#let's just say it got melted a bit by sun exposure or something

[od-10kira]

Hehehe, chess pieces go crunch :3 ♞

Okay to tag as kin/me/etc.!

[knitmeapony]

Just a quick note at the start, calling it the Democrat Party is a bit of a dog whistle for right-wing extremists, I would definitely recommend calling it the Democratic Party or even just the Dems to avoid that.

Second I absolutely agree that as a party they are a Centrist mess who do not have a lot of interesting candidates available right now. Which as you said is a great reason to vote in local and State elections, to try to get some great candidates with enough exposure that they can make a credible run for national office.

All that being said, not voting for Biden isn't going to do you any good there. Not voting for Biden is not going to send any kind of message. I absolutely acknowledge a lot of people are just exhausted. I acknowledge they are dispirited and tired and they don't want to vote for bland, they don't want to vote for bland plus complicit in war crimes.

Biden wasn't selected by some secret cabal who revealed him at the last moment. He was selected by the primary system, and a lot of people did a lot of good and interesting things to try to get someone else selected or push him to the left. Voters in Michigan in particular really impressed me with the pressure they put on the party with their strategic voting this year. It did some good! It wasn't a miracle cure, it didn't dislodge the powers that be, but it did send a message and it did get National attention. That's awesome. But now we are past that point in the system. We can't send that kind of message again, not this year: there's not a mechanism for it.

The only question on the ballot for president in the fall is Biden or Trump. If you have even a slight preference for Biden and you refuse to vote, you are not offsetting someone else who is voting for Trump. The opposite is equally true.

I love metaphors, so here's my metaphor for the post. I had some really major major surgery last year that has left me disabled. I am still dealing with so many fatigue issues, I can't even tell you. The other day I put in a pickup order for groceries so that on my way home from work I could just have someone load them in the car and then take them home.

None of my bags were fun groceries. Both my surgeries in the last 6 months have been gastrointestinal, so honestly I'm eating a lot of food that I consider Bland and borderline gross, but it keeps me moving.

When I got home and finally pulled into the driveway, I realized that I was just so so tired. I mean Beyond exhausted. So as I sat there in the driver seat, I had two options.

I could drag my ass inside, and say fuck it, and let my groceries rot and melt and throw them away when I had a little more energy, or I could haul the fucking things inside and at least have my bland, shitty food for the next week. There was no magical third option. Nobody else was home, and the temperature wasn't going to go down, and I did not have the money or the literal intestinal fortitude to order the Mexican takeout that I have been craving for weeks.

I could have bland food that would make me even more tired than I already was, to the point that it actually hurt to bring them up the stairs when I finally did it, or I could have no food and no money to get it.

There are probably better food options I would find more appetizing, possibly cheaper places to shop, but in that moment it was too late. The food was in the car, and the car was at the house, and the sun was beating down, and my God I was so tired, but if I hadn't made the choice to take a deep breath and push a little through something painful, I'd have had to deal with the worst kind of misery on the other side of it.

There are just some days you have to take your bland, fiber rich, easy to cook diet out of the fucking car and get it into the kitchen. And maybe next week you'll find a good recipe and you can turn some of those Bland groceries into something fairly palatable.

I get it. Everyone's tired. Everyone's beyond tired. We are all aware of how shitty the situation feels, we are all aware how easy it is to lose hope. Election day is one day a year. For some people it's even better, if you've got vote by mail it's an hour of your time in your house with your favorite cold beverage.

Take a breath and just get the groceries into the kitchen. And then we can work on Grassroots activism and the next cycle of state and local elections and spicing this Bland ass food into something worth eating.

We have lived through this before.

People said Gore wasn't good enough, that he was Bland and uninteresting and middle of the road and something had to change. So they voted third party or they didn't vote at all. And the Democratic party didn't wake up, and we got George W Bush and all the absolute hot garbage that came with him.

And they said Hillary Clinton was the wrong candidate, that she was middle of the road at best and conservative for the Democrats at worst, that she was entitled and they were going to vote for a third party or they didn't vote at all or worse yet, they voted for the other candidate as a joke because it's not like those votes change things, you know? And the Democratic party didn't magically wake up, they didn't majorly change, and we are still dealing with the fallout from that.

And that's not only twice in my lifetime, but twice in my voting lifetime. One of the important things you learn in therapy is that you cannot change other people, and you cannot set your expectations based on how you think they ought to react to certain things.

If you are refusing to vote, or voting third-party because of what you think it's going to make someone else do, please reconsider.

If you want to make the liberals or the centrists or whatever you want to call them wake up, you're going to need to do something that hasn't already been done twice in the last 20 years.

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 9)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6) (chapter 7) (chapter 8)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (semi-public fingering, specifically), angst... I think that's it

After your impromptu motorcycle drive you stayed out all night; exploring the empty city, ducking into dive bars if they were still open, dancing in the streets to music only the two of you could hear.

The city was so eerily empty at night, nothing like a metropolitan complex like London. But it was less creepy and more peaceful, especially when you were walking with Sebastian hand-in-hand along the cobblestone path. He started to swing your hand as you walked and it made you laugh.

“Teach me more Romanian words, please,” you requested, looking at him and struggling to fight your smile. “Română?”

“Eu voi,” he nodded, looking around and pointing to the ground. “Stradă.”

“Stradă... we call it the street,” you answered. “Or road. Road?” you prompted.

“Road,” he repeated.

“Good! Your pronunciation isn’t too bad either,” you grinned.

“Copac,” he announced as he pointed to a tree.

“Copac,” you repeated. “In English, it’s tree.”

“Tree,” he smiled. “Engleza este o prostie.”

He suddenly pulled you into him and spun you around in a twirl, making you laugh. “Dans,” he said as he stepped his feet in time with yours. “A dansa.”

“Yeah, dancing,” you smiled. “I haven’t danced in years, you know, except for tonight.”

He surprised you with a sudden kiss that was unexpectedly chaste, just a press of his lips on yours that either lasted longer than it normally would or just slowed time for a moment. “Sărut,” he whispered when he pulled back.

”Sărut,” you repeated.

“Aș putea să te sărut ore în șir. Ai cele mai perfecte buze,” he breathed, running his thumb over your bottom lip which had gone slack just from listening to him talk.

Your fingers trailed down over the portion of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned collar. “I didn’t know I could feel this way about somebody,” you admitted aloud to yourself. “I wish I could stay…”

His hands lifted your face to look up at him. “Nu face asta. Nu te mai ascunde în gândurile tale. Fi cu mine.”

“Sărut?” you requested, making him grin.

“Da, iubirea mea,” he cooed as he leaned in and kissed you again, smiling into it.

You really hadn't even liked kissing all that much before you met him… you just hadn't seen the appeal beyond warming up to more exciting activities, but now? This was all the excitement you needed; you could kiss him for hours and never get bored.

That said, apparently Sebastian had exciting plans of his own, because you found yourself being backed up against a brick wall, his hands exploring your body— subtle at first, just rubbing your arms and gripping your waist, but then it got less ambiguous as you felt his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, just barely grazing over your stomach.

His touch trailed higher, nearly reaching your breast but stopping just before: you didn't mean to whine impatiently, but you heard it muffled against his lips and felt him chuckle lightly, breaking the kiss and leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Atât de nevoiași," he hummed, nibbling on your earlobe as your thighs clenched together much too strongly when he'd barely touched you.

You clutched at his shirt, watching as his hand moved down to the top of your pants, the tips of his fingers just barely breaching past the fabric and starting to slide down.

"Here?" you gasped, finally remembering you were in public though you hadn't seen another person out here since you left the bar.

His hand moved lower down and your stomach fluttered with the forbidden nature of it all, feeling like a rebellious high schooler fooling around behind the movie theater when you both had curfew in ten minutes. But then he found your clit right away and it was nothing like high school.

"Oh fuck," you whimpered, shuddering and pushing your hips up to silently beg for more. He rubbed circles over your bud and smiled against your neck, already making it a struggle for you to stay quiet.

“Un alt cuvânt pe care ar trebui să-l știi,” he whispered, the pitch of his voice making it clear he was saying something beautifully filthy, “este dracu. Vreau să te dracu.”

“Seba, please,” you sighed.

"Dar nu cred că o pot face aici," he added with a soft laugh.

Two fingers suddenly pushed into you and didn't seem to struggle with it at all since he already had you soaked, curling into a tender spot inside you right away.

“Yes,” you whined.

“Yes?” he repeated with a smirk.

“Yes,” you said it again, “fuck yes.”

“Fuck,” he laughed, the word that was so familiar to you almost sounding foreign when he said it. “Spui asta mult. Cred că asta înseamnă că vei veni.”

“Your fingers feel so good,” you moaned, barely enough air in your lungs to get the words out. "Please… please don't stop…"

He kissed you again, open-mouthed and desperate as you both breathed heavily, his tongue sliding against yours as if to taste your moans. Hoping to stay upright now that your knees felt a little wobbly, you slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. That, in turn, led to you feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh and you nearly melted right there, wishing you could feel him inside you now but figuring it probably wasn't worth the risk of being arrested for indecent exposure.

By now he knew you like the back of his hand, it seemed, because you were already throttling full speed ahead toward the edge, shocks of heat jumping up your spine each time he curled his fingers inside you.

"I— I'm gonna—" you stammered through your warning. He nodded, moving his fingers faster as you bit your lip a little too hard.

Just when you thought you couldn't help but cry out he kissed you one more time, rough and hungry, and muffled the sounds of you reaching your peak literally by his hand.

Everything that had twisted and snapped all at once began to soothe as you sighed and pushed his hand away slowly, feeling your walls spasm one more time when he slipped his fingers out and slid them right over your clit.

He pulled his hand out of your pants and brought his fingers to your lips; you dutifully cleaned them off for him, watching his lips twitch into a brief snarl when you took his fingers down your throat.

"Vom termina asta mai târziu," he promised darkly as he pulled you off of the wall and spun you around, and you wanted to return the favor but he stopped your hand from sliding up his thigh. "Mai târziu," he insisted, instead guiding you around the block and back to where his bike was parked.

Hopping on the back again as he started it up, you relished the change to cling onto his back tightly. He drove you through the empty streets, over sprawling hills and through stone archways, but just as you noticed this wasn’t the way to get back to the farmhouse, he slowed down and turned into a place to park.

“Why are you pulling over?” you asked, furrowing your brow as he parked the bike and motioned for you to get off with him. “Where are we going?”

“Ai incredere in mine,” he smiled as he took your helmet off for you and kissed you again, quickly, taking your hand and guiding you down a secluded path. You followed him down a few strange alleys, under clotheslines and sconces that started to dim with the oncoming morning light. Finally, he navigated you around a turn, through a tight gap, and out of nowhere you were on an overlook; one that gave you the perfect view of the sun beginning to rise over the city. “Wow,” you whispered, watching enraptured as soft yellow light overtook everything, the village and the woods in the distance beginning to come to life.

“Vremuri de genul ăsta mă fac să-mi fie dor de casă,” he sighed, before looking at you again from where he leaned on his elbows over the stone railing. “Îți faci mai ușor. Nu mai sunt singur.”

“This place is so beautiful, I’ve never lived anywhere like this before,” you admitted. “Maybe it’s just that it’s different that makes me like it so much… I guess I could say the same about you.”

Your eyes met his again, and the way he looked at you… it was like he saw right through you. Honestly, it was a bit terrifying. You'd never been so vulnerable to someone. You liked it more than you expected.

But it still scared you.

"Haide, hai să mergem acasă," he smiled as he stood upright again and took your hand.

"Let's get back to the house," you decided, but he was already leading you back to the bike where you rode through the countryside one more time, doing your best to memorize it all while you still had the chance.

You found tears in your eyes, though you didn’t remember crying, as you typed the final page of your manuscript.

It was a first draft, nothing close to a completed novel, but you were on your way to jumpstarting your career again. The only problem? You couldn’t have a career here. You couldn’t be published while living here, you couldn’t even edit this thing properly without a computer and you didn’t even have one here.

You needed to go home.

It killed you to realize that this was not a sustainable system: you living here— Hungary or Mrs. Alberti’s lakehouse— and falling in love with a near-stranger.

Sure, it was good for what it needed to be; he reminded you what it was like to be cherished and cared for, maybe you helped him break some dry spell (although you couldn’t imagine that this guy was anything but drowning in pussy all the time, but whatever). Regardless, it couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to be anything other than… whatever it was meant to be.

You flipped through the pages of what you’d written already, admiring the journey that you saw on the paper— not just that of the characters, but your own as well. You could feel the weakness in your own voice in that first chapter, as if your hurt was right there painted on the page with the ink-pressed letters. You could remember shakily typing these words, hoping they would distract you from the fears and memories that plagued your mind.

A few chapters in, you could see the hope and optimism that built with the action of the story. You could feel your own love mirrored in the way you wrote your story, it was painfully powerful.

It brought a sense of closure, in a way; it gave you a chance to appreciate everything you’d learned from this, even if you knew you couldn’t take it with you into the next chapter. But this love didn’t feel like a subplot, it didn’t feel like a stepping stone onto the next adventure— it felt like what you’d been looking for your whole life. Maybe that’s just how it feels to be in the ‘honeymoon phase’ or whatever it’s called; maybe it’ll fade soon, with time and distance.

That was what you silently prayed for as you packed everything, folded your clothes, checked the nightstand drawers for those random trinkets they seemed to accrue. Funny how packing to leave this place took you longer than it did to throw your stuff together when you left Michael, and you’d been living there for years.

Then again, you'd known Michael so much longer than you'd known Sebastian, and yet it was Seba that meant so much to you now.

You weren’t sure what would be more difficult: leaving him, or knowing that you could never hope to explain everything in a way he would understand. You considered writing a letter and hoping that he would come upon a Romanian to English dictionary— but with everything you wanted to say, that would take him hours. After all that, would he find your words worth it? Or would he see it all as one last chore from a peculiar fling?

You were pretty sure he didn’t see it as a fling. But maybe he would understand that it was best left as a very unique rebound.

You left your room just to go get some coffee (or maybe something a little stronger, if it was available) and jumped when you saw Sebastian in the hall, causing you to quickly close the door behind you. “I didn’t expect to see you upstairs,” you greeted.

“Obținerea cearșafurilor curate,” he explained as he opened the door to the linen closet and pulled out some bedsheets.

“Oh, yeah, those could probably use a change,” you mumbled as you realized he may not have washed them since the last time you stayed in his bed.

“Vrei și tu câteva?” he asked, pointing towards your door and holding up the sheets.

“Oh, uh, I don’t need any more sheets,” you shook your head, “but thank you…”

His face curled into a mischievous grin. “Poate că trebuie să murdărim acele foi,” he purred as he set the linens down and stepped closer to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Seba,” you mumbled, but he must not have heard the hesitance in your voice as he leaned in and kissed your neck, making you sigh a little. He hummed contentedly and lightly bit your ear, and you were almost ready to just let him do it and procrastinate this conversation a little longer, but you had to sigh and push him back.

“Esti bine?” he asked, voice heavy with concern, as he straightened up and examined your face.

“Sebastian…” you started with a sigh, the words you’d been anxiously mulling over all night suddenly abandoning you. “What happened between us meant so much to me,” you continued slowly, “but the fact of the matter is, my first marriage isn’t even over yet. I mean, it’s over, but… I’m not really in a place where I can… start a new relationship…”

He looked back at you, that same blankness of incomprehension you were so used to painting his expression, and yet it was somber; he seemed to sense the tone, even if he was losing out on the specific ideas.

“It’s not fair to either of us, really,” you sighed. “I’m still mourning my marriage— and you were a really important part of that for me. So, thank you.”

You realized you needed to express your gratitude more thoroughly. Thinking quickly, you reached for his hand and opened it, placing his palm to your chest. He looked at you, a little confused.

“Thank you,” you repeated, looking him right in the eye.

He nodded slightly.

“Someday, somebody is gonna love you the way you need— the way you deserve,” you told him, stopping briefly to bite your lip in hopes it would stop quivering. “God, I wish it could be me. But it can’t.”

He held your face and kissed you, and much to your dismay it didn’t feel like a goodbye kiss. It didn’t feel like he knew this was the end. “Nu plânge,” he whispered. “Te iubesc.”

He kissed you again and you let yourself get lost in it like a complete fucking idiot, melting into his arms as he opened your bedroom door and pulled you inside with him. For a moment, it was like any other time, like any other perfect kiss with him, but then he pulled back and looked around and you had to watch his eyes as he realized. You had to watch his face as his smile fell away and his hope turned to despondence.

The whole room was packed. Heavy trunks on the bed, the sheets already stripped so Mrs. Alberti could wash them. Everything that made it feel like your room was gone, and it was just a guest room again, feeling bigger and emptier than ever.

All that was left was the typewriter on the table, because you still couldn't lift it.

“O să pleci,” he gasped, stepping back and releasing you from his embrace. “Chiar mă părăsești.”

You knew that look he was wearing on his face; beyond heartbreak— betrayal. You were all too familiar with it. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, “I would stay if I could, but I can’t, can I?”

A car horn honked outside, making you wince.

“That’s my ride,” you mumbled. “I have to go…”

You started to reach for your trunks and for a moment you thought that was really it. “Nu te duce,” he interjected suddenly, grabbing at your wrist and turning you to face him.

“I’m sorry— I have to leave—” you rushed, trying to grab your bags again.

“Nu te duce,” he repeated again desperately, pulling you close, cradling your face in his hands.

“Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded as your eyes began to water.

“Stay,” he begged, and you didn’t know that he knew that word. A tear fell; you wished he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t.”

You stood up on your tiptoes to try to kiss him one last time, but he grimaced and pushed you away.

“Să trăieşti,” he said quickly, bitterly, as he stormed out of the room.

“Sebastian, wait—!”

But he was already running down the stairs; you heard the sound of the back door slamming a moment after he was out of sight, and another honk of the horn outside reminded you that you didn’t have time to chase after him. This wasn’t how you wanted it to end— really, you didn’t want it to end at all, and maybe if it had to (which it did) then this was as good a way as any. But you hated to leave like this when the last thing you wanted was to hurt him.

Defiantly wiping the tears from your face, you lifted the first of your trunks and made your way down the stairs, bringing them to the front door where the driver of the cab was waiting to carry them the rest of the way for you.

“Could you go upstairs and get my typewriter for me?” you asked him. “I can’t carry it well myself.”

He nodded and did as he was told, another small but painful reminder of your first day here. Mrs. Alberti came around the bend wearing a knitted shawl and a bittersweet smile.

“I hope you didn’t plan to go without saying goodbye,” she teased you.

“Of course not,” you smiled, “goodbye Mrs. Alberti.”

“I didn’t mean to me, dear,” she explained, making your heart twist.

“I don’t think he wants to hear it from me,” you admitted awkwardly. “I don’t think he can, literally.”

She just sighed and looked away, just as the driver loaded the last of your things into the trunk.

“So, this is it then,” you shrugged as you turned to face her.

“I doubt that,” she smiled. “It’s not a goodbye, sweetheart, just a ‘see you later.’”

“Sure,” you agreed, knowing she was wrong. You couldn’t come back here; you couldn’t leave him twice.

The driver shut the trunk and got back into the driver’s seat, leaving you to stare up at the house and take one last moment to soak it all in.

“You be sure to call me when your book is a big hit!” Mrs. Alberti instructed with a grin.

You were too choked up to say anything back, so you just waved and nodded as you got in the car and took a deep breath. “To the train station, please,” you mumbled to the driver, covering your eyes with your hand as you felt the car reverse and turn onto the road. You couldn't open them, or you’d look back, and you couldn’t look back.

Since your eyes were closed, you had no way to know that Sebastian chased after the car for nearly a block, giving up at the turn of the road, falling into the gravel and laying there for a while, repeating that one English word he couldn’t get out of his head: stay.

[corvidkingden]

Hello it is me the Panda asking for some good good Promptis idiots in love

Promptis, idiots in love?

Got it. How about a first kiss that almost didn't happen? [Read it on ao3]

--

“Noct, I swear if you don’t get your ass up here,” Prompto called down to him from where he was perched rather precariously on the edge of the cliff overlooking their camp. It wasn’t particularly high, high enough to give them a bit of space from Gladio and Ignis, but low enough that Prompto felt capable of scaling it on his own. Just barely so though, any higher and he would not be up there, he was a disaster walking and he knew it. It was a miracle he’d made it up without any scrapes as it was. Grinning widely he leaned forward just enough to peer down at Noctis as he stood at the base of the cliff, looking up at him silently judging for not just asking to be warped up.

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall off,” he huffed out, taking a few steps back for a better vantage before warping up beside him. It was a far more graceful approach than the blonde’s awkward clamoring up the side of the rocky wall. Which he most definitely watched him do but was pretending he didn’t for now. He’d tease him later for the number of times he stopped to give himself a pep talk.

“So what’s so important-woo!” Noctis yelped in surprise at suddenly being dragged down by the surprisingly strong blonde, his heart rate spiking as he teetered over the edge, but Prompto held a firm grip on him. He had half a mind to chew him out for being so reckless, even if he could have easily warped out of falling, but the moment he planted himself next to him what little anger that fueled the urge faded. The unabashed joy he saw on that freckled face, lit up with a grin, was all it took to melt it away.

He made it so hard to be mad at him.

“Look,” Prompto answered, nudging his shoulder with his own as he gestured up at the sky, turning Noct’s attention away from him for now. He probably could have kept staring at that grin all night otherwise.

The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, dipping low between the trees in the distance, still painting the land in golds and pinks where it shone through them. But the highest point of the sky was now a deep blue black, stars twinkling overhead. It was beautiful for sure, but it was hardly their first night under the stars. So what made this one so special? “What am I looking at?”

“You have no eye, I swear, come here,” the crownsguard huffed in exasperation, hooking his arm around his neck and dragging him in closer as he pointed straight ahead. “Look again.”

Noctis was momentarily distracted though, focused more on how close they were than where Prompto was trying to get him to look. All he could think about was his warmth, his smile, how he could see every tiny little freckle, even the palest ones that dusted his cheeks. How easy it would be to lean in and kiss across them and watch those cheeks turn pink. But he forced himself to look ahead, catching sight of what Prompto was pointing out just in time. A small shooting star danced across the sky in an arc of light, making him gasp softly. “Oh shit…”

“See? Told you,” Prompto murmured, in awe of the sight himself, watching the shooting star disappear into the black blanket of the night sky. His arm stayed hooked around Noctis as they both watched more slowly light up the expanse of darkness, turning the void into a shimmering pool of light.

It was beautiful, peaceful, a much needed moment of serenity after everything that had happened already and...well everything they still had to prepare for. They could hear Ignis and Gladio talking below while they prepared dinner, the tent long since set up. Insects and frogs chirped in the distance, the world falling asleep around them and falling away entirely as they both drifted and were lost in the moment.

Without thinking, Prompto looked over at Noctis as the meteors started to dwindle, growing fewer and less frequent, about to make a snide remark about him trusting him next time. But his words caught in his throat. He could see the reflection of them in his blue eyes, the small smile that curled on his lips as he’d fully relaxed for the first time in weeks. He was even more beautiful than the night sky above and all the man could do was stare in silent awe.

Feeling his gaze on him, Noctis turned to ask him why he wasn’t looking but he never got to get the words out, their noses brushing from the proximity, a tension settling between them so suddenly it almost seemed to knock the wind from them both. It wasn’t new, it was something that had always been there between them but they both tried so desperately to ignore it. It was never the right time, never the right place. Neither of them could seem to drum up the guts to admit to the feelings overwhelming them, completely unaware that the other felt the same.

The air between them felt heavy, hot, a spark of static tingling across their skin as they were caught frozen in limbo. Who would move first, would either of them even do it? Would this finally be the moment to break their resolve or would it soon be catalogued as another too little, too late. Noctis could hardly think past the sound of his own heart thumping heavy in his chest, dulling out the sound of anything else.

Just as he thought maybe, maybe he could do it, maybe now was the time to swallow his nerves and seize it, they were interrupted. “Dinner is ready,” Ignis’ voice carried up to them from below, unaware of the moment he’d just cut into so abruptly. “You’d do well to come down anyway, you’re not in range of the runes and daemons should be coming out any moment. I’d really rather not have to spend another night listening to an Iron Giant lurking outside our camp please.”

“Right-right, sorry, Iggy. We’re coming,” Prompto called back, stumbling over his words as he quickly let go of Noctis, pulling away to try and find his own air to breathe and gather his thoughts again. They’d been so close, he’d been only moments away from ruining everything by closing what little space had been left between them. Ignis calling out was a blessing and he didn’t even know it. He was flushed so thoroughly that he felt feverish, his heart was practically trying to break out of his chest the way it was beating so hard and his stomach was twisting so painfully he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to eat dinner. But he needed to get down there and regain control over this. He’d gone this long keeping his crush a secret he was not going to let it slip now.

Noctis cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the two men below already plating up their meals. He knew he should say something, even if the moment was ruined, because that was the closest they’d ever been and who knew when it would happen again. If it would happen again. He needed to tell Prompto before they left for Altissia and he might have just lost his chance. “I uh…”

“Thanks for coming up and watching them with me,” Prompto cut him off, that brilliant smile gracing his face again, though Noctis could see the hesitation and worry in his eyes. He knew him too well to fall for that grin, even if it did make him feel a bit warm and more than a little fuzzy inside.

“Yeah, yeah of course...surprised you didn’t get any pictures,” he smiled back, laughing slightly, hoping he could ease the awkwardness that had settled between them by sparking up another conversation instead of simply warping away. It seemed to work because Prompto truly lit up almost instantly, hopping up off the ledge.

“Actually, I did! I had my camera on the tripod getting some long exposures,” he grinned widely gesturing behind them, earning a laugh from the prince when he saw it. “Two steps ahead of you bud.”

“Always are,” Noct shook his head, eyes shining with mirth as he gazed at his best friend for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to just drag him right back in and fully close that space between them, to finally feel those soft lips against his own.

Prompto floundered silently under his gaze, looking back at him, feeling frozen in place as he tried to read what he saw in those eyes. As he tried to fight his own desire to scurry back over and lean in to kiss him too.

“If you’re much longer, Gladio may come up and drag the two of you down here himself,” Ignis called again, completely ruining the moment once more. Prompto saw it as a blessing, saving him from potentially making a horrible decision, but Noctis wanted to warp down and smack him for cock blocking him twice now. Kiss blocking? That just sounds weird.

“Coming!” Prompto called, snatching his camera off the tripod and tucking it away in his pocket again, tossing the tripod back into the armiger in one smooth motion. Marching back over to the ledge he eyed it a bit skeptical, trying to figure out the best way to scale back down the side of the cliff. Climbing up it had been so much easier, though it helped that he hadn’t looked down the whole time.

Seeing the nervous look on his face, Noctis saw an opportunity, hooking an arm around his middle and pulling him in close. “I got ya,” he said, though it had sounded way more suave in his mind. But he didn’t give it time to ruminate, warping the two of them back down into the camp below in a spark of blue light.

When they landed, dizzy and warm and full of adrenaline, they forgot that they weren’t alone for a moment. Pressed close as they were, chest to chest, Noct’s arm still wound tight around Prompto’s waist to keep him safe, it was like something straight out the movies. It would be so easy, so perfect, to just close that gap.

Noct could feel his nerves quickly dwindling under the weight of how much he wanted to just kiss him already, overpowered by the build up of years and years of denying himself. He wondered if Prompto felt the same, the way he could feel his heart racing said yes but the kid was shakier than a chihuahua, it could mean anything.

“You two need a room?” Gladio taunted as he made his way over to help Ignis pass out the plates, an all too amused grin spreading across his lips as he took in the sight of them huddled so close. He and Ignis had been able to read the tension between them from the start, but at this point it was so palpable it was unbearable. They’d both had half a mind to just shove them together themselves. But Ignis insisted that if it were to happen to let it happen at it’s own pace.

“Shouldn’t you be doin’ push ups or something?” Noctis shot back at him, and if looks could kill Gladio would be dead where he stood. Much as he wanted to do this, he wanted to be the one to tell Prompto how he felt, not Gladio and his big mouth. Letting go of the blonde in question, he didn’t notice that the boy looked ready to burst; he was so red. Slipping away from him he took one of the offered plates and planted himself down in one of the chairs to eat.

They eventually all settled in, no one daring to bring up what had just happened, though Prompto was uncharacteristically quiet through dinner. Noct kept looking his way hoping to catch his eye, trying to pull him into the conversation but Prompto was thoroughly distracted it seemed. Maybe he was reading the signs all wrong? He felt his stomach twist nervously at the thought, what if he’d made him uncomfortable?

He was entirely unaware that Prompto was just trying to figure out the very same. His mind was reeling, flip flopping frantically between imagining those lips against his and the thought of him pushing him away. Maybe he was wrong and Noct wasn’t trying to kiss him, maybe he was just trying to be nice and not flat out reject him.

But if he did want to, what did that mean for them? Was it even worth pursuing at this point? He was supposed to get married soon, that was the whole reason they were out here in the first place. Astrals, this was too confusing, it was so much easier when he thought his crush was entirely one sided.

Ignis and Gladio were all too aware of the tension between them, they’d seen it coming a mile away and if either of them were asked, they’d say they were surprised it took this long for it to finally happen. When neither Noctis nor Prompto seemed to be paying attention to what was going on the two older men got up to clean off their plates and clear away what was out from making dinner, giving the boys a moment with their backs turned.

It took a second, but Noctis realized the pointed departure, watching them to be sure he wasn’t misreading it before stretching his leg out to nudge Prompto’s boot. “Hey…”

“Hm?” Prompto quickly lifted his head, flushing slightly at being caught completely zoned out.

“Can we...talk?”

“Oh-uh yeah-yeah sure,” he nodded, brow furrowing immediately with worry. This was it, this was where he’d tell him off, turn him away. At least he’d been preparing for this for a long time, he was ready for it. At the end of the day he was just happy to be his friend after all.

Noctis stood then, a bit solemnly seeing the way Prompto’s face turned. He’d definitely made him uncomfortable it seemed, so at least this way he could apologize with a bit of privacy. Leaving his plate by his seat, he offered Prompto a hand up, tugging the blonde from his chair once he set his own plate down.

They walked to the far edge of camp, putting more distance between them and the older men, sitting on the edge of the rune lined space they both kicked their legs, an awkward silence settling between them. It was the polar opposite of the peaceful quiet they’d had up on the cliff, making them both want to scream just to break it.

“Noct, I…”

“Let me,” Noctis said, patting his knee gently, leaving his hand there as he turned to look at him. He could feel that lump swelling in his throat again, stomach twisting anxiously but he knew he needed to do this before he lost the chance again. “You...you’re my best friend, you know that right?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Prompto nodded, shifting to face him more as his stomach dropped heavily like lead. Rejection he could deal with, but was he about to say he didn’t want to be friends anymore either? “Of course, forever right?”

“Forever,” the prince nodded, looking into those lilac eyes and seeing the worry in them. Maybe that wasn’t the way to start this off, he opened his mouth to speak again but stopped lost on what else to say that wouldn’t simply make it worse.

“...Noct, it’s-it’s okay,” Prompto reached out, taking his hand. “I understand, you don’t have to say it. I made you uncomfortable and I know I shouldn’t have, it really wasn’t my intention. But I still want to be friends with you, I don’t want to lose that-that’s so much more important to me.”

“No, Prom, wait--” Noctis tried to interject as he watched him fall into one of his flustered tangents. They were endearing, but he was going to dig a hole for the both of them with this one.

“Honestly, I knew I was okay with it a long time ago, and I’m sorry I made it weird earlier. I really promise I wasn’t trying to. I just get so in my head sometimes and I don’t think about what I’m doing or-or what I’m saying--”

“Prompto,” he groaned.

“I just want to make sure you know I’m not gonna be upset, I get it, I’m not goin’ anywhere--”

Noctis cupped his cheeks and pulled him in, shutting him up with the crash of his lips against his, feeling him tense at first before melting right into the kiss. Pushing his fingers back into his soft blonde hair, he pulled him closer, shifting so their noses weren’t pushed together so uncomfortably. Feeling Prom’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt and tighten only made his heart leap though. This was it, it was happening.

They kissed until they were breathless, until it felt like the world was spinning faster and yet somehow frozen all at once, pulling away only because their lungs begged it of them. Their foreheads still pressed together, Noct let his hands slide down to the sides of his neck, simply holding him there as their breathing mingled, steadying despite the frantic patter of their hearts.

“You’ve really gotta let me speak next time,” Noctis murmured, grinning as a giddy laugh bubbled up out of Prompto.

“Shut up,” he huffed in mock exasperation, pulling him right back in and kissing him again, feeling every ounce of worry fall away from his shoulders.

It wasn’t what either of them had pictured, but it was special nonetheless. Sat underneath the stars, far away from any of their problems, they lost themselves in one another for what brief moment the gods would grant.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 1) Z

This is probably going to be the hardest to shove the MC into to be honest. But I think my premise is good, but let me know what you think!

MC sat on the edge of a mossy cliff that was covered in scrubby, grey grass. Rocks were patched with bright orange lichen that were splashed on like paint. The sea was blue with fresh melt water from the ice caps that defrosted, a pale blue that didn’t quite reflect the sky. You learned that it was the minerals from the earth that gave the sea this unique color. The breeze caressed your dark hair and drew it across your face.

You’re back in Black Swan Bay in midsummer. You feel that it should be night, but like the winter months were dark with the sun never rising, in summer, the sun never set and the sky was always bright. Most people would never understand how a place like this could be so familiar when for them it was like living on an alien planet, but for you, even though the sky was always brilliant in the summer, you could tell the time of day by the level of light in the sky, a technique acquired by someone who grew up with exposure to an eternal day.

You’re not alone. Boots crunched in the pea gravel and approached. They were black, and lined with fur and half covered with a long, black fur lined coat worn by a young man a few years younger than you. He sat down, stretching one leg in front of him and resting one arm on his knee.

He had dark hair like you, but his eyes were a bright gold in his pale face. You always thought they were beautiful eyes, but now you understood what they meant. He had dragon blood flowing in his veins. He turned to look at you.

You remembered him being reclusive, not talking to you much unless it was to exchange witty banter. He was relaxed, always smiling cryptically, never bothered by the nurses or the rules, but never really getting into any trouble either. He knew your name when you met despite never having met you before. He reached up and brushed your hair back with one gloved hand to tuck it behind your ear.

Your expression goes deadpan. “I’m not dead, am I, Z.”

The golden eyed boy’s expression reflects surprise and then breaks into a hearty laugh. He covers his face with one hand while you watch him try to get control of himself, a warm feeling spreading in your chest that teases a smile out of you. 

Z finally stopped laughing and sighed wistfully, looking out over the ocean. “I missed you.”

He turned to you again with a look that was affectionate but calculating, like he was holding in a secret but barely. “No, you’re not dead.”

Your smile fades and you turn back to the ocean. “Why not?”

Z reached to one side of him and lifted a thick book in black leather. On the cover, a golden cross was embossed on it, but the cross didn’t look like a crucifix. Instead, it appeared to be on fire, with the flames appearing to be like a dragon’s wings. Z lifted the golden ribbon that marked a spot near the beginning.

He read from the book, his voice rose over the wind and the crashing waves. “And in very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power…”

“You’re doing this?” 

Z clapped the book shut and it vanished in a haze of golden dust. “I can’t explain everything. The pieces are not in place yet and it won’t make any sense to you. You won’t understand until the very end. That said, I can’t do everything. You had a very close call. So I wanted to warn you not to be too reckless.”

You sit up straight. “You’re alive? Where are you, Z?”

“I am alive but… Like I said, you won’t understand. Just be more careful. Alright?” He’s staring at you seriously. Back in Black Swan Bay, most people ignored his existence, but you felt he was calling you, drawing you to him for some unknown reason. At times, he would just appear next to you, like he was following you around like a ghost. And now you feel lost in those eyes once again in this strange dream world.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Promises are meaningless.” He shook his head. “Just do it.”

You nod again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“One more, hurry.”

“Why me of all people? Why not Renata or Vera? Or Anton or...”

“Because you were the strongest … second to Renata.” The world started to go dark, like a curtain was falling over the sea, the rocks and the grass. The wind grew still and you felt a bit stuffy and tired. Soon all you could see were those golden eyes.

“And well… you make me laugh.”

You relax into the darkness and for a moment your mind goes blank. But then your mind revives again. “...was that a Roger Rabbit reference?”

“Dammit, MC! Wake up!” He says in a harsh whisper.

Your eyes open wide. Lu Mingfei - not Z - is leaning over your head, appearing upside down in your view, arms on either side of your face. You blink wearily. “Mingfei?” Your voice is hoarse coming out a dry and scratchy throat. 

He puts one finger to your lips. “Shhh… You’ve got to stay quiet. No one knows you’re here!” He’s wearing very fancy clothes, the type of suits you see in photos of weddings and official events from magazines that depict life in Moscow. A black suit, a button down shirt with a stiff collar. Diamond studded earrings were in his ears. His hair was swept back and gelled. "If you keep moaning like that you'll get discovered! The walls are very thin and if you’re discovered we’ll be in BIG trouble!" Lu Mingfei was indeed keeping his whisper very quiet.

You’re surrounded by walls on all sides of you, made of dark wood paneling and covered by shelving from floor to ceiling. Your bed takes up the rest of the space. In fact, Mingfei is leaning over you like this because he can’t squeeze his legs between the narrow space between the bed and those shelves. As you look up at him, you can’t help but notice Mingfei’s resemblance to Z. Perhaps if Z had grown older and been able to eat more, he would have grown as tall as Mingfei.

You examine the curve of his eyes and the lift of his nose and squint. You didn’t notice this before because Mingfei does look different, he talks differently, and he acts differently. He doesn’t give off Z’s mysterious, mischievous, and dangerous aura. Z always looked like he had something up his sleeve. It could be good or bad and you didn’t know until you had it in your hand. The way he talked made you want to know however.

Lu Mingfei always looked fearful, reactionary and caught off guard. If Z was the prankster, Lu Mingfei was the pranked. So it was no wonder that you never noticed the physical similarities between someone so different until you woke up from one face to another face.

He sighed, hanging his head. When he looked up again, deep concern was reflected in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I seriously thought you were a goner.. If we hadn’t been picked up and taken somewhere they had a nice kit, you probably would have died out there on the street.”

He lifted your hand. A clear IV tube was running from it to a bag of fluid hanging from a hook nailed into one of the shelves. “Where am I?”

“I.. '' Lu Mingfei’s lips pulled down and he looked ill. “Ugh. It’s better you see for yourself. I don't even know how to begin.”

“Caesar?”

“Oh, he’s fine. And so is Senpai. I’m the one suffering here!” He whispered, casting his eyes to one side bitterly. 

He held a clean cloth to your hand, and removed the IV and bandaged it. “I’ll give you the rundown of the situation because we’re seriously up a creek. The Hydras are labeling us as dangerous foreign terrorists, gangsters, and everything else under the sun. They’re running the news to look out for us 24/7. If we show our faces anywhere we are absolutely doomed. They have the whole country after us. We can’t use any credit cards, we’ve lost contact with the college and as soon as we try to get into contact with them, Kaguya is on us like a ton of bricks.”

Ton of bricks. The phrase reminds you of the fact that you managed to get a bootleg copy of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit'' and watched it over and over on a TV hidden in a shed. If you could get your chores done quickly, you could watch the movie there without being noticed. “Mingfei… have you ever seen ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ Do you like it?”

“What? Are you feverish?” He put one hand to your forehead. “Please try to focus! This is important! None of us can touch the network because we’re traceable. Except you!”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re the only one of us with zero internet presence. You’ve never had so much as an email. Almost all the information on you is held by EVA and not even Kaguya can breach her system so you’re more likely to be able to log in and find some way to contact the College without getting caught, so we need you to stay safe. Got it?”

“Yes, Senpai. I understand.” You nod. Z’s warning to you in a dream seemed even more relevant now. He was protecting you by some form of mystic way, but the danger now was so great that even he had to warn you to be careful. 

Mingfei stared at your deferential response in shock. “Are you sure you’re alright? I expected you to sneer at me.”

“It’s just… you remind me of someone else just now.” You whisper, you lower your eyes. “I’m sorry if I made trouble with you. I had to do it. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

Mingfei took a deep breath. “We’re all grateful for you too, MC. So don’t worry about anything. Senpai told the boss about what you did in the Trieste. He owes you twice now. There’s no way he’d rat you out in the reports. You’re fine with everyone, okay?”

“Even Zihang?”

“Zihang doesn’t take anything personal.”

There’s a stiff knock on a door beyond the closet. “Little Sakura! You’re needed on the floor!”

Mingfei turned around, his voice squeaking loudly. “Coming!”  He turned back to you. “Okay, can you walk?”

He helped you up out of bed. You were wearing a thin nightgown and your feet were a bit wobbly but you could stand on your own. 

“Good, Caesar prepped some clothes for you, but I suggest you stay down here for now. I have to go back to work.”

“Work?”

More knocking. “Little Sakura?”

“Why are they calling you that?” You whisper. 

Lu Mingfei growled low. “Why is my life so terrible all the time? I don’t know!” He returned his eyes to you. “Stay here okay? The Boss will be back once his shift is over.”

He hurried out of the closet. You notice he’s wearing some sort of shiny loafers. The type worn without socks. 

You hear a sliding door open and then shut and then the murmur of a television. Once you were sure everything was quiet, save the very muffled beat of music somewhere above the ceiling, you venture out. 

You peer out from the closet into what looked like a bathroom with wood paneled walls and a tiled floor. Three barrels with metal bottoms were suspended over wood fired stoves. A shower was in one corner. The TV in the other corner was on, likely to mask any noise you might have made while you were unconscious. A woman was sitting behind a desk, speaking Japanese, dressed in smart business attire. It looked like a newsreel of the destruction of Chizuru -- the wrecked streets, the firetrucks and the body bags. 

You start to think maybe you overdid things a bit. Your eyes scan over the date. You’ve been out cold for 3 whole days.

On top of the TV was a small comb that looked to be made of real ivory and adorned with a blue jeweled flower. Underneath was an envelope with your name on it. Inside the envelope was a note. “I hope the offer of lessons over sake still stands.”

You smile. Of course it did.

Hanging behind the TV was another cheongsam, this time, silver and blue with embroidery of flowers. There’s also fishnet stockings and a pair of blue heels. You take the dress off the rack and step into the shower. Once you were dressed you listened hard to the sounds outside the hall and heard footsteps. 

Another knock. And there’s a shouted warning before the door slides open. A short old woman is holding a mop and walks by you as you press yourself to the wall. She’s pulling a pile of logs on a cart. Her ears are stuffed with earbuds and she’s so focused on her work that she walks right by you on the way to the rack where the wood for the stove is held. 

Heart racing, you dash out the door.

Outside is a European style promenade, completely different decor, but with the same level of luxury. The floor was covered with golden teak wood. The walls were covered with paintings of naked young people drawing water from a well. The ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers, one after another.

“Wow.” You whisper.

At the end of the corridor was an elevator with wooden doors inlaid with swirling bronze motifs of ferns. You’re supposed to stay put, but so much for that! You probably couldn’t be seen out in the hall! You pressed the only button available on the elevator - Up - and school your face cool to pretend you belong there.

Already a story is in your head, you’re an heiress to a fabulous estate. You’re orphaned at a young age and just gained your freedom to escape your stuffy household! As the elevator rises, the sound of the bassline of the music gets stronger and stronger.

Your mind is still writing your backstory when the wooden doors part and you’re hit by the bass line full force. The heat from hundreds of bouncing and gyrating bodies rushes into the elevator. Right in front of you, a man is holding up a flute of that golden sparkling liquor - Champagne. His shirt has puffy sleeves and open to reveal dark curly hairs on his muscular chest. He’s surrounded by three women in colorful half masks who are climbing on him, grabbing his hands to get at the champagne. They were all wearing skin tight, sleeveless, low cut dresses and dangerously high stiletto heels that made your demure blue cheongsam look like a formal maid’s outfit in comparison.

“Ladies! Ladies! One at a time!” He’s shouting with a brilliant smile. One of the girls bares her teeth as if she were trying to bite him and you move away.

A crowd of people, women outnumbering men 10 to 1, were all dancing in front of a brightly lit stage that was smoking with dry-ice that poured over the edge.

The elevator doors start to close and you slip out, looking for Lu Mingfei - that is, Little Sakura. Everywhere is more of the same. There’s a circular couch where drunk women were reclining over another man while holding out money for passing waiters who seem to know what it meant. They took the cash from their delicate painted fingers and passed them another bottle of liquor in exchange. All of the women turned, shook and then uncorked the bottle, spraying the Champagne in the air! It all fell in a shower while they laughed and squealed with glee!

You take a breath. You were going to stand out like a sore thumb unless you did something right now. The beat of the music was jarring your rib cage but people were bouncing to it while shouting on the stage. “Ukyo! Ukyo! Ukyo!”

You had no idea what Ukyo meant so you do the same all the while looking for any sign of Mingfei in this scene and realizing he might not even be on this floor.

“Who wants glitter?!” Someone shouts next to you. A man with a bowl of silver glitter holds it up while people stuff money in his low cut shirt and press their hands into the bowl to turn around and smash it into the sweaty chest of another man, leaving their marks on him. Your mind makes a leap to a story you heard about human and animal sacrifices in Satanism and wondering if that was what was going to happen next.

You also realize you don’t have any money. Your voice is trained by terrible punishment to be quiet so you can only let out a weak little “Woo..” and “Yay… Ukyou” while your eyes search the crowd.

What happened next was that the music suddenly ended and the sound of a Asian music, something you might hear played in a period drama, replaced it. Rather than being subdued, the crowd flooded the quiet with screams so loud your ears rattled and you had to fight to keep your hands from covering them and stand out as an outsider. 

The curtain opened and there stood a lone figure on the stage. The lights all went out, leaving a single spotlight descending to illuminate him. He’s in a white cloak with flowy sleeves, with a blue hakama and long hair that covers half his face. Cherry blossoms blow from an unseen fan, fluttering his sleeves in the wind.

[sadoeuphemist]

Stories I thought about writing, but didn’t:

my voice is poisonous, a gift from a strange god my parents once befriended. I’m careful not to speak, but I know they’re afraid.

A poison-voiced girl is born to deaf parents, but falls in love with a hearing boy. Their courtship is marked on her end by a thrilling restraint, biting her lip, knowing she could kill him with an indiscretion; he, on the other hand, longs to see her act without inhibition. He manages to make her laugh, sigh, gasp out in wonder - each time he falls ill from the poison of her voice, but is undeterred even in his convalescence, returning renewed in his goal to tease another sound out of her.

Her parents tell her to break it off; she’ll kill him. She reluctantly agrees. He refuses, pleads with her, grasps her hands so she can’t sign. In anguish she cries out his name — but lo! he does not sicken, does not die. It turns out his repeated exposures to her voice have mithridatized him against it. She can speak around him freely! They both agree that this development has taken a lot of the excitement out of the relationship, but it has been replaced with a greater casualness and intimacy that balances it out.

I can see the angels in their true form, a thousand splendid eyes and all. They think it’s funny, and have taken to hanging around my apartment 

The angels start making excuses to keep showing up at my apartment, in the manner of the annunciation, but for increasingly trivial reasons. They come bearing tidings about how I should definitely get the turkey wrap for lunch, which brand of fabric softener I should buy, how that quarter I’ll find on the sidewalk is a sign that I am favored by God. They come bearing bad tidings too: The Lord has heard of all the evil in your printer, and has sent us here to jam it. Their presence becomes completely overbearing, but they are insistent. There’s a reason you see us in our true forms, they say, all their splendid eyes shining. Is it so hard to believe that the God that formed every atom of you in the womb should watch over you always, that every mundane moment of your existence in this world is shot through with the divine?

There was a body in the river, ice cold and snow white. Sometimes it was all the way dead. Sometimes it sat up and talked to me.

A king has declared that whoever can complete the following tasks shall marry his daughter: 1) to recover a lost treasure stolen from his family hundreds of years ago; 2)  to name the start of the pact between men and horses; and 3) to find a cure to the plague ravaging the land.

Our plucky folk hero helps an old lady who sits by the river; she tells him of the snow white body within, who has sat up and spoken to her at odd times throughout her life. It is the spirit of the glacier: the glacier melts, and forms the river; layer by layer the past frozen in it is uncovered, parts of it living and parts of it dead. Our hero builds many bonfires and melts the glacier faster; the body lives and dies and lives many times over and tells him the three answers. 1) The thief fell into a crevasse and was frozen over; the ice is melted now, and the treasure can be recovered. 2) Iron horseshoes frozen in the glacier reveal the pact is many thousands of years old. 3) The plague is an old one, frozen and released anew with the glacier’s melting; it is carried in the livestock, and they must be slaughtered.

The hero solves the king’s tasks and marries his daughter. Presumably the new king is then faced with the challenge of the rising sea levels; no idea how that plays out.

“We’re all nice to each other here,” they told us, “we’ve got angels in the hills. They like it when we’re nice. And they see everything.”

This one’s tough to summarize adequately. Two men are going door to door, seemingly taking a survey of the religious beliefs in a small town. They finish, sit together in their car. People have been very cooperative. One of the men remarks that the local religious beliefs are disappointingly unremarkable: yes, they believe in angels watching from the hills, but most people believe in an omniscient God watching over them, and whether it is God or his intercessors, does it make a significant difference?

They sit in the car. Perhaps they smoke in the lazy sunlight. They have finished their survey ahead of time. One of them proposes: Suppose we have a picnic lunch up in the hills?

They park at the base of the hill and walk up. Lovely day. They spread out a blanket from the car, stretch their legs out on the grass, take off their coats, loosen their ties. They’ve brought their packed lunch, sandwiches, a thermos of lemonade. They talk about how pleasant all the people were. Their kind of religion seems so ... brittle, one of the men remarks. If I thought there was someone waiting to punish me the moment I stepped out of line, I’d want to do something horrible just to get it over with.

You think so? says his partner. I think just the opposite. The grand problem with religion is that there aren’t enough consequences for wickedness. I know if I saw the wicked being smote down on a regular basis, I would very satisfied in my religion indeed.

Well, of course you would; you’re a sadist.

Me? A sadist? Hardly.

You’re a sadist, his partner says teasingly. A sadist and brute.

They smile at each other. Idle conversation. There is a suggestion that they have visited many such towns and cities, asking the same question, but have yet to receive a satisfactory answer. At one point one of them notes that there’s something in the trees, but this remark is ignored and nothing is ever made of it. The conversation turns back to whether the angels in the hills are real or not. The ‘sadist’ stands up, declares his intent to do something wicked to test them. He marches around, swinging his arms, then looks around at the trees and puts his hands on his hips and laughs.

You know, up here away from society, he declares, I can’t think of a single wicked thing to do!

(Maybe a conversation here about how he could tear branches from trees, despoil the scenery, find an animal to kill; but then again animals in nature strip bark from trees, kill each other bloodily all the time, tear each other to bits, so how wicked could that be, really?)

He looks down at his partner still lying back on the blanket. Unless, of course, I were to do something wicked to you.

Whatever happens next, it is very leisurely. The scene is easy, very relaxed. Lovely day. Calm. Bright blue sky. Clouds float across it, white like feathered wings, and then pass, leaving not a trace behind.

None of us can imagine what life was like before the Clocks came, before clockwork cities, and all their technology. They rebuilt our crumbling society, in perfect, mechanical order. 

Brief musings on a hypothetical pre-Clock society. A society built around the sun, all buildings roofless, everyone’s necks craned upward. Cities built running north to south so as not to block anyone’s view of the rise and set. A society built around hourglasses, everyone judging the passage of time by the sand puddling around their feet, knees, waists, clambering up onto growing dunes, waiting for the flip, for the sand to slowly drain away and the furnishings of their homes to be uncovered. Perhaps this was our unimaginable life before the Clocks came: sands stretching far away and bare, the hypothetical counterpart bulb of an hourglass reflected invisible above us, empty and vast with unrealized possibility, waiting to be reset.

When I was very young, I met a bear at the edge of the woods. Before I could play dead, it bowed to me.

Jokey little fic where a child is instructed on the etiquette of bears: when to bow, when to curtsy, when to raise your hands and make yourself as large as possible, when to climb a tree, when to play dead. (Note that grizzlies are territorial, so if they attack you and play dead they’ll leave you alone because the threat is neutralized; whereas black bears are not territorial, so playing dead will do no good because a black bear will only attack if it deliberately wants to fuck you up.)

I was given very specific instructions. Go to the rosebush on a clear night. As the moonlight turns the roses silver, feed them three drops of blood.

After years of trying for a child, a couple turns to an old witch to help. The woman is instructed to eat a rose from a magical rosebush. If she first pricks her finger and stains the rose red with her blood, then she will have a son, ruddy and robust and bold in battle; if she visits the bush on a clear night and eats a rose painted silver by moonlight, then she will have a daughter, as pale and graceful and elegant as the moon.

The woman is uneasy with the implications of this binary, and says so. The witch smiles and gives her a new set of instructions. So she pricks her finger at night, her blood painted black by the moonlight, and nine months later gives birth to a child as black as a rose, who is neither boy nor girl.

Never manged to come up with a plot for this one. The kid grows up to have a career fulfilling all those “Neither man nor woman” prophecies? Eh. Kinda corny. There’s something about gender roles in fairy tales here, but I couldn’t put it together.

Not for the first time, the company time loop drill had gone very, very wrong.

I did actually write a response for this one, but it got too long and I gave up on it. Summary of the rest of the idea I had:

Time resets. Nagle confirms that it is both an actual time loop and a drill; the company is doing a controlled time loop to prepare them for the real thing. People complain. What’s the point of a drill when an actual time loop would let you keep doing things over and over until you get it right? Nagle points out that could take years, subjectively, and that this is a controlled experience where he has a code to abort the exercise if anything seriously goes wrong. He insists they try to make it work.

They go through a bunch of loops. Don’t succeed. It’s highly technical stuff that none of them are trained for. Morale drops. People start complaining, they’ve spent hours at this, they should be off duty by now. Nagle points out there’s a ruling, established with VR training, that companies don’t need to pay their employees according to their subjective experience of time, and officially they’ve only spent 34 minutes at this.

More loops. Morale drops further. People start demanding Nagle use the abort code, threatening to quit. Nagle points out that while they’re in this time loop, their actions are consequence-free, but once he ends the loop they’ll have to live with their decisions for the rest of their lives. Are they sure they really want to quit?

At that point someone loses it and kills Nagle. Shock. Panic. Some satisfaction. He’s reborn the next loop, starts screaming about it - someone kills him again. Complete social breakdown. Eventually some people decide, fuck it, let’s just live in this loop forever. Killing Nagle becomes a standard thing they do at the start of every loop, so that he can’t input the abort code. They go through various reconfigurations of their social group - orgies, riots, open paranoia where everyone colonizes a different part of the building, regressing to primitivism, open warfare between various sects, rebuilding of society along different axes of thought. Everyone starts thinking of themselves as immortal, they start calling themselves things like ‘Chronobog of the Infinite Plane of Despair’ or whatever; the narration gets increasingly surreal.

After god knows how many cycles of this, everyone finally achieves an equilibrium of perfect enlightenment. They know what must be done. They leave Nagle alive, he watches as they move in perfect unison to unlock the server room and overcome all the obstacles and repair the tachyon servers, loop is finally terminated, normal flow of time resumes.

Nagle stands up, gives a speech, starts congratulating them on completing the drill. As he talks, everyone can feel the rapport they’ve built start to slip away - they no longer understand each other perfectly outside of the context of those 34 minutes. Time is moving forward again, and with it introducing unfamiliarity, uncertainty, an impossible onslaught of variables that they cannot predict or prepare for, and they are all moving inescapably further from each other even as they glance around and try to catch each other’s eyes and keep holding on to that feeling of perfect unity - but it’s too late now, they are strangers behind familiar faces, all of them heading in their own directions, going to be returning to their own separate lives; that moment of solidarity they had is past.

And then Nagle claps his hands at them and says, “OK, drill’s over, everyone back to work!”

[bubbyleh]

what did you do to him?

read this fic on ao3! check out the rest of this series on tumblr!

what did you do to him? The hunter finds what he was looking for. (aka, remember when i made hunters canon?)

†††

There are three of them. Two adults and a child. The older one and the kid absolutely reek of death, while the other one’s got a magical aura so potent that, with his trained eye, he can practically see it. He’s also got sunglasses on, a clear sign of a witch. They’re walking down the street, discussing the activities of the day as the sun sets behind them. It’s almost normal, almost enough to make him want to turn back and forget he ever saw them.

But there’s a signature on them. Not their own, no. It’s faint, the kind you only get from exposure from the person who has it. A person he’s been tracking down for a while, now.

They come to a stop under a lamppost, not yet dark enough for it to be lit, right next to a car. The sidewalks are clear of pedestrians, and all the buildings around are desolate.

Perfect.

“Alright, kid,” the witch sighs as he pulls out his phone. “Let’s see where your dad and Tommy are.”

The older one takes the keys from the magic one and unlocks the car. Almost giddily, the kid jumps in, putting a few of their bags in the seats.

“Josh, put that in the trunk,” the older one reprimands. “The rest of us gotta sit there.”

“No it’s okay!” the kid insists. “It can go in my seat, we can fit.”

The witch looks up from his phone call. “You’re not allowed to phase out in the car. That’s an accident waiting to happen.” He turns his attention back to the phone as the kid slips out of the car. “Hey! Tommy! Where are you two? Bubby, Josh, and I have already wrapped up.”

There’s a silence as the person on the other end responds. It’s in that silence that he decides to strike.

The adults seem to sense his approach, and there’s a split second where they know what it means. Before they can act, though, he’s already thrown his bolas, aiming for the witch’s arms. The weight of it takes him down, and he ends up tangled on the ground. His phone clatters on the sidewalk beside him.

Good. Now the witch is out of the way for a bit.

“Joshua, go get the others!” the older one shouts, before setting their sights on him. The kid literally disappears, though he can hear his footsteps trail off around the street corner.

He’s not sure what to expect from this one. Undead can mean a lot of things, but he’s hoping they’re one of the more mundane ones.

“You. Little. Shit.” they snarl, and electricity begins to arch off their body.

Vaguely, he remembers hearing old stories, about a monster who roamed the countryside with the power to control lightning. It was thought that they were slain some eighty years ago, since sightings had stopped, but apparently this was not the case.

“I just wanted some information!” he yelps.

“You attacked us!” He gestures to the witch, struggling to free their arms. “Fucking hunters. I’ve been dealing with your type for two-hundred years.”

He’s barely able to dodge the first strike.

“Oh,” the monster laughs. “Smart, aren’t you? Or did you just go for what looked like an easy target?”

They shoot again, and he jumps out of the way once more.

“I’m serious!” he shouts. “I’m looking for someone! He-”

Another bolt.

“Aren’t you all?”

He’s gotta do something to turn these tables. If he’d known the undead one would be this big of a threat, he might have tried to take them down first. What the hell would a lightning monster even be weak to? Should he try to take all his metal off?

Before he can consider any of it, something shatters against the back of his head, and he feels a warmth dripping down his neck. He stumbles to his knees, and when he turns towards his new attacker, he sees Gordon.

Gordon, looking the same as he did over a decade ago. Gordon, standing next to what is clearly a werewolf, with the kid—now eerily transparent—peeking out from behind his legs. Gordon, whose angered expression immediately melts into recognition the second they make eye contact.

“John?” his voice is barely above a whisper, but John hears it.

There’s a distinct tearing sound, which is, of course, a bit of magic slicing through rope. In an instant, a spell is flung John’s way, and he’s out like a light.

†††

“You’re being stupid.”

“If you would just-”

“We aren’t going to be safe unless we take care of this problem.”

“This is different. I can talk to him.”

“Okay, look. I get it, you’re relatively new at this. You think you can make a difference-”

“I could!”

“No, you can’t Gordon! They started this mess hundreds of years ago! They aren’t going to hear you out.”

“This one will! You just have to-”

John groans as he wakes up. There’s a sharp, pulsing pain in his head that is absolutely killing him. As he shifts, he notices the two figures across the alleyway whose eyes are locked on him. One is the undead monster who just flung lightning at him, and the other is the person John’s been looking for since he disappeared.

Gordon Freeman. There’s something wrong with him, but his head is a little too fucked to figure out what.

“I’m ending this,” the lightning monster says, drawing up a hand that crackles with electricity.

“Bubby, wait,” Gordon grabs their other arm. The electricity dispels, and he holds onto the monster’s face, gently. “The first time I met you, Coomer was begging you to trust him about me.”

The monster- Bubby, apparently, winces. “You remember that?”

Gordon nods. “So I’m asking you the same thing. Can you trust me on this?”

Bubby’s eyes flicker towards John, who’s weakly trying to push himself off the ground. Their gaze hardens for a moment, as if in warning, before they look back at Gordon.

“Fine,” they sigh. “Be careful.”

Gordon whispers a “thank you” before rushing to John’s side, kneeling next to him.

“Woah, hey.” Gordon pushes him back down by the shoulder. “You shouldn’t be walking right now. Darnold gave you a nasty blow to the head.”

“Gordon?” John croaks out. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me, John.” Gordon replies, pushing John’s hair back. “Looks like your bleeding stopped.”

“You know him,” Bubby realizes.

“Yeah. He’s my brother,” Gordon responds, a soft smile on his face that means, despite everything, he’s somehow happy to see John again.

Bubby is silent after that, but their eyes remain trained on the two of them.

“Gordon.” John pushes his hand out of his hair. “Where have you been? You disappear for ten years and you’re… you’re hanging out with monsters?”

Gordon’s jaw clenches. “They’re my friends, John.”

John blinks. “You’re friends with monsters.”

“Yes, John.”

A beat passes where John tries to internalize that information.

“Did they do something to you?”

“What!? I-” Gordon sputters. “No, John! Come on! They literally helped me get back on my feet. I- I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t met them.”

“Why did you need to get back on your feet?” John questions. “Is it why you dropped off the map.”

“I… got hurt.” Gordon’s shoulders tense as he catches Bubby’s out of the corner of his eye. He sighs. “Alright, fine. Let me show you.”

Gordon reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out what John recognizes as a witch’s charm. He places it on the ground, and it’s almost as though his appearance begins to fade away. What’s left is Gordon, sure, but there are deep bags under his eyes. His skin is dull and lifeless.

And John’s stomach twists.

“A witch got a bright idea to make an undead army, and it, uh.” Gordon nervously scratches the side of his face. “It didn’t end up in his favor.”

“He killed you,” John says.

“Well, yeah, but I got him back, so.” Gordon pauses. “Don’t look at me like that. I could barely think, of course I went full zombie on him.”

“You ate him!?”

“Part of him! Stop that!” Gordon lightly smacks John’s arm. “It’s been a decade, I haven’t had any human since. I was lucky that a friend found me. He brought me back to Bubby-” He gestures back towards Bubby, who offers an awkward wave. “-and the two of them helped me get back to normal.”

“Normal,” John echoes. “Gordon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah! I am!” Gordon defends himself. “And you know what? I’ve gotten over it! I seriously don’t need you judging me for-”

And John hugs him.

“But you’re okay!” John can feel himself starting to cry. “I thought I’d find you under a mind curse or something, but it’s you! You’re still here!”

For a brief moment, Gordon hesitates. Then, he wraps his arms around his brother. “Yeah, John. I’m here.”

It’s not the best case scenario, but it certainly isn’t the worst. Gordon Freeman is, for lack of a better term, alive. He’s found a place for himself among friends, and John couldn’t be happier for him.

Which, speaking of…

“Uh, sorry for attacking you,” John says to Bubby from over Gordon’s shoulder.

“Noted,” Bubby remarks.

Well. John’s going to need to find a new career.

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Insecure chapter 4

Paring (Otis driftwood x Reader)

(I do not own these gifs)

Masterlist is here please see warnings ⚠️

Mama and Baby were ecstatic on the wedding day; this was the happiest day for them. Rarely do they go to do such wholesomeness without ulterior motive like murder? The whole family helped with the event, Baby. You headed into the nearest small town to look for a dress, mama. Tiny cooked ( well tiny held things and watched), Hugo and Rufus helped set up the backyard decent with an archway. Otis, of course, was getting into fights with everyone, grumbling and bitching, but no one's spirit was dampened; they knew he just wanted things to go off without a hitch. “ WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?” Baby squealed, holding up a bedazzled skimpy ….dress? If you could call it that. ‘’Mmmm, sugar that looks like floss on a hanger, I could see wearing that on the honeymoon but not that ceremony,” you chuckled lightly, chewing on your lollipop and looking back at the dresses, nothing here seemed to be standing out, and you were starting to get disappointed. You were not high maintenance, and a simple dress would be fine, but these weren't you. “ Baby, maybe we should look elsewhere, or I can just wear something I got at home. ‘NO, we are finding you something because this is the best store in town and you deserve something nice!!. 

She skipped along to the other rack of dresses along the wall. You signed and watched her jump around from rack to rack; you loved her so much. She was such a free spirit, never seemed to have a bad day, and up for a good time; you couldn't believe you were finally going to be sisters officially “ unofficially.” You hoped this was what he wanted and didn't get cold feet at the ceremony. God, what if he did. The thought of that was terrible. Having been lost in your head, you didn't notice her hop up behind you with a new dress. ‘ LOOK! WHAT DO YOU THINK? DO YOU LOVE IT OR DO YOU LOVE IT?” She wiggled the dress in front of you, waving it and flashing her megawatt smile.

You have to admit this was a beautiful dress; it was a v-neckline embroidered spaghetti strap lace dress. It was an eggshell white and looked like it would fall right at your ankle. You walked over and lightly touched it; you pictured you and Otis exchanging vows in this; it was perfect, not too flashy, and not too casual. 

Well, it was perfect until you saw the price. "Holy shit, Baby, we can't afford this! Have you seen the tag?" You pointed at it and started to slowly put it back toward the rack. " Ah no no, no no, this is the one we are getting your eyes lit up, and you'd look so beautiful; just wait, we're taking this home today" she shoved the dress Into your hands and walked over to the cashier who was a young early 20 something which had been burning holes in the back of her head this whole shopping trip. I mean, who could blame him? Baby was drop-dead gorgeous, and she knew it.

She skips over to the unsuspecting victim and turns on the charm; leaning over the counter, she twirls one of her golden curls in her fingers and smiles. " Don't you think my sister would look pretty in that dress Mr .. (a male name you like)? "Oh yeah, she would look great," he stuttered a bit and ran his head over the back of his neck nervously, little beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, he was already nervous, and Baby was just getting warmed up. 

"So .. here's the problem, handsome," her voice thick with flirt and sass. "I promise to my beautiful sister over there that she would be able to wear that dress on her wedding day tomorrow, but it's a little out of our price range. Do you think maybe there's something you could do?" She pouts and leans over the counter a bit more, looking at him from under her lashes. " I don't know I could get in trouble, oh," he stutters, and his sentence is cut off when Baby grabs the end of his tie and slowly pulls it toward her. " Oh please It would mean so much to us, and I could make it up to you! maybe you can come over to our house this week, and I can show you how much I appreciate your generous nature" she smiled at him and turned her head; she knew she had him right where she wanted him. It was always fun to watch these interactions. It was like a dance or something or a lion stalking its prey. " I um I think maybe I can do something um just don't tell anyone " gulp "ah ok?" " Of course, sweetums, this will be our little secret" Baby took his hand and wrote down her address with the pen she took from his front his pocket; you laughed a little knowing the fate that awaited the poor fellow, she strutted over to you taking your hand in hers and led you out the door. Back at the house, the party was in full swing, every member of the house was partaking. 

Spaulding was, of course, the officiant; he seemed to be almost as happy for this event as you two. What can he say? He loves to love! Finally, the moment came: one a buzz of excitement. Baby, of course, was your maid of honor and tiny walked you down the aisle. Otis wore his most  clean flannel and surprisingly non ripped jeans ( he owns a pair of those ?!) His eyes widened, and a smile crept along his face seeing you come toward him in that dress. He couldn't believe how stunning you were and how lucky he was that you were going to be his forever. "Why, hello there, beautiful'' he lifts your hand and kisses the top of it, he leans back a little and eyes you up and down " shit, mamas, all this for me?"

Looking up at him and staring right into his blue eyes you smile " all yours handsome.” "ALL FUCKING RIGHT LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED.  SURE THESE TWO WANNA GET THIS OVER WITH AND GO STRAIGHT TO THE HONEYMOON. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING HAHA! '' Spaulding's booming voice ripped through the backyard, causing you both to snap out of your love trance. " Alright, happy boy, you wanna go first? And try not to royally fuck it up in front of the lady hmmmmm?" " Shit shut the fuck up, cutter" he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny scribbled on paper that looks like he wrote and erased about a million times; he clears his throat " um yeah, so I wrote these, and I hope you like em and yeah here we go welp I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, the only home I've ever had, and that home is you.” He nervously put the note back into his pocket and cleared his throat; he read the vows fast as if to hurry and get past this vulnerable exposure as quickly as possible. 

You were shocked, to say the least; saying that you weren't expecting much in the romantic department was an understatement, the fact he was able to muster up these words completely melted your insides. " So what the fuck? You just gonna stare at me or something? What are you getting cold feet now, a woman? You're just staring .. say something!"  You look at a deep breath, suddenly aware of all eyes on you. alright y/n you can do this; you took a small piece of paper from your bra and opened it. " So I couldn't find the words for what I wished to say * clears throat," so I had to borrow them; in the words of Pablo Neruda: “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I do not exist, nor you.” Small awws and comments erupted in from the small crowd, "

WELL HOT DAMN THAT IS SOME HEARTWARMING SHIT" Spaulding well basically screamed, he took out the long hunting knife from his pants pocket. He handed it to you " ladies first, my dear" You had predicted that there would be some apprehension about slicing open your hand with a giant knife but the look Otis was giving you all the courage you needed, he was looking at you with a deep burning hunger, one that sent fire to your stomach and tingles to your core. With a deep breath, you sliced hard and fast into your left hand, never breaking eye contact with him; the pain was intense but forgotten, overshadowed by the lust growing more and more intense by the second you wanted your husband, and you wanted him now. You handed the knife back to Spaulding " alright happy boy, you're up" you clenched your hand close, feeling the warm blood flowing through your fingertips. Otis had a large grin by this point, hastily taking the knife and slicing it into his palm way faster than you did. 

He moved closer, taking your hand and pressing it into his, the blood from you and him mixing. " I now pronounce you sick bastards husband and wife! " And with that last statement, Otis grabbed your face with his clean and bloodied hand, pulling you into a deep kiss; you linked your hands around his neck, pulling him closer.

Breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and slowly licks your large gushing cut, staring at you deep in the eyes the entire time; this dark, sick so very erotic scene made you take a deep breath in and bite your lower lip breath hitched. You softly whispered, "Otis…"..  his eyes had become large and dilated with lust. That last whisper from you was enough to push him over the edge " Alright, y'all can get the fuck out. I'm about to do unspeakable shit to my wife, see y'all next week, no one bothers us, or  I'll blow your head fucking off.” With that, he threw you over his shoulder and with a smack to your ass he took you into the house. 

[ihatetosayitoldyouso]

august

masterlist

content warnings: some cursing? mentions of alcohol and drinking

word count: 5,189

Chapter 1

I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try.

He was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. And I know that’s a cliche statement, but in this case, it was one hundred percent true. He walked past me with a gait that both intimidated and intrigued me. He walked as though he knew he would never falter, never trip, and never fall. He had a jawline that looked as if it were chiseled by Zeus himself. His curly brown hair fell right above his eyes, not completely masking his bold eyebrows. And his eyes. Oh my god, his eyes. The more I looked at them, the more I got lost. They were a deep hazel, with specks of green and gold, that could surely be seen from space. His hands were encapsulating, as if they had a magnetic force emitting from them, pulling me towards him. The way he briefly touched his beautiful lips with the tips of his fingertips did something to me I couldn’t explain.

I realized I was staring and quickly tried to pull my attention back to the book I was reading, but I continued to glance up at him. He walked by me, close enough that I could feel the slight breeze he caused to blow past me. It vaguely smelled like cedar, cotton, and- was that vanilla? I looked at him briefly before he walked completely out of my eyesight and let myself dream for a second. Who was that? And why have I never seen him before? Okay sure, campus is about 40,000 people large, but still. He was in my vicinity now, so surely he had a class around here.

Okay, that was enough daydreaming. I tried to inhale his scent once more before checking the time. My watch said 12:36 pm which meant that my next class was in twenty-four minutes. I spread myself out on the ground by the tree I was at and continued to read. Today was the first day of my Criminology class, so I wasn’t too nervous about getting any studying in beforehand. Plus, the class was huge, so I didn’t need to worry about getting called on to answer a question if I didn’t want to. I checked my phone before getting up and making my way to class. It was a beautiful day out, as if that boy- excuse me, man, I saw earlier created the perfect environment for him to walk in. The sun was shining but there were just enough clouds speckling the deep blue sky. The trees were a vibrant green, going perfectly with the freshly cut grass. It felt impossibly perfect, considering it was the middle of August. Shouldn’t it be excruciatingly hot? But no, the breeze felt perfect on my warm skin and didn’t cause a chill as I picked up the pace into the Behavioral Sciences Building.

As I walked through the glass door, I felt the chill of the AC hit me as soon as my foot graced the tile floor. It immediately sent a shiver down my spine, similar to the one I felt earlier when that immortal in human form glided past me. I felt myself lose focus and completely miss the elevator I planned on using. I shook it off and pretended like walking to the stairs was what I had intended all along. I opened the door to the corridor and began ascending the stairs that seemed to never end. I checked my watch one more time, to assure that I was still on time, and I was actually ahead of my own extremely strict schedule. As I reached the floor I needed, I took out my phone to scroll mindlessly while I waited for my professor. Of course, I was here before anyone else. My mom always told me “on time is late and early is on time,” so I always made sure to be early by her standards: at least fifteen minutes before any event was supposed to start. But not for parties. I promise I’m not that much of a nerd. Maybe.

Anyways, I took a seat in the third row, close enough that I could see the front without straining my eyes, but not so close that I would be able to eyefuck my professor throughout the lecture. Not that I would. But I’ve seen some try. I don’t understand why people have a professor kink, but to each their own I guess. I stuck my nose into my twitter feed and waited for time to pass. About thirty seconds later, I heard the door open. I expected to see another student, but instead I saw the God that had graced my presence earlier. I tried to stop my jaw from flying open, but I failed miserably. Trying to play it cool, I tucked my hair behind my ear and started to organize my things for class. I looked up at him, seeing that he was already, was he? Staring at me? But I managed a meek smile and basically whispered the word “Hi.” His mouth moved and he spoke the word “Hello” before taking a seat at the front of the class. This kid was the professor? What was I supposed to do? Not stare at him the whole class? I just decided to keep my head down and try to focus solely on moving around my things, whether purposeful or not.

About fifteen minutes passed and as more students strolled into the lecture hall, the man I am definitely not staring at, began to write his name on the large whiteboard at the front of the class. “Dr. Reid.” Hmm. Sounds pretty formal. I instantly began to wonder if he was going to be a hardass and to dread the drudgery that I may encounter throughout this semester. I was taking six classes with a course load that could make a grown man cry. Or in my case, a 19-year-old girl. I do my best to pay attention throughout the lecture, rather than staring at the beautiful man in front of me. The class’s material genuinely interested me, but I couldn’t get over the fact that this man, who I thought was a (gorgeous) student, was my professor. He looked too young to be a professor. Far too young to be a Doctor. How quickly was he able to get his degree? Or maybe I’m just terrible at guessing ages, which I usually am.

Before I got too lost in thought, I heard a firm voice come from the top of the room. “Hello everyone. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid and I will be your Criminology professor this semester. You can call me Spencer, Professor Reid, or Dr. Reid, I really don’t mind. Before we get started today, I want to tell you all a little bit about me.” He clears his throat and leans back on his desk, laid in perfectly in the center of the room, and I see his dress pants crease slightly. I shake myself in desperate need to pay attention to the words he was saying, rather than his legs, which I could only assume were as perfect as the rest of him. I tried not to aim my gaze around his waist but it seemed to land there all on its own.

“I have a full-time position at the FBI with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They allow me time off on Mondays and Wednesdays to teach, which is how I’m here today” He chuckles lightly. “We work on serial cases and the occasional kidnapping case across the country. We use our knowledge of human behavior to analyze the serial killers we chase down. It helps us understand why they do what they do and what their next move might be. I’ve always found human behavior extremely interesting, which is what brought you all here today I hope.”

He walks around his desk and gathers a large stack of papers in his hands. Oh god, those hands. His fingers were long and slender, and his veins were so prominent, it should be illegal to have hands that attractive. I, once again, caught myself before he made his way down the middle of the row of seats, handing a small section of the papers to the student sitting at the end of each row. He made his way to the third row and handed me a portion of the papers. I took the stack from his hands and briefly looked up and found him looking right into my eyes. My breath hitched as I tried to focus myself and not fumble the papers everywhere. I collected myself and took a syllabus for myself and passed them down my row. Soon enough, I found myself looking back at him as he handed the rest of the syllabi out, hopefully not drawing attention to myself. He walked back down the steps and placed himself at the front of the lecture hall. “I understand that the majority of you will find it strange that I am handing out physical copies of the syllabus, but I have always preferred hard copies to digital ones, and I believe that should apply to students as well. In fact, direct mail requires twenty-one percent less cognitive effort to process than digital media, suggesting that it is both easier to understand and more memorable. Post-exposure memory tests validated what a cognitive load test revealed about direct mail’s memory encoding capabilities. When asked to cite the brand of an advertisement they had just seen, recall was seventy percent higher among participants who were exposed to a direct mail piece than a digital ad. Long story short, handwrite your notes.” A small wave of laughter settled over the class. I found myself smiling like a giddy schoolgirl, staring at Dr. Spencer Reid. How am I supposed to focus when he looks like that? I guess I’ll have to figure it out.

The rest of the class went smoothly. The handsome professor went over the syllabus and his expectations for us in his class. The clock struck 2 pm and I found myself writing down the reading assigned for tonight. Reading? Who assigns reading on the first day of classes? No matter, I read the beginning of our textbook ahead of time, so I didn’t find myself too worried. I stuffed my papers and my journal into my bookbag and tried not to stumble as I gathered my things to walk out of class. I walked past the man I had been trying, and failing, not to stare at for the entirety of the class period. I smiled a small smile and softly said “Thank you” as I walked out the door. He smiled back and waved softly as I melted into the hallway.

I had three classes on Mondays and I always tried to end my day as early as possible, so I walked back to my on-campus apartment; Criminology was my last class of the day. Yes, I start my day earlier than 8 am and I can probably be classified as certifiably insane. At least, according to my roommate’s standards. As I entered the cramped apartment, I found my roommate, Amber, asleep on the couch, a tv show playing softly on her laptop. I laughed at the sight of her, limbs everywhere and mouth agape, wondering how she could sleep like that in the middle of the day. It didn’t matter, she knew what worked best for her. She was one of the most accomplished people in our class. She majored in Political Science and International Studies and she seemed to ace every class with ease. I was in awe of her in that regard, as well as her ability to nap at any time and anywhere. We met each other last year in our Freshman Honors lecture and we had been attached at the hip ever since. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as close and safe with a person as I did Amber. I trusted her with all of my secrets and she trusted me with hers. I was extremely grateful to have her in my life.

Scoffing at Amber, I made my way to my bedroom and sat my stuff down in the corner of the room. I jumped onto my bed and began to scroll mindlessly on my phone. About fifteen minutes passed before Amber barged into my room. “Amber!” I jumped, embarrassingly startled by her entrance, “Jesus Christ, you scared the fuck out of me, I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” she started, “but now I’m not. Funny how sleeping works like that.” I roll my eyes at her. “Anyways,” she continues, “I heard there was gonna be a big party tonight in honor of the first week of classes and I was thinking we would go!” She bounces on the balls of her feet, smiling innocently at me.

“Amber, you know I don’t really party” I say.

“I knowwwww but… I thought I could drag you out tonight?” She clasps her hands dramatically. “Please? I just want to have some fun with you before we’re both consumed by homework. Please? I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.” She smiles her stupid smile again.

“Okay fine, I give in.” I say and she jumps up and down.

“Thank you Y/N!! You won’t regret this!” She says as she exits my room. I sure hope not, I think to myself as she closes the door. I go back to scrolling on my phone before setting it down to take a nap before getting ready to go out tonight. I never stay up late so I needed to prepare myself if I was going to stay out all night. I know Amber will want to get drunk and party until at least 5 am, and I wasn’t about to abandon her just to get a good night’s sleep. This could be fun, right?

---

I stare at myself in the mirror as I put on my tightest fitting dress. It was a red bodycon dress that I never felt especially confident in, but tonight I felt pretty good! I put on a pair of simple black heels to go with it. Normally I would wear something more practical, like shorts and a crop top, or something a little more moveable, but Amber insisted we go all out. “If this is the only party you’re going to this semester, you need to look your best! Why not?!” I couldn’t argue with her, she was right. I might as well look good, who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone tonight. I hadn’t had a real relationship since, well, ever. I was never one to put myself out there. I always focused on my studies and I worked part-time jobs whenever I could. Relationships and romance were never a top priority for me. Sure, it would be nice, but I could live without it. I had much more important things to tend to. Amber was helping me forget about all of those responsibilities tonight, which I admit, was a nice feeling. I sat down at my desk to finish my makeup and touch up my hair before I presented my look to Amber. I stood up, smoothed out my dress, and walked out of my bedroom, doing a dramatic twirl for her. “Ooooh, GIRL! You look hot!!!” She squealed and I smiled wide as I bounced over to her.

“So do you!! Bitch you always look good, how DARE you!” I said teasingly as I dramatically fawned over her. We grabbed our phones with our ID’s (real and fake) and some money tucked in the cases of them, not wanting to carry much else with us. I double-checked to make sure I had everything put away and everything with me that I needed. Amber stood in the doorway, checking her wrist as though she was checking the time, silently telling me to hurry up and that I was worrying over nothing. I sighed, “Okay, okay!” and ran out the door behind her. I triple-checked that we locked the door and followed Amber down the stairs of the apartment complex.

We made our way down to the lobby and out of the building’s front doors, the temperate climate and humid breeze hitting us as we walked to the edge of the street. Amber and I turned our heads to see our Uber approaching from the left and I double-checked to make sure that the car was definitely ours and that the driver inside matched the picture from the app. Amber always told me that I was too skeptical and cautious, but I don’t think that’s even possible, being a woman in the twenty-first century. An Uber driver could be a kidnapper or a serial killer, who knows! As soon as I verified the Uber’s identity, Amber climbed over to the far side of the car as I trailed behind her. I sat down on the covered seat and looked over as Amber gave the driver the location of the bar we were headed to. A feeling in my gut started to arise but I wasn’t sure what it was. Probably just nerves, I told myself as I took a few deep breaths and looked out the window. I tend to get nervous about almost any event, regardless of the severity of the situation. Amber asked the man sitting in front of us if she could play some music from her phone and he obliged. She proceeded to put on “Party in the U.S.A” by Miley Cyrus and I looked at her and grinned. This was always our going out song. We danced in the back of the car and sang obnoxiously loud in preparation for the night.

We finally arrived at the bar in which one of the biggest parties in the school was happening. Honestly, I’m more into house parties, but the only house parties here are the ones happening in frat houses and I am not down for getting drugged and harassed by rich, white, republican frat guys. We paid (and tipped) the Uber driver and made our way into the club. The line wasn’t long at all, considering most people had gotten there as early as socially acceptable to maximize their partying time. The bouncer let us through (thank GOD because I spent enough money on that fake ID) and we danced our way through the crowd and to the bar. We met up with a group of friends from our shared freshman year English 101 class and proceeded to get a round of tequila shots. One round turned into four and into ten. One could say I was officially wasted. I don’t normally party, but when I do, I party hard. Go hard or go home, right? Thanks to my not-completely-ruined inhibitions, I made my way to the bartender and asked for a large glass of water. “Party-pooper!” Amber slurred as she grabbed my shoulder for leverage.

“Hey! I just don’t wanna be super hungover tomorrow. It’s literally-” I hiccupped and giggled as I stared into Amber’s eyes, trying to gain some semblance of solidity in my footing, “It’s literally only Monday. I have three classes tomorrow and I always start my days earlier, you know this! I don’t wanna be drunk at my 8 am lecture!” I basically yelled at Amber’s face because the music and bass were so loud, I couldn’t hear my own thoughts.

“Okay, okay!” Amber shouted back at me, “Take a seat at the bar lame-o! I am gonna dance with that cute guy over there and maybeee you and I won’t be leaving together.” She pointed to a tall, blonde-haired man who was smiling and staring at Amber. She waved a flirty hand at him and started to walk away but her hand lingered on my shoulder.

“Amber!” I grabbed her wrist before she walked away, because I was not standing up right now. “Just… Be careful, okay? Text me if you do leave with him because I do not want anything happening to you. And I expect you to update me with texts with your location when you leave and if anything else happens okay? I love you, you know that right?” My fears were sobering me up quicker than the water was.

“I know! I love you too, silly. I promise I will be careful. I’ll make sure I know he is who he says he is before we leave and I won’t let him drive, we’ll take an Uber or something, okay? I don’t even know if I will leave with him, I was just thinking about it.” She paused for a second. “Thank you for caring about me, Y/N. I really do love you.” She smiled at me and I smiled back as she walked away to go dance with the handsome stranger across the floor.

My happy feelings dwindled for a moment as I sobered up and realized I was no longer a part of any group. Mine and Amber’s friend group had dispersed across the bar and the dancefloor, all trying to go home with someone. I would make that my mission too but frankly, I was too drunk to be completely aware of the goings on around me. I took out my phone and pulled up the Uber app, ready to go home. My plans changed when I looked around me and saw a familiar face at the very end of the bar. Dr. Reid? Why is he here? This bar is mainly occupied by college students, plus today was a huge party day, it didn’t make sense. Against my better judgement, I found myself standing up and walking towards him. I tried my hardest to walk straight and keep my eyes focused. I didn’t want to make my first real impression with him, one of me being blackout drunk. I downed the rest of my water before making my way to him. “Professor?” I questioned as he stared off into the distance.

“Oh! Hi. I’m sorry, what was your name again?” He asked nervously. Why did he seem nervous? I don’t think I ever told him my name. In fact, I barely think I even said hello.

“Oh, it’s Y/N.” I smiled at him. Normally, I would extend a hand to greet someone of authority, like him, but my hands were clammy and probably dirty from being in a bar like this. I hope he doesn’t think I’m weird. He looked down, expecting me to extend a hand as well, I assume. He looks back up and meets my eyes.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” He says.

“You too.” I say and smile. We’re both quiet for a moment and I look around, trying to think of something to say. I’m so awkward. I take a deep breath, in hopes that it would spur a thought or initiate something to come out of my mouth, but it doesn’t.

“You look very nice.” He says and I come short of shaking my head in surprise.

“Thank you! My friend insisted we dress up tonight.” I laugh softly and smooth my dress down with my hands. Should I compliment him too? Would that be weird? “Um, if you don’t mind me asking,” I continue, “why are you out at a student bar tonight? I assume you knew about the party happening?” I don’t know where the confidence came from for me to ask him a question, but I was curious nonetheless.

“Um,” He chuckles and looks at the ground for a moment. “My friend and I were out with our coworkers and he insisted on coming here afterwards. I mentioned the parties that are thrown during the first week of classes and he couldn’t resist, I guess.” He nodded his head to point me in the direction of a very handsome man, dancing with a woman who couldn’t be much older than me.

I laugh and turn back to him. “Are you not the partying type, Dr. Reid?” I don’t know where these conversational skills were coming from. I had a hard time opening up to people my own age, much less authority figures.

“Not really. I mostly teach, work, and go home, to be quite honest.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Please, sit down, you don’t have to stand. I’m sure those shoes aren’t really meant for standing.”

“Thank you.” I laugh at his comment about my shoes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say they’re the most comfortable pair I own.” I take the seat next to my professor. “And me too, for the most part. My friend kinda dragged me out here tonight.”

“And where’s your friend now?” He questions. I point to the far corner of the club, where Amber was grinding on the man she was telling me about earlier.

“She’s a little more outgoing than me.” I laugh and ask the bartender for another glass of water. I can tell he’s looking at me from the corner of my eye. Why does that make me so nervous? I instinctually start to bite the nails on my left hand. I barely noticed I had started doing that, so I didn’t expect my professor to notice it at all.

“Are you nervous?” He asks and I pull my nails away from my mouth.

“Um, I guess so? I don’t go out too often and new places and people tend to make me anxious, I guess.” I look down at the bar and the glass in my hands.

“I get that.” He says.

“Um, do you mind if I ask how old you are? I’m sorry if that’s a little bit out of nowhere, I just remember you introduced yourself as Doctor this morning in class, and I initially thought you couldn’t be much older than me.” My curiosity got the best of me, I suppose.

“Uh, I’m 28. I have three PhDs in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.” He rattles the list off as if he says it every day.

“Woah, what are you, like a genius or something? How the hell did you get three PhDs before 28?” I cover my mouth almost immediately. “I’m sorry for cursing, I don’t know, is that not appropriate?” I blush and look down again.

He chuckles, “No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. And I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words per minute so, yes, I guess technically, I am a genius.” He smiles at me and- is that a smirk I see?

My jaw practically flies open. “Wow, I guess I’ll have to try extra hard in class to impress you.” I find my courage again and look into his eyes. I almost immediately get lost in the swirls of gold and green. I find myself blushing again and somehow more words leave my mouth. “Would you, um, like to go talk outside? It’s really loud in here and my throat is getting sore.” I begin to stand up after he nods. I look for Amber and as soon as I make eye contact with her across the room, I mime typing on my phone as a signal for her to text me and that I’ll text her with whatever I’m doing. What am I doing? Am I going to talk to my professor and leave? Or am I going to leave with him? No, I can’t even think about that, that’s ridiculous. Whatever, Y/N, just worry about getting outside of the bar.

I push the heavy wooden door of the club open, exiting while Dr. Reid follows. I make my way towards the edge of the building, the music muffled by the walls. I lean up against the stone wall of the building and fiddle with my phone in my hands.

“Is this weird? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be blunt but, you’re my professor. Do you normally talk to students at bars or was this just a weird coincidence? Or is this not weird, considering we’re not too far apart in age, I guess, and I mean, we’re both adults, right? I’m sorry I’m rambling I just feel awkward I guess I’m not sure what to say, um…” I cut myself off and look away, trying to find solace in the air around me.

He laughs again. Why is his laugh so attractive? “No, I don’t think it’s weird. It’s nice to have a conversation every once in a while, even if it’s with a student. Even if it’s outside a college bar. I don’t find much time to talk about topics that aren’t serial killers or behavioral analysis.” I jump as he uses his hand to bring my face and my eyes back to his. What was that? “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just don’t want you to feel nervous or like you can’t talk to me. I really do enjoy talking to students, and just other people in general. Most people don’t enjoy talking to me so it’s nice when I find someone that does.” He blushes. Wait, he blushed? Why are his cheeks turning red?

“Well, I enjoy a good conversation too. And it’s okay, I just didn’t expect you to touch me, I guess.” I pause for a second. “Why wouldn’t someone want to talk to you? You must have so much knowledge to share, being a genius and all.”

“I guess that’s why,” he begins, “people find my rambling to be annoying. I want to share the knowledge I have, but that’s not always what constitutes a good conversation in some people’s opinion.”

“Well, not in my opinion.” I say boldly. I feel sober but drunk at the same time. Sober me would definitely not be having this conversation in the first place. But I don’t feel drunk, I feel… grounded. And focused. But I feel tipsy, like this conversation is affecting me the same way as alcohol. Maybe I shouldn’t think too much about it. You’re blowing it, Y/N. Blowing what?

He smiles and looks down at the ground. I find myself reaching my arm out and placing a finger below his chin, gently nudging his head back up to look at me. He looks surprised. I quickly pull away and begin to play with my hands again. I check the time on my phone: 5 am. Has it really been four hours? It barely felt like fifteen minutes. “I should probably get going soon, I have class in, holy shit, three hours, and I would like to get at least a little sleep before then. It was really nice officially meeting you, Dr. Reid.” I begin to make my way back to the entrance of the bar to find Amber and get us both home.

“Please, call me Spencer.” He says and turns as I start walking away. I pause my movements.

“Okay. Spencer.” I smile and disappear into the bar.

[jenniferxprentiss]

I Knew You’d Linger Like A Tattoo Kiss -> 3/6

you’re my golden hour (the color of my sky)

read it as a stand-alone oneshot here

The third time JJ kisses Alex in front of the team, they’re enjoying a rare day off at the carnival. JJ can’t keep her eyes off of Alex all day, and as the sun begins to set behind the clouds, casting them in a pink glow, JJ can’t resist insisting they go on the Ferris wheel just once. They’re quiet as they ride, JJ’s head leaned on Alex’s shoulder until they reach the top of the ride, both looking at the flashing lights below them as the sun disappears, giving way to a vibrant pink. In that moment, regardless of who was watching, JJ couldn’t help herself, leaned up and pressed her lips against Alex’s as the ride began to slowly descend.

or the alternative summary.....

Emily was arguing with Reid and Garcia about who got to go on first, Alex and JJ both laughing out loud at the way she was waving her arms around and trying to prove her point. In her defense, she had been dead and exiled to Paris after the trauma of Doyle — and in Spencer’s, she had left him behind and didn’t even say goodbye. “Hey, I thought we agreed to not bring that up again.” JJ’s tone was firm, eyes narrowing at Emily in particular who mumbled out an embarrassed apology. “How about you rock paper scissors for it?” “I like the way you think.” JJ stretched up on her toes, placed a soft kiss to Alex’s cheek before turning her attention back to Spencer and Emily, who were engaged in another bickering war.

hi hello lovelies!

the decision to post this as both a standalone AND the next chap of the 5+1 was a little tough, so I’m hoping you aren’t TOO mad at me for it! i just thought that 1) it would get more exposure tagged as hotchniss, light implied morcied and 2) this is entirely too long (3.2k words!) to be JUST a chapter. and it’s also lightly focused on the rest of the BAU too!! if u don’t like Alex x JJ, I don’t suggest u read, though! but whatever floats ur boat. love u!!

tag list xo lemme know if u want a future tag! @babyblockcolorcat @whiskey-fluent @anepiphany @criminalmindsgonewrong @ellegreenawy @alex-blakes @j3mily @jjsgirlfriend @blakes-dictionxry

——————

It was rare that the team was allowed any time off aside from weekends when they were in town, let alone a weekday to do something as simple as going to a carnival. Strauss had pulled some strings for Emily’s return to the BAU, classified it as team bonding when she informed them of their time off and told them not to stay up too late, they had work to do the next day.

They hadn’t considered a carnival until Emily and Alex had admitted to the team that they had never been to one — sitting around the conference table with the rest of the team staring at them in various states of confusion because really, who had never been to a carnival? Garcia immediately decided that there would be no other acceptable team bonding activity, and luckily for them they were right on time for the last day of the carnival.

JJ had always loved fall carnivals, loved the way the crisp autumn air blew the fallen orange leaves around her feet as she walked, the way it felt and sounded like magic as every footfall brought the crunching of leaves underfoot. She felt a goofy grin pull at the corners of her lips, her hand firmly in Alex’s as they walked leisurely along the pavement, watching Henry as he walked ahead of them.

There was a giddy happiness that coursed through her at getting to take Alex to her first carnival, JJ still smiling at the memory of watching her eyes light up as they drove into the parking lot. They were older, with children and previous marriages — a slow-moving divorce, in Alex’s case — and they didn’t have much room for firsts, and JJ knew this would be a memory they both held dear to them for years to come.

“He looks like he’s having fun.”

JJ could hear the subtle smile in Alex’s voice, breaking her from her thoughts. She squeezed her hand before looking up and watching Henry race Emily off to a ring toss game. He had missed his Aunt Em so much, the sight of him running off with her to go play brought the familiar lump of tears to the back of her throat.

“I knew he would. He missed her so much… I’m glad he can have today before we go back to normal life.” She laughed when Emily ruffled Jack and Henry’s hair, looked over at Alex pointedly. “And you? Are you having fun?”

“As long as I’m with you.”

Her answer was sincere, her tone even and measured but she knew that JJ would understand the true vulnerability behind it. She so rarely let her guard down around other people, especially after her separation from James, but somehow JJ was always able to pull her from the hidden recesses of her mind and get her laughing.

They continued walking in silence, JJ motioning to Hotch that she was veering off towards a stand, nodding when he signaled that he had eyes on Henry. She tugged Alex towards the cotton candy stand, felt her heart flutter when she noticed the soft grin on her girlfriend’s face out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m gonna go grab a bench for us.” Alex’s voice was soft, chilled fingertips grazing the palm of JJ’s hand. “Make sure you get the pink.”

Their relationship had never been built on grand gestures, rather small acts of kindness and words of affirmation uttered behind closed doors — the gentle whisper of words uttered against lips, the way Alex glanced at JJ in front of the team with eyes so full of love that they held a message. She didn’t need Alex to say anything at all — knew her better than the back of her own hand.

She shuffled up in line, eyes still trained on Alex as she sat on a bench, one leg folded over the other and hands in her lap. The sight melted JJ’s heart, the way Alex’s cream colored sweater contrasted her dark hair that hung over her shoulder in a loose ponytail, tied with a ribbon. She was so preoccupied watching Alex that she didn’t notice the man behind the counter clear his throat, calling her up to the stall.

“Oh, I’m sorry… let me get two of the pink and blue over there.”

He grunted, took her money before disappearing for a moment, rummaging in a corner JJ couldn’t quite see. She blew a kiss in Alex’s direction, felt her stomach flip with giddy butterflies when Alex mimed catching it, a goofy grin on her face. She turned back at just the right moment, the man thrusting her change and bags of cotton candy into her hand before mumbling a gruff thanks, already yelling for the next customer to come forward.

JJ remembered that Alex told her she loved cotton candy as a child, the way it melted on the tip of her tongue, felt her lips twitching up into a smile at the thought. She remembered the night they stayed up together long before their relationship had shifted to one laced with romantic intonation, both of them curled under a stiff hotel blanket and whispering silly secrets into the dark — both unable to sleep after they found yet another victim, this one hitting a little too close to home. She drank in every little detail of Alex in those nights, the soft side of her she never let show until the lights were turned out.

“What’s up?” Alex’s voice was soft, fingers grazing her forearm gently in a way that broke JJ from her thoughts.

“Nothing… just thinking.”

“Oh, that’s dangerous.” There was a playful lilt to Alex’s voice, lips curling up into a small smile as JJ sat beside her on the bench.

They were content to sit away from the action for a moment, just to watch the people go by. JJ watched Emily and Hotch, smiled to herself when she saw just how happy they were chasing after Jack and Henry. Emily was laughing — unrestrained, the kind of booming laughter JJ missed so much while she had been gone — her head tilted back and eyes sparkling as she reached for Hotch’s hand. He took it, pulled Emily into him and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before they pulled apart to help the boys with the water gun game they were playing, Emily’s hands on Henry’s smaller ones as she guided him.

With a soft smile on her lips, JJ brought a bite of cotton candy up to Alex’s mouth. Her lips wrapped around JJ’s fingers, corners of her lips twitching up into a smile as her tongue darted out to lave across the skin, collecting any small bits of sugar that were left. They soaked up the bit of silence amidst the chaos, before the kids or the team would come running and pull them away to another ride.

“Tastes good.”

“Yeah? I know how much you like pink.”

She couldn’t help but gaze into Alex’s eyes, the way they crinkled up in the corners as a wide smile spread across her face. Her eyes flicked up to meet JJ’s, sparkling with a hint of bashfulness behind her doe eyed gaze.

“Not just the candy.”

“Hm?”

“You.”

JJ felt her heart speed up at the tone of Alex’s voice, the way it was subtly playful — fingers catching her wrist gently and guiding JJ’s hand to bring another bite of cotton candy to her mouth. It was in these rare moments of calm with her — just sitting with each other and watching the world move around them — that JJ saw a more permanent future with Alex by her side.

In that moment, JJ saw lazy Sunday mornings around the breakfast table with Henry as a teenager, stuffing food into his mouth before running out the door to catch up with whatever friend he was going to hang out with for the day. She could see movie nights curled up on the couch as an older Henry rolled his eyes at the way his mother was laid across Alex’s lap. There were visions of Christmases spent together — building gingerbread houses with Alex, a dollop of dried icing on her cheek as they sang along to Christmas carols — and long walks down the street admiring the autumn leaves.

The sun had begun to disappear behind the clouds, setting rapidly into a pinkish orange glow and giving way to a chilled breeze. She turned, eyes catching Alex’s face in just the right light and felt her heart clench for just a second. She looked at peace — face relaxed and free of the worry lines that were almost permanently etched into her face — eyes trained on JJ’s side profile with a small hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Hey.” They both startled when Emily approached, her voice soft and eyes kind. “Henry and Jack fell asleep, Rossi has them. A bunch of us were going to hop on the ferris wheel to watch the sunset… you in?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” JJ looked over at Alex, the way her eyes twinkled a little extra when Emily mentioned watching the sun set on the ferris wheel. “Yeah, we’ll be right there.”

“Hotch is saving us a place in line. Let’s ditch this shit with Rossi before they’re too far up in line.”

They half jogged over to the ferris wheel, Alex’s hand firmly in JJ’s, delightfully short of breath as a giddy wave of butterflies settled their way into her stomach. She had never been with someone who made her so lovestruck, made her feel like the little emoticon with heart eyes that JJ used so often — she wanted to drink in every second of the feeling, to never forget the fluttery happiness she felt in that moment.

“Nervous?”

“Sort of. I’ve never been on one before.”

“I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”

Alex smiled, a genuine grin directed at JJ, before turning back to look at the ferris wheel again, taller than she imagined one would be in person. The lights were on now, flashing and changing so rapidly that it made her eyes burn but she couldn’t look away. It was intoxicating — not just the wheel and lights, but the carnival itself. The ambient chatter in the background, hundreds of hushed conversations mingling with music and announcers yelling over the crowds brought a soft smile to her face, head quirking to the side as she tried to pick out any definitive sounds in the crowd.

She was pulled forward by JJ, the line moving again as another couple stepped into their seats and the worker started the ride up again. In front of them, Emily was arguing with Reid and Garcia about who got to go on first, Alex and JJ both laughing out loud at the way she was waving her arms around and trying to prove her point. In her defense, she had been dead and exiled to Paris after the trauma of Doyle — and in Spencer’s, she had left him behind and didn’t even say goodbye.

“Hey, I thought we agreed to not bring that up again.” JJ’s tone was firm, eyes narrowing at Emily in particular who mumbled out an embarrassed apology.

“How about you rock paper scissors for it?”

“I like the way you think.”

JJ stretched up on her toes, placed a soft kiss to Alex’s cheek before turning her attention back to Spencer and Emily, who were engaged in another bickering war. She shook her head, squeezing Alex’s hand gently in a sign of love — something they had adopted when they were still trying to keep their relationship a secret in front of the team, a simple gesture to say they loved each other.

By the time the ride operator opened the gate, Emily had declared herself the winner, but stepped aside and ushered Spencer forward with a sheepish smile on her face. The sight made JJ laugh, the way she walked back over to Hotch and let him wrap his arms around her from behind — having had no intention of actually making Spencer wait to get on the ride, not after she watched him buzz with excitement the entire time they had been in line.

He pulled Derek and Penelope through the gate with him, an uncharacteristically giddy smile tugging his lips upward and making the corners of his eyes crease with the sheer force of his unrestrained joy. JJ felt her lips quirk up into a smile of her own at the way both Derek and Penelope protested riding all together, but eventually let Spencer drag them onto the bench, all squeezing together as the ride operator clicked the bar down and started the ride again.

“He really has them wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?”

JJ let out a small chuckle at Alex’s words, nodded as she watched the trio move up on the ride, all of them laughing and joking together.

“You say that like you wouldn’t move heaven and earth for that man.”

“He reminds me of my son… almost as much as Henry does.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He had nine good years… and what is it they say about found family?”

They were interrupted once again by the metallic clang of the gate opening, Hotch and Emily sauntering hand in hand over to the ride car. They sat, Hotch’s arm around Emily’s shoulder and her head tucked into the crook of his neck as the ride started up again, and JJ felt herself swell with happiness at the way Hotch’s coat was around Emily, essentially dwarfing her in the material.

“They make a good couple.”

“Oh, yeah. I knew it would happen… especially once she went to Paris and there were no technicalities of the job keeping them from their feelings. He thinks I don’t know he was flying out to see her once a month.”

“He didn’t think Emily would tell you?”

“I think he was too in love with her to care what I thought.”

Alex made a soft sound of understanding, knowing the feeling all too well. When they had gotten together, in the early days of their relationship outside of falling into bed together for ‘stress relief’ on hard cases, she didn’t care if she lost her job — if she had to quit to just be with JJ on the off chance that it would work out — she felt such a strong pull to the other woman. Thankfully, the HR department was more than okay with their relationship — especially so after Emily came back engaged to Hotch — but it had always stuck at the back of her mind, exactly how much JJ meant to her.

“I love you too much to care.”

The words were laced with an intonation that made JJ’s head quirk to the side in question, wondered exactly what Alex meant and knew it wasn’t the place to ask — not with the way her voice was so soft, eyes soft and filled with such a fierce love that it made her head spin. To be loved so much was almost intoxicating, and she gave Alex’s hand another squeeze as the gate opened for them.

They sat perched on the edge of the bench seat, JJ’s head resting comfortably on Alex’s chest as the ride began to move, cranking them up into the night sky. The sky was a brilliant pink now, both of them transfixed by the sight, still entwined in more than a simple clasp of hands, but fingers laced together in a sign of love.

She loves me. She completely, wholly loves me.

JJ caught herself looking upwards for a second, a warm happiness filling her chest as she watched Emily lean into Hotch’s kiss, her hand on his stubbly cheek. It felt like she was watching a private moment, the way she leaned into him with so much love and adoration that it was almost too much to handle.

“Alex?”

“Hm?”

“I love you completely, wholly.”

“And I, you, my darling.” She paused for a moment, looked out at the carnival below them and back to JJ, a twinkle in her eyes. “Thank you… for bringing me here.”

They were paused at the top of the ride now, passengers disembarking their ride car below and giving them just enough time to look out at the view — the pink sky that cast them in the perfect glow, and accompanied with the lights and sounds of the carnival, it almost felt like they were in a movie.

“I’m honored.”

There was a gravely sincerity to JJ’s voice, and Alex knew she didn’t just mean it in regards to the carnival. It was an honor to love her — to share her dinner table with her, to share a bed with her while away on cases or the rare night that they could stay over at the other’s home.

“Jennifer…”

Their breath hitched, JJ leaning forward and letting her free hand cup the back of Alex’s neck, pulling them together and pressing their lips against each other. It was as though time was standing still for them, the shrill laughter of children and the music from the carnival below them fading into nothing but background noise — nothing mattered but the press of their lips, the way one simple action held so much love and tenderness.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, the ride jolted to a start again, their car descending. They could hear the shrill laughter of Spencer and Penelope, no doubt at something Morgan had told them — looked down and noticed Emily and Hotch cuddled against each other, her shoulders shaking in a silent cry as he held her, rubbed his hand in circles on her upper back.

“I wish we could stay here forever.”

“Hm?” JJ looked up again, felt herself melt when she gazed into Alex’s eyes. “Oh, me too. Aside from the chill… I’m starting to regret my wardrobe choice.”

With a soft laugh, one lacking the ‘I told you so’ she so desperately wanted to say, Alex wrapped her arm around JJ’s back, pulling her girlfriend into her and pressing a soft kiss to her hair. She let herself simply be in the moment, let herself be aware of every point of contact between her and JJ — from the way her hand connected with her shoulder right down to their knees bumping against each other — as she watched the carnival lights come closer and closer as they descended, knew that when they stepped off the ride they would be back to the chaos they both secretly loved so much.

“Jayje?”

“Mhmm?”

“I think I’m ready to ask him for a divorce.”

It was a ghost of a whisper uttered into the chilled evening air as their car came to a stop at the loading station — a statement so full of hope and love that it made JJ’s stomach flip. She didn’t dare mention it in front of the rest of the team who was already waiting for them at the exit gate — simply turned to Alex and pressed her lips against hers once more before exiting through the gate and joining the team again, a soft, proud little smile on her lips that she knew she wouldn’t be able to shake for the rest of the night.

[allsassnoclass]

maybe I wrote an off-screen epilogue scene.  maybe I didn’t. click the keep reading button to find out

warnings for mentions of weed and a mention of meds

December 26th dawns slowly over the mountains of Colorado, the sun creeping over the landscape like molasses, and Luke wakes up in the same way.  He stays in the murky space between dreams and waking for a long time, floating through his subconscious until Ashton’s gentle fingers trailing up and down his arm finally pull him back to earth and wakefulness.

“Hey there, angel,” Ashton says, shifting to kiss his bare shoulder.  “Good morning, my love.”

“Morning,” Luke hums, turning on to his back so he can see him.  This bed is smaller than the one at their LA house, pushing them closer together and reminding Luke of the months in Utah back when they first got together and earlier this year, when Luke stayed with him for most of fall semester.

Ashton smiles at him, hazel eyes crinkling around the edges.

“Waking up to you is the best way to wake up,” Luke says, voice scratchy from disuse.  It’s something he’s told Ashton multiple times, but it always bears repeating, and it never fails to make Ashton melt a little.  He reaches forward and brushes Luke’s hair out of his face, hand curling against his cheek.  Luke leans forward and kisses him, warm and slow, stubble scratching his face and mouths stale with morning breath.  Ashton hums contentedly when they pull away, eyes staying closed half a moment longer than Luke’s.

“What time is it?” Luke asks.

“Mid-morning,” Ashton replies.

“Petunia?”

“Already took her out and gave her breakfast.”

“I love you,” Luke says.  Ashton can claim to dislike Petunia all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that over the course of quarantine he has been the one giving her more treats and belly rubs.  His willingness to get up with her in the morning means Luke is free to stay in bed as long as he wants, and since Ashton returned he can keep him here, too.

“What do you want to do today?” Ashton asks.

“Be with you,” Luke says.  That was partially why they decided to come to Colorado for Christmas.  Ashton wanted a little bit of snow and Luke wanted to spend uninterrupted time with him.  When spring semester starts, Ashton will be heading back to Utah alone.  Luke has been writing and recording a lot of smaller projects in his home studio that will likely never see the light of day, but beginning in January the band is going to have recording time together again.  He’s needed with them, so he and Ashton will be long-distance until the semester ends since the university isn’t having a spring break and they won’t be traveling more than necessary in the pandemic.

“You don’t have a choice out here,” Ashton says.  “The cabin isn’t that big, my heart.”

“Good,” Luke says, hand sliding down Ashton’s waist.  His pet names have been getting increasingly diverse throughout quarantine, and each one still manages to give Luke heart palpitations, even the weird ones like thunder cat and lemon zest.

He leans forward to kiss him again, shifting easily when Ashton tugs to guide him on top, thighs bracketing Ashton’s waist.  Ashton moves his palms to rest heavily on his legs, and when Luke leans back he’s met with the sight of his black hair messy against the white pillow, a ray of sun illuminating his face and making him glow.

He runs his knuckles along the scruffy beginnings of a beard Ashton has been letting himself grow since classes ended.  It’s prickly, but Ashton doesn’t stop him, just watches with a smile.

“You’re so handsome, Ash,” he says.  The eclectic mountain man vibe he’s been leaning into shouldn’t work, but somehow Luke looks at him and is still as enamoured as he was with the adorable boy he didn’t realize he loved and the beautiful man he married.

“Take a picture.  It’ll last longer,” Ashton says.  Luke moves his hands to the smooth planes of his chest, keeping himself propped up.

“I think that’s your expertise,” he says, reminded of the hundreds of photographs stored on Ashton’s phone or various sim cards around the house, all filled with Luke in various moods, positions, styles, and states of dress.  One of Ashton’s goals for their summer together was to bring his photography skills up to par with his painting, and with lockdown Luke was the only convenient subject.

They have some pictures that they’ll never show anyone, and there are a few that Luke has considered showing the world.  Needless to say, Ashton is his favorite photographer.

“I wish I had my camera now,” Ashton says.  “Every inch of you is exquisite, and with the way you’re backlit by the sun you look ethereal.  If I could capture the expression on your face I would never take another picture again, because none of them would compare.”

He doesn’t yet have the words to respond to that, so he leans down and kisses Ashton again, and again, and again.

-/-

After wasting the entire morning together under the covers and grabbing something quick to eat, Luke and Ashton go for a walk.  It’s not cold enough to be unpleasant, and the cabin has woods to one side with paths stomped down throughout.  They soon lose sight of the house behind them.  Luke hopes they’ll be able to find their way back when the time comes, but if they get lost at least they’ll be together.

“This year was a lot better than it should have been,” Ashton says.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a global pandemic going on.  There have been thousands of needless deaths, cancelled plans, and teaching was significantly harder and less fun, but I think this year was my happiest year since I can remember.  I feel really good about my art.  I feel like I’m more aware of the world around me.  I’ve stopped feeling as self-conscious.  I finally got put on meds that work, and I’m actively enjoying my life.”

“You smoked a lot of weed.”

Ashton laughs.

“Yeah, I smoked a lot of weed, but I kept it professional at school.”

“Some of your students’ works would’ve been even better if you were high while seeing them for the first time.”

“Luke,” Ashton admonishes.  “I’m not trying to get fired.  I need the administration for reference letters since I’m job searching near LA now.”

Luke stops walking, letting Ashton carry on without him for a few steps.

“You’re job searching?”

“I am.”  He backtracks, meeting Luke where he is and taking his hands.  “Luke, I’m not stupid.  I know that the reason this year didn’t suck was because it was the first year I got to fully spend with you.  You are the love of my life, and I don’t want to try living my life without you for eight months of the year anymore.  When you’re not traveling around the world dazzling people with your talent, I want to be with you at home.  I love teaching, and I’m going to keep trying to do that, but after this semester I’m moving to LA permanently whether I have something else lined up or not.”

“Oh,” Luke says.  “I thought you loved Utah.  You have friends there, and students.  Are you sure you want to leave that?”

This past semester, Luke was able to fully witness Ashton as a teacher.  When he wasn’t on campus, Luke got full exposure to his joys and frustrations.  He sympathized with him over administrative decisions and safety protocols and got to see pictures and video tours of the art submissions that Ashton wasn’t able to see in person.

He gave Daisy an encouraging voice note for finals, because she’s been struggling with trying to complete her senior project given the circumstances and Ashton asked him to since she’s his favorite.

“I have friends here, too, and there will be other students,” Ashton says.  “Even if that wasn’t the case, being with you would be worth it.”

Luke’s heart feels full to bursting.

“Really?” he asks, needing one more confirmation that his dream is going to come true before he lets himself believe it.

“Yes, my sweet.  I’m moving to LA with you for as long as you make that city your home.”

Luke kisses him because the other option is to start crying, something which he doesn’t want to do when they’re out in the cold.

“I think this was one of my best years, too,” Luke confesses.

He came out and then almost immediately deleted his social media from his phone.  He’s learned more about what it means to be a good ally.  He’s grown as a songwriter, stretching himself with different genres and working on his piano skills more, writing dozens of love songs for Ashton and silly ones for Petunia, bad ones, good ones, and amazing ones for himself and for the band.  He figured out what it really means to be a husband, sharing his life with Ashton and able to physically be there for the bad days they both had and celebrate the joyful ones.

Things haven’t been perfect by any means.  They had to postpone the tour, they can’t see anyone, and it often feels like the world is on fire.  Still, though, he’s had Ashton.

Through all of this, he’s had Ashton, and after this semester he’ll always have him with him.

“You’ve been glowing,” Ashton says.  “I’m glad I got to experience it with you.”

“Me too,” Luke says.  “I love you.”

Ashton kisses his nose.

“I love you, too.”

They continue their walk hand in hand, enjoying the fresh air.  Ashton points out signs that animals had been there and Luke ensures that he doesn’t run into any trees while he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking.  The path turns out to be a big loop, and soon they can see other cabins again and then their own back door.

“Wait,” Ashton says before they go inside.  “I want to jump in the snow.  Film it for my instagram.”

Ashton has a professional artist social media, but he also has a private instagram that he posts on frequently.  Luke has gotten very used to snapping pictures or videos for him, always endeared by which pieces of his life Ashton wants to share with the rest of the world.

Ashton takes off his coat for the video and faceplants with a kerplunk.  As soon as he’s done filming, Luke is laughing.

“That was fun,” Ashton says when he hands his phone back to him.  “Want to make snow angels?”

“No, Ash, I want to go inside,” Luke says.  He gets no warning before Ashton has arms around his waist, tackling him down into the snow and making Luke shriek.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” Luke laughs, poking Ashton’s pink nose with his glove.  Ashton beams above him.

“Can we go inside now?” Luke asks.  Ashton hums, then snaps a picture with his phone.

“Now we can,” he says, getting up and offering Luke a hand.  Luke lets Ashton haul him up, then they finally enter the cabin again, stomping snow off their boots and brushing it from their coats.

They don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, or the rest of their stay in Colorado in general, but Luke couldn’t care less about what they’re going to do.  He gets to spend the rest of the holiday with Ashton, and then the rest of his life with him.  Soon they’ll be permanently in the same house again, and he couldn’t be happier.

If Ashton managed to transform an awful year into a good one, Luke can’t wait to experience all of the amazing years ahead with him right by his side where he belongs.

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity CH 8

ftm reader x Michael Myers

read on ao3

When you finally walk away, he lets you. You don’t go far, just having come down so you can’t go hide again. You think on if doing the dishes in front of him would seem passive aggressive, and then you think on how a normal person doesn’t think like that. You decide against it, because neither of you are normal people.

You choke down oatmeal for breakfast. It was the dinosaur kind, because you like to enjoy the little things, but you had to use water because you saw that you ran out of milk after breaking open the package. Staring into the shaped sugar, you try to work out how to feed two people on your shitty wage.

Scrubbing your bowl with a sponge, you look at the extra set of dishes, also marked with the tell tale dye streaks of the melted oatmeal dinosaurs. A small smile sneaks onto your face and you snort.

*** You don’t see him again before you leave for work, which is disappointing. More because you don’t want him tracking blood in your house and leading the police to your door.

Walking briskly, you eventually meet the street where it all went down. You nearly freeze when you see the police car, but do your best to act natural. A million possibilities run through your head and twist your stomach.

You were innocent, right? No, you didn’t call the cops. That makes you an accomplice.

‘Sure, it’s not calling is your indictment. Not that you’re housing a wanted murderer.’

The police tape draws your eye and you look at the roped off area in a way you hope reads as ‘curious’. You resist the urge to look into the window of the car to see if you were watched. The words from cheesy detective shows intrude when you don’t want them.

‘The suspect always returns to the scene of the crime’

You close your eyes and take a deep breath to reset.

‘No. You were a victim.’

The safety of the storefront becomes visible and you want to jog to it. Thinking about work, you should ask one of your coworkers if they could tell you where the nearest library is.

*** The sun is barely setting, but the customers have dwindled as per the usual sunday night. The chimes on the doors ring your attention and you greet the man to walk through in the chipper way that corporate demands. He looks your way and appears to struggle for a moment before offering a nod and diving to the back of the store. Not unusual, but he did catch your eye. He’s dressed like a woodsman and has a nice face to look at. You momentarily lament your chances of meeting someone in a small town like this.

When the man returns and sets his items on the counter, Dwight darts out of the manager's office and around the counter.

“Jake!”, Dwight sounds more enthusiastic than you’ve ever seen him and proceeds to casually hang off the man’s arm.

Jake stiffens and doesn’t meet your eyes, earning a confused look from Dwight until a light bulb goes off.

“Oh! Jake this is- I’m sorry I forgot, um, this is (Y/n). Nobody else is in the store, I think, I didn’t mean to-”

Jake cuts him off with a chuckle and a peck on the cheek, before extending his hand to you. Dwight, shellshocked for a moment, opens and closes his mouth before making introductions.

“(Y/n), this is Jake, my, uh…” He bites his lip in a nervous smile. “partner.” He finishes.

“Boyfriend.” Jake says solidly when you shake his hand.

The three of you banter as you check out his items.

“So are you going camping?”, you ask after bagging ingredients for s'mores.

“No, I live in the woods, but I don’t know how to make marshmallows.”, he answers so monotonously you can’t help but laugh.

“It’s true,” Dwight adds “he was half feral when we met, I think.”

After he’s finished paying, you and Dwight start to close up shop while he waits.

“Oh, (Y/n), by the way, I’m taking a small vacation soon so you might not see me for a bit.” Dwight calls to you from behind the register he’s closing. “But we’re having a small cookout next saturday, you should come!” “Yeah, you should come hang out.” Jake looks up from the newspaper rack he’s leaning by.

It surprises you and it probably shows on your face. “Sure, that sounds rad, I’ll have to see if I’m off then.”

Dwight turns around, saying he’ll put in the schedule for you to be free on September 14th. You’re at a loss for words, but manage not to stumble on a thanks when Jake scribbles the time and address on the bottom of his receipt and rips it off for you.

You’re beaming as you finish closing and say your goodbyes to your new friends, and you try to hang onto the euphoria for as long as possible.

You have yet to feel safe walking home, but you try your best to ignore the feeling of exposure.

The keys jingle in the doorway and you kick off your shoes before slapping your forehead.

You forgot the milk.

You groan your way into the kitchen to slap some food together and find a pile of jumpsuit on the counter. You grimace at it dirtying the previously decently clean kitchen. You don’t want to ask where he got clothes to change into, but you certainly hope he did change into something.

Ignoring it until you’re done eating, you grab it between two fingers and stuff it to the bottom of your laundry basket.

*** Four more bland days of work pass and you’ve only seen Michael a few times, looking cleaner now, at least until yesterday. You’ve been leaving the back door open now. It’s not like anyone more dangerous than him is going to break in, and if they did, you don’t have much to steal.

You’ve been thinking that if he was going to stay rent free, you might at least put him to work on the house.

Things have been moving like when you thought there was a poltergeist. Frustrating, but if it keeps him out of your hair, you can ignore it. You tend to give the room he’s claimed a wide berth, but recently you’ve been having to go in to find your shit. There’s a growing pile of blankets and some other scattered things that look like trash, but yesterday you found one of your missing shirts you thought the laundromat ate in there.

You’re not stupid. You can put two and two together and figure out a reason why he hasn’t killed you. It’s put you on edge, wondering when his obsession will end and he’ll get rid of you. Or do something worse because it doesn’t

Is it a bit self-absorbed to think that a serial killer is infatuated with you?

‘I could be reading the signs wrong…’ but then again, you doubt he spared your life because he wants to be friends.

You guess you’ll find out soon enough what he wants.

The library is warmly lit and comforting when you enter, the smell of books putting the tension in your body at ease.

The librarian, Marie, you learn, eagerly welcomes a newcomer and helps you sign up for a library card before pointing you in the right direction for a book on american sign language. You can definitely see yourself spending more time here.

It’s been so long since you went anywhere else besides work and home, you relish the atmosphere and leisurely peruse the titles after finding what you came for. You write down a few titles you want to check out on a later date after finishing the books you already own.

You got two sign language books, you doubt he’ll want to share. You also select a small anthology of ghost stories, thinking of the cookout, and, in a small burst of genius, a local road map.

At home, you leave the book on sign language conspicuously where Michael left his dirty laundry. Contemplating his reaction, you hastily make a note to leave on the cover.

“Thought you might want to express yourself better. Please don’t get blood on this, it’s a rental”

With hesitation, you sign your name on the bottom. Does he even know your name? You go to put the pen and paper away and pause, groaning as it hits you that you could have just left this out for him to write on. If he would even use either, you don’t know.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Close

Had an anon request a "short drabble” with a dialogue prompt for Owen/Kauri! 

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl

CW: Referenced dubcon, fucky thought processes, abuse survivor thinking about going back to abuser

“God, I love just looking at you.”

Kauri looks up, surprised, from pouring the cold brew Owen makes into a glass full of ice, the crackling of the coffee hitting solidified water, tiny minute fractures in the little clear squares now drowning in the smooth liquid.

Two glasses. One for Owen, first, and then one for him. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” 

His hair is still damp from showering, the black curls plastered in little flat circles against his forehead and the back of his neck. Owen sits across from him on the barstools lined up along the counter where the kitchen opens to the living room, one giant well-lit room with the sun shining through the open balcony doors.

“Nothing. Just...”  Owen trails off, and there’s a warm and loving look on his face that Kauri adores, loves to see turned back at him. “You’re so close to perfect, Kor-Bore.”

“Just close?” Kauri grins at him, flashes his own bright white teeth (Owen makes him do the whitening trays sometimes, his teeth weren’t so white before he thinks, but then he doesn’t really remember). 

“Nobody’s perfect,” Owen replies, with a shrug, but there’s a softness to him today, and Kauri melts into it.

It’s safety, that expression - it’s a good day, it’s Owen holding him on the couch. It’s maybe getting pushed onto his back later, and a lot of pets don’t have owners who care if they feel good, but Owen always wants him to have a good time, too.

He’s lucky.

He’s so lucky.

He signed up for this - and he has bad days where he thinks maybe he didn’t - but he did, and he’s so lucky that Owen was the one he was sent to.

He pours the milk - more for himself, only a little for Owen - and slides the glass along the counter until Owen’s fingers brush his, and little shivers run up Kauri’s hand and arm at his touch. 

Owen takes a sip, looking him over, and Kauri is suddenly aware he’s only wearing the black joggers, doesn’t have a shirt. Owen licks at his lips, and the look in his face makes Kauri’s stomach drop.

He hates it, but he loves it.

It makes him sick but he tilts his head and gives Owen his best coy smile - use your nonverbal cues, 645898 - and it will be good, anyway, because Owen will want him to feel good.

This is what he wants.

Even when he doesn’t.

"You’re so perfect for me, Kauri.”

Kauri’s hand stills on his own glass, and he stares down at it, and something’s wrong with the coffee. It’s not coffee, it’s a mirror, and he can see his own face refleced back at him with all the jagged cracks from the ice. 

Blue eyes, black hair, pale skin. 

Fractured into pieces that don’t quite fit together, and he stares at himself, and he doesn’t know the person looking back. It’s not Kauri.

The reflection in the ice stares right back at him, meets his gaze, and says in a low flat voice, you weren’t perfect for him before.

He looks up at Owen, confused, uncertain, with a sudden pounding in his head. There’s a weird smell in the air, like smoke and metal, and a chill even though it’s the middle of the morning. 

the fog comes in on little cat feet

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you,” Owen says, and it’s like saying I love you, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t, and Kauri is the only person in this condo who loves anyone.

He picks up the glass full of his own shattered image, and the reflection whispers 

he already changed everything about you.

Kauri throws the glass at the wall

and jerks awake all at once with a gasp, finding himself staring dazedly around the empty city bus, just him and the driver. The backpack rests next to him, with Keira contentedly beeping inside while she goes through some kind of new routine she has, something about putting all the new information together into organized little bits inside her data core. 

He can see the driver glance up at the big mirror that lets her see the whole bus, but he doesn’t try to meet her eyes. He still can’t look at himself, even though they keep telling him to try, to take away the conditioning with time, exposure, effort.

Instead, he just turns up somewhere and asks for a haircut now and then, and everything else he does, he doesn’t need a mirror for.

He’s got a hat pulled low to hide the distinctive curls, with the hoodie on top of it, hands buried in the sweatshirt’s pockets. He can feel the wide leather cuff he wears over the barcode rub against his wrist underneath his shirt and sweater, and takes a deep breath.

Just a city bus.

Just the middle of the night.

Safe.

As safe as he’s going to get.

He shifts around to get a little more comfortable pushing his back against the seat cushions, patterned like some neon 80′s hotel carpet. 

how do you know what carpets look like in hotels, Kauri?

He doesn’t answer the question inside his head. The answer will pop up later, or it won’t. 

He fights the ache of missing him, the good moments, the days where everything was togetherness and movies and watching Owen’s youtubers with him. He fights the memory of the look, licking his lips, the gentle smile.

Of thinking I’m so lucky.

The other Keira - the real one - hates that he misses Owen. Hates that he’s always running from the sound of his voice calling him home. Hates that Kauri doesn’t want to live as the other name. 

Everyone hates that he is always running, everyone always wants him to stay. They offer food and beds and showers and refuse the wrinkled dollars and bags of quarters he tries to give them in return.

If he stops running, they’ll see that Owen Grant wouldn’t change a thing about this Kauri, too, as long as he could keep him all locked up again.

What’s the point of a rescue if your damsel still dreams about the dragon and the tower?

Kauri still can’t think or say the name that people want to call him, but he knows who Kauri is, and he’s fine with being Kauri.

For now.

Or he will be fine, once he knows who Kauri is. 

You don’t even know who you are.

In the pocket of his jeans, the green cell phone starts to ring, and Kauri picks it up as the tinny ringtone voice sings, but where were they going without ever knowing the way?

He doesn’t check to see who it is - there’s not exactly a long list of people who call him, and the list of people who call at 2:30 in the morning is even shorter. He just hits the little button to answer and wonders if the bus driver can see the little smile he can feel growing wider on his face.

“It’s the middle of the night,” He says instead of hello. “I almost didn’t pick up.”

They both know he’s lying.

He always answers the phone.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Ten Years

Request: could I request a Five x Reader, where Reader has a child (the same age as Claire?) and Five comes back from the future to see that, and at first Five thinks she’s found someone else and gets jealous and Reader notices because of how he acts, and then he realises that the Reader and her partner have split up plzzz

I sorta messed up the timeline a bit—in this story, Five jumps to the future and gets stuck when he’s sixteen.

Y/D/N: Your daughter’s name

Pairing: Five x Reader

All the mirrors Five has seen have been smashed or even melted. Save for the reflections he occasionally sees in puddles, he has no idea what he looks like. He knows he looks different; he’s gotten a lot taller, his facial hair is scruffier, and his body leaner, muscles more defined, but he doesn’t really remember what color his eyes are. And what color would his skin be if it wasn’t so caked with dirt and burnt by the relentless, pounding sun? Is his hair really that light, or is that just the dust and bleach from constant sun exposure?

It’s been ten years since he jumped to the future and each day feels like torture. No one to talk to, nothing to do except wander around, looking for food and a fellow survivor, no matter how unlikely the prospect of the latter is. Surely whatever killed the entirety of the human race couldn’t have killed them all; he can’t think of anything that could wipe people out like this.

A sickness, yes, but there would have been quarantines and settlements of people not contaminated. Unless there are people in Africa or another continent that are still alive, sickness is out. Besides, sickness wouldn’t be able to destroy everything and everything, unless everyone goes crazy with it. But even if it is a sickness that makes people go crazy, there has to be a few people that are still suffering from it. If Five got here on the day the apocalypse began, he should have seen people dying from the sickness, but nobody is here.

So sickness is out. Next is natural disaster.

That one seems the most likely. Towers and buildings have toppled, some looking almost scorched. That indicates a wildfire.

A crazy thought occurs to him and a wild laugh bubbles out of his mouth, but he doesn’t care; nobody’s here to judge him for it. Maybe everyone’s left and gone to Mars. That would explain the utter lack of people.

To be honest, he doesn’t even really care anymore. He’s almost given up on ever getting back to his time and stopping the apocalypse.

The only thing that keeps him going is you, Y/N Y/L/N.

You weren’t one of the 43 children, but you lived close to the academy and attended the same secondary school as them. You also worked at Griddy’s, which meant the kids saw you often. To be honest, nobody expected you to get along with any of them except maybe Ben and Vanya.

You were aware of their powers and maybe a little intimidated by them, which meant you were always on your guard around Allison. You never talked much to Luther; you two didn’t have similar interests. Klaus you held in slight contempt, as Five did himself, truthfully; he may be silly but you have little patience, and one requires a lot of that in order to deal with Klaus. You and Diego seemed to respect each other but never found a reason to speak.

You and Ben were reading buddies. You both enjoyed fiction tales and would often talk about them at the lunch table. Vanya you always treated with kindness and respect. You felt a little bad for her, especially because she was so nice.

Five was the one you got along with the best, and everyone had actually expected you to get along with him the worst. You can stick up for yourself but you’re generally soft-spoken and non-confrontational. Nobody expected you to actively want to hang out with the confrontational and sometimes downright cruel Five, but you snicker when he dresses someone down in public, and he was protective of you to the point of people being scared to even look at you wrong for fear of Five hurting them.

You’re also brilliant. You’re above average at school (but not as above-average as Five is, because Five is pretty much Albert Einstein reincarnated). Where he excelled at science and math, you countered with your English, foreign language, and, most importantly, street smarts.

Only Five knows about your screaming household. It’s why you’re so quiet; as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself you’re generally left alone. It’s also the reason you’ve got a vindictive streak a mile wide; after so long of being wronged, who wouldn’t? It’s just perfect Five was just the person to actually carry out the dark thoughts.

You’d made him smile. You knew his coffee order and had it ready for him every time he walked into Griddy’s, and he saved you from the asshole customers you couldn’t tell off. You weren’t his first kiss, but you were the first person that made the cliché butterflies flutter in his stomach. Apart from Vanya, you were the only person he ever wanted to defend. He was almost going to tell that he loved you. The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t gotten around to it before leaving.

Five wasn’t your first crush, but he was your first kiss. He was the first person you ever held hands with. He’s the only person you’ve ever fallen asleep while cuddling with.

Then, almost exactly ten years ago today, Five had been so fed up with Reginald telling him that he couldn’t do this, couldn’t do that, that Five snapped. He jumped to the next winter, and then he jumped to the spring after that.

He tried to jump to the summer after that spring, but he slipped and staggered while jumping, and he ended up fourteen years later in a future no one would have seen coming.

The worst thing wasn’t that he couldn’t get back. The worst thing wasn’t that a lot of people were dead. The worst thing was that Five’s family, and especially you, were dead. He hadn’t recognized his siblings except for the umbrella tattoos on their wrists, but you’d been unmistakable, even fourteen years after the last time Five saw you. Your hair was shorter and your jawline slightly sharper, but your eyes—terrible, open, unseeing eyes that Five still sees when he’s asleep—were the same, and so was the little freckle on your right eyelid that Five loves.

You’d been beautiful, but you’d been dead.

Five had screamed, he’d cried, he’d tried to force himself to jump, but nothing worked. His voice echoed and no birds were startled by it, no one came to check on the screaming, grieving boy, no deer raced for the hills. He was utterly stuck. He is utterly stuck.

The worst thing about his predicament isn’t that he’s wasted ten years of his life in a wasteland. It isn’t that Five might be stuck here forever. It isn’t that he hasn’t heard a single voice apart from his in ten years.

It’s that, even if he gets back, everyone still dies. You still die.

And he can’t even get back, anyway.

Or so he thought.

On the 3,748 day of being stuck in the apocalypse, Five was able to jump. If he was more driven by emotion, he would have stopped, he would have marveled, he would have exclaimed and maybe even missed his chance. He’d been dreaming of this moment for a full decade, so he doesn’t even hesitate; he knows exactly where to go.

2015. Sometime in 2015. That means he’ll be the same age as you and the rest of his siblings.

Sound, glorious sound, assaults his ears the moment he lands, and it’s both terrible and great at the same time. It’s a relief to have something to listen to, after so long of listening to only his voice grow deeper and hoarser from all the dust in the air, and a shock to his ears.

Five lands on the hard stone courtyard of the academy. He’s greeted by Grace, Pogo, and Reginald, all with matching serious looks on their faces. They all look the exact same as they’d looked when he left, all for various reasons (Grace is a robot, Hargreeves is so old Five can’t notice him aging more, and Pogo is a monkey).

“Number Five,” is all Reginald says. He’s not surprised to see him. The old man never lets anything surprise him nowadays, but you’d think being missing for 10 years could dampen someone’s expectations that someone else will return. “How old are you now, exactly?” Down to business already. How does he know that Five could be any age instead of the one he should be? He knew Five was trying to time travel, but he doesn’t know if he actually accomplished it. As far as Hargreeves knew, Five could have simply ran away and joined the circus.

Five doesn’t bother to dignify him with a response. He turns on his heel and jumps. He’d found the book Vanya had written during his time in the apocalypse, and it had mentioned her address.

He goes there.

You’re chatting with Allison happily while Claire and Y/D/N run around on the playground. Thank goodness they get along; you’re thankful for that every day. After Five left, you and Allison became closer, to the point where you don’t know how you’d be able to survive without her. She’s so much more suave than you, and she’s helped you a lot. You’ve helped her, in turn, reconnect a bit with Vanya.

Allison was the first person you went to, still with tear tracks on your face, after learning that Five had disappeared. You’d demanded that she rumor you and say that Five never ran away, and she had, but then you’d only thought Five hadn’t run away. It hadn’t brought him back. Allison un-rumored you, explained to you, and tried not to feel too awkward when your tears began anew. It was the beginning of a close friendship.

Now you’re a screenwriter, a pretty successful one, too, and all but one of your five movies Allison has either starred in or had a large role in. You even add Vanya’s music into the soundtrack. It’s a pretty sweet compromise. After all, in a family filled with boys, don’t the girls have to stick together?

“Patrick’s been trying to get custody of Claire, but his claims that I’ve rumored her are crazy!” Allison exclaims. “Thank god the judge sees that. I mean, god, I’ve been tempted, and that’s when I always call you, you know, but still. I’m just so glad that I haven’t. It would be terrible to be apart from your child, you know?”

“I know,” you say softly, watching Y/D/N run around on the playground. Truth be told, you hadn’t wanted kids. They hadn’t been part of your life’s plan. You’d been worried, too, that you’d turn into your mother. You never want to be anything like that raving lunatic.

You’re grateful for Y/D/N, though. You’ll never tell anyone that Allison had to convince you (thankfully without rumoring you) to keep her. The both of you have agreed to carry the secret to your separate graves. She was an easy baby, thankfully, and a sweet and easygoing child. You don’t want her to feel like she’s unwanted.

God, though, after Five left, you were messed up. You’d really loved him. You just couldn’t understand why he would leave without a word—you still can’t. There’s not a day that goes by where you don’t think of him—is he okay? Where did he go? Why didn’t he say a word to you?

It’s weird. You alternate between worrying about him in a mothering sort of way—you’ll always remember Five as the closed-off teenager that just needed someone to hold his hand and love him unconditionally, and the mother in you comes out—and worrying about him in the way you would your lover. You’ve tried to imagine him as twenty-five years old and you can’t.

At first, life without Five was hell. There was the constant worrying about him, and then your home situation got way worse. There was no one to protect you from bullies at school—Vanya and Ben were too quiet to stand up to anyone, and you were too nervous and ashamed to ask Diego or Luther for help.

You were still messed up when you’d met Y/D/N’s father. He reminded you of Five but he wasn’t smart enough. He didn’t style his hair the same way, and his eyes weren’t the same precise shade of green.

It only lasted a little bit, but that little while was enough. He was long gone before you even knew you were pregnant.

God, you barely even remember his name. What was it… Max? Rick? You’ve no idea.

Your phone rings, cutting Allison off, and you shrug at her. “Sorry, give me a sec.” It’s Vanya that’s calling. “Hey, Vanya,” you say, letting Allison know who it is. “What’s up?”

“There is someone in my apartment,” she whispers. “Where are you?”

“Oh, my God,” you reply, standing up. “I’m—we’re on our way! I’m only about five minutes from you if I run.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and you can hear in her voice that she’s about to cry.

“Hey, call 911,” you instruct. “Allison and I will be right over.” You may not be superpowered, but you do know how to fight. Diego had insisted when you’d become closer to the family over the years. He even gave you a knife for your 18th birthday. You sneakily take said knife out of your pocket and hide it in your palm. You’ll not hesitate to stab someone if it comes to that.

“What’s going on?” Allison asks with concern. “Y/N?”

“There is someone in Vanya’s apartment,” you reply.

“Oh, my God.” Allison looks around frantically. She grabs the arm of an old lady walking past. “I heard a rumor,” she says quickly, “that you brought our children back to the Umbrella Academy safely and then left and forgot all about this conversation.”

“Y/D/N!” You yell, waving her over. “Claire!”

“Come on, girls,” the old lady says kindly.

“She’s going to take you back to Uncle Luther,” you whisper to the girls. “Me and Aunt Allison have to go see Aunt Vanya, all right?”

“Bye, Mommy!” Y/D/N says cheerfully. She takes the old lady’s hand and they walk away.

“Nice thinking,” you mutter to Allison, barely waiting to see them start walking before breaking into a run yourself.

“Well, powers can be useful at times. As long as I’m not hurting anyone. Besides, it’s urgent,” she says back between pants.

You don’t even want to think about what might happen to Vanya if the intruder finds her. Are they violent? Are they looking for money? Together, you and Allison might be able to get them out, but you don’t want to risk them hurting Vanya when you’re not there.

You almost step on Mr. Puddles, who’s escaped again, when you make it to Vanya’s floor of the apartment building. You can’t hear any loud sounds coming from her apartment, which could be good or bad.

Allison holds one finger to her lips and pulls her key out of her pocket. You wince when the lock creaks as she turns it and prepare yourself to get attacked, shot, or worse.

Allison manages to open the door slightly without making a sound. You peer around it. The person in Vanya’s apartment doesn’t seem to be stealing anything. It’s a he, you’re pretty sure, and he just seems to be looking around.

Allison counts down from three on her fingers. You kick the door open and lunge at the intruder, ready to hold your knife to his throat. Allison’s already trying to rumor him, but he does something neither of you would have expected. It makes you drop the knife in your hands and it stops the words in Allison’s mouth.

The man spacial jumps, complete with the blue light and everything.

Vanya peeks out from around the corner, completely bewildered when she sees all three adults just staring at each other.

You take in the man’s appearance. He’s dirty like he hasn’t taken a shower in weeks or maybe even months. His clothes are torn. His jaw is sharp but messily shaven and his eyes have bags under them like he hasn’t slept for days. He has the tattoo of an umbrella on his wrist.

You suck in a choked breath. It can’t be.

“Tell me it again,” Luther demands.

Five rolls his eyes. “I’ve already told you three times, dumbass. I traveled to the future, got stuck for ten years, and traveled back. That’s it.” He’s bouncing his knee so aggressively he’s shaking the entire table. His stomach rumbles, making Diego flinch, but nobody else moves. It’s too much for everyone to take in, so they just stare at Five.

Five’s eyes are glued to the one person he’s been most excited to see.

You won’t meet his gaze.

“Where in the future did you go?” Klaus asks.

“2019.”

Diego whistles. “Wow.”

“Impressive until you remember you couldn’t travel back,” Reginald says from the back of the room, as always sounding like he thinks of himself as a king, and you stand up abruptly. You can’t stand him, but you also can’t pick a fight with him—he is your friends’ father, after all. You try to avoid him as much as possible. You won’t stand for him insulting Five like that, even if you were thinking the same thing.

“I have to go,” you mutter, standing up. Allison squeezes your hand for a brief moment, smiling at you, but you don’t return the gesture.

Five jerks in his chair, but Allison pins him down with a glare. She knows better than anyone how much his disappearance messed you up, and he thinks he can waltz right back in here?

Well, he can. Allison knows that beneath your overwhelmed exterior, you are bursting with excitement. She hates Five a little bit, for that; the way he captured you and abandoned you, the way you could never let him go, and how you’re going to take him back when he very well might leave again.

“Miss Y/D/N is with Grace in the drawing area,” Pogo speaks up.

Five frowns with confusion. Y/D/N? Who’s that?

“Thanks,” you mutter and hightail it out of the room. This is too much. It’s so much.

Five’s stomach rumbles again and Vanya finally turns around. She grabs bread, peanut butter, and marshmallows and starts to make him a sandwich, and Five just might cry. It’s been so long since he’s seen his favorite sister, and it’s been so long since he’s been in a house that’s not even remotely demolished, and it’s been so long since he’s eaten something that isn’t from a can.

He smiles at her without teeth when she hands it to him and mutters “Thanks”.

“Why were you stuck?” Luther asks without prompt.

“If I knew, I would have gotten unstuck a whole lot earlier,” Five hisses, but the effect is slightly ruined when he takes a big bite out of the sandwich.

It’s going to be a long day.

He’s waiting for you when you get home from Y/D/N’s dance lessons. You walk into the house and jump when you see him there, browsing through the family photos like he hadn’t just broke into your house. Your daughter follows you in and screams.

“Mommy, there’s someone in our house!”

“I know, honey,” you say soothingly. “That’s just Five. Do you remember all the stories I told you about Five?”

“You’re Five?” Y/D/N asks, staring at him with undisguised curiosity. “Where have you been?”

“I went to the future,” Five replies, staring at her with a look you can’t quite read on his face. You’re nervous; what will he think about Y/D/N? What will she think about him? “I just got back today.”

In your most secret fantasies, you’ve dreampt about him coming back and being like a father to Y/D/N. You remember, though, his disdain for children when you were younger. You’d shared the disdain, truly, and though you’ve changed, you don’t know how much he’s changed.

“The future?” Y/D/N’s face screws up with confusion. “You can do that?”

“Y/D/N, Five is special just like Aunt Allison and Uncle Luther—”

“And Uncle Diego!” she adds. She really, really loves Diego, and it might have something to do with the way you’ve caught him multiple times trying to teach her how to throw knives. “You know, you should be my daddy,” she continues, and you choke.

“Y/D/N!” you exclaim, coloring. To his credit, Five only blinks at her. You get the feeling he’s more curious about her than he is put-off or annoyed.

When his gaze transfers to you, however, it changes. His eyes narrow and you see the way they zero in on your left hand and the lack of a ring on your finger. “Yeah? And what happened to your daddy?”

“He left, just like you,” Y/D/N says, and Five flinches.

“I think that’s enough, honey,” you say softly. “It’s time for bed, yeah?”

“Mommy, is Five gonna be my daddy?” she asks while you carry her upstairs. It takes her a little bit longer to go to bed than usual because she’s so excited about the newcomer in your house, but when you come down the stairs Five is still milling around the living room, the ultimate missing puzzle piece. Except the puzzle he’s missing from is your past, and now that he’s been forced into the future it all doesn’t look quite right.

“You have a daughter,” he says immediately and unnecessarily.

“Obviously.” You cross your arms and chew on your lip. There’s an unspoken tension between you two that you almost don’t want to confront.

It never used to be awkward to talk to Five.

“And I’ll take it her father is… out of the picture?”

“Why, are you jealous?” you tease. It just slips out. You haven’t been able to tease Five for so long.

Ten goddamn years.

“I mean…” He looks away from you and shrugs. “I guess I don’t really have any right to be, but…”

“What was the future like?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He lets out a long breath. “Goddamn terrible. So lonely.” He hunches his shoulders and stares at the ground. You’ve never seen Five look so defeated. It kills you a little bit.

“I get that you’ve only been back for a little while—”

“Two hours,” he corrects.

“Two hours,” you concede, almost unable to keep yourself from smiling. “I get it if your feelings have changed. But Y/D/N was right. She does need a father figure.”

He looks up at you, a little incredulous that you’d just accept him back like that. “Seriously?”

“I mean, god, I’m going to kill you for leaving,” you say, shaking your head and laughing a little bit. “But I’m just so happy you’re okay, you know? And I missed you. Every day for ten years.”

Five wraps his arms around you, and if he’s crying you don’t ask why. You get the feeling he went through more than he’s letting on in the future, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get it out of him later, but right now you’re content to comfort him. God knows you need a hug. It seems like he needs one too.

Five years later, you and Allison go together to Leonard’s cabin to talk to Vanya. She tries to stop Allison from rumoring her, but you jump in front of her and it’s your throat Vanya slices instead. Allison calls Five, who’d been working out equations in your shared bedroom while watching Y/D/N, and he jumps to you immediately. He doesn’t even take Allison with him when he jumps back to the Academy, where Reginald watches all the processings with a stern eye. He’d never had to drink poison to get all the kids back together; you and Five did that all on your own.

He doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re unconscious. Nobody tells Y/D/N about what’s going on and just say instead that you’ve gone on a vacation and drop her off at the park with a trusted friend.

Luther has to knock Five out at one point when nobody’s sure if he’s going to stick to the plan of trying to talk to Vanya. The way he’s vibrating with energy and won’t put down his favorite gun doesn’t give them a lot of hope.

He’s  the one to greet Vanya when she comes to the Academy just after waking up. Everyone else had left to try to find Vanya and also so Five could cool down so he wouldn’t try to kill Luther on sight.

“Is Y/N… is Y/N okay?” she asks timidly.

“She will be, thanks to Grace,” he says coldly.

“Can I… see her?”

“No!” Five snaps immediately. “God, no. First of all, she’s resting right now. Second of all, you need a good grip on your powers and your emotions before I let you see her.” He glares at Vanya, arms crossed and hackles raised. He doesn’t offer the comfort she so desperately needs, but then again, she knows she doesn’t deserve it.

The truth may hurt, but it’s better than being locked away, like Luther had threatened to do, so Vanya nods, tells Five she’ll be in her room, and leaves to feel guilty in private.

You can’t talk when you wake up.

“Ssh, don’t try to talk,” Five comforts, wiping your hair away from your face. “Do you know what happened?”

You nod, one hand going to your sore neck.

“She’s here but I can make her leave if you want,” Five explains calmly. “She wants to see you, but I told her I wouldn’t let that happen until she’s under control.”

You close your eyes and a tear leaks out from beneath your right eyelid.

“I—here.” Five hands you a pad of paper and a Sharpie. “There you go.”

When you ask if you’ll ever be able to talk again, Five’s at a loss.

April 1, 2019 passes and nothing happens. Reginald and Vanya have an explosive fight, of course, about him hiding her powers, but she does have to admit that her slicing your neck open not two days after learning about her powers don’t exactly help her case. Everyone, even Vanya, can see Reginald’s logic.

Doesn’t mean she likes it, but she understands.

When you first see Vanya, you hold Five’s hand so tightly he loses feeling in his fingers, and he glares at Vanya the whole time, waiting for the moment he needs to jump as far away from her as possible. He’s got mixed feelings about her; on the one hand, she couldn’t control her feelings and threw a temper tantrum so huge she nearly killed you, and on the other hand, it is pretty shitty that Reginald kept her powers a secret from her for so long.

He’s already lost you before. He’s not about to do it again.

I’m fine, you’d written to Vanya. I’m glad everyone’s okay. You’d given her a small smile but made no move to hug her.

It’s going to take a long time before any trust is built back up.

At least the world hasn’t ended.

You and Five don’t have enough children, but that’s okay. He probably would have gotten annoyed if there were too many running around. You and Y/D/N are enough.

Every now and then, he just stares at you. The memory of your dead body has faded, and now the memory of this new, older Y/N is fresh in his memory. Yes, you’ve changed; you have a child and you’re more forgiving now, but he’s also changed. He may not want a huge family, but he’ll fight like hell for the one he has now. His time in the apocalypse changed him in ways you’ll not even begin to understand, mostly because he won’t tell you that the apocalypse had ever been an option, but you do know that he had been lonely.

Thank goodness you somehow changed in the same ways so you could still fit into the puzzle together.

Different puzzle, different pieces, but you still click, and that’s all you need.

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Self Tober Prompt 21

Sweets

SF!Papyrus/Reader

Are any of these edited, you ask? No. I say.

Why? You ask. Because I’m lazy, I respond.

When the townhouse next door to your was put up for rent, you never expected monsters to move in. You lived and worked near the outskirts of the city where even seeing a monster was rare, let alone one moving in. Yet, here you were, living next to two skeleton monsters who you rarely saw. They kept immaculate care of the small front yard and decent sized back yard, they didn’t park their car in front of your garage like the previous tenants always did, nor did you hear any raucous sex happening.

That was the biggest downfall of living in a townhouse, it was a fairly decent size for you…but if the neighbours were loud you could hear everything. It sucked with your last neighbours but so far so good with the current ones.

The only downside was the fact that one of the skeletons smoked, and it was only then that you actually saw either of them. He’d sit on the back deck and smoke before heading back inside. The only time you saw him was when your window was open and you went to close it because the wind would shift and you could smell the smoke.

Still, you didn’t really mind them. They kept to themselves, you kept to yourself.

It had been almost six months since they moved in, and you were raking up the leaves in your small front yard so you could start decorating it for Halloween when you realized that the others in the small townhouse complex had differing opinions than you. The elderly couple who always stopped to chat with you no matter how much you really hated when people distracted you from your chores, came by again just as your neighbour stepped out to smoke on his front step.

They sneered at him before whispering to each other, but you had your headphones on so you couldn’t tell if they were truly being assholes to him. You kept your head down and continued to rake quietly, glad that there was no wind to neither blow the scent of smokes towards you nor steal away the leaves in your tiny pile. You paused, glancing over at the connected yard that was your neighbours. It was still covered with leaves….eh, might as well. You started to collect their leaves as well, you did it for your previous neighbours (mostly because they never, ever raked their yard and the leaves would mould under the snow and just make your allergies during snow melt horrible. (Their backyard was awful too for that.))

The old lady placed a hand on your arm, and you glanced up, swallowing back your irritation, before you removed your headphones. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” she asked quietly, eyes flickering over to the monster sitting on his front steps.

“…raking?” you said, biting back your sharp words that you wanted to say.

“For a monster?”

“Not…really doing it for them,” you said slowly, “I did this when my previous neighbours still lived here too…”

Her eyes narrowed over at the monster, “You shouldn’t do anything for their kind.”

Your eyebrows rose, “That’s pretty fucking racist.”

Her eyes widened comically, and then her husband blurted out, “Excuse me?”

You shrank slightly under his intense gaze, “What?”

“She’s not being racist-“

“I mean- she kind of is-“

“She’s telling the truth.”

You pursed your lips and then sighed, “Cool. Well, I’m going to continue raking.”

As you went to put your headphones back on the old man sneered at you. “Don’t you disrespect your elders like that!”

You drowned out his complaining with your head phones and merely went back to raking. Of course, your palms were sweating, and your heart was pounding heavily in your chest. Thankfully, the old couple moved on huffily and were well down the street by the time you glanced back over. With a sigh, you relaxed your grip on the rake and peacefully finished raking the small joint-front yard.

It was the next day that your doorbell rang after you got home, and when you peered through the peephole, your monster neighbour was standing on the other side. With a slight noise of confusion, you opened the door slightly and peered out. “Hello?”

“hey,” he greeted, shifting awkwardly. “uh…here,” he held up a bag from Muffet’s towards you, “for…raking our yard for us.”

Your eyebrow rose, but you opened the door a bit more. “Oh, you didn’t need to,” you insisted, peering up at him shyly. He was tall, and had two golden fangs that had cracks snaking out along his bones from where they were set. You hadn’t expected him to be this tall, and well with his large jacket and scars, he would’ve looked quite intimidating. If he wasn’t shifting awkwardly and holding out a bag of sweets to you.

“s’no big deal…” he murmured, offering the sweets again.

You hesitated, you were trying to eat healthier…but, you reached out shyly and accepted it. You peeked inside and saw there was a couple of donuts. “Oh, um…do you want…to share?” you offered, quietly, “I’m trying to cut back on my sugar.” He paused, and you gestured to the stairs.

He gave you a sweet, shy smile and nodded. You beamed back and quickly put on some slip on shoes and grabbed your sweater before slipping out of the house. The two of you sat down with some distance and quietly ate donuts together. Neither of you seemed to be big talkers, but he quietly commented on your nerdy sweater, and the two of you quickly found common ground in video games. Then you began talking about all the nerdy things the two of you enjoyed, and then he admitted he was an artist and you admitted you were a writer.

It was getting dark and you were beginning to feel the chill of a fall night, so you crinkled up the empty donut  bag and stood up.

“Thanks for the donuts, Rus,” you said with a smile, “That was very kind.”

“thanks for raking…kept me from having to do it,” he teased, much more comfortable with you now that the two of you had chatted away for a few hours.

“That’s just lazy,” you teased back and he simply smiled.

The two of you said your goodbyes and you headed back inside.

That wasn’t the first or last time that happened. Everytime you’d do something, such as rake up leaves, mow their share of the front law as well, or shovel the sidewalk in front of their house as well as your own, Papyrus would head over with some donuts or other sweets the next day and the two of you would chat on the front step. However, when it got cold, you invited him into your front living room instead of standing around in the freezing temperatures.

For your birthday, Rus surprised you with a gift and you were happily surprised. It was a sketch he had done of you one day when the two of you had been lounging in his backyard the previous summer. His brother had berated the two of you for being lazy for just soaking up the suns rays when you pointed out that you needed to get Vitamin D from sun exposure or your bones could become brittle when you were older. That had shut him up quickly.

It was…honestly, a beautiful portrait of you. It captured a soft, peaceful side of you that you never really pictured yourself as being. You’d always imagined other people saw you as awkward and tense because of how shy you were.

Rus had taken your awed silence as anything but what you meant it to be, and had started to panic. “ah…it’s…just…y’know…you were really pretty an…I just…but I mean if you don’t…like it? I got you something else…too?”

You snapped out of you stunned silence and quickly shook your head, clutching the small framed sketch, “This is awesome.”

“wha…no…really?” he said shyly, looking over at you in surprise.

“Yeah! No one has ever drawn me before,” you breathed out, “and! I’m…you made me look so pretty…”

“you are,” he said softly, and you blushed.

“I! Thank you?” you giggled, looking down at the sketch instead. “This…I love it.”

He seemed relieved by that and relaxed into your couch.

You completely forgot that he said he had a second gift for you as you got up and put the sketch near the front door so that you could see it when you left for work and got home. You just knew it would brighten your day when you saw that. Papyrus blushed and started saying that you didn’t need to put it near the front door.

“But then I won’t see it as often,” you pointed out, walking back over to the couch and sat down. “Thanks, Rus…you’re such a sweetheart.”

He laughed his dorky little laugh, blushing still. You smiled and turned to gather up the bits of wrapping paper that he had used on the frame. His bony hand reached out and stopped you.

“uh…my-my second gift,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. You accepted it with a curious glance up at his face before reading the words on the paper.

Good for one free meal at Muffet’s (with Papyrus)

You giggled, before looking up at him with and said teasingly, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“….yes?”

You paused, searching his face, “Wait…really?”

“………..no?”

There was a bit of nervousness in his features, and then you glanced back at the paper and then up at him.

Your heart leapt, “Are you?”

“……………………..yes?”

“Rus!” you said, exasperated, “My heart can’t handle you teasing like this.”

His grin grew slightly before falling again, “uh....i mean if you want it to be? i know we’re just friends n’shit but…..it’s just really easy to talk to you? and you don’t expect me to be anythin’ that i’m not…and my bro likes you….and like you’re really selfless?  plus we like a lot of the same stuff and you’re always encouragin’ me in a way that actually helps me do shit…and it’d be cool if we…yknow were friends n’datemates?”

Your mouth slowly fell open as he spoke, and when he finished, he was staring hard at the floor.

For a moment, you couldn’t form words.

It wasn’t that it was unexpected, it just…you thought all the signs that he was into you was just…you projecting your own feelings into his actions. As stupid as that thought seemed now. Him coming over so often, texting you memes and jokes, the two of you laying on the very couch you were sitting on now talking about deep shit. Lingering touches, hugging that last a moment longer than it normally would’ve, cuddling on the couch while watching movies.

Obviously the feeling was mutual…but you’d grown up being ridiculed for your crushes so now when someone did reciprocate you just got it in your head that it was actually you just thinking they had a crush back.

“Okay!” you blurted out, startling him.

“okay?” he repeated, unsure and nervous.

“Okay!” you repeated, unable to really get anything more than that, you waved the piece of paper at him. “I wanna be your friend and datemate too.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then the sweetest smile ever stretched over his lips and he reached over, hesitantly, and stroked your cheek. They heated in response, but then you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek bone softly. He let out a soft laugh, and nuzzled your face. You smiled warmly, and wrapped your arms around his neck as you peppered kisses all over his cute face. His laughter grew, and then he pulled you into his lap and was nuzzling your cheek with his teeth, and you were laughing and giggling in his grip.

To think, your friendship had started because he gave you some donuts after you raked up some leaves.

Thank god for small kindnesses….and sweets.

[karenpage]

Frank meets Karen’s dad: How does it go?

@sail-not-drift

Vermont’s cold. Not New York street cold but bone-chilling, freeze your ass off, cold. Jack Frost’s got his claws dug in deep and shit, shit just breathing hurts out here, like his lungs are filling up on ice and it burns on the way in as much as it does when he exhales. Plumes of steam from Frank’s breath hang around his face, squinting through it as the sun mocks, glares off the snow and does absolutely nothing to warm him. Even dressed in black, in fifteen god damned layers, Frank Castle would rather be holed up in the Syrian desert with IEDs and mortar fire.

He knows what to do with war, at least. With the hot stink of death and rot and the way it clotted with bloodied sand until he spat it out, a fire-fights quick-dry cement.

He has no fucking idea what to do here.

Fagan Corners is small enough to spit across and the buildings look tired, sagging from decades of exposure to the elements - the trees are sparse near the town’s center, and there aren’t mountains close enough to shield the worst of the wind. It kicks up, Frank swears in a gruff whisper, but the snow crunching under his boots drowns it out. Not that he’d really try and complain. He knows that his five-minute tactical assessment of Karen’s hometown doesn’t give him any sort of advantage headed into the unknown.

They’re walking, her hand wrapped in his and shoved into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s a little less cold when he’s focused, zoned in until the world has fallen away except for the clear-cut path. The plan. The mission.

Some kids pass them, huddled around a cell-phone and laughing at some dumb YouTube crap, but Karen startles when they shove on by. Like their joy is gunfire and so Frank just holds her closer. He doesn’t know shit about her, about her past; not like his, which has been dug up, exploited, given a post-mortem so every dumb son of a bitch who’d watched a War Documentary can chime in on what he went through.

Think they know him. Not like Karen does, she’d seen the ugly, the blood the gore, the grief and he wonders if it’s love or collateral. How you get to be this close to someone as damaged as he is and not get some part of you hooked, broken off. Shrapnel buried deeper than even a seasoned Marine knew how to dig out.

Shit though, what he knows about Karen can be measured in the hand that holds hers all the same.

She’s remained a mystery in that, holed up in the bunker of her ache and Frank’s patient. He’d wait until she gave him anything. Wouldn’t pry it from her, wouldn’t make demands.

And when Karen had asked him three weeks ago to go home… he’d made a fool of himself, stumbling over his words just to say yeah, of course.

So here they are, in the trenches and he’s going in blind.

Karen’s been leading him around town, quiet, occasionally commenting on landmarks that meant something to her, from her childhood. The only movie theater where some fumbling freshman boy had tried to get her bra off in the middle of Armageddon. Or the curb she’d fallen off, twisted her ankle, and the ice cream shop across the street from it her mom took her to every day that summer because she couldn’t go swimming with Kevin or her friends.

Frank nods, smiling a little; it’s slow. The Thaw. But she’s coming around when they pass the post-office and the corkboard outside is tacked with article clippings from the High School’s newspaper - Karen had written for them, her first real journalistic endeavor.

“Had a knack for it, huh?” His voice is rough from disuse and Karen just smiles at him crookedly, using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I guess. It earned me a spot at Georgetown, studied English.” She kicks some snow, watches it melt on contact with the heated fender of a parked car. Frank nods - didn’t know that, either. Makes sense, honestly, he’d read every article she’d put out at the Bulletin and each one was better than the last.

Won’t tell her that the one she’d written about him was taped to the inside of his lunchbox, or how worn the edges of the paper were from running his fingers over it.

More walking, more small talk.

They stop for coffee - Karen says it wasn’t a Starbucks fourteen years ago and yeah, there’s modernization on the edge of the old town. Or an attempt at it. Orders his black, the barista looks at him like that’s a Capitol Offense.

“It’s Vermont. They think salt is spicy,” she reminds him, stirring some cinnamon and nutmeg into her cup. No sweetener, and when she catches the confused look etched onto Frank’s mug she blushes. “– it tastes good. Shut up.”

He just ducks his head, hiding the amusement in his eyes and wrinkling his nose as he chokes down his drink.

Now her hand in his is shaking, her palm is clammy and he takes no offense when she draws it away, wipes it off on her thigh and reaches for him again, filling the empty spaces between his fingers with practiced ease.

Their path turns off from the pavement, and gravel gives way when they step off the sidewalk and turn down an unmarked road. At the end, a white and blue building with a sign that’s barely intact, ‘Penny’s Diner’. Eviction notices, ugly red tape that says condemned, paper the sides of it, but Karen’s unflinching.

As if part of her had expected exactly that.

Frank’s just a guard dog, got his leash caught between his teeth as he trails warily behind Karen - she knows the way, so it makes objective sense that he falls to her six. Doesn’t mean he likes letting her go anyplace before him. It’s tactical training, and something else. Felt that obligation gnaw at the back of his skull: gotta keep her safe.

What place is safer than some sleepy little town in the heart of Vermont?

Circling around back, a mailbox with Page scrawled in a child’s handwriting marks the start of a dirt driveway, curling behind an outcropping of pine trees. Stoic, blue-green soldiers hiding the modest house behind them.

Karen stops about halfway, her eyes wet with tears but there’s a stubbornness to it, like she’s got something to prove by setting her jaw, sniffling, and carrying on. She won’t let them fall. But Frank’s ready to wipe them away if they do all the same.

Frank hangs back a little, lets her climb the three stairs, lets her open the screen and – the moment, the beat, the breath before her knuckles rap against the blue front door. Robin’s egg blue, he thinks, and when Karen turns to look at him, motioning with her chin for him to join her, he realizes that this blue, much like the blue of the diner, is the same color as her eyes.

He swallows and soldiers forward, steps heavy, the wood of the deck groans underneath his added weight.

He’s alert, eyes narrowed, jumping to tally every movement around them. A squirrel rushes out of the bushes, climbs the little picket fence jutting out of the side of the house, and disappears. Frank shifts his weight from foot to foot - there’s movement inside the house, but no one answers the door.

It’s quiet after that in the way that nature is, makes Frank’s palms itch.

Birds chatter and the needly fingers of the spruce trees sway with every angry gust of wind. Some brush across the roof, others just tangle with their neighbor and catch the first few raindrops before they hit the tops of their heads. Fat, cold, the kind of rain that’s not yet snow but it’s trying to be.

“We should go,” Karen’s teeth chatter, the rain picks up so he holds her tight - the thin lip of an awning over the front door keeps them dry, but only just.

Frank wraps his arms around her shoulders, looks over them, where the blinds part and a pair of eyes watches - disappearing as soon as they’re spotted.

Son of a bitch.

“Nah, see… see you did the right thing. You came here, an’ no matter what he said it is your home. You have that right.” His is ashes. Red edges in on the perimeter of his vision and he only holds Karen that much tighter, keeps the tide of his rage at bay.

Karen sniffs, he knows that she’s crying but he won’t add insult to injury by commenting on it. He strokes his fingers through the edge of her hair and then, with one hand stroking up and down her back, he balls the other into a fist and pounds on that door again.

“Know you’re in there,” a growl.

Karen draws away, looks up at him to hurriedly whisper, “Frank what are you doing–”

The door swings open and Paxton’s staring them down, well, if the shock that washes over Karen’s face tells him anything - it’s what’s left of the man she’d known as her dad.

Frank’s stomach churns; what he wouldn’t give to have his child at the door. What he wouldn’t give to even see Lisa or Frankie again. He swallows down the hot bile rising up the back of his throat and stares Karen’s father down.

“Karen I -” his words are slow, slurred. A drunk. She flinches visibly and Frank’s upper lip curls. “I told you not to come.”

“Yeah, yeah you did.” But she doesn’t care, that much is obvious and despite the tension and painful discomfort of the situation, Frank feels just a little bit of pride. Atta girl. “But the thing is, Dad, the thing is you pushed me away. Shut me out and – I was alone, in New York. I found people and I kept going but you took away my right to mourn and I’ve spent over a decade trying to figure out how to let all this… all this loneliness, out of me. But I come home, I come home and you’ve just drunk it all away. Mom died, and you did nothing. Kevin died and you were all I had left, I was all you had and and —”

She has to stop, Paxton hasn’t moved, hasn’t reacted aside from the hand on the doorframe beginning to shake. Frank won’t rule that out as a byproduct of the vodka on his breath, though. His own fingers tighten against the back of Karen’s shirt. An anchor to keep him from lashing out.

Her dad just – he moves to shut the door and without thinking, Frank shoves his arm out, the pain of it being caught between the heavy wood and metal frame doesn’t bother him in the least.

Karen’s turned away, rushed down the short flight of stairs to cry freely, he wouldn’t fault her for an inch of her mile-long hurt.

Frank doesn’t get it, so he’s got Paxton’s sweat-stained shirt balled up between the white of his fisted knuckles and he draws him forward, speaks in that snarled, low rumble that makes his whole frame radiate rage.

“See, I don’t get you.” Spittle catches on the corner of his lip, “Both my kids… both of them. They were taken from me and shit– shit I made sure the people responsible paid for it. I hunted them down like animals. ‘Cuz they were. They were animals but they’re all dead now and I don’t feel better. Doesn’t… didn’t bring them back an’ I’m not sorry for what I’ve done but they were monsters, you see? They … they were bad people who did bad things. But you..” Frank shakes his head, shaking Paxton by the hold he has on him.

“You lost your son and it was a tragedy. There is nothing that takes away the hurt of having to bury your flesh and blood. Buying a tombstone for your baby is the worst kinda hell there is but you – you lost one kid and threw the other one away and I get it. I get… I get that you blame her and shit I’d have been just as angry but the thing is.. The thing is, is that people screw up and people like Karen? They hold that coal in their hand for the rest of their life. She’s done good, she’s… she’s saved lives, you know? And you chose not to be a part of that. I don’t get … Karen’s the best thing okay? The best thing to happen to me since… since all the good was taken from me. And she asked me to come here because shit, maybe she though havin’ me around would make her brave but she’s always been braver than me. Karen sees the shit she’s done and holds herself accountable. I just try and lock it up. Try and keep me separate and you know what.” Those last three words are grit out, caught on his teeth so he throws Paxton down, kicking the door the rest of the way open as he scrambles backward on his hands and heels, reaching for the phone.Frank grabs it out of his hands, rips it out of the wall, “No. No I’m not gonna do nothin’ and you’re not gonna call the cops on me or Karen and you’re gonna wallow.” He kneels, looks that man right in the eyes, the vein in his jaw twitching, “You’re gonna spend the rest of your days knowing that you missed out. That you had … you had a chance to be a good man. A good father and you let your hate win out. Now listen to me–” He ducks his head, can hear Karen rush back up out of fear - he won’t hurt Paxton Page. As god as his witness he wanted to, wanted to beat the miserable slump into a bloody pulp but he can’t do that to Karen.

“We’re gonna leave. And you’re gonna forget we came. You’re gonna make a choice. Either rot in your god damned filth, drink the rest of yourself away. Or you’re gonna… you’re gonna get help. Because the shit that happens to us ain’t our fault but what you do.. What you do with what you’re given is. If you decide to get your shit together. If you choose to live. You can beg Karen to maybe forgive you, and I maybe won’t put a bullet in your head.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t want to hear what he’d have to say. Frank stands, feels Karen reach for him.

Two hands.

“Let’s go home,” her voice is even and despite the tears in her eyes, Karen’s offering Frank a weak smile.

And they do. They leave.

Karen tells him, her head on his shoulder as they pull out of the Essex station; the train humming to life underneath them… tells him, “No one’s ever put my da–Paxton Page in his place before. It was…. Did you mean what you said to him?” Like she can’t really believe it. 

That she is anyone’s Best Thing.“Every word.”