#she clocks in and then proceeds to make a phone call

[mentalmeles]

I swear, one of these days I'm going to just snap and tear into one of/the majority of my coworkers bc I am SO sick and tired of their behavior

[nathaslosthershit]

Teen Dad (OP81)

(Part 1 of the Blind Item Series) (Part 1 of the Teen Dad OP AU)

Summary: Rumors are flying about a young driver with kids

Seeing the rumor, and various other tweets commenting on the matter, first thing this morning was like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on him. Oscar immediately sat up, frightening his fiancée who was asleep next to him a moment before.

“What? What's wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, sitting up.

“Fuck this is not good.” He mumbled as he looked through more tweets. He knew he had minutes before his PR team started messaging him on how best to proceed. 

“Osc, you are really scaring me. What is going on?” His fiancée asked again. After 5 years together and two kids, she knew him well enough to know that Oscar isn’t easily woken up. While he usually wakes up early to train or help the kids, on days like today where he has the chance to sleep in, he will usually take it. But the amount of notifications he started getting were enough to get him to check his phone and once he saw the severity of the situation he was awake and alarmed. 

“A blind item about a ‘younger f1 driver with two kids he had as a teen’ just went up. No confirmation on who but it seems they have gotten it down to only a few of us. They don’t know yet but I am sure they will know soon.” 

He was grateful they hadn’t clocked in on him but Oscar was sure with a bit more time to dig people would put two and two together. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he was a teen dad, not anymore at least. When he was even more so an up and coming driver, he kept it hush because he was nervous being 18 with two kids would lead teams to reconsider where his priorities were, his family or his career. That wouldn’t have been crazy of them to do though, as important as racing was to Oscar, he would always pick his family first. Luckily, though, he had a great enough support system so he didn't have to choose. 

Most people in Oscar’s life knew. Any teams apart from Prema, Mclaren, and Alpine were none the wiser but why would they need to know? Not all drivers knew either, some who he had become closer to were let in on the secret, especially Logan, who had been there the entirety of his kids' lives. Annoyingly, at least in Oscar’s opinion, he has been titled ‘the cool uncle’ from day one. 

“What do we do?” his fiancée asked, snapping him out of his spiraling.

“I imagine it is up to my team to figure that one out. I’ll message them now. Get the kids ready and I’ll be done in time to help with breakfast.” He said as he got up.

After a long, pretty impromptu, call, it was decided Oscar would make a statement about it before it was revealed to be him. He wasn’t too happy about not getting to really do it on his own terms but this is the way it worked out, and hey, Oscar would be lying if he said he wasn’t already planning which race he was going to bring his kids to first.

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, logansargeant, landonorris, and 518,294 others

oscarpiastri This is of course not how I wanted to do this. I had hoped to have more time before I had to let the peace of privacy go but these things happen when you are in the spotlight. So yes, I am a father of two great kids and I have been since I was 18. I am not ashamed by the fact I was a teen dad, and am certainly not hiding my kids out of anything but love. I hadn’t realized I could truly love anything or anyone more than racing but then these two came into my life and I realized I would give it all up for them. Luckily, with the support of their mother (who is my fiancée) and my family, I didn’t have to give it up. My four person family means more to me than anything and I count my lucky stars each night that I have been blessed with them. I ask that you please respect our privacy. This isn’t the end of you seeing the Piastri twins but I, being the over protective father I am, am not ready to throw two 3 year olds into the chaos of the motorsport world just yet.

Comments disabled on this post

Part 2: A Much Needed Interview out now!

[rinnsverse]

SAY ON SKIBIDI — damian w.

After an unfortunate incident involving a ball and your kneecap, you get sent to the nurses office with Damian in tow. In the isolation of the office, Damian tells you something that makes your mind short-circuit, and proceed to make him say that he means it.

contains: bsf!damian x reader, fluff, brainrot, swearing, humor, they're in middle school — both 14 years old, mention/description of injury, reader doesn't know damian is robin, short fic

a/n: this is the most brainrot thing i've ever written but i found this idea hilarious so i had to write it out

P.E. IS A stupid elective to have is what you've concluded. Sure, you've always thought that but you were normally able to sit out of most of the activities since all they cared about was the no phones rule and sometimes cared about what shoes you wore. You were content with that though.

You could spend the whole hour yapping Damian's ear off and he never objected to it all throughout the countless amount of times you did so. That was something you were thankful for since he was surprisingly a fantastic listener despite himself also being a yapper.

However, the one time a game has mandatory participation in P.E. is the one time you get hurt. What was the game? Dodgeball, because of course it had to be dodgeball along with the kids with the super good aim for some reason all being on the other team. Minus Damian, mainly because you begged him to stay.

Was it a good call though? Not sure since he'd end up by your side regardless of what team he was on, in the nurses office.

"What was the name of the boy who hit you?" the nurse asked, walking through the door, ice pack in hand.

"Dunno," you simply responded, gently taking the ice pack from her. Nodding your head in thanks, you wince a little at the contact with your ugly purple bruise and the sheer coldness of the ice pack.

"You both can stay here for the rest of the period which will end in," she cranes her head to look at the clock behind her, "roughly fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks."

"Thank you," Damian nods.

The nurse smiles in response. "It's not a problem," she says before she exits through the door and closes it halfway.

Once he could no longer hear the soft sound of her shoes stepping on the cold tile floor, Damian lets out a sigh. "That dude really needs to watch how hard he's throwing things."

"I know," you scoff, gently pressing down on your bruise with the ice pack, "But it's whatever I guess, he didn't intend on seriously hurting me anyways. I don't think so at least."

He merely tsk's at your statement. "How can you be so nonchalant when someone hurts you? Intentionally or not, how can you act so normal about it?"

You tilt your head in confusion at his words, "What do you mean by that?"

He just looks at you for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind, I just don't want to see you hurt. Physically or emotionally."

"Is... Is this your way of saying you care about me?"

"Do you really need me to say it out loud for you?" Damian sighed.

"Yes," you eagerly nodded, a smug smile on your face as Damian ran a hand through his black strands; head hanging low as he slouched against the wall he was leaning on.

"I care about you," he lifted his head to look you in your eyes.

Your smile soon turned into a wide-toothed grin at his words when a brilliant idea popped into your head. "Say on skibidi."

"Excuse me?"

"Say on skibidi. Say on skibidi that you care about me," you repeated.

"The brainrot has gotten the better of you, you're going to need more than just that ice pack," he deadpans.

"Wow! That's so mean," you gasp, lifting the ice pack slightly to glance at the bruise which has now turned into an icky yellow color. "C'mon, just say it."

"This is shameful," he says exasperatedly. "On skibidi," he visibly shudders, spitting out the word as if it were profanity, "I care about you." His head was turned away, facing the nurse's bathroom door instead of you with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Yipee!" you laugh at his facial expression when he turned his head back towards you, Damian's lips curled into a frown as well as an eyebrow twitching in annoyance. "See? It wasn't that hard to say."

"My pride has taken irreparable damage, I will never recover from this experience," he monotonously said.

"Now you're just being dramatic!" you huff out, "Are you really incapable of being silly?"

He pauses for a second as if in thought, "Maybe."

Truth was, it was a reoccurring thought that passed through his mind multiple times whenever he hung out with you. Being so carefree and open was never a luxury he got to have, even when he moved in with his father he still felt some form of obligation of stoicism in the manor.

"Wow, we really need to find a way to heal your inner child," you mention offhandedly paying more attention to your knee, not noticing the way Damian's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe," he muttered, barely audible enough for you to hear. His inner child, huh? He didn't know if it was still there at this point but your antics made him self-aware of the reality that he's a child soldier, his childhood wasn't the same as his peers and he knew there would always be a disconnect.

Though, maybe he could finally live as a child instead of a soldier around you.

a/n: turned more into a character study at the end there and it was kinda bittersweet but womp womp

[chronically-ghosted]

Taylor!!! Happy 1k to you!!!!! So well deserved. Hope you’re having fun celebrating 💕

💫- “Do you have to leave right now?” “I can stay for a little while longer.” with big soft guy Frankie Morales please 🥰

Em xx

heat lightning

rating: teen pairing: frankie morales x f!reader word count: 1.1K summary: this is not your frankie warnings: angst, reader and frankie have a daughter, proceeds the events of the movie, everyone's having a really bad time a/n: thank you for your request, Em! i know i don't usually do angsty!frankie but i think this scene had been brewing in my head for a while and i wanted to try it out! love you so much and i hope you like it!

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Frankie Morales Masterlist

When you were nine, your aunt and uncle divorced. An ugly thing – lots of crying, late nights up with your mother, arguments over the phone, loyalties tested, lines drawn in the sand. You didn’t understand much of it at the time, but there was always a moment that imprinted on your young psyche that has stayed there ever since.

You can almost smell the spilt wine on the carpet in the living room, hear your mother muttering and blotting with one hand, the other on her sister’s knee. You couldn’t see your aunt’s face from your perch on the staircase. Perhaps because it was elicit – you had been put to bed hours ago – or because you were curious – you had never seen an adult cry before – but you can recall the memory as if it were yesterday. From between the banisters of the stairs, only your aunt’s back was visible, hunched over and swaying as if unable to hold herself up right. It reminded you of your baby brother before he could hold his neck – precarious and loose in a way that was almost horrific in its vulnerability. She sways, back and forth, your mother’s hand on her knee - it’s alright, it’s just a spill, we’ll clean it up, don’t worry, it won’t stain – and then your aunt mutters the words you will forever remember for the rest of your life. The words butting up against each other, slurred on top of each other, she whispers:

“I woke up to a stranger.”

You think about your aunt and your mother and the fights and the wine and the calls and how you never saw your cousins much after that as you stare up at the shadowed ceiling, as lighting blinks reality white for a fraction of a second. Thunder rumbles, angry like your aunt, but for some reason you can’t feel anger. You don’t know what you feel but your jaw remains slacked, your joints sink into the sheets, your throat clear. 

Another growl of thunder, a single shriek of the alarm clock at 3AM, and Frankie’s hand slaps it silent, the alarm unnatural and too loud, threatening to bring the ire down from some great furious eye. Rage you couldn’t begin to grasp at, but wished for. The fortifying self-righteousness of anger would feel lovely right now. 

Instead, all you can hear is your aunt’s drunken words. 

Beside you, Frankie is still through the next beat of thunder, the spark of lightning, and then he sits up. He faces away from you, shoulders rounded like your aunt, but firm and steady unlike your aunt. In the next snap of lightning, you watch the planes of his back glow, muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. You could trace Frankie blind-folded if you had to. Your hand goes to him as it has an incalculable amount of times over the past few years, unaware of what your conscious mind knows: you can’t make him stay.

A stranger – how can he possibly be a stranger to me?

Your hand on his lower back stirs him, waking up to the heat of your palm.

“It won’t be long,” he says for the dozenth time, a mantra for him as well as you. “I’ll be back before Alejandra’s party.” 

The Frankie you know, the Frankie you love would never even risk missing his daughter’s birthday. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband sees it as something worth losing, in favor of money. This hulking thing in the shape of your husband wants to provide, wants to prove there is a sliver of a better man beneath the coke addiction, beneath the suspension of his license. It wants to provide, provide, provide when all it does to you is take. 

Neither of you know this now but it will take him over a month to come back, empty handed but filled to the brim with more nightmares than before. One month to the day of this night, you will google, “when is a missing person presumed dead?” and then close your laptop so hard, it shatters and you blow a hole in your bedroom wall with the force you throw it across the room. 

This hulking thing in the shape of your husband is foreign to you, strange, but it still smells like him. Sounds like him. Has the same warm cup of his hands. 

When you don’t respond, or even beg, he moves to stand, the slats under the bed groaning. He promised to fix those months ago. 

He stands and your fingers curl around your husband’s wrist. Even the beat of his pulse sounds just like Frankie’s. But this is not your Frankie.

You hope to God and whatever else is listening that Frankie finds himself in the dark bowels of that wet jungle. 

Your mouth dry and your own heartbeat loud in your ears, you look up at him, into those dark brown eyes that make up your whole world. They are unfamiliar to you as they watch you with an emotion you can’t ever remember seeing in his eyes before. 

“I know you have to go,” and you do, you know this is something he has to do for himself, not for you or your daughter, but himself and there’s nothing you can do to stop him. “But do you have to leave right now?”

This hulking thing that smells like your husband, sounds like your husband, maybe loves you like your husband goes still. Beneath your fingertips, you swear his heartbeat slows. Lightning flashes again and you lose completely the shadowy outlines of his face in the total darkness.

And in that flash, his wrist slips out from between your fingers – this thing is going to be intentionally cruel as he cuts the cord and takes off with the soul of your husband – and then a broad hand slips down to your shoulder, your elbow. Gently pushing, guiding you back onto your side, he slips back under the covers, encasing your body in skin and warmth you know so well,  muscle and scars and bone and sinew just as familiar to you as your own hands. His breath is soft, relaxing as he curls around you and you hate this thing even more because it really does a wonderful impersonation of your husband, the man you love, the man you will always love. 

You let the tears come because you know they won’t break his fickle stone heart and you need relief. 

He holds you as you cry, his nose in your ear as he says, 

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

[kaybug88]

Matt Sturniolo x Wife! Reader

December 1st:  “You ate Santa's cookies, the kids are going to be so upset.”

TW: Matt being a big back, swearing  Wc: 3.2k

Requested: Nope!

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

The Night had been so fun, but so unbelievably messy. Flour is now everywhere in the kitchen, frosting managed to get on the plastic covered counters, food coloring scattered around and. . . the rolling pin is nowhere to be found. Lovely.

Besides all of the mess, the cookies were Incredibly fun to make. It's nearly Christmas, and using an old recipe in your family, you just finished making too many Christmas cookies from scratch with the help of your six-year old daughter Delilah, and loving husband, Matt. She's a perfect representation of Matt, it's almost scary. She's got the same soft brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes.

You look over to your husband, normally neat and fluffy hair now a mess with flour peppered around in his brown hair. His eyes pinched and brows furrowed with concentration, the tip of his tongue poking between his lips as he adds the finishing touches to his Rudolph sugar cookie.

“That's quite the masterpiece you've got there.”

You chuckle as you pick up a piece of garbage here and there, and pick up the cookie cutters, placing them in a big metal bowl in the sink before walking towards the garbage to throw away the scrap pieces of trash. A beat of silence passes while you continue to pick up around the kitchen, and finally, your husband finishes his cookie In the process.

“Done! I'm finally done.”

He exclaims, jumping up in excitement. His eyes gleaming with pride as he places his special cookie on its own little Christmas themed paper plate. 

"Holy shit dude, calm your tits, it's just a cookie."

Chris says from the couch, looking over at Matt with an annoyed eye roll.

"Shut up, you're just mad you can't make a cookie as good as this."

Matt challenges, sticking his tongue out at his brother, not hearing the grumbles coming from Chris. You hold in a snort at the banter between the brothers and look at the cookie.

“Wow, that's actually really good.”

You compliment with a chuckle, picking the little plate up and admiring the cookie. He had clearly spent a lot of time on his so called 'masterpiece', and it truly does look very nice. Glancing at your phone, you let out a little yawn, the clock displaying ‘10:28 PM’. 

“It's getting late, wanna help me pick up?”

You ask, throwing away the last of the garbage while walking towards the sink to start washing the cookie cutters.

“Of course, Love.”

Matt says with a smile as he gets up from his seat. Walking towards the sink where you stand in the middle of washing dishes, he wraps his arms around your center from behind you, resting his head on your shoulder, the proceeding to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble stealing giggles out of you.

“What?”

He asks, pressing a kiss to your chin and swaying you two back and forth, preventing you from doing dishes.

“Your stubble tickles.”

You admit before laughter breaks free from your lips when he proceeds to nuzzle his face into your neck, just to hear that laughter. You can't stop the sweet laughter from leaving you until he stops. 

“Alright, alright, let's get these dishes done.”

He chuckles as he pulls away from you, leaving the places he held cold without his presence. He settles next to you, slightly pushing you to the right with his hip. You both let out a light laugh at the action before falling into a comfortable silence with running sink water and cleaning cookie cutters the only things that fill the empty air.

“She fell asleep really easily. You sure she's a lot at bed time?”

Nick questions with clear suspicion, walking downstairs from Delilah's room. For some odd reason, she always was super easy and gentle for uncle Nick, and 'always' is no exaggeration. She might fight when it comes to bed time with you or Matt, but god forbid she fight uncle Nick. Doesn't want to put her dishes in the sink when mom or dad asks, but instantly does it when Nick tells her to. Seriously, he's gotta' be some kind of kid-whisperer.

“Yeah, the first and last time I put her to bed, she was not having it.”

Chris scoffed from the couch, clearly frustrated that Nick was the favored uncle. A smug grin immediately took place on Nick's face as he walked towards you two.

“I promise she can be a lot at times.”

Matt sighs as he hands you a bell shaped cookie cutter, you take it from his hand and dry it, and place it in a big Tupperware you keep your cutters in afterwards. everything fell into a comfortable silence afterwards with Nick sitting beside Chris, and you finishing dishes With Matt.

The only soft sounds that are between you and Matt are the soft breaths leaving each of you, with the occasional yawn, and the final sounds of washing dishes. It was peaceful in all reality, but now, you could use some quiet time to wind down from the eventful evening.

“Tired?”

Matt questions quietly after your sixth yawn since starting dishes. You were simply drying off your hands while you give him a small yawn, clarifying your need to sleep.

“How about you go take a nice, long bath with hot cocoa while I chill with Nick and Chris?”

Matt suggests after drying his own hands and placing them on your waist. His lips are turned into a soft smile with his blue eyes shining with affection.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

You say, leaning your head up to press your lips to his own. You feel him smile against the kiss when you wrap your arms around your neck.

“Would you two get a room?”

Chris groans From the couch after looking over to you guys. Matt pulls away with a groan as he goes to prepare your hot cocoa, leaving you a blushing mess. You shake your head and let out a light chuckle to yourself as you go sit down at your counter, a smitten look on your face as you watch your husband prepare your sweet drink and separate a few of only the best looking cookies (besides his Rudolph, of course.) for you.

You get so lost in watching your husband do his work to the point where you don't even realize he's done with your sweet treats.

“Go enjoy a hot bath.”

He insists, handing you a small plate with three cookies and an insulated cup with ‘1# Hot Mama’ on it. The mother's day memory of when you got the goofy mug makes you smile to yourself. He presses A long kiss to your forehead before ushering you up the stairs.

You walk up the stairs without complaining, and immediately head for the bathroom in your guys’ shared room for some ‘you’ time. You nudge open the white bedroom door and make your way towards the bathroom. Setting your sweet treats down, you turn to open the closet and select a peppermint scented bath bomb, perfect for the mood you want. 

You set the bathbomb down on the cool counter and begin to run your bath, the water slowly getting warmer as it runs over your fingers. Once the temperature is to your liking, you stand up and dry your hand; the idea of lighting candles to set a nice, comfy mood comes to mind. 

Humming a holiday tune, you look over the selection of candles you've received over the years; mostly consisting of Bath and Bodyworks products. Picking up four winter candles, you choose Sweater Weather which is Sage and juniper Berry, Fresh Balsam, which smells of balsam and fir, Vanilla Bean Noel, which smells of exactly as you think would; vanilla, and finally, Tis’ the Season, which is cedar wood, red apple and cinnamon.

When You can't find a lighter, you let out a soft, annoyed groan. You check the Water height in the bath you make the choice to quickly run downstairs to find the lighter.

“Hey baby!”

You call to Matt, hearing him greet you while making your way to the kitchen. Once you get into the kitchen, immediately heading towards the junk drawer, and open it to find your trusty, little blue lighter. Letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, you turn to jog back up to your bathroom, but notice quite a bit of the Christmas cookies missing.

“Hey, make sure you save cookies for tomorrow night! We need cookies for Santa.”

You say, giving him a mom look before going back to your bathroom, happy to find the water at the perfect height. Placing the lighter on the counter, you turn off the water and begin to light candles, giving a pleasant atmosphere.

Taking a deep breath, which is followed by a sigh, you shut off the big lights above your mirror, leaving a soft warm atmosphere for you to enjoy. You smile softly to yourself as your eyes flutter shut, absorbing the calm atmosphere for just a bit before taking wooden bath tray and placing it on the cool material of your tub.

Next, you take your phone, Hot Mama cup, cookies and bathroom, placing them on the tray. Afterwards, you carefully undress, your clothes pooling beneath you. Letting out a soft breath, you step into the perfectly warm water; sinking below the small ripples caused from your movement, leaving just your head and arms above the tub.

Resting your head back, you pick up the bathbomb and unwrap the dusty rose pink ball. You carefully place it in the water, your ears picking up the slight fizzing noises. The need for music come up once the frizzing dies down, so as one does, you play your chill Lofi playlist. The soft beats fill the homey ambience, your body instantly relaxing.

Your bath was spent soaking in the pink hued water, with winter smelling air, enjoying your sweet treats and calming music playing; accompanied with a bit of scrolling on your phone. Your cue to get out of the bath is when you hear Matt saying his goodbyes to Chris and Nick. 

Sighing, you move the wooden tray a bit and carefully step out of the now luke-warm water. The water from your body drips onto the bath mat below you while you stretch your back with a groan. You reach to your right, your large Grey towel on one of the three hooks on the wall. Once dry, you put the towel back on the hook and put your fluffy white robe on, snuggling into the comforting fabric. You blow the candles out after turning the lights on and step out of the bathroom and onto the soft carpet of your bedroom.

You quickly turn back around to grab your phone before going through Matt's hoodies and choosing on what one to steal tonight. You end up deciding on a plain black hoodie and a pair of your sweatpants, throwing them on the bed as scroll some more on your phone.

Eventually when you've had enough scrolling, you get into your pajamas, hanging your robe back in its respectful place soon after. Stepping into the hall that leads downstairs, you're welcomed to the sight of your husband sitting on the couch, munching on more cookies. Hearing your footsteps, he looks up to you, giving you an idiotic grin. Placing his phone down, he practically skips up the stairs, just to see you, his beautiful wife. 

“Those cookies are really good, what'd you do different this year, hmm?”

He asks, placing his arms around your waist and rocking you two side to side.

“I don't think I'll tell.”

You giggle, placing your own arms around his neck. You notice a small bit of blue frosting on his nose, and giggle a little more at the sight.

“I can tell you really like those cookies, because you've got a lil’ somethin’ right here.”

You say pointing towards the tip of his nose, where he takes his thumb and wipes the frosting off, sticking his thumb between his Lips right after.

“Gross!”

You laugh as you try and push him away as he pleads in a joking manner for you to stay. 

“How many of those cookies have you eaten?”

You question after you both get your giggles out.

“Uhm, not many, I'm sure.”

He says, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes tell you that he's clearly not telling the full truth, getting an unconvincing hum from you.

“You better have left some for Santa.”

You say, playfully flicking his forehead as you walk back downstairs with Matt, and are shocked to see only about ten cookies left.

“Matt!”

You exclaim as you go to count the remaining cookies, including his Rudolph cookie, still isolated from the rest.

“What?”

He drags out and comes to stand next to you, seeing what you must be so upset about.

“Yikes, sorry.”

He apologizes, scratching the back of his neck and turning his blue eyes from the cookies to you.

“No more cookies, the rest are for Santa and Delilah.”

You scold, lightly flicking his forehead, getting a flick in return. You scoff at his actions and walk back upstairs to pick up the bathroom. Once you've arrived, you get to work. Putting lids back on candles and putting them away, taking your Hot Mama cup and empty plate of cookies downstairs, and finally putting the bath tray back in its rightful spot. Now that everything was in their correct spots and in order, you realized how truly tired you were.

“Tired, Princess?”

Matt asks from behind you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle.

“Yeah, I am.”

You yawned, feeling his chin rest against your shoulder. You close your eyes and lean back into his hold, content radiating off you.

“You go to bed, and I'll join you in a sec, does that sound alright?”

Matt asks, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against your neck, a smile taking over your lips.

“Okay, I love you.”

You mumble to Matt, eyes carefully closed with lashes resting perfectly in place.

“Alright, go to sleep. I love you too.”

He says softly, pressing a few more kisses to your face before letting go of you and off to do his own thing while you get in bed.

Eventually, you get yourself into bed, phone plugged in next to you with your teeth brushed and skin care routine finished. You let your eyes close with exhaustion taking over. 

The next morning, you wake Up to Matt big spooning you. A smile creeps up on your lips when you notice how comfy he was cuddled up next to you. The morning sunlight shines through the gap in your 

-

curtains, making you squint your eyes. You carefully move Matt's arms from around you as you get out of bed; wincing slightly when the bed creaks.

Once you're sure Matt hasn't woken up, you tiptoe out the room, wincing when you feel like you were too loud. Upon reaching your guys’ door, you cautiously retreat from your room, quietly and quickly closing the door behind you. 

Letting out a breath that you didn't know you were holding, you begin walking down the wooden staircase, and towards the kitchen. You're greeted with a cleaner kitchen than you left it last night. How sweet of Matt. The cookies are nowhere to be found, but a white bowl with a pink lid is set aside; figuring the cookies are in there (and Matt left them alone after you said to), you ignore it.

You open the fridge and scan for worthy breakfast ingredients. Sure, you have two dozen eggs, and some vegetables, but what can you make with that?

Omelettes of course. Duh.

So, you get to work. You grab with a fork, spinach, mushrooms, red and orange bell peppers, red and white onions, seasonings, bacon, minced garlic, cheese, hashbrowns and finally, the eggs. You take a look at your ingredients and let out a huff, this would be a lot of work, but, you're a hard worker. First step is to grab the rest of the necessary dishes, including a cutting board, a knie, a pan, medium sized bowls, a spatula and a knife.

You start going at it. You chop the veggies first and start lightly cooking them over a low heat, and while that's going, you chop bacon. You're doing this for a while, going back and forth between the veggies and meat, all while preparing your eggs, mixing in seasonings and whisking. Then when the meat and veggies are done, they're mixed in with eggs. By the time you're almost done, your little girl comes down the stairs, her hair in every direction and little fists curled up as she rubs her eyes. 

“Good Morning, Sweet Pea.”

You call to your daughter as you begin to cook the final omelette. Flip the eggs and walk over to your daughter, who's walking into the kitchen to see what'd for breakfast.

“Mornin’ momma. What's for breakfast?’

She asks after struggling a little to get into the barstool, and finally succeeding. 

“Omelettes, speaking of which, go wake your Dad for me, yeah? Thanks, Sweet Pea!”

You say, pressing a kiss to her right cheek before beginning to put away what you can. 

“Okay, Momma!”

Delilah chirps, skipping up towards your guys' bedroom. Chuckling to yourself, you roll Your eyes as you finish putting away extra veggies and throwing away trash. You glance over to the omlette and take it off, placing it with the others under the tin-foil. As you begin doing the dishes, Delilah comes skipping back downstairs.

“He said he'll be down in a bit.”

She answers, swinging her little legs back and forth.

“Perfect, Sweet Pea! Thank you.”

You say, pressing a kiss to her head of brown Hair, smiling when she lets out little giggles. You look up to the staircase seeing Matt walking down, fingers running through his own hair.

“Made you breakfast, Love.”

You say pleasantly, passing a plate with an omelette towards Matt once he gets downstairs, a ketchup heart next to the eggs. You hand Delilah her own while Matt comes his way around the counter, pressing a kiss to your head and hugging you.

“Thank you, baby.”

He says before going to his seat, smiling at the ketchup heart. Once you start eating your own omelette, you have to hold back a groan from the explosion of all your favorite flavors seemingly exploding on your tongue.

“This is real’ good, Momma, thank you!”

Delilah chirps from her seat as she finishes her little omelette. Matt smiles as she rushes to rinse her blue plastic plate off before coming to her seat.

“Momma, what if Santa gets lost coming to the house tonight?”

Delilah says, clearly very concerned about Santa's sense of navigation. Matt hides a chuckle while you bite the inside of your cheek to hold your own chuckle.

“I promise he won't get lost, he's been doing his job for a very long time and he takes it very seriously.”

You reassure after keeping yourself in check.

“But Momma! What if he doesn't like his cookies we made for him? I made the Santa hat just for him!”

You smile at her efforts to make sure Santa would be comfortable and safe getting to your house. After reassuring her once more, she's finally content to hop off her seat and rush off to play. Since she mentioned the cookies, you decide to check just how many are le-

“Matt Sturniolo.”

You say after lifting the pink lid to the large bowl. What you're greeted with is half of a Santa hat. Lovely. 

“I'm sorry! I wasn't paying attention to how many I-”

He tries before getting interrupted.

“You ate Santa's cookies, Delilah is going to be so upset.”

You say going to put the lid back, and clean up your breakfast plate. Shaking your head slightly and biting back a smile, you can't help but try and come up with reasons Santa’s cookies are missing for Delilah.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N: So! What do we think? I know that the ending is disappointing (at least it is to me🥲) 

Tbh, the end was a little rushed because at the time of writing this I was super sick, overwhelmed w/ stuff, and I had to get through 13 other fics  ;v;

[rintaroll]

❝ INSIDE THE LINES. ❞

— during matsukawa's time babysitting your niece, more than a couple realizations occur to you.

⊱┊pairing. matsukawa issei x gn!reader ⊱┊tags. fluff, established relationship, reader has a 6 year old niece and works at the bakery, food mention, mattsun has a sleeve tattoo :], unedited ⊱┊wc. 1.3k ⊱┊note. cleaning out my drafts hehe this was back when i had my mattsun brain rot (OH btw while writing this he works as a tattoo artist in my mind but i didnt mention it anywhere)

© RINTAROLL

"issei, i'm so sorry-"

"it's fine," matsukawa waves his hand dismissively. his eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. "when are you coming home?"

"soon. i just have to frost the cupcakes and wait for the customer to pick them up." you pan your phone to the chocolate cupcakes, fresh out of the oven and still steaming hot.

"those look really good, babe." matsukawa muses.

you hear a small voice squealing from behind the camera. "i wanna see!"

your boyfriend chuckles, eyes trained on your niece, himeko, whose ears have perked up at the word 'cupcakes'. the six-year-old scrambles onto the sofa, comfortably nestling herself into matsukawa's side. her eyes widen when she finally sees the cupcakes in all their chocolatey goodness. "yummy..." she says, eyes boring into matsukawa's phone screen, unblinking and shiny.

you pan your phone back to your face. "they're not for you!" you remind her.

"i know!" himeko sighs dramatically, strands of hair falling onto her face. mattsun effortlessly brushes it back. "i have to wait for tomorrow so we can make them together."

"yes, that's right." you nod in approval.

"why can't it be tomorrow already?" she pouts. mattsun doesn't realize, but your eyes are trained on him while he stares at your niece while adorning an amused smile.

"hm," you ponder. "maybe if you sleep early tonight, then tomorrow will come earlier?" a sly grin forms on your lips.

himeko narrows her eyes at you. "that's not gonna work on me!"

you shrug. "worth a try."

matsukawa snickers at your failed attempt to trick her. "smart girl," he praises her before raising one of his hands, which is met with a high five from himeko. your niece then proceeds to stick her tongue out at you.

you shake your head, but there's a smile on your lips despite you doing so. she might as well steal your boyfriend at this point, you think to yourself.

you can almost remember the good times—when himeko was four and hiding behind your legs, while matsukawa was crouching in front of you. she was terrified, little hands gripping onto your pants. she told you he looked like a gangster, with all the tattoos covering the entirety of his right arm. "what if he kidnaps me?" she wailed once he leaves, to which you comfort her by saying that he won't. from her skeptic expression and her glassy eyes, it was safe to say that she was far from convinced.

and yet now here you are. with your boyfriend and your niece in cahoots, conspiring together to overthrow you someday.

"anyways, i was calling because she wanted me to tell you she finished her coloring book, isn't that right, hime?"

halfway through his words, himeko lets out an 'oh!' and jumps up from the couch. she picks up her coloring book off the floor, where it was surrounded by an assortment of colored pencils and markers in disarray. flipping to the last page, she proudly shows off her latest piece of work. "look!"

you gasp, genuinely admiring the effort she's put into coloring in the drawing of a fish. considering how she's just turned six, she's done a wonderful job in coloring inside the lines. "that looks so nice! did you do that all by yourself?"

"yep!" she chirps, nodding excitedly before stopping to ponder for a moment. "hm... i guess, uncle mattsun did help me color the amenomies..."

"anemones," matsukawa stage whispers.

"right, amenemones."

you and matsukawa bite back your laughs. "it looks really good, himeko," you comment, still smiling.

himeko nods absentmindedly. it becomes obvious to both you and matsukawa that her attention is not on either of you anymore. she goes out of frame as she continues to flip through her coloring book and zeroes in on her work, leaving matsukawa the only one left in view of the camera.

your eyes flit to the top of your phone screen, clicking your tongue when you read the time. "alright, i better go and start frosting. the customer will be here soon. bye, himeko! bye, baby."

matsukawa's heart flutters helplessly. he will never get tired of you calling him that. "see you," your boyfriend beams. although still engrossed by her coloring book, you hear your niece mumble a soft 'bye' right before the call ends.

pocketing his phone, matsukawa turns his focus back on himeko only to find her tiny lips curled into a frown. "something wrong, sweets?"

she looks up, with her brows all scrunched up. matsukawa feels his heart melt at the sight. "i'm out of pages. what will i color now?"

"i'll buy you another one tomorrow, okay?" he pokes her nose.

with a giggle, she scrunches her nose in effect. "okay."

an idea spontaneously strikes matsukawa. it might be one of the best ideas he's had in a while—the realization that himeko brings out his creative side more often than not quickly becomes an afterthought.

"actually, hime..."

her ears perk up, big eyes staring up at him. those big, doe eyes he has not learned how to say no to.

"i know something else you can color."

matsukawa was sure he saw himeko visibly light up when he offers his tattooed arm. he doesn't need to tell her twice. she expeditiously collects her markers off the ground—she's big enough to know that pencil colors won't be able to color in your skin!—and spreads them out on the sofa next to where both of them sit.

snuggled into his side, matsukawa has his tattooed arm around her as himeko starts to color in the tattoos from the ones on his forearm. "i'll make sure your arm looks extra pretty!" she exclaims excitedly.

"can you make it look as pretty as you are?"

himeko tilts her head to the side as she thinks of an answer. "hm... maybe. i'll try." the earnestness in her answer makes matsukawa chuckle.

as himeko continues, her inquiries about his sleeve don't stop. did it hurt? (just a little bit.) what's the meaning behind this one? (there's no meaning to that one. this one, however...) are you gonna get a tattoo of y/n? (i already did.) can i get one too? (matsukawa laughs awkwardly when he hears the last question, immediately changing the topic by asking her what her favorite color is. he doesn't want to get into trouble.)

the conversations tone down when himeko makes it halfway through matsukawa's forearm. he knows himeko turns quiet once she's focused. it's only when matsukawa feels her marker slip that he realizes that she has nodded off. making as little movement as possible, he closes the cap on the red marker that she was holding and puts it aside.

half an hour later, you tip-toe into your living room with the intention to surprise your boyfriend and your niece at heart. as you get closer, suspicions start to arise when you realize that it's awfully quiet.

wait, are they-

oh.

they are.

your heart blooms at the precious sight of matsukawa and himeko fast asleep on the couch. matsukawa's head is lolled back on the back of the sofa, his arms around himeko as she is curled up into his side. they look so comfortable and peaceful, soft snores coming out of the both of them with hideko's head rising up and down along with matsukawa's chest with every breath that he takes.

you just finished snapping a quick picture when realization sets in.

and no, it's not about how matsukawa has successfully won her over for good—that realization has set in a long time ago.

but it's realizing that you want to spend the rest of your life coming home to this sight. him dozing off on the sofa, waiting for you to come home, and maybe a child, or two, of your own curled up next to him.

vocabulary !

himeko is written like so: 姫子 in kanji. 姫 (hime) means princess, while 子 (ko) means child. mattsun's nickname for her is hime, which essentially means he calls her 'princess'.

[fandomtherapy44]

costumes and Ghosts C.J. Braxton x reader Ch.3

Summary: Y/n is new at college and trying to find a footing in everything. When she meets a guy who introduces her to something that could really help find her path.

warnings: Alcoholism, Carcrash, Swearing

WC:2.094

divider from

Firefly Graphics

Beep Beep Beep… “Uh, Audrey turn it off,” I mumble from my head buried in my pillow trying to ignore the annoying alarm that Audrey had set. I wouldn’t usually be this annoyed but I had class in three hours so that meant I had to be up in an hour. But still nothing. I sigh and get up to turn off the alarm and realize that Audrey is not here. “What the hell?” I picked up my phone and called her.

“Hello?” She clearly just woke up.

“Auds, where are you? Your alarm is going off for class and guess what- YOU'RE NOT HERE!” I raised my voice, annoyed. Somehow, Joey is still sleeping through all of this.

“Sorry N/n, Pacey and I, well…we made up last night, more than once if you catch my drift.”

I shuddered at the innuendo. “Ugh yes, please no details. Are you coming soon? Your class starts in like thirty minutes.” I checked the clock just to make sure. She pauses and I hear some shifting of sheets.

“Uh yes I will be, Pacey stop,” She giggled now, Pacey starting another round of “making up”. “N/n, I will be there, Pacey you bad bo-” I hung the phone not wanting to hear that. I look at Joey and wonder how she is still sleeping. I glance in her ears and see earbuds, Aha, so this is a pattern. The time now was six thirty. I had class at eight thirty; might as well get up now. 

What a great way to start Halloween.

I barely made it through all my classes. And three, I repeat, three guys thought it was so funny to scream in my face for a “Halloween prank”. After I gave them nothing for a reaction, they called me a bitch. The joke’s on them- I did get something out of it, hearing damage. And the pumpkin on top? I started my period. I was on theme without even meaning to be. I drag my feet through Hell’s Kitchen hoping Joey can slide me some fries under the table. I walk in and see Joey but also see a cute guy very close to her.

“Hey Jo, you think you can swipe some free fries for your favorite roommate?” I sat down at the bar and gave a knowing smile.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.” She goes to the kitchen and this leaves me alone with the mystery man.

“So what’s your name?” I ask nosily. I had no idea who kept my friend’s attention like this since the last guy, Dawson.

“Eddie, and you are Y/n.” He said matter of factly whipping down the counter.

“You know my name?”

“Yeah Joey talks about you all the time and that you helped with her whole email thing. In my book, you're a pretty good friend.” Eddie gave me a soft smile.

“Well thank you, but I don’t know you that well, so you got to work for a spot in my book, buddy,” I teased.

He laughs at my silly empty challenge. “Deal.” 

“Here you go.” Joey slides fries to me.

“Thank you!” I dig into the salty temporary happy pills.

“N/n, you have any plans tonight?” Joey asked and I gulped.

“Uh, no, Halloween is not really my thing.” I look at the food wishing it would swallow me. 

“I thought you would, it seems like your holiday.” It used to be, I thought.

“Yeah, it just causes headaches for me. Well, would you look at that? I have to get to work, see you later!” I shoved the rest of the fries in and practically ran out the door.

I walk into the stand and the office is overly decorated with ghosts and witches. The air smelled of a sickenly sweet pumpkin patch with a hint of smoke from the candle wick burning profusely.

I plop down my stuff and set up the phone line to be activated and wait for the first call. Everyone seemed so happy and peppy that it was Halloween: the night of drunken endeavors and the next morning trips to the toilet because of overconsuming alcohol and candy. I swing back and forth in my chair, only getting one phone call from an old lady thinking that I was her granddaughter, who proceeded to tell me about her hemmorroids for two hours. Well, at least I helped someone.

“Here you go.” A coffee was placed in front of me, and I looked up to see C.J.

“Aw, thank you, I could really use it.” I picked it up, the warmth spreading through my fingers, making this cold day a little warmer.

C.J. jumped on my desk, picking up a chip and snacking on it. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” He asked through bites of the chip.

“Haha, no, except if you count watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns.”

“Ah, so you a Buffy girl?”

“Oh for sure, Buffy is my comfort show that I could never get tired of. Plus, I love monster shows. It's just a shame there haven’t been any good ones lately. I wonder when the next one will come out. What about you?”

“Working the night shift, then Halloween H20 on cable. Well since we both have such big plans, want to skip them and go to a party or something?” He finishes with a smile and I look up at him and my heart quickens for a second, weird. 

“Uh no, thanks for the offer though. It's not that I don’t want to hang, I'm just tired. I even said no to Jack and Jen but let's go do something tomorrow ‘kay?” I get up and go to the bathroom. I didn’t really need to go, but I couldn’t handle the pressure building in my chest anymore thinking about that night.

Halloween, three years ago

I put on my sexy pirate costume and throw back a shot of tequila.

“Oh my gosh drinking already, you are going to be halfway drunk by the time we get there!” My best friend Crystal said to me. I put on my eyepatch and boots.

“That’s the idea if I have to hear another pathetic attempt by Robbie to ask me out again.” I giggled. “Now, let's go party like there’s no tomorrow!” I throw another shot back and grab my keys.

Present time

I was still at work and it was almost nine. I had taken another shift on top of mine. They had called in to blow off work and their reasoning was: “It’s Halloween who wants to be stuck there!” I couldn’t really blame him. If I could just enjoy the night I would. 

“You’re still here?” C.J. stated to me. I twist around in my chair to face him.

“Yeah, Barry called out in his very convincing excuse of ‘I want to go party’ and I don’t blame him. He does owe me any call-out day I want, so who won, really?” I raised my eyebrows up and down in a funny way.

He laughs at my joke. “Yeah definitely, well um, I was invited to a party by Jen and I know you have such an important date with Buffy, but would you like to maybe tag along? David is coming.”

I'm about to let him down easily again but then I look up into his trusting green eyes and for some reason I say…

“Yes I’ll go, fine you convinced me.” I pick up my stuff and head to the door and then walk backward to him. “But I am not wearing a costume.”

We walk into the building and of course everything is decked out in decorations and everyone is in costumes except us three. We see Jack and Jen and go over.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” Jen hugged me.

“Ah, this guy dragged me along.” I bumped C.J.’s shoulder. I then notice the eyes between David and Jack, read the room, and decide to get some food.

“Uh, I'm going to get some witch’s brew. Does anyone want anything?” Everyone says no. I walk over to the table. 

I glanced over the table, and there was a lot of booze and minimal food. Old me would love this.

Halloween, three years ago

“Chug Chug!” Some frat boys were screaming at me and I was downing a whole bottle of scotch. Yes, it tastes disgusting, but I'm not exactly going for flavor when drinking.

“And that’s a record boys, try to keep up!” I brought down the bottle and wiped my lips from the stinging feeling left by the booze. And my view was starting to blur. 

“Y/n, are you ok?” I tilted my head to the direction of the voice; it was Crystal.

“Yeah of course I am, why do I not look good!?” I was barely standing and I had a little dried vomit on my dress.

“Okay well, we should get home.” She said, her voice laced with worry.

“Oh come on, it’s not even-” My eyes then drifted to the clock reading one thirty and we had left my house at nine.

“Okay you’re right let’s go.” I grab my keys.

“Wait Y/n, maybe I should drive.” 

“Crystal, I'm fine now. Do you want to walk home, or do you want me to drive?” I said to her in a commanding voice. Oh, how I wish she had taken the wheel that night.

Present time 

“C.J. is looking pretty cute tonight, right?” Jen asked, pulling me out of my flashback.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I guess.” I sipped my fruit punch trying to hide from the question.

“Oh come on, you haven't noticed how hot he is at all since all the time you guys spend together.” She was so puzzled about how I couldn’t.

“Well I know he is, I just don’t see that. He’s way more like a friend than anything, but you are asking so that means you're interested.”

“Yeah, I do, I just wanted to make sure he was available to go after.” That’s one of the many things I liked about Jen; she was loyal to her friends. 

“Go for it, girl.” I patted her shoulder, and she gave me her signature smile and was on her way. But watching her go for him—I didn’t know how to explain it, but I didn't like seeing it.

It was nearing the end of the night and we were leaving the party, thank God, but C.J. made it bearable.

Jack and David were talking and I overheard talks of a coffee date. I'm happy someone had a good Halloween. But I also heard Jen and C.J.’s conversation and her majority hinting at a date between them, but C.J. turned her down.

“See you later Y/n!” Jack and Jen waved at me.

“Can I walk you home?” C.J. asked.

“Yes please, I don’t need any more pranks tonight.” We both laughed and started to walk.

“So, I saw you and Jen.”

“Yeah.” CJ said, flatly.

“So, is there anything there?” I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

“No, I don’t think so,” He replied, to my shock. 

“Why?” I said, halting in my tracks.

“Just not the girl I’m looking for.” What does that mean?

“Y/N LOOK OUT!” In an instant, a car flashed its lights and almost crashed into us.

Halloween, three years ago

“Y/n, I think we need to talk.” Crystal hesitated from the passenger seat.

“About what?” My eyes were barely staying open.

“Your drinking.”

“What the fuck about my drinking!?” Now I was pissed.

“Well, I think it’s gett- Y/N LOOK OUT!” Lights out. I had crashed into another car.

We were both knocked out. I eventually opened my eyes and saw Crystal.

“CRYSTAL!” I screamed. There was blood all over her.

“Y/n, are you okay!” C.J. was shaking me from the shock. I finally looked at him and just grabbed onto him. It felt like that night had just happened.

“I am now.” 

“Thanks for everything.” We walked back to the dorm very carefully.

“Anytime, Sober Buddie.” He responded and tears rose again. I smiled and walked into my room. There sitting in the dark is Audrey.

“Audrey?” She was crying so much.

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Oh, Audrey.” I just cradled her in the dark, just like how I hoped someone had done for me.

[fallen-gravity]

One Call Away

It's 1982. Somewhere in New Mexico, Stan recieves a phone call from not-quite his brother. Someone is threatening to take his life. Whether Ford himself is desperately reaching out for help, or someone else entirely has him at gunpoint, Stan knows one thing for sure: He needs to find him and fast.

Alternatively: An AU where the payphone Bill used to call Stan while posessing Ford worked, and Stan is actually forced to listen to his "brother" threaten to kill himself.

Notes:

Caution: This fic has MAJOR spoilers for The Book of Bill. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note 2 Electric Boogaloo: God, this book has had a huge grip on my psyche all week. I'm losing my mind. I'm going absolutely feral. I lost my shit at the section of the Missing Journal 3 Pages where Ford revealed that Bill tried to make a phone call in his name to Stan threatening to kill himself. I audibly gasped. I read it three times. God. I'm insane.

No character death tag because nobody dies! This fic ends on a positive note, I promise :')

AO3 Link

Or under the cut:

When you’ve been scamming suckers out of their money as long as Stan has, you come to learn to expect that anything can happen. You learn to tend to your own injuries, you learn the best escape routes, you learn as many languages as you can in case you need to flee the country, you learn to disappear without a trace; when you expect everything, you learn to let nothing surprise you.

When you have a public phone line that anyone can call, you learn to expect that only about half of those calls are gonna be potential new customers eager to try out your products. When you’ve been relying on these new customers to provide the money for your next meal, you tend to pay attention to patterns; you notice when your commercials air, how many customers are likely to call in, and how long it takes for customers to realize they’ve been scammed and call back demanding their money back. To most, it looks like the world’s most elaborately thought out scam they’ve ever seen. To you, it’s survival.

Expect everything so you can be prepared for anything. That’s how Stan sees it, anyway. As long as he’s prepared, nothing can catch him off guard. If he knows what’s coming, he’ll never have to wake up in the trunk of a car with his hands tied behind his back ever again.

Unfortunately for Stan, though, that means being hyper-alert at all times, even in his sleep, so even the most mundane of noises can wake him up. If the couple in the hotel room next to him drops a bottle of shampoo in the shower, he’s gonna hear it and wake up. 

If the phone starts ringing at god-knows-when in the morning, he’s going to shoot up awake, even if it just turns out to be some dumb telemarketer trying to reach him about his car’s extended warranty.

The alarm clock on the hotel nightstand tells him it’s nearing four-thirty in the morning when the complimentary phone in his hotel room starts ringing. 

That’s…strange. There’s no way that could be a customer, because Stan never bothered to buy commercial spots for late night and prime time television. For one, prime time is incredibly expensive and has too many competitors who are selling actual products, and secondly, Stan’s found that he has the most success when he advertises on the daytime soap opera channels, because that’s when all the bored housewives and old folks’ homes are likely watching TV. 

Could it be someone he’s pissed off? No, that doesn’t make any sense either, because they don’t usually have the courtesy to call before they show up with a shotgun or twelve. It can’t be Ma, since she usually calls when Pa goes away on his weekend trips to Atlantic City. 

Nothing’s adding up. Every fiber in his being is telling him not to answer.

And yet… 

He fears more for what will happen to him if he doesn’t answer. 

He pats his hair down, takes a deep breath, and picks up the receiver. 

“You’ve reached Stan-Co! Totally authentic and worthwhile products. If you need it, I have it. Stan’s your man. How can I legitimately help you today?”

“Stanley!” replies an all-too familiar voice, one he hasn’t heard in nearly ten years. “Just the man I wanted to see!” he says, despite not being able to see him and having been the one who called first. 

“Wh- Stanford?!? The hell are you doin’ calling my infomercial line?” Stan splutters, too shocked to even bother trying to keep his voice down. 

“Awww, that’s not a very nice hello for your favorite brother, is it?” Ford’s voice replies, sounding like he’s suppressing hysterical laughter. 

Something’s wrong.

 Stan may not have spoken to his brother in years, but he can instantly tell that something’s wrong.

“Stanford, what the hell is going on?”

There’s a short pause, and then Ford blows a raspberry into the receiver. “You’re no fun! I thought for sure you’d cry like a baby when I called!” 

Yeah, okay, something is definitely wrong. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Ford? Why the hell are you calling me so late? Why me? I thought you hated my guts!”

“Oh, I do!” Ford replies without a drop of hesitation, giggling like a madman. “But I don’t have much time, and there’s something really important I need to say, and you’re the only person I want hearing what I’m about to say.” There’s something…off about the way he sounds, not quite the slur of someone who’s drunk and far too energetic to be that of someone lacking sleep. But there’s something almost garbled about it, like he’s not all that aware of what he’s saying, and if Stan listens close enough he’s sure that he can hear an echo.

But Stan can recognize the cheap, static-y sound of someone calling from a payphone anywhere. Wherever Ford is, he’s calling from outside, and the last time Stan checked the only places outside that echoed were either very high up, very dangerous, or both of them put together. Stan does his best to repress the lump forming in his throat trying to imagine what kind of danger he possibly could’ve gotten himself into, especially if he felt the need to call him, rather than the cops, but he still can’t quite shake the tremble in his voice when he replies.

“Not much time? C’mon, Ford, don’t say that! I can help you! Screw this cold shoulder bullshit! I can help you! Just tell me what’s going on so we can figure this out together!”

An eerily long pause, and the next time Ford speaks it’s as if he brought the phone as close to his mouth as he possibly could. 

“You’re too late,” he replies, colder and more dismissive as Stan’s ever heard in his entire life. “I’m going to take a swim in the frozen lake tomorrow, and I might not ever come back, so if you don’t hear from me, I just want you to know that it’s because I never loved you. Buh-Byeeeeee!” 

“WAIT!” Stan screeches, and thankfully it’s enough to stop Ford from hanging up. “Ford, c’mon, there’s gotta be something I can do! You’re acting crazy! I’m not asking anymore, I’m begging! Where the hell are you?”

Another pause. 

Then, a voice that doesn’t sound anything like Ford’s.

“Oh, goody! An audience! You want to watch him die so badly, that’s fine by me! I’ll even hold off just for you!” An ear-shatteringly high pitched cackle. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. If you want him, come and get him.”

“Him?! Who the hell is-” Stan snaps, but before he can ask any more questions, Ford hangs up, and all Stan is left with is the droning buzz of the dial tone.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Either Ford’s lost his mind and really is planning to off himself, or someone else is threatening to do it for him. Shit. Shit. Stan has to go now. Everything else be damned, if he doesn’t leave before this other maniac gets bored of waiting then Ford’s not gonna be there at all when he finally makes it to Oregon. That’s nearly halfway across the country from his hotel in New Mexico as is, so he already doesn’t have any time to spare.

He leaps out of bed, reaching underneath until he finds his duffle bag, and practically tears the place apart trying to get all of his belongings together. There’s something in his gut telling him he’s not coming back any time soon, and even if Ford had miraculously said he was only one state over, Stan isn’t willing to risk leaving behind anything important, weaponry included. How’s Stan supposed to know what kind of bullshit Ford got himself into? How could he live with himself if he assumed all was well and left his brass knuckles behind, only to find his brother half-dead in an alleyway somewhere? 

He’s not risking it. Even if everything is fine, and Ford had only sounded like that because he was drunk off his ass and had no idea what he was actually saying, Stan’s not risking it.

Even if Ford doesn’t want him in his life, Stan’s not willing to risk losing him. Not again. Not permanently. 

Once he has all his stuff together, Stan scribbles down a half-assed apology for housekeeping and tapes it to the door alongside a twenty dollar bill. He hastily tosses all of his stuff in the back of the car, and speeds off out of the hotel parking lot as if it were his own life on the line. He doesn’t want to think about the worst case scenarios, so for now he focuses only on the road signs for directions to the closest pit stop and hopefully enough energy drinks to last him the twenty-something hour drive he’s about to make. 

Thankfully, the closest one is less than an hour away and open 24/7 to boot, so Stan is sure that his luck is turning around; all he has to do is pop in, grab a few things, and be on his way. He’ll be in Oregon before he knows it.

That is, of course, until he realizes that none of the maps at the place even have a so-called Gravity Falls listed on any of them.

“Uh, hey,” Stan calls out to the worker behind the cash register, who looks like he’s falling asleep where he stands. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Gravity Falls is, do you? Gravity Falls, Oregon?” 

At first Stan’s not entirely sure if the poor guy even heard him, but then the worker eyes him up and down and sighs heavily. “You makin’ fun of me or something?”

Stan blinks. “What? No, A’course not!” he sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t exactly have a lot of time here! I don’t know why I can’t find it on any of your brochure maps, but I’ve got a gut feeling that someone I love is in a lot of danger and I need to get there as fast as I possibly can. Do you know where it is or not?”

For a brief moment the man still doesn’t answer, eyeing him up and down again, before he sighs and leans forward, like the information he’s about to give him is top-secret government information. “Alright,” he whispers, and glances around the store to make sure the two of them are alone. “I’ve heard things. Rumors. Crazy stories about ghouls and goblins and people who come and go without a trace of memory of who they were before they entered that town. I’ve got a general idea of where it is, but I’m not confident. If you’re willing to listen, I’ve got theories.”

Under any other circumstances, Stan would wave him off as insane and book it out of there as fast as he could, but he’s desperate for any information he can get, and he’s not entirely sure when the next time he’ll find anyone even remotely familiar with the town will even be. So Stan agrees, and does his best not to show how insane he thinks this worker is as he starts going off about the supernatural and monsters that sound like they belong in a Saturday morning cartoon. 

If Ford really is anywhere near any kind of place that fits this man’s stories, it’s no wonder he sounded like he was starting to lose his mind. 

After listening to the man ramble on for god knows how long and watching him draw circles in the map where he thinks the town could be, Stan thanks him by actually paying for what he came in for before jumping back into his car and speeding down the highway as fast as he possibly can. 

It’s an agonizing two day drive, only stopped by the times Stan fell asleep at the wheel and forced himself to pull over and take a nap, and the time he was so desperate for food that he pulled off at some truck stop (with admittedly the grossest food he’s eaten since becoming homeless) for a hot meal. If it were up to him, he would’ve done the whole drive in one go, but it was when he nearly careened his car off a cliff trying to stay awake that he realized that he wouldn’t be any good to his brother dead, so he resolved to also take short driving breaks here and there to make sure he kept his energy up; if he really does need to fight someone when he gets there, he’s gonna need all the strength he can get. 

Thankfully, upon arrival at Gravity Falls, Ford’s place of residence is much easier to find than Stan had feared; for a guy who’d been longing for a place he belonged since early childhood, Ford sure likes to stick out like a sore thumb wherever he goes. As soon as Stan goes around town asking townsfolk if anyone had seen anyone who looked like him “except a lot smarter, I guess,” nearly every single person he asks points off in the same direction of the woods and gives him the same confused sort of I think he lives somewhere in there. If he hadn’t gotten it from at least five separate people, Stan would’ve been sure that they were all screwing with him. 

And, as it turns out…every single one of them is right. It doesn’t take that much venturing in the woods for Stan to come across the giant cabin aglow in eerie blue lighting and surrounded by tall fences of barbed wire with pieces of cardboard stapled to it and “KEEP OUT” written on them in shaky handwriting. If Ford is anywhere, it’s here. 

Now…breaking into somewhere he’s not allowed? Stan can do that in his sleep. He’s done it hundreds of times, and he’ll probably do it another hundreds of thousands of times again before he dies.

But… 

Seeing his brother again? 

That terrifies him to his very core. Reason for driving all the way out here aside, there’s still a very real chance Ford’s gonna tell him he still never wants to see him again and slam the door in his face, and then Stan’s really gonna have nowhere to go. After everything, if Stan rescues Ford from whatever’s after him and he still tells him to leave and never come back?

What then?

…No. That’s not what matters right now. He can worry about that later.

With a shake of his head to brush off his thoughts, Stan rams his car into the fence hard and fast enough to topple it to the ground. He drives down the path until he’s close enough to the front entrance that he can hop out of his car as quickly as he can, but hidden enough that he won’t be seen if someone (or something) tries to escape.

Stan takes a deep breath as he exits his car and makes his way to the front door, and finds himself hesitating to knock the door as soon as he’s on the porch steps.

It’s for his own good, Stan tells himself. It’s for his own good. I’m just trying to help. It’s for his own good. 

He stamps down on any last remnants of hesitation and knocks on the door, loud enough for Ford to hear but gently enough to hopefully assure him that it isn’t anyone who wants to hurt him. Almost instantaneously, Stan can hear the sound of objects falling and glass shattering from inside, like a spooked deer trying to dodge the headlights of an oncoming truck. Stan’s sure he can hear the sound of someone muttering, and he’s relieved beyond comparison that it’s the only voice he can hear coming from inside.  

Because he can tell that it’s Ford’s voice. 

Which means he’s still alive.

Stan huffs out a huge sigh of relief, and subconsciously begins patting down the wrinkles in his clothes to make himself more presentable. He waits, and he waits, but despite Stan knowing he heard Ford stumbling around inside, he never comes to answer the door. 

Stan frowns. This is going to be even harder than he thought. Stan tries again, this time knocking exactly six times in the hopes that it’ll clue Ford in on the fact that it’s just him at the door.

As it turns out, though, that seems to be an even bigger mistake than knocking normally, because now the noises coming from inside sound even more frightened. From inside, Stan can hear a muffled string of curse words, followed by the sound of some piece of furniture being knocked over, and finally, the sound of feet trying and failing to sneakily run across a squeaky hardwood floor.  Stan’s about to give up, head into town, and try reaching Ford from a payphone instead, but the door slowly starts to creak open before Stan has the chance to step down from the porch and get back in his car. 

“Stay back!” Ford shrieks, his voice trembling. Stan still can’t quite see him, because he’s too distracted by the crossbow being shoved in his face. “I don’t care who you’re pretending to be, I will shoot if you try anything!”

Ford finally steps out into view, and Stan’s heart falls to his stomach. Sweet Moses, he looks so much worse than Stan ever could’ve imagined. His hair is a wreck, sticking up in some places and sticking to the side of his face in others. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, which Stan can only hope is from crying and not something…worse. There’s a dried streak of blood running down from his right eye, and there’s scratches and cuts splattered around his face. He’s wearing a ratty trench coat, and the white shirt underneath is practically falling off of his body, concerningly torn to bits at the chest area. And from what’s left of the poor shirt, there’s splotches of vomit mixed with some other…unrecognizable liquids.

Stan can feel a foul-tasting bile rising in his throat at the sight of him. Surely anyone else would flee, thinking him to be clinically insane, but Stan refuses to sit around and ignore whatever caused his brother to turn out like…this. 

“Stanford?” Stan splutters, failing to keep the shock out of his voice. “What the ever-loving  fuck is going on?” 

Somehow, that of all things is what seems to snap Ford out of his trance. He’s still clinging to his crossbow, but his fingers aren’t on the trigger anymore and his eyes are already looking less foggy than when he’d opened the door a minute prior. He blinks and rubs at his eyes, and takes a cautious, shaky step forward, like he’s afraid the ground will shatter like glass under his feet if he moves too quickly. 

“S-Stanley?” Ford whispers, more to himself than to Stan, but Stan can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes him. 

He’s not too far gone. There’s still hope. Stan goes to take another step forward, but before he has the chance, all the color drains from Ford’s face.

“Oh no,” Ford whispers, and the crossbow slips from his hand. “Oh no no no no no no no,” he mumbles, retreating back inside without closing the door. He comes back out moments later, gripping a flashlight in one hand and a VHS tape in the other. 

Out of nowhere, Ford grabs Stan by the shoulders, prompting a surprised yelp out of him, and even more out of nowhere, Ford takes the flashlight and flashes it in his eyes. 

“Ow! What gives!?” Stan exclaims, pulling himself out of Ford’s grip and rubbing at his eyes with his wrist. When his vision finally readjusts from the assault, he’s surprised to see that Ford’s whole posture has relaxed significantly. Sure, he still looks frightened out of his mind, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to shatter to pieces anymore. 

“How long have you been here?” Ford asks, completely ignoring Stan’s previous questions. 

“Uhh…” Stan pauses, admittedly taken aback by the question. “About an hour, I think?” he shrugs. “Had some trouble finding you, since some of the folks I asked around town didn’t seem to know who I was talking about when I asked about you.”

Ford’s eyes widen in horror. “You asked around town about me?” He splutters, but then clears his throat to regain his composure. “Did anyone try to get anything out of you? Were you followed?” 

Stan snorts. “Puh-lease. The most dangerous person around here is probably me, and I haven’t eaten a healthy meal in weeks.” He shakes his head. “Nobody said anything. And if I was followed, I’d know. It’s something you learn to look out for when you’ve been living on the streets for ten years.” There’s a shred more resentment in his tone than he meant for it to be, but it seems to get the message across well enough. Ford sighs, and gestures inside. 

“Come in,” Ford mumbles, his gaze falling to the ground. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time.” Without waiting for Stan, Ford turns heel and hastily returns inside. Stan does his best to follow close behind, but stops dead in his tracks as soon as he steps foot inside. 

The whole place is trashed. 

Trashed far beyond what Stan thought a single human could ever be capable of. There’s papers scattered everywhere, bottles of ink spilled and pooling everywhere, cupboards with holes smashed into the doors, broken plates and twisted rusty nails scattered all over the floor, a concerningly bloodied hammer on the kitchen countertop, multiple windows boarded up with splintered wood, and empty boxes of instant coffee mix strewn all around the kitchen.

Most concerningly of all, there’s a door that leads somewhere that’s covered with scratches and dripping with blood, and Stan’s not entirely sure whether that means something wanted in or if something was desperate to get out. 

Stan’s not entirely sure which thought he prefers. 

He doesn’t have too much time to stew on that, though, because he’s pulled from his thoughts by the loud thwack of plastic being smacked against the wall. He turns to the source of the noise, and he’s surprised to find Ford desperately trying to break the VHS tape in half. When that doesn’t work, he groans in frustration and resolves to throwing it on the ground. 

“Uh…Stanford?” Stan tries, and reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ford moves swiftly in another direction before he can reach him.

“I can’t do it,” Ford’s voice wavers with emotion. His head droops in defeat, and though his back is turned, Stan can see him cover his face with his hands. “I can’t do it. I’m too late. I can’t do it.”  He starts to shake even harder, like his body wants him to cry but he’s forcing it not to happen because he needs to stay strong.

For who? Himself? For Stan? For someone else?

“Hey, hey…” Stan drops his voice to a whisper, hoping a calmer tone of voice will be more likely to get a proper reply out of Ford. Stan is one-hundred percent not calm, and is in fact getting more and more freaked out the longer he doesn’t get a reply, but the last thing he needs is to stress Ford out even more than he already is. “S’alright. I’m here, okay? Whatever it is I can help you with. I don’t even care if it involves any nerdy-smarts stuff. I can learn it for you. I can help you.”

For a few brief moments, Ford’s heavy breathing pauses. He turns to look at Stan, and it’s hard not to flinch at the fact that he’s looking more and more like a kicked, abused puppy. He looks like he’s genuinely considering replying, even goes to open his mouth, but clamps down on that moments later when another thought seemingly comes to him. 

“I…” he stammers, and violently shakes his head again. “I can’t. I could never.” He starts pacing back and forth in place, rubbing his arms up and down together in a failed attempt to self-sooth. “I wish I could, but…” he trails off, but stops before he can allow himself to finish. He violently shakes his head again, like he’s not allowing himself to even think that things could possibly get better. 

Stan scowls. That’s the last straw. 

“Stanford.” Stan speaks firmly, and grabs at both of his brother’s shoulders. His grip is gentle enough not to hurt him, but strong enough to prevent him from squirming away. As it turns out, though, the strength isn’t very necessary, since Ford practically goes limp in his arms at the touch. 

“Stanford,” Stan repeats as he turns Ford around to force him to look him in the eyes. “I’m not asking anymore. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I know for a fact that I didn’t just haul my ass all the way out to Oregon from New Mexico worried sick to death that my brother was going to kill himself just for him to push me away again. I don’t know if something happened to you after you got rejected from that fancy nerd school, or if someone’s after you, or if you really are thinking about killing yourself. I don’t care if that phone call from the other day was a threat or just a drunk dial you made after watching too much Galaxy Sci-Fi Wars, or what, but I don’t need any of that to see how much trouble you’re in! You’re shaking! You’re hurt! Your house looks like it was hit by every single natural disaster all at once! I don’t care how it happened, I care that it happened. Talk to me, Stanford. I’m not leaving until you talk.”

There’s a heavy pause. Ford’s eyes are darting all around Stan’s face, and Stan’s not quite sure what he’s looking for. He doesn’t look angry or offended, but he doesn’t look all that convinced, either. It’s almost as if there’s a deep-rooted sadness in his gaze, like Ford’s not fully convinced of his honesty, and that breaks Stan’s heart more than anything else.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ford finally replies, breaking eye contact but not bothering to break out of Stan’s grip.

Stan wants to laugh. If the situation were less dire, he would laugh. “Wouldn’t understand?” he replies, gently shaking Ford’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t understand what? Having a target on your back wherever you go? An expensive bounty on your head? You think I don’t understand having to sleep with one eye open? With having to pack everything up as soon as possible because you might not survive the night if you don’t leave? Or do you think I don’t understand being too scared to try leaving, because you feel like the moment you’re out of a so-called ‘safe zone’ is the moment someone’s gonna kidnap you? Or throw you in the trunk of their car? Or do something much, much worse to you? Just because you pissed off the wrong guy? Do y’really think I don’t understand that, Ford? I understand that better than anybody. I understand that better than I’m willing to admit.” 

One final pause, and then Ford sighs heavily enough that Stan can feel the tension slumping off of his body.  Stan finally releases his grip on him, and Stan is hugely relieved to notice that Ford’s posture already looks significantly more relaxed. 

“You’re right,” Ford mumbles, and stretches his arms into the air to try and release any extra remaining tension. “You’re right,” he repeats, and nervously scratches at his chin. “Plus, uh…it probably would be easier to deal with this alongside someone else. I’ve…” he trails off, as if too embarrassed to finish. “I’ve been alone with my…thoughts for far too long. Some human company might do me some good.” 

Stan snorts. “Ha! Listen to yourself. Human company might do me some good. If I’d shown up any later you would’ve turned into a full-time nerd robot!”

Ford cracks the tiniest of smiles at that, whether he’s aware of it or not, and then it’s right back to business as usual. “Alright, fine. You got me.” He rubs at the back of his head. “There’s…someone after me. Someone who wants me dead. I don’t really know how to explain it to you, but it wasn’t exactly…me that called you the other night. I mean, it technically was, since I was the one who was speaking, but it was more like…he was forcing me to say those things. There’s something of mine that he wants, but I’m afraid that if he gets his hands on it, it’s going to hurt a lot of people. No, scratch that, I know it’s going to hurt a lot of people. I know that, and he knows that, and that’s why he wants it. But that’s also why I refuse to give it to him. It’s a big vicious game of cat and mouse. He wants it, I don’t give it to him, he retaliates with violence. There’s no winning.” He takes a deep breath, clearly trying his damn hardest not to spiral again. “Either I give him what he wants or he kills me taking it by force.” He buries his face into his hands. “I can’t do it.” He whimpers. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“...Bullshit.” 

Stan doesn’t even realize he’d blurted that out loud until Ford pulls his face from his hands to stare at him slack-jawed. “Come again?” 

“I said that’s total bullshit.” Stan replies, firmly standing his ground. “Listen, Ford, I’ve been dealing with his type for a lot longer than I’m willing to admit, and lemme tell you something; that’s just what he wants you to think. He wants you to give up and assume everything’s hopeless, because the moment you lose hope and stop fighting is the moment he’ll strike. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness, because that makes it so much easier to exploit yours. Everyone’s got ‘em, Sixer, but only the cockiest and most powerful aren’t willing to admit that they’ve got ‘em, too. And you wanna know a secret? They don’t like to admit they’ve got weaknesses because they know what it does to them. They know the second anyone finds out about their weakness that they’re just like the rest of us. If we know their weaknesses, we can fight back, and that terrifies those suckers to their very core. That’s the kind of stuff that sends them running home to their mamas. If there’s even an inkling of a chance that someone’s gonna knock them off of their pedestal, or that nobody’s afraid of them anymore because we’ve got ‘em figured out, that’s what gets them. They get so obsessed over the power they have on others that they forget to stop and consider that others can have power over them.”

“I’m telling you, Sixer, no matter what this guy tries to convince you, he’s just sayin’ it to keep you complacent. He wants you to think he’s got no weakness because he’s terrified at the idea of losing his power over you. Once you stop letting him control you, he’ll have nowhere else to stand. Once he loses you, he loses everything. It’s not about whether or not you can fight back, it’s about how you’re gonna fight back. Because once you fight back and you take control, he’s gonna have nowhere to run, and then he’s gonna be the one backed into a corner. You can fight back. You can tell him no.”

“B-but-” 

“Up up up, I don’t wanna hear it” Stan waggles a finger in his face. “If I’m still alive after all I’ve been through, I sure as hell know that you’re gonna make it, too. If I can chew my way out of the trunk of a car and tunnel my way out of a Colombian prison using nothing but cheap plastic cutlery, you can break away from whatever hold this guy has on you. Don’t sit around and wait for this guy to strike, you gotta stand up and strike first. He’ll never see it coming.” He slaps Ford on the back. “You’re a smart guy, Sixer, I’m sure that you of all people could figure out how to outsmart this guy. 

Ford looks like he wants to believe him, like he wants to hope that things are gonna be okay, but there’s something that’s still tethering him to his fears. There’s the briefest spark of hope in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly as it arrived.

“I wish I could believe you, Stanley, but Bill, he’s-” Ford starts, but flinches like he’s been shot when he accidentally uses this other guy’s name. It breaks Stan’s heart to see his brother so fearful for his life, but it also makes his blood boil over with rage thinking about the power this guy’s got over him.

 What, is saying his name gonna summon him or something? Did this Bill guy plant bugged cameras all over the house so he could keep a constant eye on Ford so he’ll know if he’s ever thinking of pulling something over his eyes? Is that why Ford’s place is so trashed? Did he tear the place apart looking for secret cameras and hidden microphones? What gives?  

Ford freezes, as if he’s actually expecting this guy to kick his door in, and when nothing happens he audibly sighs in relief. 

Stan crosses his arms. “But what? This Bill guy’s supposed to be different? More powerful? I’m tellin’ ya, he’s no different than any of the other jerks I’ve had to deal with.” He jabs another finger in Ford’s direction. “And even if he was, by some chance? Even if this guy is somehow the most powerful and feared dictator in the whole universe, what’s the first thing I said when I got here?”

Ford goes to respond, but then his cheeks burn red and stops, a clear sign that he’s forgotten. 

“I said I’m here for you. I’m here because I want to help you. I could stand here and lecture you about crime lords all day, but nothing’s ever going to change if you don’t let me help you. I don’t care how big and tough this guy thinks he is! You’re my brother, Stanford. Nothing else matters more to me than my family. You even said it yourself earlier!” Stan throws his arms into the air in an exasperated manner. “Two heads are always gonna be better than one. Two pairs of fists are also always gonna be better in a fight. You don’t have to magically stop being afraid of this guy, but I’m telling you that it’s gonna be a lot easier if you have someone fightin’ the good fight with you. I wish I had someone when I was on the run from Rico and his gang.” 

Ford frowns. “Stanley…” 

“Point is,” Stan waves him off before he can go down a guilt-ridden spiral. “I’m not leaving. Matter of fact, I’m not asking you anymore. I’m telling you. I’m staying. Until we get this whole thing sorted out and send this Bill guy running for the hills, I’m not leaving. Protest all you want, but I’m gonna stay right here by your side until you feel safe again. Hell, I’ll even sleep on the front porch as lookout if you need me to! I’m tellin’ ya, I’m done asking nicely. I won’t let you kick me out this time, Ford. I’m here for ya through thick and thin.” 

For a few painstakingly long moments, Ford doesn’t respond. But he does look like he’s deep in thought, which is a hell of a lot better than all of the flinching and nervous pacing he’s been doing since Stan arrived. If nothing else, that in itself is a huge improvement. But before Stan can start again, Ford pulls a polaroid out of his trench coat pocket, and despite a gentle tear at the corner seemingly from age, it’s looking like the most well-kept object in the entire house. Stan doesn’t bother sneaking a peek out of fear of breaking what little trust he seems to successfully be rebuilding with Ford, but whatever it is seems to bring him a lot of comfort; he only looks at it for a moment, but those few moments are enough to sneak a soft, nostalgic sort of smile onto his face.

“You’re right,” Ford finally says, the calmest he’s sounded all day. “I don’t think there’s any way I could tackle this on my own. But with some help?” He smiles sheepishly. “I think there’s something we could do.”

“There he is!” Stan exclaims, grabbing his brother in a chokehold and giving his hair a rough noogie. “I knew my brother was still in there somewhere!” he grins, and tussles him up one more time before letting go. “And hey, maybe after all this is over you can give Ma a call, eh? She’s worried sick about you, I just know it.”

“Hah!” Ford laughs, tiny sparks of confidence returning to his tone and posture. “Now that’s someone I’m really afraid of upsetting.”

Stan grins, and gives Ford a gentle slug on the shoulder. As hard as Ford’s trying not to show it, Stan can tell he’s starting to enjoy the company. As much as Stan really doesn’t want to admit it, he was desperate for this kind of company again. He watches for a moment as Ford starts to go around cleaning some things off the floor, and Stan can’t help but crack a smile as he goes to join him.

If there’s one thing Stan does want to admit, it’s that he never wants to lose this sort of companionship ever again. Situation be damned, he has his brother back, and that’s more than any material goods he could ever ask for.

Given the situation?

Well, he said he’d stay until Ford wasn’t afraid of this Bill character anymore. But if things were completely up to Stan?

Stan won’t stop until the guy’s dead for daring to mess with his family. 

[nerdraging4point0]

Scorpion and the Scales // Chapter Ten // PolyAU

Tropes and Tags: why choose romance, MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @synthetic-wasp-570 @beaker1636 @thesazzb @itsjustemily @vinyardmauro @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @emofangirl02 @rumoured-whispers @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @dominuslunae @sunsshinesunny @jilliemiw86 @h0rr0rqu3en @yournecessaryevil @bloody-delusion-expert @mortallyuniquepeach @missduffsblog @cncohshit

Seven AM and I feel like it's too early for this.

 My body is still buzzing from the quickie Chris and I shared just a few hours ago. He had surprised me by arriving in Denver a day early, unable to wait any longer before seeing me. We had planned to simply meet at the airport to catch our flight together to Los Angeles. I clocked out of work early, verified my vacation time and spent the night wrapped in his arms, making up for lost time. 

For the first time in ages both Noah and Chris weren’t out touring somewhere halfway across the country or world from me, and I was taking every advantage. A whole week in Los Angeles, just the three of us. 

Chris stood nervously behind me in the airport security line, fidgeting with his clothes and bouncing from foot to foot. He hated to fly and I knew his anxiety was in overdrive. I turned around and took his hand, pulling him into my arms. Even without shoes, he towered over me as I stood on my tiptoes to give him a soft, reassuring kiss. We stepped up to the security scanner and I breezed through, the green light flashing to indicate I was clear. Chris started to follow but was stopped by the attendant.

 “Sir, your hat,” she said politely, gesturing to the cap sitting atop his faded purple locks. He sighed, quickly glancing around before reluctantly removing the hat and handing it over. She rolled it between her hands, almost curiously, before returning it. Chris hunched his shoulders, trying to hide the unusual hair color that he was still keeping secret from fans. I couldn’t help but giggle as the attendants stared at his purple hair, making him even more self-conscious. “You can put it back on after you go through the scanner,” the attendant assured him, handing back the hat. 

He stepped through and the green light signaled he was free to proceed. Chris hastily jammed the cap back on his head, concealing the dull purple hair that he was clearly not yet ready to reveal publicly. 

We gathered our things from the conveyor belt and headed to the gate, settling into our seats as we waited patiently for our flight. I rested my head on Chris's shoulder, hoping to catch some extra sleep before takeoff. But my phone buzzed with a new notification and I smiled to myself, thinking it could only be one person—Noah. Opening the screen, it wasn't who I expected. Instead of Noah's name hovering over my text box, it was my boss Laura with an urgent "Call me, please." I dialed her number quickly, thinking there must be something wrong—maybe issues with lab results or a broken machine that needed replacing. I was on vacation and shouldn't be dealing with work matters, but I tried to be helpful when I could.

Laura answered after two rings with her usual professional greeting. "Hey Laura, it's Eve." I licked my dry lips, trying to prepare for what she might say.

 "I understand you're on vacation and I hate to do this now, but it's been decided unanimously by the supervisors that we are terminating your employment, effective immediately." My heart dropped and I felt the color drain from my face, my mouth hanging open in shock. My stomach knotted like I might be sick. I couldn't speak—I didn't even know what to say if I could. Laura continued, "In the last few months you've taken a lot of time off..."

I found my voice again and cut her off. "All of which was approved vacation time."

"Yes, but it's been a distraction to other employees nonetheless. I understand you'll be on vacation this next week, but when you return I'll need your keys and badge left at the front desk. Your belongings will be packed for you to pick up."

I feel utterly defeated and dejected, unable to muster a response or plea as I received the dreaded news that I had been let go from my job. The abruptness of the call left me reeling, struggling to process the sudden loss of my livelihood. As the phone slips from my limp grasp, a wave of despair washes over me. My mind races ahead to the implications - how will I pay rent that is due next week without my usual paycheck that I had been depending on? Where will I find another job quickly enough to avoid falling behind on my other financial obligations? My thoughts spiral into darkness as the full weight of my new reality sinks in. I feel rudderless, cast adrift with no clear path forward and no idea how I will keep my life afloat. I sink into the chair, the soft leather offering little comfort. I feel lost in a haze, unable to cry or speak, just staring blankly ahead as the terminal bustles around me oblivious to my suffering. Chris gently tucks my hair behind my ear, voice full of concern and care as they try to meet my vacant eyes. But I cannot respond, still stunned into silence and immobilized by the news that my world has just been upended.

The boarding call for our flight crackles over the airport intercom, the gate agent's voice announcing that first class passengers are now welcome to board. Chris gently nudges my arm, his calm voice breaking through my anxious haze. 

"Pumpkin, we gotta go." I rise unsteadily to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me like a newborn foal's. Chris's strong arm wraps around my shoulders, steadying me. "Easy, baby. Take it easy," he murmurs. We shuffle towards the gate, and I grip my carry-on bag with white knuckles as the agent scans our boarding passes. Crossing the jet bridge, I feel completely overwhelmed and disoriented. The dull roar of the idling plane engines reverberates through the tunnel, mingling with the clicks and beeps of equipment being loaded into the cargo hold. As we step into the hushed, plush cabin, the flight attendants greet us with practiced smiles. Chris gently takes my bag from my numb fingers.

 "Sit down, baby. I got this," he says softly, stowing my things in the overhead bin. I sink into the buttery leather seat, drawing my knees to my chest and slipping off my shoes. My heart pounds as the reality of leaving everything I know behind finally hits me. In just a few hours, my old life will be thousands of miles away.

A few hours of a quiet tearful flight later I am moving through LAX headed to baggage claim with Chris taking long strides behind me to keep up. Noah stands there waiting for us, shades and ballcap on, solid black ensemble covering his obvious tattoos helping him blend into the crowd. 

I force myself into his arms pushing him back, hearing an ‘oof’ as I hit his chest and wrap my arms around him. New tears poured out of my eyes.  He wraps his arms around me, a hand resting at the top of my head. 

“They fired her, just before we boarded our flight this morning.” Chris explains and I feel Noah’s grip tighten. “I’m heading to get the bags.” Chris disappears to our carousel to grab the rest of our things while I sob into Noah’s chest. 

“Easy, swertheart. I got you. I’m here.” With puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, I cling desperately to Noah in the bustling airport, seeking comfort and stability after the tumultuous events of the morning. Tucked under his arm and Chris right at my back we head out to the thick air to the parking garages.

The humid air clung to us as we made our way across the parking garage, the pungent smell of gasoline and damp concrete filling my nose. Chris walked closely behind me, protective and alert, while Noah led the way to where he had parked the sleek black BMW he had rented for the week. Despite the melancholy that still clung to me, I couldn't help but smile when I saw the luxury vehicle, its polished paint gleaming under the fluorescent lights. When Noah popped the trunk, I instinctively moved to grab my suitcase from Chris so I could load it myself, but he swiftly rolled it out of my reach.

 "Nu uh," he chided gently. 

"Not today, princess," Noah added with a playful slap on my ass. "Get in the car, we got this." 

The freeway and tall buildings pass by in a blur as I alternate from watching the scenery and seeing my two boys conversing in the front seat about their shared memories from venues they both performed at. Chris at some point took off his hat running a hand through the faded locks before putting it back on, Noah chiding that he needed to fix it, he looked ridiculous. The teasing between them was adorable and it lifted my spirits. 

At this point I knew the way to Noah’s like my own home, so when we missed the exit I sat up with a little unease. 

“Noah, we missed the exit.” I say pointing back to where we should be going. 

“Not yet, baby. Have a surprise planned for today.” 

As we drive along the coast, the late afternoon sun glints off the waves rolling gently onto the sand. Noah maneuvers the sedan expertly down Culver Boulevard, past the quirky shops and cafes. I gaze out at the funky murals and street art that give this part of LA its eclectic vibe. As we approach the freeway overpass, the road curves and merges seamlessly into Lincoln Boulevard. Up ahead I can see the iconic lifeguard towers and palm trees swaying over Venice Beach.

Noah glances at me in the rearview mirror and I give him a little smile. As we get closer to the ocean, I can't wait any longer. I roll down the window and breathe in deeply, letting the salty sea air wash over me. It's refreshing and energizing. I rest my cheek on my folded arms and let my hair blow freely in the breeze. With my eyes closed, I can almost taste the briny tang on my lips. I lose myself for a moment in the sound of the crashing waves.

We pull into the pier deck parking lot and I can already see bustling crowds of people headed to the pier. The sound of seagulls and waves crashing against the shore fills the air as families, couples, and groups of friends make their way eagerly toward the attractions. I can see the towering ferris wheel looming over the boardwalk, its brightly colored cars circling slowly as riders take in the stunning views of the ocean and coastline. I am absolutely dying to get on it next. The three of us pile out of the car, Noah's hands resting gently on my shoulders as we wait for Chris to gather his things. He tucks his phone into his pocket and opens the back of the trunk, rummaging around to find his suitcase.

"Didn't expect beach day," he murmurs, searching through his cosmetics bag until he finds his sunscreen. He rubs it thoroughly onto his face, applying just a little more to his fingers before coming over to me and gently massaging it into my nose and cheeks. He places a soft kiss on my forehead when he's done, a sweet and caring gesture. 

Noah locks up the car wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me to his side. I look over my shoulder to see Chris towering just behind me a reassuring smile and a wink before throwing on his own sunglasses and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. 

The delicious aromas of sizzling burgers and shrimp wafting through the seaside air make my empty stomach growl impatiently. Noah notices my hungry gaze wandering toward the restaurants, looking around over his shoulder as he drags us back to a restaurant we passed a few steps back. 

Seaside on the pier is beautiful with cute whicker chairs and tables inside the dining room for a relaxed feel. The breezy, nautical decor provides a perfect complement to the views of the sparkling ocean just outside. Noah gets us a seat on the upper balcony so we can all still see the ocean and hear the commotion outside - seagulls calling, waves crashing, families laughing. Perched above the boardwalk, we have a prime vantage point to gaze out over the water.

As I eagerly peruse the menu at the beachside cafe, I grow concerned that there may not be many vegan-friendly options for Chris. I'm not entirely sure if Noah is aware of Chris' dietary restrictions, but thankfully when the server arrives, Chris orders the pier vegan burger and fries without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Noah opts for the classic fish and chips plate, while I practically salivate reading the description of the fish tacos and cannot wait to devour them. We finish our seaside lunch and immediately head for the bustling boardwalk arcade nearby. After an hour or so of intense competition on the quarter games, we decide to move down the boardwalk towards the towering ferris wheel. While waiting in line, Noah spots a nearby funnel cake vendor and buys an oversized plate piled high with the powdered sugar-dusted fried dough. 

He playfully pinches off a bite-sized piece and taps my cheek, signaling for me to open my mouth so he can gently place the sweet, decadent morsel on my eager tongue. As I savor the treat, something in Noah's expression shifts ever so slightly as he glances over at Chris. When I turn to see what has caught his attention, I notice the flame in the glass-encased candle tattooed on Chris' neck flicker subtly in sync with his throat muscles tensing as he swallows hard.

As we step into the gently swaying ferris wheel car, I nestle close to Noah, feeling his strong arm wrap around my shoulders. I kick off my sandals and curl my feet into Chris's lap, leaning my head against Noah's chest as the car begins its ascent. A hush falls over us as we rise higher and higher above the sandy beach, the crowds and noise fading into silence. Through the window I watch the people below shrink smaller and smaller, becoming mere dots on the landscape. Up here, it's just the three of us suspended in the sky, with nothing but the whispers of wind and the slow revolution of the wheel. Noah's heartbeat thrums steadily under my ear while Chris's fingers trace idle patterns on my bare ankles. We don't need to speak; the quiet companionship and closeness is enough.

After a few more revolutions, the ride attendant helps us out of the car. Noah stops by a souvenir vendor purchasing a few more gifts, teasing it will be great to bring back for Nick who is all the way back home in Virginia. As we wait for him to wrap up Chris pulls me in, wrapping his arms around my waist and interlocking our fingers as his head rests on my shoulder. 

“How are you feeling, pumpkin?” he asks, placing a small kiss on my neck. 

“Better.” I offer. He hums in response. 

“Anything I can do?” I shake my head as Noah approaches us again, my eyes scan the boardwalk and I spot the perfect photo backdrop - the ferris wheel looming colorful behind us, the sun melting into a pool of pink and orange on the horizon. I flag down a passerby and ask if she can take a photo of the three of us. Noah and Chris stand on either side of me, their arms encircling my waist. I wrap my arms around them in return, pulling us together. As the camera shutter clicks, our smiles reflect the warmth and joy of this perfect beachside evening spent with my two favorite people in the world.

Chris’s POV

As we drove down the freeway late at night, the city lights zooming past in a blur, I glanced over at Eve in the backseat. Her face was illuminated by the bright screen of her phone as she furiously typed out text after text, her thumbs flying across the keyboard. I wondered who she was messaging so intensely, especially with both me and Noah in the car with her. Noah kept his eyes steadily on the road ahead as he drove us back to his house, the long day finally catching up with us. Our bodies were drained and our stomachs pleasantly full after Noah had taken us all around the city, stopping at the best hidden gem restaurants and little shops.

While we were at dinner, I had taken a moment to shoot a quick message to my friend Susie, who helps me manage a rental property I own back home. A few years back, I had leased a couple apartments in a building, using one unit for visiting friends and family. But with several new Airbnbs popping up in the area lately, my extra apartment hadn't been getting much use. I texted Susie asking about the condition of the vacant unit, and she replied saying it was in desperate need of a deep clean and some updated decor. I immediately started pinning ideas on Pinterest, sending them over to Susie and urging her to spruce up the space.

I hadn’t mentioned it to her before, but I had thoughts about her moving in with me, just wasn’t sure how to approach her about it. Now, with the loss of her job, I hoped to offer her the apartment as soon as it was fixed up. I hadn't mentioned anything to Eve yet though. After my last communication blunder involving her and Noah, I knew I needed to discuss the idea with Noah first this time, before saying anything to Eve.

We wind through the Hollywood hills, the road snaking back and forth as our car climbs higher. The houses begin to thin out and get further apart. I crane my neck back to look in the backseat and see Eve has her head resting on her hand, her eyes closed as she fights sleep. The smooth motion of the car is gently rocking her. Outside my window, the view opens up to showcase the sprawling city below, its lights twinkling in the dusky evening. After a few more turns, we end up in what I assume is Noah's driveway. His house is modern and sleek, all sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering metropolis. It looks expensive, like the type of luxury home only a movie star could afford. I look left and right at his neighbors' houses. They all have high fences and perfectly manicured yards - not one matching the style of another. It's so different from the east coast and the rows of colonial homes that are carbon copies of one another, with matching white siding and black shutters. Out here, each mansion seems intent on outdoing the next with its unique architecture and lavish details. The Mediterranean-style villas we passed earlier are now far below, their orange tile roofs standing out among the jumble of steel and glass in this exclusive neighborhood high in the Hollywood hills. Noah's house is the most striking yet, looming large with its concrete and steel construction perched precipitously on the hillside. 

Noah helps with the bags as I pick up Eve following him through the door, carrying her through the front door like she is my new bride on our honeymoon. Her eyes turn to the entryway and she squeals in my arms tightening her own around my neck like a boa. As I step over the threshold into the expansive open concept living room, Eve gasps and squeezes me even tighter, her excitement palpable. The space is modern and luxurious, with huge glass pane balconies that flood the room with natural light. My eyes are immediately drawn to the far wall, which is dominated by an enormous flat screen TV that looks like it was built right into the wall itself. But the true showstopper is the gigantic circular bed that sits prominently in the middle of the room, draped in neutral linens and piled high with plush pillows. It looks like something out of a fancy hotel suite, big enough for a whole family to comfortably lounge.

 Eve is utterly enthralled, still clinging to me as her wide eyes dart around the room, taking it all in. "Do you like it?" Noah asks, though the answer is clear from Eve's overjoyed reaction. 

She nods her head sliding from my grip to run over to the oversized bed that easily envelops her as she jumps into the soft duvet and pillows squealing. 

“What’s this?” I stand perplexed, having assumed I would retire separately to the guest room for the night. But Noah's sly grin and conspiratorial pat on the back imply he has other plans in mind.

“Sleepover. That’s what.”

[sunshine-theseus]

I’d Walk to You If I Had No Other Way | Deyna Castellanos x reader

Word Count: 1k Summary: Your girlfriend disappears on you, but she’ll always come home – this is by far not my best I’m sorry Warnings: angst, fluff Request by - @deynacastellonaswife

Having a best friend who spends three quarters of her year across the ocean and the last quarter playing for her international team is hard. I’ve known Deyna for nearly 17 years, having met when she pushed a boy who was bullying me in primary school, and being inseparable ever since.

I always knew Dey would become a professional footballer, she likes to deny it, but I knew. So when she got an offer to play at Atletico Madrid in 2020, I insisted she go. Our goodbye was when we first kissed.

Having a girlfriend who spends three quarters of her year across the ocean and the rest playing for her international team is considerably harder. After she finished her time in Madrid, she moved to Manchester, a great move for her career but hard to deal with. The time zones weren’t particularly excessive, but when she has training all day and ‘team bonding’, and I’m in class or doing assessments, it makes for difficulty trying to find a time to call or talk.

Which is why I’m sat awake at 11pm, waiting for her to finally call.

And at 12am.

I pass out before the clock reaches 1, body in a rather uncomfortable position as my laptop sits open beside me, blank screen with no sign of Deyna even trying to reach me. I think perhaps it’s just a one-time thing, she got too busy to make our (mostly) daily call. But then she misses the next one and a few more after that. I try calling her multiple times without an answer.

I eventually facetime Laia, who I met a few times when she and Dey played at Atletico together.

“What do you mean she hasn’t called? She always calls.” Laia questions over the phone as I stare once again at the screen of my laptop.

“She hasn’t called or answered one of my calls or texts in like 6 days. What am I supposed to do if she hasn’t answered my call in 6 days Laia?”

“I can talk to her if you’d like. Ask what she’s been up to?” I nod solemnly at the girl and thank her before we say our goodbyes.

I then proceed to not hear from either of them for a couple days after that. And then their international break comes, one I’d usually be excited for because Venezuela has no games which means Deyna can come home and hang out. But without hearing from her in over a week, I don’t expect to see her… ever again really.

So when it’s the middle of the day and I’m trying to work on my rather long psychology assignment, and my phone rings and I see Deyna’s contact, you can imagine my surprise. I spend so long contemplating whether to answer or not that the call just rings out. And when she starts calling again, I contemplate whether to be angry or act like she hasn’t ignored me for a week and a bit. Once again, the call rings out.

It’s the third time when I just pick it up.

“Hola bebé!” and that’s the final straw.

“Hola bebé?! You have no fucking right to just completely ignore me and avoid all contact with me for over a week and then just call me in the middle of an assignment and act like nothing is wrong! Where the fuck have you been!?” I scream down the phone.

“I know I know! I just- I wanted to surprise you by flying home early but my flight kept getting cancelled and I didn’t want to ruin it and I knew if we talked, I’d tell you.”

“That still doesn’t excuse you for ignoring me! You could have still answered texts or something! And then Laia disappeared?”

“I told her she couldn’t tell you and she is awfully horrible at keeping secrets.”

“Fine. So what? Did you get here?”

“No.” she lets out a disconcerted sigh before continuing.

“Manchester International fucking sucks. There aren’t any flights to Caracas for like another week.” I let out a sigh in return.

“It’s ok. We’ll find another time.” A silent tear slips down my cheek as we each say our goodbyes and I spend the rest of the day trying to distract myself from the impending loneliness I hadn’t realised I’d been feeling, previously covered up by the excitement of seeing Deyna.

~~~~~

The sun isn’t even breaching the horizon, the moon still high in the sky, when someone shakes me awake from my deep sleep. My eyes blink open and I don’t think much of it until I remember that I’m very much home alone.

I shoot up and flail my arm around trying to hit whoever it is that’s hiding in the dark. The light flicks on before I can start shouting as well.

“It’s me, it’s me!” My head snaps over to the person, only to see Deyna staring at me with wide eyes, her suitcase and bag propped up against the wall.

“W- what? How? I thought there weren’t any flights from Manchester.” I slip out of bed and wrap my arms around her.

“There weren’t any coming here. But there was a long ass one that stopped over in Paris for like 7 hours. My back is dead from trying to sleep in so many horrible positions.”

“You should have just waited another week. I don’t want you hurting yourself just to see me.” I pout up at her as I lead her to lay down in bed.

“I’d walk to you if I had no other way bebé.” She pecks me on the lips and pulls me in, my head resting on her chest with her arms tightly around me.

“You listened to Hey There Delilah on the way home huh?”

Deyna laughs and nods in confirmation and I giggle, pulling her closer to me and closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you for so long. I really didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“It’s worth it now you’re here.”

We talk and cuddle and kiss until the sun peaks above the mountains, the stars fade from the sky and we fall asleep, finally in each other’s arms again. Where we belong.

[jaays-moon]

ghostbusters👻☎

heeseung x reader (afab) genre: friends to lovers, conducting a seance, spooOooky, friends having fun!! synopsis: what is better than a sleepover after the dreadful exams? a game of calling ghosts at a sleepover! where y/n and her friends play the game of seance with candles. word count: 2.6K 🖤🖤 DISCLAIMER‼️ i do not intend make fun of the practice or anyone who believes in such things. this story is purely for entertainment. continue reading....༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

"dude we are still having the sleepover right?" hearing heeseung's voice over the phone was just the moral boost i needed to protect myself from the eventual bed rot.

"yeah... we do, don't we..." however, nothing could stop me from the self-loathing that ensued after our exam results were published.

"y/n are you still sad about your grades? dude... you literally topped the class. so what jay beat you to rank 1, you know that nerdball is always trying to one up you."

ha...was it that evident in my voice "no, haha no its... ugh you know what, yeah i am upset. LIKE HE LITERALLY TOLD ME HE DIDN'T DO WELL IN PHYSICS, BUT THAT HOE??? this is why i hate toppers."

"oh? is it so?"

JAY??? what- omg did hee just put me on a three way call??

"HEE?" what is this guy doing. gosh way to go. he sure does know how to put me on the spot!

"no bestie it is I. the topper. you know you should actually let me know how crude your true intent is. and here i thought you were a friend."

"oh well good cause i can't be friends with LIARS! i wasn't the one who pretended to not know about the exam and then proceed to get an A! that is actually being an asshole. also that you never told me about getting tutored by jake."

"wait what you were getting tutored by jake? is this how you steal peoples friends jay?"

"WHAT? NO I DIDN'T? THAT LIL SHIT HAS BEEN TELLING EVERYONE THAT? JAKE-"

*the line cuts and the doorbell rings*

who could that be?

"hee?" "yes? who else? its time for the sleepover girl?"

"its 7 o' clock in the evening heeseung, who comes this early anyways-" i mean how does it even matter to scold him cause either ways, he barges into the house.

"well technically i do live here. its like my second home. do you need to take permission to enter your own house love?" of course. the only reason why i am friends with hee. he is unapologetically himself. it puts me at ease to have a person who thinks of me so dearly. or thinks of my home so dearly...

"ok fyi i also sent the invite in the gc"

"oh i know, jay is on the way with jake, maybe after he beats him up tho."

i chuckle at the thought of those two bickering. obviously jake hadn't told me anything about tutoring. it was just fun to watch them bicker after all! "and for you, i also invited leah over." a wicked grin decorates my face as i watch hee's jaw drop and eyes go wide in horror.

"Y/N??? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO what? why? how could you do this to me? YOU ARE VERY AWARE OF HOW CLINGY SHE IS WITH ME. she is like obsessed with me or something! please no y/n. i am so sorry!! Y/N"

"hee be nice! she is my friend! and everyone has tiny crushes. she just likes you a bit. as the good friend that i am, i am just helping her out! she also has something planned for the night. she was recommending some game? i don't know."

*bell rings*

"i guess that must be the two actual friends of mine. the ones who TRULY care for me!" i chuckle as i approach the door.

however nobody stands as i open the door. i look outside to check my surroundings but it is as quiet as a night full of mysteries could be. the sudden noise of thunder fills the ambience as it starts pouring heavily. i shriek as i run back into the house, locking the door. "hee...?" i look over the kitchen counter, the sofa, and knock on the bathroom doors he doesn't respond. "ugh where did this kid go? hee, hees- AHHHHHH!

something black just covers my eyes from the back as a scream for my life. "geez, if you didn't know how to defend yourself, you sure can make a serial killer go deaf. you know you should audition for those roles of screamers in the slasher thrillers."

"HEESEUNG! NOT FUNNY. I WAS SO SCARED!" "aww pookie was scared" "ew-" but his warm hug makes up for it. as the cold from the rain starts creeping into the room, heeseung offers me his jacket.

"what about you?" "don't worry. you will be warm and smell nice in it." he adds on with a wink. this guy. my laughs cover how blown out my pupils look. it isn't fair. how he gets to have this effect on me. i mean we are friends but moments like these, make me question otherwise. why can't i reciprocate the flirtations? why am i defeated dumb by this gorgeous guy?

"ok leah justed texted me. jay is picking her up" "you text leah?" "sometimes, when i think my charm is wearing off." "you are such an asshole! i am going to tell her." "no you won't." "and why is that?" "cause you care about me. cause, you like me." a grin of victory. i wave my hand to dismiss the words thrown out in air. is it that simple for him?

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

our boisterous laugh fills my apartment. if it weren't for these people i genuinely wouldn't make it through college. but as we talk, as we laugh, heeseung keeps falling all over me.

"HEESEUNG WHY DO YOU HAVE A SERIOUS CASE OF IJBOLITIS YOU WILL SQUISH Y/N." jay's boisterous accusation fills the room when jake ends up becoming a water fountain spitting out the cola he was drinking. "omg y'all!! now i need to get tissues" shaking my head isn't enough for the amount of chaos these people cause.

was i saying something about them saving me throughout college? never mind that, it is in direct proportion to the headache they give me. stealing glance from hee i move towards the kitchen "y/n could you also get...um..five! yes five candles!" "candles? for what leah?" "remember?! i told you we have to play a game. i mean we are done watching a movie. it is raining outside. IT IS 3 AM! this is the perfect time to have a seance!" "ah what now?"

"a seance jake. wouldn't have expected you to know however." "please do explain jAy. wHat is a sEanCe"

"well you see in ancient times-"

"it is a ghost calling game!"

"it is NOT a game leahhh." wow... i have never seen jay pout?

"wellllllll none of us are mediums."

"what would you know baby i could be a medium?"

"BABY??" "BABY?" "you both-"

"what y/n? as if you aren't hiding something?! *giggling* you and hee... aren't you also dating? you may not tell your dear friend-"

"what? no no you have it wrong leah. y/n and i. i would never date her. we can never date. we are friends. right y/n? y/n-"

i rush to the kitchen as soon as possible. i have nothing to do with that conversation. i should have known. it was just heeseung being heeseung. he is just nice to everyone. it shouldn't mean anything that the way he looks at me is any different. it was just my perception. it was my fault i thought that heeseung could love me any more than a friend. it should have been me who answered that. of course. like he said we could never date. why would he date me. why would i date him. why am i hurt-

"y/n? why did you leave like that?"

as i feel my throat burning at the familiar sound. my eyes are about to spill the truth. "didn't leah ask to get the candles though? why are you worried." as i shove past him in my annoyance which almost turned into guilt. reaching up to open the cabinet heeseung comes closer, hovering over me to reach the matchbox. "y/n" oh i know that timbre of his voice. the low, soothing tone, prying to know if i am hurt. i am not. definitely. "what?" "i am supposed to ask you that. i know you have something on your mind. i mean i know you were trying to set me up with your friend-" oh. he wasn't even thinking about me. good lord. this is pathetic. i am pathetic. "no i wasn't worried about that. matter of fact i wasn't worried at all. first you three way call jay to "prank" me. and now you think i am unlovable. pick a side lee heeseung. do you even care or not."

"woah. government name... if i didn't know you better, i would say you are mad right now." "that is the point heeseung. you don't. know. me." "baby-" "DO NOT CALL ME THAT!" as i push him back to the kitchen island i feel his round eyes on me filled with concern and guilt. i am unable to pull him back before he bumps into the glass as it shatters to the floor.

"ayo? what happened-" jake's concerned voice broke both of us from the intense glare we shared.

"DID THE GLASS JUST BREAK? LEAH BABY! ISN'T THIS A BAD OMEN. WE SHOULDN'T BE DOING THIS!" "jay.... baby relax it didn't fall on it's own."

"ew, get a room." leah rolls her eyes as she speaks "i guess heeseung bumped into it. right?" "yeah. that is exactly what happened."

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"so that is basically it. we hold each other's hands and ask if any spirit is out there who wants to contact us. and i know how hard it is for us to remain silent, calm and composed we HAVE to. the candles will flicker and we can then start asking questions! only ask yes or no questions. also, no questions about death, money or future! ok y/n babe light the candles in the center please!!"

as leah instructs all of us we get into position. i immediately scurried next to leah's side and held her hand as we all sat down. i could sense heeseung's intense stare on me but for the sake of my sanity, i choose to ignore him like all my problems in life. didn't know he would someday fall on that list. am i being dramatic? maybe. i am just a girl! 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎀

"wow that is cool and everything but, sorry y/n i don't want to hold sweaty ass palms?" "excuse ME-" "i said what i said!" jake dashes of to sit next to jay who was happily seated next to his gf. this jake had one job. heeseung awkwardly shifts to sit next to me. my hands go cold with the tight feeling in the pit of my stomach. i try to be extremely nonchalant about it. but in the shuffle i almost skid on the stupid floor which makes him snort. i look up to squint at him but it elicits only a response of a smirk from him. oh.

"oh also if the candle assigned to each of us flickers then it is a yes and if all the candles remain still. well, a no." "aw babeee you are learning so well!" "the best is teaching me" as jay shoots a wink at his partner we all physically groan with jake audibly gagging. well this is going to be fun...

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

as the rounds went by the questions became stupider. you would think that all of us had a collective braincell count of negative 5.

"am I the smartest in this group"

" *cough* nO *cough* "

"shut up jake!"

"whaaaat it wasn't me :("

this is what i missed the most, laughing, having fun with your friends. i also long back started to feel at ease with hee's warm hands melting into mine. i had gone overboard with my feelings and it wasn't fair to hee or me... i just had made assumptions. i wished to clear the air. as my other friends continued to bicker i turned towards hee.

"hee...i am sorry for pushing you earlier. i just... it did sting when you said you would NEVER date me. i mean i am not that bad of a person am i" i laugh trying to cover the underlying connotations of my ask. " *chuckles* im sorry y/n. it was actually on me that i assumed you would be averse to dating ME. i mean who would want to date their friends, right?" his response caught me off guard so did his tone. he ended the question with some unsaid hope. i tried to decipher what he meant while trying to study his eyes. his eyes were locked into mine the similar way. trying to uncover the surface and delve deeper.

"i guess there are two other love birds here!" leah's voice broke us from a trance like state. " ahha leah. so its my turn? ok i would like to ask whether i will be rich- "HEE DO YOU WANT TO DIE LEAH JUST SAID NO QUESTIONS ABOUT MONEY!!!" " well...if it means it will be in your arms-"

"ohh my godddddd"

"i think i just barfed in my mouth-"

"YOU are actually the perpetrator of such CRIME!"

"EXCUSE ME-"

no amount of eye rolls can save the redness that creeps into my face. this guy- but this time i try to play along. "well why are you trying to be like romeo-juliet, when we can be hee-y/n alive and happy." i add on a wink feeling extra feisty.

the silence which fills the room could be cut through with a knife. i was about to back track when hee's jaw dropped like never before and a howling laughter ensued.

"oh heeseung she DEVOURED YOU SO BAD!!"

"damn y/n should flirt more often!!"

hee was just as dumbfounded as i was at my response.

"oh yeah? are you sure y/n. don't make promises you can't keep." his voice dropped to a soothing volume. his head tilted with the slightest smolder in his eyes. not to overpowering. just enough to hypnotize, mesmerize. as he turned towards the the candle circle his voice become bold and clear.

"dear spirit just y/n like me?" is he for real!!?? did he just ask that in front of... at that moment it felt as all the air in the room had left. a chill ran through my spine. i could see my friends start to feel uneasy as it seemed something, or someBODY else had joined our little gathering. i could see leah's face drop as she held my hand's tighter than usual. even jake and jay feel completely silent with the ambience in the air which dropped the temperature.

" ok... um so heeseung your candle isn't flickering-"

"but baby look... y/n's candle is flickering."

it felt like time had stopped. the room felt eerily filled with various other auras. feeling intensified. the tension was rising. as if as an instinct i held onto hee's hand tighter than before. from my periphery i noticed him glance towards me. he reciprocated.

"ok that is enough, thank you spirit for joining us." leah broke the tension as she blew out the candles and all of us sighed. as if everyone was holding their breathe expecting the worse.

all of us looked at each other. "ok... well the spirit didn't have to expose me like that..." everyone started giggling. this experience was something else.

"so you do like me?"

"well we all knew that before you two idiots knew."

"for once I agree with jake. you both are so blind, imagine, a LITERAL SPIRIT had to come and expose y'all."

"wellll THIS WAS FUN. and, i beg you y/n. NEVER second guess MY intuition. mwah mwah. you both are soooo adorbs!!"

and all i and hee could do in laugh and fall in for each other all over again.

omg this was long af😭😭 i had so many doubts and second thoughts with this buttttt, i hope you like it‼️‼️ please do show support and love by reblogging🖤and sending in asks in the mailbox💌thank you ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡

[iolaussharpe-24]

When was it decided that Wednesday would be the older kid? In both the 60s series and the 90s movies, she's the younger one. But then in the 2019 movie and the Netflix series, Pugsley is the young one.

On that note, how is Fester related? He's not Gomez's brother in the old show. Both Gomez and Morticia call him 'Uncle'. I googled it, and it came up that he's Morticia's uncle here. But, she makes a comment about an Addams ancestor and that blood being in Fester's veins so... is he Gomez's uncle? Who's mother is Grandmama?!

I also want to point out, just because I thought it was funny, that Wednesday doesn't have a phone in the modern versions but there's a season one episode of the old show where they have a computer in their attic. Their own computer. In 1964. It looks like a Star Trek setpiece, but that's kind of what old computers look like to be perfectly fair. And they did exaggerate it a little to be funny. The thing even has manners. Gomez does a calculation on it (he wants to know how much it would cost to go on vacation to the moon) and when it gives the number, Morticia thanks it. It replies with a page that says "You're welcome". AI in the 60s. They proceed to use the computer to bet on horse races. There's also another episode where it's stated that Pugsley is years ahead of the space race. Gomez talks about "We could land on Mars in just three years" and Morticia says that "Pugsley will be there long before then."

Wednesday has a boyfriend in one episode. Woodrow, the invisible man's son. At first, you think she's playing pretend. She is not. He trips over Gomez and then walks himself out the door.

Wednesday is traumatized by fairy tales. It comes up in the first episode, where she comes home from school crying because a knight in shining armor slayed a dragon, and then it comes up again when she runs away from home and a police officer offers to read her some stories just to keep her occupied. Her response is to tell them who she is and where she lives.

Morticia wanting to donate things to charity. She's upset that people don't see the value in their things, but refuses to just hand over junk they don't want. She actively goes around the house looking for good valuable things to give away. "We must all give till it hurts." When they give up Pugsley's favorite clock and upset him, Gomez and Morticia go into a bidding war against each other to try and get it back for him.

Lurch cries over his harpsicord when it's donated to a museum. A lot. Gomez and Fester have to make him a new one. That is only one example of how surpisingly expressive he is in this version. Another is the 'what the actual fuck is that?' Look he gives Cousin Itt the first time he shows up.

On that note, Lurch talks. Quite a bit, actually.

Gomez fights a carnivorous plant when he thinks that it ate Pugsley. He's strangling the thing screaming for his son until he pops up behind him. "Thank goodness you were indigestible!"

Gomez is incredibly horny for Morticia. It actually catches me off guard sometimes. Like when they plan to go to "Lover's Leap" and Fester asks what he'll do when they get there. Gomez tells him, "We'll make love; you leap." Or the countless times he's kissing her and either Morticia or Fester have to be like, "We have company" to try and stop him because he was in the middle of a conversation with said company before he stopped to get freaky with Morticia. Or the time when she says "C'est la vie" in conversation and Gomez excitedly screams "THAT'S FRENCH!!" I'm surprised he didn't jump her right then and there. French is his kink.

Fester is trigger happy. Every time he gets mad he pulls out a musket and shouts "I'll shoot him in the back!" And he'll repeat it multiple times until someone either calms him down or removes him from the situation.

Wednesday does ballet and tried to teach Lurch. She had a little tutu and everything. He lifts her at one point (Dirty Dancing style), and then she goes to lift him the same way and Gomez and Morticia panic. They do not go through with the second lift.

I've always wondered if the Addams Family was supposed to be Latino or not, and there are a lot of references to Gomez's Spanish ancestry in the series.

[edupunkn00b]

Guardian ad Liber, Chapter 1: Patton

Photo by Matt Tulos, CC 4.0. Edited by author. n.b. Liber can mean book or child.

Patton - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated: G (might change, might not) - WC: 975 - CW: Family Court, lawyers, social workers are key to the themes of this entire story

This story is a continuation of last year's @loceitweek story, Overruled, a Happily Ever After Buttlerfly story in which Logan, Janus, and Remus fall in love while Logan and Janus are in law school. I'm reusing the prompts from last year's event.

-

In the old courthouse down on Third Avenue, Family Court worked a little differently than the rest of the courtrooms. Officially called ‘hearing rooms,’ Family Court judges—well, in reality, their clerks—worked hard to make children and parents feel, if not at home, then at less intimidated than in the imposing oak and copper-trimmed courtrooms of their District and Superior Court colleagues.

The hearing rooms were smaller, and lacked the rows of observation seats or even jury corrals of the larger courts. They did, however, feature not two, but three lawyer’s tables. It was rare for a case involving children to not have a specially designated lawyer, a Guardian ad Litem, devoted to serving only the child’s needs. 

While Family Court hearing rooms could never be described as cozy, the attorneys and their clients sat less than a yard from the judge’s bench. Many witnesses—usually the younger ones—would testify from their lawyers’ tables.

All that closeness made it all the more uncomfortable when a party to the case was running late.

Such as today.

“Counsel, if your social worker does not arrive within the next”—Judge Bloom glowered at the clock above the near-empty Guardian ad Litem table—”Eight minutes, I will have no choice but to issue a continuance—”

“Your Honor,” Janus began. The defense attorney made a sound at the back of her throat, a not-quite scoff at his impertinence to interrupt the judge. She watched, eyes wide, waiting for the explosion she was sure to come.

Pencil hovering over a mostly-filled yellow legal pad, Logan sat quietly beside him, waiting for Janus to work his charm. He let his sleeve ride up enough to flash the tri-colored braided bracelet they each wore. Janus saw it and stood a little taller. 

“Counsel,” Judge Bloom repeated, matching his tone.

One hand pressed to his sternum, Janus bowed his head in the judge’s direction. He did not cast a quick smirk at his overpaid and under-scrupled opposing counsel. “Your Honor, if I may. The Court’s docket is filled for at least another three months. A continuance would mean several more months for the youth in question to struggle in questionable circumstances.”

“We’ve barely begun the proceeding, Mr. Pater-Prince,” the judge said, not unconvinced… just not yet convinced. “Are you truly that confident in the legal strength of your motion to compel?”

“Your Honor!” The group home’s attorney jumped to her feet. “You can’t possibly be entertaining this overreach of—”

“I can entertain any legal finding I determine is relevant,” Judge Bloom interrupting with a tap her her gavel. “And to make a finding in my courtroom, I need both a convincing legal argument and evidence,” she said, looking pointedly at Janus and Logan. “What I need from you, Mr. Pater-Prince is said evidence. I ask again, where is your social worker?”

“Your Honor,” Logan rose and waited for the judge’s nod to proceed. “Grace Peña is the social assigned to this case. She is in the Courthouse today and should be here momentarily.”

“Make momentarily now, Mr. Sanders,” she ordered.

“Yes, Your honor.” With a quick nod to Janus, Logan hurried down the short aisle to the courtroom door and pushed it open. The typical chaotic din of the 8th floor came pouring in: adults arguing, three ringing phones, children laughing, shouting, crying.

He rushed to close the heavy door behind him and scanned the hall. With any luck, Grace wasn’t far.

It didn’t take him long to spot her where she stood holding a screaming toddler in one arm and attempting to complete a phone call with her other. The child couldn’t’ve been much older than two, maybe younger. He was small but strong, and the 4’10” social worker struggled to keep hold of him. 

His blond curls were dirty and matted on one side of his head, clad only in too-small jeans and tattered sweater on the chilliest day they’d seen that January. His stocking feet were dirty on the bottoms, so he could walk, or, given the way he struggled, would likely run if she put him down.

“Grace!” Logan called and moved to her side. “Judge Bloom needs you now,” he said loud enough to be heard of the toddler’s tantrum. “She’s threatening a continuance. Bobbi can’t take another night in that group home, let alone—”

“I know, I know, I know. I…” Shaking her head, she shoved her phone into her pocket and shifted the wiggling toddler to her other hip. “He’s an emergency placement—a re-placement I’ve been dealing with.”

She was frazzled, and the little boy in her arms flailed wildly. Three tiny scratches popped out in sharp relief on her cheek but still she held the boy gently if firmly. “Grace, Bobbi needs your testimony. The judge is on board but she needs you.”

Nodding, Grace looked toward the courtroom. “Judge Bloom won’t let the boy in, I’ve already asked the clerk.” Eyes wide, she looked Logan up and down, a sharp desperation tightening the rest of her features. “Here,” she said suddenly, shoving the boy at him as she ran to the courtroom door. Forced to choose between holding the toddler or letting him fall to the floor, Logan tightened his grip, one hand under each of the child’s armpits.

The child fought like a feral cat, blows landing on his arms and chest until he held him out at arm’s length.

“What? What are you—”

“Just watch him,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be out as soon as the hearing’s over. I’ll explain everything to Janus. It’s his motion, it’ll be—”

“But Grace, I don’t know how—” She ignored him and continued inside, letting the door slowly close behind her. “I don’t even know his name!” he cried.

Grace stuck her head through the door just before it closed.

“His name’s Patton.”

[thebadgerclan]

Shots Fired

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x Henry Fox

Summary: BREAKING NEWS: White House Reports That First Son, Alex Claremont-Diaz, Has Been Shot

CONTENT WARNING: This deals with/describes shootings/gunshot wounds. Nothing is explicitly described, but proceed with caution if this could be triggering to you

A/N: I'm writing part 2 to this as we speak

Insomnia was nothing new for Henry, though after having a few blissfully restful nights in Alex’s arms, sleep was more elusive.  The Prince sighed, rolling onto his side.  The alarm clock read 11:25 PM, and normally, Henry would drag himself to the kitchen and make himself a cup of tea, maybe crack open his book, try to distract himself from the sleep that wouldn’t come.  But something in him was telling him to turn the T.V. on.  So Henry did, and he nearly vomited when he processed what was on the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ SHOT.  Henry barely managed to keep his late night snack of Jaffa Cakes down as he cranked the volume up, listening intently to the newscaster.  “We are just receiving confirmation from Washington that Alex Claremont-Diaz, son of President Ellen Claremont, has been shot amidst gunfire in Georgetown.  Information is still coming in, but we can confirm that Mr. Claremont-Diaz was life-flighted to Walter Reed Medical Center, and…”

Henry was no longer listening.  He was throwing clothes into a bag, not bothering to fold them, barely looking at what he was packing.  Then, his phone started buzzing.  Texts from Bea, June, Pez, and Nora, but none from the one person he desperately needed to hear from.  Henry pulled his charger from the wall and shoved it in his bag, zipped it shut, and threw it over his shoulder before he was running.

Shaan met him halfway down the hall.  “I need to get to–”  “I know, sir,” the equerry interrupted, turning on his heel, now jogging alongside the Prince.  “Ms. Bankston phoned.  There’s a car waiting to take you to Heathrow.”  Henry nodded, quickening his pace, nearly diving into the waiting car.  The ride to the airport was torturously long, and the flight was unbearable.  All Henry wanted was to see Alex, to touch Alex, to know that Alex was alive.  The headlines kept rolling in, none of them confirming anything, and the Prince was beginning to spiral.

Ellen’s number was in his contacts, but she hadn’t called.  Nor had June or Nora.  Henry didn’t blame them, of course, their attention was likely on Alex.  But he was going half mad with worry and speculation.  Eventually, Shaan pressed Henry’s emergency medication into his palm–pills he seldom had to take, pills he needed when anxiety and panic overwhelmed him–and he took them with no questions, dropping into a dreamless sleep soon after.

***

This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.  Alex had set out with the intention of scoping out a new bookstore for when Henry came to visit, grabbing some lunch, and heading back to the Residence.  Instead, he found himself lying on the pavement, a bullet wound on his lower abdomen, screams and pops filling his ears.  Alex was by no means a medical professional, but he knew when he lifted his head that that was far too much blood.

Amy was at his side immediately, her gun drawn.  Cash was there too, tearing open a package of what looked like gauze.  “Sorry kid,” he said.  “This is gonna hurt like a bitch.”  He then began packing the wound, and Alex screamed, stars popping before his eyes.  Then the tears came, both from pain and from fear.  Would he see his mom again?  June?  Henry?  Alex brought a shaky hand to his face, seeing Henry’s signet ring there, flecked with blood.  “Baby,” he whispered, kissing the ring.  “I love you.  Henry…”  Everything went black.

***

There was another car waiting when Henry landed at Ronald Reagan.  The Prince was barely sitting down, Shaan climbing into the other seat, when he barked an order, one he had no real business giving.  “Drive.”  As the car pulled out of the airport, it was flanked by five other vehicles, all black, red and blue lights flashing.  At Henry’s questioning look, Shaan spoke.  “Extra security, sir,” he said.  “We cannot take any risks.”

Henry was anxious for the entire drive.  At his request, Shaan had confiscated his phone, cutting him off from any and all communications.  He had texted Bea, though, telling her he was going to D.C. and that he would be in touch.  “Any word?” he asked, and the equerry shook his head.  “I know as much as you, sir.”  Finally, the motorcade pulled up to Walter Reed, and Henry almost fell in his haste to get out of the car.

Four Secret Service agents were waiting at the entrance, as was Zahra, who looked flighty and anxious and very unlike her usual self.  “Thank God you got here safely,” she said, offering Henry a soft smile before turning and entering the hospital.  She led him to an elevator, which after inputting a passcode, took them up to the President’s private wing.

Ellen was pacing back and forth, June was staring blankly out a window, Oscar was talking to someone on the phone, and Leo was watching his wife, looking helpless.  When Henry appeared, Ellen startled before pulling the Prince into her arms, holding him like her life depended on it.  “Oh darling,” she said, and Henry broke.  Choking, ugly sobs left his mouth, and his knees gave out. Ellen maintained her grip on him, sinking to the ground with him.

“I know, baby, I know,” the President soothed, and Henry burrowed into her arms.  After several minutes, Henry calmed, sniffling and wiping his eyes.  “Is he…”  “He’s in surgery, darlin’,” she responded.  “Has been for hours.  Doctors have been out a few times, so far he’s stable.”  Henry nodded, trying to process everything.  “W-what happened?”  Ellen shrugged.  “We don’t quite know.  They don’t think Alex was targeted, which is something…”

Henry almost laughed.  His boyfriend was lying on an operating table with a gunshot wound, he had nearly died.  What did it matter if he was the target or not?  But he only nodded.  “Have you eaten, Henry?”  The Prince shook his head.  “Do you want anything?”  Another shake of his head.  “Alright.”  They fell silent, and after several minutes, Henry extricated himself from Ellen’s embrace, moving to sit next to June.

She said nothing, but took Henry’s hand, squeezing hard.  Henry squeezed back, resting his head against the window.  Alex would be alright, he had to be alright.  He laid a hand on his chest, feeling the chain and key there, tears pricking at his eyes.  “My love,” he whispered.  “Alex…”  Maybe he dozed off, maybe he didn’t, but when a doctor walked in, Henry bolted upright, his heart in his throat.

“Madame President, I’m Dr. Lewis,” she said.  “I was the attending surgeon on Alex’s case.”  Ellen nodded, her arms crossed over her chest.  Dr. Lewis saw Henry, and her eyes widened slightly, but she pressed on.  “I am pleased to tell you that Alex is stable and out of surgery.”  Ellen let out a sob, and Henry let out a shuddering breath, gripping June’s hand even tighter.

“He lost a substantial amount of blood, but we have a transfusion running and we’ll be monitoring his numbers.”  “How bad was the injury?” Ellen asked, worrying her lip between her teeth.  “The bullet struck Alex’s right kidney.  Now, the kidneys are very vascular organs, which accounts for his blood loss.  We were able to remove the bullet and attempt to reconstruct the kidney, but there are no promises on that front.  The good news is that we all have two kidneys, and you only need one to survive.  Of course, we’ll be keeping a close eye on Alex’s renal functions and other things like his blood pressure, but in my professional opinion, he is out of the woods.”

Ellen surged forward and shook Dr. Lewis’ hand, tears in her eyes.  “Thank you, doctor,” she said.  “Thank you so much.”  “It’s my pleasure, Madame President.  He’s still asleep, but he should be awake soon, if you’d like to see him.”  Ellen nodded, looking back at Henry.  “You comin’, Sugar?”  It took a moment for Henry to realize she was talking to him, and he nodded, slowly getting to his feet.  Side by side, the President of the United States and the Prince of England made their way to Alex’s hospital room, equal parts nerves and excitement filling their minds.

[shadowbriar]

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter — Skeletons

Pairing : Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.4k Warning : Language. Domestic violence. This might be triggering so please proceed with caution. If you feel uncomfortable in any part of this fic, please just skip it entirely. Synopsis : Dex's paranoia lead him to lose his temper after she's been out of touch the whole day. Notes : I feel the need to remind that this is purely a piece of fiction. If you, or anyone else you know, is experiencing similar or any kind of abuse, please talk to someone about it. You matter. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

To say Dex was worried would be such a poor judement. He’s made one too many mistakes at work, perhaps provoked the beast that is Wilson Fisk a little too constantly, to ignite that silent wrath the powerful man often unleashes upon those who’d wronged him. A little spark in his heart hoped that he was just being paranoid, that he’s seen far too much violence in his job that it clouded his mind, but as the clock strikes midnight and her absence was still loud in their shared apartment, Dex knew that such possibility might have already become the bitter tragic reality.

His lips were starting to bleed from how much he chewed on them, fingers busy punching her name and redialling her number every time his calls went to voicemail. Any minute now, he was sure his heart would give in from the stress. Beads of sweat have started to drip from the back of his neck. Dex was worried and scared, but above all, he was angry.

He was angry at everyone at work for always throwing him under the bus. For giving him the most impractical tasks without any means of support and stomping on him whenever things went south. He was angry at Fisk for making him do his bidding. He was angry at her for giving him the silent treatment. Ultimately, he was angry at himself for letting things go so out of control.

Dex considered grabbing his jacket and just combed through the city to find her, but that little hope in his heart plants his feet to the ground, wishful that she would come through the front door any minute now. That, or he simply couldn’t bear the chance of facing the consequences of his mistakes.

His bubble of thought bursts as the sound of keys jingle from the other side of the apartment. He sprinted to the living room, waited with wide eyes as she opened the door, silently watching her from the corner of the room like a predator waiting for its prey to fall into their trap. He was too quiet for her to notice his presence as she hung her coat and scarf, kicking her shoes carelessly in the hallway.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice firm and cold.

“God, I thought you’re asleep, already,” she exclaims, clutching on her heart from the surprise “I had to stay for work. The system in my office was down the whole day, I could only start my tasks after 4pm, and I needed to finish them today.”

“And you couldn’t have called or texted?” he pressed, the veins on his forehead were becoming more visible “I’ve been worried sick, wondering where in the fucking hell you could be the whole time, do you know that?!”

She lets out a tired sigh, walking past him, “My phone died, and I didn’t bring a charger. Everyone else was already off at 5.”

“You said the system crashed, how are you the only one staying overtime for work?”

“Because, Dex, not everyone has the same deadline,” she seethes, clearly on the verge of her patience with all his pestering “Look, I’m sorry I made you worry, okay? I didn’t mean to. Now, can you please stop with the yelling and let me be? I’m exhausted, and I’m desperate for a bath.”

“No, we’re not done talking,” Dex persists as he follows her to their bedroom “You could’ve tried something, anything! Send me an email, for all I care! You don’t just go radio silent the whole day and not expect me to get angry about it!”

“Well, I’ve told you, I’m sorry, alright! I didn’t mean to get you worried and angry, I’m sorry!” she spat back, matching the rise of his voice now “And can you just shut up for a second, my head is already pounding as it is.”

“You don’t get to tell me to shut up, I have the right to be angry at you right now!”

“Fuck’s sake, Dex, what do you want from me?!” she yelled, facing him this time “I’ve told you, I’m sorry. What else do you want me to say?!”

Dex went quiet, watching her with his chest heaving. His temper was rising. The alarm in his ears was loud and he was seeing red. Turmoil was boiling in his veins and the voices in his head were begging him to grab the recordings and calm himself down, but as if he was paralysed, Dex couldn’t find it in him to move a muscle and could only let the other side of him, the worst and most shameful side of him, slowly taking the light.

“Just let this go, Dex, please,” she continues, running a hand through her hair as she walks to the bathroom “This is such bullshit.”

And that’s when it tipped him. The last words she muttered that weren't even supposed to reach his ears had become the final nail to his coffin. He grabbed her by the shoulders, twisting her so violently to the wall, hard enough to knock the pictures to the floor.

“I thought you were dead!” Dex yelled angrily, screaming to her face “I thought Fisk has gotten into you!”

She watches him with terror filled eyes. The sound of the frames breaking still rings, like gunshots to her ears, but even those didn’t match the loudness of Dex’s voice. He was angry, it was plain to see, and she knew that she’s jabbed on the monster he’s tried so hard to keep her away from. The man standing in front of her now was not her lover. No, he was entirely someone else. Someone that shouldn’t have been brought to life, in the first place.

The silence stretched forever. The only sound heard now was his loud panting and the small hissing of her lips as the tiny cracks of glass stab her bare feet. She was afraid, in pain, and above all, confused as to how their argument escalated this way.

“Dex,” she called with a voice barely above a whisper “Come back to me.”

And as if he’s been slapped across the face, the man slowly regained his composure. He blinks, taking a step back and retrieving his grip that would surely leave some bruise on her shoulders. His breathing hitch as he looks at the mess he’s made. There was a small pool of blood on the floor from her wounded feet, his own knuckles sore and bleeding from the impact to the wall, and when he looked up to see her face, that one lovely face that he worshiped so much of, now filled with horror and uncertainty, Dex knew that he’s came to a point of no return.

“I-I— I just— I’m sorry,” he breathed, swiftly taking her off of her feet and carrying her to the bed “I don’t know what came into me, I’m so sorry.”

She watches in silence as Dex hurriedly tends to her wounds. His body is still emitting rage, movement almost robotic as he kneels to clean the shards of glass. The muscles on his shoulders were still tense. One wrong movement and she fears she might unleash the beast once again.

She knew that Dex wrestled with his demons more nights than not. That the recordings with Dr. Mercer, though he still listens to every now and then, has had no effect to tame the fury in his head. The only thing he said to have brought him any sense of peace these days was her, but given the event that just happened, how there’s new dents the size of his knuckles and her head on the wall now, she wasn’t sure if she would still have such charm upon him.

“I’m sorry,” Dex says, this time with a firmer tone as if he was demanding her forgiveness “You have to forgive me.”

Still in silence, she waited for his next words.

“You— I mean, I wouldn’t have lashed out like this if you would just tell me where you were,” Dex reasoned, standing up and pacing a little further from her. He wipes his face with his palm, resting his hand on his jaw as he tries to recollect himself but such effort proved to be futile “You could’ve called me with your office phone. It wouldn’t even take ten seconds just to tell me you’ll be home late. Why didn’t you?!”

“Dex—,”

“I just— I thought you were hurt! I thought my job has finally bitten me back on the ass and got to you,” he pulls on his hair, still yelling in despair “I fucking love you, alright! You’re very special to me, don’t you see? I can’t lose you.”

Her gaze softened. The real Dex was coming back through the cracks of his voice.

“I just can’t lose you,” he finally cries.

Only mere moments ago, she was so afraid of the beast Dex has become, but now, standing a few feet away from her, choking in his own tears with both their wounds still bleeding, she couldn’t help but to feel sorry for him.

She opens her arms and Dex needs no words to run into it. He immediately succumbs to her embrace, burying his tear streaked face to the crook of her neck. She knew that the fear of her leaving came from a different sentiment than what a typical love would be. The fright plaguing his mind harboured from the slim chance of him finding anyone else that he could pin as his north star if she were to leave. No one understands his condition, no one bothers to listen and sit with him about it. Losing her would only make him drown in uncertainty once again.

“I love you, I’m sorry,” he repeats “Don’t leave me.”

“You’re right, I should’ve called, I’m sorry,” she whispers back, brushing the strands of his blond hair “I’m sorry, Dex.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he begs, pulling his face away so she could see the determination in his eyes “I’ll do whatever you want, just say it and it’ll be done. I’d kill for you, you know that, don’t you? Just never leave me, please.”

“Hey, listen to me, you don’t have to do anything, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” she soothes, wiping the tears off of his cheeks “Let’s not talk about it anymore, yeah? Let’s just call it a night and sleep, hm? What do you think?”

“But you said you wanted to take a bath.”

“I’m too tired for it,” she lies through her teeth “Could you get me fresh clothes, instead? I know how you hate outside clothes to touch our bed.”

Nodding like a child, Dex reaches into their closet and pulls out her pyjamas. He watches as she changes out of her dirty clothes, eyes locked on her as if he’s scared she’s bolt out of the door. Even with her gentle voice and that sweet smile plastered on her face, Dex was still on high alert.

“Come to bed, Dex,” she calls once she’s done changing “You must be tired, too.”

There was hesitation in his movement, but Dex climbed up the bed eventually. They were facing each other now, laying on their side but not particularly touching each other. This was the first fight they’ve ever had that actually brought his skeletons out and neither of them knew if the storm had truly passed. None of them dared to ask the question either as it felt like the topic was still too tender to touch.

So they only stared at each other. She studies the wrinkles on his face that slowly disappears. The way the muscles around his jaws were starting to relax, and how his breathing has come to a steady. The bloodshot anger in his eyes have dissipated too, replaced with daze and emptiness. It was as if his brain was trying its best to hit reset.

Slowly, her fingers find their way to caress his face. Dex fell into her touch in an instant. Sighing as if he’s awaited the gesture for so long. He closes his eyes, this time really trying to reach into that sense of solace that he usually was able to obtain much easier than now.

“Is this helping?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” he answers without opening his eyes “Plenty.”

“Okay,” she nods in acknowledgement “Go to sleep, baby.”

“No,” Dex shot his eyes open, fear once again filling them “You’re going to leave me.”

“I would never,” she reassures, inching closer to him “We’re in this together, aren’t we? Forever? You and me?”

He nods hesitantly.

“Then close your eyes and sleep, Dex,” she coaxes “I won’t go anywhere.”

Dex wanted to argue. He wanted to place his arms around her and pin her in place, trapping her just in case she decided to leave when he’s finally drifted to slumber, but he’s crossed too many lines tonight. He’s broken too many walls, burned too many bridges, to risk doing anything but what she asked for, so he forces himself to close those eyes and fall back into her touch. He tries to let her soothing gesture fill his senses, giving her the full control of his body.

“There we go, baby, just close those eyes,” she continues to coo, placing a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose “Rest those muscles, Dex, I know you’re tired.”

“I love you,” he whispers, begging “I just love you.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

Tears were starting to leak out of his eyes. Dex was frightened beyond words, but he promised to close his eyes, and so he did. He hates her for making him feel this way. For making him feel this helpless, full of anger yet has no power to release it, but he couldn’t find any better replacement. He couldn’t find anyone else that would keep him in line. Noone and nothing else that would guide him through the darkness of his wild ire.

Gently, she places his hand around her waist. The gesture made him let out a shaky breath, understanding that she’s giving him a chance to prove his words, “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

Dex shakes his head, “No, I promise.”

“Okay, I believe you,” she replies, her hands now brushing through his hair “Get some rest, baby.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I think you’ll wake up first than I do, actually.”

Dex lets out a nervous chuckle, easing himself down to her banter.

“I love you, Dex. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods, not saying a word.

With one last kiss to his lips, she closes her eyes. The road to land of Nod would be long and difficult tonight, but perhaps this too shall pass.

[mors-mvrdre]

randomly generated incorrect quotes (ft. the extended Weasley Fam)

[not-so-slight NSFW warning, proceed at your own risk lol]

Harry: [gets a text] Oh! It’s Luna.

Ginny, excitedly: Did they get me the stuff?

Harry: Yeah, she says they got you the clown costume, the power drill, and 12 gallons of blood.

Ginny: Where’d they find 12 gallons of fake blood?

Harry: You wanted fake blood?

Ginny:

Harry: I’ll go call Luna.

Fleur: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it.

Fleur: Everything will be fine. You have no choice.

Bill: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that?

Fleur: Ominous positivity.

Computer: Please enter a password.

Oliver: *types in Angelina*

Computer: Your password is too weak.

Oliver: How fucking DARE YOU-

Angelina: You don't think I can fight because of my gender!

George: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Harry could fight in that dress either.

Harry: Perhaps not, but I would make a radiant bride.

George & Charlie in the back of Percy's car: MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS! MCDONALDS!

Bill: We have food at home.

Percy: *pulls into the McDonald's drivethrough*

George & Charlie: YAYYYYYY!

Percy: *orders two black coffees and leaves*

Ron: Change is inedible.

Hermione: Don’t you mean inevitable?

Ron, spitting out a bunch of pennies: No, I really didn’t.

Hermione & Percy: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities.

Hermione & Percy playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

Harry: Hey, pal, if you have a problem, say it to my face.

Ron, getting really close to Harry: I'm two months behind on my rent.

Oliver: What have you been doing with all that time to yourself lately?

Percy: Suffering, mostly.

Percy: The clock is ticking! We don't have time for this asinine tomfoolery!

Bill: This unmitigated poppycock?

George: Extravagant hogwash!

Percy: Okay, stop.

Fleur: Arson? Oh, you mean "crime brûlée".

Ron: Pizza should have poison in the sauce and the antidote is in the crust to kill off all the weak people who don't eat the crust.

Ginny: What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Hermione: Have you ever ate a date?

Ginny: Like ate their ass?

Hermione: ...It's a fruit.

Fleur: What I MEANT to say was "Oh crap, I left my phone in my car," but what I ALMOST said was "Oh no, I left my cone in my phar," and damn, wouldn't that have been embarrassing, but I caught myself, and what I ACTUALLY said was

Fleur: "Ah, my fart cone."

Bill:

Fleur: So, anyway...

Angelina: Define “dream”.

Percy: Dream - the first thing people abandon when they learn how the world works.

Hermione: Percy! Teddy's right here!

Oliver: *gAsP*

Ron: wHAT??

Oliver: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?

Ron: *inhales*

Percy, in another room with Harry: Why can I hear screeching?

[setting up the annual family game]

Oliver: Alright, listen up you little shits.

Oliver: Not you, Luna. You’re an angel and we’re thrilled you’re here.

Luna: What’s your biggest fear?

Percy: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Ron: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Oliver: Zombies.

Percy: ...

Ron: ...

Oliver: BUT they can open doors.

Luna: *nods sagely*

Ginny: If you ever feel embarrassed just remember that in 4th Year I tried to convince myself that I wasn't gay by making a compromise to myself to "only be gay at night."

Hermione: I'm not doing to well.

Luna: What's wrong?

Hermione: I have this headache that comes and goes.

*George enters the room*

Hermione: There it is again.

Ginny: I came out here to attack people and I'm honestly having such a good time right now.

Percy: Are you tall enough to play basketball though?

Oliver: Are you calling me short?

Percy: I'm calling you vertically challenged.

Oliver: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel.

Harry: An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel.

Hermione: A realist sees a freight train.

Percy: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.

Angelina: Oh, here’s my award for the most rules broken!

Ginny: That’s not an award, it’s an angry letter from our coach.

Angelina, hanging it on their wall: Well, it has the word ‘most’ in it, so I’m calling it an award!

Ron: *pitches an idea*

George, impressed: Huh, there might be something here!

Percy, under his breath: Yeah, a lawsuit.

Luna: Pokemon is trying to slowly convince us Pikachu was always fluffy and I for one accept this future.

Charlie: Did you think the mouse was just smooth and had yellow skin like a little simpsons demon??

Luna:

Luna: Maybe.

Ron: Ginny isn’t answering my messages.

Hermione: Allow me.

Ron: I tried 6 times, what makes you thi-

Ginny: *replying to message* Hello.

Ginny: Welcome to Fucking Applebees, do you want apples or bees?

Harry: Bees?

Ginny: THEY HAVE SELECTED THE BEES!

Harry: Wait-

*Bill approaches, shaking a jar of bees menacingly*

Ginny, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

Charlie, opening a Capri Sun: Guess I'll drink my sorrows away.

Oliver: It’s Christmas! Are you all in a Christmas mood?!

Percy: Merry crisis.

Ginny: Jingle bells, jingle bells, single all the way.

George: Hoe hoe hoe.

Oliver: Guys, please.

Percy: I’m telling you, my team is competent.

Charlie, rushing in: Percy! Bill tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!

George: Hey, you want a tarot reading?

Percy: Those are Pokemon cards.

George: You got a magikarp.

Percy: ...

George: It means 'fuck you'.

Angelina: What the fuck.

Angelina: ESPN is showing 2003 national jump rope championship.

Angelina: Who the hell watches jump rope competiti- ooh bouncy.

George, skipping rocks on a lake with Angelina: It’s such a beautiful evening.

Angelina: Yeah, it is.

Angelina: *whispering* Take that you fucking lake.

Ginny, narrating: Percy and Luna scare us a lot because they walk very softly and nobody hears them enter rooms, so sometimes we turn around and they're just kind of there.

Percy: ...

Luna: Their fear fuels me.

Hermione: I don't want to have kids after 40.

Ron with a mouthful of soup: Yeah, forty is already plenty.

Luna: Everyone knows that Santa is an invention designed by the big five corporations to sell tinsel and video games to an unsuspecting public.

Angelina: The whole “childhood wonder” stage just blew right past you, didn’t it?

Percy: What is your costume?

Fleur: A harp.

Percy: Your costume is too small to be a harp...

Fleur: Are you calling me a lyre?

Oliver: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it.

Oliver: And I started thinking.

Oliver: Like, it was just trying to get food.

Oliver: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck?

Percy, hesitantly: ...Are you ok?

Percy, writing overseas: Ginny got into a fight.

Bill & Charlie: That’s bad.

Bill & Charlie:

Bill & Charlie: Did she win?

Goerge: Am I right, Percy?

Percy: I’m almost certain you’re not, but to be fair, I wasn’t listening.

Fleur: Truth or dare?

George: Truth.

Fleur: How many hours have you slept this week?

George:

George: Dare.

Fleur: Go to sleep.

George: I don't like this game.

George: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute.

Percy: No, that's not how you make cookies.

Fred: FLOOR IT!!

Ginny: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!?

Percy: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN-

George: WE'RE GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES!

Ron: DO IT!

Percy: NO-

Teacher: Your child was in a fight.

Percy: Oh no, that’s terrible!

Oliver: Did they win?

Percy: This is horrible! This is the most humiliating thing to ever happen to me!

Ginny: Oh-? Even more humiliating than that time I walked in on-

Percy: We are not doing this!

[ this has gone on long enough, I'll make a part two sometime aksjakdkskdkks see y'all ]