera in her arms.

Kitty frowns as she hands the baby to her. Lois has lost her father and her home in one night, and her mother hardly looks phased.

“There’s still work to be done, Kitty,” she says, grabbing her coat before she leaves through the front door with her head and shoulders straight.

But this is just war. Men die in trenches and on beaches, bombs fall on cities, tragedy unfolds and they Keep Calm and Carry On.

Kitty carries Vera into the kitchen, but she doesn’t like the sound of her mother crying. Her little face goes red and twists before she makes a sound, then she’s crying too, burying her head into Kitty’s chest and clinging to her arms with those small, pudgy hands.

Lois doesn’t look up, like she can’t hear her daughter crying at all.

Sunday 29th September, 1940

Weeks go by. Douglas is interred with his wife, in the churchyard of St Jospeh’s. Kitty spends her days in the shop and her nights in the shelter, rocking Vera through the air raids, humming lullabies and muttering stories about her brave mam and her fearless uncle Tom.

The Wheelans never used to go to church every week, but mam insists now, anything for their family to be kept safe. As they head home, Kitty looks up the hill, to the gravestone she knows is marked Josie Bennett. She pictures Tom and Lois standing by the graveside at the funeral, twelve years ago now. It doesn’t feel that long ago they were all children.

She walks ahead of her parents– dad’s been having trouble with his knees and it slows him down. Her head is hung, she’s staring at her shoes, the same black pair of shoes she wears everywhere.

What’s she got to walk so fast for anyway? Their house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. They at least have the windows fixed, but she tends to keep her curtains drawn, because where she used to look out to Tom’s bedroom window, there’s just empty space. 

What’s the point in rushing home to a house that isn’t safe? That’s ghostly and quiet? That has a bomb shelter instead of a garden? What’s the point in carrying on when surviving the night is something they have to hope for? When each day brings a possibility that Eddie, Art or Steive could be missing or dead? What’s the point in clinging onto hope if Tom is truly gone? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

Someone knocks frantically on one of the doors ahead, their door she realises. Her vision is blurry through tears, but she can make out the shape of a tall man, with dirty blond hair.

She blinks.

“Tom?”

His body collides into hers. He hugs her so tightly he crushes her chest but she doesn’t care. He could squeeze the life from her and she wouldn’t care, as long as she gets to hold him. Her hands find their way to grasp at his neck and his hair, pulling him closer and crying silently into his neck.

He doesn’t smell like cigarettes, which she finds unusual. He smells like dirt and sweat, and when he pulls away from her she realises he’s dressed in a khaki blazer, slacks that are too big for him and a mismatching grey shirt. 

“What happened–”

He looks frantic, stroking his hands over her hair and down to cup the sides of her face. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I know it’s been a mad few months but where are they, dad and Lois? Are they safe?”

He doesn’t know. How could he? Lois tried to send a letter. Where would it be now? Collecting dust or sitting at the bottom of a pile of unimportant paperwork in a naval office because there was nowhere for it to go. 

Her eyes well with tears all over again. His face is leaner, the lines of his jaw and cheeks more defined, the left side of his face littered with bruises and scars. She traces her fingers over his cheekbone, and down to the coarse, blond stubble along his jaw.

“Kitty,” he says, shortly, taking her hand away from his face. “Kitty, where are they? Tell me they’re okay.”

She glances over her shoulder. Mam and dad are approaching them now. Their faces mirror each other, confused, horrified, sympathetic.

“Come on,” she mutters, taking Tom’s hand and dragging him with her as she walks solemnly up Slade Grove. 

They stayed joined at the hip as they walk, Kitty curling slightly into his arm, their legs brushing with every stride, bumping into each other and pulling themselves back in.

His hand is warm and his grip is firm, but she can’t stop herself from shivering. As much as she wants to gaze up at him, melt into his embrace again, kiss every inch of his face, she can’t help but feel guilty. He doesn’t ask any more questions, or so much as speak a word, but the concern is written all over him, the clenched jaw and the stiff shoulders that don’t sway as he walks. 

She won’t be the one to tell him, she can’t be.

Lois has been living in a boarding house with Connie since the bomb hit. Mam had offered her a place at their house, but Lois wouldn’t take it. Luckily the house isn’t too far away, and when Lois opens the door, she’s utterly stunned.

Kitty waits outside, with her hands behind her back, leaning against the brick wall. Now her hands and her skin feel cold, so she tugs at her coat, keeping it tight around her body to keep out the autumn chill.

For a few moments she wonders if she hasn’t just made the whole thing up; Tom, waiting outside her door, running into her arms and vanishing again. She rubs her fingertips together. She had felt him as she feels her own skin now, she’s sure of it, the scars, the stubble, the hair on the back of his hand. 

Tom Bennett, her Tom Bennett, though not quite the same man he was, before whatever happened at Dunkirk, before the war, when his place in her life was vague but at least it was consistent. She knows things will be different again when he comes out of that house.

She hears raised voices through the door, the unmistakable, raspy bass of Tom’s anger. Lois shouts back. Then it goes quiet again.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when the door swings open. Tom slams it shut and turns his head around, frantically, before his eyes find her.

He opens his arms and falls into her. 

He lets out a few short gasps for breath as he leans his forehead against her shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around her waist. 

She stays like that for as long as he needs, until he pulls back for breath. His face is red, it only makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Sorry,” he mutters with a sniff, “haven’t even said a proper ‘hello’ to you yet.”

Given the circumstances, she thinks that’s forgivable. She runs her hands over the sides of his face, his ears and his overgrown mop of hair. 

“Hello,” she says.

Tom smiles, taking one of her hands in hiss and placing a peck to her knuckles. “Hello.”

They walk slowly back to Slade Grove. Tom is a little more subdued, but not quite settled.

She can only imagine the thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t here to save his father, he wasn’t at the funeral, there was nothing he could save from his own home. Time has slipped by, the formalities have been carried out and Tom couldn’t have stopped any of it from happening. 

Mam opens the door, takes one look at Tom, and purses her lips.

Kitty rolls her eyes and pulls Tom into the hallway.

The house has been cleared up a little better recently. They’ve gotten rid of everything that was broken, mended the curtains and the tears in the sofas, only the front room feels empty and impersonal without the china cabinet and the photographs they couldn’t save. 

They walk on through to the kitchen, where dad is sitting by the wireless. He stands to take Tom’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, lad,” he says, giving it a short, firm shake.

“Cheers,” Tom mutters, “good to see you again, Mr Wheelan.”

Kitty makes tea and splits her rations of bacon and eggs between her and Tom. 

“We were part of the evacuation effort from Dunkirk,” Tom explains, looking up to Kitty as she sits beside him. “I don’t remember much, but I woke up in a hospital in Paris, bullets and shrapnel in my chest, and the doctors were telling me the Nazis had taken the city.”

“Bloody hell,” dad sighs.

Mam sits stiffly in her chair and sips her tea.

“They were telling me I had to register as a prisoner of war, but there was this American bloke, a doctor, he told me they were trying out an escape route through Gibraltar.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kitty says. “Lois showed us the telegram. We all thought you were dead.”

She can see Tom’s hand flinch as if to reach out to her, but he stops himself and clenches his fist. He turns back to her parents across the table. “I had to die, officially like, they had some spare bodies and put my name to some poor bastard with 80% burns–”

Mam clears her throat.

“Sorry,” Tom says, trying not to smile. “Had to walk to Spain, then hitched a ride with these two blokes to Gibraltar. Onto Plymouth from there, and then…” he trails off. He has a distant look in his eyes that reminds her of Lois.

“Home?” dad says.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘spose so.”

“Will you stay with Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom gives her a pointed look.

The raised voices, the slammed door. Maybe not.

“You could stay with us,” she says.

Mam tilts her head. “Now wait a moment–”

“Of course,” dad says, “we’ve got three empty beds upstairs, I’m sure we’ll be able to spare one.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tom says, slipping his hand under the table and brushing his fingers over Kitty’s knee. She checks her parents aren’t looking at her and tries not to smile.

Dad holds up his hand in the way that means his decision is final. “Not at all, lad. We’ve known you since you were a childer, I think it’s the least we could do for you now.” 

Lois drops Vera off at 5 o’clock, the usual time. She doesn’t ask about Tom, in fact she hardly looks Kitty in the eye as she hands the baby into her arms and places a bag by her feet. She presses a quick kiss to Vera’s head, and then she’s gone.

Tom is in the front room, splayed out on one of the sofas, flicking an unlit cigarette through his fingers– because if he smoked in the house, mam would actually kill him. He sits up when Kitty walks in with the baby on her hip.

She sits beside him and places Vera on her lap.

Tom takes one of her little hands, and his thumb is almost the size of her palm. “Can’t believe she named the kid after my fucking canary,” he grumbles.

“Tom,” Kitty chides.

“Fuck, sorry– fuck.”

Vera lets out a vague gurgling sound and Kitty giggles. “Say it enough, it might be her first word.”

He chuckles, and gently waves Vera’s arm about. “When do babies usually start talking?”

“Give her a chance, she can’t even sit up yet.”

He strokes his finger along the baby’s cheek, and grins when he coaxes a smile out of her. But it’s like he stops himself, pressing his lips together as his eyes darken.

“What happened with you and Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom heaves a heavy breath and takes his hand away from Vera. “I lashed out.”

“Christ, Tom.”

“She left dad alone,” he says.

If she didn’t have a baby in her lap, she thinks she could throttle him. “It wasn’t her fault,” Kitty snaps. “She couldn’t have saved him. No one could have. 

He turns to face her with a devastated look in his eyes, the kind of look he makes when he knows she’s right. “How did it happen?”

She shifts Vera in her lap. “We didn’t see, we were in the shelter. We heard the bombs getting closer, and when we heard the all clear…” she blinks a few tears from her eyes. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she feels ridiculous, crying over Tom’s father when he’s sitting beside her.

Tom shifts closer to her, and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Tom nods, running his hand over Vera’s head. “He died thinking I was gone. He didn’t know I was alright.” He draws his tongue between his lips. “But he’ll be happy now, with mum and that.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“And I didn’t leave things on a bad note,” he says, keeping his eyes on Vera, “like you told me. I shook his hand before I left.”

“See? When has my advice ever let you down?” she says, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible through the thick feeling in her throat.

Tom keeps his chin tilted down but he looks up to her. He looks more peaceful than he did this morning. His lips are settled in their natural curve, his brow is soft, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that he won’t allow to become more than a glisten.

“Never has,” he says with a smile.

He shuffles closer to her, cautiously cupping the side of her face like he’s forgotten how.

She instantly leans into him, bringing their foreheads together until she can feel his breath echoing over her lips.

It’s been so long since she’s felt him in the way she wants. She’s hardly given herself a moment to even realise that he’s here, that her months of anguish are finally done because he’s safe, he’s alive, and he still didn’t break his promise to her.

“I missed you,” she whispers. If she speaks any louder she worries her voice might falter.

Tom draws his thumb over her cheek and nudges his nose against hers. “Kitty,” he utters. His lips twitch like he can’t quite find the words he wants.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

He angles his head a little before he leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and her heart breaks a hundred times over. She feels his sadness in the tentative movements of his mouth, like he’s still scared, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

So she pours all her longing and reassurance into him, as far as she can without speaking or pausing for breath. She holds onto his neck and deepens their kiss with firm lips and a deft tongue. 

She wants to feel him, long after they’ve parted. She wants to remember how he feels, the warmth he gives her, the way his little hums make her feel weightless and set her skin alight.

Now, in this moment, the world feels perfect. 

Until Vera makes a whining noise that means she wants attention.

Kitty pulls away with a short gasp, moving Vera to her hip and she stands and tries to bounce her into content.

“She’s probably hungry,” Kitty says, and nods to the bag Lois dropped off earlier. “Her formula’s in there, bring it into the kitchen.”

Tom does as he’s told and pulls the tub out of the bag. He walks into the corridor first, and as Kitty goes to follow he stops, and turns to her.

“You look good with a baby by the way,” he says with a grin.

She scorns herself for the thrill it sends through her stomach. “Don’t, you’ll give my mam a heart attack.”

At 6 o’clock, they put the lights out for the blackout, with only the fading sunset to light the kitchen as Kitty makes a vegetable stew and spuds for dinner. Thankfully they have some beef stock she can throw in as well, which stops dad from complaining that “just veg doesn’t count as a meal.”

Evenings are tense and uncertain now. They all try to make small talk with each other over dinner, but silences are frequent and imposing. 

Once they’ve eaten, Kitty puts Vera to bed and mam and dad head upstairs shortly after, hoping to get as much sleep as they can before the sirens start.

Tom sits in the lounge, on a sofa by the window, keeping the curtains open just an inch, but all there is to see is black.

“It’s cloudy,” he says as Kitty appears in the doorway in her nightie. “Can’t even see the moon.”

She comes to join him, curling up into his lap and placing her head on his shoulder. “That’s good news for us.”

Tom wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.

The sky stays cloudy and quiet all night, no droning of planes, no sirens. 

All she hears is the sound of his breathing and his lips against her skin as he nuzzles into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“Did you miss me?” she finds herself saying.

Tom pauses and pulls his face away from her with a furrowed brow. “Do you really think I thought of anything else?” he says. “It was all that got me through, the thought of coming home to you.”

In the morning she wakes with a sliver of sunlight creeping over her eyes, still in Tom’s arms, still clinging to him. 

Lois comes to collect Vera before Kitty leaves for her shift at the shop.

“Is Tom with you?” Lois asks as kitty lowers Vera into the pram.

Kitty hesitates. “Yes,” she says, bracing herself for Lois to storm in and start shouting at him. 

He appears in the doorway, with his head down and his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m going to the churchyard,” Lois says to him, “if you’d like to see mum and dad.”

Tom looks to Kitty and she sighs, overemphasising the movement of her chest as she breathes. Don’t leave it on a bad note.

He looks back to Lois and forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tom stays with the Wheelans, sleeping in the boys’ bedroom, in the bed closest to the door. Each night, once Vera and her parents are asleep, Kitty steals into his bedroom and tucks herself into the space beside him.

“It feels funny like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers to him, brushing her lips over his cheek as she throws her arms around him and presses herself into his back.

“What, you being the one sneaking around?” he says, falling onto his back so she can drape herself over his bare chest.

“It’s exciting,” she says, kissing a path along his jaw and down his neck. “I don’t see why you got to have all the fun.”

“Made it worth your while, didn’t I?” She can hear him grinning as she reaches the hollow of his throat. She swipes her tongue over his skin and delights when he suppresses a grunt and grasps at her hips. 

She sits herself up, letting her nightgown hitch up to her hips as she starts to rock against him.

Tom slips a hand between her thighs and smiles when he swipes his thumb over her bare cunt. “Right little whore I’ve turned you into, hmm?”

Kitty braces herself against her chest and nods, as Tom presses into her, dragging from her entrance to her pearl.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers. “All for me?”

“All for you,” she breathes as he starts to circle over her most sensitive spot. “Fuck–”

Tom places a finger to her lips as he keeps working over her. “Shh, you have to be quiet, you know that.”

She nods again, dreamily, moving her hips against him, adding and withdrawing pressure to his movements, treading the line between pleasure and longing. Until she falls apart, shuddering, pressing her lips together tightly and snatching back the one wanton whimper that sounds in her throat.

“Good girl,” Tom snarls. His hips are bucking against her and his jaw is tight. “Good fucking girl.”

She wastes no time slipping his cock free from his briefs and sinks herself down onto his length. He’s done for with only a few rolls of her hips, pulling out before he finishes and spilling himself onto her stomach.

He’s so pretty when he comes, with a silent sigh, his jaw hanging open and his nostrils flaring. Every part of his body tenses, his abs, his neck, his shoulders, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and throws his head back against the pillows. 

Another perfect moment, she thinks, bright and beautiful, and already slipping away.

He registers with the navy again, and in a few weeks he has his next assignment.

Before he leaves, Kitty insists on getting out Eddie’s camera (even though he’d kill her if he knew he went near it), and takes some photos of Vera for Tom to keep while he’s away.

She takes some of him too. They’re hardly high art– he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own snarky comments, but she manages one ‘serious’ one. 

His mouth is halfway to a smirk, his smile lines apparent around his mouth, but his eyes are dark and almost sinister. He hates it but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from keeping it in the envelope of one of his letters, under her pillow for safekeeping with the rest of the pieces she has of him.

He has leave in the new year, and then he’s back in October, just over two years since he first left.

By then Lois is gone. She had come into the shop, with a letter for Tom and Kitty in the pram. She had said she was going to leave her with Robina.

“Over my dead body you are,” Kitty said before she could think it through. Mam and dad were slightly horrified when she came home early from work with baby Vera in a pram and all of her belongings in a bag.

Vera is a right little character now, a stubborn but happy girl. When Tom comes back to Longsight, he stays with the Wheelans again, and he’s utterly devoted to his niece. When Kitty’s at work, he walks into the shop with Vera in his arms to buy her a bar of Cadbury’s ration chocolate. It’s awful and bitter, but it’s the only kind Vera has known and she treats it like gold dust. 

When Mr Gregory gives Kitty a few days off, she and Tom take her for walks to the park. It’s freezing, but she’s happy enough wrapped up in a coat and a woolly hat, squealing with delight when Tom picks her up and places her on his shoulders.

How remarkable are kids, that they can so easily forget about worries and fears, as long as they have something that keeps them happy.

Even with Douglas and Lois gone, she hopes Tom knows that something still remains.

Time slips away too quickly. Suddenly Tom’s in his uniform again, ditty slung over his shoulder. He takes Vera into his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest. “Be good for your aunty Kitty,” he says, “and take care of her until I get back.”

Vera nods frantically.

He says goodbye to dad like an old friend, and even mam has warmed to him a bit now. Kitty sees the way her mother looks between her and Tom, the knowing nod of her head. It’s acceptance, and she’ll take it.

“Shall we?” Tom says, taking Kitty’s hand and leading her through the door.

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, then a twenty minute ride into the city. She keeps a tight hold of Tom’s hand the entire way.

They settle in seats at the back of the bus. It’s the middle of the day, kids are in school and their parents are at work. Only a few other seats are filled.

“Thank you,” Tom says as the bus pulls away from the stop.

“For what?” Kitty says.

“For being there,” he says, “for looking out for dad when he was around, for taking care of Vera, and me.”

She wants to frown, but can’t bring herself to. “Of course,” she says, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Of course.”

Tom’s been assigned to HMS Prince of Wales, docked at Scapa Flow in Scotland. His train leaves within the hour, and the moment they step off the bus onto the busy streets of Manchester, she feels herself walking slower. 

Tom keeps going, letting her fall behind him slightly, but never letting go of her.

No matter how she tries to drag this out, she cannot stop time altogether and they eventually reach the train station.

She could spend an eternity in his arms, cheek to cheek, breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest. 

“I want to do right by you,” Tom says.

“What do you mean?” she mutters. 

They still hold each other close; she doesn’t think she could bear to look at his face.

“Once the war is over, I’ll save up my wages, get us a place of our own. It’ll just be the two of us.”

“And Vera,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I’ll get a proper job. You should do that clerical training you’ve always talked about.”

No more sneaking around. No more nights cut short when he has to leave her.

He pulls away from her, keeping his hands on her waist. “I know your parents don’t trust me and your brothers think I’m a no-good-thieving-bastard. But I love you, Kitty, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Once the war is over?” she says.

“As soon as.”

“Tom,” she sighs. She doesn’t want to imagine the possibility, or speak it into existence, but it’s still there. “What if you don’t come back?”

Tom smiles with a small hum. “I’ve died once before, didn’t stop me coming back to you, did it?”

Kitty believes him wholeheartedly.

Thursday 11th December, 1941

Vera’s being fussy about her nap again. No matter how much Kitty tries to hush her, rock her, or hum a few lullabies, she just won’t settle.

Eventually she tries just holding Vera close to her chest, letting the side of her little head nestle just over her heart. She stops crying almost immediately.

“How hard could it be to look after a baby?” she asked herself when she refused to let Lois leave her daughter with Robina Chase. Quite hard, as it turns out. 

The peace doesn’t last for long. Mam’s shoes come clattering down the stairs, the doorbell rings and Vera starts wailing again. 

“Oh come here,” mam coos, taking Vera from Kitty’s arms. “You get the door, I’ll see this one gets her nap, eh?”

Kitty takes a quick breath before she opens the door. Hearing Vera cry makes her want to cry too. 

The postman stands below the front step with a telegram in his hands.

“Catherine,” he says with a polite smile, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been… busy,” she says through Vera’s wails.

The postman hands her the telegram and she reads over the address: Lois Bennett, 27 Slade Grove, Longsight, Manchester, only there’s no house for it to be delivered to, and no Lois to take it.

She feels the tears start to prickle in her eyes as she waves him off, and when she shuts the door she can no longer stand. Suddenly she’s on the floor, her back against the door, unable to catch her breath as hot, stinging tears stream down her face and the telegram crumples under her fist.

She thinks maybe Vera keeps crying and mam calls her name, trying to get her to stand but she can’t. She just… can’t. A sinking feeling washes over her and keeps her pinned down, like the waves pummeling against the shore, over and over again. 

If there’s a telegram addressed to Lois, it can only mean one thing.

Tom.

Monday 24th December, 1945

The bus to Longsight stops outside the shop. She lifts Vera under the arms of her little red coat, onto the pavement, and takes a mittened hand in hers as they head inside. Mr Gregory sold it a few months ago and she doesn’t know the name of the new owners.

The woman behind the counter smiles down at Vera. “Aren’t you a gorgeous little madam?” she coos.

Vera rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I’m five,” she says.

Kitty smiles to herself. “Bottle of sherry and a bag of Yorkshire mix, please,” she says. She crouches down beside Vera and spots a shelf of Christmas wrapping. “Go and pick out some ribbon for the bottle,” she whispers.

She pays for their items and Vera comes back with a bright red ribbon.

“Perfect,” Kitty says, and ties it into a bow around the neck.

As they walk towards Slade Grove, Kitty picks out some red sweets for Vera and a pear drop for herself. The rest she saves for later, finding she now prefers the sweets she never used to eat.

It’s nice and warm inside number 28. A Chorus of Christmas carols plays through the wireless from the kitchen, a backdrop to the bustle of the house. Mam is in the kitchen, making her final preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Art helps her, albeit, his version of helping is pouring out gin and tonics. Dad, Eddie, Stevie and Connie are sat around the table, engrossed in a game of cards. But everyone stops when Vera comes bounding into the room, Kitty close behind her.

They each take their turns to smother her, and it feels good. Stevie practically jumps up and down as he hugs her, Art hands her a drink and Eddie hugs her the tightest. 

She manages a sip of her drink and places it on the table as she goes to greet her dad, still mulling over his hand of cards as he kisses her cheek. Then she goes to her mam, and hands her the bottle of sherry. 

“I chose the bow!” Vera proclaims proudly.

“And a lovely bow it is!” mam beams, placing the bottle amongst their Christmas stash of whisky, gin and dessert wine. “I have something for you, love,” she says.

“Oh?” Kitty asks as mam disappears into the front room. She comes back with a pot of poinsettias in a red pot, thick green leaves with bursts of blood red petals and golden seeds at their hearts.

“I thought we could put them out, tonight,” mam says.

Kitty opens her mouth to thank her, but she can’t. She nods as mam places her hand on her arm.

Even months after the war has ended, meat is still scarce, especially at this time of year, but mam had saved up her rations for a beautiful joint of beef, which she presents in the centre of the table.

It’s a cheerful occasion. The boys are rowdy, dad is quizzing Connie on her latest gig with her new band, mam is fussing over Vera.

Kitty watches them all. It’s hard not to feel like a ghost, an outlier, simply observing. Sometimes she thinks the others are still too scared to talk to her, in case she bursts into tears or shatters completely. She knows she won’t though. It’s Christmas. She’s supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and people she loves.

“We’re going to see her daddy for dinner tomorrow,” Vera says, stabbing at her boiled carrots.

“What’s Christmas dinner with Robina Chase like?” Stevie asks Kitty.

Her face freezes into a terrified smile to the others’ amusement. “No, it’s fine really,” she says. “Your grandma spoils you rotten, doesn’t she missus?”

Vera nods enthusiastically.

She’s such an easy girl to love. She has bright blue eyes, plump, rosy cheeks and dark brown curls, like her mother’s, kept in pigtails. But while her face is deceptively sweet, she has an awful habit for mischief and stubbornness. Kitty doesn’t mind that though. Girls should be stubborn, she thinks.

Stevie and Connie are expecting now. Dad insists it’s going to be a boy because he saw four magpies in the garden last week. They have a modest little house a few streets away and they’ve made it nice and homely. She’s had tea there and helped Stevie set up a crib for the nursery. 

After they’ve eaten, dad insists they all go to midnight mass, as he does every year, despite Kitty’s insistence that it’s much too late for Vera. Still, she puts her in a pretty blue dress and shiny black leather shoes, and makes Stevie promise he’ll be the one to carry her home.

The church is mostly shadows at night, a few candles and lamps doing their best to fight off the darkness and the cold. Vera hates it. She pulls her woolly hat over her ears, swings her legs and on three occasions asks “is he done talking yet?” She likes the hymns though, even if she doesn’t know the words, mouthing some kind of nonsense that has them all in fits of giggles.

And once it’s over, they don’t follow the path down to the street. Kitty leads the way, with the pot of poinsettias in her hands. Stevie follows behind her, carrying a sleepy Vera in his arms, curled into his chest.

She stops before the grave she first stood by seventeen years ago.

Josie Bennett

Douglas Bennett

and in loving memory of Thomas Bennett, 1919-1941

Kitty crouches down to lay the poinsettias down when Vera gives a little squeak in protest. “I want to do it!” she cries.

“Come on then, missus,” Kitty says.

Stevie lowers Vera and she rubs her tired eyes as she staggers to Kitty. She tries to take the pot but with her mittens she can’t get a good grip on it.

“Together?” Kitty asks.

“Yes please,” Vera says.

They place the flowers down together, making sure they don’t obstruct the names.

“There,” Vera says with a little huff. She reaches out and puts her hand on the stone, brushing over the names of her granny and granddad Bennett, and then she traces over the letters of Tom’s name.

Even seeing it written in stone, she doesn’t think it will ever truly sink in. 

A report said Tom had been in the makeshift aid centre on the main deck of the HMS Prince of Wales, when the final bomb hit. He could have run for the lifeboats. He would have had plenty of time. But he didn’t. He died to save his injured crewmates, men who would have never seen their families again.

For all the times he told her he would come back, for the life he promised they would make together, for all the nights she clung onto hope, she wanted to hate him for throwing it away.

She knows now that she can’t hate him. She could never hate him.

Vera falls back into Kitty’s arms. She catches her and places a gentle kiss to her soft cheek. “They would have loved you, you know,” Kitty says. “They would have loved that you’re brave, and funny, and that you drive everybody round the bend.”

Vera giggles and turns around, flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, aunty Kitty,” she says.

Kitty hugs her tightly into her chest, with that strange sort of urge to just squeeze her and squeeze her and never let her go. “I love you too,” she whispers, so Vera won’t hear the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Vera manages to walk down to the gate before Stevie has to carry her, and by the time they get back to the house, she’s fast asleep.

Kitty takes her in her arms and carries her up to the little box room. Connie and Stevie have the other big bedroom, and Eddie and Art are roughing it on the sofas in the lounge.

She places Vera down in the bed, as gently as she can, and takes off her shoes and coat so she won’t have to sleep in them.

It’s almost like a ritual now, but every time she finds herself in her old bedroom, she unlocks the window and brushes her fingers over the scuff mark on the windowsill. 

Vera stirs slightly when she joins her, curling into Kitty when she places an arm around her. The bed is hardly big enough for the two of them, how she and Tom ever managed to fit seems somewhat miraculous. 

Tom Bennett should have been hers to keep. They should have spent all their savings on a little terraced house or a flat in Manchester, squabbling over the things husbands and wives argue about and making up between the bedsheets. In the winters they would have walked home from the pub through the snow, hand in hand, and huddled for warmth at night. In the summers they would have spent their evenings in the park with a punnet of strawberries, taking the train to the coast on the weekends, to Southport or Blackpool. Maybe they would have had kids of their own. She often pictures a little girl with big blue eyes and a bright smile. They might have named her Josie, after Tom’s mother, and Vera would adore her.

There is so little left of him now, the bomb that hit the Bennett’s house ensured that well enough. She would have liked to have kept his lighter, his wristwatch, maybe some of his shirts.

Instead, she finds other ways to remember him. She reads his letters every night tracing over his terrible handwriting, the imprint of the words in the paper and his fingerprint in a smudge of ink. And she has the photo she took of him on Eddie’s camera. She keeps it framed, proudly on display on the mantle in their flat in the city.

She feels him, in the smell of grass, the flick of a lighter, the smoke from a cigarette, whispered secrets between lovers and Vera Bennett’s laugh, the way she squints her eyes and shows her teeth, just like he did. 

Two decades of friendship and it wasn’t enough time. They should have known sooner, she should have knocked on his door more often and he should have spent less time getting into trouble. She should have told him to join the pacifists while it was still an option, she should have convinced him not to go away, she should have held him tighter and never, never have let him go.

In the end though, she doesn’t linger on the times they weren’t together. She remembers them being children together. She remembers the first night he climbed through her window. She remembers his warmth and his infuriating smirk. She remembers the first time they kissed and the nights they spent together, when she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She remembers every time he told her he loved her, and she remembers every time she said it back.

She falls asleep to Vera’s fluttering breaths, the sound of the lads and Connie in the front room and the hymns playing on the radio.

The world is cruel and cold, but through it all she finds moments like these, when the tightness in her chest is replaced by something light and hopeful.

She clings to that feeling because tomorrow she’ll wake up surrounded by her family, and Vera’s little face will light up when she sees the gifts they’ve been saving for her. Dinner with Robina Chase will be worth it for the moments Harry will get with his little girl, and in the evening she’ll come home and laugh herself silly over glasses of whisky with her brothers. 

For all the grief she remembers how he loved her. She’ll keep clinging to that feeling because Tom Bennett was hers, if only just for a moment.

Disclaimer: I only skimmed through the episodes that Tom wasn’t in and don’t actually know what Lois’ deal was, so I’m taking some creative liberties here.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

[hoe4sports]

“The world stops turning”

Caroline Graham Hansen x reader

AN: No trigger warning. This has been re written as of 31st of May.

You were fresh out of University, and for sure done with anything related to lectures, studying and assignments. You grew up in this silly little Norwegian town, Tromsø. You know, a place where you can see the northern lights, reindeers and polar bears! Well, the latter is not entirely true. It is just a dead polar bear stuffed for tourists to see and take pictures of. Regardless, you grew up here with your grandparents. Your father left when you were a baby, and your mother? You went no contact a few years ago as she put you through a lifetime of trauma. That is exactly why you decided that when you was finished with your bachelors degree in sports leadership, you needed to get out of this sad little town. It is always cold, and the town has winter for 9 months a year. Three of them are in complete darkness, no sun or no daylight. It’s just as bad as it sounds. That’s why you decided to apply for jobs pretty much anywhere but here. Places like Oslo, London, Greece, Australia (hello Sam Kerr) and even the us. You however ended up getting a job offer from the women’s department in the club known as Barcelona. It was just what you needed; Sun, beaches and Spanish women.

You decided to go to Barcelona a week early, you figured you had to take advantage of checking out the city and the nightlife! Barcelona had arranged this beautiful apartment for you downtown. It was a decent sized apartment in a new building with spectacular views from your bedroom window in the 23rd floor. You had never seen anything like this as you grew up very poor, and only lived in an apartment with your grandparents. You spent the first week checking out bars, restaurants and beaches. You also found a huge mall with all of your favourite stores! Naturally, you had to purchase new clothes as I was told that there would be an athletic dress code. Lululemon for the win!

You didn’t really meet a lot of hot Spanish women during your first week, but yoy made a few friends in the building. One of your closest neighbours, Ingrid Engen lived two doors away from you. She recognised me from a talent camp for 13 year olds in Norway. You had spent the first week getting to know each other, and when she found out you were going to be working for Barcelona; she was beyond excited. You two clicked naturally, and you went out to all her favourite bars, restaurants and shops. She really gave you the full experience! 

Fast forward to today, Monday morning. The first of August. At 5.30. Let’s just say that you regretted the last bottle of wine from last night. But today was the day! The day were you finally start your first “big girl job” and you bet you were feeling excited. You got your tired body out of bed and opened up the blinds in your apartment. The views were simply breathtaking. It was stunning! A beautiful sunrise with the most beautiful colors that you could possibly imagine. You made myself an iced coffee, and wrapped your fuzzy around yourself so you could sit outside on your private balcony. It felt relaxing. The air was crisp, the sound of the ocean was lingering in your ears and you could smell the salty beach. It was like a dream come true.

Your daydreaming soon became interrupted as you knocked myself intro reality. First day of your first job, right. You quickly made it to the bathroom and had a steaming shower. The smells of the floral soap felt like a full on aroma therapy session. You quickly got out of the shower and patted your body dry. Your blonde long hair dried and put in a half up half down bun and you did light makeup as your skin was tanned from the week in the sun. You always used some mascara, it really made your icy blue eyes pop. You got dressed up in what you had been requested to wear; Black athletic shorts, a black athletic top, your trusty black hokas and a hot pink lululemon jacket. It felt wrong, but your new boss had insured you that any athletic wear was good.  You grabbed my bag and you took a deep breath. One look in the mirror, some lip balm and you were out the door. This was going to be the first day of the rest of your life. 

*fast forward to being with your boss*

“Ah, and this office is where you will be working from! Feel free to decorate however you like.” The Spanish woman said. You nodded and listened as active as you could. “Here is your work phone, your laptop and your camera. If there is anything you need, you let me know.” she said as she handed over what looked like a tower of apple and canon products. You felt stunned. “Wow, this is amazing, thank you so much! I’m so excited to get to know the team, and I’m eager to get to work.” You replied as you sat down your new gear and followed the tall woman as she talked enthusiastically about Barcelona and their work culture. 

*Caroline POV*

Jonathan was going on, and on and on and on about what this season was gonna look like. I was tying up my white Nike cleats, they were brand new as the team wanted us to start fresh. I however, hated fresh and new and change. I liked stability, routine and same old. Why change something that isn’t broken?

The door to the hallway suddenly swung open. There was the head of staff, Maria. She was always so bright and shiny and talkative. Not really my way of life. “Ah, Maria, just in time!” Jonathan called out. “Come, come!” He urged and a blonde petite woman popped up from behind Maria. “This, ladies, this is Y/F/N. She is one of the new assistant coaches, and she will be primarily working with the wingers. With her, we will be unstoppable!” Jonathan said enthusiastically. The girl blushed, and smiled. “Hi squad, Im looking forward to kicking your asses on a daily basis”  she said with a cheeky grin. I was staring at her as I couldn’t remember why she seemed so familiar. “Caro, stop staring!” Mapi hissed at me. I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t staring” I hushed, but with no luck as the team was already making their way onto the pitch.

[mellybouboulove]

My guardian angel🤍𓆩♡𓆪☁️

Chapter 4

Plot summary: Drug Dealer Ellie Williams X OFC slowburn fic, out of universe and takes place in college, set in the 2000s. Smut content to come.

previous: Chapter 3 next: Chapitre 5

Tags: #wlw #sapphic #drugdealer!ellie #modern!ellie #tlou #slowburn #smut #fluff #tlouau #au #modernau #drugs

CHAPTER 4

Monday morning: Ellie told me she had a lot of work today so she left early in the morning. After my encounter with Emily, I had set my mind to make things better, at least that’s what I was planning for today. I woke up with a severe stomach ache and migraine; my body begging me to take drugs but I tried to stay focused on my goal; I got ready and went to the hospital. Starting with Jonathan who’s in a coma will be easier than facing Emily who could punch me. 

Stepping into this hospital again made me feel weird but I knew I had to do it. I found my way to Jon’s room, the atmosphere was heavy which is weird considering it as filled with flowers and gifts. The only sounds in the room were the beeps of the machines and his artificially controlled breathing, all of this because of me. I sat next to him and started to talk. I felt stupid at first as I didn’t even know if there was a chance he could hear me but it actually did make me feel better to let it all out. I told him how sorry I was and how much I hoped he would get better; how I would’ve rather been in his place instead. I left flowers and a note on his bedside table hoping he would wake up in the following weeks and would be able to see it, knowing we kept him in our minds. 

I already felt relieved from this talk but I still had to give Emily a visit. My body was still shaking, my head and stomach were still hurting. I hope these symptoms will be gone soon enough. 

Once in Emily’s front door, I felt reluctant remembering everything that she told me this weekend. Leaving now would make me a selfish coward; I have to talk to her. I knocked and after a couple seconds she opened. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me, she was about to close the door at my face but I stopped it. 

-Please give me a chance to talk. I know, you were right. You were right about everything, I’ve been acting selfishly; I just wanna talk, please.

She let out a sigh, quietly opening the door for me to come. 

-May I use the bathroom first? I’m not feeling very well.  -You already know where it is. 

After refreshing my face in her bathroom to calm myself, I opened the pharmacy without thinking and noticed she had the same treatment as me. I contemplated it for a second and decided to empty the bottle in my pocket. Just in case. At this point, this is not a big deal, I've already wasted her life. 

We sat in her living room, a blank silence surrounding us until I decided to break it to tell her everything that was killing me inside. 

-I have no excuses for my behavior but believe it or not, you and Jonathan have both been on my mind everyday since that day. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for what I did to you. If I didn’t come earlier it was just because I was in a really bad place and didn’t think I would have the courage to face you knowing I ruined your life and almost killed my two best friends. I’m not expecting you to forgive me but I think we should communicate; I don’t want to cause any more harm to you. I really miss you and our friendship and if I could, I would switch places with you.  -Are you done now?  -Ugh, yes I guess. -Okay great now leave.  -What?   -Do you really think that’s how it works? Acting like a victim, giving a clingy monologue after all your bullshit thinking this is enough to fix everything ? You’re dead to me and I don't have anything to do with you. You didn’t come here for my forgiveness nor for the sake of our friendship; in fact, you don’t give a fuck about this. All you want is to make yourself look good, to make your conscience lighter, just to manage to look at yourself. If you really did care, you would’ve come earlier, you would’ve visited Jonathan and checked on me but you just disappeared. You were in a bad place when it came to facing your responsibilities but you felt good enough to find yourself a girlfriend to take on dates. You’re a horrible person Maya, you’re not even able to understand what you’ve done. Get the fuck out of my house, you can die for all I care.  

I was flabbergasted by her reaction, I didn’t expect her to forgive and forget nor for everything to come back to normal but I thought she would be more understanding and willing to save our friendship. But she’s right, it’s too late. I became somebody I don’t know, I’m just a worthless piece of shit who only cares about itself. I felt my heart pounding louder and louder, my breathing speeding up; I don’t have anyone anymore. I need drugs. 

Without even counting them, I took a handful of pills from my pocket as I was making my way back home. When I finally reached home, it felt like this was not enough. I looked around all my drawers and finally found a bottle of vodka that I quickly emptied. As I was about to swallow the last drops of alcohol, I heard the bell ringing and used the energy I had left to open it. Ellie was standing there, she looked at the bottle in my hand then she looked back at me. 

-What the fuck are you doing??  -I guess I’m.. n-not feeling so good.

Suddenly my eyelids felt so heavy and closed themselves; then everything was pitched black. When I opened my eyes again, I was on the couch, Ellie sitting next to me with a bunch of medicine, food and water on the table. 

-Are you awake? -Yes, I think so.  -Are you feeling better?  -Yes. -Ok good. Now tell me, what happened Maya? Why did you do this?  -There was nothing left to do. I couldn’t control myself anymore, I’m sorry. I said bursting into tears. -It’s fine, but you have to think and be more careful. This is not a game, if I wasn’t here to take care of you and give you pills you could’ve been dead by now. She was very gentle in her tone. I could tell she was worried.  -Wouldn’t have been so terrible to be honest.  -I was planning to go back to my house but I guess I’ll stay a little longer. Drink a lot of water. She handed me a bottle of water as she said that and I thanked her and drank it without further questions, then fell back asleep.

[fulcrvm]

Last Line Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @teejaystumbles ! A really nice surprise!! :D I am indeed contemplating writing two Dead Boy Detectives fic right now, but they're both in the very early 'being-outlined-in-my-head' stage, haha. They both revolve around post-s1 Edwin pining for Charles, one where Edwin takes matters into his own hands and one where he decides to have a chat with the Cat King about it. Not sure if they'll ever be written but they're intriguing!

But for the sake of the tag game, here's a lengthy bit from a Dreamling wip I've slowly been chipping away at for a few months!

A scene from Every Little Thing (Working Title)— In which Morpheus is a figure drawing professor who has just been fired from a film production based on his comics, and Hob does part-time figure modeling and is determined befriend the aforementioned professor.

Morpheus picks his class schedules wisely— he runs two first year general figure drawing classes, at 8 a.m. and at noon on Mondays and Thursdays. He helps the uni’s live figure workshop club on Wednesdays and Fridays at 6 p.m., and meets his sister for lunch on Wednesdays. All other free time was dedicated for his industry work. That wouldn’t be a concern anymore, would it. By the time Morpheus unlocks the door to the studio, sets his bag down by his desk, and starts fiddling with the ceiling studio lights pointed at the model stand, all of Morpheus’ thoughts have reduced to pure spite. Fine, maybe the big studios don’t want him. They don’t deserve him, then, their loss. His portfolio and repertoire are infamous in the industry, they’ll be crawling back to him in no time. Too bad, maybe he would have started his own production studio and he’ll end up with the next ground-breaking animated film. Maybe— Morpheus’ thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. He shakes himself out of it, calling, “Come in.” A glance at his watch tells him it’s only 7:48, perhaps it’s an overeager student here early. It’s only the second week of the semester, they grab every opportunity to prove themselves with a spirited step that Morpheus might be slightly envious of. “Hello, Morpheus Endeles?” Hearing his full name startles Morpheus, and he turns from the lighting settings to the door. “Yes?” The man who steps into view can only be described as radiant. He can’t be much older than Morpheus, not much taller either but wider in the shoulders. His hair is cropped just above his shoulders and he sports a neatly kept beard. Morpheus registers this all first simply because of his profession but— he gets caught on the man’s brilliant smile and deep brown eyes. There’s something there that knocks all thoughts clear out of Morpheus’ head. The stranger smiles warmly, smiles like he already cares. “I’m here to model for the morning and noon figure classes?” The man says. Morpheus clears his throat and steps forward, “Yes, this is the right studio.” He extends a hand, “Robert Gadling, I presume?” The man takes his hand— god, he’s so warm— and shakes it steadily, “Please, call me Hob! All my friends do.”

I'm a sucker for the 'Morpheus catalogues Hob's appearance during their first meeting' trope in most Dreamling human AU fics, I couldn't not do it too :]

Besides this, I've also got a Dreamling Velvet Goldmine-ish AU fic that I want to get done this summer. I'm a very slow and ruminative writer so let's see if I can commit to any of these fics now that I've posted about them lol!

No pressure tags! I have no idea who's been tagged recently so-- lol. @hardly-an-escape @valeriianz @moorishflower @amielot :)

[rachelkaser]

Masonry Monday: The Case of the Perjured Parrot

A wealthy investor is murdered while at his fishing getaway, with the only apparent witness being his parrot, who repeats the same name over and over. Taking this to be a repetition of his final words, the sheriff arrests Ellen, the dead man's secret mistress, but Perry Mason has his suspicions about the bird's credibility.

Who's Who

Perry Mason's client: Ellen Monteith, a librarian recently married to a man who, to her shock, already has a wife

The victim: Charles Sabin, a wealthy man who's harsh on everyone except his mistress and his talkative parrot

Suspects: Stephanie Sabin, the victim's legitimate wife, who's left to clean up following his death Helen Watkins, the victim's step-daughter, who may or may not have committed a serious crime Richard Waid, the long-suffering secretary, who shifts loyalties to the missus after the murder Fred Bascomb, the cabin's owner, who came across the body and the chattering parrot Casanova, the Sabin family parrot, who apparently witnesses his final moments and repeats his last words over and over

The Setup

Charles Sabin returns home from a trip and completely blows off his wife Stephanie in favor of fawning over his parrot, Casanova (who has been "a very busy bird," according to the man himself). He retrieves an envelope with his wife's name on its from a drawer in his desk. He calls in his secretary, Richard Waid, just to snarl at him for not taking proper care of Casanova. He leaves instructions for Waid to procure some mineral rights, then tells Stephanie and her daughter Helen Watkins that he's decided to drive to his fishing cabin a day early. The ladies aren't packed, and Helen snarls right back at Sabin.

Sabin accuses her of being a thief, and Stephanie refuses to go with him if he's going to attack Helen. Sometime later, a fancy man in a bolo tie drives up to Bascomb Lodge and Cottages in Logan City. He approaches a cabin where a convertible is parked and hears a parrot squawk through the window. Looking through the window, he sees Sabin's body on the ground, with Casanova's cage open and shavings all over the floor. The parrot is walking around the body, repeating, "Helen, give me that gun! Don't shoot!"

In the offices of Perry Mason, Della and Perry are visited by Stephanie Sabin and Helen Watkins. Stephanie tells Perry -- who'd been handling some of Sabin's business affairs -- that a Mr. Bascomb found her husband's body that morning at his fishing cabin. Helen blurts out that she'll be suspected due to Casanova's repeated words. Perry asks when the murder was committed, and Stephanie says they suspect the previous Tuesday. Sabin left for the cabin on Saturday, and Stephanie took Helen to her school, Hollymount, the next day. Stephanie herself stayed in a hotel that same night as she planned to divorce Sabin. Helen didn't stay in school but followed her to the hotel. There's no record of her at the hotel until Wednesday.

Enter Perry Mason, Attorney at Law

Perry and Della drive out to Logan City to meet with Sheriff Barnes, introducing himself as the late Sabin's lawyer on instruction from the widow. The Sheriff introduces Edward Langley, a criminology professor at Logan City's college, who's helping out with the investigation. Perry enters the cabin, where Casanova is chattering away in the cage, repeating the line about Helen. The gun was laying near the body with no fingerprints. The Sheriff and Langley estimate, based on the fish he'd caught and the fact they weren't cleaned, that he was killed Tuesday morning after eating lunch.

They also found a woman's slip and a pair of stockings, which Mrs. Sabin denies belonging to her or to Helen. Perry picks up a book on the side and notes it's from the Logan City Library. There's a knock, and Waid arrives to retrieve Casanova and Sabin's belongings. Langley asks where Waid was on Tuesday -- he was in Denver dealing with the mineral rights. Waid says Sabin called from a payphone as the line was dead, which Langley confirms by picking up the phone. Perry takes his leave and meets Della, who's feeding wildlife outside.

While looking at birds with her, Perry notes a wire on the phone lines -- someone's tapped Sabin's phone. They follow the wire into the foliage, where it leads to a empty, ramshackle cabin. Cut to the Logan City Library, where Ellen Monteith is reading about the murder in the papers. Perry and Della pull up, and Perry greets Ellen, asking her about the book he found in Sabin's cabin. Ellen's obviously distressed, and asks to speak with Perry alone. She confirms she took the book and asks to meet him in the park.

In the park, Ellen tells Perry her story of moving out West and suddenly finding love in the form of "George Walman," a.k.a. Charles Sabin. They met at the library, and Ellen describes him as the kindest person she knew. They married two weeks previously in a quiet ceremony in Las Vegas. Ellen left behind the slip, stockings, and gun, which she owned for protection while closing the library at night. Sabin left on Saturday morning, and she never saw or heard from him again. Della arrives and says Paul is checking on any calls made from Sabin's cabin. Ellen asks if she'll be suspected, and Perry says, "Yes."

The Murder

Prosecutor Sprague brings Ellen Monteith and Fred Bascomb, the gentleman with the bolo tie, into this office and asks Ellen if she's ever seen Bascomb before. She says she never has. After she's escorted out, Bascomb confirms that he saw her driving up to Sabin's cabin on the morning of the murder. Later, Paul enters Perry's office with info: Sabin's will splits the estate between Stephanie and the heretofore-unmentioned brother Arthur Sabin. Also, Helen didn't join her mother at the Windsor Hotel on Sunday. She had run away from school and was waitressing in Logan City when her mother found her on Tuesday. Perry suspected as much.

Perry speaks with Stephanie, who thinks Casanova must have been saying, "Ellen." He asks her about Arthur Sabin, and Stephanie says she's never met him. Later, Perry meets with one Rufus Bolding, who says that Sabin called him about forged checks he'd discovered. Sabin sent Bolding, a handwriting expert, the checks and a handwriting sample. Bolding says Sabin suspected Helen, but she's not the forger, which he informed Sabin of on Monday. Sabin said he'd pass along other samples, but Bolding never received them.

Case under review; please return at a later date

[felixcloud6288]

Higurashi: Massacre Chapter 6

Rika's getting a bit too cocky. The first rule about Lady Luck is you do not test her.

Hinase Momoyama could have done a very funny thing by using that same panel Yutori Houjyou kept using every time those guys' motorcycles were knocked over.

Rika has spent 100 years fighting against a force she was powerless against. She was eager to get into a fight she knew she had the power to win.

It's the kidnapper again! Yeah, that van really is connected to "Tokyo". And Rika knows who the Wild Dogs are. And they're under Takano's command.

So does this mean Takano instigated the kidnapping in Time Killing? And was Rika aware of their involvement at the time?

Irie and Takano are researching some disease called Hinamizawa Syndrome and are keeping it heavily under wraps. Rika is the only person in the village aware of what they're doing. Satoko meanwhile is told she's assisting with nutritional research.

Maybe the van scenes in Abducted by Demons and Atonement were because Keiichi and Rena were showing signs of Hinamizawa Syndrome and the Wild Dogs were planning to effectively kidnap them for treatment.

I went back to Curse Killing Chapter 11 to see if there's anything I could use to potentially name the kidnapper, and I found an early reference to the Wild Dogs that is lost due to a light mistranslation.

When Irie is talking with some staff about how to subdue Keiichi, someone says "Including Yamainu and us, three" in reference to how many male staff are available.

Yamainu is the proper name of the Wild Dogs. It translates literally to Mountain Dog, but Yen Press changed the name to Wild Dog instead. So at the time, I guess the translators thought Yamainu referred to a person rather than a group and the line should have been "Including the Wild Dogs and us, three."

But anyway, this is just me pointing out the first time this group was ever mentioned and we still don't have a name for the kidnapper.

I get the feeling Teppei returns to Hinamizawa at around the same date and time each instance he arrives which is why Rika felt a sudden sense of dread when the clock struck 6pm on the Sunday before the Festival.

Looking back on Curse Killing, the last moment where we can be certain Satoko was not in Teppei's custody was after the baseball game in chapter 4. Keiichi mentions it was a Saturday. At the end of the chapter, we're in the classroom and Rika arrives late and upset. So Teppei would have arrived somewhere between that Saturday evening and early Monday morning.

Satoko then missed three days of school meaning she came back on a Thursday and had her mental freakout which drove Keiichi to decide to kill Teppei on Friday. Then Keiichi spent the Saturday setting up his murder and enacted it on the Sunday of the Festival.

So yeah, it's very possible that Teppei came back to the village at the exact same time in both Curse Killing and Massacre.

Rika has had amazing luck when she was willing to take charge of her destiny and acted as if she was doomed otherwise. The moment she thought she was untouchable, all her luck ran out.

She has no options for dealing with Teppei and luck will not be on her side here.

I guess this means Hinamizawa is somewhere in the Chūbu region of Japan.

Locations I recall being mentioned at various times through the series include Nagoya which is the capital of the Chūbu region, Gogura which I cannot find at all, and this chapter mentions Ishikawa and the Noto Peninsula, which is the small jut of land seen on the above image.

Rika, what do you mean Irie and Takano erased your mother? What do you know about the deaths in 1981?

Rika really loves Satoko. This is a world where Rika has the greatest chance ever of beating her destiny. But if it means Satoko has to suffer, Rika considers it to be a dead-end hopeless world.

back

[citrusbae]

Did my nails today and still wanted to share with you ✨ Picked an early appt to actually get up out of bed but funny thing is, is that I knocked out last night and woke up to my phone being dead. Jumped up outta bed so fast not knowing what time it was and it was funny bc it reminded me that one time at your place ���� finally home now and gonna be a chores type of day

I fucked up on my work schedule a little bit and I work a 24 tomorrow, get off Monday morning to go back in the same day at 12. It’s gonna be fun

I hope your night ended well yesterday and still have thoughts about wanting to be there next to you and having a good time

I’ve also been thinking about tomorrow and how I was already thinking about how I wish you were going to be there.

I miss you

[dracwife]

caramel coffee.

ship: about this dream & you → mickey/tim

word count: 923

summary: Tony suspects that McGee's got a girlfriend.

tw for suggestiveness ?? definitely for Tony's terrible use of euphemisms

There's only one thing Tony hates more than Monday mornings, and that's early Monday mornings.

So, when certain probationary field agents chipperly waltz their way into the office with a "Good morning, Agent DiNozzo!" at a brisk seven in the morning, he takes personal offense. 

"Well you seem awfully happy today."

"Well, it's a good morning, Tony."

He frowns. It most certainly is not. And for someone to be so insistent usually means only one thing.

"No…Something is different. I know that pep-in-the-step attitude. The oozing confidence. The smug look. Why, Agent McGee, did you meet a girl?"

Tim looks at him curiously, "Uh, no, Tony, I did not."

Tony laughs, "Oh, yes you did! What's her name?"

He almost responds, but it's then that Mickey walks in. 

"Good morning everyone."

"Oh, not you too."

"Huh?"

"Probie's got a girlfriend."

"He does?"

"I don't," Tim stresses.

"Okay," Mickey chuckles, and Tony carefully watches as he presents each of them with their usual morning coffee. Then, he rescinds to his desk and takes a sip from his own cup.

"A-ha!"

"...They're a decent band."

"No, don't you try your little forensic mind games on me."

Mickey sighs, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't drink coffee!"

"I do sometimes."

"No, you don't."

"It's early Tony."

"Need the energy? Up late last night? Not much sleep? Special Agent Joysz, have you finally found the one?"

The other agent scoffs, and shakes his head. Oh, how little he knew. 

"Maybe he was just being nice, Tony. You could learn a thing or two," Kate finally acknowledges them.

"I had a craving for caramel," Mickey's voice is low, almost vitriolic.

"Sure. Hey, that's fine," Tony taunts him, "I bet it's great alongside sweet, sweet victory."

Mickey raises an eyebrow.

"You both scored last night, and I want details."

"Over my dead body."

Neither Kate nor Tim interrupted as the two senior agents bickered. 

"So you did!"

"No. But even if I had, you'd be the last person to know."

"Kate, you're awfully quiet."

"I have no interest in harassing our co-workers, Tony," she doesn't look up from her desk, though the sly smile she hides urges Tony to further indulge his torture.

"That's a lie. You know something I don't."

"I really don't," she chuckles.

Tony springs from his desk, suspiciously eyeing the others, "Something fishy is going on with this team. And I will figure it out!"

"Here's lookin' at you, kid," Mickey puts on his best Bogart.

"Okay wiseguy, in that case I'll start with the weakest link," Tony pauses, "Probie! What's her name?"

"Tony, I don't --"

"Do not lie to me!"

"It's personal…?" he offers hesitantly.

"Wrong answer. So what was it? Dinner? Date? Hookup? Booty call?"

Tim stutters, shakes his head.

"So it was a hookup? Adult naptime? Churning butter? Knocking boots? Gland-to-gland combat? Two person pushups? Bumping uglies? No pants dance? Assault with a friendly weapon?"

Mickey rolls his eyes and interrupts finally, "For the love of god, Tony, he was with me last night."

Tony stops, utterly confounded, "...With you?"

"Yes, Tony," he repeats slowly, "Tim very kindly offered to run me through a high level dungeon last night. It took a while. We were up late. Hence the coffee that I never drink."

"Nerd stuff?" his face falls, "You got my hopes up over nerd stuff? Why wouldn't you just tell me that off the bat? That's way more boring than what I was thinking…Actually why would you tell me at all? You ruined my possibly exciting morning, Mickey."

"I apologize for cutting your disgusting imagination short, Special Agent," he mocks his partner, "You know, if it was just me, I would've let you go on all day. But I think if Agent McGee here had to hear one more euphemism," his voice lowers to a near-whisper as if to spare the man next to him the embarrassment, "He might've exploded."

They both glanced towards Tim, who sat quietly, red-faced and wishing very much that he was back at his dark, dingy, and most importantly solitary Norfolk office. 

Mickey's phone beeps, and after a second of reading, he gets up. 

"Abby needs help moving stuff down to the evidence locker. I'm gonna go do that."

Tony finally retreats to his desk, disappointed in his discoveries.

"McGee, why don't you come with? I can show you where it is, how we log everything."

"Uh, sure."

Mickey smiles, and motions towards the elevator, where they walk towards. They walk in silence, until they round the corner, just out of earshot of the others.

"You…Are very bad at lying, Tim."

"I panicked."

"I know. And you can't do that. Don't let Tony get to you. Just play it cool. He'll let up eventually. Or get some better excuses."

"Abby doesn't actually need our help, does she?"

"No, no, she does. But I'm also hoping she brought her makeup with her."

"Her makeup?"

"Oh, yeah," Mickey reaches over him to press the floor of Abby's lab, "Cause that hickey on your neck? It isn't going away by itself. And if Gibbs sees that, you're on your own."

Tim freezes, the color draining from his face.

The elevator closes, and Mickey laughs. 

Tony looks curiously towards Kate, tapping his pencil against his desk.

"You don't think they actually…?"

She finally laughs. The profiler in her wants so badly to speak out, but she bites her tongue. Just as Mickey asked her to, when she confronted him a week ago.

"No, Tony. I don't."

[misty720]

That's my husband - Ch7:

Monday morning and no alarm sounds to wake the dead was what Chara looked forward to every week. Papyrus still rose early to jog, shower, wake the kids, and make breakfast. Chara still took the horde to school except Papyrus woke her instead of the annoying buzzer from the clock. However, this morning he started with waking his woman with a kiss on the back of her neck and then her shoulder feeling challenged after Sunday's failed advance. Chara squirmed against him as she began coming to and rolled over to wrap her arms around him. He gave her a sweet kiss which she returned and rolled him over her. As if on cue, a knock echoed from the bedroom door and a scruffy little voice called, "Momma, Papa! We're ready for breakfast!"

"NO ONE'S HERE BY THOSE NAMES!" Papyrus answered receiving a light chastising smack on his arm from Chara.

"Go jog. I'll throw some pasteries in the oven and scramble some eggs. I can do that much," she fussed playfully. Her husband just laughed and kissed her before standing up to stretch. "Good morning, Kabel," Chara exited and pat her troublemaker on the top of his head. "How about I make you kids some cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, and cut some fruit?"

"Did we do something bad?" he asked following her heels down the stairs.

"No, not at all. Why do you ask, my love?"

"Then why are you punishing us with breakfast?"

"KABEL SKELETON, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR MOTHER," Papyrus scolded him leaving the bedroom to go for a run. "I EAT HER COOKING TOO, AND YOU DON'T HEAR ME COMPLAIN."

Chara inhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of her nose. 'That... that's my husband alright...' she thought to herself knowing he didn't mean it how it came off.

"Sorry, Momma..." Kabel obeyed.

"It's alright, sweetie. Just be careful about things you say to others. Think first and ask yourself if it would make you feel bad hearing someone else saying it to you. A lot of times, the answer is correct, but not always. What's funny to one person might be hurtful to another. Everyone is different, my love." After breakfast, Papyrus rode with them so he and Chara could run some errands while out. "Pap, you know you could have stayed home and rested. I know you're tired," she made conversation.

"NONSENSE! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL NEVER TIRE WHEN THERE'S WORK TO BE DONE! BESIDES, I LIKE BEING THE PASSENGER FOR ONCE," he joked.

Chara just smiled, rolled her eyes, and shook her head. 'That is also my husband...' she mused.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING AGAIN??"

"Well, we need groceries for one. I just used the last of the eggs and milk. I thought we might pick you up a new pair of work shoes since yours are starting to break down, the car needs an oil change, and I need to make a payment on your business loan. I also thought we could grab lunch before picking up trouble and minion."

"CAN'T YOU JUST MAIL THE PAYMENT IN OR PAY IT ONLINE??"

"Nope! Processing fees are worse than the gas burned to bring in cash when it's right next to the shopping center where we'll be anyway."

"AND THAT IS WHY YOU HANDLE THE BUDGET. I WOULD JUST PAY THE FEES TO AVOID THE DRIVE TO TOWN."

"We don't have a safety net in the bank by paying excess fees and spending frivolously, Pap. Those extra fees versus gas spent is only a couple hundred a year but it adds up when applied to everything. A couple hundred here and there adds up quick."

"TRUE, BUT TIME IS A MORE PRECIOUS RESOURCE THAN MONEY AND I CAN ALWAYS MAKE MORE MONEY. WE AREN'T MAKING ANYMORE- WHAT??"

"Are you really about to say 'time'? To the person who was given a way to manipulate time by Gaster?" Papyrus grinned and shrugged.

The first order of business for Chara was the oil change where they were stranded at the shop for an unpredictable amount of time. As she handed the guy behind the counter the key for the transaction, Papyrus told him in jest, "DON'T FORGET TO TOP OFF THE BLINKER FLUID, ALRIGHT. NYEH HEH!"

"Funny, sir... I see what you did there..." the guy replied unamused tagging the key.

'Oh dear stars, that is my husband!' Chara screamed internally and palmed her face in a vain attempt to hide herself cringing at his joke. After receiving the key back, their next stop would be to drop off the payment and spend an hour or so in the store as he went through every pair of shoes available to find the absolute best fitting pair. She had given up rushing him a long time ago. After finally deciding on the perfecg pair, they headed to the grocery store which took half the time getting through with Papyrus because he knew exactly what he needed and where to find it. Chara was the one who liked to browse and take her time deciding which new snacks to try and trying to remember which foods the children randomly decided they suddenly liked or didn't like.

"I'M GOING TO GRAB ALL THE PRODUCE WE NEED WHILE YOU LOOK. SEND ME THAT PART OF THE LIST AND I'LL GRAB IT AND THE MEATS. THIS WAY WE CAN GO HOME AND HAVE LUNCH BEFORE PICKING UP THE KIDS," he offered. Chara agreed and sent him a text with part of her list.

Once everything was loaded in the cart, they stood in line to check out and pay. "Ooh! Someone likes eating healthy! It's not often I see a cart with so much whole food!" the cashier exclaimed in a bubbly voice.

"WE TRY AT LEAST. BUT IT'S HARD TO GET ONE OF MY FOUR TO EAT GREEN STUFF AND IT'S NOT THE ONE YOU THINK," Papyrus cut up with the lady in a hyperbolic manner and pointed to his wife.

"Papyrus!" Chara chastised. "I am not a child so don't lump me in with them."

"Oh! This is your husband?? I would have bet money on you being a child if you hadn't said something! You look so young and adorable!" the cashier kept up her appearance.

"Um, thanks? Yes, that's my husband and he thinks he's a comedian like his brother. Pap, pay the bill and let's go. We don't want to hold the nice lady up."

"DON'T BE SALTY, LOVE. YOU MIGHT JERKY THE MEAT BEFORE WE GET HOME," Papyrus chuckled at his own joke. Chara gave him an indignant side eye taking the receipt from the lady.

"Thank you, miss. Have a good evening," Chara turned to her politely to speak before taking the cart. "Papyrus. Must you?" she hissed exiting the store.

"I WAS ONLY TEASING, DEAR. YOU GET SO TOUCHY OVER BEING THOUGHT OF AS A CHILD SOMETIMES," the tall monster scratched his crown as he put the bags in the trunk.

"Pap, we've been over this so many times. I'm not a child. I'm your wife and people mistake me for your child so damn often if I'm not dressed to the nines. It's frustrating only being seen as an adult through your validation if I'm with you because no one takes me seriously..."

"JOIN THE CLUB, HONEY. NO ONE TOOK ME SERIOUSLY AS AN ADULT UNTIL I BECAME A FATHER. I GET IT. IT SUCKS BEING SEEN AS A PERPETUAL CHILD JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE DIFFERENT. BUT, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE MORE ADULT THAN TO BE SO UPSET OVER A SMALL TEASE THAT MIGHT HAVE MADE SOMEONE ELSE'S LIKELY AWFUL DAY A LITTLE BETTER."

"Grr! How dare you make sense to me and appeal to my empathy." Payrus kissed her cheek climbing into the passenger side and took her free hand. She knew he was right especially about others taking him seriously as an adult. People often mistook his jovial and whimsical nature as childish and innocent, but Papyrus knew all too well the harsh and ugly truths of reality. He simply chose to not let it affect him much. He was an optimistic soul with his own little dark side only Chara was privy to. 'Yep... that's my husband for sure...' she reminded herself as they left for home.

Later that evening after homework, dinner, and nightly baths, Papyrus finished his day catching up on his favorite shows. Two tiny munchkins sat in his lap watching with him while Serif studied in his room with headphones on. Chara leaned on him half asleep from boredom. His detective dramas were not her favorite but she didn't fuss since he didn't always have time to watch them. "Papa!" Sylfae grew restless and began squirming under her blanket.

"YES, PUMPKIN?" he indulged her.

"I wanna play before bedtime! Can we build a fort?!"

"Yeah, Papa! Can we?!" Kabel joined in.

"FIND SOMETHING STURDY, GRAB ALL OF YOUR PILLOWS, AND YOUR BLANKETS," he told them.

"You are actually going to have them drag their bedding down here to set up a mess for me to clean tomorrow?" Chara gave him an unamused scowl.

"I'LL CLEAN IT UP AFTER WE PUT THEM TO BED, I PROMISE. THEY WON'T BE TINY FOREVER, DEAR." She agreed reluctantly and watched as he daughter dragged her dollhouse downstairs to make a wall. Papyrus tossed a large blanket over the back of their couch and the dollhouse to make the cover and another on top to make the back wall. Kabel stuffed the inside full of their pillows and extra blankets. It was then that Papyrus dove inside and barricaded himself in. "I, KING PAPYRUS, HAVE DECLARED THIS MY CASTLE FORT! NYEH HEHEH!!"

"Attack!!" both young ones shouted jumping through the gap where his eye sockets peeked from behind a single pillow knocking him and the blankets down.

"It's too dark!" Sylfae cried.

"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE KNOCKED IT DOWN, YOU LITTLE GOBLINS!"

"Papa, I'm stuck!!" Kabel exclaimed.

"AS LONG AS YOU'RE BREATHING YOU'RE FINE, SON." He then pulled the blankets off of them and bundled them up. "WELL, NOW THAT IT'S DESTROYED, WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?"

"Let's rebuild it! Then, you can read us a story under the roof," Sylfae giggled with excitement.

"YOU TWO KNOCKED IT DOWN SO YOU CAN REBUILD IT. THEN, YOU CAN DECIDE ON WHICH BOOK - WHICH ONE BOOK. IT'S ALMOST BEDTIME." The two rushed to their rooms to grab a book and argued which one was the lucky pick. "NOPE! NO QUARRELS! BRING THEM TO MOMMA AND SHE'LL DECIDE." Chara smiled at him as she draped herself over the back of the sofa.

"Kabel, this is your reading assignment for school. Nice try, but we'll go with minion's pick tonight even though it's a little above your level. This was Serif's book once right?" Chara chose. Papyrus nodded in confirmation and took the novel.

"Rats! Caught again," Kabel sighed.

"What is all the noise??" Serif asked exiting his room for a snack.

"Papa is going to read us a story in the fort we built," Sylfae answered peeking out.

"Which story?" She held up the cover to the small window to show him. "Sweet! I love that one!" Serif joined them in the spacious area making it cramped as Papyrus started reading.

"WHEN I LEFT MY OFFICE THAT BEAUTIFUL SPRING DAY..." As he read the first couple of chapters, the little two dozed off soundly atop their nest of pillows and blankets. Once little snores and steady breathing could be heard, their papa marked the page and carefully removed the top sheets that served as the roof and back wall. He gently cradled his daughter and motioned for Serif to pick up his brother so they could put them in bed. "GOODNIGHT, LITTLE PUMPKIN. I LOVE YOU," he whispered kissing her forehead and tucking her in. Chara was tucking in Kabel when Papyrus entered to tell him goodnight as well. "GOODNIGHT, YOU LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER. JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER AND UNCLE ASRIEL... I LOVE YOU," he spoke softly and brushed the wild wavy strand out of his face.

"We weren't that bad..." Chara pouted.

"WE DIDN'T CALL YOU BOTH THE TROUBLE TWINS FOR NOTHING," he muttered on exit to tell his oldest goodnight. "GOODNIGHT, STINKY! I LOVE YOU TOO!" he spoke to Serif not so quietly and put him in a headlock reminiscent of how Undyne used to do.

"Dad! Come on! I'm almost big enough to take you, ya know!" Serif protested.

"OH YEAH?! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME! I'VE BEEN FIGHTING YOU SINCE YOU WERE A LITTLE POMEGRANATE IN YOUR MOM'S BELLY! I KNOW ALL OF YOUR MOVES!"

"Alright! Fight me!" Serif laughed as he took out his dad's footing sending both of them to the floor. "You might be bigger, but I'm squirrely!"

As the two wrestled trying to pin the other, Chara warned them, "You better not wake the others up! I'm not staying up with them if you do! Serif, you can stay up since you're so full of energy."

"Not now, Momma! I've got Dad in a full nelson and Imma 'bout to make him tap. Unless he wants to keep wearing me like a backpack!"

"UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I'M FLEXIBLE," Papyrus reminded him as he slipped out and picked Serif up wrapping him around his neck vertebrae in a backbreaker power mover.

"Gah! Dad! No fair! I can't get a grip on you because you're all bones."

"NYEH HEHEHEHEH!! Papyrus laughed all the way to Serif's room where he dumped him on his bed. "GOODNIGHT, STINKER. SLEEP WELL." He petted his son's head, but Serif stood up and wrapped his arms around him.

"Goodnight, Dad. I love you."

"I LOVE YOU TOO, SON. I LOVE YOU KIDS VERY MUCH."

Chara wore a smile that touched her eyes watching them interact. 'Now that... that's my husband,' she said to herself when Serif threw his arms around her and picked her up.

"Love you, Mom," he said hugging her.

"Oh! Serif! I love you too, sweetie, now put me down," she laughed. "I get it. You're taller than me, geeze." She kissed his temple and left for bed with Papyrus in tow.

"THREE KIDS... WHAT WERE WE THINKING?" he mused climbing into bed. "SERIF WAS A SURPRISE, KABEL WAS NOT EXPECTED STILL, AND WE PLANNED SYLFY. DON'T GET ME WRONG, I LOVE ALL THREE AND WOULD MURDER SOMEONE OVER THEM WITHOUT HESITATION BUT WHAT THE HELL WERE WE THINKING?"

"Do I really have to answer that for you?" Chara arched a brow at him opening her book to read a little before bed. "Why? Do you regret having them??"

"OF COURSE NOT, BUT BETWEEN THREE CRUMB GOBLINS, YOU, AND WORK, I'M EXHAUSTED."

"All the more motivation to hire more help."

"FAIR. READ TO ME? I STILL LIKE IT WHEN YOU READ YOUR STORIES." He curled up and laid his skull in her lap and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Of course, my love." She started where she left off the night before reading the first passage again. As his breathing steadied, she couldn't help but think to herself, 'That's my husband, the father of my children, and the love of my life. He's such a dork.' She grinned leaning down to kiss his cheek bone and worm her way into the blankets for sleep. Feeling her shift, Papyrus squeezed her tighter and buried his face into her neck without ever waking up.

End ❤️🧡🤍🧡❤️

@papara-week

[sanders1665]

Treading over cracked uneven pavements,

a fetid stench persists from the night before,

early in the frigid morning,

echos of a drunken fight linger,

seen in the dried blood on the ground,

hope is your silent wingman,

and misery is your third wheel,

indifference is a coat worn by many,

and your dreams are seen on a second hand black and white telly,

nobody gives a fuck on Surly Street.

In the litter strewn back alleys thieves plot and hide their guilt,

conniving and cunning voices plan their next job,

greedy eyes seek those that have a little bit more while they sleep,

slumbering folk unaware of their fate,

there's a twisted honor among these liars and thieves,

and broken fingers if you break the code,

families avoid the begging priest when he comes a knocking on a Friday night,

but you'll be wearing your best clothes for church on Sundays,

from a flea market bought cradle to a paupers grave,

all the sins are broken in the gloom of Surly Street.

Muffled noises from your drunken neighbors fighting again,

bang on the walls and increase the T.V volume to drown out the noise,

no such thing as existential pondering,

mostly muted maddening musing,

abjection seeps from the mildew on the walls,

a tormented existence for all breathing above ground,

as limping old soldiers stumble over cracked pavements,

a politician smiles and jobs disappear,

forcing families into rent arrears,

shattering windows and glass sparkles under a midnight moon glow,

watch where you're walking on Surly Street.

From the piss stained bus shelters and rat infested railway arches,

sleep the emaciated smelly vagrants and troubled teenage runaways,

the Mayor and the town priests,

are blind to the ruined and desperate,

unforgiving winter nights will take a lucky soul out of this living hell,

dead men's overcoats will find a new body to warm,

while forlorn heavy breaths and tired feet echo on starless nights,

as wobbly people and jeers exit from the corner pub, The Lost Ship,

heading for the chippy and belly full of greasy chips,

closing time entertainment at the end of Surly Street.

Screeching brakes and slamming doors,

black and white action movie stuff,

a broken nosed man with prison tattoos appears,

revenge and clenched fists seek some poor bastard,

there's grey pigeons shitting from the rain gutters,

and rain filled potholes in the road,

the bitter taste of stewed tea lingers in your mouth,

and your blood runs cold with hopeless thoughts of tomorrow,

huddling in the corners of empty derelict shops,

its a no way out cul-de-sac that keeps you on Surly Street.

Rumbling volcano's ready to explode,

when the housing inspector knocks,

poverty and deprivation, a familiar aroma,

surrounding you like a tightly wrapped mummy,

mice and rats have taken abode in the walls,

and scurry about with arrogant liberty,

copper pans catch the rainfall drips from the leaking bedroom ceiling,

on Sunday nights, the kids share a tin bath by the living room fire,

another life is what you see on the telly,

ne'er do wells and vagabonds reside on Surly Street.

The boys do their boy stuff and the girls do their girl stuff,

all wanting to get into each others pants and knickers,

there's a constant aroma of death from the local abattoir,

and the ghost of yesterdays day dreams still haunt,

life feels like a permanent rainy Monday morning,

keeping an eye on Friday night to drink your preferred frothy amnesia,

the paper offers you something in the Situations Vacant column,

a few lucky ones will permanently vacate their situation,

there's a permanent exit if you're willing to knock on the door,

behind the back door of ghastly, ghostly Surly Street.

[ghostwood7]

Another one of Hollywood's most infamous and still unsolved crimes is the murder or suicide of actress Thelma Todd. She was born on July 29, 1906 in Lawrence, Massachusetts. After graduating from college, she became a teacher who also took a job as a model. She caught the attention of some Hollywood Talent Scouts and moved out to California. It wasn't long before she was recognized as a genuine talent and not just for her good looks. Her friends called her "Hot Toddy". But on the morning of Monday, December 16, 1935, her maid found her facedown in the seat of her Packard Automobile, cold and dead. The engine of the car was still running. She was 29 years old. One of the chief suspects was the man who drove her home on the last night of Thelma's life. That man was director Ronald West. That fateful night, she had been at a party thrown by Ida Lupino, a relative newcomer to Hollywood, and it had the makings of a blow-out Hollywood event. The guest list was vast and unfortunately included Thelma’s ex-husband, Pat DiCicco. After a few drinks, Thelma and DiCicco exchanged some heated words, which made Thelma drink even more. By the early morning hours of Sunday, she had downed more than her share of alcohol. Luckily, she a driver to take her home. As she prepared to leave, Roland West, who was at the apartment over the cafe, received a phone call from theater owner Sid Graumann saying that Thelma was a “bit under the influence” and was on her way home. Graumann suggested that West see her safely into bed. But sometime between the telephone call and Monday morning, Thelma Todd died in the garage of West’s house on Pasetano Road. According to Forensics, when Thelma Todd was found, her hair was matted, a false tooth had been knocked out of her mouth and there were blood spatters on her skin and dress. Despite the evidence which pointed to Murder, her death was ruled a suicide. She lay in state in a casket filled with yellow roses and was then laid to rest at Bellvue Cemetery in her hometown. But even as her her body was being cremated, the scandal surrounding her mysterious death continued and the mystery still continues to this day. Who wanted her dead, and why? She had opened an eatery with Ronald West called Thelma Todd's Roadside Rest Cafe which was located on Pacific Coast Highway just under the Palisades. It was a place frequented by stars and fans alike. On the last day of her life, the cafe was also visited by notorious gangster, "Lucky" Luciano. He had been on the prowl for an establishment that could house a casino, and it looked like Thelma's place could be a perfect front. He made her an offer....and she refused. Was it that refusal which cost Thelma her life? No one will ever know. Meanwhile, the owners of what was once a Roadside Cafe have experienced strange occurances in their place of business: Cold spots, missing items, the feeling of being watched....and the sounds of footsteps coming up the long cliff side stairs, footsteps belonging to something....or someone unseen. Some believe it to be Thelma's ghost. Is she replaying the last tragic hours of her life as does a tragic heroine in a Hollywood Melodrama...or is she hoping that her earthbound spirit will one day point the way to a clue regarding what really happened on the night of her death? #Hollywood, #LosAngeles, #Crime, #Murder, #Suicide, #Accident, #Unsolved, #Mystery, #ThelmaTodd, #HotToddy, #Ghosts, #Paranormal #LuckyLuciano, #Haunted

[malamai]

I feel like the last 2 weeks I have neglected myself and this blog.

I have had such a crazy couple of weeks, like my work pattern has been all over being swapped around so I can cover, my sleep pattern has been all over, I have been trying to once again sort this house out so it isn't so cluttered and spend time with my kids. I have barely had time to think about anything. 😅

Currently we are in the middle of a heatwave so everyone is trying to keep cool, everyone has had their windows open to keep cool on a night which ended up being the reason I am so sleep deprived the other day.

I had an early night (LUCKILY because if I had not I'd of been 100% worse!) I am woken up at 3am to a scene similar to that in paranormal activity, Lee is standing next to the bed looking out the window and it's fucking 3am, there's a tonne of screaming going on coming from outside, I'm confused as shit. So I obviously ask what in the hell is going on, Lee explains that there's some guy screaming across the road down the phone to his girlfriend because she's been messaging and sexting another dude, he's said "dick pick" like so many times and he's having a complete mare, blah blah blah. And I look at him and Lee's looking back at me like he's expecting me to display some sort of sympathy for this dude at 3am and I looked him dead in the eye and said "could he not have let it stew for a few hours it's friggin 3am?!" And I picked up the bottle of cider I'd fell asleep drinking and start gulping it down because I am so thirsty and it's refreshing, Lee is just standing there like wtf Misty and I just tell him I don't care, I'm cranky and awake.

The argument continues until 5am and I have to be at work for 7.30am so I'm fuming as you can imagine, he even screams down the phone "I'M GONNA TIE HIM UP PUT HIM IN THE CAR AND I WONT SAY WHAT I'LL DO!!!" And I must admit that did give me a chuckle because this dude has no car, he doesn't even have a job to fund a car, he spends all day getting high on whatever and looks like a light breeze would knock him over! 😂😂😂 This guy needs to shave his head and go earn some dollar because the whole moment was top tier Andrew tate style lines. 👌

So I go to work and I am literally deceased, I can't think and I have to count large amounts of money all day so this is quite an issue especially when there's a lot to do in my job when its a Monday morning, I go full psycho and manage to find this guys Facebook and I'm like typing out this message and I'm going to give him a telling off in it, by devine intervention Lee calls me and asks how I am and what I'm up to and I'm honest and he laughs and tells me not to, but I'm fuming like I say, there's nothing worse than a sleep deprived working mother because we will kill you and then use the 24 hours in police custody as nap time. 😂😂😂

He said I should not message him because he's just been cheated on and a message from me would be the last thing he needs and I think I said something along the lines of "well he should learn to shut his windows when he decides to scream down the phone all night to his fiance. So after a bit of back and forth debate I am like "fine, I won't but if he is thinking I'm putting up with that for another night he will get a shock, there are kids and working people around him. It's not on." And then the phonecall ended. I was sooooooo tired and mad I was borderline psycho. 😂😂😂

[ank01-fan]

Frigid monster storm across US claims at least 34 lives

BUFFALO: Millions of people hunkered down against a deep freeze Sunday to ride out the winter storm that has killed at least 34 people across the United States and is expected to claim more lives after trapping some residents inside houses with heaping snow drifts and knocking out power to tens of thousands of homes and businesses. The scope of the storm has been nearly unprecedented, stretching from the Great Lakes near Canada to the Rio Grande along the border with Mexico. About 60 per cent of the US population faced some sort of winter weather advisory or warning, and temperatures plummeted drastically below normal from east of the Rocky Mountains to the Appalachians, the National Weather Service said. Travellers' weather woes are likely to continue, with hundreds of flight cancellations already and more expected after a bomb cyclone - when atmospheric pressure drops very quickly in a strong storm - developed near the Great Lakes, stirring up blizzard conditions, including heavy winds and snow. Some 1,707 domestic and international flights were cancelled on Sunday, according to the tracking site FlightAware. The storm unleashed its full fury on Buffalo, with hurricane-force winds and snow causing whiteout conditions, paralysing emergency response efforts. New York Gov. Kathy Hochul said almost every fire truck in the city was stranded Saturday and implored people Sunday to respect an ongoing driving ban in the region. Officials said the airport would be shut through Tuesday morning. The National Weather Service said the snow total at the Buffalo Niagara International Airport stood at 109 centimetres Sunday. Daylight revealed cars nearly covered by 6-foot snowdrifts and thousands of houses, some adorned in unlit holiday displays, dark from a lack of power. With snow swirling down untouched and impassable streets, forecasters warned that an additional 1 to 2 feet of snow was possible in some areas through early Monday morning amid wind gusts of 40 mph. Police said Sunday evening that there were two "isolated" instances of looting during the storm. Two people died in their suburban Cheektowaga, New York, homes Friday when emergency crews could not reach them in time to treat their medical conditions. County Executive Mark Poloncarz 10 more people died in Erie County during the storm, including six in Buffalo, and warned there may be more dead. "Some were found in cars, some were found on the street in snowbanks," said Poloncarz. "We know there are people who have been stuck in cars for more than 2 days." Freezing conditions and day-old power outages had Buffalonians scrambling to get to anywhere that had heat amid what Hochul called the longest sustained blizzard conditions ever in the city. But with streets under a thick blanket of white, that wasn't an option for people like Jeremy Manahan, who charged his phone in his parked car after almost 29 hours without electricity. "There's one warming shelter, but that would be too far for me to get to. I can't drive, obviously, because I'm stuck," Manahan said. "And you can't be outside for more than 10 minutes without getting frostbit." Ditjak Ilunga of Gaithersburg, Maryland, was on his way to visit relatives in Hamilton, Ontario, for Christmas with his daughters Friday when their SUV was trapped in Buffalo. Unable to get help, they spent hours with the engine running, buffeted by wind and nearly buried in snow. By 4 am Saturday, their fuel nearly gone, Ilunga made a desperate choice to risk the howling storm to reach a nearby shelter. He carried 6-year-old Destiny on his back while 16-year-old Cindy clutched their Pomeranian puppy, following his footprints through drifts. "If I stay in this car I'm going to die here with my kids," Ilunga recalled thinking. He cried when the family walked through the shelter doors. "It's something I will never forget in my life." The storm knocked out power in communities from Maine to Seattle. But heat and lights were steadily being restored across the US According to poweroutage.us, less than 200,000 customers were without power Sunday down from a peak of 1.7 million. Concerns about rolling blackouts across eastern states subsided Sunday after PJM Interconnection said its utilities could meet the day's peak electricity demand. The mid-Atlantic grid operator had called for its 65 million consumers to conserve energy amid the freeze Saturday. In North Carolina, less than 6,500 customers had no power - down from a peak of 485,000. Across New England, power has been restored to tens of thousands with just under 83,000 people, mostly in Maine, still without it. In New York, about 34,000 households were still without power Sunday, including 26,000 in Erie County, where utility crews and hundreds of National Guard troops battled high winds and struggled with getting stuck in the snow. Storm-related deaths were reported in recent days all over the country: 12 in Erie County, New York, ranging in age from 26 to 93 years old, and another in Niagara County where a 27-year-old man was overcome by carbon monoxide after snow blocked his furnace; 10 in Ohio, including an electrocuted utility worker and those killed in multiple car crashes; six motorists killed in crashes in Missouri, Kansas and Kentucky; a Vermont woman struck by a falling branch; an apparently homeless man found amid Colorado's subzero temperatures; and a woman who fell through Wisconsin river ice. In Jackson, Mississippi, city officials on Christmas Day announced that residents must now boil their drinking water due to water lines bursting in the frigid temperatures In Buffalo, William Kless was up at 3 am Sunday. He called his three children at their mother's house to wish them Merry Christmas and then headed off on his snowmobile for a second day spent shuttling people from stuck cars and frigid homes to a church operating as a warming shelter. Through heavy, wind-driven snow, he brought about 15 people to the church in Buffalo on Saturday, he said, including a family of five transported one-by-one. He also got a man in need of dialysis, who had spent 17 hours stranded in his car, back home, where he could receive treatment. "I just felt like I had to," Kless said. #Frigid #monster #storm #claims #lives Read the full article

[storiesbyrhi]

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 5: Buzzkill

Eddie Munson x Chubby & Inexperienced!Reader 5879 words A sneak peek at what to expect from this fic here

Previous Chapters: 1 - Valium; 2 - Carrie; 3: Honey; 4: Starcourt

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; mild smut; no beta; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: Time to face the fallout of the night before, and to step boldly (and topless) into the next phase of your relationship with Eddie.

There wasn’t anything graceful about the way you had fallen asleep in Eddie’s arms. The exhaustion had knocked you out, turning you into dead weight. Eddie had carefully slipped you onto the mattress and tucked you in.

He wasn’t anywhere near close to tired. The anger was simmering inside him, no healthy avenue for escape. While you slept, he got stoned out of his mind. After he ate an entire tub of ice cream and two packets of chips, he threw up just off the porch while he tried to smoke a cigarette.

In the small bathroom, he looked at his reflection. How lines and shapes wouldn’t settle. How he looked like he’d been dragged through hell. He fucking hated your parents. You’d been so happy on the weekend. And, on Monday he heard you telling the freshmen about Build-a-Bear, about how when Suzie came to visit Dustin, or Mike to El, they should have a date there. “I don’t know if it’s something Max would be into,” you’d told Lucas apologetically.

You’d been sunshine smiles and free flowing kisses and happy.

Fuck your parents for taking that. So, yeah, he hated them.

Eddie usually avoided the feeling of hate. It would be too easy to become bitter and sad if he let hate in. His mum. Dad. Half the fucking town. No, Eddie Munson didn’t hate. But he seethed with the feeling whenever he thought about your parents.

Eddie brushed his teeth, the minty toothpaste making him feel sick again, so he resigned to an early night, laying down next to you and watching your chest rise and fall. The only thing quelling the hate, keeping it mute, was the love he had for you.

Eddie focused on that until his eyelids grew heavy and sleep finally took him.

The next morning, Eddie waited for you to talk about what had happened or acknowledge the fact that you’d slept over, but you didn’t. You simply got up, dressed and made toast for the both of you.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” you urged when Eddie was taking his sweet time looking for his second Reebok, half-assing it at best.

The drive to school was quiet, silence eaten up by The Cure. You could tell Eddie was on edge, one of his ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel nervously. There was nothing to say, you thought. He knew what had happened and let you crash the night. After school, you’d go back home to your parents and the cycle would inevitably repeat again. That’s just how it was.

“I love you,” Eddie said when you took a step away from him at your locker after a kiss that felt like it was saying something Eddie wouldn’t dare to.

“I love you too,” you replied with a small nod.

“You sure you’re… okay?”

“I’m fine. Really. It’s… whatever. I’m fine.” It was easy to see your best attempt at convincing had fallen flat.

Eddie watched the clock all day.

Eddie had never, not once in his life, wanted a day at Hawkins High to go slowly, but every minute that went by brought him closer to the moment he’d have to let you go home. His stomach flipped when the final bell rang.

“It will be better this way,” you said as you headed to the bus. “If they don’t see me get off it, they know you dropped me home. Even if they don’t see you,”

“Yeah, I get it. But I don’t have to like it,” he said, truly pouting. You kissed again, ignoring the wolf whistles and fake sick sounds from the line of students getting on the bus.

“One more day. Then it’s the weekend.”

As you parted from him and climbed the bus steps, Eddie moved to lean against the bike racks lined up near the sidewalk. He watched you take a seat close to the driver. He’d always been a back seat kind of guy, but you knew there was safety near the adult in charge. Also, the least amount of teenagers you had to walk by on shaky ground, the better.

The bus departed and disappeared from view. Eddie sat on the curb in the orange afternoon glow, lit a cigarette, and thought of you.

…

The cool metal of your locker door felt good against Eddie’s cheek. He pressed into it, eyes closed, leaning against the wall for support. He was hungover, felt both tired and overslept. Someone threw something at him, “Freak,” a ball of paper at a guess, but Eddie’s eyes stayed closed.

After he’d put you on the bus home, he’d made his way back to his trailer and got blackout drunk. It was an effort to arrive at school Friday with enough time to see you in the morning. But there he was.

The bell rang for homeroom and you’d not shown up. The hallways cleared of students, but Eddie remained. He sunk to the floor and waited until fifteen minutes of the first period had gone by before making his way to class. He decided that if he hadn’t seen you by lunch, he’d leave to go look for you.

As Eddie launched himself from his chair, he stacked it, landing hard on the ground of his Biology class. He was too laser focused on leaving to care that everyone laughed, Jason calling out some bullshit as Eddie was off in the direction of the cafeteria.

“Thank FUCK!” Eddie’s loud voice drew the attention of the entire room. Eddie cleared his throat, made a weird saluting gesture to everyone, then quickly jogged to the Hellfire table.

“Angel,”

“Hey,” you greeted.

Eddie was grabbing you by the arms, fingers digging in, pulling you up into a tight hug. It was too tight, you felt trapped and hot, but you also felt loved. Needed. Wanted. Missed. Worshipped.

“Where’ve you been?” Eddie asked, face pressed into your hair.

“What? Here?”

“You weren’t at your locker,”

“Yeah. I had to go hand in my Classics thing,” you said.

Fuck. He’d forgotten. You had an essay on character development or lack thereof in The Odyssey. Eddie had listened to you explain that Telemachus, son of Odysseus, was the only person in the story to really change and grow because of what he went through.

“Right, fuck. Yeah. Sorry,”

“S’okay. Are you okay?”

There were shadows under his eyes and knots in his curls that weren’t normally there. You reached out for his hair, brushing it through with your fingers. Eddie dragged his chair closer to you and let you fix him.

“Yeah, just…” His usual wit and fox-clever timing were clouded by the night before.

“Hungover?” you guessed.

Eddie looked guilty, but you weren’t angry. Firstly, you were worried. Secondly, you were confused. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You continued to detangle his hair, running your nails across his scalp to elicit shivers from him. Eddie hummed happily.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” you said quietly. Eddie nodded and leaned into your touch even more.

Eddie had told you before, on multiple occasions, that the Hellfire boys looked out for each other. Sometimes it was big and obvious, like standing up to a bully or covering for them to a teacher. Sometimes, like it was that day, it was small kindness.

It was all the guys seeing something was off, pretending that they weren’t that hungry and had other places to be. It was a pile of food left for Eddie because he was clearly too much of a mess to bring anything to eat. It was you and him being left alone at the table to care for each other in silence and love. You had to hand it to Eddie, he sure did know how to curate a group of special lost sheep.

After school, you climbed into the passenger seat of Eddie’s van and waited for him. When you spotted him walking across the parking lot, Jeff at his side, you smiled to yourself. They came to your window, which you had wound down.

“Hey angel,” Eddie greeted, leaning in to kiss you. “Gonna give Jeff a lift over to Family Video, then we can go home, ‘kay?”

You nodded and moved to climb into the back.

“Ah, no, angels in the front. Jeffs in the back. Those are the rules,” Eddie said, sliding the back door open and pushing Jeff in.

“Sorry,” you said, turning in your seat and looking over at your friend.

Jeff shrugged, then held his hand out flat at his head level. “You,” he said, then lowered his hand a bit. “The band.” Lower. “Hellfire.” Lower. “Everything else,”

“You forgot Wayne,” you told him. “He’d be top of the pyramid.”

Jeff made a ‘mmmmm’ sound that meant ‘I don’t know about that.’

Eddie had rounded the van and jumped into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t far to Family Video, but it took longer because you had to listen to the two guitarists say phrases like “did you see how he pulled the G string with his teeth?” “yeah, but he’s fingering is too fast, I lose it every time,” “I need you to get dirtier though,” and “the dude said I need to have a better relationship with my wang bar,” without laughing.

As Eddie pulled up, you were chewing a fingernail trying to keep it in. He looked across at you. “What’s… this?” he asked and vaguely motioned to all of you.

“Wang bar,” you whispered.

Eddie’s face broke out into an ear-to-ear grin. “Mind out of the gutter! Just another name for the whammy bar.”

You giggled stupidly as Jeff got out of the van and waved goodbye. As soon as he was out of earshot, Eddie informed you that he was meeting a girl to pick out movies.

“Jeff has a date?!”

“Sounds like it. Said she’s moved in across the road from him,”

“I should tell him about Build-a-Bear,” you said, trying to see if you could spot Jeff and the mystery girl inside Family Video as Eddie pulled out onto the road.

Eddie bit back a smile. “So, are we doing a covert drop off, or can I steal you until curfew?”

“Actually… I have a surprise. My parents had to go to Indianapolis today, because Dad’s brother got put in hospital with kidney stones last night. And there’s nobody to go feed his dog and let him out the apartment. Well, there’s his ex-wife but she hates him because he’s, like, well he’s just like Dad, so. But yeah, she wouldn’t do it. So, they went today, but now my uncle isn’t getting out until Monday, so they have to go take him stuff and stay over. They won’t be home until tomorrow.”

It was probably too much information, but you were excited.

“I didn’t know you had an uncle,” Eddie said.

Not the reaction you expected. “I never see him because he lives in the city and he’s an asshole. Not even Dad likes him,”

“Kidney stones, huh? Heard that’s meant to be real painful.”

Still not the reaction you were looking for. “He has to try to pee them out,”

“Fuuuck… And, uhhh, what kind of dog is it?”

“Eddie!” you yelled, immediately getting laughter from him. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?” he asked innocently. You huffed, frowned, and crossed your arms across your chest. “Okay, okay. Sorry. So what you’re telling me is that there is no curfew? That I can keep you all to myself all night?”

“Ah-huh,”

“Well, fuck, angel. Why didn’t you just say so?!”

When you made a frustrated, high-pitched sound, Eddie laughed even harder.

In his trailer, Eddie found a note from Wayne saying he went to get dinner with a mate before his shift at the plant. ‘Frozen pizzas are defrosting in the sink. Salad pack’s in the fridge. Need to get ya shit together Ed. Eat some vegetables. – W’

You re-read it a few times. “What’s he mean?” you called out to Eddie, who had disappeared into his bedroom. “Is this about last night? He doesn’t normally give you shit so easy, does he?” You walked the hall and stood in Eddie’s doorway, leaning against the frame.

Eddie was changing into sweatpants and a clean t-shirt. “Um, no. He’s just… worried.”

You nodded and sat on the bed, taking your shoes off and moving to sit on the pillows against the wall. “You’re hungover,” you stated.

Eddie pretended to look for something, moving from drawer to drawer. “Not anymore,”

“You don’t drink on school nights,”

“Uh, yeah, no. Not normally,” he agreed, sitting on the carpeted floor and pulling things from under his bed, only to push them back into the dark.

“Was it because of me?” you asked, voice quiet.

Eddie stopped, looked up at you. “No, baby. S’not your fault,” he said firmly, getting up and joining you on the bed. He sat next to you, took your hand as you rested your head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about Wayne. I’m normally good at… pacing myself. Two nights in a row is a Munson red flag,”

“Two nights? But I was here Wednesday,”

“Yeah. You were asleep and I was… Pissed off. Not at you! At your parents. The world. Whatever. I got a bit too high. Chucked outside. Would have got away with it, but that fuckin’ park dog was eating it when Wayne got home.”

You whined, screwed up your face. “That’s… really fucking gross.”

Eddie grinned. “Yeah… yeah, it is,”

“And last night?”

Eddie was too introspective and it fucked him up a little bit sometimes. Most of the time, it was a good thing. Emotional intelligence is a surprisingly useful quality in a drug dealer. It meant, however, that he knew why he opened a bottle of cheap beer and didn’t stop. It meant he had to be honest with you.

“I was still angry, but I got… sad. I got home an’ couldn’t focus on anything. I was thinking about you going home to them. About if you were gonna get grilled about where you’d spent the night. About what they would be sayin’ about me… About what you deserve. I was just… sad. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You’d begun to cry, the tears silently drawing wet lines down your face. “I’m sorry,”

“No, angel,” Eddie said softly. “You don’t have to say shit. It’s not your fault. I’m fine. I’m okay. Like I said, just something Wayne picks up on.”

There were a lot of things you were thinking and feeling, but it was all a mess inside your head and you didn’t know how to stop them moving around long enough to grasp onto. You just held Eddie’s hand tighter.

“Was it bad? With your parents?” Eddie asked, unable to live with not knowing any longer.

“I… Um, I don’t really know? It wasn’t like on Wednesday. I think… maybe because that was bad they didn’t want to, like, repeat it. Dad ignored me when I got home. He pretty much won’t look at me now. He said some stuff at dinner.”

Specifically, he had said that perhaps it was good that you had put on weight, that you would fit in with the other trailer park women. Except, he didn’t use the word women.

“What about your mum?”

She had said you smelt dirty.

“About the same. It’s… It’s like, stupid, because I’m not doing anything bad. Like, what would they do if I was a bad kid, you know?”

Eddie nodded. “I know. It’s fucked,”

“I think they were…” You almost said what you hadn’t even let yourself acknowledge in thought. The tears were hot and salty, burning your eyes. You sniffed, trying to pull the snot back up into your nose. If you just said it, maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad. “I think Dad was so close… to… you know…”

Eddie was shaking, but your own efforts to stop yourself from crying made you oblivious. If you wanted to say it, he’d let you, but it was excruciating to hear.

“Hitting me... that he freaked himself out. I don’t know,” you finished.

Eddie was quiet for a moment, then pulled you onto his lap, curled his arms around you, and held you close. Weirdly, you did feel better after verbalising it. You controlled the crying and slowly started to breathe easier.

“Surprised you’re not banned from seeing me.”

You chewed your lip and played with Eddie’s pick necklace. “What… What do we do if that happens?”

Eddie didn’t let himself think about it. “Dunno. Don’t need to worry about shit that hasn’t happened yet, okay? What we need to worry about is if you’re too chicken to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

Your head shot up and you looked at Eddie outraged. “I am not chicken!”

…

When your parents returned from Indianapolis, you avoided them. They argued about the money they had spent on the hotel room. Your father blamed your mother, said she was too much of a control freak to stay in the same house as a dog. Your mother blamed your father, it was his brother they were there for after all.

Neither of them told you how your uncle was, not that you cared. You read about kidney stones in a medical book while Eddie completed a practice test. You kept time and walked around the school library, bored. The book told you they were indeed painful, and part of you hoped your uncles were hard to pass. There was a small spark of joy when reading that there was a genetic component; maybe your father would get them too.

The days of avoiding your parents turned to a couple of weeks. The quietness wasn’t a comforting one, though. It felt like the calm before the storm. Something wicked this way comes. You took your wins where you could. And the fact that you were supremely distracted by all things Eddie was one of those wins.

Eddie’s hold on your body was like a vice grip. His kisses were deep; sometimes it felt like he was trying to map your mouth with his tongue. The way he held your hand was needy. It was all adding up to a feeling you knew he had. An insurmountable desire. A carnal need.

The only thing that rivalled Eddie’s want was yours.

It wasn’t enough anymore. It didn’t matter how long you made out for, how many bruises he left just under your collar, you were never satisfied. When kisses ended and you stared at each other, breathless and shaky, you knew what the other was thinking.

Eddie was all caught up in his head about it. He wanted to ask clearly and specifically if you wanted more. To go further. But he didn’t want to ruin the fun of spontaneity. He didn’t want to be presumptuous. He didn’t want you to feel pressured.  

Of course, you knew he was navigating the minefield of you and your body. Despite trusting Eddie, you couldn’t muster the courage needed to just tell him yes. Yes, you were ready to take off a few more layers. Yes, you wanted him to explore. Yes to further.

The best you could do was make vague comments about things with the hope Eddie would play along.

“I don’t think other girls have snail trails.”

Eddie was starfished on his bed. At your sentence, he sat up and watched you as you stood in front of his mirror, lifting your shirt to examine your belly.

“Can I see?” he asked.

You moved next to the bed. Eddie slid to the edge and held your hips, pulling you to stand between his legs. He pushed your shirt up and smiled at the dark but sparse hairs that went from your belly button downwards, disappearing into the top hem of your pyjama pants.

“See?”

“I see… a very cute tummy,” Eddie said, looking up at you. God, that look burned. He grinned, a cat with its cream, then softly kissed your stomach a few slow times. “And I see your snail trail, and I think it does what it’s meant to,”

“What do you mean? What’s it meant to do?”

Eddie shrugged. “Like how eyebrows keep sweat from rollin’ into your eyes,”

“What? Is that even true?” you asked. Eddie was fifty percent weird but true facts, fifty percent eloquent bullshit.

“Yeah. And eyelashes are to stop shit getting in your eyes. Everything’s doin’ something,”

“Okay… so what do snail trails do?”

“Obviously,” he started, rolling his head around dramatically. “They’re a trail to follow. Breadcrumbs, you know?” Eddie’s fingers slowly began to twitch around your hips. “A pathway to heaven, baby girl.”

Before you could stop him, he’d caught you in an attack of tickles, pulling you onto the bed with him. You squealed with laughter. Yelling, “Never call me that again!”

“S’not sexy?” Eddie asked, pausing the attack but not moving from where he had you pinned. You shook your head, a firm no. “Whaaaat about… Sweet cheeks?”

“Absolutely not,”

“Hot stuff?”

“No,”

“Foxy lady?”

You pulled a face. Eddie continued, finding more pet names to amuse and disgust you. Every couple of entries to the list, you gave him an ‘eh maybe’ shrug.

“So, we’re sticking with angel then?”

“Yes, please,” you answered sugar sweet.

“Alright… And, ah, as for your snail trail,” Eddie said, letting himself fall to lay beside you. “Other girls do have ‘em.” He moved to rest his head on your stomach, close enough to follow the trail and leave kisses as he went.

“How do you know? Girls in magazines don’t.”

Eddie considered his options. He could pull out some dirty magazines and show you that, in fact, some women do have snail trails. Alternatively, he could admit that in his limited but no less valid experience, women in the real world do too. Either way, you needed proof.

“Maybe not in yours. But… in mine…” Eddie offered.

You propped yourself up and looked at him. “Show me,” you demanded.

“Promise not to judge? Can’t call me a pervert or anything,” he said as he rolled off the bed and went digging under it.

You sat up and bounced with excitement. Eddie shot you a look. “Yeah, I promise. Of course,” you said quickly.

As soon as he produced a couple, you were greedily flipping through the pages. Some of the women were the stereotypical ideal of what a woman should be. Most of the women, however, were not. Apparently, Eddie looked for diversity in his porn.

“See?” he said smugly.

It was the inception of the idea that maybe there was nothing unique about your body. Maybe you were just like all the women that had come before you and would exist after you. It was an entirely comforting thought, borderline revolutionary.

“You wanna see my favourite?” Eddie asked.

It hadn’t even really occurred to you to look at the sex of it all. That’s what the magazine was selling, after all. The women were posed, promising something through the lens of the camera that could never be delivered.

These magazines were Eddie’s. They weren’t casual reading. The thought of how he used them made you feel unsteady. But, there he was, willing to be honest with you. Yet again inviting you into another part of his world with no expectation on your part.

When you nodded, Eddie flipped through a couple of pages, leaving it open on a double-page spread of a woman with a body not entirely unlike yours. She was proportioned in a way you felt made her more beautiful than you, but Eddie would argue that point if you let him.

Although she was naked, she’d been styled to look like a 50s pinup girl. A curled fringe and plastic tiger ears sat on her head. Obscenely red lips. Her long red nails were drawing attention to the shiny stretch marks that cut across her thighs and stomach.

“I have those…” you said, the thought coming from your mouth before you’d even registered it in your mind. “Only on my legs though.”

Eddie said nothing, but his lips curved into a smile as he watched you try to comprehend the fact that your body was normal. Another truth, one harder to digest, but maybe your body was desirable.

As Eddie stood up to flip the cassette in his tape deck around, you swapped magazines and continued your education.

“Should I be jealous?”

His voice made you jump. He’d leaned over and whispered in your ear, laughing when you squeaked.

“Eddie!”

He was still laughing as he climbed onto the bed, taking the magazine from you and pushing them all away. You let him do it, then followed him to lay down, head on the pillows.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” you told him.

Eddie reached out and held your face in his hand, running his thumb along your bottom lip. You opened your mouth and took his thumb between your teeth.

“No? Just me then?”

You nodded, closing your lips around his thumb and sucking. Eddie’s pupils blew out, darkening his already deep brown eyes. When you let go of him, he quickly replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing you and pulling you into him.

“Can I… Ah, would it be okay if… Your shirt.” You’d never heard Eddie that breathless, an almost whiny note to his voice. It did things to you, caught you between wanting to tease him sweetly and drag it out, and give in and let him do anything he wanted to you.

“Yeah, and yours,” you answered.

Eddie’s skin felt hot against yours.

“Do you want to, to keep that on or, ah…?” he asked. Eddie’s fingers were hooked under the straps of your bra.

On a breath out, you told him, “Off. You can take it off,”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yep.”

Eddie was gentle, letting you shimmy out of your bra. He kissed the lines it had left along your shoulders, checking on you as he wriggled lower. Your eyes had closed, tongue poking out from between your lips in anticipation. Eddie smiled as he kissed along your neck and down past the point where you used to spend time wishing visible collarbones would appear.

“Good?” he checked.

“Yeah.”

The kisses turned into a feeling you didn’t recognise. He was sucking, which in theory sounded strange but in practice felt good. When he licked along your nipple, then blew onto it, the cold made you shiver and the feeling made you whimper a little. The sound went through Eddie like a lightning bolt.

“I love you so fucking much,” he said into your chest, the words tickling against your skin. “I wanna… wanna touch you and make you feel good and… fuck.”

Eddie was unravelling and you loved it, laughing at his neediness. The happy sound just spurred him on. He kissed up and down your arms, across your chest, and licked a wet line down your snail trail, stopping at the waistband.

“Fuck,” he said again, pressing his forehead against your belly and stopping himself from doing anything more.

“Hi,” you cooed as he joined you back up on the pillows.

“Hi. Sorry. I, ah-”

“Don’t say sorry,”

“Okay, but, um, we should… Ah… I should ask you…” The fact that you didn’t know what exactly he was saying was evidence enough that he definitely did need to slow down and talk. Eddie studied your open expression. “This is the… most you’ve… done.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded. “Yeah,”

“Right, so I just want to make sure you’re good. That’s everything’s good,”

“Everything’s good, Eddie,” you whisper, smiling, still not quite on the same page as him.

“Okay… Okay, but, um, I don’t know if it matters… But, um, it feels like I should tell you that it’s not, like, that for me.”

Eddie watched your smile drop as your expression went completely neutral. A painful second then two ticked by.

“You mean, like, everything?” you asked. Eddie nodded. It hurt, but the hurt quickly turned to guilt because you didn’t want to be like that, didn’t want to care.

“It’s not been like this though. Nobody’s like you… Do you want me to tell you about ‘em?”

“Them? More than one?”

“Angel,” Eddie said, his voice low and soothing. He pulled you close and kissed you hard. “I’ve never loved someone before. Never wanted someone like I want you. I promise. I fuckin’ swear on Ozzy and Ronnie and… on Wayne. I love you,”

“I know. It’s okay. I’m okay,” you said, annoyed that Eddie could tell you were upset.

“Lemme tell you. Seriously. You’ll get it then,” he swore. You nodded. “First time was last year. I was at a show in Louisville. Made some friends and went back to someone’s house. We were all drunk and I ended up in some girl’s bed. I was… terrible, but she was nice about it and that was that,”

“Was it her first time?” you asked. Eddie shook his head no. “Did you, like, stay in contact?”

“No. She was, ah, like, twenty-one, two, maybe? She got pissed when I told her how old I was, which is fair, but it wasn’t like either of us talked much before, so… Yeah…” Eddie shrugged like the memory held no emotion. Honestly, it didn’t really.

It made more sense to you why Eddie wanted you to feel special. Why he was concerned with communication.

“That was in… March, maybe? Then in the Fall, I met this girl who was visiting family. Like, in Hawkins. She was here for a week over Halloween. We hung out a couple times. Messed around, you know?”

There were so many questions you wanted to ask, but you wanted Eddie to think you were totally chill. Wanting to know everything was probably weird, right?

“Okay,” you said.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, lifted his chin a little – two tells that he was suspicious. “Just okay? You don’t want to, like, ask anything?” You shook your head. “It’s okay if you do. If it were you, I’d be going crazy. I’d need every detail.”

You bit your lip and gave in. “Was it her first time?”

“Nah. She had just broken up with her boyfriend… I was probably her rebellious rebound thing,”

“How many times did you… have sex,”

“Like, sex sex? Um… three. Yeah, three…” Eddie could see your mind going a hundred miles an hour. “Her name was Eve. We didn’t have much in common, except being bored. And, uh, we didn’t swap numbers or anythin’ like that.”

Eddie was right. It did help to know. Your mind would have filled in the blanks with stories vastly different from the truth.

“Believe me, it’s never been like this. Just this, today, is a million times better than anything I’ve done before. I promise,”

“Yeah, ‘kay,”

“Yeah?” he asked, purposefully fluttering his eyelashes and giving you puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah. I’m good,”

“Alright… Was that a bit of a buzzkill?”

“No! No. I’m-” you started to answer, but Eddie caught you in a kiss.

“Take a second,” he instructed.

Predictably, you did as you were told. Listening to your body, you could feel you weren’t as franticly turned on anymore, but your buzz wasn’t necessarily killed either. The problem was that you didn’t really know how to say that, so you just shrugged.

Eddie nodded, almost too seriously, knowingly. “Well… I have some questions… If you’re okay to keep... talking,” he offered.

“What kind of questions?”

Eddie grinned, happy to hear the right tone in your voice. “Liiiiiiike, when we… do this again, what do you want to do?”

“What are my options?” you cheekily asked back.

Eddie laughed. “I don’t exactly have a menu prepared, but I can whip one up if I’d make you happy,” he joked.

“With codewords,”

“What, like, order pancakes and I’ll have your shirt off in seconds?” He leans down and kissed the rise of your breasts in illustration. It makes you laugh and squirm. “Seriously though… I wanna know… like, what you’re good for,”

“What if I don’t know?”

“Do you know?”

You wished Eddie could just read your mind. Despite genuinely being comfortable and totally excited at the thought of doing anything with him, it was stupidly hard to just verbalise your thoughts.

“Um. It’s more like… What happens if I think I know and we go to do that but then it changes?”

“Then it changes. That’s normal. Nobody wants the same things all the time. I don’t. Well. I do. I want you all the time-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you laughed, pushing him away when he tried his puppy dog look again.

“You love me,” he countered. “Seriously. You say the word, no matter what we’re doing, we stop. Completely or just for a minute. Whatever,”

“Okay… What’s the word?” you asked. Eddie’s head turned a bit, confused. “The… safe word?”

Eddie’s face lit up. “Oh. Oh, you know what a safe word is, huh? Not so innocent after all? Not so angelic,” he teased, tickling your sides, making you squeal and your tits bounce fantastically. Eddie stopped, let you breathe. “What do you want it to be?”

You tried to think of a very unsexy word. “Basketball.”

Eddie laughed, nodding. “That’s… yeah… That will do it.”

Eddie sighed, closed the space between you once again, kissing your neck, trying to fight the urge to leave love bites. “What’s your feeling about hickies?” he asked, thought straight from brain to mouth.

“My parents would freak.”

He knew that, hence the urge-fighting. “What about if they couldn’t see them?”

Eddie kissed down. One of his arms snaked around you, holding you close. With his free hand, he cupped you, his thumb running gently back and forth over the nipple. The other got the attention of his mouth. Your eyes screw shut and your head lolled back.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, mouth hot against your skin.

“Yes. Please,” you answered.

You could feel him smile into you. “Don’t gotta use your manners with me.”

It didn’t feel like you were just killing time before the main event. The hours slipped by so quickly, topless and warm and wanted in Eddie’s bed. He never grew bored of you. The little gasps or giggles. The rose petal softness of your skin. The trust you had in him. And you had never been happier.

Later, when you replayed the night in your head on a loop, you realised there were moments where you weren’t just tolerant of your body, but thankful for it. For its chubby size - your chest, more than a handful for Eddie to paw at and fawn over. For its inexperience – every fingertip run down your spine felt brand new and special. For its existence – for getting you through life and to the point where you could be that close to Eddie Munson, the sweetest boy you’d ever know and the only one to make you ache in a way that was still making you blush.

NEXT CHAPTER: 6 - Monsterous

End Note: Still feeling incredibly self-conscious about smut, particularly vocab (tits versus breasts versus boobs is killing me). I lowkey beg for feedback, please.

Also, find me and my Eddie zine that Joseph Quinn has personally seen and approved over on my Insta.

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