#i repeat like a mantra because I tried to go to bed THREE FUCKIN HOURS AGO

[novelconcepts]

It’s all fun and games being off the pain meds until your body forgets how to sleep without them.

[siriuslyshewrote]

Way Down We Go - J.S

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings - Miscarriage

In which Y/N loses her baby, only a few months after John gets back from the war.

Can’t tell if I hate this or not, but I’m posting it anyway ✨

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?

Every man was different after the war, but ,at least to you, none so much as John. War had taken his spirit, Polly had told you over a cup of tea a few months ago, and you couldn't disagree. Sometimes, you saw the same, comedic, lighthearted eighteen year old that had left you, when he played with your two young children, or when you were together in bed, but now, it felt forced. The glimmer in his eyes was dull, and you could do nothing, except be there and hold him tightly when the night terrors made him come alive with yells and screams in the night. It had put a strain between you - between every relationship in Britain, really - but the love you had for him hadn't faded, not over those four years apart with only letters every few weeks, nor when he would lose his temper like he never had before, or when he would stay out all night, high or drunk, desperately searching for some relief from his now miserable life. You didn't think he loved you any less either. When he held you at night, when you kissed, or had sex, it felt the same as it always had, at least for a little while, like you had your old John back. It just grew harder for him to show his love, sometimes.

You would never complain , of course - what did you have to complain about? You got your husband back, when so many women didn't. You did the same as you always did - adapt to this new lifestyle that you faced - the you both faced together , you reminded him frequently.

Whoa, we get what we deserve

However, your already muddled life became even more daunting, the day you found out you were pregnant with your third child, at only 22, only months after he had come back. Katie and George were still practically toddlers - only five and three, and when you had found out, you had fled to Polly's in a state, sobbing and stating that there was no way you could do this, not right now, not so soon. It already half felt like you had a new born child again, you had guiltily wept to Polly - you were up all night most days with John, after his nightmares when he refused to go back to sleep, making cups of tea, curling up together with the curtains wide open, to let him remember he was no longer in the dark trenches, but in your tiny town house in the centre of Birmingham, hands gripping the others tiredly, repeating varying mantras of you're okay, you're home, you're here, I'm here for you, I'll never leave.

The fear of telling John about the pregnancy was worse than when you had sobbed to him on the sofa about Katie, when you were both only sixteen. He could barely keep up the pretence of the dad he had once been to his two children now, though he tried to so desperately. But, surprisingly to you, and everyone else around you, he was overjoyed. Every night, before the bump even began to form, he would kiss your stomach, murmuring sweet words to the baby inside. You both felt like this baby would perhaps be the new start that John so desperately needed.

And way down we go

And all of that hope, that love, that excitement, had been dashed on one single morning, four months to the day since John had got back.

He had left early, that morning, to go to work, to the betting shop only several homes down the street on Watery Lane. He had, for the first time in months, done what he always used to - run his fingers through your tangled bed hair, placed a kiss on your lips, with a whisper of “I love you.” That had left you with a wide smile, and for a few minutes, perhaps an hour, that warmth from that kiss filled you with a new hope.

It had only been when Katie and George had woke up, and began jumping up and down on your bed, when you had gotten up, going to grab them with a laugh, that you started to feel the back pain you had been feeling for hours worsen. You had just assumed you’d pulled your back chasing the children around the house, yesterday. It was only when you went to make the bed - when you saw the blood, only a small patch of it, that everything really clicked together in your mind.

It felt like everything slowed down for a moment - Katie and George were still rolling around giggling, the birds were still crowing outside, and the sheets were still clutched in your hands. You knew then, of course, that it was gone - that everything was gone. John’s happiness, that new, beautiful chance that you felt like you had earned, that all of the hardship would finally been worth it.

“Katie, darling?” Your voice was croaking, and you coughed, to clear it, to not alarm the little girl in front of you, who was so goddamn excited for her new sibling. “Run and go get your Aunt Polly for me, won’t you? Just down the street?”

Way down we go

She nodded, a beam on her little cheeks at this new sudden trust and independence, dashing out of the room, George rushing after her quickly, on his chubby little toddler legs. Katie waited for a second, grabbing his hand, half dragging him along behind her.

Your hands still clutched the sheets, as you sunk back onto the bed, a half scream building up in your throat. Not this, not this, not this. God, please, not this.

Say way down we go

It was hours later, night time just beginning to fall, and Polly was bustling around the kitchen, after murmuring something about making a cup of tea. You’d only just both got back from the doctors, and you’d barely spoken a word on the journey back on the tram, Polly���s hand clutched in yours - the only semblance of comfort you would allow her to give. She didn’t even try to put into words what she wanted to say, and for that you were grateful, because if she even said it, the word that the doctor had spoken with a pat on the shoulder, you would surely cry how you had in the doctors office, and on the tram, and on the walk home. You hadn’t stopped crying, all day, though your sobs were now occasional sniffles, as you lay buried under a pile of blankets, curled up, in both physical and emotional pain that was almost worse than anything you had ever experienced.

The front door opened, the distinct creak rippling through the silent house, almost like a warning. You froze, squeezing your eyes shut, for the first time wishing that this would be the night that John stayed out at the Garrison.

It wasn’t. You heard his voice bounce off the walls, higher pitched, afraid in a tone you’d only heard him speak whilst encapsulated in dreams.

“Y/N?”

You thanked god the kitchen was before the sitting room you lay in, that Polly could intercept him before he had to see you, and you him, because how could you face him? This baby was your fresh chance. And you had fucking lost it.

You let your feet run wild

“John.” Her voice was so gentle, as if she was afraid he would break with a single wrong word. Perhaps he would. Perhaps you would too, now.

“Pol? I’ve just - I’ve just fuckin’ got back, and Katie and George are at yours talking about how their ‘mummy is bleeding’? What the fuck does that mean? Where the hell-“

You squeezed your eyes tightly closed, hands tightly gripping onto the cushion you had wrapped yourself around. Perhaps if you thought hard enough, you could imagine yourself away, anywhere away from here.

“John. Come and sit down.” Polly’s voice was calm but firm, and though you heard several more questions from John, the kitchen door shut, and you were left with the silence, that was almost worse than the words.

The only words you had spoke to Polly when you left that doctors office was that you couldn’t possibly tell John. It was selfish, you knew, but the thought of his face crumpling, the thought of him no longer kissing your forehead in the morning, or sleeping with one hand on your stomach, was enough to make you want to hide away for ever.

Their conversation felt like it took a long time, though really, it could have only been an hour or so. You couldn’t hear much, but the sound of a crashing chair, of the shattering of some porcelain, the one singular almost roar of pain, was enough for you to cover your ears with your palms, squeezing close your teary eyes. After that, everything became quiet again, and you stayed as you were, staring up at the ceiling, eyes following the pattern of the plaster.

Time has come as we all, oh, go down

Polly left the kitchen before John, with her eyes suspiciously red, for such an astute woman. She wrapped her arms around you, supporting you, helping you get to bed, insisting on that, before she left. You didn’t really need the physical support, of course, but the feeling of the mother-like figure holding you close was comforting.

Polly left you soon after, tucked into bed, with a stroke of your hair, and a promise of visiting tomorrow, and of looking after Katie and George for as long as you needed, until you were ready.

Yeah but for the fall, ooh, my

You didn’t know how long you lay there, waiting for the door to slam shut again, waiting for him to leave, to never come back, but it never came. Instead, you heard the creaking of the stairs that so desperately needed fixing, if you ever got round to doing so.

John stood in the doorway for a while, a long look exchanged between you. His eyes were bloodshot, with alcohol and tears, and he only wore his white vest and his suit trousers, his hair messy.

Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

“I’m sorry.” You spoke first, the meaning in your words thick.

He didn’t speak, just kicking off his shoes, laying down in the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so your head rested upon his chest, as your legs went to wrap around his in the way they always did. You cried in his arms for a time, and you knew he was crying too, felt the damp spot in your hair where he had buried his head.

“Don’t ever fucking say sorry for this, okay?” His voice was a mixture of anger and grief and love and it made you cry even more. “This isn’t your fault.”

“This was supposed to be our fresh start.” You pulled back a little, looked into his eyes. “Our blessing, after everything...”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, trying to hold in his emotions, to be strong for you, like he had always vowed to do.

“I know, love. I know.”

“You were so happy.” You said quietly. “And now...”

He was quiet for a few minutes.

Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark

“Of course I was happy to have a ... have a baby with you. But that wasn’t the only reason I was happy. It was because for the first time since I got back, you seemed genuinely excited, and.. god, I don’t know - full of life. I took that from you by coming back.”

“How can you say that?” Your eyes were full of tears again as you looked up at him. “You didn’t take anything from me by coming back. You fucking gave me back the love of my life by coming back. Polly won’t have ever told you what I was like when you were gone, but I was a mess, John. I’d be a mess every day without you. Don’t you ever say that again.” Your voice rose to almost anger.

“Do you not think I see how tired you always are? How you don’t have energy anymore because I keep you awake all fucking night? How you smile less than you ever have before.”

“I don’t care about being tired John. I got you back. I got you back, and I won’t care about being tired ever again if I can hear your heartbeat every night like I can. Because I spent four years wondering if that heart was even still beating.”

His lip wobbled.

“I don’t want you to have to sacrifice for the rest of your life-“

“This is not sacrifice. This is love, okay?”

“I’m going to be like this for the rest of my life. I know it.”

“And I will be there for every night. I will hold your hand and help you through it all, okay?” Your voice quietened, hand cradling his cheek.

“I-“

“Whether you like it or not.” You continued firmly.

“I love you.” He spoke, holding you tighter. “We’ll... we’ll get through this together won’t we?”

“We’ll get through it all together.” Your voice was still croaky, still in pain, but those blue eyes of his filled you with some form of strength, as always.

One of his hands pressed onto your stomach.

“I love you.” He murmured quietly, and you knew it was to your unborn baby, the one that you would never get to name, or know the gender of, or watch grow up.

“I love you.” You repeated, one of your hands going over his, fingers interlocking.

Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall

And they will run you down, down 'til you go

Yeah, so you can't crawl no more

[joaquinfeed]

You’re Like an Angel (Joe x Reader)

Prompt: You and Joe (You Were Never Really Here) have been casually dating for awhile. He’s let a few comments slip about his past, but nothing too revealing. Soon enough, you experience first-hand just how troubled and damaged Joe really is. Any dialogue or thoughts in italics is stuff Joe is remembering from his past.

Warnings: Cursing, descriptions of death and blood. Mentions of abuse and trauma. Bad coping mechanisms and suicidal thoughts. 

A/N: I’m not sure how many will even read this fic since the movie isn't that popular. But I spent some time on this one. So, maybe give it a read? I tried to keep Joe in character as much as I could. 

60, 59, 58, 57, 56,

Joe's fingers gripped the pill bottle like it was his only lifeline. His eyes ran over the dosage information before flickering up to the cashier. He could see the young man's mouth moving, but no words were coming out. The boy held up a white baggie containing the rest of the medication. He scanned the barcode of each bottle like Joe was his only customer for the day, and he wanted to make it last.

Other New York residents piled behind him, but he kept his eyes trained on the cashier's movements. He could feel the glares of everyone else bore into the back of him as they waited.

Stand up straight.

Joe's fist clenched around the orange bottle, the words of his late father ringing so loud in his ears he didn't hear the small crack of the plastic. His other hand carelessly brushed over his tied-up hair before wiping off the beads of sweat sticking to his face.

Stand up! Only pussies and little girls slouch!

Joe slammed his hands onto the table in front of him, his breathing coming out in ragged puffs.

"What?" Joe asked the cashier whose mouth hadn't moved since the outburst.

"I- I said your total is 18.50."

He dropped a twenty onto the table and ripped the bag from the guy's hand, rushing to get away from the prying eyes of other shoppers. He was out the door before he was handed the change.

55, 54, 53, 52, 51,

"Mom, I'm back," Joe said to his mother as soon as he came through the front door.

"Joe, come here, come here," she said from her spot in the recliner.

"What is it?"

"Look at the TV," she pointed. "Our song's on."

'A, You're Adorable' played quietly in the background of a children's commercial, as his mother hummed softly to the lyrics.

"Yeah, it is," Joe agreed before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up. "Let's get you to bed."

"Janice loves this song. You should tell her we heard it."

Joe froze at the mention of his exes name. Janice. Before her, he had tried to date several women, all of which ended up leaving him. For years, he found himself to be incapable of maintaining a long-term relationship. Every girl he kissed, touched, or felt connected to—they all thought they could change him—fix him. He knew he was incapable of being fixed. Janice was different; she was there for him until his plan to escape the outside world, and all it's horror eventually pushed her away. It was his fault.

"Mom, I don't talk to Janice," Joe sighed. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

While he helped his mother up the stairs and into her bed, his mind drifted to you. He hadn't mentioned anything about you to her yet because he knew it wasn't serious. You both had been on a couple of dates, and even had a couple more planned, but the odds of it lasting weren't high. So, Joe kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was another woman for his mom to question him about.

50, 49, 48, 47, 46,

Once Joe was back in his bedroom, he pulled out his phone and sat at the end of the bed. His fingers searched his contacts for your name, while his other hand grasped his knee. The line only rang once before you picked up.

"Hey, I didn't expect to hear from you tonight," you said on the other end.

"I didn't expect to call tonight," he retorted.

"Okay," you said. "Your call wasn't unwanted, though."

The line went silent. Joe wasn't sure why he called at such a late hour; if he was honest, he really just wanted to hear the sound of your voice.

When he didn't respond, you spoke softly into the phone. "How was your day?"

"Good," he lied, letting his hand run over his beard. "How was yours?"

"It was okay, just busy."

"Tell me about it," he said before laying back onto the bed. He closed his eyes and let the recollection of your day soothe him for a moment's notice.

"And then, to top it all off," you said, finally nearing the end of your story. "I'm at the store, right? I turn around and see a dead girl lying on the floor."

Joe's eyes snapped open. "You saw what?"

"I saw a little girl pouting on the floor," you repeated. "I have never related to anyone so much."

He exhaled. His psyche was playing tricks on him once again. Images of dead bodies struck his mind like lightning. Kids upon kids laid lifeless in transporting vehicles—all the people he couldn't save from the savagery of sex trafficking and other violent crimes.

"Joe? Is everything okay?"

What pained him even more were the kids who screamed for help as he stood watching, helpless against the gun to his head. Jobs would go wrong, and he was forced to admit to himself, once again, that he failed.

Help me! Please help me! Don't let them take me again!

They'd cry out to him in such anguish, but he could only watch. He was as useless then as he was for his mother during his father's spells of anger.

"Hey," you said. "Are you still there?"

"I've got to go," Joe hastily hung up the phone, not waiting for your response. He threw the phone onto the bed and got up to pace around the room. With every step, a new face plagued his mind—tears dripped from the kids' eyes as they begged him to keep them safe. He rarely did.

45, 44, 43, 42, 41,

Joe moved to the closet where his arms tugged on an old, mucky box full of plastic bags until they all came floating out onto the floor. He slid his back down the wall of the closet until he was sitting—bags all around him. With shaky hands, he pulled a loose sack over his head, clutching it hard enough around his face to cut off his oxygen.

"Where the hell is Joseph?"

His father's voice rung out through the household. Joe carried his little feet across the floor as fast as he could, hoping to get to his hiding place before his father caught sight of him. At nearly 10 years old, Joe could identify at least three spots in the house where his father never searched for him—cabinets, under the bed, and his closet. He often opted for the closet, where he'd pull grocery bags or plastic dry-cleaning holders over his head to drown out the noise of his mother's wails.

"Stop! Stop it! You're hurting me," she'd cry out. Little Joe pushed his hands up against his ears so tightly, they'd be red for hours after the incident.

He was scared of his father back then, and so he let his mother take all the abuse. Had he not been hiding, he would have been the one facing his father's wrath.

"You're weak. Weak, weak, weak," he repeated to himself like a mantra. He knew it was only a matter of time before you figured that out and left him like the rest.

40, 39, 38, 37, 36,

When morning came, he awoke from a thud sounding out downstairs. He stayed in bed a minute longer, wishing his blanket would swallow him whole. Without any luck, he pulled back the covers and went downstairs to find the source of the noise.

Stepping foot into the kitchen, the first thing he saw was his mom's head lying still against the hardwood table. A broken bowl of cereal was turned on its side, leaking milk that ran from the dish to the end of the surface. His eyes followed the droplets as they hit the ground, joining a stream of red liquid to create a pink puddle on the floor.

Joe's breath came out in fast shudders as he approached his mother's figure. He pulled her face up to see a plastic piece that was missing from the bowl lodged in her neck. His fingers grasped the broken part, yanking it out in one quick motion; he watched as blood shot out in spirts, covering his clothes before he could make a move to back up.

He turned around after laying his mom's head back on the table and walked slowly out of the room. He kept his steps light and his ears peeled for any trace of movement in the house. His head snapped towards the living room when he heard what sounded like a vase fall. He rounded the corner to see a tall, slim-figured man dressed in black, looking through a pile of receipts on the coffee table.

While passing the cabinet, Joe grabbed his hammer that he kept locked away, and with one quick swing to the head, the intruder was left bleeding out on the floor.

"Fu-fuck," the wounded man choked out. "Don't kill me. Don't kill me."

"I think I already have," Joe said, bending down to lay the head of the hammer on the man's stomach. "Why did you kill my mom?"

"I was told to! I- I only work for somebody, man. I don't know anything about her. I don't have anything against you."

"Who sent you?"

The man kept quiet as quick and panicked gasps left his mouth. Joe ran the end of the hammer over the man's stomach, light enough to tickle him, before pulling it back and slamming it into the guy's stomach.

"Who fucking sent you?"

"Carl. C-Carl.”

"Carl, who?"

"Carl Alcott," the dying man coughed out.

"The club owner? Fuckin' fuck," Joe dropped the hammer, and his hands slammed into the ground with force. He knew that exchange from a week ago was going to come back and bite him in the ass. Influential people don't like to be messed with.

"He's- he's- comin' for," the man's words ran together as his breath started to leave his lungs.

"For me?"

"No- no," he said. "For- for your girl."

35, 34, 33, 32, 31,

As soon as intruder took his last breath, he stuffed his body into a trash bag along with his mom's and drove them to the lakeside. As he left the city and got further into the country, his mind started to wander to you.

For your girl. Your girl.

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tight with shaking arms, he was swerving in and out of the lane. His tires screeched every time he raced around the corner, desperate to get the remnants of the bodies out of his backseat.

When he went on dates with you the few times before, he had briefly opened up about his past. He thinks he can recall saying something about a rude father, or his time in the marines and the police force. He may have even let it slip that he's seen piles upon piles of decaying corpses. He never once mentioned his new work in fear of scaring you off.

As soon as he dropped his job in law enforcement, he sentenced himself to a lonely life. The small number of friends he had, plus any relationship he conjured up, fell apart. He abandoned any wish to be happy since he couldn't protect any of the people who came near him; his mother was a testimony to that.

You were something else, though. He had bumped into you on a whim, not expecting your smile and personality to slam into his heart as it did. He agreed to one date, trying to escape the bleakness of his everyday life. But for some unknown reason, he kept coming back for more. One date turned into two, three, and four; before he knew it, you were basically his girlfriend—without the title, of course.

When he pulled up to the lakeside, he dragged both bodies out to the small bridge that ran from side to side. He attached each of them to a cinderblock and pushed them one-by-one over the edge.

"I hope you rest easier here than you did in life, mom," he said into the air.

He wondered what it would be like to attach a block to his own foot and drown with the rest of them. He wondered how that would feel—how you would feel.

He couldn't do it though. His suicidal story that he contemplated often was pushed aside in the past because he couldn't leave his mother. Now that she was gone, it appeared to be the perfect moment. But, again, he had somebody holding him back.

You were being threatened with the ultimate price, and he'd be damned if he let you suffer for something you had no part in. He was determined for once in his life to save someone important to him; he would not let you be another statistic in his head.

30, 29, 28, 27, 26,

He arrived at your apartment after going back to his and changing into a blue long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and charcoal vest. He knocked three times against the door and waited.

"Joe," you said, looking surprised to see him on the other side.

"I came to see if you wanted to go out right now, like a little date."

"Oh, sure," you smiled, and Joe couldn't help but offer you a small smile in return. "Let me just grab some money."

"I've got it. You know I've got it."

"You paid the last date," you reminded him. "You said I could next time."

He sighed, running his hand through his long locks. If he was going to get through this meal with a good conscience, he had to be the one to cover it. He knew your relationship was coming to a stop tonight. For your safety, he decided it was time to end the connection between you two—even if it'd hurt like hell.

"Please, just let me pay," he said.

"Okay," you agreed before shutting your door and joining your hand with his. "You look good today."

As soon as he got to his car, he pushed your body gently against it before capturing your mouth with his.

"I was going to tell you that," he said in between kisses. "You always look good—so perfect. And you’re all mine tonight."

You hummed against his lips, moving your hands up from his soft belly to his strong arms. "Not that I don't love this, but is everything okay? You're not usually this…"

You trailed off, and he backed up only slightly, letting your hands fall from his arms so he can intertwine them with his own.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he assured you while pulling open the car door for you to get inside. Once you were secured, he went around and got in himself.

You smiled at him as he took off driving. "Where are we headed to?"

He took his eyes off the road for a second to smirk at you. "I'm not telling you."

"No fair," you pouted jokingly. "At least give me a hint."

"Not a fucking chance," he laughed—a real genuine sound—which is something he never does. You chuckled along with him before comfortable silence fills the car as you drive to the destination Joe picked out.

25, 24, 23, 22, 21,

He parked his car in a small parking lot and got out to open your door, mumbling something about 'keeping your eyes closed.' When you're told to open them, you're met with a worn-down diner that looks to be in the middle of nowhere. The windows are tended with the words 'Maggie's Place' scrawled across the glass. The building is painted red and white, with checkered lines running down the sides—a design that was quite popular in the '60s.

"Wow," you said, not knowing what else to say.

"I know it's not a fancy date restaurant, but my mom used to bring me here. This place is important to me."

"No, it's perfect," you told him, honestly. "I love it."

He nods in relief before leading you inside. You're quickly seated by a young waitress who looks to be no more than 17. Joe ordered a coffee while you looked over the menu for something you'd want. 

After you're done ordering, the waitress turned to Joe. "Is there anything else you'd like, sir?"

He stared blankly at her, trying to remember where he'd seen her familiar face. "What?"

"Would you like anything else?"

He shook his head and watched as she slowly walked away, staring at him the whole time she's departing. He knows that's not likely to be accurate; she probably left to the kitchen without a single glance back. His mind, however, sees her gaping at him—just like the other girls he couldn't save.

He exhaled. "What the fuck are we doing? What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

Your voice broke his delusion, and he snapped his head back to your face, which is sporting a concerned look.

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," you said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "Whatever has been on your mind since I met you. You know, you hung up on me last night?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Stop apologizing, Joseph."

"Don't call me that," he barked at you, his fist clenching the side of booth tightly.

You snapped your mouth shut at Joe's harsh tone. He had been angry before; you'd seen it first-hand but never directed towards yourself.

"My father used to call me that," he muttered, his words still sounding loud in the otherwise quiet diner. "I don't like it."

"I won't do it again," you promise. "How's your mom?"

He paused, fully prepared to go with a lie. As he met your eyes though, he couldn't will himself to deceive you further. Instead, he shook his head while taking in a deep breath through his nose.

"Actually, she passed away."

Your eyes widened. "What? When?"

"This morning."

"Oh my God, Joe," you breathed out, your mouth opening and closing, trying to find some way to console him. "That's- I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he said softly. "She'll be happier now."

"How—if you don't mind me asking—did it, you know, happen?"

Memories of earlier flooded his head--the blood oozing from his mother's body like a river; he could almost see it on his hands now.

"In her sleep," Joe mumbled, hoping that was satisfactory enough to stop the probing. He didn't want you to find out, especially during your last date—not that you knew it was the last.

"I know she meant a lot to you," you said, placing a comforting hand on his. "She would have been proud of you for putting yourself out there with me. I'm just sad I never got to meet her."

"She would have liked you," Joe admitted with certainty. "Probably a little too much. She'd have you singing 'A, you're adorable' in no time."

"A, you're adorable. B, you're so beautiful, C, you're a cutie full of charms," you sang, playfully.

"D, you're delightful and, B, you're exciting and, F, you're a feather in my arms," he sang back, smiling towards the end.

The waitress soon delivered the food to your table. You and Joe ate in silence, with a few comments made here and there about the food or something that popped into your heads. After paying the bill and leaving a rather sizable tip, he drove you back to your house.

20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 

Neither of you wanted the date to finish, especially Joe, who knew he wouldn't see you again.

He dropped you off, but before leaving to walk into your place, you asked, "do you want to come in?"

He nodded. "I have something to talk to you about, actually."

"Oh, well. I wasn't inviting you in to talk, but we can do that too," you joke.

The joke falls flat—Joe was too busy worrying about how you were going to take the break-up. Not seeing him chuckle, or even offer a smile, you became concerned.

He followed you inside to your living room, where he sat on the couch while you went to the kitchen to grab a drink. He was on his feet in seconds when he heard the sound of a glass shatter on the floor. When he got to you, you were standing in the middle of the room. A man with a different build, yet dressed similarly to the one who murdered his mother, stood behind you—a gun pressed up against your skull.

Joe quickly looked you over to see if the man had hurt you yet. Besides your trembling body and sporadic breathing, you looked to be physically fine.

"Let go of her," Joe spoke calmly.

"No, I don't think I will," the man replied.

"J-Joe," you stuttered. "What's going on? Who is this?"

"Stay calm, baby," Joe spoke softly to you. "It's going to be okay."

The man behind you laughed. "Oh, Joey. If only you would have been in here sooner. Just like all those other times, huh?"

The room fell quiet; all that was heard was the air leaving your mouth.

"The laws of man, they don't apply," the gunman sang while smiling. "When blood gets in a woman's eye."

Stand up! Only pussies and little girls slouch!

Don't let them take me again!

Where the hell is Joseph?

For your girl.

The memories wouldn't stop screaming in his head—every bad thing said to him from birth until now. The urge to leave and hide in his closet was unbearable; his hands scrambled to his ears, trying to stop the voices that were getting louder and louder.

"Joe," you yelled out as the gunman took advantage of his opportunity and started to drag you out of the kitchen. "Joe!"

You struggled against the larger man's clutch, trying to get an edge on him. He nearly got you to the front door before you heard a loud blast echo through the house. The guy's grip on you loosened, and you watched as he dropped to the ground.

15, 14, 13, 12, 11,

Joe's arms slide around your frame before you even notice he's there. You keep still, gawking at the body lying at your legs. His blood was seeping through his shirt, already creating a pool of red by your shoes.

You felt strong arms pulling you away from the scene, and only then did you look at Joe.

"What- what," you stumble, glancing between him and the man on the floor. "Why did-why?"

"Come on," he said softly. "Don't look at him."

Too shocked to resist, you let him lead you outside to his car. He sits you inside, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'll be right back," he told you. "I'm going to clean up. Y/N, listen to me. Do you hear me?"

You nod faintly.

"Please don't go anywhere," he kisses your forehead again, lingering a little longer before going back inside to wrap the body and clean the floor.

You watched him come back out fifteen minutes later, a human-shaped trash bag in his arms. You fight the urge to open the door and run for your life. You're not sure what Joe was planning to do with the man—with you.

He shoved the body in the trunk and made his way to the front seat. The silence that loomed over you both this time was not one of comfort like all those other drives before. No, this one was full of tension and emotional turmoil.

"Are you okay? Do you want a soda?"

You stayed quiet, not answering his questions. You rested your head on the window, watching as the city buildings got fewer and fewer. Joe decided it was best to take you to a small park in a country town far outside the New York City limits.

You listened to the radio, soft music by Rosie and the Originals played in the speakers.

'It's just like heaven being here with you. You're like an angel, too good to be true. But after all, I love you, I do. Angel baby, my angel baby.'

10, 9, 8, 7, 6,

It was nearing dark when Joe finally parked the car. Neither of you knew what to say or how even to start the much-needed conversation. So, you decided to take the plunge.

"Are you going to kill me now?"

Joe gaped at you like you'd just asked him what his name was—like the answer was obvious.

"Of- of course not," he stammered. "Fuck, Y/N. I would never do that."

"You just shot someone, Joe! And who the hell was that? Why were they holding a gun to my fucking head?"

"Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," you cautioned, taking off your seatbelt so you could turn towards him. "What do you do for a living? How do you know people like that?"

"I rescue people," he said, and you scoffed. "I know that doesn't sound right, but it's true. I rescue missing people, usually kids."

"So, what? You're a cop?"

"Not exactly," he trails off. "I- I was sort of. Then, one day I was at a crime scene. I found a truck full of Chinese girls. They- they all had been kidnapped to be trafficked. I found them, but it was too late."

He paused, his voice cracking on his next words. "They were already dead."

The air in the car was getting heavy. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes as Joe recounted the events that led him to his current occupation. 

"The man who killed my mom," he started. "Carl Alcott. He's coming for you. I don't mean to scare you, but he knows you're with me."

"Okay, so we'll leave."

Joe faltered. "You want to stay with me?"

"I do. That might seem crazy, but I do."

He considered it for a moment before shaking his head firmly. "No. You can't. This can't go on. We have to end this here before it gets too serious."

"I just saw you shoot someone," you reminded him. "It's already serious. I'm coming."

"No, Y/N! I refuse to let you be another person that I couldn't save. You have to leave alone—move very far away. You need to change your number, your bank information, everything."

"I'm not leaving you," you stated.

Joe grumbled, his mouth twitching in anger and pent up emotions. "Everyone always has! My father beat the shit outta my mom, and I just hid from him. I was too late to save those girls, and I've had too many children be ripped from my sight because I couldn't save them. I'm weak. I can't save you. I'm weak."

His whole body shook as strangled sobs escaped his lips. He brought his hands up to cover his face before he moved them down to tug off his vest and shirt. He was desperate to get out of the material that was making him feel too claustrophobic in the small car.

Once both of his tops were discarded to the back seat, you finally reached across the middle console and pulled Joe into your arms loosely. He clenched your shirt as his father's words,' only pussies and little girls slouch,' played through his mind like a broken record.

"It's okay. Let it all out," you said against his ear, rubbing a soothing circle over his back while still being mindful of his bruises and cuts. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

"You- you should."

"Maybe so," you said. "But I don't want to."

"You can't fix me."

"I don't want to; you're perfect the way you are. I only want to try and make you happier."

He retracted his head from your shoulder to meet your eyes. "Why?"

"I- I think I could fall in love with you," you admitted, shrugging slightly. You saw the onset of panic flash through Joe's eyes, so you quickly kept talking. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted to tell you that."

He wiped his face of any tears and sighed. "I think I could fall in love with you too."

A smile tugged at your lips for first time since the date, and he again felt himself smiling right back.

You watched him put back on his seatbelt, and you swiftly copied his movements. "Where are we going to go now?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"I think we should probably do something about the body in the trunk."

He looked at you and laughed. "I think you're right."

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

It didn't take long to dispose of the gunman; after all, it wasn't Joe's first time. Before long, you were set out across the country to go wherever your hearts desired.

In the midst of the drive, his hand found yours across the console. And for once in his life, he didn't feel the need to run his car off the road.

[so-langelo]

“Hi.”

Hope you guys like this Ari xxx *mortal au* Note: WIll is a year older than Nico

Summary: Will and Nico’s friendship over the years (i suck at summaries but i swear its good)

Word Count: 1666

*disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot* *warning: underage drinking*

“Hi.” Six-year-old Will Solace held his hand out to a small boy he noticed sitting alone in the playground. 

The boy was sitting at the edge of the concrete playground with playing cards spread around him. He had dark hair that hung past his ears and eyes that were pools of deep brown. He looked at Will and seemed surprised that someone was actually talking to him. 

“I’m Wil. What’s your name?” Will sat next to the boy, careful not to mess up the cards on the ground. 

“Nico. Nico di Angelo.”, the boy’s voice was soft and hardly above a whisper, but Will heard. 

“So, you play Mythomagic?”, and immediately after Will said it, Nico perked up.

“You know how to play Mythomagic?”, Nico said excitedly, “My sister always says that Mythomagic is lame, so I don’t have anyone to play with usually.”

“I’m not good, but I know how. My brothers taught me, but they always beat me.”, Will said, “I like Apollo. He’s so cool.”

As Nico dealed Will’s his cards, he looked up at Will with a small grin. “You can have him if you want.”

“Really?! Thanks, Nico. You’re the best.I’ll keep it forever. Promise.”, Will smiled at Nico with a blinding brightness. 

After an hour of playing and Will loosing, a man from the othr side of the playground called for Nico. Nico put down his cards and said, “I have to leave now. Can we play again, Will? I’ll see you again, right Will?”

Will was sad that Nico was leaving; he enjoyed the other boy’s little quirks and the way he talked about Mythomagic like it was the best thing ever. Will put on a smile, “Yea, of course, we’re best friends now.” 

As Nico waved goodbye, Will looked down to to the card that was given by his new friend, and on the back in messy handwriting, it said: 

If found please return to Nico

“Nico.”, Will whispered and smiled to himself.

“Hi.” Will said as he opened the door to Nico’s room. The room that he has been in so many times over the last seven years changed so drastically in just a couple weeks. It was so dark even though it was 2 in the afternoon. 

“Who let you in?”, Nico’s voice was raspy and harsh; just like his room, Nico changed from a happy-go-lucky kid to someone distanced and cold. But Will wasn’t going to be going away, no matter how much Nico pushed him away. He wasn’t going to leave his best friend. 

Nico’s sister, Bianca, died. It was a horrible accident, and it left Nico and their father devasted. Nico wouldn’t come out of his room, he barely ate, and, worst of all, he pushed everyone that cared for him away. 

“Your dad. He’s worried about you, you know.” Will sat at the edge of nico’s bed, where nico was hidden under piles of blankets. 

“No he doesn’t. He’s glad Biance died.”, Nico’s voiced choked at the words, “One less kid to worry about.” 

“Don’t say that. He loves you, Nico. Don’t push him away, please.” Will pleaded. He hated seeing Nico like this. It hurt him and he knew he couldn’t do anything about him. 

“Will. Why are you even here? You’re just like the rest of them, pretending you care.”, Nico spat at him, accusingly. He sat up form his covers and stared with a deadly fire in his eyes. 

That’s when Will’s keep-your-cool persona died. “Don’t you ever say that! I do care, Nico. Everyone cares about you. You’re just too busy wallowing here to notice. Everyone is trying to help you! Everyone misses her too Nico! Bianca wouldn’t have wanted this! She wouldn’t want you like this, rotting away in your shadows.”

Nico’s eyes looked almost black in this room. They were quickly filling up with tears that threatened to overflow after Will’s rant. 

“Will. It’s just so hard. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for saying such horrible things to you. I’m sorry for being a jerk. I’m sorry. I miss her so much, Will.” Nico broke down in front of Will, and Will cradled him in his arms. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” Will repeated those words like a mantra, and the two stayed there until the sunset and the tears that spilled from Nico’s eyes dried.

“Hi.” Will’s voice was muffled from under the pillow that hid his face. 

It was no surprise Will’s mom let him up. Since Will and Nico became best friends ten years ago, Nico practically lived here.

“Hey, Solace. How are you holding up?”, Nico nudged his leg that hung off the bed. 

“I’m fine. You know, fine as in I found out my boyfriend cheated on me and dumped me because I found out.” Will took the pillow off of his face and got up.  His hair was a blond bird’s nest and his eyes were probably swollen from all the crying. 

“He was a jerk. I tried telling you that in the beginnng. To make you forget that dick wad, I brought you Ben & Jerry’s cookies and cream cheesecake. Your favorite.”, Nico held up a quart of the said ice cream and two spoons. 

“Oh my gosh. You’re the best. The only three men that I need in my life. Ben, Jerry, and you.”, Will greedily grabbed the ice cream and his spoon. 

Nico laughed. “You’re welcome.”

Will looked up at his friend and saw Nico staring at him with an expression that could almost be affection. 

No. It’s just your imagination, Solace. Your hallucinating from your post-breakup depression. 

Will decided to brush it off and just enjoy the company of his best friend and his ice cream. 

The two talked and talked. About Will’s ex and other stupid things. They talked like they haven’t seen each other in years. 

When it was around 3 am, the two were on their backs with an empty ice cream container forgotten at their feet. Nico turned to face Will.

“I have to tell you something.” 

The moonlight from Will’s window shadowed Nico’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“I actaully hate cookies and cream cheesecake.”

“Hi!” Will screamed over the loud music at his best friend. 

His best friend that he may or may not have fallen in love with over the last year. 

“Nice party!”, Nico cupped his mouth to be heard. 

“Thanks. It was Lou Ellen’s idea.” Will looked around for the girl that planned his ‘18th birthday extravaganza.’ 

Nico motioned outside, a place where they can talk without getting sore throats. 

Will struggled to follow Nico, being stopped a couple times because of people wishing him a happy birthday. 

“Hey.”, Will said, when they were both finally outside, away from the blasting music and the people slowly getting drunk. 

Lou Ellen swore that she didn’t know who spiked the drinks,  Will didn’t quite believe her, so he steered clear away from any liquid offered to him.

“Hey Will. I wanted to give you your birthday gift.”, Nico stook a sip from his cup. 

Will’s eyes widened. “Nico the drinks are-”

“Don’t interupt me, Solace. I know about the drinks, and I just thought the the only way for me to get the courage to tell you that I’m fuckin’ in love with you is when I’m a bit buzzed, okay. Now what I wanted- Fuck. I told you. Dammit, Solace! I had a whole damn speech! I’m didn’t even drink that much. Do you see what you do to me. I broke the law for yo-”

Once again, Will interupted Nico. 

But this time he interupted him with a kiss. 

The two broke apart; their foreheads touched. 

“Sorry for interrupting you. I just wanted you to shut up, because I love you too.” Will’s breath tickled Nico’s lips. 

“Nice to know. Now can we kiss again?”Nico smirked at him. 

“Whatever you want.” 

The two connected lips once more. 

“OH MY HOLY GOODNESS! CECIL! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE! YOU OWE ME 30 BUCKS!”

“Hi.” Will said, as familiar arms wrapped around his waist.

Lips started to travel his neck. 

“Stop, Nico.”, Will chuckled, “We can’t be late to our own wedding reception.” 

“Will, they can wait 15 minutes.”, NIco smiled at him. Will thought he looked absolutely beautiful. 

“Save it for the honeymoon, sunshine You don’t even have socks on. Just get your socks from my drawer. We’re already 4 minutes late.”, Will said, while trying to fix his tie.

“Okay, okay.”, Nico whined.

When Will finally got his tie to look decent, he heard Nico gasp. Will rushed to his side. 

“What happened?”, Will said worriedly. Nico had his hand over his mouth and his eyes looked teary. 

In his other hand, Nico held an old tattered playing card, a Mythomagic card, of the sun god, Apollo. On the back, in faded writing was:

If found please return to Nico

“You kept it? After 20 years, you kept it?”, Nico tackled Will in a hug that almost knocked them to the floor.

“Yeah, I kept it. You gave it to me, and I promised I would keep forever. You don’t break those kids of promises.”, Will ran his fingers through Nico’s hair, careful not to mess it up. 

“You’re such a nerd.”, Nico said, wiping a few stray tears.

“You are so emotional. Such a bridezilla.” Will joked, kissing Nico’s forehead lovingly.

“Shut up, Solace. Come on. You made us late to our own reception.”, the two exited the room to their wedding reception and the rest of their lives together.

OH MY GOSH THIS IS SOOOO LONG SAPPY IK LOVE U GUYS!! Ari xx

[sinclaiir-blog1]

adjokdasdms hello !! i’m your friendly neighbourhood lucy, and this beautiful small bean is tessa. in case you can’t tell, i suck at introducing myself, but i am going to try my diddly-darn best. click under the cut to hear me ramble some more, so i don’t jumble your dash with my 3am definitely-not-diet soda fuelled zeal !

potential TW; child abuse, physical & emotional abuse, death.

so, you’ve made it this far! as i’ve probably said like three times already, i’m lucy, gmt, and i go by she/her pronouns. i’m also small & need friends ok. but enough about me, and more about the potential love of my life, tessa sinclair. be warned, it is the early a.m and my brain feels like an unfortunately mushy bowl of scrambled eggs, so bear with me ! 

before:

okay, let’s go from the very start. thea’s the youngest of a set of twins by two minutes, born at 00:01, february 29th 1996 in harlem, nyc. unfortunate. her mom was a french exchange student who fell in love with her dad during college, and somehow managed to stay in love.

as a kid, it’s safe to say tessa took after her mother. a soft, small bundle of a child, she was infatuated with books and football and the ocean, which she’d never seen. a weird combination, but her favourite. her twin brother also claimed he took after their mom, and they all agreed anyway — mostly because neither of them wanted to resemble their father.

he took his frustrations out on his wife and kids. after drinking, after losing a bet, after her mother forgot to make dinner. nora sinclair tried to shield the two children, but it was never enough. 

even when tessa ran her fingers over the bruises & winced at the pressure, her mother still defended her father, no matter what. it was from her mother that she learned to be quiet & meek & forgiving, but learned to be thunderous & angry & wild from her father. she always ignored the latter part of herself, but some sneaking part of her always knew that she still shared the same amount of genes with both of them.

this is the part where i fell asleep last night at like 3:30am sry

so it’s same to say life was .. not the best. despite her father’s angry words & quick fists, they stayed with him. he never changed. they weren’t the most well off, but they got by. tessa & her brother started school, and it was a godsend, because maybe if they away from the house for seven hours a day, he’d hate them less.

school was her favourite part of growing up. she was always a smart little girl & flourished there. she spoke english & french fluently, thanks to her mom, and that was her biggest party trick. she laughed a lot & had plenty of friends, but she passed the bruises off as clumsiness & never invited friends back home. still, no one cared enough to question past that.

when she was thirteen, her mom passed away. freak car accident. two days later, her father drank himself to death. suddenly, their family was a lot smaller.

TLDR: younger of twins. bubbly child. an abusive father and a meek mother. orphan by thirteen.

during:

so, tessa and her brother were put into the foster system. no one wanted a set of awkward thirteen year olds. if anything, tessa was just glad they were together. a lot of siblings didn’t even have that.

the bubbly little girl became a lot more reclusive. she turned to books, whilst her brother turned to crime. she’d help him, occasionally; not because she enjoyed breaking the law, but because with her brain & his brawn, they could probably do just about anything.

they spent five years moving from foster home to foster home. he was a juvenile delinquent, and she wouldn’t stay anywhere he wasn’t. however, by the time they were eighteen, they could finally get out of that place.

cue chicago. theo started working odd jobs, a mechanic, a cashier, a pizza delivery guy. their mom had left them some money; not much, but enough to get by. tessa started community college, majoring in english and teaching, and it was there that she met finn.

they fell wildly in love. he was a year or two older, an english student, and the most perfect man she could ever have dreamed up. he was tall, blonde, blue-eyed, and all-american — with a smooth demeanour and a knack for saying all the right things. he helped her to laugh more again, to say hi to strangers on the street, to walk by the lakeside & read romantic poetry. they danced together & he never minded when she stood on his feet. one night, laying in bed together in the dark, she told him about her mother, her father, her life until now. he was quiet for a moment, but whenever he pulled her into his arms, she felt safe. he rescued her.

after six months, they moved in together. life was beautiful. she continued her studies while he started his first proper full-time job. they adopted a kitten together, went for long walks and exotic vacations with his daddy’s credit card, wrote poetry about each other. everything was fine, at first. they were still the same people they’d always been. tessa and finn, tessa and finn, tessa and finn. she used to repeat their names like a mantra. it took a year for things to change.

he began to act more moody and domineering, in a fearsome mood when he came home. sometimes he was drunk. most of the time he was sober. he’d accuse her of cheating on him while he was at work, he’d curse and yell and smash bottles, eyes fierce with something terrifying. but immediately, he’d begin to plead. i’m sorry, i love you. i’m stressed. i’m tired. i don’t know what i’m doing. i need you.

it started with emotional abuse. belittling, swearing, bringing up every little mistake she’d told him in complete trust. but soon, he began using physical violence to try and break her spirit. his fists connected with her jaw, her lips, her neck. bruises laced her shoulders and arms, stomach too. soon, she was an expert at covering the purple blemishes with makeup.

she thought maybe if she loved him enough, he’d change. her mother had always taught her that love was unconditional. love never gave up. no matter what. so she stayed. she’d console him after an argument; arms wrapped around him, ignoring the split lip or the black eye, as he cried into her shoulders. he’d show up at home the next day with flowers and a stack of books, lips sweet with the taste of apologies and lies. it never changed.

one day, she left him. they’d had a big fight; it was about something stupid, but as his anger escalated, he began to shove her around. he pinned her by her neck against their wall, smashing an empty beer bottle against the table and holding the shattered glass up to her face. she cried and begged, but he had entirely snapped. he left her deaf in one ear, and with a nasty scar along her jawline. something similarly snapped inside of her. she couldn’t stay here any longer.

TLDR: started community college, and met the man of her dreams. her prince charming quickly turned into the beast. finally left him after a vicious argument. she’s finally realised what a monster he is. still petrified, but no longer in love.

after:

while he was at work the next day, she grabbed anything she could shove into her old camping backpack. she took any cash they had. he had control over her bank account, and so she left with not much else. 

in the days that passed, he called her phone hundreds of times. terrified he might find her, she turned it off. unable to go back home, she began to couch surf. she currently lives from place to place, laying low and trying to avoid all her old haunts.

her brother is currently in prison after a burglary gone wrong, otherwise, she’d have stayed with him. she hasn’t told him about it yet because she knows that if she does, when he gets out, he’ll kill her ex.

she tried to transform herself. she’s become a lot more guarded & cautious, wary of everyone and everything. she can’t go back to her old job, so she took up a new one; underground fighting. despite her kind nature & wiry frame, she’s a force to be reckoned with. she’s from a family of ex-cons, after all, and she uses her elbows and knees like they’re knives. it’s become something of an outlet for all the emotions she never let herself show when she was with finn. the bruises she gets now are of her own choice.

she’s still soft & small. she still enjoys unfinished novels and chocolate milkshakes. she still sleeps with one foot out of the covers and still counts the tiles on the ceilings. but she’s gone through hell and come out stronger. she’s tougher & braver, and stands up for herself a lot more now. tessa hides the quiet little girl beneath a brash and bold woman .. she’s a giant freakin’ facade. she projects an aura of false confidence, of fake happiness and self-assurance, but the one thing she’s still terrified of is him. 

she suffers pretty bad insomnia & ptsd as a result of everything. panic attacks are another big problem. she’s lucky that they’re relatively infrequent, but when they do hit, they’re insufferable. 

she’s become the queen of appearance. she knows how to smile regardless of what just happened, and acts like everything is fine. there are still days that she apologises incessantly, cries at loud noises, or feels totally worthless and takes the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she still doesn’t let people see beyond the mask of total happiness.

the ~real her~ only really comes out in brief flashes. in the mellow morning sunshine when she’s tying up her hair, late at night when her glasses are slippin down her face and she’s reading bad poetry, when she’s just won a fight & the sweat is shining off her skin and she wears a triumphant grin. that’s tessa.

TLDR: left her abusive boyfriend three months ago. is currently homeless and couch-surfing. now works as an underground fighter. has transformed her entire personality. still terrified of her ex.

THE END. hope y’all enjoyed me writing a 500 page novel.

it got sUPER FUCKIN’ long, pals, sorry about that. i’ve never played her before so i’m just tryin to ~flesh everythin out~, ya feel? check out the TLDRs if u want a brief lil summary. i’m v. ready for this & please, feel free to like this and i’ll slide into ur IMs for plots & connections. here’s a few random wanted ones for shits & giggles.

best friends: tessa feels like the Worst friend bc she probably doesn’t tell them anything that’s actually going on. at some point, may probably break down & cry & tell them everything. give me some good wholesome friendships yes pls

someone who’s letting her crash at theirs: this could go so many ways ?? either they’re like lowkey annoyed bc tessa has been sleeping on their couch for like a week and given no explanation, or mb they’re starting to get worried about her ... u catch my drift. give me anything.

some kind of romance: idk how to label this one bc i Suck, but ??? whilst she still has trouble entirely trusting men, she misses feeling loved & safe, even if it’s only for a night. she’s v. closed off and distant but just .. give her some real luv. slow burn, friends to lovers, “i fucking hate your guts” to “ahdhj whoops maybe i don’t”. anything.

then u have ur basic connections ... 

exes from before finn, ended on good or bad terms.

childhood friends

good/bad influences

and so forth