#personalized dad beer mug

[after-witch]

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up. 

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away. 

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs. 

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life. 

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season. 

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner. 

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes. 

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New  York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’ 

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic. 

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces. 

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind,  you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running. 

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep. 

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking. 

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild. 

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way. 

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.” 

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right? 

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. 

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway. 

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he? 

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark. 

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another,  you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week. 

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you. 

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place.  “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.” 

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested. 

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected. 

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe? 

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.” 

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way. 

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story. 

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no. 

So you give it. 

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

--

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes. 

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness. 

Jake Jensen died screaming.

--

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night. 

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.” 

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse. 

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night. 

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too. 

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.” 

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.” 

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place. 

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream. 

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them. 

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger. 

“There--look! Look!” 

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts. 

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.” 

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand. 

Chrollo smiles. 

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do? 

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all. 

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind. 

--

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me? 

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth. 

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

--

Saturday:

Three people are dead. 

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But…  dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd. 

Yet now, in one morning, there are three. 

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad. 

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight. 

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

--

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days. 

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date. 

Fuck. 

“Daydreaming again?” 

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school. 

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?” 

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way. 

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.” 

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news. 

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game. 

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival. 

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes. 

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again. 

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him? 

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose. 

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!” 

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look. 

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit. 

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I’ll inform the police,��� he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all. 

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you. 

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights. 

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says. 

--

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay. 

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind. 

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes. 

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you. 

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest. 

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival. 

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening. 

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it? 

You ask him, this time. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

--

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags. 

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water. 

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it.  “The waterfall adds a nice touch.” 

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess. 

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled. 

“It came highly recommended.” 

--

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex. 

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room. 

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand. 

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in  your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note. 

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong.  That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that.  You just know. 

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all. 

--

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused. 

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t). 

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that. 

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural. 

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify. 

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.” 

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you. 

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments. 

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue. 

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game. 

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming. 

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.” 

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.” 

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

--

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all. 

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense. 

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.” 

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken. 

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him. 

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway.  You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway. 

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.” 

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd. 

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust. 

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do? 

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving. 

--

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t. 

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms. 

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?” 

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?” 

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police. 

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.” 

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving. 

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic. 

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch. 

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage. 

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve. 

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood. 

That’s not all he hit.  The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies. 

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!” 

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you. 

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?” 

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach. 

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!” 

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there. 

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch. 

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck. 

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires. 

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide.  But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years. 

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you. 

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away. 

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason,  you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway. 

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope. 

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below. 

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways. 

All of them have blood around their mouths. 

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up. 

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now. 

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs. 

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises. 

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow. 

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm. 

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man. 

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment.  Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is: 

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers. 

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material. 

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all. 

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while. 

He’s a vampire. 

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically. 

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy. 

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?” 

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin. 

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.” 

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.” 

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts. 

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest. 

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole. 

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s. 

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.” 

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him? 

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper. 

“Like. Hell.” 

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered. 

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire? 

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground. 

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not. 

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this. 

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once. 

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping. 

“F…fuck you.” 

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood. 

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment. 

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up. 

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them. 

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water. 

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.” 

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick. 

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper. 

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy.  “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous. 

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t. 

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely. 

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes. 

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand.  Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood. 

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too? 

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway? 

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over. 

--

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open. 

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch  and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think. 

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood. 

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run? 

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help. 

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find? 

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry. 

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry. 

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.” 

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--” 

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film. 

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort. 

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?” 

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness. 

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you. 

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down. 

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up,  you find that you simply can’t make your body do it.  You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this. 

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down. 

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world. 

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference. 

[aritakahashi]

Raiden Headcanons

⊹˚. ♡˖This post will include mixed headcanons of both Raiden himself and what he’s like in a relationship!

♡ Word Count: 1.501

♡ Warnings: None!

(This is fully gender neutral on reader’s side!)

- He’s a shy guy, he probably confessed to you as red as a tomato and stuttering as if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest.

- He’s very interested in nature. He loves birds and squirrels. Probably has a dozen encyclopedias in his place about various animals, earth and space.

- Absolutely loves lofi/indie/indie folk music. Usually listens to whatever calms his mind, not so keen to rock/metal/pop music but he likes to listen to late 2000s / early 2010s hits because of Kung Lao and Johnny.

- Plant dad. He has lots of plants, flowers and vegetables in his garden and in the house. He likes taking care of them, and spends a lot of time to make sure every one of them is healthy.

- Loves both dogs and cats, so he’s neither a dog or a cat person. He would love to adopt one each, if not more. Knowing his love for animals, he would always leave a big bowl of water and food outside his garden so strays can drink and eat; regularly checks it so he can fill them up when they’re empty. Definitely has a bird feeder somewhere.

- His love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service. He will shower you with compliments, always support your decisions (unless they’re concerning) and he will do his best helping you with all the work. He will help you with chores, running errands, cooking, baking, even your own work if he has an idea of what it is. He loves giving gifts as well but he makes sure it’s either handmade or something he thinks you would really like.

- He has a super calm personality. He’s a pacifist, he sees fight as the absolute last option in a situation.

- He’s a stay at home guy, not really keen on social stuff but he’ll have a great time with you and friends if you come up with outside activities.

- Crowds aren’t generally his thing, but he will find calmness in watching people when he’s sitting somewhere having his tea. It brings him peace to know everyone has their own lives just like he does. It makes him feel more alive.

- When he takes you out on dates, it’s usually coffee dates or a small street food place that makes good food. He’s not a fan of extravagant stuff, so he keeps it as minimal as he can.

- He doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t smoke. This doesn’t mean he won’t drink at all though; he will drink 1-2 bottles of beer occasionally in social settings, but that’s about it. Since he barely drinks, he’s quite lightweight and will get drunk easily.

- He’s a touchy one, but not in the inappropriate way. He loves holding you, hugging you, kissing your head, nose and forehead. He likes to kiss your forehead the most.

- He loves reading interesting facts about our world. His Instagram reels are full of zoology, geology etc. kind of nerdy posts. When he watches tv, it’s usually documentary channels. He doesn’t like following the news because there’s usually sad or stressful things.

- Very positive person, he will look at everything on the brightest side possible.

- His sister would love you and you’d frequently have girl nights together, sometimes even pull pranks on Raiden if you’re feeling mischievous enough.

- You’re both his partner in life and his best friend (along with Kung Lao, CAN’T erase him from this part). He will share EVERYTHING with you, and will be really happy every time you do the same.

- Very easy to communicate. No arguments happen in the relationship because you two handle it like two grown adults by communicating your feelings and understanding each other. He has very high empathy, and will do his best to get your point if there’s a disagreement.

- He gets cold easily, so he will wear the fluffiest and warmest sweaters during winter. You will find him wrapped around blankets while he’s watching TV, with hot chocolate or tea in his mug.

- He likes playing board and card games, his favorites are the ones that you need to use your thinking skills.

- When he watches TV series, he will resort to sitcoms more than fantasy, drama etc, he thinks he already has enough fantasy elements in his life thanks to Liu Kang and being an Earthrealm Champion. He also loves animation movies; especially classics like Ice Age, Kung Fu Panda and Shrek.

- His favorite Disney princess is probably Mulan.

- He prefers village life over city life.

- He has a light blue pickup truck and it’s still in perfect condition despite being very old.

- He loves thrifting and will often go thrift shopping with you.

- He has a big library in the house filled with informative and literary books.

- Loves buying small decorations for the house. I believe he’d keep it more minimal with warm colors, and it’d feel very cozy inside.

- He works out in the house once in a while, but farming is usually enough physical activity for him.

- He will meditate regularly.

- He loves all the traditional Chinese food. Wonton soup makes him feel all warm and happy, and he’s obsessed with Kung Pao chicken.

- He’s interested in every mythology, but his favorites are Egyptian and Greek mythologies because they’re very complex and he can be occupied reading them and thinking over them for hours.

- He loves word puzzle games.

- He adores every traditional festival and will drag you with him and Kung Lao. His favorites are Chinese New Year and Mid Autumn Festival; he loves eating as many moon cakes as he can during Mid Autumn. He also loves seeing you in traditional Chinese clothing when you go to the festivals with them.

- He’s not a big fan of anime, but will watch them with Kung Lao and then complain about some nonsense, making Kung Lao side eye him and say “shut up, your sitcoms are way worse than this.”

- His YouTube recommendations consists of animal/nature/space documentaries, mythology and philosophy along with funny animal videos.

- (Very self indulgent) if you watch true crime documentaries, it makes him worry about your mental health sometimes, but you reassure him that everything is fine.

- Hates big lights, loves dim lighting. He will only keep smaller lamps on in the house. He thinks it’s more calming and easy on the eyes.

- He will frequently light candles and use incense. He might even use sage to help fight off negative energies once in a while; he’s a believer in spirits and such things like that.

- Very helpful towards everyone around him even when he doesn’t necessarily know the person. He will offer his help to anyone struggling with a task, will always help old ladies and grandpas with carrying their stuff around the village.

- He writes poems sometimes, but no one knows about them except you.

- He doesn’t know a lot about computers and phones, so if he struggles in something he will ask you instead of trying to handle it himself.

- He’s very interested in nature photography. He will never miss a chance of snapping a good scenery photo.

- He’s better at cooking than he is at baking. He once burnt a pie and mourned it for 3 days because he spent so much time on it.

- He can sew and crochet. If you have any damaged clothing, he will fix them up right away.

- Never wastes food. If you are picky, he will eat what you don’t off your plate even if he’s full.

- Loves preparing you breakfast and sometimes does it while you’re asleep, bringing it to you to the bed with flowers he picked off the garden.

- He can sing well, but is insecure about it despite your encouragement.

- He once tried skating after Kung Lao gaslit him, and he almost cracked his butt after falling.

- He loves bicycle rides. He will go on rides every day usually during evening, and will watch the sunset in somewhere nice before going back home.

- Hiking is a good hobby for him. He loves taking walks in forests and he likes camping a lot. He will bring you with him when he goes camping and hiking, sometimes Kung Lao will join. You guys sit around the bonfire as you eat marshmallows on sticks and Kung Lao babbles scary stories, trying to creep you out.

- Fengjian Teahouse is his favorite place to spend time when he’s in the village. Everyone knows and adores him.

- He would listen to your chatter about anything for hours. Your hyperfixations are entertaining for him and he will try to learn as much as he can so he can join the conversation because he knows you appreciate it a lot.

⊹˚. ♡˖ Hope you enjoyed!

[builtaworldwithyourlove]

Free Falling

Chapter Two

2k/ (eventual) husband!joel x f!reader /minors dni

‘I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel’

Summary: you take the leap to leave your stagnant relationship, and end up falling into the arms of a man who will give you the life you always dreamed of. 

Content: loveless relationship, mention of TW: domestic violence, emotional abuse, age gap (reader is mid-late 20s, Joel is late 30s-mid 40s), angst, allusions of cheating, sad sad sad but Joel will save the day, slow burn, smut, fluff, oc(reader’s boyfriend and friends/family), mention of reader grieving loss of her dad, swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, lovely lovely baby boy Joel, reader is a sweetheart, sexual tension, no smut just yet, some physical description of reader, Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

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Saturday morning was glorious. Your bedroom was fortunately positioned so that the sun shone through your white cotton curtains, and woke you up naturally. Although you didn’t get to revel in the peace for long, as Leo decided to scale the curtains and cry for help as he got stuck in limbo.

With a sigh, you rolled out of bed. You scooped Leo up in your arms and held him whilst you made the rounds opening all the windows and setting the house up for the day.

The coffee machine was the most important visit of the day. You were an early riser, so your 7am coffee was the surest way to keep you somewhat personable. You put some music on and started to tidy your kitchen, when your phone started ringing. It was Joel.

‘Morning, could you text me your address? I’ll be there within the hour.’ 

‘Sure! I’ll get the coffee ready now’ you replied.

Joel chuckled ‘See ya.’

Someone’s not a morning person, you thought to yourself. 

You let Joel know to let himself in round the back in case you didn’t answer as you were getting yourself ready. You ran up the stairs, trying to ignore the excitement in your chest. It would be the first time you’d have  some potential male attention, although he was an old family friend, surely he wouldn’t see you in that way. You got out of your head, made your bed and sprayed it with your fabric freshener, then lit a stick of incense followed by your favourite sedona sandstone candle.

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You showered and drenched yourself in cocoa butter and your Flora Luminare perfume. The doorbell rang and you skipped downstairs to answer.

Joel stood there, towering over you. He was gorgeous. Chiselled, tanned, the deepest brown eyes and softest looking lips.

He stood there taking you in. You were shorter than him, your hair fell down to your waist and he was encompassed by a cloud of your scent. He could’ve fallen to his knees in awe of you. He remembered the brief moments he had seen you before. It was always after one too many beers, but he knew he found you were beautiful. You made him laugh too, you were always as if butter wouldn’t melt, trying to keep your asshole ex-boyfriend sweet. But he remembered you sneaking smokes in the front yard at family parties, or downing a shot of tequila in the kitchen on your own when things got too much. The sparkle in your eyes never dulled, and your smile never faded.

‘Hey, thanks for coming so early’ you smiled.

Joel shook himself out of his daze.  He winked at you and put his hand on your shoulder.

‘No problem, show me the damage darling.’

His eyes twinkled and he smirked as you placed your hand on Joel’s. You squeezed his hand and gestured him in. 

He examined every part of your house on the way to your bedroom. The baby pink accents, the kitten toys scattered all over the place, and the framed pictures of you with your friends and family.

You quickly joined him with a mug of coffee. You sat cross-legged on the bed. You were wearing baby pink yoga pants and a plain white cropped tee. He looked you up and down, very brazen and not ashamed. You blushed and adjusted yourself to let Leo join you.

‘You the clumsy type then?’ Joel sized up the hole in the wall, and looked over his shoulder at you, with an eyebrow raised.

‘Erm, my ex-boyfriend. Fragile masculinity and alcohol’ you looked down and Joel cringed. He faced you and rested his hands on his hips. Your throat went dry and you couldn’t tell if you were turned on or terrified of being told off for letting yourself in that situation.

‘I’m sorry, baby’ Joel dropped his head and started fixing the wall. 

You watched him intently. His arms flexing as he worked his magic. You let Joel finish as you went downstairs to fix up some food for him to take with him.

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‘The wall’s fixed. Anything else I can do?’ Joel startled you and you hopped round and laughed.

He took the second mug of coffee you offered him and gazed at you. 

‘I need my locks changed’ you rifled down your drawers unable to find the replacement locks, then you remembered you had put them in your glass cabinet. 

The pictures of your dad faced outward as you opened the door to the cabinet, and Joel felt his heart drop. He was so fond of your dad, and couldn’t imagine the shit you had been through this past year. 

He chuckled and took the locks out of your hands. 

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‘I’m all done, is that everything?’ Joel poked his head round the doorway of your dressing room. You grinned as you finished applying your lipgloss and turned around to Joel.

‘Yes thank you, Mr Miller’ you winked.

He turned as if to go. ‘Wait, wait, wait’ you clambered up out of your seat, ‘I’ll see you out.’

Joel gestured to let you lead the way and you half curtsied. He was intrigued. You were so high energy and like a ball of sunshine, and he felt like he was 18 again.

He got his stuff ready and began to head back to the car. 

‘Erm, Joel. I’m having my family and friends round tonight for some drinks. I’d love you to come, to say thank you for your help. Clara and Rufus will be there, so will Mum and the girls’ you felt embarrassed and desperate, but Joel made you feel safe.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, text me a time’ Joel winked and waved as he headed back towards his truck.

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You were a woman infatuated. Joel occupied every corner of your mind. You slid on your flip flops and grabbed your purse before heading to get food and drink for your night of hosting.

You stopped off to drop Rufus and Clara’s lunch to their shop.

‘Now when were you going to tell me Mr Miller is devastatingly handsome?’ You burst through the door of the florist.

‘Well I thought it would be a welcome surprise’ Clara smirked.

‘He’s already called. Said he’s looking forward to seeing us tonight, and that you are an absolute angel.’ Rufus hooked his arm around you, roughing you up as you both do.

‘Eeek! I’m obsessed’ you twirled round and waved yourself out the door. You blew a kiss and practically waltzed down to your car.

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‘Come here anytime from 4:30pm. Wear something pretty😉’ you felt bold after the margaritas you had downed whilst getting ready with the girls. Lottie, Jess and Rhea were your absolute world. You were dancing around the bedroom and dressing room, blaring your music and feeling half tipsy.

It was 3:37pm, and Joel sat at home waiting restlessly to leave. He decided to call your Auntie and Uncle and get a lift with them. 

‘Who are you texting?’ Rhea snatched your phone out of your hand.

‘Stop, you can’t even judge me on this. He’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He fixed some bits up in the house yesterday. Knows Rue and Clara, an old family friend. He’s coming tonight’ you girls all squealed in unison.

Rhea still had your phone and headed straight to Facebook. She got Joel’s profile up right away and mocked you with it. She accidentally liked a photo from 3 years ago, and her face dropped. You all went silent before freaking out. She threw your phone to the center of your bed. 

It lit up:

Facebook:

One new friend request- Joel Miller

Chaos ensued, and you were quick to accept it.

Joel texted you letting you know they were on their way. You felt giddy.

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Your mum and sisters arrived and you set your sisters up in the summerhouse at the end of the garden with some of their friends they had bought along. You made them mocktails and let them have free roam of your beauty drawers and facemasks beforehand.

You switched on the fairylights around your garden, and you and the girls sat debriefing on life with your mum and her best friend.

Joel and the rest of your family creeped round through the side gate. You stood up to greet them and your auntie and uncle held you tightly before sauntering off to see your mum and sisters. A few more family acquaintances turned up, and people you know and love, but this was all a daze as Joel kissed your cheek and pulled you in for a cuddle.

His dark curls were swept backwards, with the exception of one that fell over his forehead. ‘Thank you for having me’ he whispered into your ear.

You traced down his arms to his hands, and you squeezed them as if to say thank you. His hands lingered on your waist, perhaps a second too long and the girls couldn’t help but wolf whistle. 

Joel laughed, and headed over to meet everyone.

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The night was beautiful, everyone had too much food and drink, but everyone was happy and content. Your sisters and friends had crashed out in the spare room, which was fine, you loved having guests.  Your mum left after you assuring her you’d be fine to drop the girls off home tomorrow. Your friends had booked an uber to go to the club, but you were more of a homebody, plus Joel had stuck around and you didn’t want him to leave.

You cleared the glasses and bottles away in the kitchen, Joel offered to help but he sat at the table and watched you instead. 

You offered him a cigarette from your hidden box which was in the empty biscuit tin. You sat next to eachother on the backdoor step. The sun was setting and it caressed his features and soaked them in a golden hue. Everything had been moving in double speed since you met him, and now was the first time you got to take in every bit about him, and was also the first time you noticed he did the same to you. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt, and you made him feel relaxed. As you laughed, you leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arm over your shoulders and placed a kiss upon the top of your head.

You looked up at him and he kissed you. Deeply and passionately and carefully. You relaxed your arms over his shoulders and as you deepened the kiss. Then tested the waters and held onto his neck, under his jawline, and pulled him towards you.

‘I wanted to do this since I saw you,’ Joel tilted his forehead pressed against yours, and you grinned. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘No plans, tackling the aftermath of this I think. Why do you ask?’ Joel stroked your thigh with his thumb. It was cold from nursing a beer, but it was welcome.

‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Joel felt shy, and anxious.

‘I wouldn’t want to do anything else. Text me the details, and I’ll be there’ you blushed and kissed his cheek.

‘I’ll pick you up at 5pm baby’ Joel kissed your cheek and headed out as he stumbled towards the cab he had booked.

He sat in the back of the cab and motioned a phone with his hand and mouthed call me. You blew a kiss and waved him off, giggling like a school girl as he waved out of the window of the car.

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You showered and headed to bed, high on life and feeling like you were floating. 

‘Good evening Mr Miller’ you tried your best at flirting, and following Joel’s orders to call him. 

‘I’ve been wondering when you’d call’ he yawned.

‘Bad timing?’

‘Never bad timing with you. I’d answer your call at any second of any day.’ His southern drawl flipped your stomach.

‘I’ll remember that, I may need you a lot from now on.’ You rolled over and snuggled into your pillow.

‘You get some sleep baby. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow’ 

You hung up the phone, texted Joel goodnight and slept through the night in peace.

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Tag list:

@iamsherlocked-1998

@sugakookieswithmilk

@galway-girlatwork

[werezmastarbucks]

set on fire

chibs telford x f!reader (age gap, adult reader)

music: head over heels by tears for fears

when Jax explains that his distant, four times removed cousin, is notorious for turning down every guy on green earth, Chibs takes it as a challenge

word count: 1304

masterlist

"Who the fuck even brings their laptop to a clubhouse to work", there was a clear hint of irritation in Bobby's voice as he eyed the girl sitting in the distant booth, her laptop, all covered in stickers, on the table, three different mugs around it like an array of fallen flowers.

Chibs just chuckled, watching her. His teeth were stinging with the nagging desire to bite on a cigarette but his childish curiousity kept him here, in front of this unusual sight.

"Y/N does", Jax all but teleported behind them, spooking Bobby a little bit.

"Know 'er?" Chibs muttered, without taking his eyes off, pondering. Too young. Frowning too deeply, chewing on her mouth, stretching her neck without losing connection to the screen for a second. Looks like a load of job. But, most of all, too young.

"That's my thrice... four times removed cousin", Jax replied quizzically.

"Huh".

"Yeah... four times? I think so. My dad was, ugh... her... grandmother's nephew three times removed?"

"Are you asking me?" Chibs grinned lazily.

"Anyway, yeah, that's Y/N".

The blonde guy watched his two brothers piercing his relative with their focused eyes. Bobby shifted, pushing the glass of beer there and forth on the bar, and finally granted him a glance,

"So, is she off-limits, or no?"

Jax let out a thunderous short laugh, resembling a lion cub very much. His jaw unclenched happily with this roar for a second.

"I mean, I won't even tell you not to, guys".

His mind wondered into all of the instances and troubles these two gave to all of the poor girls; them together with Tig, were notorious for never skipping a single skirt. Some men had more hunger than others, but these two, they could devour the whole Charming if someone let them. For Bobby, it was the neverending search for the perfect one, the one who's going to finally spare him of his deeply tucked loneliness. For Chibs, it was the heat of the hunt. The Scottish Deerhound blood was circulating in his cunning, always smirking face. Sometimes Jax thought that Chibs was getting his revenge for something he, himself, was too young to witness. Telford never hurt them, no. Chibs was nothing but a tough, relentless, zero-bullshit, gentleman. But he did devour them, the girls. It was hard to tell who is unable to go without the other, Chibs without women, or women without Chibs.

He continued, watching a curuous smile growing on the man's face,

"You two have no chances anyway".

"That so?"

"She's too young for you, Bobby".

"Well", Jax sat down next to them, relaxing his back, "maybe not too young, but she's always kinda hated guys. I've never seen her with a boy when we were growing up, and I wouldn't be surprised if she still was a virgin now".

"You're telling me she's your age?"

"Yeah, the good genetics run in her family. Her mom also looks young", Jax nodded.

"So, maybe you can nail her mom", Bobby jeered towards Telford.

Jax noticed the evil sparkle in Chibs' eye immediately, got used to catching it. But this time, he was adamant sure that no light of day will be shown to him from his long removed sister.

"You guys pricing little Y/N?" boomed Clay, as he moved slowly from behind the bar, like an unbothered whale. "You told 'em how she set that poor fucker on fire when he tried feeling her up at Plop's birthday party?"

Jax nodded, grateful, as he was trying to scrape his skull with some examples to present the whole picture of misfortunes that await those who tries to enter Y/N's personal space.

"Yeah, that was the second decade of our lives, her mom brought her here and she was visiting Big Plop's fourteenth birthday. Big Plop was my classmate", he clarified, "and another one, I think Chris was his name..."

"Spotty Christopher", Clay nodded and clicked a can open.

"...and we were all jumping on this big orange bouncy castle. Y/N fell badly and slipped, and skinned her knee a little. I remember she was kind of sobbing, cradeling it, and us, the boys, we were laughing at her".

Chibs produced a 'tst' sound, the one he always performed when he witnessed injustice that he, himself, hadn't thought of earlier.

"And then Spotty Chris gets on the castle, pretending that he wants to help her, but instead, shoves his hand under her dress. I obviously got all worked up and pulled him off her, and we all though that was done. But then, fifteen minutes later, she just turns up next to us as we eat cake",

Bobby grinned at the picture of the young Vice President stuffing his mouth with cake,

"...and she has matches in her hand. And she lits his fucking hair on fire".

Jax let the last part hang in the air for a little.

"Might not be related to us too closely", Clay chimed in, "but I think she has that psycho chip in her".

Jax nodded.

All four heads turned towards the girl again, as she stretched her back and yawned, clenchign her fists, before rushing to the keyboard again.

"Sometimes I think she has a grudge against all men", Jax shrugged.

She wouldn't be wrong, Chibs thought.

"You got no chance", he heard Jax benevolently condemn Bobby, then think for a moment. He turned towards Chibs,

"You, maybe. She likes British people".

"Loikes Bri'ish, ey?" Chibs cheered, and her head snapped towards the sound. Across the bar, they all snickered lightly, watching her scan them with her eyes and then return to work.

So, there it is. Green light. Not that young, - if she's about Jackie Boy's age, then she's more than enough brains to know what to do with him.

Not too related, not so much that it'll make Teller's blood boil. Although he is quite protective of her, perhaps because they don't see each other that often. In all the ten years that Jax has joined them, Chibs never heard a whiff of this girl. Means they don't talk much.

[mysticcollectionbee]

Loki season 2 Ep.5

(SPOILERS)

This just gonna be a list of things I’m obsessing over in the new episode by order of importance to me (I’m sorry):

GOD. OF. STORIES. Buildup. YES!!! From the episode title to Loki specifically mentioning saving their stories (only other time he mentioned stories to represent a person’s life was in the very first episode of this show I think). I’m way too excited.

Mobius…I’m sorry this will be mainly Lokius based. *Ahem* Mobius a single dad who can’t shut up about being single and the only person he talks about stuff that isn’t just Jet-Ski related is Loki. Everyone else he meets he kinda just stays on topic but Loki; “Hey, stranger who might of followed me from work, want a beer? I’m also a single dad.” And two things I feel like I see differently than a lot of the fandom: a) I don’t think Don (Just remembered that’s his name) has a dead wife. Like, who describes your wife being dead as ‘Long gone’ and immediately tries to pawn off a belonging that you used as a couple? b) People saying the kids act like Loki and Thor which means Mobius represents Odin but…Odin kinda sucked as a dad? And Frigga was a MASSIVE part of raising the kids, so an Odin variant being able to step in is. Unrealistic. Oh and Hela? Hi??? Hela exists. So nah, I think they made it that way the same way they made Thor adopt Love, to fix the mistakes of the past generation with the new ones. Thor is raising Love unlike how his father raised him. Loki could raise the brothers to not have the same issues he had with his own brother, and what they both had issues with when raised together by Odin.

(Last one was long) I think I made a theory a long time ago that Casey/Frank was related to the unsolved case of the guys escaping Alcatraz. Could be wrong, if not, hey one of my theories was right!

O.B. my baby boi was a failed Sci-Fi writer that ended up inspiring the god of stories to save all the stories across the multiverse. He’s secretly the most important writer character in the MCU :’)

B-15 being a nurse makes a lot of sense and explains why she became softer and more focused on helping others after she got her memories back. Her true nature of helping others came back to her, which probably ask explains why she really hate the idea of pruning people again.

I want to talk about Sylvie and all the neat stuff about her…But my Bi brain keeps getting distracted by that scene of her without her jacket…She’s- she’s great here too 👍

Final unimportant thing: Any Doctor who fan get time explanation flashback the moment O.B picked up that mug with pens in it? “I’m a pen in a mug?” “Yes you are, Donna Noble.”

[galaxycunt]

You Turned Me Inside Out

4k ish fluff and angst

Leave a comment if you wanna!

You’ve sent the divorce papers with a news coo until they became tired of you. Still, you persisted. You figured Buggy wasn’t dead yet, you would’ve been told right?

Your think back on that quick courthouse wedding, you were seven months pregnant, Buggy even bribed a clerk to keep quiet. Wouldn’t do a husband any good to be arrested on his wedding day.

You thought it was romantic at the time, even if your first marriage was officiated by your first mate. Less complicated that way. Maybe that was a bad omen, he was good for awhile. He left you both, even a guy with a bad childhood didn’t see anything wrong with giving it to his own. Even left your daughter with his nose.

You kept your bar, plenty of sailors talked shit about marrying you. The townsfolk pitied you, you decide awhile ago to say you were widowed. Less humiliating that way. Even if he was dead, Buggy never was letting you go anyway. Your baby had your smile, so she smiled for the both of you these days.

The baker’s daughter watched her awhile you ran the bar. It was an easy enough arrangement, you always adjusted to new plans on the fly.

And that’s when you see him.

“Cabaji,” you yell across the crowded bar, “unless you’re waving a white flag, get the fuck out!”

Your loyal patrons readied themselves for a fight, who needed a ship when you had drunks?

”Look! Sorry! The captain wanted me to check the place out!”

You hop over the bar, marching straight to him, “where is he?”

He obviously didn’t enjoy this task, you always liked Cabaji.

”On the ship.”

”Folks, I’ll be right back. I got kids upstairs, don’t start a riot. Alright?”

A rousing ‘aye, aye!’ surrounds you both, you may have never had a high bounty like your husband, but you had that.

Cabaji leads you to the Big Top, your nerves gnawing at you. You’re worried you’ll kill him, his crew then turning to kill you. Leaving your daughter all alone.

You shook those thoughts out, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Buggy was waiting for news in his cabin, and Cabaji reluctantly leaves you to knock on his door alone.

He swung the door open, like he was waiting for that knock. Only to be faced with you.

”You…it’s really you.”

“You have a fucking wife, remember?”

His shoulders drop, “I…I know.”

You slap him, and he takes it with grace. You decide one isn’t good enough, slapping him a few more times.

”Glad that wasn’t a punch,” he tries to joke.

”I’m a better person now, for my daughter.”

”How is she?”

”You don’t get to ask that.”

He gives a nod, “how are you?”

”Sign those papers, I’ll be much better.”

”I can’t do that.”

You search his face, Buggy looking like a kicked puppy pissed you off more than anything else.

”You left us, just let me go.”

”I have plenty of excuses, none you wanna hear.”

You stare into his eyes, hoping he would combust. You damn your heart, because you want to hear it all. You spit on the floor turning to leave, Buggy following you back to your bar. You’ll feel better once it was on your turf.

The patrons watch him over their mugs, you motion Buggy to sit on an empty stool. You ignore him for most of the night, thinking if you should go get your baby. Buggy looked pathetic, staring at his beer. You had a soft spot, begging to be acknowledged.

With a sigh, you go upstairs to let your sitter go home. Your baby looks too much like him, especially when she cries. You love your kid, you do, you just wish she wasn’t his.

”Here,” you say, “you run off with her I will kill you.”

She’s a lot bigger than he remembers, it had been 4 months since he held her last. Buggy knits his brows and frowns, holding her tight. The man sitting next to him coos at your child, making him beam with pride.

You should’ve known that’s all it would take, Buggy loved the spotlight. At least the little red nose was cuter on her, he kissed it enough to make her giggle. Being a dad was easy, he just got to sit there and make her happy.

You hate him for this. You consider killing him now anyway.

“Out with it then, another fucking bird try to eat you?”

”Do we gotta talk here?”

You look around, a few people are pretending to not eavesdrop. It gives you some courage, that you’re totally in the right here.

”Yup.”

He sighs, “damn it. Fuck, okay fine. I was nervous. I was tired. I needed a fucking break.”

”Oh, this is incredible. Please keep going.”

He groans, “I was gonna only be gone a few days. Retire on a high note.”

”Captain Buggy retiring? I liked the bird story better.”

He looks down at your daughter, his finger being gummed to death. He lets her have the whole hand, rubbing his face with a forearm.

”Okay, so not a permanent one. But long enough! You’ve done it, you know the deal.”

“I didn’t have a kid yet.”

He whispers your name, “I love you. I love her. I’m here now, that’s gotta count for something.”

”Do you even remember her god damn name?”

He looks down at her, “Marcela. She has my heart on a string, you both do.”

You should’ve known better, pirates didn’t get tied down. You both knew a baby’s place wasn’t a ship, and his wasn’t a nursery.

”Well, you saw her, guess you’ll see her again when she’s 18.”

“Oh come on, barkeep, I haven’t seen my own kids in years. Man’s gotta work.”

”Shut the fuck up, Benny. Your wife hates it and so do I. All wives do!”

You point at Buggy, “not all husbands have detachable dicks. Should’ve cut that off while I had the chance.”

”You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

You smile, “you married this bitch. Guess you’re gonna have to sign those papers.”

He grumbled, reattaching his hand so he could hold the baby better before slamming his beer. Buggy continued to glare at you the whole night, to his credit, he would stumble upstairs occasionally to change her and hand her off to you to get fed.

At closing time, you found them both asleep in the corner. You could cry, seeing her peacefully in his arms. He should’ve stayed, he was cruel and nothing would let you forget.

You whisper in his ear, “Buggy. Let me take her up.”

He yawns, gently passing Marcela to you. She only stirs a little bit, and you hope she’s at the point where she’s finally sleeping through the night.

Buggy notices how tired you are, “permission to come aboard?”

You shake your head, “no.”

”I’m your husband.”

”You didn’t care about that detail until now.”

He balls his fist, “I never forgot.”

You shush him, shooing him away as you take her upstairs. He follows you anyway, and you remember the rifle above your bed. You’ll use it if you have to.

You put Marcela to bed, Buggy right beside you, regarding her like she was made of glass. He let out a breath you didn’t know he was holding. A shy smile you could see in the dim light.

”I’ll walk you out,” you urge.

He doesn’t put up a fight, only lingering at the front door.

“Goodnight, Buggy.”

”Wait, can I come back?”

”Why would I want that?”

“Oh, come on! I’m not the first fucking pirate having to go do their thing! Not like she’s too old to even remember me!”

”Fuck off Buggy. You made a fool of me more than once.”

He frowns, “baby I’m sorry.”

You shove him outside, slamming the door and locking it tight. He bangs on the door a few times, shouting and cursing.

“Don’t wake up the baby!”

He stops, storming off in a huff. You figure this was going to be a yearly occurrence, more if you were lucky. You wonder briefly if you should take up one of those regulars on their offer of marriage, if only to make Buggy pissed off.

Buggy was persistent, showing up early the next day. You had stepped outside with your baby to walk around only to be surprised by him, a punch to his gut for his trouble.

”God! Morning to you too.”

”Buggy, I’m surprised you’re still in town.”

You can’t stand the sight of him, but he does look good without his make up. The morning sun bathes him in a heavenly light, picking up stray strands of hair like a halo. He looks at you like he was thinking the same thing. He smiled the way he always did with you, his gaze soft as he stepped in your personal space.

Buggy knew how to turn on the charm like a switch. You didn’t want this Buggy, you married the real one.

”How’d you sleep?”

”Fine, been doing fine for months I’ll have you know.”

He grazes your shoulder with his as you kept walking, “where you headed?”

”The beach. She likes waves.”

A futile attempt to shake him off, he spent time on the ocean even with his weakness. Buggy didn’t show any hesitation in following you, eyes glued to the carriage in front of you. You figure it’s an ego thing, she looks like his little clone.

He helps set down a blanket with all her toys, laying on his belly with her as he she coos. You couldn’t fold this easy, turning away to count the ships docked in the distance. It was easier when it was just you and him, sleeping together before he took off for who knows how long. You really should’ve married someone else, he knew how to sell himself too well.

“Does she get, uh well, do people,” he motions to his nose.

”Oh no, I think it’s cute on her. Don’t think anyone really wants to insult a baby in front of me.”

He smiles, “glad to hear it. You let me know if I need to knock some heads. Both of you.”

He lays on his back, dangling Marcela above him.

”Stop that.”

”Oh, she’s fine. She’s laughing, I got her.”

”No,” you're on the brink of tears, “stop acting like you give a shit. Just get outta here. I’ll marry the baker, he’s bonafide.”

”Bonafide? Ain’t I bonafide?”

You shake your head and he huffs.

”I give a shit. I actually take my vows seriously.”

”You left, couldn’t be fucked to be a real husband and father.”

Buggy sets the baby back down, turning to look at you. You swat his hands away, regretting that you been humoring him this long.

”If I knew letting you keep my balls would settle things, I would’ve,” he grumbles.

”Yeah, it would actually! I need a new stress ball!”

Buggy grits his teeth, “you’re the only one in the East Blue who’d even think about saying those things to Buggy The Clown.”

It was getting childish, kicking sand at him, “I’m not your god damn fan. I say whatever the fuck I want.”

”At least I’m not a fucking baker.”

”Yeah, if your baking is like your cooking, you’d be lousy at it!”

He laughs, a long hearty one. He picks up your baby, walking her to the edge of the shore, letting her toes dip into the warm waters. You’re hiding a smile, fatherhood looks good on him. And he knows it, laughing in your face like that. You suppose you couldn’t blame the guy, Roger was the last person you’d expect to teach a kid manners.

”Hey,” he calls out, “you pack a lunch?”

You nod, and he gives a thumbs down, “I’m taking my girls out. Get some good grub.”

You really should decline, “there’s a cafe on the pier. Great pancakes.”

”Let’s go then!”

So you spend the day with him, Buggy was mostly hush about what he was out doing. Out of shame or boredom, you couldn’t tell. Buggy even helps you stock the bar, shooing away your extra help when she arrived. You let it happen, and you’re not sure why.

Maybe if he wants to spend the night, you’ll lock his hands and feet away so he can’t escape this time. You look at his hands, thinking about the last time you let him hold you.

God, are you that weak? Are you really falling for your husband again?

Funny joke, he should hire you as a writer.

”What’s up, baby?”

”I think you should stay the night.”

His face lights up, “great. That’s so great.”

He detaches from his legs, letting his torso twirl around with you and Marcela in his arms. You let out a gasp as he did it, holding onto him tighter.

The first time he did this to you, you felt like a fairy.

“You’re so cute when you blush.”

”I’m not blushing.”

He tilts your chin up, “you are.”

You shake your head, finishing up your tasks. It had been hell since you saw Buggy last, your heart yearned for him every day. Pirates aren’t used to being so open with their feelings, you wonder if he meant it when he wanted to keep your hair in a locket. You sent it with a letter, he only thanked you.

”Buggy, did you even miss me?”

He was changing a diaper, nearly dropping the pin, “of course I did.”

”Are you lying?”

His hand flies to you for a moment, stroking your hair. You shove it away, and he recalled it back to pop into place.

”I could never lie to you.”

”You just leave out the truth.”

He looks as heartbroken as you, “I’m not a good man, I’m sorry I gave you that impression. But I love you, I love our family.”

You only nod, ignoring him the rest of the night. The patrons don’t flirt with you, now that your daughter was being held by her father in the corner of the bar. Someone puts on the record player, a romantic song wafting in the air. Didn’t fit for a sailor bar, catchy enough that they sing anyway.

”May I have this dance?”

”They'll have my head if drinks ain’t poured fast enough.”

”Let ‘em,” he whispers in your ear.

Two hands are still holding Marcela in her seat, his forearms wrap around you as he swings you around. You always loved a man who can dance, and as expected Buggy was a showy dancer. Even without fingers he dipped and twirled you, lifting you up and over.

You collapse into his chest once the song was over, you’re guided back to the bar so you could pour drinks. A smile doesn’t leave either of your faces.

”Sir, your girl is the best thing that could ever happen to us salty dogs!”

”Don’t I fucking know it,” he beams.

There’s a twinkle in his eye as he returns with your baby, hopping on the counter he gives a sharp whistle.

”Alright listen up, today’s my little girl’s half birthday. A round on me!”

The loud commotion doesn’t bother her too much, Buggy still making sure to cover her ears as he grins at you. In this moment, you’re completely charmed. You’re too afraid to kiss him, you know you shouldn’t kiss him. But he grins and your daughter laughs and maybe, just maybe it’s okay.

He offers to close the bar, and you insist to count the money. He didn’t leave you high and dry last time, but you weren’t that stupid.

Soon he trudges upstairs, kicking his boots off. He sits on the bed only a moment, before shaking his head.

”Do you want me here? Or should I sleep on the couch?”

”Couch.”

”Okay. Hey uh, can I kiss you?”

”What?”

”Just the cheek? The nose? A hand?”

You must be tired, “kiss me like a man, Buggy.”

He kisses you slowly, treading carefully until you push him away. He clears his throat, and sleeps on the couch as promised.

You wake up before him, realizing he let you sleep the whole night. You always liked watching him, it was rare that you were up before him. Buggy was like some strange version of an angel, those long lashes fluttering, chiseled jaw and lovely lips.

You crawl closer to him, his breath hot on your face. You kiss his nose, if you could even call that. It’s so light, there was no way he could feel it.

His eyes flutter open anyway, “well, hello.”

”Thanks for letting me sleep.”

”Go back to bed, she’s still sleeping too.”

Your heart goes soft, come with me, you want to say. Instead, you let sleep overtake you again.

You aren’t sure of the time it is now, and you notice Buggy was gone. You strain to listen to your baby, you didn’t hear anything either. In a panic, you shoot up.

”Buggy?”

”In here!”

Oh thank fuck.

He’s on the floor, playing with your daughter. You ease your heartbeat, standing there a little awkwardly.

“C’mere.”

He drapes an arm over you, “can that kid watch Marcie today? I wanna take you out, just us.”

”I’m not a cheap date.”

”Oh, I know.”

You haven’t dressed up in ages, nervously fussing with your hair until he knocks on the bathroom door.

“Be out in a minute.”

What were you even doing? How many women do you know with husbands like him? The loneliness, the worry. It was easier when you were younger, Buggy was made for the sea. He couldn’t stand being on land for long.

So why did you marry him? Because he was funny? Because he was cute? He loved you the only way he knew how; a captive audience, an adoring fan.

But that’s not really true, is it? It never was for you, he loves you honestly. A rare thing from a pirate.

Buggy whistles at the sight of you, “gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Bug.”

”Only stating the obvious, I could go on but, we got plans tonight don’t we?”

He doesn’t fit in amongst the diners surrounding you. If not his best outfit being a striped shirt and dirty pants, it’s his leg on the chair arm with a drink in his hand. People gawk at his nose when he’s not looking, thankfully focused on you.

If you were honest, you didn’t belong in this place either.

“Why are we here Buggy?”

”You deserve it, had a pretty good haul awhile ago.”

”That why you left?”

He grimaces, “yeah. Found a map.”

You look at your plate, chewing slowly. Buggy drinks more than he eats.

”We were arguing more, you seemed so unhappy. I uh, figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Your vision blurs, “you should’ve told me.”

”I know honey, I know. I never…I never sat still long. As much as I’d like to.”

He insisted it could work at the time, claiming that pirating would be a side gig. Pirates weren’t built for that, as much as Buggy loved his circus you know he loved treasure more.

”So now what? When’s the next time you’re just gonna run?”

Buggy wouldn’t face you, “I-I don’t know. I do know…I won’t leave you stranded. Not again. Ever.”

You lose your appetite, running out on him. You aren’t sure where you were going, running towards the ships docked in the pier. He’s right behind you, shouting your name. You ignore it, reaching his ship.

You wish you kept a bottle, you’d burn the damn thing down. You laugh bitterly, the sea really is his mistress.

“Baby, hey. Let’s talk.”

”If I didn’t send that letter, would you even come back? When I was pregnant?”

Buggy holds your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His jaw is tense, his fingers tremble. You never seen him so undone.

”I never left. Not really. I married you because I love you.”

”Don’t bullshit.”

”I’m not.”

You slap him, “don’t lie to me.”

”I’m not.”

You shove him, “don’t lie to me!”

“Baby stop! I’m sorry okay! God damn.”

You attempt to knock his head off his shoulders. He grabs your hand before you do, “come on. Let me show you something.”

He leads you to his cabin, among the mess and clutter he digs for something. He hands you a box, all your letters, photos, even an old wanted poster. He even kept a onesie and one of the footprints you thought was thrown away.

“I did it for us, I always do it for us.”

You’re on the verge of tears, “You’re going to Grand Line soon, aren’t you?”

He nods, “I had to square away my affairs, I had to see you again.”

You swallow hard, “how long?”

You never sailed that far, your own crew wasn’t ready for that. If he lived, you knew how long he could be gone.

”I don’t know. I do know one thing, I’ll be back.”

You let him hold you as you cry, you could feel droplets on the top of your head. You both stand there crying for who knows how long. Eventually Buggy kisses your eyes, and you tug on his shirt to pull his lips to yours.

It’s a good sign, you feel fireworks even now. He lifts up your skirt, fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear.

”I love you,” he whispers, “my North Star.”

Buggy stays with you for several weeks, and a small part of you wants to pretend he’s going to stay. When your first love died, you promised to remain by the sea. They’d protect you, even in spirit. You hope that promise extended to Buggy, they would’ve like each other.

You help him ready the ship, Buggy stalling in every way he knew how. Not enough costumes, a spotlight was out, you both knew how this was going to end.

He doesn’t let go of your daughter, showing her every single part of his ship. The crew adores her, promising to make her a cabin girl once she’s old enough. It kind of sounds nice, Buggy plans to bring you along too when the time comes. That sounds pretty good to you too.

Eventually, the Big Top sets sail. You teach Marcela to wave to her daddy, you blow kisses as you shout farewells. You promise to tell her about him, and he promises his damnedest to write every day.

It wasn’t going to be easy, it was going to be lonelier this time around. But you are a beacon, an angel of the sea to guide him home.

[thegreatclowncat]

funny thing happened in my acting class today that ended with me saying "i should become a criminal profiler or something"

our teacher described a place, and everyone closed their eyes to visualize it, but i do best with my eyes open so i just stared blankly into space:

[didnt hear the first sentence] the living room has a couch, a small cushion like a pumpkin, and a small table. Beside it is one of those cheap room lamps with a dome at the top and a little arm reaching from the side. across from it is a tv, but the tv has a very thin layer of dust on it. next room. theres a small table like a dining area, but it clearly isnt used for eating. there are stacks of papers covering its surface. in the kitchen, the countertops are clean, and there are a few drawers of miscellaneous items. the cutlery is in this glass jar container on the counter. there is a coffee maker and several mugs beside it. there is a dishwasher with a few old dishes in it. In the cupboard there are four plates, four mugs, and four bowls. in the cupboard beside it there is [didnt hear] lots of basic store-brand items. In the fridge there is not much for cooking, but there are a lot of bottles of craft beer. In the freezer, there are some ice cube trays and a bottle of vodka. down the hallway, there is a room where a washer and dryer are stacked. the washer is empty, but the dryer has dry clothes inside. in the bedroom, there is a bed that isn't made, and it is covered in a bunch of different types of pillows. in the closet, there are clothes, but it is hard to reach them without having to step through a pile of shoes covering the floor. WHO LIVES HERE?

and the class had to answer. different people said "a divorced dad" or "a detective" but i raised my hand and asked if she had any guidelines about our guess and she said no. so i went into it

"okay so clearly this is a person who either has a full-time job or full-time responsibility that makes them stay away from their home for most of the day, considering they don't have the time to cook or eat meals there. however, this person has an income if theyre able to afford all of these pairs of shoes and all of the alcohol. They also are busy until late in the evening, or else the tv would be used when they are relaxing trying to drink. [i was also thinking that this person is very busy to the point where they just wake up and leave, leaving their bed and laundry and closet for later time, but i didnt mention it]. this person lives alone, but sometimes has people over, because there are four sets of every dish---I only have TWO bowls living alone."

my teacher then revealed it was her grad-student era apartment. she was married, but she and her husband were long distance so he would travel to visit occasionally. she was gone from morning to evening doing school, and she would return just to go to sleep. she and her husband liked sampling craft beer, and she loved watching tv, but she was so busy that she couldn't do either until she scraped by to the weekend.

and i was just. laughing. i got it EXACTLY RIGHT

[freshlypizza]

hi :) have you considered any hatchetfield roleswap AUs

Hello! :D

No I have not BUT now I can't stop thinking about the first one that popped into my head when I read this, so here is a oneshot of it:

Theodore Spankoffski was not really good at everything. He wasn't even good at keeping those he loved, everybody left him.

But he made promises 18 years ago to a newborn boy.

A promise to always be there for him, but, more importantly, he made a promise to always be a damn good brother.

(In most timelines, Ted broke the promises.)

Saturday nights were the nights Ted always looked forward to. Saturday nights were the nights Pete would stay over in his tiny apartment. The two brothers would stay up late, watching either the goofiest sci-fi or the goriest horror movies they could find.

Pete would normally arrive at 18:15, he checked his watch, it was 17:42. Ted had just enough time to prepare his bedroom.

He tidied the floor and he made the single bed, placing the stuffed giraffe Ted had bought Pete for his fourth birthday on the pillow. Pete had tried to argue that he was 18, and that he didn't need a stuffed animal to sleep with anymore. Ted couldn't help the smile that grew on his face when Pete had fell asleep on the sofa, with the plush cradled in his arms.

Ted smirked proudly at his handiwork. He checked the time again, 18:11.

He walked into the kitchen preparing a mug of his brother's favourite drink, hot chocolate. He topped it off with a big swirl of whipped cream and a handful of marshmallows. Ted grabbed a beer for himself.

18:15, Peter should be knocking at the door any moment now.

18:30, he had still not arrived.

18:45, Peter was late, but that's fine - he can't be on time every single week. Ted rang Pete's phone, he didn't pick up.

19:00, the hot chocolate was ice cold.

19:30, Ted rang his dad.

"I've not seen him all day, Theodore. He's probably put with his friends."

19:33, Ted hung up.

Ted went to bed at 03:23.

He spent the entirety of the Sunday ringing Peter's phone - all his calls got left unanswered.

He went to Richie's house, he hadn't seen him. He went to Ruth's house, she hadn't seen him. He even went to Stephanie fucking Lauter's house (apparently she was close to Pete), she hadn't seen him.

He barely slept that night.

Ted dragged himself to work Monday morning. He was tired, and so worried. He was frightened that something terrible had happened to his baby brother.

Paul had offered to go to Beanie's with him, he accepted, hoping that it would help to ease his racing mind.

The two passed the homeless guy on the way to the coffee shop. The man's hair was long and unkept, his glasses' lens were shattered, one had fallen out a while ago. Every time Ted passed him, he felt weird. He felt a mixture of emotions that he couldn't explain.

He ordered a chai iced coffee for himself, and a hot chocolate for the homeless guy. He always did, Pete had started it. ("I just feel bad for him, y'know? He can't even afford one for himself." "What if he doesn't like hot chocolate?" "Who doesn't?")

Peter never came home, Ted had lost his baby brother.

(In this timeline, T'Noy Karaxis had played with Ted in a different way, he had taken Ted's favourite person away. Again.)

[little-annie]

Licorice Ice Cream | Little_Annie

—--

It was just any other Saturday afternoon in the Forest Hills Trailer Park. Dogs barking, kids screaming, some fat drunk guy laid out on his lawn in nothing but suspiciously stained gitch. It was the furthest thing from nice, but it was familiar.

As was the absolutely sweltering trailer that surrounded Eddie as he laid in a puddle of his own sweat on the kitchen floor. It was the coldest surface he could find, what with the AC dead and any fan in the tin can he called home busted.

Much like the drunk laying on his lawn across the dirt road, Eddie was in his gitch, though, his were perfectly clean, thank you very much. Maybe just a wee bit sweaty is all.

Okay. Ick.

Anyways, gist of the story is: It's summer in Indiana and it's fucking hot.

And Eddie's van is broken down because of course it is, so he can't go anywhere that actually has AC until Wayne gets home and it's not like he's fucking going outside to 'catch a nice breeze' in the meantime. No thank you.

So yeah, Uncle Wayne needs to get home.

Which is in hmmm, t-minus 34 minutes and 26 seconds. You know, according to Eddie's watch, because yes, he's counting down the seconds until he can get out of Satan's literal asshole.

Fuck this Indiana heat, man.

Eddie didn't hate it as much when he was a kid; running through the sprinklers, climbing enormous trees, jumping into the algae ridden quarry, but now?

Now, he despises it. He loathes it.

He'd rather saw off his own dick and throw it to the Owlbear's than suffer another day sweating his nonexistent tits off in this trailer.

But

That's ever so slightly fucked up and really, Eddie loves his dick and could never imagine his life without it. He appreciates it. All however many inches of it. Even though some days it likes to say a 'hello' at some very inopportune times.

Like that time Billy Hargrove grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the lockers.

Or you know literally anytime he actually attended gym class.

Or that one mortifying time he had to get something from Jeff's locker, only to learn Steve Harrington's was directly below it and apparently the man had no concept of personal space. Just said a shy 'scuse me' and dropped to his knees, only to look up at Eddie with pig pretty puppy dog eyes and have the damn audacity to look like that. Fuck. Yeah, Eddie Jr. liked that very much.

Anywho.

He's here, pale, sweaty skin sticking to the lukewarm linoleum and toast crumbs on the kitchen floor, refusing to think about the fact that his Uncle's nasty ass old man feet slap across it every morning when he makes breakfast.

Eddie shudders at the mere thought he was trying to avoid.

Then checks his watch.

32:16 remains

Jesus fuck.

Well, maybe while he's here he can do something productive, like….like count what he can see of his Uncle's coffee mug collection?

Eddie's eyes blur as he wipes sweat from his brow and tries to focus on the ceramics lining the wall across from him.

'CAUTION, be sure BRAIN is engaged before putting MOUTH in gear'

'I'd rather be having a beer!'

'Wyoming. Less people. Less Problems."

'Have a nice poop'

'#1 Dad'

'Life's like a stripper, you can ……

—

Eddie swears he blacked out for a minute because, the next time he opens his eyes, it's to a very amused Uncle Wayne standing above him and a dusty steel toed boot nudging him in the ribs.

Wayne smiles down at him, all sweet with his tobacco stained teeth while he asks, "Wanna go to the mall kid?"

And well, let's just say, if Eddie could move that fast regularly, maybe he wouldn't have had so many 'heart to hearts' with Chief James Hopper over the years about his 'troubled youth' and how it led to his 'drug dealing business.'

Wayne hardly has a chance to suck in a breath after his question before Eddie's barreling down the hall to his room for a change of non-sweaty gitch and clothes.

It's when Eddie's pulling on a pair of black cutoffs that he hears Wayne yell down the hall, "Don't forget pit stick boy! If you've any chance with the men in this town, you least should try not smellin' like Hank's ass!"

Hank being the nearly naked fucker passed out drunk on his lawn across the way.

Eddie can hear Wayne snickering to himself in his old man huff of air way from down the hall as he calls back a laughing, "Fuck you old man!"

Receiving a "Love ya too Ed!" in response.

—

Not twenty minutes later and Eddie finds himself sighing in relief as he enters Starcourt mall. The air's frigid, his skin pricking delightfully into goose flesh with every nonsensical stride he takes.

He has nowhere in mind, purely wandering this cesspool of forced conformity and capitalism for the pure enjoyment of free air conditioning.

Soon enough Wayne finds himself a spot nearest the fountain, a screaming child to his left and a bitchy mother to his right. Though he seems none the wiser as he basks in the delightfulness of cool air around him, tipping his hat low and crossing his hands over his stomach, assuming his position for an apparent public nap.

Crazy old fucker.

Although capitalism is the actual devil and forced conformity is its ugly brother, Eddie can't help but feel the pull in his bones to at least check out the art supply shop.

Sue him. He wants to get more minis to paint for his upcoming campaign.

So that's how Eddie spends his time in the mall. Staring at tiny ceramic figurines, trying to come up with ways he can carve them down or add to them with modelling clay to make them further appear as NPCs from his rapidly building campaign.

Well and if he flirts with the guy behind the counter because he's giving off serious vibes, sue him twice.

It sure didn’t seem like Mr. Blue Eyes With A Pink Hanky in His Left Pocket, minded all that much.

All fluttery lashes and rosie cheeks.

—

The mall's twenty minutes from closing when Eddie goes searching for Wayne.

You'd think it'd be easy to find a 5'11, grumpy looking, old white man wearing blue jeans and a grey t-shirt in an Indiana mall.

Hah.

Yeah only half the population of said mall.

Much to not Eddie's surprise, Wayne had left his original post, probably in search of food, leaving a much rounder middle aged man to take his previous position.

Though they weren't technically father and son, Eddie can see a lot of himself in Wayne. Especially the constantly hungry and always needing to be moving aside from a fifteen minute power nap side of himself.

So, in order to find Wayne, Eddie just thinks of where his 56 year old self would have wandered off to. Food, being the most likely contender.

There's a steak house on the opposite end of the mall where Wayne could have possibly gone for a beer.

A pizza place where Eddie knows they serve Wayne's favourite pie by the slice daily.

A Diner with arguably the second best milkshakes in town, the first being Benny's on highway 6.

And finally, Scoops Ahoy, the most likely of the candidates.

If Eddie were a 56 year old, grumpy fucker, wearing blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, who just got off a 12 hour shift, is sweating his balls off, brought his pain in the ass nephew-son to the mall and just woke up from a fountain-side nap, yeah, he'd probably think about being balls deep in some strawberry ice cream too.

To Scoops Ahoy it is!

Trying not to trip on the ample amount of crotch goblins stomping through the mall, Eddie eventually makes his way to the ice cream shop. Seeing Wayne's salt and pepper hair through the front window amongst many other heads, Eddie opts to grab a seat outside due to the frankly sickening amount of patrons inside.

Not five minutes later does Eddie hear a playful shout of his name come from inside. His head snaps up to see Wayne tapping the glass that'd been facing Eddie's back a second ago. There's a calloused finger waving Eddie in as Wayne continues to speak to him through the glass, "I'm at the till kid, ya want anything?"

Um. Yeah. Does a Wererat shit in subterranean tunnel complexes beneath cities?

(The answer is yes. According to the Dungeons & Dragons 1st Edition Monster Manual.)

When Eddie pops his head into the shop it's not nearly as busy as it was a few minutes ago, most patrons probably grabbing a cone and dipping out before the mall closes.

But, to Eddie's surprise, as he reaches the counter, popping over Wayne's shoulder to take a peek at the menu, he sees the most glorious thing to grace this God forsaken planet.

To say Eddie's heart falls out of his ass in that moment is an understatement.

You see, they haven't been to the mall yet this summer, money's been tight, the weather hasn't been unbearable and they have more important things to spend their cash on.

But today, today is a different story. Eddie's sure he would have died of heat exhaustion had he stayed in that damn trailer any longer and both he and Wayne have been working extra shifts to round up some extra coin.

Coin, that they can spend on ice cream.

Coin, that along with Eddie's heart and jaw hit the floor at the site of Steve fucking Harrington in a sailors costume.

Because you see, if it wasn't for today Eddie would have never had the chance to see this. All five foot, eleven inches of pure American standing like a clip out of Playgirl in probably the sluttiest shorts Eddie has ever seen.

Not to mention the tight ass and chiselled thighs to boot.

Eddie's never believed in God, but after today, you might just find him worshipping at the altar or more likely confessing to father about the things Steve Harrington's bare legs are making him feel.

He's gobsmacked. Absolutely flabbergasted. Downright thunderstruck.

And he's definitely not going to go into detail about where his mind has wandered to in the moments he's begun to drool down his chin and hear "I Want to Know What Love Is" by Foreigner play in the background of his preoccupied pea brain.

"Ed."

"Son"

Oh shit.

"Huh?" He gulps, wiping his chin with the bottom half of his copped tank, eyes trying to refocus on the menu and not the Adonis standing with his gams out mere feet away.

"Steve here was asking if you wanted anything."

Eddie grits his teeth and blurts the first thing his eyes land on, "Licorice."

"Cup or cone?" Steve asks sweetly like Eddie's not having to fight off a stiffy by repeating 'dead puppies, Vietnam War, Wayne's had sex before,' like an anti public boner mantra.

"He'll have a cone." Wayne answers for him while crouching to pick up the change Eddie had dropped earlier, pinching his nephew's pale ankle in the process in hopes of bringing him back to life.

"Yep." Eddie agrees dumbly, voice nearly cracking with nerves.

And then for a moment it's definitely worse because fucking Steve 'Ass Sculpted by Michelangelo' Harrington turns around and bends over. Eddie's surprised he doesn't have a coronary. Or his eyes bulge out of his skull. Or he just like, fucking, fuck, he doesn't know, spontaneously combusts or some shit.

What the fuck is life right now?

Then he hears that old man huff of a laugh off to his left. Uncle Wayne.

Eddie's neck nearly breaks at the speed he turns his head to meet the sly smirk of his old man. He's never stared daggers so intensely into Wayne's soul as he is now.

All fire and brimstone and death and 'Jesus christ shut up old man.'

But Wayne continues to huff like the bastard he is.

Fucker.

But like, Eddie still loves him and is eternally grateful for everything the man has done and sacrificed for him over the years, even as he flips him off while the man continues to laugh.

Then there's Steve's buttery smooth voice that breaks him out of his death stare, "Will that be everything?"

Eddie just stares as his eyes finally meet Steve's, or well, actually his lips, but close enough.

God they look good, pink and plush, kissable, fuckable, come-on-able. Oof, Jesus he needs to get out of here.

Eddie's dick twitches behind his denim at the thought and before he can even grab his ice cream, he's fucking hightailing it out of there like a weirdo and squeaking out a pathetic excuse of a "thanks."

A whole minute later Wayne finds Eddie sitting on a bench out of view from the ice cream shop windows, pouting, lip out, brows furrowed and arms crossed. He joins him with a shit eating grin as he chuckles, "The Harrington boy huh?"

"No." Eddie answers defensively and rather quickly, not bothering to spare Wayne a glace.

It's quiet for a moment, then Eddie hears Wayne from beside him, "Didn't know you liked Licorice."

Eddie huffs, taking the cone from Wayne's grasp with a grumbled, "I don't."

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM SHAUN OF THE DEAD *  assorted dialogue from the 2004 film

he's not my boyfriend!

well... is it clear?

now can you see why i'm so fucking angry?

it's fucking sunday!

you go to bed with it?

go ahead, look at me.

oh for god's sake! he's got an arm off!

oh, he sells a bit of weed every now and again.

i've known him since primary school, you know?

i don't know, i didn't stop to ask them!

we have to get out of here.

my, how you've grown.

bash them in the head. that seems to work.

what are we going to eat?

what the hell do you think you're doing?

ah, we have a situation here.

can i just say one more thing?

for a hero, you're quite a hypocrite.

religious groups are calling it judgement day.

i have to know if she's all right!

we're coming to get you!

i like having him around. he's a laugh.

i know he's your best friend, but you do live with him.

don't say that!

you do realize this is a 20 mile per hour zone.

you didn't call the doctor, did you?

i'm not gonna say, you know, there's plenty more fish in the sea.

was that on a beer mat?

who the hell put this on?

why didn't you just shoot him, man?

i won't say anything.

what happened to your hand?

thanks babe.

how come he didn't drive?

it's not the end of the world.

what makes you think i'd have taken you back?

it's not really safe, is it?

oh, leave him alone.

i'm not staying here.

it's not that i don't like him.

i can't see any.

that's it. i would like to be shot.

i fucking knew it.

why'd they bite you?

i think you should go.

he's going to be dead either way.

do you want your messages?

all right, i admit, he can be pretty funny on occasion.

i'm not staying there.

we shut the curtains.

just look at that face. it's vacant, with a hint of sadness. like a drunk who's lost a bet.

oh, thank god for that.

now i have a splitting headache, and your stupid hip hop isn't helping.

hey, look who it is!

you gonna thank me then?

do you believe everything you hear on tv?

you weren't always the easiest person to live with.

that was five years ago.

did you try the police?

how about an ambulance?

oh my god! she's so drunk!

it's four in the fucking morning!

he chased me around the garden with a bit of wood.

you hang out with my friends?

next time i see him, he's dead.

there's no "i" in team, but there is an "i" in pie.

i don't know what he's talking about.

get fucked, four eyes!

the only thing that will redeem mankind is cooperation.

any zombies out there?

when's he going home?

i've always wanted to drive one of those.

why don't you go out with her if you love her so much?

that wasn't true. made it up. shouldn't have done that.

are you okay? did they hurt you?

well, that's a bit harsh.

where are we going to go?

i didn't want to cramp your style.

i got mugged on the way home.

player two has entered the game.

it's been a funny sort of day, hasn't it.

hey! you're dead!

i'll stop doing it when you stop laughing.

if we hole up, i wanna be somewhere familiar. i wanna know where the exits are, and i wanna be allowed to smoke.

what's the plan then?

i was desperate.

oh god, that's rotten!

you still haven't met his mum?

i do want to spend time with you.

oh no, there they are.

please can we just calm! the fuck! down!

this is a pub! we're in a pub!

you see what i'm saying?

some men tried to get into the house.

are they still there?

stop telling me to chill out!

feel free to step in any time.

i gotta do a wee first.

you did all right.

would anyone like a peanut?

we may have to kill my step-dad.

all right, i've got a car outside, but it's going to be a bit cramped.

you left them in my flat.

who died and made you fucking king of the zombies?

[laneygvf]

#1 Dad

Pairings: Sam x Reader

This is only my second time actually writing so be nice pls lol anyways hope you enjoy. 🫶🏼

So it wasn’t a total surprise to you when you saw two lines on the pregnancy test saying it was positive. You knew you still wanted to surprise Sam after you found out, you hid the tests somewhere he wouldn’t even bother looking through. While he was still at practice with the guys, you went to the store having no clue what you were going to get him so you wandered through the isles till a mug caught your eye. “# 1 dad” you grabbed it and set it in your basket making your way to the baby clothes. You wanted something simple and gender neutral given that you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You saw a set of onesies that were just solid colors yellow and gray.

You had about another hour before Sam would be home so you made your way back to the house. You grabbed a gift bag and some tissue paper out of your closet and grabbed the test that you had hidden away and made your way back into the living room where you had left the gifts. You wrapped the test in the onsies and rolled them up and stuck them into the mug. You finished by wrapping the mug up in the tissue paper and setting it in the bag adding more tissue paper around the mug.

Once the gift was ready you still had another 30 ish minutes until Sam would be home so you walked over to the record player and the collection you and Sam had built over the years. Flipping through you find what you were looking for. “Winnie Pooh and the honey tree” there were actually two copies of this record because the both of you had one from your childhood. Just as you set the needle down the music is bouncing softly off the walls. And in that moment you open up your phone and open eBay and immediately type in the same record you were playing into the search bar, you add the first one you saw into your cart and proceed to purchase the record so that your little one can have one for themself.

Your phone was buzzing on the table in front of you pulling you from your thoughts about how excited you were to start a family with your favorite person in the world. Sam on the other end laughing with his brothers “hi my love! Are you okay if the guys come over for dinner and drinks?” You thought for a minute almost saying no but you realized he would tell them as soon as he found out anyways and you know he would cherish the moment forever having his brothers with him as he finds out he’s going to be a dad. “ Of course honey, they are always welcomed.” You could tell he was smiling, even through the phone. “Alright my love, just checking! We are leaving the studio now, see you in a few!” You say your goodbyes and that’s when the nerves kick in. Not because you're scared but excited, but also you were not planning on telling him in front of people.

Fifteen minutes later they are all barging into the house arguing about something you assumed happened during practice today. You can tell it’s not serious because they are all being sarcastic as they speak. Sam walks up open arms, falling into his touch, you wrapped your arms around him welcoming him home after a long day. You pull away grabbing beers for the four of them and water for yourself. You weren’t the biggest drinker anyways so it’s nothing out of the ordinary to them. “ I hope you guys are in the mood for pizza cause I already ordered it.” They all nodded in unison. “Good should be here in 10.”

Sam had gotten up to switch what was playing on the record player. He smiled as he put the record back in its sleeve. He picked a random Queen album and placed it on the record and played it quietly. The food had arrived and you all dug in and ate while they told you about their day and how the new album was coming along. You never get sick of them talking about their passion. It melts your heart. All of you had finished eating, you grabbed everyone’s plates, setting them in the sink to deal with later. You make your way into the bedroom to grab the gift and make your way back to the living room where the guys are still talking.

“Sorry to interrupt whatever you guys are talking about but you are gonna wanna watch this.” Handing Sam the bag, he looks at you with a confused look. “Just open the gift Samuel.” Everyone looks at Sam as he pulls out the wrapped mug. Giving you another confused look as he unwraps the mug. The words “#1 dad” facing away from him towards Danny. A gasp fell from Danny’s mouth quickly followed by his hand flying to his mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a belly laugh. Danny removed his hand from his mouth looking at you with a big smile as he moved his hands to the mug to turn it so that Sam and the twins could see what was on it. Next thing you know Sam is jumping out of his seat giving you the biggest bear hug followed by the rest of the guys joining in on the hug. You all sit back down and Sam takes the onsies out of the mug and unrolls them to find the positive pregnancy test. “WE ARE HAVING A BABY!” he screamed, throwing his hands in the air in excitement. The rest of you laughed.

After the adrenaline settles down in everyone, Danny and the twins say their congratulations as they head out the door. Just as Danny is about to close the door he opens it back up and pokes his head through with a smile on his face “I’m so happy for you guys and I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew and Thomas to meet his little cousin.” He gave the two of you another hug and closed the door behind him.

The two of you sit back down on the couch. “Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything?” Sam asks as he rubs your belly. You smile, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I’m okay. Are you okay?” He looks at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Are you kidding me? I'm great , no I'm exhilarated!” The two of you cuddled on the couch while talking about different things related to the baby. “Oh! I forgot to show you!” You say pulling out your phone turning it to face him. He takes it from you looking at the record you had ordered earlier. You watch the smile spread across his face. He hands you your phone back and gives you another hug. You pull back after a minute “we grew up with it I figured they should do and have their own.” His smile was still there “it’s perfect, you’re perfect, everything is perfect.” He said placing his hand back on your stomach.

A few weeks had gone by and everyone in your lives finally knew you were expecting. It was nice not keeping the pregnancy a secret anymore. You and Sam had gone out shopping looking for stuff for the nursery. As you guys were walking to the next store you heard rustling coming from the side of the building next to a dumpster. Sam went over to check to see what it was. His eyes widened as he bent down to pick up what was making the noise. He turns to you holding a puppy that looks to be a pitbull. Sam found the puppy in a box next to some dead roses. The two of you cut the shopping short and find the nearest vet to bring the puppy to. They confirmed that it’s a girl and she’s about 4 months old and she’s a pitbull.

Not thinking about it the two of you knew you’d end up bringing this puppy home once you knew it was okay and healthy. Sam stays at the vet while you run to the closest pet store to get all the things you need to have for a puppy. Once you think you got everything you checkout and go pick Sam and the puppy up. Sam gets in the passenger seat holding her. “I think we should name her Rose.” He says with a smile on his face. “I love it! She’s so cute!” He nods in agreement.

Rose was by your side the entire pregnancy and chance she got. It was like she knew and she needed to protect you. She would lay her head on your belly feeling the baby kick scared her at first but she got used to it and it became her favorite place to sleep. You knew she was gonna love this baby. You were not expecting to have a puppy and a baby all in the same year but you knew they both came into your life for a reason.

————————————————————————————

Eight months later you and Sam are sitting in the finished nursery of your unborn child. Rose laying at your feet. The two of you decided to go with Winnie the Pooh as the nursery theme because it has history for the two of you and it seemed fitting. The two of you also decided to wait till the birth to find out the gender of the baby. It was hard going to all the doctor appointments and leaving without knowing the gender of the baby. But you knew it would be worth the wait.

A few days later you are in the kitchen cleaning up and Sam is at practice with the guys. Your legs were wet but you just thought that it was water that has splashed on you until you are having really intense cramps. You finally put two and two together realizing that your water had broken. You wait till the contraction is over and waddle over to your phone to call Sam. After a few rings you hear chatter in the background “Hello my love, what can I do for ya?” You giggle “You could come pick me up and take me to the hospital to have this baby of ours and tell one of the boys to come watch Rose.” You let out a giggle. “Yes ma’am! I’m on my way right now! Brothers it’s time! Can someone come watch Rose?” You smile hearing his excitement. You hear cheering in the background. You hear “WE ARE HAVING A BABY” right before he hangs up the phone. You let out a belly laugh that was cut off by another contraction.

Sam busts through the front door looking frantically for you. Jake follows behind, coming to take care of Rose. Meanwhile you are in the kitchen eating what you can find because you don’t know when the next time you’ll be able to eat again. He laughs “alright take it to go my love” you follow him out to the living room you hug Jake as he grabs the hospital bags and tosses them over his shoulder. Jake whispers in your ear “have fun dealing with that” as he points to Sam frantically looking over a list in his hand making sure everything is packed and you guys have everything. “Jake shut it and take care of Rose. Sam scoffs. Sam hugs Jake. The two of you make your way to the hospital.

Once settled in the hospital room you send out your texts that the little one is making its way into the world and you’d let them know when they arrive. Your pregnancy was easy up until this point. The contractions were so painful. You really wanted to have a natural birth without the epidural but you quickly changed your mind as the contractions were getting closer together. You were in a much better mood after getting the epidural. It was weird not being able to feel your legs but you didn’t care, you were just happy you couldn’t really feel the contractions.

Five hours later after being admitted to labor and delivery you welcomed a baby girl into your family. Sam was so excited to be a girl dad. The two of you had a few names picked out that you like for boy and girl names. You decided that you would throw the girl names you liked into a bowl and randomly picked one. Sam pulls out the piece of paper with your baby’s name on it. With a smile spreading across his face he looks to you “Iris” he turns the piece of paper toward you. You thought it was perfect. Sam has a garden with the most beautiful irises so you weren’t surprised when he suggested that as a name and deep down you loved it. You couldn’t be happier.

After FaceTiming all the family, letting them know she was here and knowing her name you took a much needed nap. Iris was still laying on your chest. Sam had taken a picture of you sleeping with her on your chest. Capturing that moment forever. Sam took the time while you were sleeping to run home a blanket that Iris had been wrapped in to Rose so that she could get to know her scent. Sam and Jake say their goodbyes again. Before Sam is able to leave, Jake steps in front of the door and puts his hand to Sam’s chest “I better be the first uncle that little girl meets Samuel.” He said in a joking tone but was completely serious. Sam lets out a chuckle. “Alright big bro, be back in a couple days thanks again!”

Two days later you are in the back seat of the car with Iris as Sam pulls into the driveway. He helps you out then grabs Iris in her car seat. You don’t put your hand on the handle before the door is whipped open and pulled into a big hug from the twins and Danny. Jake breaks away first grabbing the car seat from Sam and walking over to the couch to meet his niece for the first time. As he’s taking her out of the car seat he looks over to you “she looks just like you.” You smile “I know but she’s got the Kiszka eyes and lips.”

Danny and Josh did eventually get to meeting her. And so did Rose and she did amazing just like we thought she would. Everyone else met after the first week of being home. You and Sam adjusted well to the new way of life. You couldn’t imagine it any other way. All that was left to do was raise your little family with the love of your life.

The End.

[callsigndragon]

Hold my hand | One

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OFC / Jake Seresin x Red

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: mentions of cancer, death, more death, someone's mom is a whore, the seresins had a shitty childhood... and then all fluffy and lovey dovey stuff!

Masterlist

If you want to get tagged, comment down below!

Eighteen. Jake was eighteen. Jenn was sixteen. It wasn’t the best idea. Heck, it wasn’t even an idea. It was just a choice. A choice made in a moment of need: Jake protecting Jenn while she ran upstairs to pack her things. 

Jake had been waiting for that moment since he was 10. Since the day their father died. Cancer was a bitch, and the Seresins had a taste of it. Tom, the human shield that kept the siblings safe from their mother, was gone. And for the next 8 years, Jake counted the days left until they could run away from that house. 

The day had come. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Jacob? You are not enough. You don’t know how to do anything!” Janine spat, tumbling around the living room and spilling the contents of her black mug—the one that was supposed to be used for coffee but that she filled with any alcoholic liquid she could find. “Nobody will love you. Nor you or your sister. That fucking whore. She’s a needy bitch, going around begging for some attention, and will end up pregnant like a cow before she turns twenty!”

Jake could hear Jenn running downstairs with tears in her eyes. How could her own mother talk about her like that? “If you hated the idea of becoming a mother so much, you shouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place!” 

“We are not the same, mother. Just because you don’t know how to do anything, it doesn’t mean I can’t learn.” Jake replied, taking a few steps back. She was the only person he was afraid of. 

“You don’t have money. You don’t know how to do anything! What are two little pieces of shit like you gonna do out of this house? You might as well give up. Kill yourselves and end my suffering.” The woman threw the mug over Jake’s head, missing Jenn by a hair. 

“I will wait until Jenn turns 17, and then we’ll join the Naval Academy. Like dad did.” Jake clenched his jaw, stopping the feelings flooding his mind at the thought of his late father. 

“You don’t have the guts!” 

“You’re just afraid of ending up alone. But we’re gonna walk out that door, and we won’t have to see your face again.” Jenn cried, choking up on her tears, feeling a mixture of anxiousness and impatience. 

And they did. They walked out. They never looked back. 

They took the reins. 

Jake parks his truck outside the Hard Deck, a bar that used to be the center of his world when he was a student at Top Gun. It’s been a while since those days. 

“Hey, isn’t that Javy’s car?” 

Jenn raises her head and looks at the black Chevrolet Impala parked next to them. “Holy shit, it is his car. Look, the little duck I bought him for Christmas.” 

Jake turns off the engine and gets off the truck, slamming the door behind him. “He came here and didn’t tell us?” 

Jake raises an eyebrow, pointing a finger at him. “Jay, you came here and didn’t tell him either.” 

“Because it’s a secret detachment” 

“And there you have your answer.” Jenn rolls her eyes, getting inside the bar and marveling at the ambience, the smell, and the homely, inviting atmosphere that reigns over the place. She never had called a place ‘home’, but she knows that this could be the closest thing to it. 

“Well, well, look at that! Javy Machado in the flesh.” 

“Valkyrie! Oh my goodness, we’re working together again?” Javy says, leaving his beer at the bartop and hugging the female. “Where’s the ugly Seresin?” 

“Right behind you.” Jake reveals, patting Coyote’s back and chuckling. “Please don’t flirt with my sister, it would be awkward.” 

“I’m not flirting!” Javy fusses, sitting down and gesturing to Penny, the owner, to bring two more beers. “This has to be a hell of a mission if we are here.” 

“Only the best of the best, Coyote.” Jenn raises her beer, the two men do the same, toasting for them and the future mission. 

“Do you think someone else might be joining us?” Jake asks, occupying the seat next to Javy’s. 

“We’re only three, and we don’t have a wizzo… We need another pilot with a back-seater.” Jenn adds, turning to the pool table and preparing the table so they can play. “Maybe Phoenix?” 

Jake thinks about it for a second. “Yeah… You can’t have a special secret mission only for the elite and not call her.” He looks at the flabbergasted expressions of the other two pilots and points at them with his index finger. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 

“She wouldn’t believe us even if we tried.” Javy jokes, grabs a pool cue, and gets ready to play. 

A few minutes pass, the three pilots absorbed by their game, until four more pilots join them, Phoenix at the head of the group. “What do we have here! If it ain’t Phoenix!” 

Jenn smiles when she sees Nat and looks with curiosity at the other three of them. She reads their names on the badges. Fitch, Garcia, and Jenkins. Jenkins kind of rings a bell, but she doesn’t remember why. 

“And here I thought we were special, guys. Turns out the invite went to anyone.” Jake teases, sitting in the pool, watching the newcomers' faces. He goes from Phoenix to the two men, but his eyes stop when they notice Jenkins’ eyes. They have to be the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. Dark blue irises look at him, but he gets lost in the hazel ring around her pupils. Her eyes look like galaxies, and he fears that he might get lost in them if he stares too long. 

“Fellas,” Phoenix says, making Jake stop staring at the female pilot. “this here’s Bagman.” 

Jenn snorts, and Jake glares at him. “Hangman.” 

“Whatever.” Phoenix turns a bit, looking at the other three aviators. “You’re looking at the only other Naval Aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill.” 

Jake smirks, faking modesty. “Stop. You’re gonna make me blush.” 

“Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War.” Phoenix adds, looking at Hangman with her head tilted. How much she loves to tease him. 

“Cold war.” Jenn and Javy correct her at the same time. It might be an old plane, but it’s still a kill. 

“Same century,” Fitch says, crossing his arms over his chest. He is not impressed by the man’s achievements. 

“Not this one.” Garcia remarks, and Jenn looks at Javy, wondering what to do. “Red Queen has a confirmed air-to-air kill with a fifth gen aircraft. That’s impressive.”

“You know, I’ve heard a lot about this Red Queen, and yet, I have never seen her. I’m starting to believe she’s not even real, just a product of someone’s imagination to make my work look less impressive. I think someone’s jealous and goes around inventing rumors, guys.” Jake says, turning to grab his beer. 

“I’m Red Queen.” Jenkins announces, moving a step closer to him and smirking. “Want me to show you the report?” 

Jake clears his throat and gets up from his sitting position, as if he were really worried about looking like an idiot. More than he was already. “I am… I’m sorry. I really thought you were a myth. Everyone says you were the perfect student at the Naval Academy and, well, I am… I didn’t picture you like that.” 

“I know I’m short, but that has its benefits, Lieutenant Bagman.” She says, looking at the other two pilots. “My name is Rowan Jenkins. Red Queen. Everyone calls me Red.” 

Jenn, who had been looking at the exchange in front of her, blinks a few times and snaps out of her thoughts. “Oh shit. I’m Jenn Seresin. Valkyrie. This is Javy Machado. Call sign Coyote. And the… Bagman here is Jake Seresin.” 

“Wait, you’re siblings?” Rowan says, looking between the two Seresins, trying to spot some similarities. Yeah, she can see some of them. 

“Unfortunately.” Jenn mutters, earning a smack in the back of her head from Javy. “Who’re your friends, Phoenix?” 

“I’m Mickey Garcia. Fanboy.” 

“Reuben Fitch. Payback.” He says, smiling. “Revenge was already taken.” 

Jenn smiles, and smiles at Phoenix. “Glad to see you here.” 

“This mission can’t work without me, what can I say.” She gestures in the direction of the bar, and speaks again. “Who’s he?”

The friend trio frowns, not understanding her words. “Who’s who?” 

Phoenix motions in the direction of a guy, seated down, eating, and cleaning his lap. He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s the center of attention. Suddenly, he raises his head, and he’s a bit startled by the number of eyes staring at him. 

“When did you come in?” Jenn asks, moving so she can see the aviator. 

“Oh, I’ve been here the whole time.” 

There’s a moment of silence, Jenn and Jake share a look. Jenn knows that look. He’s about to make a joke that can be either the most unfunny thing ever, or really offensive. “The man’s a stealth pilot. Literally.” 

Well, it wasn’t that bad. 

“Weapons Systems Officer, actually.” The wizzo replies, looking at all the faces that are staring at him. 

“With no sense of humor.” Jake’s sister is about to smack him, but he gets up and walks toward the bar. 

“What do they call you?” Natasha asks, interested in knowing the wizzo better. 

“Bob.” 

“No, your call sign.” Payback chuckles, knowing that it’s something that happens regularly. Aviators are more often called by their call sign than by their name, so sometimes you don’t know where the call sign ends and your name starts. 

“...Bob.” He insists, and they all look at each other. 

“Wait, you’re Bob Floyd? From Lemoore? You’re my new back-seater.” Phoenix says, walking closer to her wizzo. Other than herself, the person on whom she will rely the most.

“Looks like it.” Bob answers, smiling a bit. 

Jenn turns to look at Javy. “Dude, have you seen Jake?” 

“Val, you have to be a bit more specific here. I see him a lot. He’s not as good looking as he thinks.” Javy remarks, earning a slap from Jenn. “Auch!” 

“Idiot. How he was looking at Red before he knew who she was? Did you see that?” Jenn reiterates, looking over to the bar to make sure that her brother doesn’t come back. “I’ve never seen him look at a girl like that.” 

Javy thinks about it for a minute, noticing how his best friend keeps looking over his shoulder to look at her. “He’s smitten.” 

Jake’s sister almost has a fangirl moment because, for the first time in years, Jake Seresin might be interested in someone for more than just sex. “I never thought I’d see this day.” 

“Can we emphasize the fact that he has fallen for the only girl that is better than him at his job?” Javy says biting his bottom lip to not laugh. 

“...Holy shit, you’re right!” 

Jake comes back from the bar, having changed the song on the jukebox. “Bradshaw! As I live and breathe.” Jake says, walking over to Jenn and Javy to give them some beers. He gives one to Red and the other to Phoenix. 

Javy’s eyes widen when he realizes that Bradshaw is, in fact, standing right next to Phoenix. “Oh my god.” 

“What the fuck is he doing here? He’s not fast enough for a special mission,” Jenn says, as if that were the only reason she doesn’t want him there. 

“You look good, Hangman.” Rooster says, watching Hangman’s every movement. It’s only then, when he stops right next to his sister, that he realizes that Jenn Seresin is also in the building. Brilliant. 

“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.” Hangman says, making Phoenix and Rooster share a glance. 

Jenn looks at Rooster, the man who once was everything she ever wanted, and turns to keep talking with Javy. Family comes first, she reminds herself. Hangman might be a pain in the ass, but Rooster is not a saint, either. He talked as much shit as Hangman did back in the academy days. 

“What I wanna know is who’s team leader? And which of y’all have what it takes to follow me?” Jake states, looking at the others. 

“Of course, I’ll be team leader.” Valkyrie says, winking at Javy, who shakes his head. 

“Nah, Jenn. You’re wrong. It’s gonna be me.” Hangman insists, giving the pool cue to Javy. 

“Hangman, the only place you’ll ever lead anyone is an early grave.” Bradley raises his voice, wanting to be heard by all of the present aviators, even those who are having private conversations. Jenn glares at him, body already moving in his direction, but she’s stopped by Javy and Jake before she can say anything that she might regret later. 

Instead, the other Seresin walks to Rooster, slowly but with a smirk on his face. “And anyone who follows you is just gonna run outta fuel. But then that’s you all over, ain’t it Rooster? Snug on your perch, waitin’ for juuuuust the right moment. That never comes.” Jake smirks, tilting his head. “And I’m not talking about your performance as a pilot, only.” 

“Jake.” Valkyrie warns him, not wanting this to become too personal. 

Slow rider sounds in the back, and Jake laughs. “I love this song!” 

He leaves, and Phoenix and Rooster exchange a few words, but Jenn can’t hear him. She’s more focused on Bradshaw and that stupid Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing. One that she knows too well. 

She bought it for him when they were dating. 

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

Taglist:

@shrimping-for-all

@purplevortexx

@emorychase

@xoxabs88xox

[bropunzeling]

"Why does Bowie like you more than me?"

"He knows I'm cooler than you," Taryn says, sitting on the lawn and grinning smugly as Bowie trots right to her, yipping and panting. "And I have treats."

"Where the hell did you get treats?" Brady demands.

Taryn taps the side of her nose. "Secret."

From the patio table, Matthew snorts. As if Taryn didn't grill him the minute she got to the house, asking how to make the dog love her, following him around the kitchen until he showed her the cabinet in the pantry where Bowie's many, many treasures live.

"I'm just saying," Brady retorts. "I'm also very cool. He could love me."

"Maybe he's scared of your ugly mug," Taryn says as she snatches Bowie up. Bowie, whose never met a person he didn't love, licks her nose. "Aren't you? Yeah, he's sooo scary."

"You’re such a--"

Matthew stops paying attention at that point, turning in his chair to look around. Mom and Dad are on their way, but he can spot Emma and Leon through the glass of the patio doors, talking. Maybe he wants a beer.

As soon as he comes inside, he has to hug Emma, obviously, and kiss the side of Leon's head, obviously, before going and digging a drink out of the fridge. When he comes back, Emma's gone outside, but Leon's still there, watching through the window.

Matthew takes a spot next to Leon, settling an arm around her waist. Leon presses her hip against his, slotting them together like puzzle pieces.

"Does he know that if he stands still Bowie will come right up to him?" Leon asks as they watch Brady fruitlessly chase Bowie around the yard, Taryn chirping him and Emma cracking up on the sidelines.

"Probably not," Matthew says. He knocks his hip into hers, sending them both briefly off balance before they stabilize again. "You could go outside and help him."

Leon huffs. "I guess."

Matthew bumps her hip again. "Come on. Be nice."

"I'm plenty nice," Leon retorts, but she slides open the door before pecking Matthew on the cheek and stealing his beer on her way outside.

"Thief," Matthew calls after her. She spins on her heel and shrugs dramatically before heading over to Brady, Bowie already running right to her.

Matthew rolls his eyes, then goes to grab another beer.

[askthechronoverse]

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

“Alrighty, folks! The goal is simple: serve the most people quickly and accurately to get the most points.” The soda jerk clapped his hands. “Get ready!”

“Give up. You won't win.” The stranger tied the apron tighter around himself.

“Nah. You look like a bad dude. I don't bow down to bad dudes.” Johnny smirked. “Neither do my friends here.”

“No. I'm not the one who decided to “save the multiverse” in order to save her father from the fate he was supposed to have faced a long time ago.” He folded his arms. “One he would have faced if the queen didn't use the Assembly of Master Builders to shield him from it.”

“Nope. I see what he's doing. He's using slander to psych us out. We don't have to listen to that.” Johnny shook his head, disgusted. “Dangervest was the Assembly’s responsibility, by the way. Not like you need to know.”

“That would make sense. If my understanding of history serves, he was a monster of your creation.” The stranger laughed in a way that made Kit stick out her tongue. “A cover-up makes so much sense.”

“Rex Dangervest’s whole schick had nothing to do with the Assem-!” The soda jerk announced the start of the first round, but he was interrupted by the stranger, who moved quickly as the first wave of patrons started.

“Everyone from what was once The Downstairs Realms is responsible for Rex Dangervest’s creation. Ask yourself something, Johnny Stryker: who is Rex Dangervest really?” It was Vito who spoke up as he quickly got a rhythm going in the game.

“That’s basic history, guy. He was the guy who started Armommageddeon. He used my dad to -!” He was interrupted with the stranger's expressions of disapproval.

“No no. I mean, you aren't wrong but there's so much more you're missing. A far deeper history. The Assembly knows it. As do your parents. Looks like they're keeping you in the dark like Dangervest is with his own daughter.” He kept throwing root beer mugs at a blinding pace.

“Since we're talking about history lessons, care to tell us yours?” Stryker was keeping pace with the stranger, which impressed everyone else involved. “You seem to know an awful lot about things that you claim the general public doesn't know. Should I know who you are?”

“I just know someone who knows the truth. Who sees the cover up and lies of the Assembly and the queens of Syspocalypstar and the Unikingdom.” He shrugged. “Of course none of this really matters in the end. Eventually, the world will be as it should be. I won't have to bother with any of this.”

“Care to tell me why, kid?”

“It's simple. I have almost everything I need to finish my assignment. But you're not going to make me monologue about that like some two-bit villain in a cheap comic book. I would focus on the prize.”

“Do we at least get a name to call you so I can scream it as you drop us down the inevitable vat of acid?” Johnny kept his cool, something Kit wished she was able to do.

“I suppose it is time for Kit to know what to call me.” He leaned over to her, a smug aura radiating off his darkened features. “I was given the name Master Apocalypse.”

“Master Apocalypse?” Johnny sped up just a little bit to account for how much he was laughing. “The '80s called. They want their stereotypical villain name back!”

“Like I said: the name was given to me by the person who gave me my assignment.” He shook his head. “I would have chosen something far less sinister.”

“You must think you're the hero then. Especially with all this talk of cover-ups and conspiracies.” The first wave was completed and Johnny and the kids wound up on top. “Heck yeah! We've got this!”

“I don't think I'm the hero. I know I am. If you and your friends are what passes as heroes, we need to redefine the whole thing.” Master Apocalypse laughed, but the laughter was hollow.

“I don't know, my dude. I'm pretty heroic. So are these kids. Even the man you've been slandering has done some good work in his old age.” Johnny’s laugh was more hearty. “For someone who thinks they know a lot about history, you sure don't know the full story.”

“Oh, but I do know about history. I know the history everyone has kept hidden. The history that turns everyone considered heroic into the bad guys. There are so many lies that have been covered up since the beginning of our world and they need to be corrected.” Master Apocalypse was able to keep his pace as he spoke.

“You keep talking, you'll cut yourself with all that edge.” Johnny said with a smirk as he showed off just a little by speeding up.

“I noticed the daughter of the kings of liars has been quiet this entire time.” Master Apocalypse chuckled darkly. “Surely, you must realize that I'm right deep down.”

“She's probably just concentrating on the game. Like you should be doing instead of trying to psych her out.”

“No. Her face is pale. She sees. She understands.” Johnny turned and did see that Kit was drained of all color. She was keeping up with his pace, however.

“Stop insulting my dads. They're each more of a man than you can ever hope to be.” The words sharply torpedoed from her mouth. This earned another laugh from the mysterious being.

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that. How much do you know about Regent Brickowski? How well do you really know him? He's actually a lot worse than your other father, now that I think about it properly. At the very least, your other father isn't lying to the whole kingdom about its own history. There's so much you haven't been taught in your classes, so much information your own father has suppressed. There's an entire culture he isn't telling you about. But at least you're not alone in that lack of knowledge.”

“Is it against the rules to sock him in his mouth?” Kit whispered to Johnny.

“Yeah. Sorry, kid.” Johnny whispered back. “Even if he deserves it.” The round went to Johnny this time. The barkeep announced that this was the last round. “Keep in the game, kids!”

“I am a little curious about what you're talking about, Apocalypse. What is there to the Unikingdom outside of what everyone knows?” Vito watched Master Apocalypse move from bar to bar with ease.

“Oh, why don't you just ask Regent Brickowski?” He tapped an unseen chin. “Then again, it won't matter soon enough.”

“What's going to happen?”

“You won't get me to monologue, either. The only people who will get me to do that are my parents.” Master Apocalypse shook his head. “Focus on your task. You won't win, but you may as well try.”

“You know who says that? People who lose. Bet you come from a whole line of losers.” Johnny flashed the biggest, cockiest grin he could muster.

“The only reason my parents lost anything was because of their parents.” Apocalypse hissed as he pointed to Kit and Vito. “I refuse to let any of you win! I refuse to let the darkness win!”

“Kid. Your name is Master Apocalypse. Ya don't get much more suspect than that.” Johnny rolled his eyes as he slid what felt like unlimited mugs at the growing hoard of drinkers. “Besides. You're on my turf. You're in the 1984 game Root Beer Tapper, a Bally Midway game that was originally a tie in with a beer company! If it says Midway, I'm the master!”

“I wouldn't rest on your laurels just yet. The high score for this one might be yours, but you won't be so lucky in the next game.” Almost as if he willed it, the winner was announced for the final round and the high score was given to the trio. “I'm going to go play Mouse Trap. It's no fun to play one against three anyway.” Master Apocalypse turned and left through a portal.

“Yeah. Hope you end up getting eaten by the cat.” Johnny flipped a silver stud in the air and headed over to an arcade cabinet that was tucked away in a dark corner. “Come on, kids. We're going to go play Carnival. I feel like shooting some ducks.”

The cousin's followed Johnny to the arcade cabinet. At this point, it clearly labeled itself as Tapper and had all the trappings of a Tapper arcade cabinet. Johnny held on to the cabinet and slid the stud he held into the coin slot. He pushed a few buttons and the cabinet transformed into a Carnival cabinet.

“Ah, Carnival. An 1980 arcade game by Sega, developed by Gremlin. Did you know it was one of the first games to have bonus rounds?” He grabbed their hands and the three were transported to a carnival midway. While the smell of cotton candy and fried food permeated the area, the main focus was a shooting gallery. Almost as if it prepared for their arrival, three guns appeared on the counter. “I can take care of this one myself. There shouldn't be too much else to do, but I know the stand next to us has some decent corn dogs.” Johnny grabbed a gun, but Kit and Vito followed suit despite what he said.

“The higher the score, the more we can wipe the smile off of that jerk’s smug face.” Kit growled.

“You got it, kid.” A bell rang and the three began to shoot at targets that looked like ducks. Johnny stopped for a moment to watch Kit hit several ducks in rapid succession and with an accuracy that impressed. “Where didja learn to shoot like that?”

“Uh…” She blinked, having been pulled out of her groove. “I never did? Dad wouldn't let me near a gun. Why? Did I do good?”

“I need to take you into a duck hunting game or something. You'd clean up.” Johnny went back to shooting ducks on his end. The next time he glanced over to Kit, he noticed her aim was less steady and her firing less sure. Vito noticed this as well and lifted an eyebrow.

“I hate to say this, but maybe your father should be locked up?” He didn't sound terribly sure of his words, but that didn't matter. It was enough to earn a glare from his cousin and the return of her ridiculously good aiming. Vito gasped.

“It's like the master breaker punch. I've heard about something like that from RJ's files. He has some amazing strength when he channels his anger. Maybe this is how that ability is channeled through his daughter.” Johnny sounded a little more sure of his theory. “That's going to be something we need to keep in mind as she gets older.”

“The Assembly is watching her, too?” Vito asked as he fired his rifle.

“Yeah. She might be tapped at some point for master builder training, like your sister and you were. I know what her father is going to say, but it won't be up to him by that point.” Johnny continued to help keep the score up.

“You think Uncle RJ will say no?”

“Not just him. Pretty sure Richard would chase us out of that cabin if he's the one with Kit when that time comes. Probably with a frying pan or something. Richard doesn't understand minifigure customs. RJ… he just doesn't trust us.”

“He distrusts the Assembly? Why?”

“He feels like most of the old guard screwed him over in the old days. He likes me and Chiffon, but that's probably because we weren't responsible for what made him go Dangervest.” By this point Kit had stopped shooting.

“You might want to tell us all about that because… isn't that what Master Apocalypse said?”

[ardent-heretic]

Let me just start with, What The Fuck!

Last night I took Spawn to a baseball game. The Valleycats used to be a farm club. But then MLB allowed a fuck you and their affiliation(Astros) was terminated. Now they are in some bullshit Frontier League. Think Single A league baseball talent. Yesterday they played against Ottawa.

The game was tied up in the top of the 9th which meant extra innings which is always great on a school night. I joked with Spawn we are not staying until the 41st inning.

Tenth inning Ottawa scored 1 run, Cats scored 1. We are both thinking there will not be sleep tonight.

Eleventh inning with one out, Ottawa drives guy in from third for one run.

And they all start celebrating as the Cats walk to their dugout. I’m thinking WTF?!?!? We realize the game is over and go to leave.

Behind me are three folks from Montreal. One guy asks me if I can explain what just happened?

All I could say was,”This is a new Frontier League for me. I’m guessing they have bullshit rules to end games and prevent them from lasting all night. It seems first 9 innings are normal. Tenth inning is normal. But in the Eleventh and further on there is a ‘First run scored’ ends the game rule.”

And with that we leave.

May seem like nothing to the average person. But I grew up knowing home field advantage meant you bat last with the knowledge of what was needed to tie and win a game. So in this league, extra innings gives the advantage to the visiting team. Cats had no chance to tie or win.

I am not cool with this.

My father rammed baseball down my throat. When I learned to walk, I learned to catch. He had a freak injury as a teen that prevented him from continuing sports while in High School. So his game plan was for me to do what he couldn’t. I was bred and raised for baseball and football.

In 1976 he took me to a Brewers game. This guy came up to bat and my dad said,”Remember this moment.” Each time the guy bat. He hits a home run. I remember a giant beer mug opened, balloons floated in the air and I thought that was cool as fuck. Rest of the game I waited for more balloons. There were none.

By the way the guy who hit it was named Hank Aaron. Look him up. He played pretty good ball without steroids.

Anyways I was taught all about baseball. I learned the rules and loved the game. Until I smashed a line drive into a pitchers face and the kid dropped like a stone. I thought I killed him. I stopped organized baseball then and migrated to Chicago softball.

But I love watching baseball. I have favorite players and teams, and can watch any level.

Except this bullshit Frontier extra inning shit. I didn’t like that. And none of the fans seemed to know this stupid 11 th inning rule last night.

Let the home team bat.

[asmutwriter]

You Saved Me (Part 9)

DESCRIPTION: (Season 9) The Winchesters get a call from one of their dads old hunter friends about a necromancer. Happening in your home town.

Dean x reader

WORD COUNT: 3339

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List  

WARNINGS: blood, daddy issues, mentions and brief talk of a suicide attempt, slight sexism, death, violence, swearing

DISCLAIMERS

- This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

- Not been proof read

.A YEAR LATER

DEAN POV

Dean sat at a bar. He was drinking away his guilt and pain. It had been a couple of days since he left Sam on that bridge with Cas. He didn’t regret the decision but he defiantly hated himself about it. About everything leading up to this moment of him drinking alone in a bar. He was in his own little world so he jumped slightly as he heard a phone go off. Not his normal phone. He frowns slightly as he pulls out one of his dads old phones. One he keeps on him just in case any of his dad’s friends or contacts try to call. He answers, placing it to his ear as he downs another shot “Hello?”

“Hey John its Harry. Look I know it’s been a while but-”

“John umm… He died. A few years ago now” Dean says

“Who are you and how do you have his phone?”

“I’m John’s son. Dean Winchester” a brief pause before a breath is taken

“Oh. It’s nice to hear your voice. I heard a lot about you when I spent time with your dad”

“What are you ringing about?” Dean says.

“I have a case. Think I’m dealing with a necromancer. The night guard at a local graveyard said that he found a bunch of the graves dug up. I went and looked and he was right. But it looked more like they had been dug out of rather than dug into. I could really use some help with this one but if you’re are busy I can-“

“No its ok. I could do with something like this. I’ll come to you. Where you heading?”

YOU’RE POV

You had just dropped the kids off at school. Going to the cafe you work at. You go to unlock the door but find it already unlocked. Normally you’re the person to open up shop. You shrug it off. Putting it down to the person who was meant to lock up obviously forgot. You’re just glad no one broke in. You make a mental note to tell your boss about it though. Shutting the door you go to turn the ‘closed’ sign to say ‘open’ instead. Then you see the doorknob covered in blood. Your breath hitches. You feel in your back pocket. Putting on your knuckles. Wearily following the trail of blood to behind the counter. You pull out your phone and dial 911 when you see the mutilated body. Recognising it as your friend Jonny. He was meant to lock up last night.

They take your statement and tell you to go home and relax. The place now being labelled as a crime scene. You won’t be in work for a couple of days. Great. You message your work colleagues saying it’s been closed and just updating them all on what’s been happening. Arriving back at home you grab out a beer and head into the living room. Putting on your Spotify playlist. Jamming out as you take this free time with no work and no kids to do a deep and thorough clean of the house.

A knock at the door brings you out of your trance of cleaning. Going over to the front door and opening it. You smile at the familiar face. “Well if it isn’t Dean Winchester”

“Hey Kat” Dean smiles at you as you hug him, feeling him wrap an arm around you “it’s been a while” you move from the hug “I didn’t realise you lived around here”

“I moved about 6 months ago. Found this little place and thought I’d give it a go” he nods “But as lovely as it is to see you I gather you aren’t here to catch up?” he shakes his head

“May I come in?” you nod, motioning for him to enter which he does. You shut the door behind him. Going into the kitchen and grabbing out two mugs

“Coffee?” he nods, smiling as he sits down. Watching you make two cups of coffee. Sitting with him at the dining room table as you pass him his cup. “What can I help you with then?”

“I understand that you found the body at your work this morning?” you nod “can you tell me what happened?”

“Well I went into work. The door was unlocked and I found Jonny behind the counter covered in blood. He must’ve been there for a good few hours based on the dryness of it”

“Anything else?”

“Based on the blood covering him he defiantly put up a fight” you look at him “I assumed it was just some sort of psycho human killing people but based on you being here I’m guessing it’s more of the supernatural kind of murderer?”

“That’s what we think anyway” Dean receives a text. Pulling out his phone he looks

“It’s my work partner”

“Sam?” he shakes his head, placing his phone in his pocket again as he looks at you

“No. No I’m doing this hunt with someone else. He has some information on the murders so I should go and meet him”

“He can come here if you’d like? Doesn’t bother me having you in the house to work the case”

“I don’t want to be a bother to you” he says, a soft smile on his face as he looks at you

“It’s purely selfish reasoning. I feel a lot safer knowing I have hunters in my house to protect me and my girls” you smile “it doesn’t bother me so long as you are ok with it?” you can tell he’s thinking through his options before he nods. You smile “Perfect. Tell your friend to come round then”. He gets his friends number up, texting him. About 10 minutes pass as you hear the front door open.

“Mum I’m home. Plus there’s a detective at the door wanting to chat with you” you hear Anna call out as she walks through the door

“Tell him to come in. His colleague is in the kitchen with me” you hear her talking to the unseen detective. Before she walks through the door with the man. Your eyes grow wide as you see him. He smiles at you. Chuckling softly. Before he can speak you hold your hand out for him to shake “The names Rose” he chuckles. Taking your hand and shaking it

“Harry” you nod, turning to your daughter

“Honey why don’t you go to your room?”

“But I want to stay and hear about the murder case”

“Anna. Now” you look at her with a stern look on your face. She rolls her eyes, going over to a cupboard and grabbing out a can of coke before heading out the kitchen. You hear her enter into her bedroom. You go over to the kitchen door, shutting it. Turning you face the new detective

“So you’re going by Rose now?” you nod.

“Have done for the past 20 years” he nods. Going and sitting at the table as you stand by the door of the kitchen.

“You two know each other?” Dean questions, looking between the two of you

“Rose here is my daughter” he looks him. Smiling as he looks at him then you. Dean tries his best to hide the look of shock on his face. Harry turns his attention back to you “I assumed you’d died. Given that last time I saw you, you left me a suicide note” he smiles at you as he runs his tongue of the top of his teeth slightly “so tell me. Did you wimp out of the attempt or did you fail?”

“Oh it’s such a long time ago. I try and remember the happier memories. Me having my children. You going to prison. The good old days” he smiles

“Still as quick witted as ever. I missed that”

“Yeah I’m sure you did” you say sarcastically.

“You went to prison?” Dean asks. Your dad, Harry, looks at the younger man

“Oh it was nothing. Just a misunderstanding”

“Tell that to the woman you kidnapped”

“I thought she was a demi god” you laugh “if you were actually good at hunting then we never would’ve had to kidnap her in the first place” he looks at you

“I was a child”

“You failed at your job”

“I-” Dean puts a hand up between the two of you, eyes going between you and your dad

“Ok how about we focus on the current case” you roll your eyes and fold your arms as he takes a breath. Obviously regretting what he’s gotten himself into. Looking at Harry. “You said you had information on the case?”

“I do. It is a necromancer and I’ve figured out where he lives. I say we go there tonight and kill his ass. Before he hurts or brings back anyone else”

“But why is he bringing them back?”

“See that part I can’t figure out” you go over and look at the files. Your dad looks at you as you examine all the evidence “I thought you quit hunting”

“I have for the most part. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help my friend” you stand back up straight “simple. They want to have the picture perfect family”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, these guys are all related one way or another. These two were brothers. This a wife. Second cousin. So on and so on for the eight graves. They all died during a massacre that happened six months ago. I remember reading about it in the news. Psycho killer just went in and butchered them all whilst they slept. Some sort of party they were having meant they were all under one roof. I breifly looked into it but it wasn’t anything that seemed inhuman so I left it to the police. They arrested the person who did it and now they’re serving time in jail”

“You said this happened six months ago?” Dean asks to which you nod “then why is this necromancer bringing people back now? It’s a bit late isn’t it?”

“Maybe not. Think about how long it takes to conjure a spell. Especially if you’ve never done it before. Now imagine doing that for eight people”

“So they’ve only just figured it out?”

“Exactly” he scoffs slightly. “But I don’t think it went as planned. Which is why the bodies are now going all murderous on us. Because our necromancing witch isn’t very good at his job”

“Right” Dean stands up “Let’s go kill this fucker then”

“I wish you boys luck”

“You aren’t coming?” Harry asks. You shake your head, taking out your phone and looking at the time

“Several reasons. The main one being that I have two children to look after. But let me know when it’s dead” you smile as you stand up “I need to go and get Lydia from school otherwise I’ll be late” you open the kitchen door. Waiting as the two men follow you out. You knock on Anna’s. She looks very annoyed as she answers, like you’d interrupted something she was doing. “Please try and look slightly more pissed off” you smile at her as she rolls her eyes

“What do you want?”

“A million dollars. Plus a daughter who doesn’t look like she wants to murder me”

“Mum I’m serious”

“So am I” she goes to shut the door but you put your hand on it before it shuts “I’m going out to get Lydia from school. My guests are also leaving so you’ll be home alone for about half an hour. Will you be ok?”

“Yes. Goodness sake mum I’m not a child” she shuts the door. You clench your fists, bringing them up near your head in frustration as you turn. Seeing the two boys in the hallway, watching you. Or pretending not to anyway. You grab your coat and keys as you mutter to yourself. Following them out the door.

You get back home, make food for you and the two girls before they both toddle off to their separate rooms. You clean up after them, putting the plates and cups in the dishwasher. You lean down to get the clothes out the washing machine, ready to hang up to dry when you hear your phone go. Not ringing but a text message. You place the clothes into the basket before standing up. Taking your phone you look. Expecting it to be Dean but no. Just your friend sending you a funny video they found. You bite at your bottom lip. It had been three hours since they left. “Fuck” you mumble to yourself. Going over to the various paperwork they had sprawled out and finding the address of the building they went to.

You quickly explain to your daughters that Dean’s car broke down and he’s lacking the correct equipment to fix it so you’re heading over to help. Telling them to not open the door under any circumstances. You grab a knife from your kitchen before grabbing the gun you keep in your closet. Driving to the location. You park up by the Impala. Grabbing out and putting on your knuckles dusters. You then grab the knife and gun, placing them into the inside jacket pocket. Quietly walking you look for any sign of life. But none.

An old barn in front of you. No sign of Dean or your dad on the outside. So you make your way inside. No one guarding the place. Either really good news or really bad news. You go over and open the front door. Quietly walking inside. You hear voices. A man’s voice “You’re awake. I was starting to worry I’d killed you. I mean. I’m going to kill you anyway but my family is hungry and I was hoping to give them a meal that fights back” you hide behind a pillar. Peaking out you see a cage. The eight people from the graveyard inside. You hear Dean laugh slightly

“Great I get to be finger food for zombies” the man smiles.

“I would say its ok they’ll be quick but they won’t be. It’ll be a very slow and painful death” you come out to take aim at the necromancer as he walks to the cage. Fuck. Gone around a corner so you can only see his legs. You rethink your plan. You come out of the darkness. Seeing Dean tied up, hands above hs head as they appear to be attatched to some sort of pillar. Your dad near him but seemingly unconscious. You aim your gun at the necormancer before you speak

“If he’s the damsel in distress, and you’re the evil villain, does that make me the good looking hero?” you smile as he turns to face you

“To be a hero you need to save people. And none of you are leaving this place alive” he smiles “You just signed your death wish” he goes to open the door. Unbolting it. You point your gun at the ropes that hold Deans hands together. Taking aim and firing. He looks up, quickly ridding himself of the rope as he reaches down and grabs out a small knife from his sock. Dean charges at him, stabbing him through the neck. You rush over and quickly push the door shut before any of them can get out. Jumping as one grabs your shoulder. You move away from the cell. Watching the bodies all stalking the perimeter. You go over to your dad, cutting him down. Hess out cold but still breathing which is good. You lie him down. Going over to Dean who stands watching the zombies. The necromancer now dead on the floor

“What do we do now?” you ask, looking at the green eyed man.

“Kill them. Burn them” you nod. Taking out your blade. “Is that a kitchen knife?”

“It was the best choice I had, ok?” he laughs as he goes and grabs his machete from where it had been left on the ground. Handing it to you

“You’ll do better at killing them with this then with that thing” you roll your eyes. Taking it from him as you place your knife into your belt. “How are we going to go about doing this then?”

“You open the door. I’ll decapitate them. I feel like decapitation then burning the heads and the bodies separately is a good way to go about any sort of healing or necromancy spell still on them, right?” he nods

“Yeah. Beats any other plan I can think of” you nod. He places his hand on the door. Letting out a zombie one by one. Beheading and throwing the head to the side of the room. You help Dean drag the bodies outside. Purring gas and salt onto them before you watch as he sets them alight. Then doing the same with the heads.

“I need a drink” you say as you watch the heads burning. He nods in agreement. You look at him “You can stay round mine tonight if you’d like. Saves you having to find a hotel. Unless you already have a place to stay” he shakes his head

“No I was going to look for one. But if you don’t mind me staying at yours then I can do that” you smile

“I don’t mind at all”. Your dad comes outside of the barn, rubbing his forehead

“What did I miss?”

-

The three of you sit at your kitchen table. Drinking and chatting with the two men. You managed to convince the girls to stay in your room tonight. Letting them have the double bed as the two men can have a room each and you’ll sleep on the sofa. Dean grabs the bottle of - you’ve forgotten what you were drinking at this point. He pours himself and Harry another drink, taking your glass you shake your head “Oh no. I can’t have anymore” he smiles at you

“Come on” that cocky grin on his face “you deserve it for saving us”

“Yes I deserved the first five drinks. Number whatever we are on is going to destroy my liver” you smile and stand up “I’ll see you two in the morning. Feel free to use the shower and help yourself to whatever you need” you smile. Your dad takes your hand as it rests on the table.

“Kathrine?” you face him. His eyes smiling at you as speaks “Your mother would be so proud of the woman you’ve become”. You nod, feeling tears stinging your eyes at his words. Moving your hand from him you nod, smiling wearily at him.

“Thanks dad. Goodnight” you say softly to him, smiling at Dean “Goodnight to you to” you smile at them both before heading out to the living room. Getting dressed into a pair of pyjama shorts and baggy shirt before curling up onto the sofa with a blanket over you.

-

“Mummy?” you say through tears as she shoves you into a wardrobe. She strokes your hair with a shaky hand.

“Stay in here Kathrine. You’ll be safe in here”

“Mum...” you sniff. She wipes your tears. Kissing the top of your head as she lets her own tears fall. She takes off her wedding ring. You jump as the doors start to be pushed by an unknown force. She takes your hands, wrapping them around the silver jewellery

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I wouldn’t have my life any differently. I love you so very much” she stands up. Shutting the doors on you. You watch through the slats as she turns to the door. Her whole body shaking “Come and get me then you motherfuckers” the door swings open and you hear her cry out in pain. You shut your eyes. Hands going to your ears as you try and cancel out the screams she lets out and the noise of her ripping skin

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