#so yeah we had to scrap pocket money

[this-geek]

Yes, but my brother was too good at them and he'd start a fight if I even attempted something...

[brittle-biscuits]

Effective Concerns (Ramshackle)

Had this in the drafts for a hot minute.

Vinnie: “Ah, the smell of piss and opportunity. Entertainment square is where all the Lootbags hang out. Look at ‘em all. Riching..richly…”

Vinnie leaned back into the alley to face Maggot, who’s being held by Skipp. Y/N and Stone being next to them.

Vinnie: “Anyway, today Skipp is gonna teach you how we get the money from their pockets into ours. And one way we can guarantee major handfuls is with our secret weapon! Y/N!”

Vinnie casually brings Y/N to her side. Your nerves suddenly spike as you grow nervous at the thought of going out into public.

Y/N: “Me? Oh geez, Vinnie. I-I don’t know. The last time, you dolled me up in some snazzy outfit and it drew in a large crowd! They were everywhere…”

Vinnie: “It won’t be like last time, you’ll just be lookin’ like a good ol’ Scrap like us!”

Vinnie: “You’ve got this, you three. Now go eat the rich! Frickin’ devour them, dudes!”

Skipp: “Come on, Y/N. I’ll be there for you!”

You didn’t really like attention being drawn on you, but with Skipp and Vinnie encouraging you…god damn it. Alright, you’ll do this for the others!

Vinnie gave you an enthusiastic pat on the back to calm your nerves as you, Skipp, and Maggot head out to entertainment square, Stone lighting up a cigarette during this.

Stone: “Vinnie, do you remember how we didn’t make enough pickpocketing last week, so we had to use Y/N or else we’d be eating shoes?”

Vinnie: “Eh, Y/N didn’t seem to mind. Get them up in proper clothes and the rich were just eating them up! Woo boy, did we make quite the killin’!”

Stone: “We had to literally fight to get them back here, we can’t just keep using them like that to get by, let alone trying to raise a baby by using them.”

Vinnie: “Oh yeah, hehe I remember! You were tossing those fuckin’ firebombs like crazy, never seen you fight that actively. You got a soft spot for pal Y/N?”

Stone turned his gaze away from Vinnie, not wanting to admit it, but the slight tinge of red on his face betrayed his outward mood. Vinnie gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

Vinnie: “Hey hey, I get it. Look at me, I’m hella soft for them too, and so does Skipp. And I’m sure Maggot will too. I promise that if anything happens to them, we’ll bust ‘em out like always. We gotta stick together, y’know?”

Stone kept his gaze from Vinnie, but his expression does soften up.

Beatboxing is heard in the distance as Vinnie lightens up.

Vinnie: “Alright, that’s our signal! Let’s bounce!”

Vinnie grips Stone’s shirt as they rush off towards the others. A little reassured, but it can go a long way.

[gor3sigil]

Oh my GOD do I need to get something off my chest.

Let's talk about "name your price" events held by some "leftist" spaces a bit, that are NOT "name your price". Because this happened to me 3 times already this month while going to these events, to have organizers be really pushy that I make donation even when I couldn't do so and told them clearly.

So, I go from time to time at events held by local queer organizations to get out of my house. Being poor, you know it, is extremely isolating because you can't afford social events. And I've been feeling really lonely and depressed lately so I tried, 3 times this month, to attend queer events that were "name your price", with the understanding that you COULD attend these events even if you didn't pay anything (I even messaged the organisers first to be sure that I could come without donating). Everytime I tried to bring something to eat and/or drink to not come to these events empty handed and brought along some friends (who donated). So I wasn't "leeching" or anything.

And 3 times, I always got at least one of the organizers pushing me to donate because "even one € euro helps :) we're not FORCING you but you know, these events cost money and it'd be great to give back to the community :) but no pressure if you can't you if you find a coin in your pocket haha jk but yeah :)" and the last one took the fucking cake.

The dude, a so called super leftist anarchist, every time we took a break from watching the queer short films, came to me cracking a joke about how it'd be great if I donated in a very "commercial" way of joking without totally joking.

I snapped at some point and told him more harshly that I had brought food and drink, that it was all I could afford to do and it was supposed to be OKAY. And that one € for me meant a kilo of pasta that feeds me and my partner for 2 days. And he tried to imply that the orga wouldn't be able to hold events like this if everyone comes like I do.

It was a FUCKING SHORT FILMS SCREENING.

I left the event so upset because I just wanted to have a good time and meet people and get out of my flat where money issues is the ONLY SHIT I THINK ABOUT. And I wish it was a one time thing but it happens so regularly I don't even want to attend these events anymore.

If your organization can't afford to hold events you have 2 options:

You can make price ranges for people, so people who have more money can donate more, and those who can't pay a little fee.

You fucking don't hold events.

You don't make your event a "name your price" event, do all your com about the fact that EVERYONE can come even if they just bring snacks or drinks, to harass these people during all the event until they give you the scraps they have because you guilt tripped them. That's just bullshit.

And coming from people that gloat that they're proud leftists/anarchists/communists or whatever the fuck, bitch, shut your crap up PLEASE you have the same method as a marketing professionnal.

I'm so fucking upset. Guess I'll just stay home then.

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Nine - Gotham

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Jack finds an apartment to rent and slowly gets accustomed to his new city life.

Author's Note: Not much to say about this chapter. It's a shorter one but we have officially moved into the second half of the story! Things will begin to change after this...

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3

< Previous - Next >

His first night in Gotham was unlike anything Jack had experienced before. Everything was so crowded and rushed. At first he drove around the city trying to figure out what to do. Finding his way around was so confusing and it was easy to get lost. Too many different avenues and street numbers. 

He decided that staying in a motel for the night was probably the best thing to do until he found an apartment. He came across a cheap motel on the quieter side of the city, in the Uptown area. Even though it was quiet it looked pretty sketchy but Jack honestly didn’t care. It was getting really late and he was desperate to find someplace to crash for the night.

After checking in and paying, Jack hid all his stuff underneath the seats in the floorboard, locked the truck, and prayed that he didn’t get robbed. Then he went to his room and immediately collapsed onto the bed. He was utterly exhausted. 

He took off his shoes and emptied his pockets but didn’t bother with the rest. He was much too tired to put in the effort. The bed was comforting and a welcome escape from his current reality. Tugging the blanket out of the corners, he pulled it over himself and nestled in. Within minutes he was sleeping soundly.

…

Holding an umbrella he found in the motel room over his head, Jack walked down the street from where he was staying to a small diner he discovered while driving yesterday. The rain was pouring down hard, drenching his boots. He closed the umbrella and grabbed a newspaper from the rack outside as he entered the diner and sat down in a booth towards the back. He ordered a cup of coffee and a biscuits and gravy platter. 

Sipping on the coffee, he scanned the newspaper for apartment ads. There were several openings Downtown and one in Midtown. Jack didn’t care about the locations since he didn’t know much about them. He was mainly looking at the price and the apartment itself. 

His food came as he was reading about the one in Midtown. He set the newspaper down for a moment and crumbled up the biscuit into the gravy. He took a bite and nearly dropped the fork in surprise at how good it was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this. It tasted just like how his mama made it. The nostalgia sent a sharp pang of grief through his chest yet still made him smile. Even though she was gone, he would still have memories to hold on to.

Jack sighed to himself in content. The tasty food helped to settle his stomach. His nerves were practically shot. The unfamiliarity and new surroundings was putting him on edge. He hoped he would find an apartment soon so he could stop worrying and just relax for a change. 

Right now one of the openings Downtown looked like the best choice. It had lots of space and contained a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and a small living room. The great thing was it didn’t cost as much as Jack was expecting. 

Yeah, this one’s good.

He tore off a scrap piece of paper and wrote down the address from the ad. Pocketing the paper, he left some money on the table to pay for the meal and tip the waitress and left the diner. Once he was back at the hotel, he grabbed his things from the room and checked out. 

“Back on the road again.” Jack muttered as he climbed inside his truck and took off towards the Downtown area.

About 20 minutes later, he reached the street the apartment was supposed to be on and scanned the line of buildings for the correct address. From what he could tell this location wasn’t too bad. It was somewhere in the middle of run down and affluent. 

He spotted the address and pulled into a parking space by the building. As he walked in, he saw a sign above the empty front desk that said ‘office’ with an arrow pointing left so that’s where he went. He approached the door and knocked. 

“Come in!” A lady called out from the back.

Jack stepped inside timidly. A middle aged woman was standing on a chair and hanging up a picture frame. She wore a purple tank top and green shorts and had curly red hair held back by a rainbow bandana. Her eccentrically decorated office was covered in knick knacks and odd paintings. Jack bit back a smirk. He liked this lady already.

The woman got down from the chair and shook Jack’s hand.

“My name’s Lydia Vernon. I’m the landlady. Are you here for the opening in 307?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack replied.

“Wonderful. Let’s go upstairs so you can have a look around.” 

She walked briskly out of her office and guided Jack towards the stairs.

“I’m sorry that we have to take the stairs. The elevator’s broken. The maintenance guys are supposed to come fix it later this week.”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind walking. This is a nice building you have.”

“Why thank you, mister um… Oh! Silly me. What’s your name dear? I totally forgot to ask.”

“Jack. Jack Napier.”

“Nice to meet ya, Jack. And…here we are. The 3rd floor.” 

Lydia led Jack down the hall and stopped near the middle. She unlocked the door labeled 307 and ushered Jack inside. Jack looked around the kitchen and then the bedroom, the two most important areas in his opinion. The apartment was mostly empty and had some furniture left. He took it all in and nodded to himself. This would totally do. As long as he had plenty of space, a bed, a table, and a couch, he was happy.

“Well, what do you think?” Lydia asked, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll take it.” Jack answered with a small smile. 

“Oh that’s great. When can you move in?”

“I was hoping today.”

“That’s perfect. Let’s go back to my office so I can get your info.”

Jack nodded. They both trekked back down the stairs and sat down at the desk in Lydia’s office. She grabbed some papers out of a filing cabinet and a pen. 

“I’ll need you to fill these out while I ask you a few things.”

“Sure.” Jack said as he clicked the pen and began filling out the application.

Lydia sat down across from him and started filling out something on her side.

“Do you live anywhere else right now?” She asked.

“No. I just moved here.”

Lydia nodded and scribbled something down. “What is your occupation or source of income?”

“Um, well… I was recently honorably discharged from the Army. I’m getting disability from them.”

“Oh wow. Well thank you for your service. I don’t mean to be insensitive but, is that why you have, um…?” Lydia asked, motioning to Jack’s face.

“Yeah. I’m sorry if it caught you off guard.” Jack said quietly.

“Don’t apologize. It was rude of me to ask.”

There was an extremely awkward silence after that. Jack didn’t make eye contact and hurriedly finished the application so he could get out of the office. The awkwardness completely drained what was left of his social battery. He handed her back the application as waited as she read it over.

“This looks great. Oh, there’s a couple more things you should know. I collect rent on the third Thursday of every month. I do allow pets here just please clean up after them. And if you smoke please do it outside. Okay, I think that’s it. Here’s your key. Move in at any time. Let me know if you have any questions.” Lydia informed him. 

Jack took the key and moved towards the doorway. “Thank you. I should, um, go start unpacking before it gets too late in the day.” 

“Of course. I’ll be in touch.”

Jack shut the door and exhaled, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. 

Wow. She’s….something. He thought as he walked back out to the parking lot to retrieve the boxes from his truck.

…

A week passed and Jack was now fully settled into his new living space. He bought groceries to stock the fridge and toiletries he didn’t already have with him. This was the first time he ever lived on his own without anyone else around and he loved it. There was so much freedom that he didn’t have before. He could sleep whenever he wanted, cook whatever he wanted, watch whatever he wanted, or go out whenever he wanted.

There were of course a few things he had to do before officially re-entering civilian life. He changed his address to his new one so he could get mail, bills, and the checks he would be receiving from the military. Then he went down to the DMV and got his license renewed. It needed to be updated, especially since he didn’t look the same. He had the scar now and he was much older than in his last photo.

Jack still wasn’t fully adjusted to city life though. The city never slept. It was always noisy and always busy. People were impatient and traffic did not wait on you. He learned that the hard way and was nearly run over a few times. 

He opted to stay indoors the majority of the time. He didn’t need to work since what he got from the Army was plenty so he didn’t. Really the only times he left was to go run errands or occasionally go eat out when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Tonight was one of those nights. Jack returned to his apartment with some Chinese takeout and plopped down on the couch, settling into the cushions. He grabbed the remote and switched on the television. GCN, the city’s news channel, came on and right away he was taken aback. 

They were reporting on this month’s several sightings of some guy called “Batman." Apparently, he was a vigilante who dressed in a bat costume and armor and went around beating up criminals to aid the police. A few blurry pictures some people had managed to capture flashed across the screen. Then, a civilian was interviewed and he speculated that “Batman” might actually be a vampire.

Jack busted out laughing. The absurdity of it was hilarious to him. This was the first time in years he truly had a good laugh. 

“What the hell? Man this city is crazy…” He uttered in between giggles.

He rolled his eyes and bit into a crab rangoon. Gotham truly was one of a kind. Jack didn't know what possessed him to move here but he couldn’t find it in him to leave. The city was charming in its own strange way. Maybe one day he’d get used to it.

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Chapter 8

WARNING: The following story contains mentions of drugs, violence, and death.

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Alphonse: "Now, then....let's get down to business."

Mr. Alphonse walks up to the Director's side and deliberately whispered something into his ear.

Alphonse: "I would like to confirm that the telegram sent by the Marquis has been properly processed, if I may?"

Director: "Yes, of course. Upstairs, please."

The director did not give the slightest indication of doubt and agreed to him with two words.

Alphonse: "Mr. Roger, will you take care of Lord El for me?"

Roger: "Yeah...timing is running out, so keep that in mind."

Alphonse: "Of course, I understand."

Mr. Alphonse climbed the stairs, looking familiar with the tragic scene.

----I have yet to accept the reality that is right in front of me.

(What should I....do now?)

Roger: "I guess I'll search the workshop until he pulls his intel."

Girl with empty eyes: "..........Ah........"

(.......!)

As I stood there in a daze, a girl with a heavy-looking bag staggered out in front of me and rolled over with a small groan.

Kate: "A-Are you okay......?"

William: "......!"

My body which was supported by William moved reflexively, crouching down and picking up the girl.

Kate: "Are you hurt anywhere?"

But she was emaciated and trembling, just sharing blankly into the void.

Kate: "Ah......"

(......Already)

(She can't even say 'ouch' or 'help')

(No matter how hard she screams, no one....will be able to reach out to her)

I recognized those vacant eyes, as if they had given up on everything.

William: "....Kate."

William's voice that was calling me is far far away.

"What are you shocked about?"

"Until now, you have a habit of pretending not to see it."

A voice came from inside my head and the notebook in my pocket heaved like a stone.

(......That's right, I was.....)

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Today's delivery is a single love letter addressed to a boy. Just before he received it, the letter was taken from him by his father.

When the boy glared at his father who said 'Convenient, go squeeze some money out of him'. The father assaulted him....

Delivering an acceptance letter from the university to the second daughter of a viscountess. Expecting her to be delighted, she ripped it up and threw it away.

Crying half-madly, saying she's forced to marry someone for the sake of her house....

From a woman with a baby in her arms who was picking up scraps from the river and selling them,

He entrusted me with a letter, asking me to give it to the father of the child. However, someone else was living at that address....

Once the door is closed, there is nothing the delivery person can do.

(Deliver an important letter filled with your thoughts)

(Someone's thoughts move someone's heart. I loved such moments)

However, we also see situations where feelings are trampled upon and turned into sadness and despair.

Every time I encounter such a situation, I just want to do something about it, but my mind is just spinning.

(In the end, there was nothing we could do about it)

(I'll take out my sadness and anger that I have nowhere else to go and record what I see in my notebook)

Even though I knew that while I was doing so, someone's heart was dying.

We pretend to be understanding and to live our trivial and happy lives peacefully.

Swallow the voice of your heart.....swallow it.

(That's why I killed it)

(My heart and my voice)

-----FLASHBACK-----

William: "If it is not going to come true, it is easier to live in paralysis than in hope."

----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(You're right)

(It is painful to hold on to a wish that cannot be fulfilled)

William: "Kate."

A gentle tap on the shoulder makes me gasp.

William: ".....You look pale."

------Options-------

I'm fine

Sorry

I'm sick

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

Kate: ".....Sorry....excuse me....."

William: "Why are you apologizing?"

(I want to help. I want to help you all)

(But I could never, ever do that)

A sense of helplessness and emptiness fills the sadness and not even a tear will flow.

Kate: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't...do anything."

I didn't know if I was talking to William or the girl in my arms.

I didn't know if it was to someone I had abandoned until now.

William: "No one can save everyone they see."

Kate: "Eh.....?"

I raised my head, after hearing the pessimistic words that came out of his mouth.

William: "You absorb each and every thought of others to the point that it spills out of your hands."

William: "You are so kind that you feel guilty that you couldn't save them."

William: "That's all there is to it, isn't it?"

William: "Just because you couldn't save them, doesn't mean you have to kill yourself. Kate."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "Just because you couldn't save them, doesn't mean you have to kill yourself. Kate."

(Ah............)

Kate: "But....I....."

(This is not kindness. It's not beautiful)

I wanted to turn a blind eye and make it disappear the shamefulness, ugliness, and guilty.

(So much so)

(I didn't allow it.....so easily)

Something that had been stuck in my throat for a long time, something that had been holding me down in my chest for a long time.

I am impatient as I feel the night breeze snatching me away and quietly pulling me away.

(....Too naive to feel all if forgiven with just one word like this)

Kate: "I...."

(Even though I'm....too spoiled)

I bit my lip unable to forgive myself for being so pleased and William's fingertips gently traced there.

It was as if the pain was wiped away with all the black lees that had built up in my chest.

William: "I think I finally figured out why you're killing your voice."

William: "Haven't you had enough of punishing yourself?"

Kate: "....... ........mm..."

The back of my eyes was burning hot and I couldn't help but look away.

(.....No)

The tears that were about to be lured out are pushed to the back of the throat.

(William's kindness is too unforgiving.....)

Once poured, the comfort is irresistible.

William knelt down beside me and gently stroked the head of the girl in my arms.

William: "You should get some sleep. The next time you wake up, all the bad dreams will be gone."

She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes.

(....It's as if just a touch washes away the pain)

If there is such a thing as magic, it is either a universal elixir or a fast-acting deadly poison.

Roger: "Hey you guys, we're almost there."

Mr. Roger, who was standing near the doorway, looks up with a tense voice.

Elbert: "........Did you find anything?"

Roger: "The Marquis is said to be sheltered in a house owned by the Privy Council in North London."

Kate: "! How did you find that out, Mr. Roger.....?"

(Mr. Roger was standing here with us all this time......)

Roger: "I heard what Al was saying to the directors upstairs."

Kate: "You heard?"

William: "Anomalous Hearing. That's Roger's ability."

Roger: "I've got about a 100-yard radius of defense. Be careful, what you say in private, young lady."

(F-For real?)

Roger: "So, Al's ability has worn off and he has realized something is wrong. I can hear them fighting up there."

Roger: "That's why I told him to watch out for the time."

Elbert: ".......Maybe he did it on purpose."

Roger: "I know. Tsk, still a bad character as ever, I'll give you that."

William: "Well, I'm sure he will be fine........But just in case, I'm going to go cover him."

William: "Kate, can you stand?"

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

William: "Kate, can you stand?"

Kate: ".......Yes. I'm fine."

I stand up with the girl in my arms.

(Even though she is skinny, she still have some amount of weight)

(If it's not too late, even now)

(I want to save the life in my arms)

.........

Strong-looking man: "We got company! The stairs!"

When I looked up, I saw a group of strong-looking men, who did not look like employees of the workhouse, waiting for us at the top of the stairs.

Elbert: "..........Voice......it's loud....."

(.....What's happening there? I'm curious too.....?)

Roger: "Why can't he just let everyone have a good dream until the end of the day.... That Al guy, dereliction of duty, I guess?"

William: "We've got the information we came for. So he has done his job well."

Roger: "Sweet."

With a steady click on his shoes, William ascends the stairs.

Strong-looking man: "Kill them! Don't let them get away!"

William: "Everyone, stay where you are."

With a creaking sound, the men stopped moving.

William: "How does it feel to be shackled?"

Strong-looking man: "W-What....I can't...move...!"

My stomach clenches as I find the face of the man who dragged the boy who had just been screaming earlier.

They have been easily trampling on the lives of these people. Now the Crown will punish them.

(I don't think it's 'justice'. But.....I can't stop it because it's 'evil')

It must have been feeling it deep in my chest.

I feel anger and sadness toward the 'evil' that tramples on the feelings of others.

The one who can twist absurdity with overwhelming power is.....

I was looking at William.

Strong-looking man: "Hey you! What the hell did you do to us?"

William: "Same thing you did to the people underground."

Strong-looking man: "What..the hell!?"

Alphonse: "Excuse me, can you let me through."

The face of the man standing in the center of the room is contorted in pain.

A sword with flowing ornamentation was piercing through his body.

Strong-looking man: "Nn ARGH.....!"

Alphonse: "Oh my, what an uninteresting death rattle. I was expecting more."

Looking down at the man who had fallen down with a thud, Mr. Alphonse muttered in a bored tone.

Roger: "What happened? You look pissed."

Alphonse: "Yeah. I dislike this workhouse."

Though he said he disliked it, Mr. Alphonse looked more amused than usual.

Alphonse: "Besides, they are all dirty. There's no reason to keep them alive in this facility, right?"

Roger: "Well, if the information leaks out to the Marquis, there's a chance he'll escape. Have you taken care of everyone except for these guys?"

Alphonse: "Yeah, all the way through."

Alphonse: "The police won't even notice for a few weeks or even months...."

Alphonse: "When they find the body, they won't even do an autopsy. Why an autopsy for dead bodies in a place like this, right?"

William: "You heard him, gentlemen."

Then the men, who had been screaming in hushed tones, gasped and fell silent.

William: "I'd love to hear more of the invective, but unfortunately, we don't have that kind of time."

William: "Let's put an end to this nightmare."

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

When the men's screams subsided, the workhouse fell silent.

(....Not so fast)

I had a certain anger inside me toward the 'butterfly' people who had done such terrible things to the people underground.

However, when they were condemned for it in front of me.....all that welled up in my heart was a deep sadness and emptiness.

(William.....?)

(I wonder how William feels)

He has his usual good-natured smile on his face, but I don't know if he is laughing from the bottom of his heart.

(...I wish I could see through his mind like he does mine)

Not knowing, for some reason, I felt more frustrated than ever.

Roger: "We have the information. Witnesses have been handled. All that's left is...."

Kate: "! Let's rescue the people in the basement. Let's contact the police....Ah."

Elbert: ".........Sorry......Kate. We can't call the police."

(That's right....if we call the police now, then)

Roger: "There are people from the 'butterfly' within the police force. If they get involved, of course, the Marquis will know and he will escape."

Kate: "That's right....."

(But we can't get all those people out of the basement by ourselves)

Alphonse: "We are here to extract information about the Marquis of Avalus, not for charity."

Kate: ".....I know."

The purpose of the Crown is to eliminate the source of the problem so that there will be no more victims.

(But the people who have been hurt....can't stand up by themselves)

I racked my brains frantically for some way to help.

(It's not the right thing to ask the Crown. It's selfish of me to want to help, but.....)

Kate: "Can you at least let me take her to the hospital?"

William: "......"

I held the sleeping girl in my arms tightly.

(If not all of them, then at least the one I'm holding in my arms right now.....I don't want to give up now)

Until now, I have stopped at closed doors and pretended not to see them.

But now, I am standing behind a closed door.

(If I can take one step forward...and then another step)

Kate: "Of course, I'm in a position to be monitored. I know I can't act alone when you guys are on a mission."

Kate: "I'll be back as soon as I leave her. I promise not to tell anyone about the situation either....!"

Alphonse: "What if we say we don't trust you....?"

Kate: "In that case....."

Elbert: "In that case.......?"

(This is a sneaky way to do this, but......)

Kate: ".....If I go to the hospital on my own, you'll have to go after me, right?"

Kate: "You have been given the task of watching over me by her Majesty, the Queen."

Al and El: "............."

Roger: "Heh. You're going to use us as leverage to get us to come in handy on your mission?"

Kate: *gulps*

(Even if it's cunning, even if it's not powerful enough to save them all, even if it's selfish)

(I can't leave her in a place like this)

Kate: ".......Y-Y-Yes."

William: "Hehahahaha!"

Kate: "!?"

William: "Can't believe you're trying to bargain with us....."

William: "You got some nerve, Kate?"

One eyebrow jumps up and William shakes his shoulder in amusement.

(Eh.....Huh.....?)

I was prepared to be criticized, but he smiled so happily that I didn't know what kind of face to make.

William: "I'd love to see you take advantage of us, but unfortunately.....that will have to wait until another time."

Kate: "! Then."

(Will you let me take her to the hospital.....?)

William: "Ah look, my men are here."

Soon after, the doors of the workhouse open quietly and a group of men entered without making a noise.

Alphonse: "Fufu....as always spectacular, isn't it? Servants wearing black. They look like an army of ants."

Kate: "T-They are....?"

William: "These are the people who chose to do this nasty job, who like to be dictated to by my selfishness."

William: "When numbers count, they are all over England. Ethan, on behalf of everyone, say hello to Kate."

A man, with ash gray hair, stepped out of the bunch and bowed reverently.

Ethan: "I am the head butler. I rarely appear like this, but I would like to make your acquaintance."

Kate: ".......Thank you for your help. My name is Kate. Pleased to meet you."

After a hasty bow, he had a few small conversations with William and then descended to the basement quietly as they came.

Roger: "They came early. You, by the way, were almost certain this place was dirty."

William: "Well, that's how it was."

William: "Kate, they will take the people in the basement to the hospital. Are you relieved now?"

(Huh.....)

Kate: "Forgive me! I made a mistake...."

Roger: "It's fine. Knowing the possibility that William was arranging it, Alphonse and I were also at fault."

Alphonse: "Oh my, can you please not make me look bad?"

Kate: "H-How embarrassing....I want to go inside a hole and never come out....."

William: "What's so embarrassing about it?"

William: "You raised your voice without fear. You're the most charming person I've ever met."

William's knuckles caress my flaming cheeks.

(.....?)

His eyes seemed to be on me with a slightly different kind of heat than before.

My heart was filled with a restless feeling as if something hot was stirring deep inside my body.

William: "My eyes were not deceiving me."

William: "You are noble, greedy,.....kind and strong."

Chapter 9

[miryum]

A Roll of the Die (Spot Conlon x Reader)

New York was divided into levels. Levels that made up skyscrapers and classes of wealth. There were the rich people- the top tier of New York City. Then there were the people directly under them, middle class who were their assistants or worked away at the bank or as a maid and butler. There was also the lower class. The people who had two or three jobs, scavenging away for the smallest scrap of money. Maybe seamstresses, factory workers, or newsies. And then there was the lowest of all of New York. The street rats. The homeless. The scabbers. 

Y/n hated the levels of New York. As she was on the bottom, her opinion would make sense. Y/n made a living as a scabber. She worked many small jobs- wherever she could find them. Most of the time, she sold newspapers alongside the newsies. She wasn’t officially a part of the newsie ranks, nor did she ever intend to join them, but it was a somewhat stable job that helped her maintain enough money for her and her family to eat, so in her book, it was a mighty fine job. 

However, Y/n got wind of a strike that was stirring in the newsie ranks. Her scabber friends, Mark and Joseph told her that the newsies were upset at the raise in price and were deciding to do something about it. Apparently, the newsies had stopped Mark and Joseph from buying papes yesterday while Y/n was off sewing clothes with her sister. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” Y/n groaned once she heard the news as the trio slowly made their way to the circulation centre. “You let them stop you from buying papes? What about your day's work? And now you’re telling me I should stop getting an honest day’s pay?”

“They’ll beat you up if you don’t.” Mark warned.

“Like they’d beat up a girl.” Y/n chuckled. She hopped down onto the street, a carriage barely missing her. Joseph pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

“I heard that they even got Spot Conlon on board,” Joseph gossiped. 

“That little guy?” Y/n rolled her eyes. “What’s he gonna do to me?”

“You’re not scared of him?” Mark laughed incredulously.

“No.” Y/n shrugged. The three of them got to the gate of the circulation centre and as Mark and Joseph joined the growing ranks of newsies, Y/n nonchalantly stepped up to the counter. 

“Hi Weisel.” Y/n grinned, “200 papes please?”

Weisel raised a brow. “Really? You of all people not joining the strike? Thought you scabbers would wanna change the laws.” He then turned and yelled, “200 papes for the girl!”

“Not so loud!” Y/n hissed, “the newsies can’t know I’m buying.” 

“Looks like they already do.” Weisel smirked and nodded to the crowd around her. 

Y/n sighed and reluctantly turned to face the throng. She was surrounded by angry and expectant newsies. Mark and Joseph looked worried from the back. Weisel slid the pack of papes towards her and gestured for his money. Y/n slammed her coins down and Weisel happily took them. 

“What are you doin’?” The lead newsie asked. It didn’t sound like a question. 

“Buying papes,” Y/n snorted a laugh. “Obviously.” Life on the streets had shown her to act indifferent until the first punch was thrown.

“Haven’t you heard about the strike?” Another newsie with a cigar hanging from his lips asked.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t buy papes,” another said. “We won’t allow it. For the strike to work, no one can sell papes.”

“Yeah, but some of us need to eat,” Y/n pointed out. She took her papers and started out the clump of newsies. They blocked her and Y/n stepped back into the middle of the circle. She squared her shoulders. Y/n didn’t like being surrounded. The odds weren’t in her favour and it made her feel trapped.

“You can’t sell papes!” The first newsie argued. He seemed to be their leader. “We’re in this together. I know you wanna get your money, but just cause we make pennies doesn’t give them the right to rub our noses in it. Are you gonna roll over and let Pulitzer pick your pocket? They need to respect your rights! All we ask for is a square deal. I told your buddies this yesterday, and Imma tell you this today: for the sake of every overworked kid in this whole city, I beg you. Throw down your papers and join the strike.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Real nice speech you got going on there. Worked on my friends.” She jerked a head towards Mark and Joseph. “But… it’s not gonna work on me. I need this. More than any of you. You know nothing of my life and how hard it’s been. I need to get my money. I need to feed my siblings. No one else will feed them except me. And without you lot on the streets, maybe I’ll actually be able to buy some food for myself. Ever think of that?”

Someone pushed through the crowd. A teenage boy stopped in front of her. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen with a cap pulled low over his dirty blond hair. His blue eyes pierced hers. “Listen… goil,” he finally decided on before continuing, “do you know who I am?” 

“No.” Y/n deadpanned. 

“Spot Conlon. King of Brooklyn.” The boy smirked. 

“Am I supposed to be impressed by that?” The newsies all fell silent. No one had ever talked back to Spot Conlon before. 

Spot huffed. “If you weren’t a goil, you’d be on the ground, bleeding after the soaking I gave you.”

“Then do it.” Y/n challenged. “I’ve been beaten up before.”

“Listen,” Spot ignored her comment, “I didn’t come all the way from Brooklyn for this strike just for some scabber to mess it up.” 

“Sorry, Spot Conlon,” Y/n pushed him aside and the newsies gasped. “but I gotta go.” 

“Did you just… push me?” Spot gaped. 

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Leave us,” Spot Conlon waved everyone away. His newsies pushed all the other boroughs away to leave Y/n and him alone. Y/n felt a stir of panic in her chest. What was about to happen? 

“So,” Spot laid an arm around Y/n shoulders. She shrugged him off and replaced him with her papes. “Where do we start?”

“What?”

“I’ve never sold in ‘Hattan before. Where do you sell?” Spot asked. 

“What are you doing?” Y/n squinted at him. “What’s your angle? Your tactic?”

“No tactic, doll, just wanna help you sell.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

 “Where do you sell, doll?” 

Y/n rolled her eyes at his insistence. “Fine. But the first sign that you’re manipulating me, I’m ditching you.” 

“Fine by me.” Spot stayed at her side as she walked to her selling spot, seeming to take it all in. He seemed relaxed, hands in pockets and looking around casually. Y/n’s wariness of the boy hadn’t gone away, but after a while, she felt herself loosen up a bit and step into the newsie role.

Y/n had one of the best days selling. With no other newsies around, people flocked to her to get their hands on the news. Some asked her where the others were and Y/n replied with, “they’re on strike.”

If her customers had been poorer, they would’ve looked on with confusion and disdain, wondering and judging her for not joining her friends to try for a better life. However, her patrons were richer and simply complimented her on staying true to business and even tipped her extra.

At the end of the day, Y/n’s bag was brimming with coins, leaving her smiling proudly. This would certainly provide a couple meals for her family. 

Y/n had expected Spot to try and disway her from selling, but he just found a bench to lounge on, watching her and the passerby’s intently. 

“You’d make a good newsie,” he commented lightly after the day had passed.

“I’ll never be a newsie.” Y/n said hotly, as if taken personal offence. “I’m a scabber.”

“Do you ever do work in Brooklyn?” Spot asked, looking at her as they walked.

“Not usually.” 

Spot hummed. “You should.”

“Why’s that?” This time, it was Y/n’s turn to look at him inquisitively. 

“I’d get to see you more.” Spot smiled softly. A group of young men passed them and Spot instinctively took Y/n’s arm, guiding her carefully past them. Once they were gone, Spot’s demeanour eased up and offered Y/n his arm. Y/n shook her head and pushed him away. 

“This is all a ploy to try and get me to join the strike,” Y/n said dismissively.

“How is me wanting to see you going to get you to join the strike?” Spot chuckled lightly. 

Y/n was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t know, but I know you’re smart enough that you have an endgame.”

“Aw!” Spot nudged her. “You think I’m smart.”

“Listen, bud.” Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about you. I know your true colours. I know not to trust you. I’m not joining the strike and I’m not working in Brooklyn. End of story. Goodbye.” Y/n then turned on her heel and walked up a set of stairs that led to her family’s apartment.

**

A week had passed when Y/n’s sister shared some interesting news with her. “Y/n, can you do me a favour?”

“Anything,” Y/n instantly replied, looking up from her mother- mandated sewing.

“Well, there’s a job opportunity that pays really well that’s been offered to me.” Her sister said hesitantly, a large smile growing over her face.

“Really?!” Y/n set her sewing down. “That’s great! When do you start?”

“Tomorrow. But, there’s a catch,” her sister sat down next to her. “It’s in Brooklyn and I would need you to walk me back and forth.” Y/n’s brows tightened and her sister quickly exclaimed, “But you could come back to ‘Hattan during the day to work and all I need is someone else to walk me so I stay safe! It’s really not that far away. With the pay increase, maybe I could catch a trolley some days? Or you could get a job in Brooklyn too.”

“I’m really happy for you and what this means for the family,” Y/n started, “so yes, I’ll walk you. But how did you get the job?”

“Well, see, that’s the odd part. A kid just came up to me one day and said that he knew someone who was looking for workers. He introduced me to the guy, and here we are!”

“Who was the kid?”

“Um, I think his name was Spot Connon? Or something?”

“Spot Conlon?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Do you know him?” 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

**

It seemed too big of a coincidence for Y/n as she marched next to her sister, walking her to work. And when Spot Conlon was seen selling papes on the next corner over, it felt too bad to be true. After she had ushered her sister inside to her new job, Y/n strode up to Spot and jabbed a finger in his chest, disrupting the few customers around him. “What the hell, Spot?!” She cried.

“Geez, Y/n,” Spot grinned. “Came all the way to Brooklyn just for me?”

“Why’d you get my sister that job? How dare we even talk to her! Stay away from me and my family and stop trying to get me to join the strike!”

“The strike’s over, doll.” Spot chuckled, waving his papes in her face. Y/n stood for a moment, processing his words. “Now, would you like to apologise for storming over here and disturbing my sales?” His words were coy and made her want to slap him.

“Just, come here!” Y/n growled, pulling him away from the customers.

“An impromptu make out session?” Spot teased, “I’m down.”

“Shut it, Conlon.” The girl turned to face him. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.”

“Y/n, I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” Spot’s demeanour changed drastically. “I wanna be your friend. I like being around you. If you didn’t hate me, I might even ask you out. I should be asking you the question of why don’t you like me?”

Y/n bristled, startled by his confession. “Because,” she hesitated, “because you were trying to get me to join the newsies. All my life I’ve had to look out for me and my family. I’ve had to scrape along the bottom of the barrel just to survive. It doesn’t seem fair that instead of working hard and being unhappy and burnt out, you guys earn the same amount of money but you’re happy while doing it. You have friends. You’re loved.”

Spot tilted his head. “Doesn’t your family love you?”

“They’re too busy.” Y/n muttered, shaking her head. “Mom and dad work two jobs each just to pay rent so it falls on me to earn money for food and clothes. It’s not fair.”

“Nothing about life is fair.” 

“Could you offer some sympathy instead of truth?” Y/n asked snarkily.

“Isn’t truth better than wool over your eyes?” Spot retorted easily.

After a moment, Y/n muttered, “how did you become so smart?”

Spot grinned. “I’ve always been smart, doll. You’ve just been too dumb to see it.”

“I have the same street smarts as you,” Y/n said. “It’s not my fault if I don’t have proper schooling.” Y/n’s hands balled into fists and she glared harshly at him. Spot noticed and gently took one of her hands in his. Y/n jumped back, but kept her hand in his. Her jaw tightened and Spot slowly reached up to cup her face, running his thumb over her tense jaw and then moving his hand up to her eyebrows, thumbing the space between them, making her relax.

“You’re right,” Spot whispered. “None of this is your fault. It’s a bad roll of the dice. But we can make the best outta it. We can make friends and family outta it. You can’t spend your life in misery, especially if you have people looking out for you.”

“Are you looking out for me?” Y/n was hesitant in asking her question. 

“I thought I’d made that perfectly clear,” Spot said, cocking his head slightly. “Why else would I seek you out or try and help your family? It’s not everyday I see a pretty girl. I wanna hold onto her while I can.”

Y/n exhaled a laugh, looking away from Spot. He frowned and tilted her chin toward him, forcing her to meet his eye. “Why’re you laughing? Do you think you’re a joke?” He asked, “Do you think I’m joking about you being beautiful?”

“Spot,” Y/n gently pushed his hands away from her face. “I’m a scabber. I know daughters of CEO’s might be a little outta your league, but anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“But I don’t want just anyone,” Spot muttered. “I want you.”

The tension in the air held the words aloft. Did he really mean it? Slowly, waiting for Y/n to stop him, though she never did, Spot stepped closer to her. “Is this okay?”

Y/n nodded. She couldn’t trust her words. Before Spot’s lips could brush hers, Y/n wondered, “are you sure you want to?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, doll.” Spot smirked slightly. And then he kissed her.

[lo0cifer]

@voorice-corp this one goes out to you pookie I am LORE DROPPING WHAT I HAVE NOW!!!!! (if there's a way to respond to reblogs I do NOT know how I am a total newbie to Tumblr despite using it for years lol)

ANYWAYS IM GOING TO ANSWER THE QUESTION FROM YOUR REBLOG AND THEN GET INTO THE REAAALLL BIG BUSINESS!!!

Is he a bird mutant?: no! But i LOVE the thinking:))!! He's just a normal mutant, and in his old versions he actually used to have to munch on flesh for energy but I ended up scrapping it in his present version... The actual reason he wears feathers all throughout his outfit is actually because he's a casino owner!! His design is inspired by vintage casino costumes and stuff and I thought it would give him a lot of flare!

Also I would really love to hear about your headcanons about that since a bird mutant sounds SICK!! :D

OK SO INFO INFO TIME

Vermin is a mutant that owns a casino in the G4 district! :3 He worked at the Myers corporation as an engineer, but his job also had a more gruesome touch to it. Vermin runs his own casino and his husband, Adrienne, works alongside him. However, the casino has a certain energy that draws people in other than the desire to fill your pockets (or blow all your cash and hit the streets)

Long story short he guts people that overstay their welcome and uses them to make scary robot employees that work at the casino rather than humans

Then he sells their organs...with the help of his husband :3!! Yeah!!! Holding hands while gutting folks like fish sure is the life...

Just look at them.

They just love each other so much guys they KILL for eachother (more on that later ho ho ho you guys are in for a TREAT!!!! >_<...when I'm able to draw out the lore scenes JAJAJA SHHH)

Vermin also has albinism! He can't see very well at all but is able to make his way around pretty good! He has a difficult time with his work with his vision but he is able to make some pretty good handy work! He prefers using touch instead of his sight to better grasp his work!! :D if he needs an extra hand he has his husband to help him because they're silly and I love them

But yeah he's very vicious and WILL bite you!!! (He's actually very kind and gentle guys but he will still bite you) ((just for money of course))

BUT YEAH ONCE ME AND MY BOYFRIEND BEGIN WRITING UP MORE LORE I'LL KEEP YOU GUYS UPDATED!!! The new version doesn't have much for me to yap about but we have things PLANNEDDDDDD bro!!!! IM SORRY IF THIS ISNT ENOUGH SUSTENANCE BUT ITS COOL AND ITS WHAT I GOT!!!

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR ENJOYING MY WORK!!!! I'LL TRY TO POST MORE SOON :3

[coolincorporated]

Hip pouch!

I have difficulty with inspiration and motivation which causes my creativity to die and that makes me even more depressed!

I have this 1 friend, he is always there trying to help keep me going, I can only talk to him online as we live on opposite sides of the planet and time zones make things even more difficult!

I owe him so much for all of his help but I can't even give him a hug!

He always wants to know what I'm working on but I hate showing work in progress, however, my current project is still technically a work in progress but I'm not going to finish it as I don't want to waste time working on something I'm not happy with, also, I don't want to waste any more materials!

I'm not happy about the way it turned out, regardless of pinning, the material kept moving very slightly which means it's not very tidy, if I was happy with how it looks, I was going to add bias binding around the edges to make it look even more neater!

This is actually a design for leather but I decided to try making it out of scrap denim as I have run out of leather and I don't have any money to get more!

This is a hip pouch that is big enough to hold a smart phone and a notebook/slim camera or 2 smart phones if you have a really bad phone obsession.

There is a belt loop on the back and a simple popper fastener on the front, in between the 2 main pockets is a small pocket just the right size for a credit/debit card.

The overall size is approx 17.5 x 11.5 cm - 7 x 4.5 inch.

Front view.....

Back view.....

Inside view..... The middle pocket is the card pocket!

So yeah, I guess you could say I tried but I think it's just another fail!

It would be so much beatter if I had made it out of leather!

Also, if I had an actual work space, like a craft room to do my crafting instead of a small desk in the corner of my bedroom, I would be able to do so much more!

All sewing was done with my old Singer hand-crank sewing machine.

[izzy-b-hands]

Day One: Negotiations or Swords

It's Ed's birthday, the first one with Stede and Izzy working together to buy him gifts.

SFW, fairly short, and silly lol

---

"You can't just buy him a sword," Stede scoffs. "He has plenty!"

"No reason to not have another," Izzy sets aside what has to be the fiftieth sword he's looked at in the shop. "Not this one though. Besides, is that not a sword in your hands now?"

"It's a letter opener!"

"For what size of letter would you ever need a letter opener that big?"

"Maybe another shop could service you both better," the shopkeeper says.

"Oh no," Stede chuckles. "You're the last one in the port that we haven't been to yet! It has to be here, or nothing at all!"

"You've answered your own question then," she says brightly, and suddenly they're both being tugged to and tossed out the door.

She yanks the letter opener from Stede's hands, and just like that, neither of them has anything for Ed's birthday.

"Do you think the shop with sweets is still open?" Stede ponders as they watch the sun begin to set.

"An hour ago, yes," Izzy replies. "I'm not going back without something. I've never missed a birthday gift for him yet, and I'm not starting now."

"Surely you've had one slip up!"

"Yeah, and that night I spent escaping the local jail," Izzy mutters. "Ed loved the key to the cells that I gave him though."

"Fuck off, that's clever."

"Clever is a generous word for it. Was all I had on me."

"Well, what have you got on you now?"

Izzy pats down his pockets. "Bit of glass from the beach. You?"

Stede grins and pulls something from his jacket pocket. "Bit of interesting metal I nearly stabbed into my hand when I tripped near one of the smithing shops. I've had an idea."

Fifteen minutes and an alarming amount of combined money and begging to one of the smiths later, and they have it:

A tiny, delicate sword, with a blade made of Stede's scrap metal and a hilt of Izzy's sea glass.

"The only way we could have improved on this is to have cleaned out the sweets shop too," Stede says as they make their way back to the beach. "When did you pick up that glass, by the way? I don't recall seeing you looking for any when we left everyone."

"Might have gone ashore early, looking for myself," Izzy makes the most hesitant eye contact with him. "What of it?"

"I'm glad you did."

"Oh."

Izzy's hand slips into Stede's the closer they get to the bonfire on the beach, and to the rest of the crew.

"Roach!" Ed calls as he motions them over to him. "You can start serving now; everyone's back!"

"What took so long?" Roach asks. "It's been hours, and the rest of us-"

"I'm sure they had a good reason," Ed interrupts. "No one in the village is dead, right?"

"No, nothing like that," Stede gently nudges Izzy. "I can't wait; let him have it!"

Izzy pulls the tiny sword from his vest pocket. "You'll never guess how much that cost based on how it looks."

Any nerves they had about his reaction disappear as Ed's eyes light up.

"Look at you," he coos to the sword. "So teeny! Absolutely miniscule! Where on earth did you two find this?"

"Stumbled upon it," Stede replies quickly, ignoring the giggle Izzy barely chokes back. "More or less."

"This is almost better than Buttons' gift," Ed smiles. "Thank you; I love it."

"What did Buttons get you?" Stede frowns. "I haven't even seen him since this morning."

"Wrangled a squid so I could swim with it for a bit!"

Stede gives Izzy's hand a gentle reassuring squeeze. There's no way they could have beaten that.

"And the squid and Buttons are now..." Izzy leans back to peer past everyone to the waves.

Ed's eyes go wide. "Probably fine."

"Should we ask Roach to keep the food warm while we-"

Ed nods, and then he's off to the waves rolling onto the sand, calling for Jim and Olu and everyone to sound off if they've seen Buttons, please let them have seen Buttons recently-

But not before he kisses them both, and gently tucks his new sword into one of his jacket pockets, leaving them smiling like idiots while they help search the shore.

[joz-yyh]

Acta Est Fabula - Ch. 5

SUMMARY: Crimson Court AU. Tardif reports back to the Order to protect the one he holds dear. It goes just as horribly as he expected. No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant / Crusader x Highwayman / Vestal x Hellion

RATING: M (violence / swearing)

WORD COUNT: 2,857  

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: Lots of characters introduced in this chapter as well as some lore! There's a reason behind every action and mysteries will be revealed in time. Comments and questions welcome~

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Tardif ascends the marble church steps with a burdensome trudge, the sentries waiting up ahead a familiar pair.

Missandei whistles at his arrival, surprised to see him, “Well, look who it is! We were starting to take bets on whether or not you were dead.”

“Feared the worst had happened,” William concurs, talking with his hands, drawing an invisible arch, “The great Nighthawk finally meets his match, slain at the top of his prime.”

“Teh, ye guys wish,” Tardif badgers, setting the rumors straight, “Ain't no one alive who can beat me.”

“Told you, man,” the female sharpshooter smirks, making a grabby motion with her glove, waiting for the other to pay up.

“Taking money straight outta the dog's mouth, you are,” William sighs, sticking out his lower lip, rummaging through his gear.

The houndmaster finally digs out a small coin purse, but is hesitant, looking down at his canine companion in morose consignment.

“Yeah right,” the arbalest growls, snatching up her winnings, “you know how many scraps I sneak Fergus from under the table? She’s getting fed plenty.”

“Explains why I've had to adjust her harness,” the houndmaster muses, rubbing his chin whiskers in assessment.

With a swivel of her floppy ears, the armor clad pet gives a guilty whimper.

“Serves ye right,” Tardif says, brushing the blonde man's shoulder in a mock punch, “Shoulda never bet against me.”

He takes a step back, eyeing the vanguards expectantly.

“Why do they got you two out here guardin’ the door fer, anyway? Thought ye guys would have better things to do.”

“I definitely do,” Missy adds before jabbing her thumb at the other, “don't know about kibbles and bits over here, though.”

William sighs, his posture a perpetual slump from moping too much, “Enough of your horrible dog puns.”

“But they're so good! Fergus loves my dog puns.”

The shaggy wolfdog barks in reply, making the pony-tailed girl grin.

“Told you!”

“Ignore her,” mumbles William, “I know I do.”

“Hey!”

The brute does just that, blocking out her bravado of puffed cheeks and sore green eyes.

“Ye were sayin’?”

“Right. Guess, the powers that be sent out a battalion while ye were gone. We're just filling in.”

“Hn,” Tardif muses, “Wonder what fer?”

“They didn't say,” the houndmaster drawls, crossing his arms in thought, “Not high enough on the ladder, apparently, strictly ‘need to know,’ but I could find out for you, for a price.

“Tryin’ to earn yer gamblin’ debt back, I see.”

“Any way I can.”

“Nice catchin’ up with ye,” Tardif says, patting them both on the shoulder, stepping past their vigil and into the great hall, “but I should get goin’. They’re expectin’ me.”

“You too,” the arbalest smiles, “good luck in there.”

“I'll be here if you change your mind,” William shrugs, mourning his empty pockets.

Tardif takes a deep breath as he enters the long corridor, ignoring the whispers and stares of those lining it, eyes focused solely ahead. It’s a wearisome walk, one of prejudice and judgment that makes him miss the company of his friends.

Lowly hunters like himself were not as well-received as those who were considered of higher rank. A ass-backwards shame considering others of his caliber had the most to lose, doing the dirty work none of the “purer” folk wanted to sully their hands with.

Another series of guards impede his path, blocking his access to the throne room, a poignant caduceus of axes that nearly clip his nose.

“Halt!”

“You must wait to be announced.”

Tardif swallows down the urge to argue that useless code of conduct. There were far too many stupid rules for his liking.

“Send him in,” Reynauld commands, standing from the dias further inside, “He's late.”

The guards remove their barrier, but sneer at Tardif, thinking him too irreverent for an audience with the knight superior, but Tardif returns their malice, leering right back as he traverses beyond their jurisdiction.

Reynauld seems too preoccupied with the scroll in his hands to pay him any mind, the length of it unfurled around his feet, trailing longer than his cape.

The church of Hamlet was governed by joint authority, Reynauld the decisive hammer of fire and action while Junia had a reputation for healing, a passive, merciful ruler that cherished goodness and virtue.

Tardif strides up to the set of twin thrones, kneeling before them to submit his findings.

“Hunter Darkwing reporting back from codename Rapture.”

“‘bout time,” Dismas barks from the shadows, leaning against one of the long red drapes, “Didn't think it would take ya four whole days, but then again, I was betting on the other guy.”

Of course the crusader’s personal body guard would criticize his work. He and Tardif never did get along, always at each other's throats, this undoubtedly causing more strife.

“That'll do Dismas,” Reynauld advises, looking up from his correspondence, tone gentle despite the scallywag who it’s reserved for.

“Teh, if you say so boss,” he growls, crossing his arms, staring out the window into obscurity.

“Well, I never had a doubt,” Boudica retorts, side-eyeing the ex highwayman, standing proudly with her glaive.

The brute can't help smirking in return, knowing at least the reformed hellion was rooting for him.

“Tardif, how nice to see you again,” the vestal smiles, awash in robes of white gold, the ever present warrior woman by her side.

Just as Reynauld has his right hand man, so too does the vestal have her honor guard, each their own inseparable match.

“I take it the threat has been neutralized,” the knight ventures, skipping past the pleasantries, eager to finish this unsavory business.

“More than that,” Tardif answers.

That earns him the holy crusader's undivided attention. “More? How can it be more? Explain.”

“Got a good reason fer takin’ as long as I did. Not only is the target neutralized, I dispatched the baron along with him.”

The room goes silent, Reynauld stiff as always, Tardif unable to discern his reaction from the narrow gaps in his helmet.

Junia and Boudica waver between shocked and impressed and Dismas is well … Dismas.

Tight-lipped as they are, waiting for the knight to share his verdict, the prodigal messenger instigates it.

“C'mon, don't leave me hangin’ in suspense. Tell me yer impressed.”

“He gotta be shittin’ me with this guy,” Dismas scoffs to himself, trying to hide his laugh of pity, “What an idiot.”

Junia's halo of Light glows brightly, reprehensible of such foul language, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Reynauld, the crusader reconciled for the moment.

"Taking down the entire brood is beyond you, Tardif,” the knight finally speaks, as if preaching to a child, “It does not fall to one man, but to all of us.”

“Didn’t ye hear wot I said,” the huntsman snaps, resentful of Reynauld’s lackluster reception, ”I killed the baron.”

“Yes,” the knight begins, throwing his precious scroll upon the ground, stepping up to the pretentious upstart with self-righteous fury, “I heard you defied orders, took authority beyond your rank and you’re being entirely smug about it, feeling entitled to our praise.”

Despite the knight superior standing before him now, garbed in all his shining, mantled glory, Tardif does not feel the distinction of status, addressing him as he would any other man.

“Who cares ‘bout all that,” the brute argues, doubling down, “I just took out the guy no one else could. Hell, ye should send me out again. Betcha I could slay every last one of ‘em wit’ an arm tied behind my back.”

The knight takes a moment to steel himself, gauntlets gripped into fists, pacifying his enraged tone. “Tardif, while I admit you are an exceptional warrior, you are also arrogant, insubordinate. You fail to grasp what is not your place to decide.”

Tardif can hardly stand the hypocrisy.

“Wot diplomacy is there in killin’ beings already deemed unfit to exist?”

The caped crusader does not entertain this, ignoring his underlings' words, a segway for his own victimized tangent.

“I knew it was a risk choosing you for this task,” the knight laments, bowing his head, “A grave disappointment I now regret. And though it pains me to do so, you’re hereby relieved of your hunter status.”

“Like hell I am,” Tardif barks, done with this charade, turning his back on the injustice, intent on storming out.

A steadfast grip reigns him in by the arm, the apprehender none other than the long-haired wild cat Boudica.

“Do not resist,” the warrior woman advises, a tinge of sympathy in her voice, “you know I have to bring you in.”

“Listen to the lady,” mocks Dismas, striding up to his left, enjoying his fall from grace a bit too much, “wouldn’t want to see ya get hurt.”

“Don't worry,” Tardif smirks, “I won't.”

In another horribly brash decision, the brutish delinquent suckerpunches the scarf-wearing bandit, an elbow jab delivered swiftly between the eyes.

The rebellious Tardif is feeling rather proud of himself, much better once he sees Dismas stagger backwards, blood pouring down from his crooked nostrils.

“Makin’ yer little lap dog do everythin’ fer ye as usual I see,” the axeman taunts, an insult aimed at Reynauld, but he stares at his dark-haired lackey, the injured man snarling, his scarf hanging around his neck to reveal his gruesome face scars.

The ex-highwayman wipes his lip, red droplets speckling the stone floor, drawing his firearm in retaliation, shoving the barrel against Tardif's back. “Go on. Say it again. I dare ya. ”

“Insolent savage,” Reynauld roars, demanding obedience from his flock, “can I teach you nothing of humility?”

“Oh, there is one thing I’ve learned,” Tardif intones, raising a middle finger, “Fuck ye!”

“Tardif, please,” Junia begs, breaking her silence, unable to watch this descent into madness any longer.

“My lady,” the persecuted hunter beseeches, “is this how I am to be repaid for all my years of devoted service? Being stripped and unmade? How many times must I lie naked before ye?”

Junia had been like a mother to him, as much as she could be before being coerced into the tireless position she wields now. A part of her will always see Tardif as a frightened little orphan boy, will seek to protect him above all else, hoping to one day absolve her own sins.

“Reynauld … ,” Junia councils, turning to face her fellow bishop, a chord struck within her, “is this punishment not too harsh? Surely, there must be another way.”

“You are too soft on him,” Reynauld decrees, knowing what angle his disciple was playing, “Let us see how he behaves after a few fastidious nights in prison. Perhaps, if he is remorseful of his actions, I will reinstate his title. Until then, get him out of my sight.”

—-

Dismas shoves Tardif forward, leading him down the stairs, further into the dungeon below.

He’s still sporting his pistol, poking it against the captive’s spine every chance he gets, Boudica’s escort trailing behind them, bottle-necked in such a tight space.

They’re underground, the seedy basement just as historic as the church itself, the old layout left unrenovated since it was built, but then again a prison didn’t have to be inviting. Tardif had visited this place a few times in the past, almost desensitized to it's eeriness.

“That's far enough,” the ex-bandit calls, halting their progress just shy of the empty cell, “Boudica, strip him down.”

Once more, the redhead gives her comrade an emphatic look, the brute raising his arms up in surrender as she moves to relieve him of his weapons.

His belts are unclasped one by one, feeling less like a man and more like a thing, a tool robbed of it’s usefulness, a blade dulled and discarded. The hellion hefts his possessions around her shoulder, hooking his weapons onto her own series of straps while he endures this demeaning penalty.

“That should be everything,” the refurbished warrior announces, taking a step back, dressed to the hilt in his gear, signaling her task complete.

Dismas moves to inspect her work, noticing she's missed one item in particular.

“Forgot this,” Dismas says, ripping off the brute’s scouter.

“That stays wit’ me,” Tardif says, eyes forthright and stern, schooling his tone.

“You growin’ attached to the bloodsuckers or somethin’,” Dismas snickers, raising a brow, dangling the parasite's cage around by the clip, “wouldn’t that be the scandal of the century.”

“Don’t like people takin’ wot’s mine,” Tardif growls, putting on his best poker face. If they take Pierre from him now, the highwayman would probably squash him out of existence or worse.

“Teh, s'pose you two can keep 'nother company,” the ex-highwayman says, tossing the tiny creature at him, “Fine, take it. Don’t say I never gave ya nottin’.”

Tardif catches it, clutching the cage tight to his chest, masking his relief as Dismas shoves the brute inside his cozy new home. The gunslinger means to trip him, but the braided man is too big and his balance too practiced. At most Tardif stumbles, keeping his footing.

“Always knew you were destined for a grimy prison cell,” Dismas smirks, eagerly latching the door closed, locking it with a clatter.

“Always knew yer were destined to take it in the ass,” Tardif parries, face a vindictive glower.

Dismas is understandably incensed by the accusation, snarling as he aims his gun, intending to blow the lips right off his wise-cracking tongue.

“Enough,” Boudica shouts, knocking his gun away with her glaive, the firearm discharging against the bars. The bullet ricochets, missing it’s mark and Tardif silently thanks the Light for the hellion’s quick-thinking reflexes.

She leers at Dismas, anger notched across her nose, hurling a harsh reprimand, “He is our comrade at arms. He deserves some respect.”

“Ain't no more, remember,” the bandit sneers, tearing away from their confrontation to retrieve his pistol from the floor. He curses when he spots a nick in the metal casing, an imperfection caused by her meddling, one he’ll have to grind down if there’s any chance of buffing it out.

“That has yet to be seen,” Boudica says, watching the trigger happy hostile carefully.

Dust filters into the air, the side-shaven bandit following the trail of smoke to track where the pellet struck mortar and stone, prying at the hole with his finger.

“If you ask me,” he drawls, rife with ire, blowing against the debris, “He should rot in here. Better yet if we watch him hang.”

“Only if ye join me there,” Tardif quips.

“You wish.” The gunslinger laughs, twirling his pistol around before holstering it, “Maybe that lil’ bloodsucker there will do us all a favor and drink ya in your sleep.”

He spits at ground near the cell, taking his leave, whistling a funeral march, a trait usually customary of the knight superior.

With him gone the hellion can finally relax, her outward visage finally giving way, allowing her true self to shine.

She strides up to the thick-headed ex-hunter, scolding him through the palisade.

“What were you thinking,” Boudica urges, a grimace upon her face, wrinkling the war paint on her eyes, “You knew your actions would displease Reynauld.”

As much as Tardif trusts the hellion with his life, he cannot burden her with the truth.

“I was thinkin’, ‘ey, if I wipe out all the monsters, then we get a much needed vacation.’”

Her expression eases into a frustrated sigh, shaking her head of dreadlocks, “You are brave, *Kló (Talon), like myself. I admire that, but also very *þrár (stubborn).”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I would expect no less,” Boudica says, her blue eyes serious despite the more light-hearted tone, “I will speak with lady Junia, see what I can do for you. Until then, keep your head down.”

Her words are reminiscent of the shrewd disciplinary lessons Junia would often instill in him, but Boudica had the fierce wild heart to back it up.

“Can't cause much trouble from in here,” the axeman shrugs, looking around the lame accommodations. Bits of straw are scattered about the cell, iron manacles nailed to the wall, a questionably stained bucket positioned in the corner. Well, at least there was a bed, though it wasn’t much more than a weathered slab of wood suspended by chain.

Her dark lips curl into a smirk, recognizing Tardif as the resourceful kind, an underdog never to be outwitted for long.

“Sure you could. I know you.”

“Heh heh, yer right.”

The well-meaning hellion reaches her painted hand through the bars, offering assurances, “Be strong my friend. I will visit again when I can.”

He accepts the gesture, their palms sealing together tightly, making a vow of his own.

“Ye better, else I'll hunt ye down myself.”

A flex of muscle is shared between them, his and then hers, their arms swelling with combined effort.

“If it ever comes to that, I will meet you head on,” she nods, shaking on it before letting go.

The two friends part ways, Tardif watching as her tabard disappears behind a wall of pewter, headed back the same way she came.

[rottencoyote]

for like, idk maybe for like four months i’ve been pissed off at my friend, FOR GOOD REASON BRO I SWEAR! so when i was still doing uni (studying in film for whoever wanted to know, and somehow graduated idea bro that was the big man upstairs doing me a solid for once), me and my friend went on break and walked around the city doing fuck knows what, cause that’s what uni students do ig. she was bored, and i was bored, so i was like “hey! wanna go see my favourite store? sells cool shit” (by cool shit, i mean cool clothing and jewellery and other neat lil nick nacks) and she said “sure id love to!”.

now a thing about my friend is that she likes to steal. actively steal. both because she thinks it’s fun and because she can’t afford what she wants sometimes cause she spends most her money on vapes and weed and a bunch of other psychedelics. before we entered the store, i made her promise not to steal, cause i love and respect the fuck out of this store and i’ve wanted to work there since i was fifteen (and i’m now twenty). she said she promised and swore she wouldn’t take anything, and me being a fucking hopeful and trusting dumb fuck, believed her. now i saw this really sick hoodie, where it was basically a cropped hoodie (STAY WITH ME ON THIS) but it was made to look like a rib cage, so it was fucking cool. the owner sold it to me for 45 bucks, but the hoodie originally costed 55 bucks, so she took ten bucks off cause i fell in love with this hoodie, so i got real fucking hyped and thanked her profusely. now, this is a key thing to remember, cause the tags they used were airtags. the type of tags where it needed to be unlocked with a type of pin at the front desk. otherwise you can’t take that shit off, unless you got scissors (this is also important).

so my friend went into the change room with a BUNCH of clothes, and i waited near the front and had small talk with the store owner, asking if it’s been busy, slow, shit like that. i noticed that my friend is taking a long fucking time, so i go to check on her and ask if she’s good, and she said yes, paused then asked “hey coyote? do you have any scissors in your bag? i need it for my nails”

now this is where a lot of my guilt comes in, cause i genuinely didn’t realise my mistake until it was too late. i said yeah in my bag (which was in the change room with her) and she said thanks. i always carry scissors on me cause i like to scrap book, and if i see anything interesting i cut it out and sample it to put into my sketch book so i get inspired for any future projects.

after like another ten minutes she finally comes out, but i notice two things. the first was that there were significantly less clothes than when she walked into the change rooms with, and the second thing was noticing something sticking out of her pocket.

SHE CUT THE FUCKING TAGS OFF WHEN I TOLD HER NOT TO FUCKING STEAL. SHE EVEN PROMISED ME MULTIPLE TIMES TOO!!!!

like????

now i’m freaking out, cause i don’t want to get roped into this. and she kept on trying to reassure me and said it’s fine she’s a ‘pro’ at this. bro idgaf you promised me and BROKE that promise. the lady asked where the clothes were, and my friend said in the free clothes box. so i go and check, literally emptying the box while thinking “she’s fucked, i’m fucked, we’re BOTH fucked, god PLEASE no” just planning out my fucking funeral atp, and the woman goes to the BOTH OF US “empty your bags, now.”

i watched her empty her bag, fucking cringing and mortified, just watching the store owner tear into her, saying she has to pay for all of it. i started apologising profusely, telling her i didn’t know she was going to do this, just kept on saying i’m sorry over and over again, cause i’m livid, mortified, just fucking humiliated at my friend. BRO, THE STOREOWNER DEADASS LOOKED ME IN THE EYE, AND SAYS THAT I WAS IN ON IT?? HUH??? KEEP IN MIND THERES LIKE FOUR OTHER PEOPLE IN THE STORE WATCHING THIS HAPPENING AND WERE JUST JUDGING US. (which i don’t blame them, cause it was a fucking shitshow and a half). the storeowner asked her how did she even do this, and she said “i used my nails to cut the fabric”…bro come ON LIKE-

you could tell she used scissors, CAUSE SHE DID. MY DAMN SCISSORS THAT WERE IN MY BAG. CAUSE IM A STUPID FUCKING DUMB FUCK WHO REALISED WHAT SHE WAS DOING WAY TOO FUCKING LATE.

i genuinely wanted to fucking cry AND die man, right then and there. i was so unbelievably humiliated and embarrassed cause my fucking friend couldn’t keep her damn hands to herself and couldn’t keep her promise. the storeowner said that she did the same thing at our age, and said she wouldn’t call the cops on us, i tried saying sorry again and that i never meant for my friend to do this, and pretty much got shut down again and that the storeowner didn’t want to hear my excuses. i ended up dragging my friend out from there and tearing her a new one, saying how i can never show my face there or even step foot into that store again, and she kept saying sorry, but also tried to joke about it?? which only made me more fucking angry, cause any chance i had of working there was just fucking trampled, chewed and spat onto the fucking dirt because of her.

i feel guilty cause i was unknowingly involved until it was too late, but i’m angry and hurt because she promised me that she wouldn’t steal from there, but did it anyways and didn’t give two shits, and that i got pulled into it and blamed because if she was stealing, then that meant i was stealing too. idk man, cause it’s been four months and it’s STILL bugging me, cause it was literally MY DREAM to work there. it sucks man. it really fucking sucks.

[alwaysthesitter]

Disney starter for @fragmcntdstars Inspired by Disney's Aladdin

His father couldn't know, he had had to sneak out as swiftly as possible. The palace was always heavily guarded, yet sometimes he swore that the guards had even less brain cells than he did. All it really had taken was finding something to tug on over his head to hide his appearance as best as possible, waiting until the opportune moment, and climbing the wall. He had plenty of athletic experience, it really hadn't been all that difficult.

Now that he was in the town, however, he was feeling incredibly overwhelmed. For most of his life he had been isolated, his parents - his father specifically - pressing for him to be protected at all costs. Part of him thought it was because his dad genuinely cared, though an even bigger part of him thought that it was because his dad was ashamed that he wasn't the son he wanted, and hiding him away was the easier option. Then all this shit about marriage started coming about, and how the only son of the kingdom needed to hold out for the best.

So yeah, he hadn't really seen much - if anything - outside of the palace walls. The hustle and bustle of the streets was incredibly different from his norm; the loud street merchants trying to get people to buy their goods, the people that pushed past each other without even acknowledging one another's existence. He had never seen the poverty levels, either. This was what was beyond those walls? Why was his father hoarding money, and not helping these people?

His eyes had fallen on a little boy who was picking crumbs off the ground, as if scrounging for something to eat. Steve immediately ran over to him, kneeling in front of him with a soft smile. "Hey, hey it's okay. I've got you. What would you like?" He asked him softly, the little boy pointing up to the display of fresh fruits. Steve gave a nod, reaching into his pocket and noticing he hadn't brought any money. He hadn't needed it before, and he hadn't even considered it when sneaking out.

What was one banana though, right? Steve reached for it, taking it from the cart and handing it to the little boy. "Here. No more scraps for you, you've got that?" He winked, before he was letting out a harsh cry as he was grabbed by the wrist, tugged back towards the merchant. "What do we have here, a little thief?" Steve huffed, yanking his wrist away harshly. "What, you'd rather let a small boy starve than lose a few dollars? What kind of monster are you?" "What did you say to me?" "You heard me, asshole. That boy was - "

Steve Harrington had never been in a fight before, but he was certain if he had been, he would have been told he needed to plant his feet. Something like that. Because he was instantly knocked right across the cheek bone, hard and solid, pushing him back until he stumbled and fell into the walkway of the crowded market, some gasps and some murmurs but people just bustling on.

[ladyanonymous]

Hello, can I have a request about Pre-serum Steve if your request open please?

With the modern au, Steve helped a woman by picking up her necklace and return to her.

He didn't know who she is, until Bucky and him went the bar and he saw the woman sat in the VVIP couch zone. Someone told them that she's a mobster leader and the owner of this bar.

Then she treat Steve and Bucky's drinks. When they drunk, Steve feel someone kiss him but he doesn't know who did this.

He wakes up, a 💋 on his dog tag and a card is written

“We’ll meet again, golden boy.”

Thank you😌😌💖💖

Absolutely! Thank you for your request! I will start working on it :)

Golden Boy

Part I

Warnings: None

Type of Writing: fluff, bit flirtatious

Requests: requested by @thousandnighstwhithmammon

Enjoy my loves!

I was in a quick rush to get to work. I definitely didn’t want Mr. Phillips mad at me again. I had been late a lot this week. I grab my shoes and put them on quickly. I look around for my purse. I grab it quickly, on the way out the door I grab my necklace. I lock up my apartment and start my journey towards work. I work at Fancy’s Diner as a waitress. It’s been quite nice but the money is not worth it for the respect I get from some of the men. I finally make it to the sidewalk and am practically jogging to work. There is a bunch of “Pardon me” and “I’m sorry.” As I am jogging I run into someone coming from the alley way.

I trip over my heels and fall. I scrap my elbow against the concrete.

I hear a “Ma’am. Ma’am, are you alright? I’m so so sorry I didn’t even see you. Are you alright?” I turn around and look up at the man. I gasp. He goes wide eyed thinking I was upset or something. But, no this has to be the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I stare at him for a couple more seconds trying to catch my breathe.

“Miss, are you okay?” He asks worriedly. He reaches a hand out to me. I take it.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I stand there for a minute or two. The man starts fidgeting with his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Y/N Y/L.” We both shake hands. “I would love to talk more, but I am already late for work.” As I point in the direction of the diner. “Oh okay. Don’t let me hold you up.” He grins. I giggle and smile. This man makes me so happy and I barely know him. “See you later.” As I twiddle my fingers with a motion of goodbye. “Yeah, see you later.” He whispers as I am already jogging away. He turns to walk away and spots something shiny on sidewalk. He leans down to pick it up and realizes this must be my necklace that I was holding. He turns to the direction I jogged in and sees nothing. He sighs and holds onto it with hope that he will see me again one day

[ladydaemon]

HOME IS THE TWO OF US

jesper fahey x female! reader

A/N: this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge - i chose to combine 'you and i' by queen and 'two of us' by the beatles. and yeah this is more than two weeks later than when i said i would post this what about it

Summary: jesper and y/n have a wonderful night on ghezen's day

Warnings: swearing, i think that's it? its literally just pure indulgent fluff

"You do realize someone probably worked very hard to earn kruge like this, right?" Y/N L/N grinned, holding up a thick wad of money they had stolen from someone's pockets. She was seemingly unperturbed by the fact, her tone light and teasing as she bumped playfully into Jesper.

"And we, my dear, are working very hard on spending it," Jesper winked, wrapping one of his long arms around her shoulders. He snatched the kruge from her hand, immediately spending a portion of it on the first thing he laid eyes on, which was a ridiculously bright orange hat that burned Y/N’s eyes just looking at.

Jesper plopped it on her head, adjusting it so it was crooked, laughing.

Y/N would have done anything to hear that laugh.

The streets were loud and boisterous and carefree, and for the first time in a very long while, the two of them felt the same way. For today, at least, there were no chores or errands or jobs to do.

It was Ghezen's Day - the holiday that signified the starting of spring, where everything was sunny and bright. It was the one day where even the lowest of the Barrel thugs were out enjoying this tiny sliver of happiness, where there was only whistling vendors and cheery parades and star-gazing at night.

But for Y/N and Jesper, it was something more. It was a day where they weren't con artists or thieves or sharpshooters. They weren't thugs or gamblers or criminals.

They were teenagers.

Kaz, of course, pretended like he didn't care. He rolled his eyes and told them that were just trying to get away from chores they despised or any actual work. But everyone knew, even if they didn't admit it, that today was a day where they could pretend.

Pretend to be normal, pretend to be regular, pretend that they had loving families and good homes. Pretend that the weight of being hated and criminalized and addicted didn't make their shoulders slump and their heads hang. Pretend that they didn't muffle their sobs behind closed doors or shake in bed as they tried to rid their minds of all the horrible, treacherous, necessary things they had done.

Pretend that they were just a pair of inseparable best friends having a good holiday.

"C'mon, we need to find a good spot to see the sky," Jesper needled, taking Y/N by the arm and dragging her toward a carriage, elbowing a small, old lady out of the way and almost running them over a few small children on the way.

On Ghezen's Day, an hour after the sun set, the city mandated that all lights be shut off - the sky was clearer than it ever was in the hours that followed, and nearly everyone over the age of twelve stayed up until dawn, watching the sky. However, there was still pollution in the city, remainders of the gas and oil and muck churned up from the sea and the homes of the wealthy, and many preferred to ride to the outskirts of town, if not all the way into the country, where the sky was more visible.

Those towns that bordered between rural and urban, which never saw much tourism or profit, were the most popular places to be, full of tents for dancing outside and vendors selling foreign delicacies and musicians standing in the streets.

And as such, it was almost impossible to get a carriage out of the city without deploying either bony knees, steel-capped boots, or vicious elbows.

And that was exactly what was happening as people shoved and hassled people out of the way, even occasionally pulling out thick wads of kruge, trying to bribe other people in getting out of the limited selection of carriages going out of the city.

"The woman with the black shawl," Y/N whispered (though she needn't have bothered - the city was loud enough to mask any noise), leaning in and brushing her lips against Jesper's ear so he could hear her.

She could’ve sworn she felt him shudder.

"Ten minutes. No less."

"Twenty kruge.”

"Done."

Y/N grinned, slipping out of Jesper's hold and sauntering over to the woman in question, a pretty red-head. The woman was obviously rich (Y/N took a moment to appreciate the elegant dark blue dress she was wearing, paired with pretty gold earring and a matching necklace) and was about to step into a black carriage - one that Y/N was about to charm her out of.

"Hey there, miss," Y/N called out, putting on the face of an entitled, flirtatious mercher. "You wouldn't mind sharing the carriage, would you? I can’t seem to find an available one, and I’d rather share one with a beautiful lady such as yourself instead of some of those Barrel barbarians.”

The woman stopped halfway into her seat, looking back at Y/N.

If Y/N hadn’t been wearing the obviously expensive clothes she was, with the even more expensive diamond necklace around her throat (that Jesper had given her last Ghezen’s Day, as a present), the woman would have simply shut the carriage door in Y/N’s face.

Then there was the fact that she was gorgeous, and nobody in their right mind would refuse a two hour carriage ride alone with her.

That was Jesper’s opinion, at least.

“I could say the same about you,” the mercher grinned, opening the door wider.

Y/N smiled back, stepping into the carriage and placing her hand delicately on the other woman’s arm-

And swiftly shoved her into the streets, slamming the door behind her. Jesper climbed in from the other side, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Cruel.”

“Please, I slipped fifty kruge in her sleeve, she’ll be fine.”

“Ah. In that case, proceed. I don’t like anyone flirting with my Y/N, anyway.”

Y/N smirked at him, handing the driver a wad of kruge and telling him to step on it.

“Criminals,” he muttered, snapping the reins.

~

"Heels down, Y/N, love," Jesper shouted, grinning.

Y/N, switching the reins to one hand, flipped him off, scowling, but adjusted her feet in the stirrups anyways, forcing her heels downward and huffing when her calves ached. “I hate you.”

“We both know you love me,” Jesper shouted back, easing back into a trot - Y/N did the same, easing her weight further into the balls of her feet and gripping the saddle tighter between her knees. Beside her, Jesper had already done the same, posting in time with his horse’s gait.

“Where are we going again?” Y/N asked, panting as she slowed her horse down to a full stop.

“Absolutely nowhere.”

“Do we’re going nowhere, and basically getting nowhere and you want me to be happy about all this work?”

“Yes? You’re being blessed with my presence.” Mock indignation filled the words and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” Jesper huffed, “let’s go back home.”

But home wasn’t always a place, was it?

~

”Come on, I’m hungry,” Y/N whined, pulling Jesper’s wrist with her as she power-walked through the crowded, small town in search of some sweets.

”Ooh, cinnamon honey cakes,” Jesper said dryly, almost smacking into Y/N when she came to a full, screeching halt.

”Don’t you dare joke about honey cakes,” she hissed, poking him in the chest.

”I wasn’t,“ Jesper chuckle, nodding toward the vendor selling the sweets in question.

Y/N gasped audibly, dragging him along with her as she practically sprinted for the cart.

”After this, we’re going straight to the pond. We don’t want anyone to steal our spot.”

~

Y/N flopped down on her bed, staring at her wall of paper in boredom.

Each scrap of parchment, every napkin with hastily scribbled writing in the back, was a letter from Jesper.

Every week, no matter where Jesper was at the moment, he would write her a letter - describe where he was in detail, and then every thought that came to mind. It was a strange tradition (that nobody remembered how it came about) that Nina liked to tease them about.

You two have separation anxiety, she would giggle. Like an overprotective mother and her baby.

Two best friends, actually, Y/N would respond, stuffing her face with waffles.

Um, no. Would ‘best friends’ write, and I quote, “I’ll be home soon” on every letter they write?

Yes, they would, Y/N would sigh, snatching whichever letter Nina had gotten ahold of that time, and stare at the phrase in question.

Because home wasn’t a place.

~

“Stop doing that,” Jesper whined, plucking the lit match from Y/N’s fingers and tossing it into the pond.

She huffed, sticking out her tongue and lighting another one, waiting until it had burned down to her fingers before flinging it into the lake. “It’s a habit, Jes.”

They could’ve been there bickering playfully, enjoying each other’s company in silence for three days or three hours or a mere three minutes. Time didn’t exist, didn’t matter when they were alone together.

Laughter rang through the darkness, lanterns only bobbing pinpricks of light behind them - drunk giggles and cheerful music echoed back to them, but it didn’t really register to either of the two.

Moonlight bathed the two of them in a white glow as they both stood up as the stars gradually came out, twinkling, tiny lights covering the marbled, dusky blue-purple-black night sky, exposing nebulae and swirls and whorls of colors.

~

“Y/N, love, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.”

Jesper sighed, a grudging smile overtaking his face as he watched Y/N. She was soaked to the bone, hair and clothes sticking to her skin, nose ruddy from the cold.

“Dance with me,” she pleaded, holding out a hand to him.

She looked beautiful.

Jesper finally relented, picking Y/N up and twirling her around. She squeaked, closing her eyes, gripping onto his arms for dear life as the rain came down in silver sheets around them.

When he set her back down, the world seemed to stop spinning, the carriages stopped moving, it was just him and her and the rain.

“Let’s go home,” Y/N said eventually, quiet and peaceful, smiling up at Jesper.

But they were already home.

~

She turned to Jesper, about to remark on how pretty the whole thing was, but stopped in her tracks. He was staring at her, a small, happy smile on his face, an unreadable emotion in his silver eyes.

“Wha-“

He closed the three feet of space between them, grabbing her face between his hands, gently, like she was as precious as the diamonds around her neck. Not like she was breakable - like she was valuable, and he never wanted to lose her.

He gave her time to pull away, to laugh and make a joke, but she only stared back at him, the quizzical expression gone, on its place one of fear and hope and happiness.

And then his mouth was on hers and her hands were messing up his hair and she couldn’t feel the grass on her feet anymore or the wind on her neck or her heart, jittering in her chest like it wanted to burst out and fly into the night, only him, him, him.

And then he pulled away and kissed her nose, her eyelids, her forehead. He was laughing, hands going to her waist to twirl her around and around and then she was laughing too, too many emotions to count bubbling up in her chest. Elation, hope, almost hysterical happiness, and-

Absolute certainty.

That was the feeling, that was the one thought filling her head - that there weren’t any questions anymore, because this was where she was supposed to be, this is what she was supposed to be doing, and for once, she was letting herself.

For once, she wasn’t thinking about the next day or the next job or the next week.

It was just the two of them.

Because she could never predict where life was going to lead her next, or foresee the future years, or know what horrible thing was going to happen to her next. Hell, she didn’t know what was going to happen in the next couple hours, let alone what type of sandwich she was going to eat tomorrow.

But she knew, with absolute and utter certainty, that she wanted to do it with him.

That whatever happened, she would be alright, because home wasn’t a place - and it wasn’t Jesper, either.

It was the two of them, together.

~

Music floated gently in the darkness, down to were Y/N and Jesper were laying in the grass. Her head was on his chest, and they were both staring at the stars.

Home is the two of us.

[killemwithkawaii]

Goretober 2022 Day 7: The Side of Caution

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

The second time we met was during one of the few moments of peace I got to enjoy while wandering the void. In that timeline, by some miracle of chance, there was no cult, no demons, no haunted living arrangements, no cannibalistic neighbors, and very few ghosts. My mom had still died when I was little, I was still disfigured, and my dad had his usual vices because of it, but all things considered, it was one of the few timelines where my life in Nockfell was what you might consider ‘normal’. 

With the bullies in grade school being the highest level threat I had to deal with, I had managed to stick around in that universe until my early twenties. I was living with Larry, Todd, and Neil, and attending college with them and Ash at Henrys usual insistence, but I hadn’t really been going to class with any goal in mind. I neglected my school work in favor of hanging out with versions of my friends that had above average survival rates and didn’t spend all their free time doing cult sabotage… or being dead. I pretty much slid by with C’s across the board.

One evening, I was back at my dads place for dinner. Henry and Lisa kept giving each other these looks, and finally, Lisa said:

“Sal, we wanted to talk to you about something…”

They both suggested I get a part-time job for the summer- a ‘resume-builder’ that would ‘start me off on my career path’, whatever I chose for that to be. 

“You have a bright future in front of you, son. You can do anything you set your mind to, I know you can! You just have to be willing to put in the effort to do it.”

I tried and failed to hold back a snort.

“No, really! Everyone starts somewhere, Sally. It’ll be hard work, but I’ll bet you’ll love it once you get used to it!”

At this point, I’d never had an actual job before. I know, ‘Over 600 years old and he’s never had a job? What a loser!’ In my defense, it’s hard to have a decent work-life balance with school, cult sabotage, friend and family relationship maintenance, and ‘always dying young’ already on your plate. But, like I said, this time was different. I thought about what it would be like, being able to experience the fabled hum-drum daily grind of being a wage-slave in the service industry…. It seemed like torture for most people, but it sounded more like a vacation to me- a predictable and safe routine, normal-person problems, a bunch of normal people to bitch about them with, AND I’d get my own pocket money, too.

“Yeah! That sounds awesome, actually… did you guys have somewhere in mind?”

Robert- you remember Robert- is always a successful, self-made business man, but the kind of businesses he runs is almost random- real estate, tech, marketing, insurance, landscaping… whatever he thinks will be successful, he makes it successful. In that universe, he bought and ran one of the few restaurants in town after its previous owner, Terrence Addison (yes, that Terrence Addison), had announced his plan to retire, sell his various properties, and travel the world. The restaurant was a long-standing staple to the community that literally everyone in town ate at- The Nockfell Diner, a 24-hour greasy spoon that just so happened to be in need of a new dishwasher. 

Less than a week after that discussion with Lisa and Henry, I was in uniform, pacing around in the ‘dish pit’. All day, I sprayed the food scraps and grease from the plates, put them neatly in racks, slid the racks into the washing machine, took them out, arranged them back into stacks, and put them away so they could get dirty again. I did this over and over, for hours at a time, until my hands were red and pruny and my clothes and hair were soaked with dirty dishwater. It was a repetitive, mind-numbing, physically taxing (and sometimes nauseating) process, but I found a weird satisfaction in it that I couldn’t really pinpoint at the time. ‘Spray, load, wash, stack….’ It was simple, straightforward, and really obvious about its necessity in the process of the system- plus, I didn’t have to risk being killed or have to murder anyone. It was relaxing. It lulled me into a false sense of security. I wasn’t paying attention when it happened…

I rounded the corner into the kitchen on autopilot, holding a big, heavy stack of dinner plates.

“CORNER-”

I collided with something really solid. The tower of dishes I was holding started to teeter over. A pair of hands steadied the top as I steadied the bottom, keeping the plates from falling and shattering on the floor.

“Whew… Jeez man, watch it!! Didn’t you hear me say ‘corner’?”

I looked up at the man I’d run into, and I knew him. His dark hair and pale skin, those big eyes with the long lashes, a few crooked teeth, the button nose, his pierced lip… he was taller, more muscular, and a guy, but I recognized him instantly.... If it wasn’t obvious to me who he was, it was written right there on his nametag: ‘Mitch’ in big letters, ‘the bitch’ in small letters. I made a note to ask him about the second half later.

“Ah- no, I… wasn’t expecting you… to-”

He gave an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders sagging dramatically.

“Okay, who the fuck’s training the new guy…?” 

The cooks on the line shrugged. I hadn’t been trained, necessarily. Mostly, I’d been told where to stand and had otherwise been relying on trial and error and a little common sense to get the job done. ‘You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure it out, Sally…’ (Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?)

“So nobody was gonna bother filling him in on some basic safety shit? Hm? I can’t even buy the guy a drink before me and his ass get into a crash? Tsk, that’s just fuckin’ tacky, guys….“

“Bar’s open ‘til 2, you got plenty of time for another round, Mitch,” a waitress passing by chimed in.

“Oh, not with you here I don’t, baby! I got plans to-night~” he made kissy noises in her direction before turning back to me. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, dude. How’re you supposed to know if nobody bothered to tell you?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“‘Corner’ means ‘I’m around the corner, and I comin through! Get the fuck outta my way!’ Okay? Always listen for that- keeps everyone from ending up like roadkill during a rush, ya’know?”

He laughed with that signature lop-sided smile, clapped me on the shoulder, and passed by me with a wink. He shrugged his strawberry-print bag up on his shoulder, and there was a heart-print bandage on his wrist…

“Uh- okay, I’ll keep that in mind,” I nodded, “I mean, it would kind of be a shame… if I ended up roadkill before you bought me that drink, right...?”

"Ha! It sure would be..."

I couldn't believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eye. I’d found her! Er- him. Mitch. It was undeniable- it was them…

 just a little different.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

[pascalpanic]

The Graveyard Shift (Frankie Morales x gn!reader)

Summary: Frankie works overnight shifts at the local mechanic. Tonight, both of you are awake at a late hour.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, food and eating, talk of not being able to sleep, otherwise fluff

A/N: this idea has been in my head all week I had to! Hope you like it :)

Frankie may be a real insomniac, but tonight you’re feeling like he might have rubbed off on you. Your bed is normally your favorite place, your haven and escape from life. It’s a place to rest and cuddle your teddy bear of a boyfriend, where you can close your eyes and let go of reality.  Unfortunately, that glorious disconnect from reality isn’t finding you tonight. You toss and turn in your bed for what feels like hours. Who knows how long it really is?

You try laying on your side. On your back. On your stomach. Legs sprawled out, with no Frankie in the bed to occupy your space. Still, nothing is comfortable. You’re cold without the blankets and hot with them on. The pillows are flat or too squishy. Nothing works.

Frankie’s on the night shift tonight, leaving your bed empty enough for you to toss and turn. Your boyfriend works as a mechanic at a local 24-hour garage, and every week or so he takes the overnight shift. It’s just part of the job. Of course, you don’t mind; he does what he has to. The only downside is the chill in your bed where Frankie’s warm body usually lies.

You try to avoid your phone, checking your alarm clock for the time rather than looking at the blue light and messing up any more chances you have at sleep. But then an hour progresses, and another, and now it’s 1:20 in the morning and sleep is nowhere to be found. You give in and check your phone, sighing.

Frankie can’t possibly be busy. The shop rarely ever gets a car after the sun sets, but it’s worth it to be the only shop in the area open at night. It means more business when someone’s in desperate need. You know he’s awake, and the odds of a car being in the shop now are slim. Maybe talking with him will help you fall asleep.

Deciding to give it a shot, you call his phone. It rings for a few moments, then continues and finally you reach his voicemail, hearing his gentle voice announcing that he’ll call you right back. You frown and set it down only for the phone to ring again. It’s him.

“Hey, babe,” Frankie’s voice speaks through the phone. He sounds tired. Well, you suppose it’s natural. It’s late at night, even if Frankie is practically nocturnal. “Sorry. My hands were covered in grease so I had to wash them before I picked up. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s good,” you inform him, your voice groggy from the lack of sleep you’ve found despite hours of lying here. “Just can’t sleep. How’s work?”

You can hear a metallic clanking as he moves some tools around. “Fine. Just a usual night shift, working on this car that’s an absolute piece of shit. Got oil all over myself.”

The thought makes you smile; Frankie’s grumpy face when something goes wrong, the sigh of exasperation as those dark blue coveralls are stained dark with the car’s oil. “Good job, babe.”

Frankie is rolling his eyes on the other end. You can tell. “Really great job, yeah. How are things at home?”

“Same here. Nothing exciting. Just… can’t sleep and missing you.”

“Missing you too. God, it’s so boring here,” he groans. “I’ll finish this car pretty damn quick then have nothing to do all night. And I’m so goddamn hungry.”

Your eyes light up with an idea and you’re silent as you ponder the idea, long enough for Frankie to be concerned. “What is it?”

“Can I come visit you?” You ask him, a grin crossing your sleepy face. Your eyes are still shut from the weight they carry right now, but your face is clearly happy. “I’ll bring food.

There’s a frown on his face; that much you know for certain. “Babe, it’s late. You should sleep.”

“Francisco, for the love of God. I’m awake right now because I can’t fall asleep. Would you mind a visitor?”

He sighs but you know you’ve won. It makes you smile even wider as you clutch a pillow to your chest. He can barely get the words out before you interrupt. “Great! What are you hungry for?”

There’s another beat of quiet as he thinks. “Let’s order a pizza.”

Late night pizza: Frankie’s biggest weakness besides you. “Perfect. You put in the order and I’ll be there soon. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too. See you then.” Frankie hangs up.

No one else will be around. You know Frankie works these late shifts alone, so you don’t bother to put on anything nicer. Pushing back the covers and bracing for the chill, you stand and slide on a pair of shoes, allowing your pajamas to suffice.

The air is cold as you leave your shared home, and at the last second you grab one of Frankie’s flannels and wrap yourself in it. The night air is chilly around you, the dark sky contrasting the bright lights as you turn on your car. Teeth chattering from the cold, and turning down the air conditioning in your car, you set out on your route to Frankie’s workplace.

There’s no one else on the road besides a spare car or two flying past, neglecting to turn off their high beams for you. It doesn’t matter; if anything, it wakes you up more. When you finally park outside of the building, you rub your eyes desperately hard in hopes of waking yourself up more. It doesn’t really work, but you pretend it does as you pocket your keys and walk inside.

“Hi, I’m here for an oil change?” You call out teasingly into the large garage, entering through an open bay.

Frankie rolls out from beneath a car on a dolley, eyes lighting up at the sight of you. “Don’t even bring that up now.” He sits up, removes his earbuds, and unsnaps the top half of his coveralls, taking off the top half and tying it around his waist. He removes his gloves and meets you halfway into the garage, kissing you softly and laughing as the brim of his hat bumps against your forehead. “Hey, cutie.”

“Hi,” you beam, kissing him once more. “You look hot in this. Very Danny Zuko.”

“Mhm, and this piece of shit is Greased Lightning,” he laughs and pats the hood of the car he was previously beneath. It’s ugly, brown in color and rusted with a grungy looking interior. “I don’t know why they don’t just scrap this thing. It’s not worth the money.”

Your arms remain wrapped around Frankie’s middle, resting your head against his shoulder as you admire the crappy car. “Honestly, I gotta agree,” you laugh and nudge his side so the two of you can move closer to a workbench. “Here.” You offer him the crappy blanket you brought to sit on. “Tell me the best place to set up.”

“Right here, really,” Frankie shrugs and unfolds the blanket, laying it down over the oil-stained concrete. “You get comfortable. I’ll go put on a clean pair of coveralls.” He kisses your head as you sit cross-legged on the blanket, pulling his flannel tighter around yourself. “And stop stealing my clothes!” He calls over his shoulder before retreating into the back.

“You know you love it!” You shout back with a laugh, leaning against the side of the beat-up car.

Out of nowhere, the radio in the shop starts playing. It’s loud, making you jump at the sound of the KISS song that starts blasting. With that, Frankie returns from the back, wearing a clean pair of blue coveralls with that embroidered Catfish patch over his heart. His curls peek out from beneath his cap, and he scratches at the scruff of his beard. “Way to scare the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he laughs, adjusting the volume back down from the garage control before making his way over to you. “Just thought we could use some music.”

“I guess,” you grumble, though it’s clear there’s no ill will when he sits next to you and you nuzzle into his side, sighing as he drapes his arm across your shoulders. “Didn’t have to freak me out like that though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs and kisses your head, leaning back against the car too and letting his head fall back.

No sooner do the two of you get comfortable, nestled into each other’s arms and taking a breath of relaxation, is there a knock at the glass. It’s the pizza delivery, a guy who looks exhausted, just like most normal people would be at this hour. “Be right back.” Frankie kisses your nose and stands, groaning as his joints creak and his back pops.

“Grandpa.” You tease with a grin.

“Stuff it.”

He pays for the order, giving the delivery guy a generous tip for delivering food at this hour of night. Frankie returns with the box and you shimmy in happiness as he opens the box and the smell of the pizza wafts out of the cardboard.

Frankie pulls over a rolling dolley to set the food on, at least somewhat like a table. “Your fine dining experience, my love,” he chuckles as he sets down the box and a stack of napkins next to it. He sits across from you, once again groaning as he makes himself sit cross-legged to match you.

Taking a hold of the crust, you pull out a large slice, the cheese pulling from the center of the pizza. Sighing happily, you tear the cheese apart and pile it on top of the fully-topped pizza, complete with Frankie’s go-to order. Waiting for him and humming to the song, you finally take a bite when he does.

Both of you moan in happiness, laughing a little as each realizes that the other did the same. Once your mouthful of pizza has been swallowed, you grin at Frankie and he grins back. The shop is quiet, the dull rhythm of the oldies station playing in the background. There are no words, but there’s no need for them.

Frankie finishes his slice at about the same time as you, and your hands bump as you both reach for another piece, the one loaded with toppings. “Back off, Morales,” you laugh and swat his hand away, though your hand instantly moves for another piece.

“No, you can have it,” he says, brow furrowing as you leave the piece alone.

“It’s yours. You’re the one working; you deserve it.”

He knows you inside and out. He knows that there’s no arguing when you’ve made the decision, so he takes the piece with a loving “thank you”.

It takes hardly any time for either of you to finish the second piece. Leaning back against the car, your eyes finally shut and you sigh in relaxation. You have food, you have Frankie, and finally you’re starting to get tired. “What time is it now?”

“Late. You can sleep if you want.”

“I’m not tired,” you bluff, though your body slumps against the car, head falling to the side.

Frankie just shrugs and munches on another piece. He can’t help but smile at the sight: you’re in your pajamas and his flannel, falling asleep on the floor of the mechanic shop. He certainly never expected to see such a sight, but he grins at how cute you look like this.

By the time Frankie’s third slice is gone, you’re half-asleep, barely conscious, body holding what little tension and energy you have left. Frankie just leans back, watching you, still smiling at the sight.

He can see it happen when you finally do fall asleep. The tension in your back drifts away, your body slumping down against the car. Your face, which was scrunched in concentration of trying to stay awake, finally slips into the neutrally peaceful state of sleep.

Frankie closes the pizza box, standing and bringing it to the back. He can have some more later if he’s hungry; if not, he’ll send it home with you- later. For now, you need to rest.

His knees and back scream at him as he bends down, but Frankie squats in front of you and wakes you. “Hey, baby. You fell asleep. Come on, get on up and I’ll take you to the couch in the back.”

Your sleep-addled state doesn’t let you argue. You stand, still half-asleep, using Frankie’s hands to help you up. He wraps the clean side of the blanket around you, almost like a burrito, but leaves your legs enough room to walk. Holding onto your arm, so that you don’t trip thanks to your barely-opened eyes, he leads you to the break room in the back.

The old leather couch is beat up and worn, scratched and occasionally ripped from tools left in back pockets and too many years of careless plopping down after a long shift. Frankie makes sure your blanket is swaddled tightly around you and helps you lay down, chuckling at the burrito you make on the couch.

Frankie bends down and kisses your forehead. “I’ll be here if you need me. Just sleep now, babe.”

You murmur something in response, something that might’ve resembled words if you weren’t already fading out again.

Frankie doesn’t go too far, just across the room to the computer. He fires up the machine to check out the schedule for tomorrow, what the store needs to order more of, the usual. The thing that makes it better, maybe even enjoyable, are your soft snores from the couch behind him.

-

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