#also.. a nightmare to clean my desk. so easy to take all my stuff and put it here

[cathalbravecog]

Cringetober #3 - Unnecessarily complex fit! A bit late, but I still had fun with it! Too... Much fun seeing as, again, this was supposed to be simple but I ended up going totally ham on it. Oh well, helps pass the time while my brain is still scrambled eggs from being sick.

I don't have much to say aside than I LOVE Scene Misty's whole design. She's... Perhaps not exactly true scene, but has some essence of it with the rainbows and patterns and many decorations. (So sad you can't see the GIR keychain in this one </3) ...And it's what people have been calling this design, so I'll use that name too. I remember while designing her I was just thinking of things I myself think are cool to add, and stuff Misty would probably like wearing!

Also, another fun fact, when I was a kid and Ms Paint scene cats were all the rage - something I couldn't replicate yet - my main oc was a cat with a side-kick who lived on a tiny cloud that followed them, the cloud changing on their emotions! I now always have an association with clouds and that era, so... Misty here's an total delight to say the least :) Again, a very self-indulgent thing about something close and dear to my heart.

[leohunter2020]

Leo was trying so hard to put everything behind him. To try and forget the past and just live in the now. He still had nightmares regularly but he had noticed how his childhood home wasn't in them anymore. It felt as if him going there and getting to get his stuff had put his mind to rest about that house. He still saw his dad in his nightmares but it was a step in the right direction he felt like. He lived in a house with his husband now, a place that to him felt like the safest place on earth. Leo knew nothing would happen to him here, no one could hurt him in here. He did have bad days where he didn't feel safe, but deep down he knew he was and often Isaiah reminding him, was all he needed. " I know I didn't but its easier said than done I mean.... its just drilled in me" he told his man.

Leo did struggle a lot with himself, with his self-esteem, he always felt as he did everything wrong because that's what his parents had told him all the time growing up. It had built up habits that some people would consider OCD like. Leo loved order, that way he didn't lose or misplace anything. Leo loved everything clean and neatly put away. It made everything so much easier and he felt in control of something. It was pretty much the only thing he got praise for from his parents in his childhood. It wasn't a bad thing, it made keeping a clean home easy, but sometimes it could become too much, but it released anxiety and Leo had had quite a bit of that lately. Isaiah gave him peace and so so much love. It was all Leo ever needed Isaiahs love healed him, it made him feel whole. Sometimes the healing just took longer than they both wished

" waiiiit. Violet is dating someone? who ? come on Zaya why are you not keeping me in on this, I need updates, whats going on?" Leo wondered. He was so excited for their friend. Leo only wanted all the best for her, he wanted her happy, and if she was lucky enough to find a man half as good as Leos Zaya, she would be really lucky. " yeah Aiden is amazing, I really hope we have a kid as good as him. But I mean we do have a good head start cuz you helped her raise him and I got you on my team so I'm lucky. Aww he told you that really? that's the cutest, he's so sweet." Leo said melting.

" no, i wont be back any time soon" leo said with a sigh. "The doctors idea of a short break is freaking at least 2 more months. Its going by so slow. He didn't even want me at a desk job now but I mean I can not lay in bed anymore. ill be dead before I get to get back to normal work" Leo sighed, Usually he was able to be patient, but not with this. The staying home really wasn't helping his mental state, especially when Isaiah was working. Leo hated waking up alone and being home alone all day it drove him insane.

" yeah i think i want a surrogate, i want a baby and raise it from day one, I want our baby. I don't really care if its my or your... you know. But I would prefer a child with half our DNA. That would be really cool. And I also think that's like the easier way, everyone who adopts wants a newborn so I think adopting a newborn would take a long time. " Leo agreed " I don't care how much it costs, being able to grow a family with you is worth all the money in the world" Leo said with a smile and kissed Isaiah softly. " I highly doubt we will get multiples from one time tho babe, I think we should be really happy if we get one, I have heard it can be tricky" Leo said and bit his lip " but can we start today, like get an appointment to figure it all out?"

Leo couldnt help but giggle as Isaiah opened and closed his mouth at his words " awww that's sooo cute babe, and you know what? i think I would be willing to do it too. A family with you is worth the world to me. Imagine how easy so many people have it, with getting pregnant and all" he said thinking about it. Leo had wanted a family with Isaiah from day one. Back then it had just been a dream in the far future, but now felt like it was fine, it was time to try and make their dream come true.

Leo felt Isaiah start to uncurl his fist. Leo was frozen, he couldn't open his fist, his muscles were stiff. but Isaiahs soft touch did the trick. Leo was forever thankful for his husband. A gem like him was rare to find. That man knew Leo better than he knew himself. Isaiah knew him so well that he could stop Leo from doing things to himself that he didn't even realize he was doing. Like the fists now. But Isaiah had stopped him before the nails had broken the skin, it only had in 2 places and that was good. " I didn't mean to I promise, it just happened" he admitted, a single tear falling.

Leo listened to his husband, he took a moment to get out of the headspace then he nodded softly. " can you take my shirt off?" Leo asked, he hadn't wanted to be shirtless in front of Isaiah since before everything happened. Leo really was trying and right now felt right. Isaiah stopping him from hurting himself, even tho he didn't mean to do it to himself, showed Leo nothing but the extreme amount of love and care he had for Leo. it made Leo feel safe and loved and it made him want to be loved even more.

Isaiah wouldn't blame his husband for what happened in his past. Isaiah couldn't understand how Leo's parents could be so monstrous. How could someone take their anger out on their own child like that? He'd seen the room and it had turned his stomach at the sight of it. Leo deserved peace, happiness, and to feel safe in his own space. That broken child was still part of his husbands identify on the inside and sometimes snuck out in some of Leo's more vulnerable moments. "You didn't ask for anything that happened to you back then. Please start forgiving your younger self."

He knew that Leo's parents had made him feel like he was the one in the wrong and deserving of the punishments back when he was a kid and it was sick and twisted. He couldn't wrap his mind around it all. Leo had gone through so much during his childhood and teen years. He'd obviously come out of that situation with traumas and triggers. Isaiah was trying to be the one to pick up the broken pieces and glue them back together again with love. It's all he would ever give him.

Violet's place was his second safe place to visit when he needed it. "Ayiden's part of the reason I go there but I have been catching up with Violet lately and getting the ins and outs on who she's dating." Isaiah knew that Violet was kind of unofficially seeing his co-worker. "Violet's kid is a great kid though. I'd be so happy with a kid like him." Ayiden was absolutely adorable and he loved seeing him so much. "He told me we'd both make great parents the other night."

Recovery was a long process and he knew Leo was getting bored being either stuck in bed or behind a desk. He'd get into routine soon. His doctors told him to heal before he'd jumped back into havoc. "You're healing. The doctor's advised for you to take a short break." Leo's body needed a good couple of nights sleep, time for him to rest instead of jumping from one burning building to the next with a body that had been hurt and thrown across the room. "You'll be back at work soon, I promise."

Taking the next step and agreeing on wanting a family was a start. Isaiah knew it would take some time to work out the logistics and cost of things before they eventually ended up with a family to raise. "Well, I was thinking maybe we find and pick out a lady together who wants to surrogate our baby for whatever cost and then send our, y'know, to the lab and hope that we get at least one kid comes out of it." Maybe two? Isaiah would just love multiple kids at the same time causing mayhem. "Is that your preference too?"

Isaiah looked down at his husband face as he laid underneath him. His mouth opened and closed again as Leo mentioned that if they could get pregnant than he would be one that would knock Isaiah up. "You know what? If that was a possible option then I would do it. You wanna know why? Because, I love you. I'd carry all of your babies." Isaiah wouldn't think twice about it. It's the life he wanted in the near future with his husband and nothing else mattered as much to him. Raising Leo's children alongside him seemed like wishful thinking. Isaiah hoped one day soon that his wishful thinking would be real. He lived for the day that he got to raise a child with his husband.

Isaiah clocked his husbands fingers starting to bawl up into fists. Unfortunately, he knew that was sign of him getting nervous again. Isaiah had studied his husband long enough to know all of his habits. It's not like he didn't notice the little puncture marks against Leo's palms caused by his finger nail's pressing to hard into his soft skin.

Isaiah reached up to one of his husbands hands and started uncurling his fingers to try and stop him from hurting his own palms. Isaiah started with one of his fingers and swiftly moved onto the next before pressing his whole mouth against his husbands palm to soothe over the skin there. He didn't like it when he self-abused. Isaiah then did the exact same thing to Leo's second hand before pressing a kiss to that palm too. He tutted against the other's palm - kissing the ever so slightly injured skin again and again and again. "Please don't hurt yourself like that."

Isaiah realised the second that his husbands body went in panic attack mode. "Stop over-thinking everything. I'm not gonna let you spiral downwards again." Isaiah was back to the point of reminding his husband that he didn't need to go into panic mode when he was expressing his love to him. It was a process and his husband had made so much progress as of lately. He'd been so fucking proud of him for attempting. Isaiah didn't mind being that stern reminder sometimes to push him out that zone. "Allow yourself to reach out and love me back. You can do it."

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Three)

Summary: Steve drops by the VA and listens in on one of Sam’s meetings and later that evening, (Y/N) reflects on her unusual day with the super-soldier.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of PTSD

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Three (Previous Chapter)

After placing sugar packets and stirring sticks next to the coffee maker, (Y/N) took a seat beside the refreshment table and watched as Sam took his place at the front of the crowded room and began the meeting. One by one, each person would share their struggles with PTSD and how it had affected their lives as civilians; with each person’s story, (Y/N)’s heart clenched in sympathy. These vets have put their lives on the line to protect us, they don’t deserve to suffer, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d woken Sam up from a nightmare or had seen him suddenly grow silent and have to distract him from his memories of war. But it was wonderful that people like Sam, people who face the same exact struggles, run programs to help each other out.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) turned to see Steve Rogers leaning against the doorframe of the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the meeting. Smiling and tugging her sweater tighter around her, (Y/N) turned her attention back to the woman speaking. “The thing is I think it’s getting worse. A cop pulled me over last week, he thought I was drunk. I swerved to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

Sam nodded. “Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back. It’s our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse? It’s up to you.” Everyone clapped and began standing, so (Y/N) jumped to her feet to man the table. She greeted each person with a smile as they grabbed cookies and filled their cups with coffee, delighted to see so many new faces among the usual crowd. After about twenty minutes of mingling and making small talk, the crowd started to leave so she decided to begin packing up the refreshments as Sam bid them goodbye out in the hallway.

“Don’t take those away those cookies just yet, darlin’, I wanna bring one home to my gran’daughter.”

(Y/N) looked up to see Gary, an older man with an incredibly bushy grey beard and a Vietnam War veteran’s baseball cap, and she smiled brightly before offering him the half-full container. “Take the whole thing if you’d like, Gary, and be sure to say hello to Katie for me!”

That made Gary grin toothily as he took the container. “You know, darlin’, you’re sweeter than this whole damn box of cookies. I’ll be seein’ you next week!” (Y/N) gave him a small wave and resumed cleaning as he limped away.

“You’re pretty popular around here.”

She turned away from the coffee pot and smiled when she saw Steve standing before her, his blue eyes glimmering and his hands shoved in his pockets. “If I am, it’s only ‘cause I give away free cookies; the vets that visit all have a massive sweet-tooth, you know.”

“Are you a vet, too?”

“Nah, I just work here.” She tossed several used paper coffee cups into the trash and chuckled. “A year ago, when I finally graduated with my master’s degree, I started writing my novel and since I was writing about soldiers and government agents I needed to interview some about their personal experiences. So, I decided to come down to the VA. I met with Sam, who had just started working here, and asked if I could interview some people for my writing. He agreed, and I spent the whole day just talking to the vets. All sorts of vets, too; men, women, old, young, you name it. And at the end of the day, after hearing about their struggles with PTSD and how hard their lives became once they returned to civilian life, I went back to Sam and asked if he needed any part-time employees. He said yes, and we’ve been best friends ever since.” Steve smiled, and the impressed look he was giving her caused her to blush so she hurriedly changed the subject. “So, did everything work out earlier? It’s just that it seemed a little serious, so I hope that everything’s okay.”

Steve’s smile fell a little but he nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine…I was just visiting a friend who hasn’t been doing too well lately.”

(Y/N) impulsively placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult. I hope they get better soon.” The ghost of a sympathetic smile pulled at the corner of her mouth and Steve’s eyes softened after a moment; realizing that her hand was still resting on his arm, she hastily withdrew it and began folding the tablecloth to keep her hands busy. “Um, Sam and I were planning on going out to dinner after we finish packing up, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

She glanced up at him and saw a glint of something in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could get a closer look. “Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to pass; I’ve already got some plans later…”

“That’s okay, maybe next time!” (Y/N) smiled, but inside she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Just then, Sam walked into the room with a stack of pamphlets in his hands. “Pretty good turnout today, huh? Five new faces and Captain America!”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’m glad that I stopped by.” He glanced at the clock on the wall before continuing, “I should probably get going, but it was good to see you two again.”

(Y/N) shook his hand. “I’m not gonna lie, it was a little weird seeing you in your own exhibit earlier but it was great hanging out with you!”

“You too, and good luck with For Queen and Country, I’ll keep my eye out for it in the bookshops.” His bright smile caused her heartbeat to once-again quicken as their hands dropped.

“It was good seeing you too, Cap, you made me look really awesome in front of Maria, so thanks for that.” Sam grinned and shook his outstretched hand.

“Glad I could help, Sam; see you two around!” Steve gave them a small wave before turning and walking out of the room.

Tearing her eyes away from the doorway, (Y/N) resumed her cleaning and glanced at Sam. “What do you feel like tonight, Thai or burgers?”

Sam grinned and began unplugging the coffee maker. “Burgers. So, did you have a nice day chilling with your new boyfriend, Booksmart?”

“Sam…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, (Y/N) sat down at her desk and put her music on shuffle before flicking through her notebook to the pages of notes she’d taken that day at the Smithsonian. She bit back a smile when she recognized the difference between the carefully printed notes she’d taken by herself versus the illegible scribbles taken from the elderly security guard’s long-winded explanations. He was kind of a fast talker, wasn’t he, she thought to herself; as a way of honoring the enthusiastic old man, she ultimately decided to name one of her minor characters after him.

“Stan.” She sounded out the name and gave a satisfied nod. “Yeah, that’s got a nice ring to it…”

(Y/N), now finally having all the information she needed to best describe Soviet Cold War missiles, wrote for nearly three hours straight, only taking breaks to skip songs or to glance down at her notes. She would’ve probably continued writing well into the next morning except that her eyesight was beginning to blur around the edges, an unfortunate symptom of exhaustion.

Well, you have had a pretty busy day today, (Y/N) silently reasoned as she saved her evening’s progress and booted down her laptop. Since Sam was already fast asleep in the room across the hall, she went about her bedtime routine as quietly as she could, washing her face and brushing her teeth before tiptoeing back into her room. She slipped on her mismatched pajama set and was about to crawl into bed when the record player on her bedside table caught her eye. Making her way over to what Sam affectionately called ‘The DJ Bookcase,’ she scanned the shelf devoted solely to her record collection until the right one stood out to her, and then she carefully placed the record on the turntable and lowered the needle. After a moment, the soft tones of Glenn Miller’s ‘Stardust’ filled her room and with a smile, she finally got into bed and turned to watch the record spinning on the turntable.

Thoughts of the super-soldier who’d inspired her choice in bedtime music began to fill her mind, making her smile softly to herself. (Y/N) had enjoyed seeing Steve again, even if it had been in a highly unconventional place like the Smithsonian, and she quietly marveled at how effortless it had been to talk to the larger-than-life man. He really was different from how the history books portrayed him: not only was he kind and polite, but he was also intelligent, sarcastic and extremely understanding. Also a little lost, I expect, (Y/N) thought, remembering his guarded expressions and withdrawn replies whenever she’d ask him a personal question; it couldn’t be easy adjusting to a brand-new reality, especially without a fixed support system to rely on.

“Hopefully he ends up getting the help he needs.” (Y/N) murmured to herself, her sleepy eyes continuing to watch the rotating record as more thoughts of Steve Rogers filled her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you all liked my little Stan Lee cameo in this chapter and the last :) I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien​ @lahoete​ @awkward117​ @cminr​ @momc95​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @khuang3​ @supersouthy​ @benakenalove​ @brooke0297​ @hufflepeople​ @becausewelie​​ @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum​

Chapter Four

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

[omniswords]

Storm Soundtrack [Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng]

I'm so honored to have been part of @mlwriterzine , and even more honored to write about my two favorite things: Marinette's birthday, and Luka 😂 We just got permission to post our pieces, so here was mine.

Anyway, enjoy!

New York.

She was going to New York.

And she was eighteen.

Marinette had heard a lot about both of these things. That because she was eighteen, she could drive—except in New York she could have been driving at least a year ago. (Not that anyone drove in New York anyway, because it was, according to Mrs. Bourgeois, a total nightmare.) And because she was eighteen, she could drink—except in New York she’d have to wait three more years, the reason for which was beyond her, especially considering she wasn’t terribly keen on drinking in the first place. And because she was eighteen, she could play the lottery—and in that respect, at least New York was the same—but it didn’t mean much to her when she felt such a stinging guilt about getting money that she hadn’t really earned.

Somehow, it all already felt like too much, and she was only hours in. Still in the middle of her own birthday party, even. And the one thing that had not, and probably would not change, she noted grimly, was that she still didn’t know what to do when everyone gathered to sing “Happy Birthday.”

Seriously, what was she supposed to do? Sing along? Clap? Dance? Smile and wave, boys, smile and wave?

Did anyone know?

Marinette was more than relieved when the song ended—partly because it meant she didn’t have to just sit here awkwardly, and partly because it gave her a few moments of silence and darkness except for the candles on the cupcake arrangement in front of her. She gathered her hair back, closed her eyes, and at least tried to make a wish. She never knew what to wish for, either. The fact that she had friends, family, and her own health was enough of a blessing, but it was still fun to act a little mysterious if anyone asked about it. And besides, she could always say, sometime after she’d opened her gifts in the privacy of her room, that she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

Because, well, it wasn’t a lie. She had gotten exactly what she wanted. She was happy with her best friends from middle and high school filling the apartment, with her father presenting her with a cupcake specially decorated with fondant and edible glitter, even with her grandmother coming all the way from Italy and offering to take her out for a nighttime motorcycle ride on the town. She was eighteen, and happy, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she’d really earned it.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she jolted to attention so quickly she nearly dropped her cupcake. When she turned, though, relief flooded her at the sight of Luka standing there, with his easygoing smile and his guitar strapped to his back. His face was flushed, and his hair and clothes were starting to cling to him. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the end-of-July heat getting to him or the fact that he might have biked all the way to her house at top speed.

“Hey,” he said with a two-finger salute.

Marinette couldn’t help smiling up at him; somehow, she always forgot how tall he’d gotten over the years, how he stood proudly at almost six feet when she considered it a miracle that she’d broken past five. “You made it!” she chirped, having the foresight to set her cupcake down before she let him envelop her in a hug and kiss her on both cheeks.

“Of course I made it. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Not even for an extra shift.” He let go of her, gracing her with a wink.

Part of her wanted to laugh behind a hand, but there was too much of her that felt too guilty. This close, it wasn’t hard to catch the circles under Luka’s eyes. He’d been working himself ragged lately. He always had been, she knew; he felt like he had to earn his keep for most things the same way she did. But it seemed like it had been particularly hard on him, or like he’d been particularly hard on himself, since he graduated high school a couple of years ago. Like he wasn’t just trying to earn anymore—he was trying to provide.

Still, it never seemed like it was something he wanted to dwell on, or something he ever wanted her or anyone else to worry about. So if he dismissed it with a smile and a wink, or a message that he was just a bit tired, then what could she do about it but worry quietly?

Marinette nodded toward his guitar. “Do you want to play?” she asked. “Or do you want to put it up in my room so it’s safe?” Or do you need a nap? You definitely look like you could use a nap. Oh God, wait, I’m not inviting you like that, I promise—

“I can keep it upstairs for now,” Luka agreed—to her relief, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could think in those circles. With a casual wave to her parents and friends, he followed her up the stairs to her room. Marinette couldn’t help a scowl and a blush when she caught the knowing grin on Alya’s face.

Really? Really?

Together, they looked for a safe place to stow away his guitar. Luka ended up tucking it in the space between her work desk and her vanity, under her loft. “I always forget how cool your room is,” he said offhand. “It’s very… you.”

“Me?” Marinette looked around, brow furrowed. None of her stuff was packed away yet—she still had a month before she was supposed to leave—but it still looked like an organized clutter of fabric, sketches, decorations that only seemed to go together if you squinted. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “It’s got your vibes. A little scattered, but mostly put together, and cozy. Safe.” If he laughed then, it was to himself, and she could barely hear it. But she felt it. And she thought she liked feeling it. He wove past her, never studying one corner or wall for too long, until his eyes landed on the skylight. “Is that how you get up to your balcony?”

“Huh? Oh… Yeah!” Marinette was halfway up the steps to her bed before she realized what she was doing, and she managed an awkward laugh. “I just climb right up, you know?”

This time, when Luka laughed, she could hear it and feel it. A rumble, a warmth in her stomach. “You must have some crazy upper body strength.” He paused, running his hand along the banister. “Say… If it wouldn’t be weird, any chance I could meet you up there after this is over?”

“After?” The question shouldn’t have stunned her as much as it did, or make her blush as much as it did; that wasn’t the summer heat she was feeling in her cheeks. “Uh, yeah! After! Sure, yes… Cool.”

Luka was still smiling, even as his voice dropped to a murmur. “Cool,” he said, though it sounded more like a breath. As he slipped past her and jogged down the stairs back to the party, Marinette couldn’t help the way her gaze lingered after him. Even if it did take a moment for it to really sink in.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

Marinette was most definitely not cool.

———

The funny thing was, the more Luka seemed to change and grow into himself—taking the bac, finishing high school, kicking up his work to full-time and then some—the more most of him seemed to stay the same. He made nice with practically everyone; he let Juleka get seconds on the cupcakes before he’d even had firsts; he tapped his toes to whatever music was playing and drummed his fingers along the armrest of the couch like it was a keyboard or the neck of his guitar. And he insisted, as the party wound down and her other friends and family were leaving, on helping her parents clean the apartment so they could rest easy. “Ma may be the champion of messes and chaos at home,” he said with a casual shrug, “But she still taught me to pull my own weight as soon as I could walk.”

It sounded right, and Marinette couldn’t tell who was smiling wider: her, or her father.

Probably her.

Of course it’d be her.

He was good at pulling his weight, though, lugging around a large trash bag and wrapping up trash in the vinyl tablecloth they wouldn’t be using again. It was… sweet. Almost as sweet as the times that he would pause in the middle of some task, smile at her from across the room, and then turn right back to his work. He’d been doing that for years now, and it still made her stomach flutter—sometimes when she didn’t want it to. Most of the time, she’d started to realize, she did want it to.

“Will you be safe getting home, Luka?” Marinette’s mother called from the kitchen over the sound of rushing water. “I know you told your sister not to wait up for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, casual and calm as always as he tied off the trash bag and handed it to her father. “I just have to get my guitar from upstairs. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Marinette would swear that, on his way to the dumpster outside, her father was watching her suspiciously as she and Luka scurried up the stairs to her room, as though she wasn’t going to be on her own an entire ocean away in a matter of weeks. She understood her father, she really did, but he didn’t always have to be so… adamant, about how he’d always see her as his little girl. At least he’d had the good sense not to say so during the party. She hoped he’d have the good sense not to say anything after Luka left, too.

Luka’s guitar was tucked away right where he left it. He took it by the neck and made for the stairs that led up to her balcony. “Can we?” he asked, actually sounding halfway uncertain. “I’ve never been up there before.”

She nodded so fast she was afraid her head might come clean off, but she managed to laugh at herself with him, however nervous. She followed him up the steps, hoisting herself up onto the balcony; Luka lagged behind, not just to hand off his guitar to her, but also to toss his shoes up and climb up after them. “Didn’t wanna step on your blankets with my sneakers. Who knows what they’ve stepped in.”

Honestly, Marinette was too busy staring in awe at how easily he’d pushed himself up to care about that. Or about the heat, even this late at night, whipping across her skin. Had he always had muscles like that? And when did that snake tattoo get there?

He offered her a sheepish shrug as he closed the latch; of course he’d noticed her staring. “Boat,” was all he said in explanation as he pulled on his sneakers and tied them up again. He held out both hands for the guitar, and she gave it to him so mechanically that she’d barely realized she’d done it.

“So, um…” Now the end of July was getting to her; she had to shrug out of her flannel and tie it around her waist and put up her hair to keep it from tickling and clinging to the back of her neck. She hoped he didn’t mind, but she always got the sense he thought candid fit her best. “What’d you want to come up here for?”

Luka tilted his head. “I wanted to give you your present.” As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Almost instantly, Marinette’s stomach lurched. A gift? For her? In private? “Luka,” she began, though her insistence sounded weak, “you know you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He shrugged again. “Is that okay?”

“I… Yeah, of course it’s okay. I’m not gonna tell you it’s not okay—”

He laughed under his breath; it should have flustered her, but, instead, she only felt more comfortable. Strangely so. “Okay,” he said. “Get comfy.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t ask questions, no matter how much she wanted to. She only settled in her deck chair, keeping her eyes on him as she grabbed a nearby hand fan. It kept her cool, sure, but more than anything it gave her hands something to do. For some reason, they always needed that, especially when she was asked to do mostly nothing. She only fanned herself faster when he fished out a pick and readjusted his guitar in his lap, poised to play.

Oh, God.

A song. She should have known.

The summer heat meant that Luka needed some extra time to tune the guitar, but he did it with such a practiced hand that Marinette couldn’t help but be impressed, even after all these years of knowing him. With one last strum, he was ready, and already she felt it soothing the pit of her heart. “All right,” he murmured. “Here goes.”

She didn’t know whether to close her eyes and let the music flow through her, or keep her eyes open and watch it come to life in him instead. The song, low and easygoing, made the choice for her, calmed her into a half-lidded lull and slowed her hand. She heard rain in how he played, the patter of it against skylights and window panes, the rumble of a summer evening thunderstorm in the low tones. She heard it as much as she felt it in her heart. And even though her gaze caught on the way his fingers danced along the fretboard, and the way he picked at those strings, she lingered on his face much more. How he didn’t even have to look at his own instrument to know so intimately how it worked. How he chewed on his lip, so focused, that it’d probably be swollen and red by the time he was done. Maybe most importantly, how deep the circles and lines under his eyes ran into his skin.

He hadn’t been running himself ragged for work.

He’d been running himself ragged for her.

When Luka finished, soft and slow, he had a smile on his face that so easily matched his own music—that so easily disappeared when he met her eyes. “Marinette,” he said, looking frozen. “You’re crying.”

She hadn’t realized it until then, but now that he’d said something she could feel her own tears, heavy and trickling down her cheeks. Hastily, she rubbed them away with the sleeve of her sweater. “Sorry,” she whispered. “It was just… really beautiful, I don’t know what to say. It made me want to hear it all the time. It made me want to…”

To stay in Paris a little longer.

To say all the things she should have said months ago. Maybe years ago.

To hold his hand, and sit where his guitar sits, and let him wipe the tears away, and swallow up all the times he’d told her he wanted to play music that sounded just like her, and—

“Marinette?”

She shook her head and swallowed hard. Sat up straight, and moved to sit in front of him, until their bare knees bumped together in the night. She could reach for his hand, but she didn’t. “Can you play it again?”

[wherearemyglassesbro]

Back to...the lawyer au...

Prosecutor Braginski: Ivan’s mother was a famous prosecutor. His older sister was expected to follow in their mother’s footsteps but she would not and instead, went to live on a farm with her husband. Ivan stepped up to the plate and went through an insane amount of training with his mother as his teacher outside of school. She taught him to be cold ‘Do not let those criminals back out onto the street. Do you hear me? Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she saw you letting them free!’. When Ivan lost his first case his mother lectured him endlessly for hours...Ivan does have common sense though. There are times where he sees an innocent up there...And he loosens up. He practically lets them go. That’s something his mother and sister wouldn’t do. They care too much about the family name.

Prosecutor Braginski: Natalya adores her big brother and will do anything to gain his and their mother’s approval. Coming from a line of prosecutors puts a lot of pressure on her. Her family name is well known and the thought of losing a case keeps her up at night. She has nightmares where her family disowns her for losing a case! Of course that would never happen but in stress dreams, anything is possible. She’s ruthless in court and her objections are plentiful. She’s purposefully vague but she doesn’t hide information, she thinks that’s wrong. Also...That makes her look bad. She wins cases through intelligence and persistence! Not through fiddling with evidence.

Prosecutor Bonnefoy: Francis Bonnefoy went throughout most of his schooling wanting to be an artist or musician but that all changed when his girlfriend of 5 years, Jeanne, was brutally murdered behind a supermarket. Francis had been in the car waiting for her and she never came out of the store, he and a few employees came across her body behind a dumpster while looking for her. A man was found fleeing the scene with the murder weapon but he was never convicted and he was set free. Ever since, Francis has been out for justice, becoming attatched to cases and doing anything he can to find a guilty verdict because the thought of letting a murderer go free makes him sick. Because of his stubborn nature he’s incredibly hard to work with (depending on the case). He has many friends outside of work and works very well with detectives and other prosecutors...he mocks defense attorneys often. Mostly Kirkland just to get a rise out of him.

Defense attorney Kirkland: Arthur worked hard to keep his record clean despite growing up with a criminal father and 5 brothers who often got up to no good. He has his fair share of schoolyard fights but none of them made it onto his resume...Whew...He paid for his college education all on his own and at first, his plan was to become a police officer. He knew his town needed more crime prevention so he wanted to give back! But after taking criminal psychology classes and other law related classes, he realized he would rather stand up for the accused in court. He worked hard to get to where he is now! He’s won 7 cases...and lost 2...But he’s extremely proud of himself either way. He keeps in touch with past clients and is known to go to lunch to catch up with them every once in awhile. He mocks prosecutors often, mostly Bonnefoy just to get a rise out of him. He and Bonnefoy face off in court occasionally but they don’t usually face the same cases. Francis is usually working murder cases and Arthur is mostly hired for smaller crimes like B&Es, robberies and such. When he IS hired for a murder case, he always holds his breath before reading the case file to see who’s the prosecutor...Damn...Bonnefoy again...

Defense attorney Jones: Alfred is a work in progress. He’s recently gradusted uni and he’s shadowing Arthur in court to see how everything goes. Al became a lawyer for almost the same reasons as Art! And Art’s an old family friend so of course he’d shadow him! He offers input and jokes that should definetly not be in a courtroom during testimonies which Arthur does not enjoy. Al can’t wait to be a lawyer and have cases of his own! What he won’t say is that he’s also a bit nervous to be on his own. It’s a bit stressful...Hes still overcoming his argumentative nature because obviously, the court won’t allow him to cuss out a witness!! He knows everything he needs to know! But he just needs a bit more experience in the field before taking it on on his own! Al likes having Art as his partner! Even though Art can be a stick in the mud sometimes!

Judge Beilschmidt: Ludwig went to a private school at a young age, he’s always been advanced and ahead of his peers. He took high level classes and was accepted into an esteemed university. He became a judge because it sounded like a promising career! His grandfather praised him for his academic success and reccomended taking on a career like that! So he thought ‘why not!’. The job has been relatively easy for him, he’s a man that trusts the facts and knows a guilty face when he sees one. However, the hardest thing he ever did was sentancing his beloved brother Gilbert to 10 years in prison for money laundering. He knew Gil was guilty then second he saw him standing at the podium. He visits him in prison but Gilbert frequently refuses to talk to him.

Detective Oxenstierna: Berwald comes from a family of firefighters and cops. Naturally he took after his dad. His plan is to work his way up to be a police chief some day...The first gay police chief in the area. Thinking about that is one of the only things that makes him smile other than imaging his family. Ber is very attentive when it comes to small details. Cigarette ashes left at a scene, a smudge of gun powder on the wall, a hair on the floor...He sees everything. He’s not the best at interacting with victims/witnesses. He’s often told that he isn’t a very sympathetic guy. He is! Just...on the inside though. He tends to stay away from people and just conduct his work on his own...but Carriedo often bothers him with jokes in the middle of the crime scene. When he feels social, he shows off baby pictures of his son cause hey! He’s a proud dad!...okay back to work no more fooling around- quiet, Carriedo!

Detective Carriedo: Toni is very excited about his job, he’s always been nosy and loud. He’s great at digging into people’s pasts but when it comes to crime scenes, he isn’t exactly the best when it comes to small details. Berwald is his assigned partner! So Ber usually handles the small things and Toni usually interviews witnesses and stuff like that. He’s definitely a people person! Sometimes he gets people to open up...even if they didn’t want to. He’s persuasive but not intentionally. He became a detective because he dreamed of doing so since he was a young boy. His father is very proud of his career choice and brags about him to his buddies constantly “Mi hijo is just the best! He’s out there finding criminals! Ah! That’s my boy!” Toni has a picture of his dad on his desk too cause on his worst days, it’s nice to look up and see the one person you know is proud of you.

More soon.... :)

[vendeavendea]

From Cuts to Scars

It’s fanfiction time!

I'm finally able to share something here that's not personal stuff or venting, so please enjoy a little bit of traumatised fictional characters instead of traumatised me :D I love both of them to death, and I'm so so sorry about torturing them! (Actually, I'm totally not sorry.)

It also exists on AO3 if anyone prefers to read it there.

Summary: Hordak and Entrapta realise that healing is not always easy. Set weeks/months after the season 5 finale, I'll leave it for you to decide when exactly. CW for mentions of blood, physical injury and mental trauma, but I tried to keep it light, so nothing very nasty.

From Cuts to Scars

"Ouch!" Entrapta exclaimed, suddenly dropping the pipe cutter she was working with. The metal clanked on the floor, its sharp sound echoing between the walls.

"What happened?" Hordak left everything at his own working area and quickly moved over to Entrapta's. She was standing by her desk, several piles of metal parts around her neatly organised into different categories by size and purpose, her left index finger in her mouth, frowning a little bit in pain. With a lock of her hair shaped into a hand, she pointed down at the cutter. He picked it up and looked at Entrapta, then, when he figured out what had happened, he clenched his fist around the handle.

"Unwary fool," he scolded, waving the tool in front of her face for a few seconds before he moved a bit closer to her to toss it back at the desk. His eyes ran over her bare hands, and he huffed quietly. "You're supposed to wear protective garment, where is it?"

"Well, I have my gloves here, but I had to take them off." She pulled her finger out of her mouth to reply, and cradled it in her other hand. "I'm working on the most delicate part right now, and I need to give a very meticulous attention to measurements or else it won't last. The gloves make it more difficult to..."

"You're impossible," he snarled. For some reason, it scared him to think about how the moment she removed her protective clothing, the instant she became vulnerable, she damaged herself with the first object she'd come in contact with. "Don't ever attempt to do this again. Now let me see it."

She reached out her arm, and he took her hand with a gentle gesture and pulled it up towards himself. Entrapta used her hair to push her body away from the floor and lift herself closer to his eye level so that he could see her finger better. Luckily, the cut didn't seem to be serious at all, but it was deep enough to cause a significant amount of pain. A thin line of blood was running down on her finger, gathering in the small dent where their skins touched. Hordak smudged it away very carefully, making sure that he didn't press her wound too hard or hurt her skin even more with his sharp claws, but just a second later, a new drop appeared and started to grow slowly until it was large enough to stream down again.

"You're bleeding," he remarked.

"Yes, but don't worry, it's such a minimal amount I'm quite confident it won't cause a hemorrhagic shock," Entrapta assured, grinning.

"I know that! Don't be a fool," Hordak snapped. "We need to treat this before it bespatters everything. Here, hold this." He grabbed a clean cloth from the tiny shelf under the desk and gently pressed it against her finger. "I'll get some bandage. And it's time to suspend this for now. No more tinkering until tomorrow," he added, pointing at her working desk.

"Aw, but I'm almost done," she protested. "I must finish this tonight, it's very important. I just need to make a few more cuts and welds before it's ready for the first test."

"You definitely don't need to make any more cuts," he grumbled, then he turned around to walk back to his workstation. He knew there was supposed to be a box of bandages somewhere, but it took him longer than expected to find it.

Meanwhile, Entrapta walked to the opposite corner of the room, to the huge cot covered by all those different sizes of colourful cushions that Glimmer had sent them as a present. They'd built this part of the lab for relaxing, but they barely ever used it. During the day, neither of them liked having breaks, they were constantly up and about building things, taking things apart, discussing plans, sharing data with each other; and at night they both had their own place to sleep. The only occasions the cot had come in handy had been those few times when Entrapta had done some maintenance work on Hordak's armor that had required him to take it off, and he'd needed a soft surface to keep his sensitive body comfortable while it had been uncovered. She dropped down and sprawled on the cot, face down, hugging as many cushions as she could with one arm, including the largest of them, a very fluffy pastel purple and sky blue one that Hordak had once described as a gaudy and tawdry piece of botchery. She'd never realised how nice and cozy this cot was, and it felt wonderful to just lie there with her eyes closed, breathing in the pleasant blend of perfumes from the cushions that reminded her of Bright Moon and the smell of petroleum that was probably coming from her own hair. She didn't even mind the stinging pain throbbing in her finger, but Hordak was probably right, she didn't want to get all her equipment dirty with blood, so it was better to just wait for him to dress that cut before she got back to working on her machine.

She didn't move an inch until she felt the cushions stirring, then the weight of Hordak's body elevating the mattress under her for a moment, and his right leg pressing against her left thigh as he settled himself next to her. She stretched her limbs and sat up when she heard him opening the first-aid box. Neither of them said a word while he was working, the only noise breaking the silence was a weak squeak coming from her throat the moment he first touched the cut with a cloth soaked in saline. Her arm twitched as she felt the wound absorbing the salty water and sharp pain flared up in her finger, but he was holding her wrist firm and strong so that she couldn't instinctively pull back. Usually it was her fixing up his body, not the other way around, and she knew too well that the mild discomfort she was feeling right now was nothing compared to the severe pain she'd caused him every time she'd been repairing his armor, even though he'd always done his best not to show any sign of it. She put a warm, admiring smile on her face as she watched him wrap bandage around her finger.

"Great, thanks," she grinned after he secured the ends with a small knot. "Now, back to work!" she added, ready to jump up and run back to her workstation, but he didn't get up, nor did he let go of her hand.

"Did you not hear what I've said?" he asked. "No more tinkering. You're going straight to bed."

"I will," she promised. "But I really, really need to finish this prototype first."

"No." With a very careful and soft motion, he stroked the edge of her bandage with the tip of his thumb. "It's almost midnight. You've been working for days with barely any break. You're exhausted, and it's affecting your performance. You need to take better care of yourself."

"But that's exactly what I've been doing," she chirped, her eyes shining in excitement. "I've been studying the alternating of different types of brain waves during several common daily activities, and I came to a fascinating conclusion that the rythm of the waves influences the relaxation level of the brain, more precisely, the slower the rhythm gets, the more relaxed the brain becomes. So, if I was able to reproduce this phenomenon by artificially generating slower brain waves such as delta waves, there's a significant chance it would lead to an increased quality of sleeping and help me overcome my insomnia and my nightmares, which is... self-care, right?"

"Entrapta, you..." Normally, listening to her sharing her ideas with him would be a pleasant experience, he was always mesmerised by the passion in her eyes and her voice when she was talking about things she was working on, things she deeply cared about. But this was different. There was something painful about the excitement on her face, something that resembled... despair, maybe. "You never told me you're having nightmares," he said, his ears pointing slightly downwards.

"It's not that important," she smiled weakly, still trying to keep her tone light, but looking up to his face, she started to suspect that it probably didn't suit the nature of the conversation anymore. She quickly turned away her head, her eyes on the gaudy cushion, the edge of the cot, the tip of her shoes – anything would do if it helped her escape his penetrating glance. She'd never been good at holding direct eye contact for too long. "They're usually about Horde Prime. But he's gone. He can't hurt us anymore. We're safe. So it doesn't matter."

He didn't know what to say. She was right, and yet she was so wrong. If those nightmares were bad enough to prevent her from having a peaceful sleep, to force her to stay awake and work so hard, so desperately, seeking for a remedy, then it did matter. A spark of an unknown emotion flared inside of him, something he'd never felt before, yet it was strangely familiar, and it took him a while to identify it as... anger? Or not exactly? He wasn't sure. Anger was something he was supposed to know very well, but this version of it seemed different from everything he'd ever experienced before. For some reason, it included a strong urge to gently pull Entrapta against his body, to hold her protectively, and he didn't quite comprehend the reason behind this, so he simply resisted the instinct, hoping it would fade away if he didn't act on it. But it stayed, and it made him uncomfortable and confused.

"Why have we never discussed it?" he asked.

"I've just explained why," she replied with a hint of uncertainty. "Did you not listen? With Horde Prime gone, it's not important anym—"

"Stop saying that!" he interjected with a loud grunt, making her twitch for a moment as he raised his voice. Realising that he might have scared her, he pulled back with an apologizing look on his face, but he didn't loosen his grip around her fingers. He took slow and deep breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, attempting to calm his mind. He'd been working hard to overcome his temper issues for a while, and he didn't understand where the sudden wave of rage was coming from. It may have been the thought that he was the one who'd failed to protect her from whatever she'd witnessed while being held hostage by Horde Prime, from whatever horrible things that had etched themselves into her mind so strongly that they'd been causing her nightmares ever since. She didn't deserve this. And he didn't deserve her forgiveness. He quickly shook his head, he didn't want to give in to these excruciating thoughts, not this time.

"Well... What is it exactly that you want to discuss?" Entrapta asked patiently.

He remembered the moment when she, after Horde Prime had finally left his body forever, had rushed into his arms laughing and crying in joy, squealing that they'd had so much to talk about. And since that day, they had indeed talked about many things. About space and magic, about scientific research, about plans, blueprints, robots, First Ones' tech, ideas, experiments, new discoveries. About staying together as lab partners for the foreseeable future. About helping to rebuild all the kingdoms the Horde had destroyed. But still... "Everything that happened... What he's done to us... We never talked about it," he whispered, bringing his right hand under her chin to gently lift up her head, searching for her magenta orbs. "You never told me how much he's hurt you."

She looked away again, this time turning her whole body away from him, pushing his hand back from her face, peeling his fingers off her hand with a firm but gentle movement. Had she been wearing her welding mask, she would have used it to cover her face, but it was resting at her workstation, too far out of reach, so she just pressed her legs together, slightly bending her back and leaning forward to hide herself behind the curtain of her hair.

"He's hurt you, too, way more than he's hurt me," she drawled slowly, thinking through every single word before saying them out loud. "It made me very uncomfortable to think about him, and I thought you'd felt the same. I thought if I never brought it up, we'd both be able to move on. I wanted to talk about pleasant things with you. I wanted to think about the future. I wanted to see you happy." That last word made his ears flinch for a moment, but before he could say or do anything, she continued. "I'm sorry I've assumed things instead of asking. I know this is something I need to be more careful with."

"No, I..." He hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to invade her personal space just after she'd pulled away, so he resisted the urge to lean closer and sweep her hair out of the way to reveal her face. "I deeply relate to what you've just described."

"Really?" She twitched her shoulders a little bit. People usually didn't understand her at all, and Hordak's words made her feel... seen. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though she knew her face was still hidden behind her hair so he wouldn't notice.

He nodded. "Yes. And I owe you an apology, because I, too, have kept things from you for the same reason."

The tip of her ponytails twitched in realisation, and she finally looked up to face him. "Are you... having nightmares as well?"

"They're more like... flashes," he replied hesitantly. "Visions. Of... things." He presumed that specifying "things" as images of himself pointing his arm cannon at a horrified, trembling Entrapta, ready to shoot her to death, would probably have been too harsh. He shivered, and a thin lock of her hair swarmed up his right shoulder, softly stroking him in consolation. He reached out for that lock and slowly ran his fingers through it, then he closed his eyes, gave a long sigh and flopped back on the cot, with his head and neck against the wall. He felt Entrapta following him, settling herself comfortably between the cushions and his body, but barely touching him – just a light contact of a lock of her hair against his shoulder, continuing the gentle, soothing motions.

"I don't understand why we're like this," she said blankly. "It doesn't make sense. He's gone, and he's never coming back, so everything's supposed to be okay, but it's not."

"Exceedingly illogical indeed," he agreed. "But this provides us new areas to explore, and I believe that's what we should do."

The stroking motions stopped, and the lock of hair was now resting still on his shoulder. "I'm not sure I want to explore this," she muttered. "It would... hurt."

"I've explored your cut. And it hurt you, but it was also very beneficial," he pointed out. "Just like when you do maintenance work on my armor. Maybe sometimes things are supposed to hurt first so that they can get better."

"You think so?"

"I do." He slightly turned his torso towards her, lifting up his hand to... slide it against her arm? Put it on her waist? Pull her closer? He hesitated for a moment, then simply placed his hand atop her lock of hair that was still resting on his shoulder, and rushed his fingers through it. He soon felt a ticklish sensation on his claws as her hair curled itself around them, forming into a soft, violet-coloured hand, and he found himself smiling, if only for a glimpse of a moment. "I know it's hard. It's painful. And I don't want to press you. But there's nothing wrong with talking it out. As you've said it yourself, he's gone. There's nothing to be afraid of. Talking about what we've been through won't bring him back, and it might even benefit us in some ways. So if there's anything, anytime, that you wish to tell me, I'll always be there to listen."

She felt her eyes get watery. "Do my nightmares really concern you this much?" she asked quietly.

"Of course they do," he replied. "My lab partner's safety and wellbeing are my most significant priorities."

Entrapta grabbed a cushion with a lock of hair, and pulled it closer to her face. "I care about you a lot, too," she responded. "And you can also tell me anything, anytime."

He let go of her hair and reached out to hold her left hand, carefully sandwiching it between his two palms. For a few seconds, he examined her wounded finger.

"How does it feel?" he asked, running his thumb across her knuckles just above the bandage.

"Slightly itchy." Entrapta gave a weak little laugh, then a deeply honest smile warmed up her face, though her gaze seemed a little uncertain. "There is actually something I want to tell you. I want you to know that I... When I was... When Horde Prime... When you were gone, Hordak, I really missed you."

He somehow expected, hoped to hear these words from her, but that didn't make it easier to respond. There was nothing he could think of to say. No matter how badly he wanted to answer "I missed you too", it just wouldn't have worked, he felt like it wouldn't have been honest enough. When he'd been deceived into believing that Entrapta had betrayed him, and after he'd found out she'd been sent to Beast Island and had probably been dead, he'd became completely empty. He hadn't been able to feel anything at all, let alone miss her. And while under Horde Prime's control, his memories of her had seemed to be so distant, they'd felt like they'd been from someone else's life. Sometimes he'd seen flashes of the two of them experimenting with the portal in his sanctum, but other times he hadn't even been able to recall her name. All he'd done was try as hard as possible to cling to that feeling while holding the crystal in his hand, clenching his fist around it so strongly that the sharp edges had almost felt like they'd pierce through the skin of his palm. Yes, sometimes, there had been that strong urge to be around her, to understand the strange warmth her presence had awaken in him, to figure out why everything about her had felt so familiar, but he clearly couldn't have missed her, because he hadn't known who she was. He hadn't even known who he'd used to be. Not until the very end.

"Oh, it's okay, you don't have to say you missed me, too. I know it's complicated," Entrapta said quickly after finally realising why Hordak went so quiet. "But I definitely missed you. I wished you'd been there with me when I went to space. I thought about how we could've explored all those galaxies together. We could've collected so much data, and I'd have let Darla analyse them for us, and... What I'm saying is... I was thinking about you. A lot," she murmured, and Hordak gave her a smile, probably the tenderest one he'd ever given to anyone in his life.

"I... was trying my best to think about you, too," he answered.

"I knew you would." She moved a bit closer and looked up in his face, then slowly, hesitantly, because this was something new to them, and a part of her was afraid of him pulling away, she laid down her head on his shoulder. He didn't move or protest at all, so Entrapta carefully placed all her weight on him, gently wrapping her hair around his upper arm. Then she felt him spreading that particular arm over her, his palm resting against her waist. She'd never done anything like this to anybody before. At first it was awkward and a little bit scary to be this close to someone and sense each and every little flinch of his body, and then she suddenly felt even more exposed when she realised it was mutual. But after a while, the sensation started to become more natural, and the tension slowly faded away, leaving only comfort and pleasure behind. She took a deep breath and curled up her legs, lifting another lock of hair to softly twine it around his body, pulling herself even closer against his chest. Then she just rested her head there, eyes closed, she had no idea how long for.

"Hordak?" she whispered wearily. He let out a low, sleepy, interrogative growl. "I think what we're doing right now is having a positive effect on my relaxation level. May I... Could we just stay here for a while, please?"

All he did in response was reach out for her right hand and lace their fingers together while tilting his head just enough to be able to bury his face into her hair, breathing against her scalp, and Entrapta happily sank into the feeling.

"Is that a yes?" she asked softly.

"A very definite one."

[stellar-alley]

•If The World Was Ending•

This one shot is based off of the song If The World Was Ending by JP Saxe and Julia Michales. Sorry about no italics, when i copied it over they didn’t change and I can’t go and change all of them.

~

I was distracted

And in traffic

I didn't feel it

When the earthquake happened

Edward Kaspbrak, risk analyst, fellow New Yorker, was stuck in the one thing he hated most, traffic. The air conditioner in his car was on high, the mid-June air was hot and humid. As much as he craved to open the windows and get some fresh air, he knew how prone he was to road rage, especially during traffic, and wasn’t in the mood to hear his victim’s response. He just wanted to curse them out in peace. 

“What the fuck is going on? MOVE ASSHAT!” He shouted at the car in front of him that just randomly halted. He watched in confusion as the driver, a teenage girl, stepped out of her car and looked around. Then he noticed a couple other drivers doing the same. Traffic had completely stopped around him, it created a weird vibe, New York became quieter for a moment and it was very unnerving. 

Eddie considered it for a moment, everyone’s stopped so you’re not gonna get hit by a car, he thought before he followed suit and got out of his car. 

“What the hell is going on?” He asked the closest person to him, which was the teenage girl. She had short wavy brown hair and wore a jean vest and matching shorts. 

“You didn’t feel it?” Her voice is filled with concern as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Feel what?”.

“The earthquake,” She says.

But it really got me thinkin'

Were you out drinkin'?

Were you in the living room

Chillin' watchin' television?

The news sent a wave of worries through Eddie’s body, he raked his hand through his hair. His gaze went slightly blurry as he tried to examine his surroundings, seeing if anything had collapsed or if people were screaming. 

The teen must’ve noticed his change in emotion as she continued with, “It wasn’t major or anything. The news guy said everything is fine. But you know New Yorkers, they overreact and all” She smiled nervously at him, worried that she’d used the wrong words. 

There’d been a policeman a couple of cars down and she advised everyone to get back into their cars and wait for the traffic to pick up again. So Eddie got back into his car. It took awhile for the traffic to pick up again but it did. 

His knuckles turned white, gripping the steering wheel as his mind began to race with the thought of what his wife, Myra, must be thinking right now.“She’s probably throwing a fit right now cause I’m not home” he sighed as he glanced at his phone on its stand. He noticed that it wasn’t able to connect to wifi or data. The lines must be down or something…. Shit. Eddie realized, knowing that would only make things worse. 

“Ah fuck me”, he sighed in frustriation. Only then did Eddie reluctantly release one of his hands from the steering wheel to pinch the bridge or his nose. 

Eds, at least buy me dinner first, a voice popped into Eddie’s head, but it wasn’t his. Oh no, he’d never refer to himself as that terrible nickname. Only one person ever called him that nowadays... Richie. 

I wonder what the ‘famous comedian’ Richie Trashmouth Tozier is doing. Eddie smirked at the idea. He wondered if Richie was blackout drunk, high as a bird, or jerking it in his room. That’s something Eddie had been doing a lot of lately, especially when times were tough back at his apartment with Myra. (not jerking off, thinking or Richie)

 His mind would wonder about his childhood best friend, how he was doing, what his latest comedy sketch was about (since he started writing his own stuff after the IT incident), he also worried about Richie’s bad habits. Ever since he was a teen he had a bit of a smoking problem, cigarettes and weed, and some drinking. But Eddie knew it only grew worse with time. Richie explained how he had actually been pretty clean until Mike called him, then he relapsed. Eddie knew that after the fight, after Richie got stuck in the fucking deadlights, he had been suffering from night terrors, which prompted his insomnia, which made more time for him to drink and smoke. 

 It's been a year now

Think I've figured out how

How to let you go and let communication die out

Sadly he hasn’t talked to Richie in a year, since the incident, since he left the hospital. He lived without Richie for so long, it should’ve been easy to forget about him again. But now he had old memories that weren’t there before, ones of a childhood he forgot he lived through. It’s been a year now, and Eddie has finally pushed down all of the feelings for his childhood crush. He was letting Richie go, finally able to let the communication die out. 

Eddie had been in the hospital for over a month and Richie was the only one who stayed, Bev had to go file a divorce, Ben had architect stuff to architect, Bill had a movie to finish and a wife to apologize to,  Mike had a world to see, and Stan had a vacation to take with his wife. As much as they all wanted to stay, the only reason they didn’t was that they knew Eddie was safe in Richie’s care. 

The day before Eddie officially woke up, he had been in and out of consciousness and he could hear bits and pieces of conversations, hell, sometimes he even saw flashes of the room around him. But there was one conversation that stuck out to him, the one he remembered the most. 

Richie was by his side, the only one in the room, voice low. Although he couldn’t see Richie, he could tell that he’d been crying. Richie started out by talking about some of his favourite memories with him from their childhood, from before they left Derry. The hot days at the quarry, their cuddles in the hammock, the nights Richie had nightmares (yes he had them even as a kid so that makes these current nightmares so much worse, cause he had to handle them alone) and would sneak into Eddie’s room during the late hours of the night. Those were the nights that they’d talk until Richie’s mind was at ease, about nothing yet everything all at the same time. If Richie felt better he’d head home, but most nights they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. Richie’s mind filled with worries about falling into the same nightmare again so Eddie would hold him close to make sure Richie felt safe as sleep took him away.  

Then Richie continued to talk about how close he and Eddie had been, and how even when he moved away, and forgot, he always knew he’d been missing something. He explained how that night at the Jade of the Orient, he finally felt whole again. Eddie blacked out for a little bit afterwards, he still kicks himself for that, even though he had no control over it. But he came back just in time to hear the end of Richie’s speech. 

“Eds… I know we argue, I call you out and annoy the ever-living shit out of you, but those are the conversations I live for. You know every joke I make is just me trying to get you to laugh, right? I knew how hard it was at home for you, so I always wanted to give you the chuckles that you never got at home” Richie stopped for a moment. He let out a little chuckle himself, “That last year we had together was the best year of my fucking life. Because it was you and me against the world. A-And the day you left… Eddie I kick myself every day for not saying it back. Because I love you, so fucking much” he took a moment to collect himself. “It’s funny to think that I never realized it sooner, all of the early mornings and late nights, scalding summer days and afternoons in the  freezing winter. I loved you since the day you squished your small, cute, ass in that hammock with me. I’ve loved you since the day you skipped school to take care of me when I threw up. Fuck…. Eddie I’ve loved you since fifth grade when you gave me that stupid valentine card with the cat cause you knew I never got any. I never stopped loving you-” Eddie drifted off, unable to hear the rest of the confession. Though he couldn’t hear him, he did feel a hand lay over his, and his fingers laced together with another’s. Then he felt Richie plant an ever so soft kiss on his forehead. 

 I never told Richie that I’d overheard him, how could I? How could I just randomly admit to him that when we were cuddled up in that hammock, I felt more at home than I have in my entire life? How I suddenly felt safe when his arms wrapped around me. How my heart skipped a beat every time our skin accidentally touched. And how I secretly adored every damn stupid nickname you called me because they were something that only you and I shared. They were mine, and I was yours. How can I admit that that year, was a year I cherished until the day I forgot it, because of that fucking clown. 

After all of his memories returned to him after the incident, Eddie recalled a day he swore he could never forget, the day before he left for college. He was going to some out of state college to escape his mother, who’s grip had only gotten worse over the years. 

Richie and Eddie had started dating about a year prior. After years of silent pinning and pent up emotions, Richie finally burst and admitted his feelings for him. That year, their final year of highschool, was one for the history books. The two were inseparable, determined to spend every living second together before Eddie had to leave for college. And they did, for the most part. 

Almost every night Richie would sneak into Eddie’s room and the two would kiss and make out, then snuggle the rest of the night away. At school they always found time for each other, in between classes, secretly meeting in the bathroom, even discreetly holding hands under their desks. 

The one thing they never did was say ‘I Love you’. Both of them were subconsciously waiting until the time was right. Eddie thought the right time was the day he left for college. 

“What am I going to do without my Chee? Who’s gonna give me stupid nicknames and crawl through my window now?” Eddie hugged Richie tightly. 

“You’ll find someone, I know you will” Richie brushed the comment aside. It’s something he’d been doing for the past week or so. Whenever Eddie mentioned the future, him coming back for Christmas or Richie coming up to visit him, Richie always brushed it under the rug, never in the mood to talk about it. Eddie always assumed it was because he wanted to live in the moment and not worry about the future, but even then, he seemed distant. 

A voice rang overhead, announcing that Eddie’s flight was now boarding. 

Here goes nothing

He looked up at Richie, who’s eyes seemed sad and dark. “Richie, I want you to know that I will always love you” Eddie’s voice was quiet, almost vulnerable. 

Richie pulled away and hesitated before saying “E-Eddie, I-I don’t know if I can do this whole long distance thing. You’re so, so good, and you deserve someone who can be there for you-”.

Eddie was taken aback, suddenly disgusted by how he thought Richie would ever love him back, “Rich, what are you talking about? Just last week you said you were okay with his”.

“Yeah? Well that was last week, and this is now. I just don’t wanna hold you back from meeting new- and better people when you’re away” Richie quickly hugged Eddie, not wanting to continue the conversation as he knew the tears it’d bring. “I’m sorry” He whispered as he gave Eddie one finally look, then left. 

It was the day that changed everything for Eddie. The day he wished he could forget since it clouded his vision, kept him up at night, and distracted him from almost everything. One day he did forget it, but it all came back the day he saw Richie Tozier at the Jade of the Orient. 

Neither of them had brought up the breakup, neither did any of the other Losers. They were all aware that it was a sensitive topic and opted to keep the mood light while reliving their childhood memories. The mood wasn't worried between Richie and Eddie, but it wasn't the same either. It was as if things had gone back to when they were just friends, the constant banter and bickering.

 I know, you know, we know

You weren't down for forever and it's fine

I know, you know, we know

We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

After Eddie was released from the hospital, he had gotten on his first flight to New York and returned to Myra. He’d convinced himself that everything he heard during his coma was a dream. After so many years of internalized homophobia, it was hard to stop now. 

He’d thanked Richie for everything and insisted he was okay. He made sure Richie would head back to LA and continue his job, but he also made him promise to start writing his own material. He told Richie it’d finally convince him to go to one of his shows. Sadly he still had yet to purchase a ticket or even watch his shows on Netflix. Now, every time he saw famous comedian Richie Tozier, he could only remember the boy he’d once give the world for, the boy who didn’t love him back.

But if the world was ending

 You'd come over, right?

You'd come over and you'd stay the night

Would you love me for the hell of it?

The sky'd be falling and I'd hold you tight

And there wouldn't be a reason why

We would even have to say goodbye

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

Even though he forgot, Eddie always knew something was off. No matter who he was with, it never felt right. That’s because Richie Tozier had taken a piece of his heart the day he never said it back. Then the day Eddie left the hospital, he’d left an even bigger piece with the boy he still loved. 

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

His phone beeped, indicating that he'd received a text. 

Ben: Hey Eddie, just wanted to check in and make sure you're safe, heard about the earthquake. Bev says hi! 

It was from Ben. Eddie noticed his phone was back on data, so that text was followed by a million texts and calls from Myra. He clicked on the contact and clicked the call button. 

“Hey, Eddie!” Ben's voice sounded relieved, “How's a going, is everything okay?”. 

“Hey, yeah… I'm okay” Eddie hesitated, “Just shaken” he breathed. If he were talking to anyone else he would've just said he was okay, but Ben was a Loser, and Losers never lied. 

“Good I'm glad to he-” Ben was suddenly cut off by the sound of his wife's voice from beside him. 

“Ask if he's heard from Richie!” Bev's voice got louder as she spoke, most likely approaching from another room. 

“R-Richie? Why would I have heard from him?” Eddie tensed up, caught off guard. 

He was met with the sounds of muffled talking and someone grabbing the phone, “Hey Eddie, sorry- I was just wondering cause well, Richie was in his New York apartment for the week and we texted him to see if he was okay but he didn’t answer-” Bev explained. 

“Wait- Richie’s in New York? Really?” Eddie tried to hide the excitement in his voice but failed. 

“Y-Yeah, didn’t he tell you?” She sounded confused. 

The truth was, as much as Eddie wanted to, he never asked Richie for his number when they reunited. Neither did Richie. 

Eddie spoke before he could think through his words, “What’s his address?”, even he was shocked at the question. 

“Here, I’ll text it to you. Why- Eddie what are you scheming?” He could hear the smirk in her voice, as if she knew what he was going to do before he did it. 

“Nothing, nothing… I just wanna check in on our resident trashmouth and make sure he hasen’t fucking OD’d on Capri Sun or some shit” Eddie scoffed as the two on the other end laughed. 

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Right?

After their call ended, Eddie opened google maps and typed in Richie’s address. 

~

I tried to imagine

Your reaction

It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened

 Famous comedian Richie Tozier was indeed drinking Capri Sun, though he hadn't reached the point of overdosing, he could tell his taste buds were in the midst of destruction, as he’d just finished his fourth Capri Sun. Which is about 3 more than he should’ve had. 

Richie only noticed the ground shaking after it had happened. He knew that if you were inside during an earthquake you were supposed to get outside as soon as possible, but it was so quick, should I go? He thought before sitting up from his couch and shuffled towards the door. 

He glanced out into the hallway of his apartment floor and noticed some of his neighbours doing the same. He gave them a nod before one of the managers came through the door that led to the stairs. He advised everyone to stay inside as it was only a minor earthquake and there was no reason to leave. 

Instead of reclaiming the spot on his couch, Richie went and took a seat on his balcony. This is something that he’s been doing more as the weather got warmer. He had put a chair out there, so when he got comfortable he propped his feet up on the railing and took in the skyline. 

He couldn’t help but think what his hypochondriac, asthmatic, piece of pasta, was up to right now. 

That idiot is probably losing his shit over the earthquake. 

Richie chuckled to himself as he recalled how he was always prepared for something like this. Even in his younger years, his fanny pack was always equipped with the supplies to handle anything, from scraped knees, to runny noses. It was one of the many things he loved about Eddie… Yes, love. 

The thought prompted Richie to run his hand over his face. He then removed his glasses and pressed the palms of his hands onto his closed eyes. His eyes started to tear up as he re-lived an old memory he once forgot.

But it really got me thinkin'

That night we went drinkin'

Stumbled in the house

And didn't make it past the kitchen

They’d been dating for just over a month now. Things were still exciting, still new. Something neither of them had experienced before. To say that they tried to spend every moment together was an understatement. Because once their feelings were out in the open, they hadn't been able to get off of eachother. They were always touching in one way or another. Whether it was holding hands, Richie having his arm draped over Eddie or Eddie having his arm around Richie’s waist. 

It was one of the rare occasions where Sonia Kaspbrak had left town for the weekend, out to go visit family, and she hadn't taken Eddie with her, like usual. So Richie and Eddie had the Kaspbrak residence all to themselves. Sure they spent the first half of the night drinking cheap beer with the other Losers at the Quarry, but after they got home they had their most memorable make out sessions to date. 

They’d just entered the house and Richie had already picked up Eddie. Their kisses become more intense as the space between their bodies vanished. The smaller boy wrapped his arms around the taller's neck and his legs around his waist, hugging him like a koala. The curly haired teen had his hands positioned on the other’s ass, he gave it a little squeeze before he set him down on the kitchen counter. 

Once Eddie’s butt had gone numb, Richie’s legs got tired, and both their lips grew raw, Eddie hopped off the counter and grabbed Richie’s hand. He pulled his smitten boyfriend up the stairs and to his room. That’s where they continued their heated make out session, except it wasn't ass intense. Their kisses were still passionate, but almost tired, it was late after all.

Richie pulled his shirt over his head, Eddie began kissing his neck, his chest, anywhere he could reach. Richie had snaked his right hand up Eddie’s shirt, so it pressed up against Eddie’s back, the touch sent shivers down Eddie’s spine. 

“May I?” Richie requested, which was something he did a lot when they were in bed together. He always asked before he did things. Sure they were both inexperienced horny teens, but Richie always wanted to make sure that Eddie was comfortable with anything they did. 

“Do it- Rich I’m all yours” Eddie said in between kisses. He felt Richie grabbed a handful of his shirt, that’s when he reluctantly sat up. Which allowed Richie to gracefully pull the shirt up and over Eddie’s head. Their chests were pressed together, skin on skin. It sent fireworks exploding in both of their chests. 

The kisses soon grew lazy, and they both opted to lay in eachothers arms. Cuddled as close together as humanly possible. Their pants had come off, leaving the teens in their boxers. So their bare legs were tangled together as Eddie’s head laid against Richie’s chest, he hummed happily to the sound of Richie’s speedy heartbeat. Richie’s head sat comfortably on top of Eddie’s, one of his hands laced together with his boyfriend’s while the other was carefully brushing out Eddie’s soft brown curls.

Neither of them wanted to be anywhere else. If they could’ve lived in that moment forever, they would have.

 Ah, it's been a year now

Think I've figured out how

How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out

 Up until the day Richie’s memories were taken without his permission, about a year after he left Derry to try the whole ‘comedian’ thing, he had regretted not saying it back to Eddie. He doesn't know what came over him on the day the love of his life left. It was just something about not being able to see him everyday, not being able to hold his hand when he got nervous or climb through his window when he had a nightmare, that scared him. He worried that without that physical touch, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the Eddie he once was. Practically convincing himself that once Eddie found someone he could actually be with, he’d dump Richie. 

So the Trashmouth decided to end things before he could get his heart broken. Little did he know that his heart would still beat for Eddie Kaspbrak up until the day that that name held no meaning to him anymore.

When he saw Eddie again, after 27 years, it was as if nothing had changed. The subtle glances, the twist of his stomach when his hand brushed against Eddie’s, the way he couldn’t think about anything else, and the way his heart ached for a love that they once shared. 

Richie, worried about messing things up again, he waited for Eddie to make the first move. Unsure if they were anything more than friends, Richie kept it that way, just friends. Eddie never did bring anything up. Not at the Jade of the Orient, not when he almost died, and not when he left the hospital. Sure it felt like he ripped Richie’s heart out of his chest, tore it in half, then shoved it back in, but he knew it was for the best. Afterall, Eddie had moved on, married a woman, and started a life without him. It killed him to see, but it wasn't his place to go and ruin what Eddie had worked so hard to build. 

It’s been a year now. A year since he’s seen Eddie. A year of staring at his phone, threatening to click the call button and finally hear his voice again, a year of writing texts that’d never be sent, a year of going between LA and New York in hopes of randomly bumping into Eddie at some coffee shop. But it’s been a year, and Richie is finally able to think about Eddie without it feeling like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. It’s progress. 

 But if the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

A doorbell ripped Richie from the memory he was reliving. Suddenly aware of the tears on his cheeks and his shaking hands. Fuck, he mentally cursed. He checked his reflection in the camera of his phone. Who the hell is at my door at, he checked the time, 6:00 pm, what the fuck?. He gave his eyes one more wip before he reached for the doorknob, he didn’t care if the mailman saw him with red puffy eyes and wet cheeks, Bob had seen him in the worst conditions. 

His heart momentarily stopped at the familiar sight of Eddie James Kaspbrak who stood in the hallway of his apartment building. Suddenly the phrase, A sight for sore eyes, became so clear to him, because his sore eyes suddenly became soft at the sight of the boy who once brought him so much joy.

“Eddie…” Richie breathed, his mind unable to properly phrase sentences. 

“Richie, a-are you okay?” Eddie’s voice was laced with concern, worried that he’d just walked in on something. 

Richie had done something he grew too comfortable with, “Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, never not fine, am I right?” He joked. 

Eddie’s brow scrunched ever so slightly, unaware of what to do. “Right… Sorry to show up out of the blue. Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay, you know with the whole earthquake and all” He changed his tone, to sound more comforting.

“Oh…” Something broke inside of Richie. Of course he was only here because of the fucking earthquake. It’s not like he has any other reason to come see the boy who fucking left him at the airport- “I’m A okay, thanks for checking in Eds” Richie assured with a wink. He made sure his voice sounded extra chipper, afraid that he’d somehow allow Eddie to see how close he was to breaking. 

Eddie huffed, almost as if he was amused, “Don’t call me that” he shook his head jokingly. Of course there was more he wanted to say, 27 years of thoughts and emotions that’d went unsaid, but he kept it that way. “Well you seem to be doing fine, so I guess I’ll leave you be- see you around Trashmouth”.

The nickname sent memories flashing through both of their minds, the arguments they had at school when they threw that nickname at him, Beeping Richie whenever his motormouth wouldn’t slow down. Maybe under different circumstances, they would’ve shared a laugh. Talked about the good old days over a coffee on Richie’s balcony and maybe even open up the Pandora's box that was their relationship. Instead, Eddie gave Richie a small wave, and turned to make his way towards the elevator. 

Eddie let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding it, suddenly tense with regret. There was so much more he wanted to say, but it was too late. 

Richie closed the door and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. I can’t believe I fucked this up again. Just like always. Leave it up to good ol’ trashmouth to ruin the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.... Suddenly Eddie’s words rang out through his head, so loud and earth shattering it almost caused his eyes to tear up again. I Love You. 

“I Love you too Eddie…” Richie said to himself. Then it dawned on him. “I love you” he repeated. 

His hand reached out the door handle and he hastily opened the door to his apartment. He took a step out of his apartment and saw Eddie waiting for the elevator. Richie wasted no time, he was 27 years late after all. 

“I love you” He shouted to the man down the hall from him. 

Eddie’s eyes looked up to meet Richie’s, big and tear filled, with a sliver of hope inside of his iriss. 

Richie talked as he ran to him. “I love you. Edward fucking Kaspbrak. And I’ve kicked myself every goodman day of my life for not saying it back to you because I, love you”. Now he was in front of Eddie, spilling his heart out, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I always knew I loved you, since the day you kissed my scraped knee in fourth grade. It just took me 27 fucking years to relaize I can’t live without you… My little piece of spaghetti'' The last line got a huff from Eddie. 

“Really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you Rich?” He asked, but his voice held no anger, only pure and utter joy. 

Richie disregarded the comment and continued, “I know you’re married and I am 27 years late, but fuck, I had to tell you before I fucking imploded. Because I love you.” 

Eddie stood there for a moment, as if he was soon going to be woken up from this dream. Then he finally mustered the power to speak, “I love you too Richie”. Eddie couldn’t help himself, he’d been waiting 27 years. He took a couple steps, closing the distance between the two, he placed his hand on the back of Richie’s neck, pulled him down and kissed him. 

Richie hesitated for a split second before returning the kiss. Then it was just like they were kids again, fireworks exploded through their bodies as their hearts began to beat together.

You'd come over and you'd stay the night

Would you love me for the hell of it?

All our fears would be irrelevant

“I love you” Richie couldn’t stop saying it, as if he was trying to make up for all the time he hadn't been saying it. He said it when they pulled away from their kiss, when he led Eddie back into his apartment, and plenty of times while they made out on Richie’s bed. 

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight

No, there wouldn't be a reason why

We would even have to say goodbye

It was midnight, only then did they begin to calm down off of the high they’d been riding. As if the years of crushing and pinning had built up, and finally they’d been able to get what they craved. 

Richie laid on his back, with Eddie’s head resting on his chest, with one hand over Richie’s heart while the other was laced together with the other’s. 

“I love you” he repeated again, meaning every word he said. 

“I love you too” Eddie said. His heart beat in his chest, his entire heart. No missing or lost pieces, because he’d found Richie again, and all of the pieces were finally put back into place. 

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

“I don’t care what happens now” Eddie said, he looked up to meet Richie’s gaze. “The marriage can be dealt with. Hell, I don’t even care where we end up, here, LA, anywhere, as long as I’m with you” For the first time in a long time, Eddie felt hope. He was excited for what the future held, because he wasn't alone anymore. 

You'd come over, right?

You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right?

“We’ll make it work” Richie kissed Eddie’s forehead, “We always do”.

If the world was ending

You'd come over, right?

Word Count: 5350

I hope you guys enjoyed the one shot! I had a lot of fun writing it.

If you've got any songs you want me to turn into a one shot then comment down below!

Until next time

So Long and Goodnight

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 2, bc this is happening

Yo. I’m charging ahead on this project because I’m a terrible mother and my kid is getting a lot of (educational) screen time during the day while my husband works from home and I get this written. It remains based on this comic by @lostmypotatoes​. It’s so long that I split off the end and it’s mutating into Chapter 3. Lots of talking, with Stuff to come of it very soon, no worries.

Now featuring a cut! Thanks (what’s an easy nickname for you? “Lost”? “‘Tatoes?”) for the tip on how to very easily do that.

Lastly, I have login shenanigans to deal with, and have been chatting with Lost (?) using @ikustioa on my phone, so I suppose that’s my blogging/personal handle now. Anyway, here we go:

~

Three nights later, Sans woke with a jerk. Someone in the next room was sobbing. It wasn't a memory or nightmare, he realized a moment later, and it wasn't the priestess; it was a small child, crying so hard that it could barely breathe. Steeling himself, the boss monster slid out of bed and listened intently.

He heard a woman whisper something, and the child's sobs quieted as a familiar sound came through the door. It was the same humming that had de-powered his blaster the other day, though not the same tune. The skeleton took a moment to be sure that the glow in his eyes was out, then cracked the bedroom door open.

Frisk was kneeling, bare-headed, with her arms around a little boy of perhaps eight or nine years. In the light of one lamp on the worktable, Sans saw a dark patch of blood in the child's hair. Frisk glanced at the skeleton, giving him a wan smile, still humming. Sans closed the door enough that the child wouldn't see him.

The priestess waited till the boy had calmed down to the occasional sniffle, then leaned back and reached for something on the table. "I've got a treat for you," she said cheerfully. "Do you like peppermint?"

The child thought it over, and nodded.

"Wonderful, because that's exactly what this is. You'll feel better in no time." She held out a glass bottle. "You can have three big swallows, but only three, all right?"

Well played, Sans thought, framing it as something he got to have, not something he had to take. Sure enough, the little boy gulped it right down, smacking his lips as the young woman retrieved the bottle. "Good. Can you do something very important for me?" she asked. Nod, nod. "Can you lie down and count to one hundred? That'll make the magic work better. Let's go to my office."

The child went with her quite willingly. After a few minutes, the High Priestess re-emerged into Sans' field of vision. Her pleasant expression was gone, replaced with one that actually made him feel a little sorry for whoever had pissed her off. Then he remembered the blood on the kid's head. "Anybody you want me ta kill?" he asked through the door.

"Don't tempt me." Frisk jerked a sheet of paper from a stack on the desk, grabbed a pen, and began writing rapidly.

Sans checked the time. "God damn, what's that kid doing awake at two in the morning?"

"Being beaten." The pen scratched viciously across the page.

He decided to shut up. Frisk soon finished the message, blew the ink dry and folded the paper in thirds, then sealed it and marched to the outer door, where she woke up the guard on duty. Sans heard her reaming the guy about doing his job properly, serving a writ, and not letting a guy out of the castle. She came back in, only to return to the office.

This seemed to be typical for her, as far as Sans could tell, though it usually wasn't this dramatic or this late at night. If she wasn't off at church or giving him lessons, she was talking to someone who needed help and apparently couldn't get it elsewhere. He had yet to see her do something for fun, or sleep more than five hours at a time.

Meanwhile, his daily routine had been surprisingly low-key. The first day, after being flagrantly mind-controlled into agreeing to stay, he'd eaten some more, then slept for another dreamless twenty-four hours. The next morning, she'd let him have another pile of food, then started his apprenticeship by showing him the most common ingredients for potions and how to identify them by sight, as he couldn't smell and didn't have much sense of touch. Yesterday had been a review, emphasizing that a mistake could literally kill someone, and she'd given him a book of basic recipes, asking him to make a list of any ingredients he found that she hadn't already introduced.

It was kind of annoying to have homework, and he was starting to get cabin fever, but otherwise, the whole experience hadn't been too terrible. He was relieved and disappointed that she kept the veil on almost all the time, which reduced the distraction somewhat, though she persisted in having a fantastic shape, and he was really starting to enjoy the sound of her voice. When he could focus enough to ask questions, she was patient and encouraging, and let him use all the paper he wanted to write down the answers. She was obviously pleased that he cared enough to take notes, though not in a smug or irritating way; it just made her happy, and that made him...not unhappy.

It was also still novel to talk to a human who wasn't afraid of him. He hadn't seen many humans up here besides the little boy, and figured they were forbidden to come into her rooms unless they desperately needed help, or could sneak past a sleeping guard. That was fine with Sans, though he'd overheard one cleaning lady being so persistent that he really wanted to come out of the bedroom and tell her to piss off. Unsurprisingly, Frisk had asked him to not do that.

There were only a few real mysteries so far. One was a pile of letters she'd brought in on the second day and tossed into a basket of also-unopened envelopes standing by the roaring fireplace in her workshop. He'd caught her looking at the basket a couple of times, as if debating whether to burn them all, but she never did it, or opened any in front of him.

The biggest question was how she knew he could teleport, and the nature of his blue magic, even if was getting more red than blue these days. He had unthinkingly used the latter to grab a couple things yesterday, and his magic had almost immediately died out. He didn't know exactly how she was doing it, but her barriers weren't just blocking him in: they kept his power so muted that he couldn't have summoned a single bone. It seemed that he'd be allowed to use some magic to make the actual potions, and that was it.

Well, there was time to worry about that later. The injured kid had made him think of Kris again, which made him think of the book passage Frisk had quoted at him. He'd have to ask if she...wait, no, he didn't have to ask. She'd given him carte blanche to read anything he found in her bedroom or workshop. Sans tapped the nearest witchlight on, noting that it was much weaker than the ones Underground, and started perusing the shelves.

Fifteen minutes later, Frisk knocked on the door, waiting for him to grunt acknowledgement before she came in. "I'm sorry for waking you," she said, dropping into her chair with a deep sigh. "There's going to be hell to pay in the morning."

She did look like hell, with bags under her eyes and a smear of blood on her cheek. Sans put the book down and tapped his own face, and she got the hint, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Ugh. That poor child." She sighed again, curling up and resting her head on the arm of the chair. "I'll wash up in a minute."

"Didn't you just get back from a thing?" he asked, wondering if she was always this cavalier about bodily fluids.

"Yes. His Holiness decided we needed more midnight services, and I have to be there every other night." She rubbed her eyes. "Flynn must have followed me back here. People aren't supposed to know where I live, but word is spreading. At this rate, I'll have to move again."

Sans drummed his fingertips on the bedpost. She'd found an oversized stool to use in the workshop, but there were no armchairs big enough for him, so he spent most of his leisure time on the bed. "Bein' High Priestess sucks. How long ya been at it?"

"Three years. The last Thea was assassinated, and they had to find a replacement as fast as possible. Out of all the minor priestesses available, I was the only one who passed all the tests. It's been...instructive."

"Hm." That didn't surprise him. A human strong enough to block a boss monster's focused attack had to be pretty rare. "How old are ya, anyway?" he asked, suddenly curious.

Her eyes shut. "Twenty-two. I was educated in a convent, ordained at sixeen, High Priestess at nineteen." A mighty yawn was partly hidden in her arm. "Lucky me."

Sans didn't know much about humans, but he was pretty sure that was young as hell for so much responsibility. The problem was that she was good enough to handle it, which meant they'd pile on more and more until she went nuts. "Nah, it sucks ta be you. Any way you can get out of it?"

"Well," she mumbled, eyes still closed, "I can die, or marry, or go back to the convent and become the Mother Superior, which would also be until I die." Frisk yawned again. "The Feast of All Saints is next week. That's when the last High Priestess was murdered."

Something prickled up Sans' spine. "You spend all yer time doin' church stuff, kissing babies and healin' puppies or whatever. Why the hell would anyone wanna kill you?"

"I meant it when I said I have influence in the Church and at court. I don't hate monsters, which is inconvenient for several people, and I'm not quiet about it, which is extremely inconvenient for many more of them. Besides, my natural father is very wealthy, and his other childr—"

"'Natural' father?" he queried. "What, do some humans have unnatural kids?"

Her eyes opened. She looked lovely in the soft light, but troubled and sad, so much that he wished he hadn't asked. "I'm illegitimate. My father never married my mother, and our life was...bad. Very hard, for a very long time." The priestess rubbed her fingertips together, as if seeing more dried blood. "He was a very busy man, but he only has one legitimate heir. After his second wife died, he started tracking down his children born out of wedlock, and it's an open secret that he'll leave each of us a large amount after he passes."

"And whoever's left gets a bigger piece of the pie?" Sans guessed.

"Exactly. As far as I know, there were fourteen or fifteen of us, but magic runs in his side of the family, and most of his children became sorcerers. Almost all of my half-brothers have been killed fighting monsters. Two of my half-sisters blew up in an experiment that went wrong. There are only six of us left, including the—his heir."

Sans' eyes narrowed. "What is it with humans an' explodin' stuff by accident?"

He couldn't read the look on her face. "If we knew the answer to that, history would have taken a much better course."

Of course, that made him think of Kris again. It seemed pretty inevitable, so he might as well ask... "I don't s'pose," he mumbled, "there's a record of the humans who went t'the Underground on that last trip? Maybe what happened to 'em after they got back?"

Frisk raised her head a little. "That depends. We know exactly which nobles, sorcerers, and other dignitaries attended. Do you mean one of them?"

"Nah, this was a servant, I think. Prob'ly. I dunno." The skeleton felt his eyes lighting up again. "He was only 4 or 5. S'comin' up on thirteen years ago, so he'd'a grown up by now."

The priestess frowned. "No one that young was in attendance, so far as I know, and I've read every account that I could find. May I ask why you want to know?"

"Nah." Sans flexed his hand around the bedpost. "Forget it."

Frisk sighed, carving a design into the plush chair with her thumbnail. "Well, I'm afraid the answer is no. There's no record of the servants who came along, except the ones who were killed, and that didn't include any children. You'd have to check with each of the—" She sat up. "Wait. I know someone who was there—my mother. Do you want me to ask her?"

"Hell yes, I do!" Sans' hand tightened, splintering the bedpost. He guiltily released it. "Did she talk much about it? What all did she tell ya? Can I ask 'er a coupla things?"

The priestess laughed, quieting him with a wave of her hand. "Sans, please! She's been very sick recently, and I don't want to excite her too much. I will ask her anything you need to know, thank you. And yes, she talked about it to anyone who'd listen. She's the one who told me all about monsters, and what you're actually like."

Sans sat forward, but she forestalled more questions with another gesture. "First, her name is Rosa. Did you ever meet her?"

It did sound familiar. "I think so. Little, blonde, wore her hair up?"

"That's her. She would've been in charge of any children they brought along, but she never mentioned any of them to me." Frisk tapped her finger on the chair arm. "She did say there were things she wasn't allowed to talk about. She worked for the Duke as a nurse, and she would never disobey him."

He wondered for a moment if that meant the guy was Frisk's father, but was too excited to dwell on it. "What'd she say about us?" he asked curiously.

Frisk hesitated. "Well...she didn't talk very much with individual monsters, but she said the Queen was very kind and made sure to tell each of the humans how glad she was to have them visit. The King was also very courteous. He tried his best not to frighten anyone, and he thought it was rude that the servants weren't allowed to eat with the nobles."

Sans' foot started tapping. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he reluctantly stopped. "Who else?" he demanded.

The next moment, they both heard the office door open into the workshop. "Miss?" came a plaintive voice.

Frisk was at the bedroom door in an instant. "What is it, Flynn?" She closed the door most of the way.

Damn it all to hell. Sans grumpily listened to the child explain that he'd scratched his head and sorry, there was blood on the couch now. Frisk explained that wounds got itchy as they healed, and to please not scratch it, and that it would be much better to wipe his hands on the towel she'd put down than on the furniture. Then he had to be cleaned up again and a bigger bandage applied, and someone was sent for to take the boy somewhere he could sleep safely.

A thought stabbed at him as he listened to the proceedings: that was how she knew he could teleport and zip things around without touching them. King Asgore had insisted the monsters show off their powers in various amusing ways so that the humans would be less afraid of their magic. Sans thought it was a bad idea at the time, and look what came of it!

Frisk eventually came back to the bedroom, drying her hands on her skirt. "Let's cut t'the chase," Sans said quietly as she sat down. "Did she tell ya about any skeletons?"

"Yes." Frisk folded her hands and looked straight at him. "Two brothers, Sans and Papyrus."

Sans laced his fingers together to avoid accidentally destroying anything else. "And...?"

"She liked them very much," Frisk said calmly, "especially Papyrus. Sans was friendly, but she said he watched their every move, and it made them nervous." The priestess smoothed her skirt over her knees. "Papyrus was a joy to be around. He was very full of himself, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he considered it his duty to welcome the humans as much as possible. My mother talked about him more than any other monster." She coughed. "Apparently, his spaghetti was terrible."

"...Sounds about right."

Frisk looked at him sharply. "I wanted to ask you about that, but...are you all right?"

Sans couldn't answer. He'd avoided thinking too much about home, especially the fact that he'd already been gone for a week when he got caught. It'd been easy to tell himself that he could always bust out of here if he needed to, or that the lady would let him send a message or even go have a quick visit before coming back here, but...

"Are you Papyrus' brother?" Frisk asked.

"Yeah," he ground out.

The priestess shook her head. "I don't understand. R—Mother said that Sans was shorter than any of the humans who came to the Underground, and the only boss monsters mentioned in the official histories are Asgore and Toriel. Can you tell me what happened? I wasn't sure if you were the same skeleton, you seem so diff—"

"A lot of shit happened, that's what." Sans lurched to his feet, and she had to tip her head back to look up at him. His sockets were glowing again. "Ya know what? I'm tired, an' you look like crap. Time for night-night." He jerked the door open, rattling the hinges. "Good luck cleanin' up. Blood's a bitch to get out. Trust me, I know."

She rose quietly, folding her hands in the style he recognized from the very first time he'd seen her. "All right, then. Good night, Sans," she said, and walked past him, out of the room.

He didn't slam the doors shut behind her, but it was pretty close.

~

Once she had control of herself again, Frisk wiped her eyes and resumed scrubbing the couch. She kept glancing underneath it, and as she threw yet another towel into the laundry basket, she decided, To hell with it, and pulled the couch aside. A nearly invisible seam in the floor showed where a board could be pried up to access her hidden safe. There was no lid, no lock, and no key, just a solid golden film that vanished when she pressed her thumb into its center.

The High Priestess surveyed the contents: several tight-folded papers, a bag of high-value dinar, a sack of silver ingots, a few pieces of jewelry, and a small box. She selected the box and removed its rosewood lid to reveal a tiny glass orb, something swirling around on its surface like smoke. She stared at it for so long that her knees began aching, but she didn't notice. Her vision blurred again, and she jammed the lid back on the little box, shoving everything back into the safe, re-sealing it, thumping the floorboard into place and pushing the couch back. Not today, she told herself fiercely. She didn't care what Sans said or how he acted. It couldn't be worth it. Nothing could!

~

The next day, after a late breakfast, Frisk quizzed him on the differences between various herbs and powdered animal bits and their uses; they looked over the list he'd made of new ingredients, going through the recipes and identifying how each item worked in each potion. That was the first time she demonstrated how to mix and infuse something, and the first time she warned him, "You have to be careful how you feel when you make potions. Intent is always important when you're using magic—you fully intend to cause damage, and I fully intend to protect, which is why we're good at what we do, yes?"

He shrugged philosophically, and she half-smiled. "Well," she continued, "it's similar when you're making something for someone else to take. If you're in a foul mood and you want to cause harm, or you simply don't want the person to get better, you might as well be concocting poison, or giving them water. Of course, your feelings don't matter if you're just throwing herbs into a pot, but these work as well as they do because you're putting a tiny bit of yourself into it. You have to make sure that it's a good bit."

"Pretty sure all my bits are bad by now," Sans remarked. "How's about I make some poison instead?"

Frisk shook her head, leaning over the table. "No one is all bad, Sans. Here." She took the glass stirrer out of the miniature cauldron bubbling away in the middle of their workspace. "I'll infuse it now. Watch."

He did observe closely as she bent forward, though probably not the way she'd intended; he just made sure he was looking at the potion when she glanced up at him. "Try thinking of someone you care for, and imagine it's for them." She opened her hand over the cauldron and, to his surprise, let out a low whistle, piercingly sweet.

A mote of light drifted from her palm and settled into the mixture. It seemed to sparkle for a moment, then resumed being a potion. When he concentrated, though, he could feel a little tingle of magic in it. "I won't ask you to try it till you have better control of your emotions," she said. "Right now, you're so angry that I don't know what would happen."

A different note had crept into her voice. Sans shifted his bony weight on the stool. "S'not like I can help it."

"Perhaps," she said. "You probably don't even notice it anymore. It's become a part of you, through whatever stuff has happened since the humans left the Underground. And before you ask, my mother is ill again. We can't speak with her until she's better."

There it was; he'd wondered if she was going to pretend he'd never snapped at her. "Well, you can only ask me so many personal questions before I get touchy, lady. Frisk." He tapped the worktable a couple of times. "Look, I know ya have a lot on yer plate, an' havin' to deal with me isn't much help. I just want t'know...is there any way to tell the others I'm not dead or somethin'? My brother's gotta be out of his mind by now, and I don' want someone comin' after me and gettin' caught."

Frisk shook her head, and his SOUL sank to the floor. "I'm sorry, Sans, but that's out of the question," she said, soft but firm. "Our King has forbidden any humans from coming within a day's walk of the entrance to the Underground, and let's be very honest—what would happen if a human came up to you out of nowhere and said they had an important message to give the monsters?"

Sans' jaw clenched so hard that the priestess put her hand out, not quite touching his arm. "Sans, please. If there was any way to—"

"Forget it, okay? Just...never mind." The skeleton glared at the windows facing out from the workroom. Like everything else in this damn place, they were too small for him to fit more than his head through. He'd gone through this in his own mind a dozen times: even if he could break through the wood and stone, he could sense the barrier set behind the wall to block his shortcuts. The one along the outside wall was heavier than the ones in the bedroom, which were permeable, purely there to track his movements. It was debatable whether this one could be physically broken with...something, but the moment he tried, she would know he was trying and stop him with a stronger barrier.

Hmm. What if...what if he waited till she wasn't here and couldn't get back in time to stop him? If he broke through when she was distracted, and far enough away – say, doing her church stuff in the middle of the night – then there wouldn't be much she could do. He could escape and decide later whether he wanted to come back or—

Wait. Come back? What the hell was he thinking? Why would he choose to be locked up by any human? No matter how pretty, and gutsy, and sweet and nice-voiced and...

Crap.

Anyway. He wouldn't come back. He'd have to be sure to grab his notes and a few books for Alphys; Frisk could always get more copies. He already had plenty to report to King Asgore, though he felt a little uneasy about letting ol' Gorey know that the most powerful barrier-making human was a determined sorceress whose SOUL could probably make you invincible. Actually, he felt a lot uneasy. Maybe he'd keep that to himself for now.

Too bad he couldn't bring her with him...

"...ans. Sans?" Frisk was touching his radius. She'd lifted her veil, large brown eyes turned up to his. "Are you all right?"

Sans studied her for a long moment, reflecting that Papyrus had always wanted a pet. The idea was more appealing than he'd have liked to admit; he had to dismiss it with a shake of his head, and shake it again to get it loose. "'m fine, kid. Remind me what this stuff was for?" After all, he thought darkly, he'd always told Pap no. Pets were too much trouble, especially if you got attached to them. Besides, what would they feed her?

A knock on the outer door startled them both. Before Frisk could respond, the door opened, and in strode a tall, thin man in dark robes, holding a box under his arm. "High Priestess. Honored guest," the man said in a cool, whispery voice, giving them a short bow.

"Dr. Serif? This is a surprise," the High Priestess responded, replacing the veil as she stood up. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Sans, this is Dr. Serif, the royal sorcerer. Doctor, please meet Sans the skeleton."

The man regarded Sans with mild curiosity. "I am very pleased to see you again, Sans the skeleton. Has Her Eminence been treating you well?"

"Uh...yeah," said Sans, nonplussed. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The royal sorcerer bowed again. He was unnervingly pale, the effect enhanced by dark eyes and long black hair framing his face. "I helped transport you from your cell to this room."

"It took magic," Frisk said helpfully.

He'd figured as much; magic was the only way humans could do any damn thing. The boss monster looked at the box under the doctor's arm, which had a strange feel to it. He couldn't tell what it was, but he knew he didn't like it.

"This is for you, as we discussed, Your Eminence," the man said smoothly. "I will leave it in your office."

Frisk looked so uncomfortable that Sans glanced at the sorcerer, but nothing was visibly wrong. The man ignored them both, striding past the table and opening the door to her office. They heard rustling, and the doors closing as he stepped back into the workroom. "That will be all. Good day, my lady, Sans." With another bow, the doctor turned and left.

"Weirdo," said the ten-foot skeleton. He found he didn't want to look away from the door lest the guy come back and catch him unawares. He hadn't been threatening, but something about him was very off.

"He's...unique." Frisk sat down again. "Now, this infusion is almost ready. We'll leave it at room temperature for another ten minutes or so before we stir it again. In the meantime, you can add two drops of peppermint oil, mint, orange or lemon extract..."

~

The rest of the day passed without major incident. Frisk had to stop in the middle of concocting a burn salve and leave Sans to finish it, though she cautioned him not to infuse it yet. She rather envied him; she had to walk to the other side of the castle to go over her parish's monthly accounts, balancing foot-long columns of tiny numbers to check that tithes and alms had come in and gone out properly. They never quite did, though it had gotten better in the past year, as she had made it increasingly clear that she was not interested in stealing from the poor or turning a blind eye to it, even for a few hundred extra dinar in her own column.

The attempts at bribery were particularly insulting because she didn't need it. The realm's High Priestess was entitled to half a percent of the Church's total monthly income, and through the magic of frugality and compound interest, her personal fortune had grown to the point where she didn't want to use any of it. Life was so strange; as a small child, she had only eaten once every couple of days, and now she could decide not to buy her own estate and maintain a huge staff for it.

She was starting to wonder, though, about a rumor she'd heard regarding several hundred acres of land that would supposedly be up for sale in the next few months. They were principally wheat and barley fields, no more than two days' walk from the Underground's main entrance. That was food for thought, indeed.

Frisk eventually finished and stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her room. Sans was still wary of what he ate, and she took care to have more than one damned fork now when she tasted his food for him. She wasn't worried for herself: if she didn't have time to eat in the kitchen, she routinely paid several of the staff a bit extra to make sure that everything they brought her had come straight from the pot or the pan, with no chance for someone to add any surprises.

That had felt hypocritical at first, but she'd soon realized that she couldn't rely on people's consciences or sense of duty to keep her safe. Many, like the guard captain, were loyal for loyalty's sake, but many more of them needed external motivation, and she was helping the cooks and servers support their families. And she wasn't literally stealing from orphans to do it!

An overstuffed basket sat outside her chambers, and the guard hastened to open the door and push it inside for her. Frisk carried the tray to the table, setting it by Sans' elbow as he compared nearly identical recipes in two separate books. Then she dragged the laundry basket over, pulling a sail-like garment out end over end. "Here you are," she said around an armful of fabric.

The skeleton looked up, scowling at the interruption. "Wha?"

"This is for you." Frisk tried to hold up an enormous shirt, then an enormous set of trousers. "I had them measure your clothes when we washed them for you. They made you another set."

Sans slowly got up and took the shirt from her, holding it against himself. It was sturdy linen, almost as thick as the canvas shirt he wore now and much softer. The skeleton turned it this way and that, poking the material. "What's this for?"

Pause. "It's a shirt," said Frisk. "It goes on the top half of your body. Humans need it for protection against the elements, and modesty, but for you, it's principally so that you have a shirt on."

He acknowledged her smartassery with a respectful nod. "I mean, wasn't this a pain to make? I hope nobody expects me t'pay fer this. Not my fault if what I got on ain't pretty enough for ya."

"Oh, it was. Getting something that size made up so quickly cost me more than I paid for all the clothes I've had this year combined. But you're not a slave, you're my apprentice. That means you're working for me, and I'm keeping track of your wages. It'll take a while to pay this off—" Frisk stuck her arm through one of the trouser legs, flapping it to shake it out. "—but I think you'll manage it before you leave."

Sans had another odd expression. "Yer payin' me for the stuff I make? I thought apprentices were the ones payin' to learn."

"I consider the knowledge you'll bring back to the Underground to be your apprenticeship fee, and as this arrangement wasn't your idea in the first place, we're bending the rules," she said patiently. "I see you've made three sets of burn salve, two of which look useable, and you're almost done with a cough elixir. Fair market value for those is about ten dinar total, so minus the infusion I'll do for you, you've earned about seven already."

"Hm." He scratched the side of his head. "What am I payin' you for my food?"

Frisk laughed, shaking out the other leg. "The pleasure of your company." At his blank stare, she shook her head and uncovered the tray. "No one charges their apprentice for room and board, Sans." The priestess put down the trousers, picked up the fork and leaned in for a bite of baked fish.

The skeleton pulled the tray away, making her stab the table instead. "If I owe ya money, you're definitely not gonna poison me," he pointed out, and began shoveling it in.

"You're right," Frisk said gravely, trying and failing to hide her grin. "I'm glad you've had time to mullet over."

Sans pounded the table with his free fist, rattling the glass vials. "Might as well, just for the halibut. Right?"

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "That was weak. Think of a better one and let minnow," she said around it.

"You're right," he said, and waited for her to take a bite before he added, "We really need to scale back."

They had to stop laughing long enough to eat. By the time dinner was over and Frisk had carried the dishes out, both were relaxed enough to be sleepy. "Dunno why I keep wantin' to go t'bed, all I've done is read 'n catnap," mumbled Sans, trudging into the bedroom and flopping onto the mattress. "'m not even usin' my damn magic."

"You're eating human food, so your body is getting more nutrition and working harder to process it," Frisk pointed out, settling into her chair. "Mother said the humans all had to eat more to stop being hungry Underground." She tried not to burp out loud. "Besides, you're probably still recovering from the energy you spent being captured and then trying to kill me. Thrice."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The skeleton stretched all the phalanges of his toes, flexing them in turn. "Probably won't do it again," he added truthfully.

"Thank you." Frisk also stretched her legs out, Sans noticing how absurdly tiny her feet were as she got up from her chair with the recipe book. She reached down to dog-ear the page they were on. "Well, I—"

He whisked the book out of her hand and flipped it open to smooth the page out. "Use a bookmark, woman! What are ya, some kinda barbarian?"

"It's an old book! They're all creased anyway," she argued, trying to take it back. He held it over his head, roughly a mile out of reach. "All right, then, fine," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to take a bath. Read through and find five more ingredients to discuss when I get back." She shut the door on quiet skeletal griping, smiling to herself.

~

The next day passed in a similar fashion, at least outwardly. Frisk took careful note of everything Sans made, ignoring his suggestion to dock him the price of the ingredients when he screwed up; luckily, he was catching on fast, even if she wouldn't let him infuse anything yet. She also wouldn't tell him how much his new clothing had cost, saying only that she'd let him know when he broke even. What really got his attention was her adding, "If you make enough money, we'll send a few bushels of wheat back with you. No one can be upset that you were gone for so long if you come bearing gifts, can they?"

Sans was glad he didn't have facial muscles or anything similar to betray his inner turmoil. He'd had a lot of second thoughts last night about bashing his way out of here, due in small part to the new outfit and the possibility of bringing food to the Underground, but mostly because she was working her brain-magic on him again, being attractive and kind and easy to talk to like the terrible, sadistic person she was...not. She was not remotely terrible or sadistic, and that was the problem. He still didn't understand it, or how it was getting worse so much quicker than he'd anticipated. He just wanted to get away before she entangled him any further.

Then he'd started thinking of Snowdin right before he fell asleep, and for the first time since he'd been captured, he had dreamed of home. He dreamed their house was cold and dark, with no one upstairs and a single light on in the kitchen. A female form was silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, hands on hips, facing something slumped over the side of the couch. "C'mon, Pap. He's probably just out on another hunting trip," she argued.

"...IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?" The thin, nasal voice hurt Sans' SOUL, and not just because he'd desperately wanted to hear it again. This wasn't his boisterous, indomitable, recklessly cheerful brother; this was a small, heartsick Papyrus, one Sans hadn't seen or heard in a long, long time. The last time it happened, at least Sans had been there for him. Now Sans was gone, too.

"Hunting animals, Papyrus! He's hunting animals. Not humans." The woman thumped the wall for emphasis, knocking little bits of plaster from the ceiling. Dammit, Sans had told her to quit doing that. "That's gotta be it. We don't eat humans, and he knows how bad the food situation is, right? So..."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE'S DOING. ...WELL. NOT MUCH." The skeleton heaved a sigh, raising his face from the couch cushion. "...UNDYNE, I...I CAN'T REACH HIM. IF HE'S ALL RIGHT, WHERE IS HE?"

And then something had seeped out of the darkness and gently enclosed Sans' mind, blotting out the dream like a sponge on spilled water. He had woken up knowing that it wasn't a dream, and was instantly enraged—he'd been so grateful that the nightmares had stopped, and too damn stupid to figure out that she'd set a barrier up against external influences, including dreams shared with Pap. He'd ponder the full ramifications of it blocking nightmares another day; the memory of his brother's expression had decided him. Agreement or no agreement, he was getting out of here tonight.

Of course, he couldn't pack up the stuff he needed before their lesson was done, or right afterward. He wasn't worried about giving himself away: as an accomplished bullshitter, he knew he was behaving perfectly normally. The moment dinner was cleared away, he called dibs on the bathroom, which had a nice, huge tub that he wanted to use one more time. When he was done and she'd gone in and locked the door – and after the usual stab of curiosity as to what she looked like outside of clothes – Sans quietly put everything he wanted into a satchel he'd found under the worktable, and stowed it behind the door in the bedroom, where he had to wait until she was done getting dressed.

The one odd thing was that after she emerged from her dressing room in her full priestess-y regalia, she went into her office and spent a few minutes doing nothing that he could hear, after which she was wearing a different brooch. She'd had a white one on the first day they met, but this one shone with a greyish light under her veil.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked carelessly. It was ten o'clock.

She smiled. "If my duties only included saying words and a few songs, I would sleep much easier. There's always someone to speak to before and after services."

"Gotcha. Well, have fun. 'm gonna read somethin' with a damn bookmark 'fore I go to bed—I forgot t'ask, mind if I try ta make a few things while you're not here?"

"Go right ahead. You'll pay for it if you burn down my workroom, so I'm trusting you to behave." Was he imagining a weird little inflection there? No, she looked totally wonderful. ...Normal. She looked totally normal. "Good night, Sans," she said, adjusting her veil.

"G'night, Frisk." He stretched out on the bed as she shut the door.

That was it, then. He might not ever see her again. It...wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it felt pretty bad. Time to quit feeling it, think of Pap, and focus on his plan of action.

The plan: well, for starters, it would be dumb to try breaking out immediately. He wished he knew exactly where the chapel was. He'd heard occasional church-type singing off in the distance, but that didn't give him an idea of how far away she'd be during the service, or for exactly how long. Instead, he watched the clock and fidgeted, as nervous as the first time he'd faced down a group of human sorcerers.

Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe he should just ask her to take down the barrier keeping him from dreaming with Papyrus, just for one night. She was too kind to refuse, and intelligent enough...

...to ask him for more information in exchange. Frisk knew he used to be a normal monster, and might think to ask if he'd always been able to speak across dreams; it wouldn't be too far a stretch for her to keep questioning how he became a boss monster. She'd also realize that if she let him communicate with other monsters, he could tell them several things that she would prefer they not know, including her identity and full capabilities. It was one thing for her to take a calculated risk and let him go back to the Underground with that information, or – much more likely – to make him forget it before he left; some humans had the ability to excise bits of memory like that. It'd be another thing entirely to permit a conversation that no one else could even hear. She was nice, not stupid.

So Sans waited until eleven forty-five, and then he sat in the workroom with the satchel looped around his wrist for another ten minutes, nerves humming. Then he got up, went to the double doors leading out of her rooms, and silently picked up a seven-foot decorative statue standing at the room's threshold, wedging it inward across the doorframe. He went back to the workroom, judged the weakest place in the outside wall, reared back, and slammed his fist directly between two of the windows.

~

Frisk had started to relax as the organist began playing and incense floated in the chapel air. She was opening her mouth for the first hymn when a warning note sounded in the back of her mind: the barrier to her workroom's outside windows was tingling, and then it suddenly burned away, the warning note sliding all the way up to a full-blown klaxon.

She gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt, controlling her expression with a supreme effort as the voice in her head screamed, Sans, you two-faced sack of fertilizer!

The only good thing about the situation was that she wasn't leading this service. Therefore, it was odd, but not completely conspicuous, when she stepped to the back of the choir, touched her new brooch, and vanished.

[cagestark]

Ok here's my prompt: college winterironspider, established winterspider and they want to do a trio costume with Tony as a way to show him they want him 💕💕

A late Halloween Prompt whipped up in thanks for boosting my friend’s rpg. Thank you! (Also you all say that Halloween is a 365 day event so 3 days late shouldn’t stop you right? ;)

Warnings: homophobia including slurs, some mention of smuttiness but nothing explicit, foul language. WinterIronSpider. 3.6k.

-

Tony flings open the dorm room door, already toeing off his sodden shoes. New England weather could turn on dime, and it had a habit of turning unfavorable on the 15 minute trek from the Chem labs back to his dorm room. His shirt is sticking to his skin, jeans heavy with rain. He can feel his hair, getting just this side of too long for how Howard likes it, dripping down the back of his neck.

Mother Nature hates him, and she’s not the only one, because Peter Parker is lounging on Tony’s roommate’s bed. Bucky is nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door is closed, so deductive reasoning is barely required. They’ve probably been fucking; the room has that musty scent that makes him twitch in his wet pants. Parker lays among the mussed sheets and blankets like the pillow princess he must be, curls riotous, beaming at the sight of Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” says Parker in the softest, cracking voice that Tony’s ever heard come from a nineteen-year-old. He blinks dazed, whiskey-colored eyes. “Y’re all wet.”

“I know. Where’s Barnes?”

“Bathroom.”

Tony hums. Barnes liked to take ridiculously long showers, conditioning his ridiculously long hair, moisturizing his ridiculously huge and attractive body. The guy was the antithesis to his boyfriend, large where Parker was small, dark where he was light, brooding where Parker was a goddamn ray of sunshine sneaking in through a crack in the curtains and blinding Tony. With Barnes in the shower, Tony is stuck shivering in his wet clothes, wishing he’d stayed out in the downpour and smoked a cigarette. Instead, he just sits on his bed—his sheets have seen worse than some rainwater. Opening up his bookbag, he sees that his textbooks are unscathed. Thank fucking God.

All the time, he feels Parker’s eyes on him. The kid is too pretty for his own good—both he and his boyfriend. When he came to MIT, he had envisioned dozens of nightmare scenarios regarding roommates. Maybe they’d steal his clothes, eat his food, leave their hair in the drain. Instead, he’d gotten a goddamn Calvin Klein model and his twink. Sometimes, Tony had to lay awake facing the wall on his side of the dorm room, pretending he didn’t hear the breathy giggles and dirty, foul whispers as the two fooled around while their roommate was ‘sleeping’. It left him unbearably hard, determined not to rut into the mattress lest they find out that he was still awake (and stop, God, please don’t stop—).

It was all very, very fucked up: how much Tony liked them; how much it made him hate them.

“You’re gonna catch pneumonia,” Parker says.

“What do you want me to do about it, kid?” Tony asks. He’s only three years older than Parker, but the kid seems so young—the enthusiasm, the naivete, the buoyancy. Tony can’t help but call him kid.

Parker raises his eyebrows. “It’s your room. Take off your clothes.”

Tony stops where he’s flipping through his textbook. He lets it fall closed with a thud, assessing Parker’s gaze. He looks innocent enough, maybe a little sleepy, but he wasn’t dumb by any means (a full ride to MIT proved that). Surely he had to know how that sounded, for him to tell his boyfriend’s roommate to undress in front of him.

“In front of you, Parker? I’ll take the pneumonia.”

The kid just grins, shaking his head. “Whatever. Are you going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi?”

“Everybody is going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi,” Tony answers flatly.

“Are you going to wear a costume?”

“Fuck no.”

“Because you have no idea what to wear, right.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re a shit, Parker. So, what if I don’t? I’m an engineer; what do I need to dress up for?”

“I’m dressing Bucky; I could dress you too.”

“Yeah,” Tony snarks. “That’s just what I want.”

The bathroom door opens. Bucky appears in nothing but a towel around his hips. His abs violate state and federal laws—or at least if they don’t, they should. His hair is wet and up in a bun. Eyes like the ocean iced over drag up and down Tony’s body, making him feel heated despite the goosebumps on his skin. Tony is keenly aware of how his nipples have hardened, somewhere between the icy downpour and the sight of Parker looking fucked out on the twin-sized bed.

“Took you long enough,” Tony mutters. He grabs some clothes from the drawer and disappears into the bathroom, cranking the shower (and the drain is spotless because Barnes is a fucking good guy who cleans up after himself, the asshole) up to hellish proportions and peeling his wet clothes from his body. On the other side of the door are warm voices that are easy enough to tune out, or to tune into when he’s standing under the burning spray with a hand on his cock.

-

When he gets out of the shower, Parker is gone back to his own dorm. Bucky is eating a bowl of cereal, still shirtless. The words come out of Tony’s mouth before he can stop them: “Barnes, I think your boyfriend hit on me when you were in the shower. I just thought you might want to know that.”

Barnes stops chewing. He’s got the best poker face Tony has ever seen, no hint of anger or jealousy or surprise. His jaw closes again with an obscene, sugary crunch. After he swallows, he says, “Thanks, Tony. You’re a good friend.”

-

The first package arrives two days later. It’s for Tony, with no return address. He rolls his eyes—that’s just like his mother to be so dramatic as to not even say she’s sending him anything nor leave her mark. When he opens it though, there are no deliciously baked treats, no heartfelt (maybe a little distant) cards with carefully crafted handwriting, no trinkets that are hideous which he will be forced to cherish. Instead, it’s the ugliest pair of pants he’s ever seen: straight-legged and a size too big for him and a dirty gray.

“The fuck, mom,” Tony mutters. He tosses them aside. “Really off your game, crazy old bat.”

But when Barnes gets out of class and spots the box sitting on Tony’s desk, he points to it. “Did you get the first part of your costume?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your costume?” Bucky enunciates more, the fucking asshole, like Tony didn’t hear him the first time. “Peter told me that you said you were cool with him getting you a costume. He gets really fucking into Halloween. I saw this picture of him up in his Aunt’s apartment in Queens—”

Tony holds up a hand. “Stop. Rewind. I in no way told Parker he could dress me up for Halloween. Period.”

Barnes just raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what Peter thinks.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks, I’m not some doll for him to play with.”

“Next time he’s over, you can tell him so.” The guy’s pale eyes fucking glitter—glitter—like he knows that’s not going to go over well for Tony. And maybe it won’t, maybe Tony’s going to have to break some fucking hearts, but there’s no chance in hell he’s going to be caught dead in a costume, especially not one picked by a doe-eyed little twink like Parker.

But when Parker arrives for his date with Bucky two hours later, pink-cheeked from the windy cold, he’s got another little box tucked under his arm that he thrusts into Tony’s hands.

Tony thrusts it back. “Nope. Don’t want it.”

Parker frowns, looking up at Tony with those flat brows curled in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s for your costume.”

Barnes watches everything through the reflection in the mirror he keeps by his bed. He’s currently combing his hair like a schmuck (fuck, he looks so handsome), mouth pressed into a flat line, though Tony suspects that it’s more from holding back laughter than expressing any discontent. Tony chooses a point on the wall above Parker’s head and stares at it. The kid’s got eyes like vortexes, and Tony isn’t getting sucked in, no sir, not today.

“No costume. I’m not wearing a costume.”

“Sure you are, I’ve already bought the stuff. It’s started to arrive—did you get the pants?”

“Pants? Is that what they’re called? They’re hideous—” Barnes makes a noise in the corner that has Tony throwing a fuming glare his way. “I’m not going to wear them, or anything else. So return the stuff, kid.”

Parker stares down at the small package in his hands. “I—I can’t. I had it expedited so that it would get here in time for Halloween. No returns.”

“No re—? Well, fuck. That’s not my problem. I didn’t ask you to buy me stuff for a costume. What the hell were you going to dress me up as, anyway? A corpse from the 80’s?”

When Parker looks up, his eyes are a little misty. He rubs at one with his forearm, probably scratching himself with the wool from his coat. “It was gonna be a surprise.”

And yep. There it is. That does Tony in, because as much as Tony wishes he was the no good cruel piece of shit that plenty of people around MIT and the New England area like to label him as, he’s a sucker for tears. He’s seen his mom cry too many times, it just—it gets to him.

Tony snatches the package out of the kid’s hands. He points a finger at him. “No cartoon characters. No cross-dressing. No dorky inanimate objects, like a fork or a wet floor sign. Got it? Swear to God, kid, if you embarrass me in front of the whole school, I will never forgive you.”

“Why would I want to embarrass you?” Parker asks. He holds out a pinky. “It’s not embarrassing. Promise.”

“Fuck your pinky, man. Go on your date. Get out—you too Barnes, I don’t want to see either of your faces for like, two hours or something. Swear to God. I’m at the end of my rope, do you hear me? The end of my fucking rope.”

-

In the box is a scarf, long and plain and red. Tony rolls his eyes and sets it with the pants.

That night when he returns from his evening class, he finds that Barnes and his boyfriend have dragged all the blankets off of Bucky’s bed and onto the floor creating the warmest, coziest looking nest Tony’s ever seen. It looks like a slice of Heaven after coming in from the brutal cold. The best spot of all looks to be somewhere in between Barnes who is sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and the other outstretched, and Peter who lays with his head cushioned on that ridiculous bicep. The size different between the two of them makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

On the wall, a Star Wars movie plays: The Empire Strikes Back.

Parker leans his head up, blinking at the sight of Tony in the doorway. He smiles, so soft and sweet that it hurts. “Hey Tony,” he says. He pats the blanket beside him. “Want to join us? There’s room.”

Tony hasn’t the slightest idea what to make of that. Not even a little one. Doesn’t Parker know how awkward that would be? For Tony to just cuddle in a pillow fort with Barnes and his boyfriend? Doesn’t Parker know how much that would hurt—

“No, I’ve got somewhere to be,” Tony lies. He steps out the door he had just came through and shuts it behind him. The library is always open on campus, and Tony falls asleep bent over the table there, cheek pressed into a book about the latest breakthroughs in Artificial Intelligence.

-

The next day arrives a plain white t-shirt in a plastic bag. Begrudgingly, Tony tries it on. It clings to his chest and the gentle six-pack he sports (nothing like Barnes who spends five days a week at the on-campus gym and drinks protein shakes in the morning). Turning sideways, he eyes himself in the mirror. At least this doesn’t look bad, certainly not with the way it clings to his biceps, but he will be fucking freezing.

Barnes comes in and catches Tony checking himself out in the mirror. For a moment, Tony thinks that maybe Barnes is checking him out, too, but—

“Looks good,” Bucky purrs. Making fun of Tony, surely.

Tony flips him the bird, but the guy just laughs.

“What is he dressing you up as?” Tony asks. Purely out of curiosity. Knowing how whipped Barnes was, Peter could dress him up as anything and he’d take it. Even something embarrassing or emasculating.

Barnes just rolls his eyes. “You know him. It’s a secret.”

The comradery with which he says it, like of course Tony knows how Peter is—something about it itches at the back of Tony’s brain, a mosquito that has landed and started to suck at his blood. But it’s no surprise that Barnes and his boyfriend are weirdos who like to spend more time having ‘dates’ in their dorm room with Tony rather than at a restaurant or the movies or any fucking where else.

But, like all things that Tony doesn’t want to wonder about, he pushes to the back of his brain.

-

The next day, it is a denim jacket and hideous combat boots.

“Fashion homicide,” Tony mutters.

-

The day before Halloween brings Tony a red flannel shirt.

“Goddamnit,” he says, holding it up so Barnes can see. “What is he dressing me up as, a lesbian?”

-

It isn’t until he’s assembling it all in the bathroom that he puts it together—and okay. It’s not bad. Bender was easily the coolest character in the Breakfast Club, though his fashion sense was nothing like Tony’s. The layers—white shirt under flannel under denim—are a little stifling, but out in the cold fall air, it would be perfect. He even combs his hair back.

All in all, Parker could have done far, far worse.

But when he comes out of the bathroom and finds the two of them in the dorm room, he sees that Parker has done worse.

Matching costumes.

Parker is Brian through and through. He looks like a total scrub in his khakis with Nike sneakers on, the long-sleeved sweater that clings to his thin frame. A ballpoint pen is tucked behind his ear, wrist-watch circling the delicate little wrist, and to top it off, a pair of sunglasses are looped over the collar of his sweater.

And Barnes? Forgone are his goth threads. He sits on his bed wearing blue jeans that hug his broad thighs, the whitest shoes that Tony’s ever seen, and a goddamn blue wifebeater that shows off his arms, both heavily muscled. Folded on his pillow is a letterman jacket, and Tony doesn’t even like jocks, but his cock twitches at the sight, thinking of slipping it down off of Bucky’s bare shoulders.

“No—we match,” Tony says.

Peter lights up. “Yes! You got it! The Breakfast Club is a classic.”

“I should have said no matching costumes. We look like—” like boyfriends, Tony thinks, “—like queers. I’m not going out like this.”

“Watch the slurs you throw around,” Barnes says, his mouth an unhappy, flat line.

Tony winces. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. But this is taking it to a whole new level that I’m not comfortable with. Not to mention, three gays all going out in matching costumes? Isn’t that a little suggestive?”

“Suggestive of what?” Parker asks. He’s holding fingerless gloves—the last part of Tony’s costume. It’s the cherry on top. With the cigarettes that Tony plans to be chainsmoking thanks to the stress of this whole event, he’ll be method acting his character all night.

“Come on. Suggestive, suggestive. Like we’re all—” Tony mashes his hands together.

Barnes reaches out, hand flat, arm flexing nicely. He doesn’t even look at Parker and Parker doesn’t look at him, but they slap hands in a high five.

“Am I speaking in tongues? I’m not fucking leaving like this; I’m not going to have the whole campus thinking I’m your loser third wheel.” It would be too painful, when there’s a shameful part of him that would gladly be the third wheel to them, that’s desperate to be between them. This feels like the crudest parody.

“You wouldn’t be,” Peter says.

“Pete, maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” Barnes interrupts.

“No, Bucky, this was supposed to—supposed to be cute!” Parker turns away from them, towards the wall by Tony’s bed. He drops the gloves there and crosses his arms. It would be petulant if it wasn’t so heartbroken, the curve of his shoulders, his head drooping down morosely. Instead, the kid just looks like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Tony sighs. It takes Herculean strength not to roll his eyes. “Kid. I’m sorry. Clearly this meant a lot to you. Fuck knows why, but—”

Peter turns around, eyes tearful and flashing with anger. He reaches up to his ear, fiddling with the lobe with trembling fingers. Grabbing Tony’s wrist, he puts a little diamond earing in his palm, just like Claire did with Bender.

“What’s this?” Tony says, shoulders hunching. “My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Yes they are,” Peter says through his teeth. “You probably got them pierced five or so years ago, but your dad was an asshole about it and made you take them out. It’s been ages and the holes are hard to see but they still won’t close.”

Tony blanches. He can still hear the way Howard demeaned him, spent the whole dinner talking his Tony’s mother about how ridiculous the boy looked, how it gave people ideas about him, because pierced ears are for women and the only men who have them are faggots. “How the fuck do you even know that?”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” This is the loudest Peter’s ever been, his usual fragile voice replaced by this one that is sure and angry and doesn’t crack.  “One: I spend every moment that I’m not looking at Bucky looking at you. I’ve got eyes; I know what a hole in an ear looks like, thanks. Two: your dad is an asshole about everything. He’s probably the reason why you don’t drink mixed drinks, why you call us queers even though you’re bi, why you lie and say you’re going to spend the whole holiday break at home but then come back and spend it here alone in the dorm. Because your dad is an asshole.

“He’s probably the reason why you’re such a fucking dunce too. A thick skull must run in the family, because Bucky and I have been hitting on you the entire semester and even though you go into the bathroom to jerk off every time you come back to the dorm and catch us making out, you won’t make a move or, or let us make the move, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tony says, his own voice rising to a shout. “You’ve been doing all this bullshit on purpose? Blowing Barnes when you know I’m awake? Skipping around here in your underwear because, what, you know it turns me on? Because you want to out me? Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“No,” Peter shouts, slapping a hand flat on Tony’s chest. “We like you, fuckface!”

The force of Peter’s tiny hand barely makes Tony sway, but the words—those might as well knock him to his knees. He feels like the scarf around his neck is on too tight, like there’s not enough air in the room. He licks his lips, his eyes moving between Peter’s red-rimmed eyes and nose (he’s an ugly crier) and Bucky who is still sitting on the twin bed watching them, his face white and afraid.

“You like me?” Tony asks. “What does that even mean? You two are together.”

“It means,” Peter says, taking Tony’s fist, coaxing open the anxious fingers to wear the diamond stud earring still rests, cutting into his palm. Peter presses his thumb against it, tenderly. “That we like you. We want you. To get to know you. You—and not your hang-ups.”

Tony shakes his head, taking his hand from Peter’s burning grip. “I—I can’t do that. My dad—”

“—is an asshole,” Bucky mutters.

Tony snorts softly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“We don’t have to go home with you at Thanksgiving or Christmas or ever, if you don’t want,” Peter says. “We just want a chance. We want you to do something for yourself. Not your dad. Does that make sense?”

The silence lingers around the room. Somewhere in the distance, Halloween music is playing, ghoulish noises and moans and witch-like cackling. Mouth dry, Tony takes the backing off of the stud earing and reaches up, feeling for the holes in the lobes of his ears. It’s been years since he wore them, and his hands are trembling so badly that he can’t even find them—

“I’ll help you,” Peter says tenderly, taking the earring. He has it in in a moment and leans back, taking Tony in from head to toe.

“Well?” Tony asks. He clears his throat—there’s something stuck in it, some lump that he has to swallow away. He holds out his arms. “How do I look?”

“Gay,” Bucky says from the corner, smiling.

“That’s it!” Tony shouts. “I’m not going! Thanks for nothing! I’m out!”

“Tony,” Peter groans. “He was just joking, he’s—”

But Tony is already stalking to the dorm room door and pulling it open. He stops to glance over his shoulder at Bucky and Peter who are watching him with wide eyes. “Well?” he says. “I’m all for being fashionably late, but if we don’t get going, there’s not going to be anything left of the keg—”

The two scramble for their jackets and follow him out the door.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter 5]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: I’m home from my grandmothers. My uncle came back a little early and now I finally get to sleep in my own bed and have internet. It’s been an exhausting two weeks but at least some good came of it. I finished rewriting/editing three chapters of [with you] which is progress. Working on this is what kept my sanity in check tbh haha. I still need some time to unpack and recover before being fully back on here, so I hope you enjoy this chapter! 

Also, I’ve updated [with you] on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, as well. I’ve pretty much given up on them but then I thought that I do have readers on those platforms who have messaged me about [with you] so I might as well update them, too. So yeah. Thanks for reading and for your support for this story. :D

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5

Read on: AO3 | FF.net | Wattpad

---

Clementine yanks the basement doors open, only to gag when a nauseating scent of vinegar knocks her in the face. 

“What the hell?” she coughs.

“C’mon!” Willy grabs her arm and hurries down the stairs, dragging her with him. “Mitch! Clem’s here!”

Something heavy and metallic drops hard to the cement. “Shit!” Mitch curses. “Told you not to do that, Willy!”

“Sorry!”

She follows the young boy deeper into the basement and finds herself amazed at Mitch’s set up. The work desk is completely covered with drills, hammers, saws, files, batteries, a few of their solar panels, and other machines she didn’t recognize. Flashlights are wired in the air pointing directly at the anvil Mitch sits in front of. There’s a chipped bowl filled with a clear liquid sitting on top.

“Finally,” Mitch says when he sees her. Clementine’s startled by his more than usual unkempt appearance- hair standing in every direction, dirtiness staining his hands, shirt and face, and the weariness lining his eyes. 

“Uh, are you okay?” she asks him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves dismissively, standing from his stool, yawning heavily as he tosses a dirty rag away. 

Willy rushes to help him scoot the various tools aside so Mitch can reach something closest to the wall. It’s a small, brown box.

Clementine approaches the two boys, trying to hide her eagerness as she asks, “Well? Were you able to fix it?”

Mitch scratches at the back of his neck and turns away. “Not exactly,” he says, “It sorta got ruined when I messed around with it.”

Her heart drops. 

“Ruined how?”

“I may have broke it.”

“Broke it!?”

Mitch whips around, holding up a hand. “Now, don’t cry about it,” he says quickly, “it was a shitty ring, anyway. Louis would’ve broken it himself if you gave it to him… maybe.” He grabs a small wrench from the table and swings it around on his finger nervously. 

“Mitch,” she can’t help that her voice came out so miserably angry. “If you couldn’t fix it then you should’ve left it alone! What am I supposed to do now?”

“Woah, hey, don’t freak out! Just listen for two seconds,” he says. “I didn’t mean to break it. We started messing around with some stuff to try and reshape it but then it snapped and James came wandering down here and the whole thing was a shitshow. There was no saving that thing. Kind of a piece of shit. So,” he looks away as he shoves the brown box towards her, “We did you one better.”

Willy’s practically vibrating with excitement next to them as he motions eagerly to the box. “Open it! Open it!”

Clementine takes the box and pulls the lid off. It takes her a moment to process what she’s seeing. 

There’s a clean piece of fabric bunched up at the bottom, and within the folds rests two matching silver bands. Her head snaps up and her jaw drops. 

His exhausted, shit-eating grin is enough of a confirmation that what she’s seeing is real. 

“Oh my god!” she gasps. “Where did you get these?”

“Made ‘em.”

���What? You-” she blinks up at him in disbelief, “-you made these?”

“Super awesome, huh?” Willy laughs. “I told’ja we had it under control!”

“The smell’ll wear off, too,” Mitch says, “had to polish ‘em with vinegar.” 

Clementine carefully lifts the bigger of the two rings out of the box. “How- How did you-?”

“Quarters,” Mitch smirks. “Willy here keeps a pretty impressive coin collection. Took a while to find the right ones, but we got it.”

“Yeah, we made a shit ton of them!” Willy reaches into his pocket and pulls out various different rings, most of them scratched up or disfigured in some way. 

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” Mitch shrugs. “Willy found this old book about sailors overseas making rings for their girlfriends back home. Just gotta hammer them then drill out the middle, do some filing and hammer some more. Once me and James knew what we were doing, we used the measurement I took of your finger and made yours. That one turned out great, so we made Louis’ to complete the set… and it only took us an entire day to do and there were, eh… complications , but they’re done.”

 Clementine runs her finger over the smooth surface, “This is-” she stops when she notices something engraved on it. She blinks, but it’s still there scratched into the shiny surface.

C + L

“That part was Mitch’s idea,” Willy points at the tiny letters, “had to use a really sharp nail to get it that clear.”

“We’ve all seen the piano,” Mitch quickly explains, rolling his eyes, “figured it’d be a good finishing touch. No big deal.”

She puts the box on the workbench. Without any warning, she throws herself at Mitch, wrapping her arms around his now tense body.

“Woah, hey, um-!” Mitch panics and sticks his arms out to avoid touching her.

“You guys have no idea what this means to me.”

“Uh-!”

He turns to Willy, bewildered. The young boy begins to laugh as he points at Mitch’s panicked face. Clementine reaches out and yanks Willy forward, pulling him into the hug as well. Even then, he’s still giggling like an amused child. 

Then, like the realization that they’re all hugging finally hits him over the head, Mitch jerks back, nearly tripping over his feet when turning back towards the work desk. He clears his throat.

“Said it’s not a big fucking deal, and it’s not like we did all the work, y’know. James helped, too, so just-” he grumbles, fumbling with the wrench, “-... consider it an early wedding present, or whatever.” 

Clementine can’t help but laugh at how weirdly cute it is that he’s embarrassed. She picks up the rings again to pull out the smaller one. It fits perfectly on her finger.

“I don’t know if I could ever thank you guys enough for doing this,” she beams, making a note to thank James in the morning. God, the ring fits so perfectly she can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, well, y’know,” Mitch nervously scratches his cheek, a rare smile betraying his lips, “whatever.”

”Mitch! Ya still down here!?” Ruby’s voice echoes from the top of the stairs. “Lou’s in the music room! Did’ja find the box of spare candles? We’re gonna need a lot to fill the whole place up!”

“Oh, shit-” Mitch hisses.

“No one’s down here!” Willy jumps into action, dashing towards the stairs and stretching his arms out. “ Do not enter !” 

“Gah, Willy, move it!”

Clementine closes the small box and shoves it into her pocket before turning to face Ruby as she pushes Willy to the side. Ruby sets her lantern on the workbench, lighting up the basement enough for Clementine to make out the thrill brightening her eyes. 

“Clementine!” she gasps. 

It’s Clementine’s turn to receive a surprise hug when Ruby practically tackles her. 

“Oh, Clem, I heard the news! Why didn’t ya tell me!? This is so excitin’! Ahh! I can’t believe ya didn’t tell me!”  Ruby pulls back to ask the boys, “Did’ja give ‘em to her yet?”

Clementine slowly turns to glare at the two boys.

Willy lowers his head in shame and Mitch fake coughs into his fist. Neither of them answers the question, nor do they dare look Clementine in the eye.

“ Mitch -”

“Before you flip the fuck out,” Mitch holds a finger up to stop her, ”she’s the one who came in here demanding to know what we were doing! She tried to wack me with one of Omar’s wooden spoons! I had to tell her!”

“Oh, no I didn’t! I said I would wack ya with one if ya didn’t explain yerself!” argues Ruby. “I thought ya were makin’ another bomb!”

“I haven’t messed with that shit for, like, weeks!”

Clementine can already see where this is going to go, and the best thing to do is stop it in its tracks.

“Okay, stop!” She raises her voice above theirs. The basement’s quiet again. She takes a deep breath. “I’m not mad.”

“You sound mad,” says Willy.

“I’m not. Ruby, you were going to find out about it anyway, though I can’t say I expected it to go down like this. Does anyone else know?”

“No,” says Ruby and Mitch. 

“Uhm, well…” Willy nervously laughs.

“Dude,” Mitch frowns down at the young boy.

“I didn’t mean to! Aasim saw me going through my coin collection earlier! Then he started asking all these questions and it just came out! But, I made him swear on his soul he wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“What?” Ruby asks. “When was this?”

“This morning.”

“And he didn’t say anything to me!”

“Yeah, because Willy asked him not to,” Mitch says. “Keep up.”

Clementine feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. 

She trusts Aasim. He's never let her down in the past, and he wouldn’t say anything to Louis, especially if he knows this is a surprise. 

“Anyone else?” Clementine asks.

Willy shakes his head.

So, of the people in their group, AJ, James, Mitch, Willy, Ruby, and Aasim all know.

That just leaves Omar, Tenn, and… 

And Violet.

She’s about to speak, but Ruby grabs her hand to admire the ring. “Wow, it’s even prettier on,” she gleams. “Gotta say, boys, ya did a real good job.”

Mitch rolls his eyes.

“Well, yeah .” 

“How’re ya gonna ask him? James and I were thinkin’ that you do it in the music room, of course, and we’ll help ya decorate it with candles and lanterns, make it real romantic.”

“Gross,” Mitch murmurs.

“Hush,” Ruby warns him. “Or, on the roof, under the pretty stars! Or, we can even decorate yer dorm! Whattya think? Omar can cook ya something special and, oh! I found some real pretty classical records fer ya to play! Ya gotta set the mood, after all.”

“We can make some cool fireworks, too!” Willy exclaims.

“Oh, no you won’t! No bombs, no fireworks!”

“Just a few sparklers? To set the mood?”

“No! Especially if it’s inside! Which I think would be best since ya never know with the damn weather.”

“Wow, Ruby,” Clementine’s astonished at the girl’s excitement. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“‘Course! I know I may be buttin’ in a little-” Mitch scoffs “-but I never thought I’d get to witness somethin’ like this after all that’s happened! I mean, a wedding ! It’s like somethin’ outta the fairytales! And, listen, ya don’t hafta take my suggestions. You can ask him any way ya want! Just know that we’re all here to help! Oh, and the wedding !”

“Oh, God,” Mitch groans.

“We’re definitely plannin’ a wedding!”

“Geez, who’s really getting married here?” Mitch asks, irritated. “You or Clem?”

“Oh, shut it! Why can’t ya just be excited?”

“Excited about what? Does nothing for me.”

“Y’know, thinkin’ about someone else fer a change wouldn't kill ya!”

“Okay, please stop arguing,” Clementine interrupts them. “At least let me get through the actual proposal before we start doing anything else.”

“Shit,” Ruby curses herself, “sorry, Clem. Guess I got a little excited.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Willy asks eagerly. “When are we going this?”

Clementine peers down at the ring on her finger, and says, “Now that I have the rings, I’m going to do it tomorrow. In the evening. I like your idea, Ruby, about the candles in the music room.”

“Thought ya would,” Ruby grins. “We keep a bunch of ‘em down here. We’ll all help ya decorate, ‘cept keepin’ Louis outta there might be a task.”

“That’s easy,” Mitch says. “Send him hunting for the day, him and Aasim.”

“My goodness, there’s an idea,” says Ruby, “that way, Aasim can keep an eye on him and make sure he don’t wander back here unannounced.”

“James, too,” Clementine adds. “Just in case Louis doesn’t listen to Aasim, or they get in a tight spot.”

“Right!” Ruby claps her hands. “Oh, I’m gettin’ excited again!”

“Geez, you’re acting more excited than she is,” Mitch jerks his thumb at Clementine.

“Believe me, I don’t think anyone’s as excited as I am,” Clementine smiles, holding up her hand to admire the ring one last time before slipping it back in the box. “It’s just a lot to take in. We just have to be careful now. Louis can’t know anything.”

They all turn to Willy, who hangs his head in shame once more.

“I said it was an accident.”

“I know,” Clementine sighs. “Maybe you should avoid him for now, Willy. Just in case. And, Mitch,” she turns to him, “don’t throw any more shoes at him.”

“Hey, you want him wandering down here? No, you don’t. Thought we established that. ‘Sides, the ring’s done. Nothing left for me to work on.”

“Right, but still, you can’t be acting all suspicious. He’s already worried about you. That’s why he tried to come down here yesterday.”

“Pfft,” Mitch scowls. “Worried…”

“Well, while we know Lou’s in the music room, I’ll gather everyone before they turn in and we can discuss the plan. Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet,” Ruby assures her. “Mitch, yer on candle and match duty. Willy, in the mornin’ I want ya ta go out and pick as many pretty flowers as ya can.”

“Aw,” Willy pouts, “how come I got flower duty?”

“It’s either that or ya gotta help Omar cook. Yer choice.”

Willy doesn’t argue. Omar’s a genuinely nice guy, but he’s also an incredibly particular cook. Willy wasn’t going to willingly put himself into that nightmare.

Soon, they have all the details worked out.

Aasim and James will take Louis far away to go hunting until evening, giving them a few hours to set up.

Ruby will work on setting up a little picnic area for them on the floor and figure out the music. Willy will go around with Tenn and AJ to pick enough flowers for a bouquet, as well as decorate an old vase to put them in. Omar will cook them something extra special, and Mitch will gather all the candles and place them in the safest places around the music room.

As for Clementine herself, she’ll help fix things up in the piano room, but there’s something else she wants to try, as well. Something that she’s been contemplating for the past week.

She hides the box in her jacket with a big, dumb grin stuck on her face. She still can’t believe that Mitch, James, and Willy actually made her a matching set of wedding rings. She tries not to show it, but the very thought of both her and Louis wearing them makes her giddy.

But, there’s still an issue pressing on her mind.

“Ruby?” Clementine’s grin is replaced with a worrying frown. “Are… are you going to tell Violet?”

And, just like that, the room becomes tense.

“Violet?” asks Willy.

“Oh, well, shoot,” Ruby mutters, “didn’t even think of Vi.”

“Don’t fucking bother,” Mitch snaps. “She’s not gonna give a shit, and if she does, she’ll just ruin the whole thing.”

Ruby looks up at Mitch with distraught eyes. “We gotta tell her, Mitch. She’ll feel left out-”

“Oh, don’t start with that bullshit. Why do you anyways try to include her?”

“Because whether you like it or not, she’s one of us. She’s family.”

“Oh, please. She’s an asshole!”

“You bite yer tongue, right now!”

“Well, it’s true!”

“The only reason she’s mean ta you is because yer a jerk ta her first! God, everyone else is decent, why can’t you be?”

A sick feeling comes over her. Clementine can’t quite place what it actually is, but it always boils within her whenever the idea of talking to Violet strikes her.

Over the past two years, she’s tried talking to Violet. Not big things. Saying, “Hello,” or “How are you?” or “Are you okay?” 

Every single time, Violet doesn’t mutter a single word. All she gives is a glare and the view of her back as she walks away.

She told Louis how much she missed Violet once.

He watched her suffer after losing Violet as a close friend. There were a few nights just after the delta that Clementine found herself crying, and he was there to hold her, to promise her that Violet would come around, she just needed time.

Louis tried to fix things between her and Violet.

She can still remember that night. He snuck into the darkness of the room. AJ was fast asleep.

Clementine can remember the rage filling her insides when she saw the bruise forming on his face and the tears slipping down his cheeks. She barely made it to the door before Louis grabbed her, begging her not to go after Violet, that she didn’t even know what happened. AJ woke up, and Louis lied about what was wrong. It was only when they were alone in the hallway that he told her what happened.

They’d gotten into an argument, Louis and Violet. An argument about her. Louis defended her and tried to understand Violet’s animosity. She refused to talk. She only cussed and shoved him away. 

Louis got too close, and like a reflex, Violet swung.

Violet didn’t come out of her room for almost two weeks after that. She spoke to no one but Tenn when he brought her food. 

She didn’t come out until Louis spoke to her again.

And it all happened because of her…

“Don’t worry about it, Ruby,” Clementine speaks up. “I’ll tell her.”

“The fuck you will!” Mitch‘s brow furrows in fury and his fists curl. 

“It’s not like she’ll try to stab me just for talking to her,” Clementine argues.

“Oh yeah? Just like how she didn’t try to stab you after the delta, right? For fuck's sake, had Louis and James not stepped in you would’ve had a nice big gash right between your eyes! She attacked you, Clem! And she’s never said sorry or even pretended that she felt guilty about it! She betrayed us! She’s a traitor!”

“Mitch!” Ruby gasps out. “Don’t talk so ugly! Vi’s no such thing! That was years ago and things have changed! Maybe if you put in some more effort-”

“Oh, fucking hell-”

“-then you wouldn’t be so damn quick to be cruel! And y’know, maybe it is time they finally sort this out.”

“Fuck that!”

Clementine straightens herself out and confidently stands up to Mitch. 

“I appreciate your concern, but-”

“My concern ?” Mitch glares. “What, my concern that I’ll have to dig your grave when that bitch snaps and puts a fucking cleaver in you?”

“She wouldn’t really do that, right?” Willy says, eyes widening.

“Of course she would! She’s-”

“Mitchell Robert Daymond!” Ruby exclaims, causing all of them to jump, startled. All eyes fall on Ruby’s small, angry form as she points right at Mitch’s face. “That is enough outta you. This ain’t yer choice, and bein’ a prick about it ain’t gonna get yer way! Gah, ya act like Vi’s some sorta- sorta monster and I’m sick of it.” 

Mitch opens his mouth to speak, only to have Ruby cut him off. 

“ No ,” she demands. “ No more .”

The air becomes uncomfortably heavy as the two glare at one another. Clementine finds herself breathing slower as if a regular breath would be too much for the tension. Glancing over at poor Willy, she finds him standing close behind Mitch, still gripping his arm and looking between the two. 

Only when Mitch tears his gaze away to scowl at the floor does Ruby turn back to Clementine.

“If this is somethin’ ya wanna do, then we’re right behind ya,” she says. “Vi’s not gonna be happy about it, that’s fer sure, but she won’t do nothin’ ta hurt ya, either. I know it.”

The tension in her shoulders relax with her sigh as Clementine nods. 

“I know, and you’re right. I’m tired of this. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life avoiding her when I can try and make things right. Maybe we won’t ever be friends again, but we can at least be on speaking terms." Clementine looks to her ring once more. “Louis will want her at the wedding, and if she isn’t there because of me…”

“Do what ya can, Clem,” Ruby smiles, placing a comforting hand on Clementine’s shoulder. “Just... promise you’ll be careful?”

“I will.”

“Fucking shit,” Mitch hisses under his breath, rubbing both hands over his face in frustration. “If you’re actually serious, then you’re not going alone. I’ll go with you and make sure she doesn’t pull anything.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Ruby objects. “Yer not exactly sensitive when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Fuck off, I can be sensitive,” Mitch snaps. “I mean- Not that I’d- ... It’s better if someone goes with her and last I checked, you’re supposed to be on watch with Aasim right now. And don’t you have a plan to share, too?”

Ruby hesitates, turning to Clementine with concern. 

Clementine can see why Mitch tagging along wouldn’t be ideal, but she had to admit that having a backup would make her feel a little bit better. Even if he merely escorted her to Violet’s room or made it known that he was only there to keep things from escalating to a boiling point- which, again, Mitch isn’t the ideal candidate for this role- it’d make her feel better.  

Then again, Violet might be doubly pissed to see Mitch, as well.  If there’s anyone she despises as much as Clementine, it’s Mitch.

“You don’t have to-” Clementine starts, only to have him raise his hand. 

“Yeah, I don’t have to do anything,” he frowns. “But, I’m gonna anyway.”

That gets a smile out of her. 

“And you won’t threaten her?”

He stares, then lowers his head in defeat. 

“I won’t say nothin’ unless I gotta.” Then, he turns to Willy. “You okay to clean this place up yourself?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Willy smiles.

“Well, ehm, guess I’ll get Aasim and James and tell ‘em ‘bout the plan,” says Ruby. “Vi should be in her room. She usually turns in early when she doesn’t have watch.”

Before leaving, Ruby turns to Mitch with one final warning, “Be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The feeling’s back, twisting in Clementine’s gut and accelerating her heart.

With that, they leave the basement.

---

The music room is filthy. 

Usually, Louis doesn’t notice or even pay much attention to the cleanliness of any room within the school due to the fact this everywhere is dirty. It doesn’t matter how much Ruby pushes or how many times Aasim scolds them for leaving messes wherever they go, the school will never match the cleanly standards it had prior to the end of the world. 

They have more important things to think about anyway, right?

Or maybe they just can’t be bothered. 

Perhaps both. 

But when he sat at the piano, fingers playing the keys he knew by heart, he noticed a thick layer of dust settled on the worn wood.

Swiping a finger across the top left him absolutely disgusted. To be honest, he can’t remember the last time he actually cleaned the piano, but given that the layer of dust is thick enough to make actual dust bunnies out of, it’s been a while. 

In fact, the music room is kind of a disaster. 

And he needs a better distraction anyway.

Sorting through the records he kept, he picks a classic record to play at random and gets to work. 

Within an hour, he’s already filled an old cardboard box with the trash that once occupied the floor, the tables, and everywhere else that garbage built up over years. Old soda cans, soiled books, broken shards of glass by the windows- all gone. 

Louis wipes down the piano with an old T-shirt he oddly found beneath the couch. Pictures from what looks to be a pirate comic fill the front of the shirt and for the life of him, he can’t remember whose shirt this is. Or was. 

He knows he’s seen it before, knows someone wore it… someone not around anymore.

Shit. 

Nevermind, he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Pushing that thought out of mind, he continues wiping away the dust. While the piano would always be worn, defaced, and out of tune, he still loved it and should remember to keep better care of it. 

So many memories were made sitting here. 

Most good, some bad. 

Memories of him sitting there with clumsy fingers, young and untrained, awaiting his cue from Minnie as she finished jotting down lyrics to their song. 

“Nevermind the darkness, nevermind the storm-”

Memories of him entertaining Tenn when he was scared of a thunderstorm, or playing something silly to make Violet smile. 

Memories of him and Clementine the night of the delta attack. 

“You are super cute.”

“Cute? Wow, uhm-”

Their first kiss. 

Louis runs his finger over their initials encased in a heart, carved by Clementine’s own hand that night right before he opened up to her, thanked her for being with him despite… well, everything. 

God, it seems so far away. 

Since then, more memories have festered within these walls, here at the piano.

“For once, I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“Why?”

Satisfied with his work, Louis tosses the shirt away. He slips off his jacket, setting it over the arm of the couch before placing himself comfortably at the piano once more. 

“First of all, it’s going to take us a million years to build all nine-hundred floors. Second, we’re going to need so much paint, and even with all of us helping, it’s going to take us two million years to paint it all! Third, nine-hundred floors means-”

“Nine-hundred and fourteen.”

A deep breath. 

“Excuse me, nine-hundred and fourteen floors means this house is going to be high up in the stars- literally in space!- and you yourself said that you hate climbing stairs. Do you know how many sets of stairs we’re going to need to make it to the top?”

“We’ll have an elevator.”

“That goes through the whole place?”

“Yep. Up, down, and sideways.”

“That’s ridiculous. I love it.”

Eyes close. 

Clementine laughs, pushing against his shoulder as he shakes his head. Whether his chuckle is due to the madness of Clementine’s floor plan, or because her fingers continue to purposely play the wrong keys, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“Then, what about a slide?” she suggests. “A big metal slide that loops around and brings you from top to bottom in seconds.”

“I like it, I like it,” he ponders, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Except, that won’t help us in actually getting to the top.” 

The cool air blows in through the open window, flickering the flames of his candles and kissing the warmth of his cheeks. 

“What’ll be at the top, anyway?” she asks. “What’ll be worth climbing all those stairs to see?” 

“I don’t know, but it has to be something special.” He thinks about it for a moment. “What do you want?”

“Me?” she asks.

Pulling her hand off the keys, holding it in his own, he asks, “What do you want at the top?”

Another deep breath. 

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, Clem,” Louis urges. “Anything you want. Name it.” 

She stares down at their linked hand, eyes drift shut as she thinks. 

“Well… we have to have that skylight, right?”

“Obviously, but that’s something I wanted, remember?” 

“Well, I want one, too. If we’re going to be up in space, I want to see it. Imagine seeing the moon that up close.”

“Maybe we’ll have aliens tapping on our roof.”

“I hope so.” 

He kisses her forehead, then her cheek, whispering in her ear, “What do you really want, Clementine?”

Louis’ fingers move effortlessly. 

His soft lullaby fills the air. 

“A tree,” she says firmly. “An apple tree with bright red Honeycrisps, right in the corner, and it’s roots throughout the floor, and-” she grabs his hand, comparing it to hers by pressing their palms together, “- a piano in the center. Any kind you want.”

Their fingers lace together.

“A glossy, grand piano. Mahogany- the color of leaves in autumn,” he brushes a curl from her face, “unbreakable and always in tune.” 

“And you’ll teach me to play?”

“You willing to climb nine-hundred and fourteen floors every day for your lessons?”

“Of course.”

It’s been a long time since he’s thought of their home- rather, their outrageous dream house that was inspired by the depressing story of how his own parents didn’t get to finish building their new home. 

A royal purple, nine-hundred and fourteen floor mansion with a treehouse, a skylight, and an apple tree growing on the top floor. Several pools, movie theatres, pizza parlors, bedrooms, bathrooms with hot tubs and full body showers, aquariums, roller parks- and even with all those things, they still have plenty of room left. 

Louis knows the possibility of that mansion coming to fruition is lower than low, they both know that, but it doesn’t make it any less fun to imagine.

How many nights did they stay up in bed discussing what kind of statue they wanted for the fountain, or what shade of purple they’d paint their bedroom, or how many dogs they would adopt, or if they were going to make Mitch sleep in the treehouse rather than giving him his own room? 

Louis stops playing, chuckling to himself. 

It’s been a long time since he’s played by himself happily, or since he’s thought of composing a brand new song. Usually, when he’s down here so late by himself, it’s to calm down after an all-consuming nightmare-

No.

Don’t think about that. 

Don’t think about that.

Don’t think. 

“An apple tree with bright red Honeycrisps, right in the corner, and it’s roots throughout the floor...”

Maybe he can’t build Clementine an outrageous purple mansion, but he can write her a new song.  

As Louis becomes lost in the music, a brief thought runs through his mind.

Finally... a nice night.

[sweetestrequiems]

Time for a Getaway!

Requested by: One of you lovely Anons! Thank you for sending a letter. <3 Prompt: 80) “What do you mean they escaped?”

Character(s): The Beheaded Cousins (Anne Boleyn / Katherine Howard) Catherine Parr / Jane Seymour

Summary: Anne and Katherine generally cause a bit of chaos when the two hang out together. But, push came to shove one day and Jane Seymour had decided they needed to take a day to themselves. She thought the two would listen, as she acted like the authority figure most of the time, but this time? The two cousins hatched a plan to get out of the house and have a little bonding moment.

TW: Very short and brief mention of past CSA (Howard references her past life, but not in detail).

A/N: IT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN! As Gloria Estefan once said... “DONDE ESTA MI GENTE?” cause y’all, I am so happy to have been able to have the chance to write Beheaded Cousins chaos! This is also oddly wholesome chaos, too? Like they’re not even causing trouble. They’re just stargazing and acting like siblings. So yeah, this is what we call wholesome Beheaded Cousins with Angry Mom at the end.

––––––––––

“Katherine Howard! Anne Boleyn! Get down here this instant!”

With arms crossed across her chest, and the not-so-friendly furrowing of her eyebrows, it was evident Jane Seymour was not a happy woman at the current moment. The two queens, one in a green tracksuit for some unknown reason, and the other one in black sweatpants and a pink hoodie, ran down the stairs. The two had smiles on their faces, but that quickly faded when they saw the scowl on the blonde woman’s face. Normally, this was the part where Katherine pulled her “I’m too cute.” card, but the unwavering Seymour was scaring her just a little.

“Yes, Jane?” Boleyn glanced over to the side, seeing her cousin hide behind her arm just a little. “What could we have possibly done to get–” Then she spots it. A laugh comes out of the green queen with the pink one giggling a little. Harmless prank, but a messy one. The two cousins had somehow managed to get about a solid row of six glasses, all upside down, with water inside of them and on top of the table. One could spot a rather upset looking Catherine Parr behind them, with her clutching onto a folder.

There was the heavy Manchester accent, and it only came out when she was talking a lot, or when she was rather angry. “I can’t put this down out of the fear that if we even move one of those glasses, it’s going to be nothing but a huge mess! And these papers are important! D’you know what, ladies?” A hand stops her. Jane speaks up. “Yeah, d’you know what? You’re both grounded. Yes, both of you. In your rooms, not a single peep comes out of you both until dinner time. Are we clear, you two?”

There was a nod from Katherine, but from Anne? Just another bout of laughter as she walked away. It was safe to say Anne did find the harmless prank on them hilarious. Even better was that Kitty was giggling the whole way back to her room. The two always pulled pranks on the queens, but this was the first one that actually would leave a mess behind. At least it was water, so it wouldn't be too difficult to clean up.

“Those girls are the epitome of chaotic energy,” Anna of Cleves let out a small chuckle. “Come on, let’s figure out how to get these glasses empty without a huge puddle o’ water.”

––––––––––

It was maybe around 10:30 at night when the house grew silent.

The Beheaded Cousins had made a plan to go out and enjoy some of the nightly sights before dawn, as to not get caught by Seymour. The two met downstairs, all suited up in matching tracksuits for some odd reason, and went on out the door, closing it as quiet as possible. Once outside, the two began to laugh. “We did it, Kit! We actually snuck out for once! Alright, where to?”

“This feels awesome. Just us hanging out and not having to worry about anything! D’you know what, Anne? We should go to the park! We can go stargazing! Surely, that’s gotta be... well, interesting! It’s the night sky with no lights around,” Katherine began to jog on ahead of her cousin. Taking a moment to process it, it didn't hit Anne that she was being left behind. “Hey! ‘Old on a sec!” And the green queen chased on after her cousin. 

For the two, spending time was something they cherished once they were... well, gifted the new bodies. They didn't really know too much of each other in their past life. And needless to say, Anne was rather happy to be able to have built a good relationship with Katherine. “Jesus, Kit! You got right on ahead like it was nothing.” “Yeah, well, catch up, slowpoke!” A laugh. The two truly shared a relationship that was unlike any other. 

A fifteen minute walk–– which was shortened to maybe twelve minutes since they jogged the first three minutes–– came to a stop once they crossed the entrance to the park. With a deep inhale and heavy exhale, Howard opened up her arms and smiled. “I love it here. It’s nice and quiet. The sky looks gorgeous, too! More than it did in the lights. There’s the North Star right there, Annie,” pulling her cousin next to her, a lithe arm pointed up in front of them as they paced about the trail.

A soft chuckle. “You aren’t kidding, Kit. This is gorgeous. How’d you discover this spot?”

“Well, I sometimes sneak out of the house when you lot are in bed and just walk around. It helps ease up the nightmares and stuff. Makes life... easy for just a few minutes, even though I spend like an hour outside.” Pulling on her cousin’s sleeve, Katherine guided Anne over to the bench she normally sat at. “I tend to sit right here. Close enough to the light that I can see London’s nightlife, but far enough that you can still––” “See the nighttime sky. Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it’s a whole lot easier to breathe with actual fresh air. I wish you would’ve told me, though. I worry about you a lot. You’re the only living family I have left, and... I’d be devastated if anything happened to you. One of my regrets from my past life is not taking the time to meet you properly. We only ever spoke in passing. Shame, though... that I had to meet an untimely fate and couldn’t save you from the hell you went through.”

“Yeah, I sometimes wish I was brave enough to have spoken up about it. But, times were so drastically different back then. Speaking up would’ve gotten my head chopped off a lot sooner. But this day and age? It makes me proud to see the people that come out with their stories. There’s so many survivors, and... I can’t help but get overwhelmed sometimes. It feels nice knowing our voices are finally heard, y’know?”

“D’you know what, Kit? Talk to Cathy. Maybe you could write a memoir!”

––––––––––

12:00 am on the dot.

Catherine Parr was the sleepless one of the group. Most of her nights consisted of her staying up at her desk, either handwriting or typing out anything that came to her head. In this case, she was finalizing the first draft of a series of memoirs. That series, of course, being about the six of them as the wives of Henry. Having been sitting in the living room, Parr found it a bit odd that the house was quiet. Standing up from the table that had been cleaned off hours ago, she stretched her arms upward and yawned.

Katherine and Anne both normally had some form of music playing in the background when they slept. Or some form of ambient noise. There was none of that, and it was driving her insane. Pacing carefully as to not make that much noise, Catherine headed down the hallway. Boleyn’s door was ajar, and Howard’s was wide open. Pushing the ajar door open, Parr’s eyes widened and she immediately looked into Howard’s room. “They’re not here. Jane’s going to kill them. But Jane also loves them too much to do that. Those two always know how to cause chaos...”

With a heavy sigh, the blue queen just let her shoulders fall as she headed towards Seymour’s door with a bit of dread. This was either where Jane lost her mind, or became a worried mom, or both. Only time would tell. Reaching the door, she just gently knocked.

“Come in.”

Seeing that it wasn’t Katherine, but rather, Catherine, Jane Seymour sat up and put the bookmark inside of her book. “Catherine? Why are you––... never mind, don’t answer that. Better question is, why are you in here?”

“Kitty and Anne. They’re not in their rooms, Jane.”

Parr saw her expression become deadpan. No emotion, nothing to read. She became a true statue at that moment. But just as quickly as she could blink, the grey queen was up on her feet and pushing past her counterpart. The silence was almost bothering Catherine, and she wrote in utter silence. It gave her a cold shudder, before a frustrated groan echoed in the hallway. “They escaped their rooms, huh.”

“What do you mean they escaped? I would more-so call it sneakin’ out, Jane. It's not like they were cooped up in there for long, anyways. Come on, I have a bit of an idea of where they could be. Maybe.”

“Did you help them?”

“No, Jane. Cleves and I have gone out to eat at a diner this late before. It was the one night we got back from Edinburgh really late and didn’t want to wake you lot up. There was a really cozy diner in London and we’ve been to it a bit. Grab a jumper, let’s go. I’ll take you to it.”

––––––––––

That diner Parr had mentioned was exactly where the Beheaded Cousins were.

And they weren’t even really eating, they were just sitting in there since they had gotten chilly.

“We’ve got to come here during the day some day, or maybe after a show. It’s all cozy and... retro. I think that's the word, anyways,” Boleyn let a laugh out, with her cousin giggling. “Seriously though, Kit... thanks. For, well... y’know, showing me that spot in the park. I wish I would’ve brought a camera. I feel like it would yield some wonderful pictures.”

“I’m glad I got to share it with you! I’d love to tell the other queens, but I’m scared they’re going to be worried as to why I go out so late at night. Especially Jane. But I do think she’d quite enjoy it!” Howard gently tapped on the table. “D’you know what, Annie? I’d love love love for you to help me maybe convince the others to––”

“Sneak out like you two did?” And looking down upon them with what could’ve been described as the Mom Stare was Jane Seymour. The blonde woman furrowed her eyebrows, unwavering in her position and demeanor. “You two have a lot of nerve t’do that. At least nothing bad happened to you two. Come on, we’re going home.”

Looking at each other, and at the door to see Catherine Parr, the cousins both just laughed it off. “Relax, mum. We’re bringing all of you next time. I really want to show you this nice spot in the park when it's dark outside.”

“It's really nice. Kitty’s got taste for picture perfect places. Literally, she does.”

A groan from Jane. “Fine, but next time... tell me you two are going out late. You both gave me a heart attack.”

[seasons-of-ceres]

Something About Self-Sacrificing Idiots, and Zombies

A/N: I don’t believe I posted this, if I did, opps? I had Resident Evil 4 thoughts, I keep having them obviously, and this was a thing which happened. And because I want to get into spooky stuff, this is spooky in a minor way. 

If the description of injuries is something which unsettles you, here’s the warning now, because it got gross. 

Also, this is a thinly veiled self-insert but I changed a few things to keep it as vague as possible. Enjoy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, haven’t eaten since who knows when, and the fact my body continues to run is a sick joke. When I meet God at the end of this nightmare, I’m punching him in the throat to the point where his Adam’s apple becomes mulch. I have so little faith in my own survival, so little, I think I might even welcome death if only for the chance to cuss out the divine creator for His all-encompassing stupidity. But I’m not the one with a fucking gash in my side. That honour goes to Leon whom Ashley is struggling to carry.

           I don’t remember where we are which should scare me, but in the anxiety of learning how to aim and shoot a gun, of distancing myself from the existential horror that the infected were once human – I find I am losing a lot more than I’m gaining. And my aim is still better than Ashley’s. Leon’s ragged breathing keeps the pace more than I am, we’ve dodged one Regenerator already and fuck knows I don’t have the bullets to take it on if we run into it again.

           The door at the end of the hall promises reprieve but too many zombies know how to use doors, so I make us stop. I watch for the movement of shadows under the crack of the door, for a silhouette to pass behind the foggy door window. My palms are sweaty, I clench my hand around the handgun, and when I fail to hear anything, I push the door open, unsure if I should feel happy that it’s open in the first place.

           It opens into a laboratory. The wall directly to my right is lined with labelled flasks of varying shades of ‘don’t touch’ and ‘definitely poisonous and toxic’. There’s a couple Bunsen burners and microscope or two, papers litter the floor in smears of filthy brown and brackish red. Ashley eyes what we both identify as a closet on account that the door does not have a window, and I step forward and try the knob, ripping it open and anticipating dull teeth or a spray of arterial blood and yellow pus as Las Plagas springs forth to protect its Ganado host. Apparently ‘ganado’ means ‘cattle’ in Spanish, and that puts Saddler on my shit list for far too many reasons.

           “Safe.” I call out, my voice low and rough. “Set him against the desk. Can you barricade the door alright?”

           “Which one?”

           Ashley lets Leon sink to the floor, leaning him against the central desk within the cramped room. There’s a sink and faucet installed, I turn the handle and manage to squeeze out five drops of clear water, before it turns brown. Undrinkable. Mud.

            “The one we entered from.” I walk towards the third door, peering through equally foggy glass.

            “OK.” Ashley sighs, clearing an empty shelf of boxes and flasks, before tipping it onto its side.

            Satisfied nothing is beyond the third door, I return to the closet and rifle through the pile of boots, goggles, and lab coats for something vaguely clean. I rejoin Ashley over Leon, dropping onto my knees and setting the gun aside. I cup my hands against Leon’s neck. His heartrate’s dropping and he’s cold, nearly unresponsive.

           “Hey now, no sleeping.”

           “What, you getting tired?” Leon murmurs. “I’m fine. We have yellow herbs”

           “No, we don’t.” I lift his shirt and bite my lip, ignoring how Ashley moans into her hands. “We used them on my ankle, remember?”

           “Oh yeah.” Leon says casually.

           His eyes flicker over my face and I shake my head. It is not a shallow cut, nor is it something easy to stitch shut. Something bit into his flesh–mangled, burrowed, ripped– the blood is thick, and it rides his pant leg down to his knee. I can’t… I don’t want to think about which organs are failing, which ones caught the brunt of the attack. And Leon merely shuts his eyes as I press the lab coat into his side, grunting as I apply pressure.

            “You’ll need to search for herbs nearby. Take Ashley and go.” Leave me behind. “Take the shotgun, I’ll be fine.” She’s your responsibility now. Survive.

             I want to lock myself in the closet and scream until my throat is raw. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. It was one wrong turn, just one. I’d heard the rip-roar of a chainsaw, I’d panicked, told them both to run, and my ankle caught on something and snapped. I’d screamed. Then Leon was trying to pull me up with both hands, idiot, and he’d leaned over me and…

           “Fuck you.”

           He’s so pale.

           Leon made it appear as if nothing had happened because he’d kicked upwards with such force that the chainsaw-wielding maniac had toppled over, and I’d unloaded an entire clip into its skull before I realized how fucked we both were. In my shock—“Never broken a bone before, holy shit, I see why people hate the experience. Oh, wow, that fucking tickles, doesn’t it? Yes, I’m crying Ashley, this shit hurts.”–Leon had crushed the yellow herbs into a fine dust that he mixed with his own spit to make into a paste, massaging it painfully into my ankle so it would penetrate deep and repair the bone. I think that hurt more than the initial break, because I knew I’d fucked us over big time in case something worse happened.

           I didn’t notice he was hurt until he’d collapsed.

           “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

           “Is he going to die?” Ashley’s really uncomfortable when I swear. “Is he dying?”

           I slide my hand along Leon’s cheek, shuddering as he leans into the warmth my skin still possesses.

           “No, he’s not.”

           I remove my hand from his face, holding back a whimper as his head lolls onto his chest. Ashley kneels beside me.

           “What are we going to do?”

           Blood loss. Blood loss. You’ve stopped the bleeding. (Have you?) HAVE YOU? No, you haven’t. Need herbs. Because that chainsaw nicked internal organs, intestines? That’s blood poisoning, right? Digested food mixing with all those complicated inner workings…Have you considered killing him? If not, maybe leaving him would be better, neither you or Ashley need witness -  d o e s   t h a t   m e a n   L a s   P l a g a s   w i l l   take him over? Am I going to have to kill him regardless? M a y B e. Thinkthinkthink.

           “Leon, honey?” I keep pressure on his side, sliding my hand back up his cheek. “You with me, babe?”

           “I hear you,” he breathes. “Why’re you still here?”

           S l u r r i n g    i s n ‘t   g o o d.

           I know that.

           “I need your belt for a bit.”

           Leon laughs and doubles over, both Ashley and I prop him back up.

           “Really? OK.”

           “I gotta move you a bit though.”

           “S’fine.”

           I lift Leon’s left arm over my shoulder, wrapping my left hand around the strap that winds around his chest, and I lift him off the ground. I direct Ashley to keep pressure on the lab coat as I clumsily undo Leon’s belt, trying to be quick because feeling him sag so heavily over me is freaking me out.

           I loop Leon’s belt around his torso and cinch it as tightly as possible over the wound. Leon grimaces. I pull Ashley aside and push a smaller sidearm into her hands, along with all its bullets. It’s low calibre, that isn’t going to do shit against a Regenerator but it’s a… a deterrent? Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph–forgive the way I use your names in vain, but Christ kill me. Christ blind me. There, distraction – the meanings of ‘crikey’ and ‘cor blimey’.

           Leon doesn’t know I’ve run into that crazy merchant on my own. I argued with him extensively before getting my own weapon, and his fucking position on the matter was that he was the American agent tasked with being with the hero and thus he should have the only gun. “Bull-fucking-shit, boy scout”, had been my response. If he survives this, I’m arguing on Ashley’s behalf because she absolutely needs a gun.

           “Look after him and barricade the door once I’m gone. You know how to shoot, right?”

           “A little.” Ashley looks at Leon.

           “Just keep him awake until I get back, OK?”

           “What if you don’t come back?”

           “Ashley.” I pick up my gun and head towards the other door. “Just… just aim for the head. I’ll be back soon. Promise.”

                                                ~//~//~//~

           Green herb. Green herb. Green herb. Come on. Give me at least one. Wait no, fucking give me a bunch, I deserve it, he deserves it, don’t rob me of…

           Of what? A happy ending? What about this experience has been good? What about this experience promises a silver lining?

           S H U T  U P.

           It is a fucking long hallway with too many doors and though nothing has jumped out at me, I keep forgetting things. Like if I closed the doors as a sign that I’ve been in a room or not. Did I leave them closed to show I don’t want to go in? Guess I’m going in all of them. Can’t I be fast and thorough at the same time? He’s bleeding out. Be quicker. Come on. C O M E   O N.

           The first green herb is stuffed in a drawer.

           The room is sparsely lit, and one light has the audacity to hang limply in the air (LOST LIMB) attached by such meagre wiring that I don’t stay long. Everything about this place, whatever this place actually is, makes me so thoroughly uncomfortable, I constantly feel like throwing up. Now there’s a headache settling above my brow, thanks for nothing, you useless meat shell.

           A red herb comes from outside and I maneuver my hand through a very ugly crack in a window, hoping nothing decides to latch on my wrist and break it because I will straight up murder God. Another red herb drops from the ceiling. Great. How long have I been doing this?

            I run back down the hallway, unafraid if something should leap out at me, and I skid painfully into the door, likely scaring the skirt off Ashley. She takes a few seconds to dismantle the barricade, and I squeeze my way through the door before its fully open, dropping at Leon’s side. His colours worse. His breath is –

           “No, no, Sleeping Beauty. Stay with me.”

           “I’m sorry, I just –”

           “Ashley, see if you can find water or something, please?”

           I grab a red and green herb, snatching a pile of paper from an open drawer and crumbling the leaves together over the loose-leaf. Ashley disturbs several flasks, one smashes onto the floor spectacularly, but Leon doesn’t respond.

           “It’s all in Spanish!” Her voice creeps up an octave. “Wait. There’s a bottle of tequila in here.”

           “That’ll work. Quickly now, come on.”

           I undo the belt and remove the soaked lab coat. I find a bit of joy in pulling the cork out of the bottle with my mouth and spitting it over the floor. I’m about the pour it over the wound when I remember how this will burn. Nice job, idiot.

           “We should probably put him on his back, he might thrash a little.”

           “How are you so calm?” Ashley tucks her small gun into her boot, good girl, and helps me lay Leon on his back.

           “Honey, I am five different shades of fucked up right now.” I lower the neck of the bottle. “Hold his shoulders down. Here we go…”

           Leon’s eyes snap open when the alcohol touches him, I press a hand into his stomach to keep him from moving, biting my lip as he lets out a strangled yell. His eyes are steady on me, nodding when I finally stop. Ashley squeezes her eyes shut. I pour a small amount of tequila into my herb mixture, smearing it into a paste. I wash my hands in tequila. Then apply the paste heavily. Leon pinches his mouth shut, loudly breathing through his nose, and as I stick my fingers into his body, I hear the tremors force their way pass his lips.

           It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. N O.  I T ‘ S    N OT. Please stop talking.

           I lower my head, probing blindly for a deeper tear, shuddering as Leon arches off the ground with a wet gasp. I mash my lips together, lifting another dollop of the paste, shoving it inside.

           “Ash, can you see if there’s tape?”

           “Yeah.” She whimpers.

           “Grab another clean lab coat, please.”

           I remove my fingers and Leon chokes. I am not going to cry about it. I’m not. I take the rest of the paste and rub it along the jagged edges of the gash, pushing the scar shut and making several passes until the skin looks yellow, already healing.

           But Leon’s gone quiet.

           I curse and Ashley drops what she’s carrying as I press my ear against Leon’s chest.

           “Oh, fuck off. Don’t you dare.”

           (Blood poisoning’s a bitch, ain’t it, sweetheart?)

           I grab the last red herb from my backpack, staring at Leon’s mouth. I pluck off all the leaves and chew them, wincing at the burst of cinnamon stinging my mouth. I lean down and force the mulch through Leon’s lips, feeling him stiffen. Oh, so are you awake, huh? He raises a weak hand to push me away and I double down, pushing my tongue between his lips. Leon makes a muffled sound of protest, but the fact we’re both looking into each other’s eyes, and I know how stressed out I feel and look, he swallows.

            I lean away as Leon subtly coughs, trying to mask the blush on his cheeks by aggravating his lungs.

           “Tastes like cherries.”

           “Good for you, I got cinnamon.”

                                                      ~//~//~//~

           It’s gets progressively darker. Ashley huddles on the other side of the desk as Leon rests on my shoulder. I try thinking of literally anything to get my mind off the headache, if I can distract myself enough it’ll go away on its own.

            Red herbs are for ‘status ailments’, and I won’t use any for me.

            Leon’s still too weak to move and I wish there was a vending machine or something like it–it means I can break something without feeling bad about it. But that reminds me of something else. I blindly open my backpack and reach inside for what I know are two packs of jerky. Better than nothing.

           “You hungry, Ash?” I don’t wait for an answer, tossing a bag of jerky her way.

           “Oh, great. Thanks.”

           “All I got…wait, no, there are granola bars in here. The chocolate-covered ones? Want one?”

           “Yes.”

           I toss two her way, and then I nudge Leon. His eyes flutter open and he sighs deeply. He struggles to lift his head off my shoulder, bracing his hand over my thigh so he can sit up straight.

           “What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, losing the sleep in his voice.

           “Nothing. I remembered I have food. Eat.”

           “Nah.”

           “Don’t argue with me.” I rip off the packaging from a granola bar. “I don’t think you lost a pint of blood, but you still lost some. You need to eat. Don’t fucking argue with me.”

           “You’re so mean.”

           I roll my eyes and chew through half the bar, reaching out across Leon’s back so I can grab the back of his head. He’s slower than usual, and I shove all kinds of embarrassment into the furthest reaches of my mind as I kiss him. Leon grasps my shoulder like it’ll give him leverage, but I can slide his hand away like brushing dust off my shoulder.

           “I swear when I’m angry or excited. Guess which emotion I’m feeling.”

           “You’re taking all the chocolate off them.” Leon gasps. “That’s the best part.”

           “Yeah, well, next time I tell you to run, fucking listen to me.”

           “You’re under my protection too.” Leon grunts, his eyes watching my tongue swipe the chocolate off my lip. “You’re mad at me.”

           “Ashley’s the priority. Don’t forget that, boy scout.” I chew another piece of the granola bar, taking my time so I don’t dissolve all the chocolate in my mouth. What a baby. Leon doesn’t pull away or try to push me back this time. And this is the steadiest form of eye contact I’ve ever had in my life; I usually have such a hard time looking people in the eye…

           “Better?”

           “Not quite.” Leon lurches forward and he kisses me. “You still taste like chocolate more than the food.”

           …what? Did. You. Excuse me? This is not the time to…

           “You guys are so gross.” Ashley, Designated Peanut Gallery, says.

I smack the desk, she giggles, you’re so in love with him.

           “The adults are talking. Go to sleep.” I retort, trying to ignore the colour and heat in my cheeks. “That’s the last of the granola bars.”

           “What are you eating?”

           “Not hungry.” Liar. “I can stand to miss a meal or two. How strong do you feel right now?”

           Leon shrugs. I crack into the bag of jerky. He sighs through his nose.

           “You’re going to feed me again?”

           “Got any better ideas, Casanova?” I stick one end in my mouth, wiggling it around as a challenge. Leon leans forward and I pull the jerky completely into my mouth, grinning cheekily as he brushes a hand through his hair.

           “And you can me Casanova.”

           This time, I grab the strap across his chest and pull him into me. Leon grunts into my mouth, holding me by the shoulders and…

           I swallow.

           Leon leans back, proud.

            “You –”

             “You need the energy too.” He says, raising his hands in defense. “I know frayed nerves when I see them. I’m fine.”

           “I really and sincerely don’t believe you.”

                                                         ~//~//~//~

            “You handled yourself pretty good.” Leon says, and now the room is properly dark. “You’d make a good surgeon.”

             “I thought so too once.”

            “What changed?”

             “Realized I’m an idiot.” Even in the dark, I feel Leon’s judgmental stare. “Really. Math has always been a difficult subject, and back when my parents were like ‘you are going to med school’ they forced me into a Chem class which I barely passed, and then it was like ‘ok. you are not going to med school’.”

            “That… doesn’t make you an idiot.” Leon says, speaking slowly to convey how much this truly confuses him. “What are you doing now?”

           “Being a ‘starving artist’. This trip was supposed to open my eyes, maybe get me into travel writing which is, ugh, no.”

           “Travel writing?”

           “It’s all vaguely sad and nostalgic, so no.” I laugh. “No. Mom wants me to try law school now. So, I have a big textbook at home to study for some big test that’ll tell me if I’m smart enough for law school. Which I don’t want to do. But because I do nothing else, this is Mom’s gentle way of saying ‘get off your ass’. I knew I should’ve gone to a trade…”

             “You’re being…very forward about this.”

              “I didn’t think I was going to live long in a town full of zombies.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “I literally said all the meanest things I could think of to get my friends to ditch me, and even then, once they all piled into this stupid little Jeep, I was running away trying to get the attention off them. Part of me is always going to want to die first.”

            “Why?”

            “When I find the answer, I’ll let you know.”

                                                            ~//~//~//~

               “… isn’t your real name either is it?” Leon stands up, pulling up his shirt and trying to get a look at the skin. I raise myself onto my knees and probe the soft flesh, there’s no noticeable scar or anything. We can move now if we want.

               “No, but it’s easier to call out in a pinch.”

               “I guess.”

               “It’s the first letter of my name though.” I climb to my feet and shoulder the backpack. “You OK to move?”

               “Yeah.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “When this is all over, I think I’m owed your real name.”

               I snort. “Oho. Real American Bravery in the flesh.”

               “I’ve gotten a taste of your Humble Canadian Bravery –”

               “In more ways than one.” Ashley adds smugly. “Oh sorry, were the adults still talking?”

              I sigh. “We still can’t leave her behind, can we?”

              “Hey!”

[struwwelzeter]

Why do you think Richard would be a nightmare client please? And do you think Till would be one too?

Oh, because he’s hands down the person that goes «It doesn’t feel right, this is not what I asked for ☹️» and then can’t tell me why in a way that I can fix it.

So, I’m gonna elaborate on that because it does tie into the Zoran thing and I am in the mood to blab about my work. Sorry, this got long. I’m a graphic designer/art director, aka the person that makes logos and designs event posters and such. I mainly work in culture (museums/exhibitions) at the moment, but I have done a few record packagings in the past and musicians generally are the worst clients, followed only by painters/sculpturers/other artiststs. It’s understandable and not really their fault and they are precious babies that need to be protected at all costs, but oh man.

The thing is, someone who just poured their heart and soul and failed relationships and personal nightmares into a record for the past 5 years and now needs a cover for it has a completely different level of investment into how things should be than let’s say a dentist who needs a new logo. They often have a very, very strong idea about how things should be but can’t at all articulate it because it’s so deep set into their soul and if they could articulate it they wouldn’t be coming to me in the first place, they’d just do it themselves. We all know Richie is a little control freak that needs things to be just so, and that’s just a very tough crowd to please because a design school education doesn’t come with a manual on how to read minds, particularly ones that don’t even know what they want.

If someone like that comes to me, I know I’ll be working unpaid overtime. I’d always make sure to give him a few extra (small, like a changed font or different color) variants even if that’s not part of the agreed upon comission (usually I’d bill more the more variants I offer to choose from) to reassure him there’s still alot of options we haven’t tried yet and to make him feel in control and show that I’ll try whatever I can to make it right. I’d try to talk to him more than other clients and get him to talk about stuff he visually likes more to get an idea about what exactly he means if he says stuff like «I want it to look clean» because surprise, surprise, not everyone means the same when they say that they just think they do. I’d probably make more time for revisions because we’ll need them, I’d have him come over for an afternoon and work with him live, infront of my monitor to test different things and see what speaks to him.

This is broad generalisation, but: The thing is, if I have an investment banker come in and ask for all that extra service, I’d be able to bill every last second of that and the dude wouldn’t feel ripped off. With artists you can’t do that. They’re used to creativity being something you can’t measure that way, they’re used to work themselves with very little monetary compensation for what they do (even someone as successful as Richard feels that. There is interview evidence.) They will feel like things become morally compromised when every tiny little thing I do becomes a question of budget first. They’ll feel taken advantage off alot quicker. That’s why especially with clients like this, you respect budgets out of principle. Mainly because the average musician or photographer isn’t a multi platinum selling big shot, but also because they’re sensitive about it morally. Being a designer is weird because artist people will see you as one of them, and business people will too, and you better be able to wear both hats. In other words, with artists, as a general blanket statement, I’ll take alot more shit and a lot less pay to get to the end of it if I want the thing to work out. That’s the nightmare part because walking on eggshells isn’t fun.

The fun bit is the part where you manage to bring someone’s heart out in the open and make it visible. One of my first paied projects was an editorial piece for a fashion designer. It was everything I described above, but when we nailed it she sat crying next to my desk. You can’t measure that shit in money anyway. I remember Richard saying in an interview that the title A Million Degrees came up while he was working with the graphic designer on it, and that, that right there is what you’re shooting for. You’ll want to help someone express themselves. It’s beautiful, pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. AMD was designed by Dirk Rudolph, one of the indusyry greats and who’s worked with him for years. I’m not surprised it worked out that way.

The point is, offering creative work as a service takes a truckload of empathy. Nobody talks about this when you start art school, but it’s one of the most empathetic and human connection based professions out there if you want to do it really well. You need to know and understand who you’re working with. The job is to make somone elses vision look it’s absolute best and shine and speak to the people it’s intended to speak to in the way the creator has invisioned it. That’s a big, big ask. You’re always translating in languages only one person speaks.

The problem is, that most of the people who became creators are pushed into offering it as a service for monetary/capitalism reasons and they want their own ego in it too because they never signed up for this shit where you give up your own vision and make it all about someone elses. It sucks and it’s unfair, because someone like Zoran would be worlds better and happier if he could just do whatever he pleases. He can’t tho, because he’s selling a service, and someone who buys a service expects a service. And that’s the part that always leads to problems, unless the chemistry works out really well. It bothers me a little when I see it happen like that tho. Because he basically says «forget about what we agreed, here’s MY thing.» and that’s just ... I don’t know, it’s just very much against my own work ethic I guess.

As far as Till goes, I think he’s pretty excitable and easy to please because he’ll just enjoy seeing it come to life. I also think that with someone like Zoran who he considers a friend he’ll be “whatever” about money, because he can afford it and probably doesn’t feel it’s worth quarreling over. Freedom, etc. Lucky as hell landing a client like that.

[trickkombowerskru]

A Father’s Worst Nightmare-Henry Bowers X Daughter!Reader Imagine

Request: Anonymous: Can you do an imagine where henry didn't kill anyone and had a family and his daughter (who would be like 16) is getting terrorized by it and something happens similar to beverly and henry comes to see what's wrong and is like really confused why shes talking about blood and a clown and then remembers what happened to him the reader would be his daughter btw if you don't want to do this that's completely fine with me or if you don't understand what I'm saying

A/N: Thank you for  being so patient with me anon, I know you sent his in before the Christmas event, but now it is here! Also yes it is still not new year’s for me on the west coast so I succeed in getting all the prompts done, but word of advice whatever you do don;t do a writing sprint of 30+ prompts in 2 and half days it will drive you a little crazy

Warnings: None

It wasn't easy being the daughter of a single parent in Derry, especially when you were the daughter of Henry Bowers. It wasn't like he didn't work his ass off to support both of you or that he wasn't a good dad. It's just being his kid for some years of your life and still to this day people expect you to act a certain way because of your dad's reputation around town as a kid. 

That being said he was a lot better now your mom had even him out a lot, so while his rage was still caged inside of him it wasn't nearly as much because of her and the fact that his own father was dead. You were thankful however that most people after meeting you and getting to know you quickly picked up you were nothing like him as a kid, sure you were tough and all, but you didn't go around making other kids lives a living hell. 

This could be said for any of the adults still here who were once his peers or victims when they were young they all expected you to go off, but soon enough you subverted that. It had been a long day you and your best friend Amy were getting some books for school, waiting to get all of them checked out.

"Okay girls remember your due date and good luck on your project."

"We will thanks Mr.Hanlon," you tell him before you leave and you two make your way back to your places.

You wanted to find some good points separately before meeting up to compare notes.

"Hey Dad," you greet seeing your father sitting at the table doing some kind of paperwork.

"Hey kiddo. What's with all the books?"

"Project for school, we have to do this presentation that needs like seven sources and only two of them can be digital, so Amy and I figured to find stuff first and then we dive into it."

"Well before you get too deep into those books what do you want for dinner?"

"Pizza?" 

"Sounds good. Let me know when you start gettin' hungry."

You tell him you will and head to your room, putting the books on your small desk, and changing out of your school clothes. After a bit of researching you needed a bit of a pick me up, cold water always did the trick so you made your way to the bathroom.

Once you dry off your face you hear voices.

"H-Hello?"It sounded like they were coming from the sinking

"Y/N come float with us. We all float down here."

"Who are you?"

You get an array of names before a decaying hand comes out of sink, it starts pulling you near the drain and a large burst of blood covers you and the entire bathroom. 

You take the hand and shove your nails into it making disappear down the drain. Your scream alerts your dad and he comes rushing in.

"Y/N what's wrong!?"

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"All the blood."

"Blood!? Did you hurt yourself or something?"

"This is gonna sound insane, but I need you to promise you'll hear me out."

"Okay what happened."

"I was splashing some cold water on my face to wake me up a bit, and then I heard these voices"

"Voices?"

"They came from the sink and they said something about floating and then this nasty looking hand was trying to pull me into the drain and then this large burst of blood just came out and covered everything."

"Floating?'" when he asks this you can see shock and realization hit his face like he knew what was going on.

"Did they uh say anything else? Or did you see something? Like a clown or uh a red balloon?"

"Why would I see a red balloon?"

He shakes his head and leans down, kneeling and cups your face.

"We'll clean this up later okay, just take a shower,I gotta make a call real quick alright."

You just nod. You scrub the blood off of yourself once you're changed you hear your dad in a panic on the phone.

"Listen Eric I don't give a shit if it’s closing time,I just need to Hanlon okay!"

You wondered what he needed to talk about with Mr.Hanlon.

"I think that fucking thing is back!....what do mean you know?....That thing nearly ruined my god damn life and now it just attacked my fucking kid I am not gonna let IT touch her......you called em?....later tonight?.....the Jade of Orient?.....Got it....yeah yeah I'll be there.....bye."

"Dad?"

He turns back to look at you, digging in one of the miscellaneous drawers in the kitchen.

"Listen Bud the plan changed, I'll leave some money so you can order pizza, but I need to go to dinner tonight it's important. You can invite Amy over so you won't be by yourself, and if you see anything weird look it in the eye and I want you to say "Screw you I'm not afraid." Here's my old knife in case you need it, I"ll be back later. Love you be careful."

"Love you."

He practically runs out the door and you immediately call up Amy before ordering a pizza.Your dad comes home much later and thankfully it was a weekend so it didn't matter how long you were up and also you didn't see anything else. 

You both had started to fall asleep when the door opened you heard other voices with your dad's along including Mr.Hanlon's and another one that was familiar, but you couldn't quite place.

"No no way we should get the hell out of here before we become IT's next meal. Also what are we doing. Working with Bowers? After all he did to us? Come on guys let's ."

"You got a kid Trashmouth?" you hear your dad's voice go almost dark.

"No."

"Well I do she’s my entire god damn life and that fucking thing attacked her. I ain't gonna let it get her. So shut the fuck up for once and let's kill IT.,"he threatens.

"Wait you actually managed to find a wife?"

You hear you dad sigh not wanting to talk about your mother's death since it was only just a few years ago. You decide to break up the tension and then go out there.

"Dad?"

"What're you still doin' up?"

"Well we were starting to fall asleep and then we heard the door."

Then your eyes widen as you see the rest of the group.

"Holy shit," you say when they land on Richie Tozier.

"Hi I'm Y/N I'm a big fan."

"Thanks. See Bowers you may never have liked my jokes, but your kid has taste."

"Shut up," he mutters.

As you scan the rest of the group you are also in awe of Beverly Marsh and Bill Denbrough

."I totally love you guys too, Beverly you and Tom's lines are amazing, and Bill aside from the endings I really love your books."

"How the hell is your daughter so nice?," a shorter man in a hoodie asks.

"Can it Wheezy," your dad chimes in.

"Okay what the hell is going on?," you ask.

Once they all explain the situation you are in utter shock.

"So....so that thing wanted to eat me......and IT likes it's when you're scared...so that's why you told me to tell IT I wasn't afraid."

"Exactly," your dad confirms.

After a few days of the group finding "tokens" for some weird ritual you go with them to defeat IT despite your dads protests. Everyone gets split off at one point, you getting flung with Richie and Eddie before getting completely split up.

You're in a white room and you see a bunch of what look like people suddenly combust into blood and guts, IT takes the form of the clown and inches slowly towards you. You feel terrified, but try to remember what your dad said.You stop looking IT dead in the eye.

"Screw you I'm not afraid."

You kick IT in the face and keep fighting IT until it turns onto a pile of mush. You find the way out, then run through the rickety house trying to find your dad.

"Dad? DAD?"

You frantically fling open doors until find him. You see your dad along with a younger version of him getting talked down to and beaten by his father. It kills you to see him in that much pain, feeling inside your pocket you grin. Your fingers curl around the blade,you sneak behind the "man" and jump on his back.

"Leave him alone you fucker!" 

you stab him in the back and then get blood spurted onto your face when you get him in the neck a few times. Your dad stands up and punches IT in the face he punches and punches until it fades away.

"Thanks Sweeheart," he says hugging you.

Once you get back with the group  defeat the clown, but not before your dad gets hurt in the process. He was trying to get you out of the way and one of IT's claws went right into his side. Thankfully if wasn't all the way through, like Eddie's wound, but it was bad. 

As the house crumbles down you try to run out, Richie and Mr.Hanlon carrying the very injured Eddie, while Ben and Bill helped your dad. Once you were out of the house, you all went to the quarry, to take care of the wounds, although shortly after that they had began to disappear along with scars on the group's hands.

You run and hug your dad, you thought for sure things were going to go south before you could save him.

"I thought I was gonna loose you," you cry.

"I'm right here Babygirl, I'm never leavin'." he tells you, pulling you closer.

After that you head home and to your surprise before you go, your dad actually apologizes to all he put them through as kids.

"It may be safe now, but I'm getting out of this town soon. I suggest you two do the same," Mr. Hanlon advises.

"We might, " your dad replies.

Later that night you sound cleaning up the bathroom finally, along with any little wounds you got from the rubble in the house. While the entire experience was terrifying, it brought you even closer to your dad. So in a very weird way, it was a good thing, and the strangest bonding exercise you could find.

[makduf]

I just needed to write it down, you can keep scrolling, it's nothing.

At days like this I usually think if I'm dreaming or if my life is real.

After graduation I decided to move into completely different city, almost 5hrs away by train from my hometown. Far away from family and anyone I would know. I started studying Czech and at my first year there was only 10 students.

At my 2nd year I became a head of student's council at my department. I used to feel powerful, I was going to these important meetings and absolutely screwing up my studies. It was the beginning of my panic problems. More more and more responsibilities, every day in my calendar looked like nightmare - I didn't realized it then, I know it now. From 8am to 8pm at university and then from 8pm to 12pm work at call center. I wanted to be on my own, little take off from my parents shoulders.

Panic attacks keep coming and sometimes I barely know what's going on and where am I. I kept failing exams, missing meetings, my work was exhausting me emotionally - almost every customer was yelling at me, insulting me just because they want to.

Between I kind of was dating with my very first boyfriend. I didn't know he would be interested in someone like me. He was handsome - that kind of guy which probably would have any other girl. I met him at one of the student's council meetings. We occasionally started talking and I realized that his whole image was a fasade, he actually was kind of shy and nerdy. We were a couple (well. kind of, it was just two weirdos hanging out around sometimes and lot's of texting). But eventually he started to be abusive, started to shout at me without any reason and then trying to make it up, saying sorry and it was the last time blah blah. Of course it's just got worse and worse. My panic attacks came back with double strength.

It was a time when I had a friend from my hometown. We were talking on the phone every few days. She knew that something's not right and one day just came to visit me. She came all across country just to check if I'm okay.

I clearly wasn't. We talked all night and she help me with making big decisions. First of all: I broke up with the guy. It was a disaster but I knew I needed it. I needed to be calm, to have big calm ocean in my heart instead of a big fucking storm ready to ruin everything.

She stayed few days but finally she had to come back to her place and once again I felt so lonely.

It wasn't easy but I did it. I wasn't proud of myself but somehow I did it (with great help of my fellow students) I graduated to 3rd year and decided to give up at student council. Also I finally moved into another apartment. I was living in big one at the old part of the city where one of the roommates was a son of the owner. He never did anything at the house, not even cleaning his own dishes. Place was cheap but I felt trapped. Luckily I got to rent a really small room in completely different part of town.

I knew I will need extra money so I decided to stay at call center. Unfortunately my panic attacks went really bad and I decided to go home for summer break. I didn't said anything to coworkers, only my boss knew. I just disappeared, I needed a big break for myself.

In the meantime I decided to give a last chance to scouting (I was deeply committed when I was living in my hometown). I went for a jamboree, a meeting for scouts mostly from Europe. One of the workshops was about LGBTQ+ and discovering themselves. It was a really open-minded place when everyone was just helpful, there was always a hot tea, books and brochures about coming out.

And then I realized. I'm a lesbian. Don't get me wrong, I just never thought about it but my whole childhood and everything after that became clear. I always felt little different, I was fascinated by other womens but always felt like I just admired them cause they're super cool. I even thought that they're pretty but you know. I never had anyone who would just open this door in front of me. And at that workshops I met other people with who I could talk. They showed me it's okay (to be gay, nanana) and I don't need to be worried. Until now I'm super grateful to them. They basically changed my whole life with small gestures of kindness.

With the end of summer, I came back to big city and to work. With my new discovered sexuality and panic attacks I was keep saying to myself that all I had to do is stay fucking calm like a big ocean, I had to have a big, calm ocean, nothing more. I didn't expected from myself to be the best. Everything was okay, customers was a little less pain in the ass than usual. University got started and I realized that someone's trying to make friends at work. And by someone I mean a girl.

At first she started to sit near my desk and sometimes asking if I need anything from the nearby shop or kitchen. She was smoking at that time so she often went down for few minutes.

We eventually started talking, beginning from some basic stuff, then sharing some fav songs at night shifts. But beside work we didn't had a contact. We usually tried to pick closest desks and I realized that maybe maybe I'm a little into her. I was charmed by her knowledge, she was impressing me at almost every field. I was considering myself as a person who knows a little about everything - I'm just a curious one. But she knew the answers almost to every question I have.

We became couple and in this year we'll have our 4th anniversary.

TBC.