#it sounds like he's moving stuff and renovating constantly every day

[bunnihearted]

my upstairs neighbor is actually fucking insane and idk how im supposed to keep living like this 🙃

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Casper McFadden

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Moving into a new home was never easy. Oftentimes, it meant packing up everything you owned, leaving a bunch of good memories behind, and traveling across the country to a new town where you’d have to make all new friends and renovate old fixtures.

- But there was something about your new house that made it both easier and harder to live in: the fact that it was haunted.

- Obviously your family didn’t find out about the ghosts until after they’d signed the papers and even if they were warned about it, they probably wouldn’t have believed the realtor, but none of that mattered now. Now you were stuck in a old house with a bunch of spirits, stuck until your parents save up enough money to move again.

- So what made the manor easier to live in, you may ask. Well, the fact that it came with a friend….

- You and Casper meet the day you move into the Whipstaff Manor. You’re wandering around, exploring the home and trying to figure out which room you want to live in, unaware that there’s a specter following you.

- The minute Casper sees you, he’s head over tail. You make his undead little heart race and have him second guessing his every action. Which is the main reason it makes him a while to formally introduce himself, he’s too scared that he’ll ruin his first impression.

- Sadly for him, his first impression still doesn’t go over well, regardless of how much he practiced.

- In his defense, it wasn’t anything that he did, it was more the fact that you were suddenly face to face with a phantom. Anyone would have freaked out in response to that, and they would have freaked out to any ghost as well; no matter how friendly.

- So, like the rational young woman that you are, you scream and take off like a rocket, dashing out of the room and down the hall to find a more secure and safe looking room to hide in until your parents get back from the store.

- He follows behind, attempting to calm you down and feeling downright awful for scaring you. Once you’ve locked yourself away into a broom closet, he gives you a minute to breathe before he calls out to you, telling you that he’s sorry and trying to coax you out so that you can talk.

- It takes you another minute to be convinced and to trust him when he says he isn’t gonna hurt you, but eventually, you do brace yourself and open the door.

- Once you do, you find that he really isn’t as scary as you’d originally though he was. In fact, he was actually sort of cute; in a cartoony sort of way, and he’s friendly to boot; so you wind up feeling a bit silly for being so frightened of him. And after you begin to think like that, the two of you begin to develop a close friendship.

- While his uncles might be incredibly obnoxious and annoying, you can’t deny that you enjoy having the ghostly presences in your home; especially when school roles around and you find yourself feeling like an alien with no one to turn to. You might not have any living friends in your town but you at least have a few see through ones at home that ensure you’re not completely alone.

- But, compared to your primarily platonic feelings, Caspers feelings for you were a lot more complicated. He valued your friendship and enjoyed having you as a pal, but he also had more romantic feelings towards you. In simpler terms: he’d had a massive crush on you from the moment you walked in.

- And though he’d have loved to confess his feelings and see if you felt the same, he knew that it was practically impossible for the two of you to be together; at least until you’d died …or until he was alive again!

- The minute he remembers the Lazurus he immediately erupts into a fit of excitement and joy. If you could get it to work, he could be alive again and the two of you could be together for the rest of your lives, either as friends or as something more, he honestly didn’t care which; though he hoped it was the second one.

- So he tells you about the invention and the two of you get to work. You take the wild trip down to his fathers lab, search around until you find what you’re looking for, load the contraption up with it’s necessary elixir, and pull the levers with bated breath.

- You don’t know what you’d expected to walk out of the machine but it certainly wasn’t this. Perfectly done blond hair, shining blue eyes, and a face that made you suddenly flustered to be in your best friends presence. He looked like a Disney prince and you were captivated.

“How do I look?” He asked nervously.

“Perfect,” you responded a little too quickly. “I mean, human, normal …living.”

- His face broke out into a smile and he threw his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. The action caught you off guard and made your heart race but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

- Once you’d finished hugging, he pulled away slowly and you found yourselves locking eyes. His gaze flickered to your lips and before you knew it, the two of you were leaning forward and sharing a kiss.

- His uncles may or may not have interrupted you but the “damage” was already done. You were just as hooked on him as he was on you and neither of you could be happier.

- Casper loves pda. He loves being able to actually touch you and be out in public and show the whole town that the two of you are together; even though half of them are confused as to who he is. 

- He touches you and holds you close whenever he can. He’s waited to do it since the moment he met you and now that you’re together; and he isn’t ice cold and only semi-solid, he enjoys every little ounce of affection he can provide and obtain.

- Handholding.

- Cheek kisses. 

- Long, soft kisses. They’re sort of a contrast to his usual hyper behavior, which is why, if you ever need him to calm him down and focus, all you have to do is ask for a kiss or make it obvious that that’s what you’re going to do. He skids to a stop and happily complies as he gives you an adorable little smile.

- Pet names aren’t really his thing but he does call you by fun nicknames that he’s come up with; usually a shorter or longer version of your name.

- Cuddling is a must with Casper. He absolutely loves it, no matter how the two of you do it. Sometimes you’ll lay on his chest, other times you’ll spoon, and other times you’ll face each other on the bed and talk until one of you dozes off.

- Speaking of: he definitely watches you sleep every now and again, which sounds far more creepy than it actually is. Like, you’ll be talking late at night and you’ll fall asleep and he’ll just look at your peaceful face for a while.

- If we’re going with the assumption that Casper maintains some of the aspects of being a ghost, I think it’s safe to say that he’s occasionally at least a little cooler than a normal human, which makes him the perfect companion for hot days.

- Being carried and flown around.

- Sometimes; especially prior to him being in the Lazurus, he forgets that you’re not a ghost and gets you into some uncomfortable situations. And after he turns human again, he definitely has to get used to not being able to go through walls and have things go through him when they’re thrown or fall.

- Testing out exactly what he’s still capable of doing and if there’s any limits to his new life. Is he perfectly normal? Does he have ghostly powers? Do the effects occasionally wear off during certain times or seasons? It’s all stuff you have to figure out.

- For a while after he’s brought back to life, he spends all day experiencing everything he missed when he was still alive. All the smells, sights, and touches; he runs around like Jack Skellington while you sit back and watch with a smile.

- Going to the mall. It’s one of his favorite places to visit, he just loves the entire atmosphere of the place; especially since he wasn’t really able to go and enjoy everything about it before he turned human again.

- Tv dates.

- Playing different games with each other. Board games, pirates, video games, you name it, he’ll do it.

- Sitting on top of the lighthouse with him.

- Enjoying the view from outside of the manor. You have the perfect view of the ocean from your garden so the two of you can always throw a blanket down and stare out at the sea together.

- Just goofing off with each other. Running around the house together, sliding down the stairwell, having him push you in a chair down the halls, etc. You’ve got a huge house to mess around in, why not take advantage of it?

- Dancing together. He told you he was a good dancer.

- Late night conversations. You can always talk to him about anything you want or need to.

- Catching him watching you a lot. He always has such a loving gaze when he’s looking at you, just seeing his face when he’s watching you do something or speak is reassurance that he really cares about you.

- Always having a warm and excited greeting when you return home from school. He also probably occasionally goes with you or at least walks you there or visits during lunch.

- He loves making surprises for you. Throwing you little parties or coming up with different ways to make you smile or cheer you up after school or whenever he can see that you’re feeling down is one of his favorite hobbies.

- He wants to be with you like 25/7 so don’t be surprised if he’s constantly bothering you with his presence. It’s a good thing you love him because if you didn’t he’d become very annoying, very quickly.

- Him just appearing at random is commonplace so your parents and you definitely have to take some time to get used to it. I mean he lives in your house and now that he’s human again, it’s definitely a bit easier than when he was a ghost, but still.

- Getting chairs pulled out and doors opened for you. He likes being a gentleman.

- Him cooking for you. He definitely tries to impress you with his skills and all the inventions he uses; and he just likes doing something nice like that for you.

- Discovering all his dads inventions and letting him tell you about them. It’s really quite fascinating to see how they all work and how excited he gets while showing you how to use them.

- I have a feeling that he doesn’t like winter; for obvious reasons, and whenever it comes around, all he wants to do is stay inside with you and do indoor activities. If you were to want to go out, it’d take you a while to persuade him and even if you did; or were only going out by yourself, he’d spend forever bundling you up and making up a bunch of rules to keep you safe.

- Probably dealing with his ghostly self every now and again. I have a feeling that the Lazurus machines effects occasionally wear off for a little while from time to time so while he’s alive most of the time, you do have moments of spooky transparency as well.

- Pranking each other and other people. He might be a sweetheart but he also has a bit of a mischievous streak.

- Him always wanting to show you whatever cool thing he sees, does, finds, or hears about. Just being able to share things with you makes him happy.

- Listening to his stories from when he was alive or the decades he wasn’t.

- Fixing up his room for him and hanging out up there with all his toys.

- Being gifted some of his mothers things. Dresses, jewelry, stuff like that.

- His uncles bothering the two of you. They’re constantly harassing and teasing you; just try to pay them no mind.

- Standing up for him when his uncles are being more awful than usual.

- He might be the only person you can really bond with in your town, considering the fact that whenever you have anybody over, they’re almost always harassed by his uncles and scared away. Which Casper may or may not be sort of happy about.

- Casper gets jealous pretty easily. Anytime another guy takes interest in you, he always feels the need to mock them behind their backs or be passive aggressively not so friendly whenever they approach you when you’re out with him. It’s best to not bring up guys in your class unless it’s obvious that they only like you as a friend; but even then he’d wonder why you need friends (even if they’re girls) other than him.

- He’s sort of overprotective of you. He just got his life back so he certainly doesn’t want anything bad happening and putting yours in danger.

- He absolutely hates fighting so whenever the two of you have an argument, he’s always quick to try and settle it and apologize; even if he doesn’t really think he’s done anything wrong.

- Saying “I love you” isn’t really his forte. He prefers saying and doing other things to show you that he does.

- The two of you sort of just have to go with the flow and see where your relationship takes you. You don’t know how exactly the rest of his “life” will go so you just try to enjoy the present and what you have right now.

[lengthofropes]

POVs series

Part 2: Sam

(Part 1: Cas is here)

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words: 3,3k | smr: Sam’s POV as Cas returned from the Empty | read on A03

rating: general | warnings: none I guess?

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I’ve never seen Cas drinking through a straw. I’ve never seen him having a milkshake either, but here he is. On the backseat of Impala, with Dean sitting next to him and laughing as hard as he possibly can. 

“What is so funny?” Cas frowns at him, sounding sincerely confused. Dean can’t answer cause he’s literally choking with snickering. To be honest, yeah, this is one of the funniest things I’ve seen in years.

“You’re… you’re just slurping so loud!” Dean finally manages, wiping a laugh tear from his eye. "Cas, you gotta…” and he can’t finish the sentence because he's breathless with laugh again. 

"I don't understand. Is this supposed to be a dessert?" Cas asks. 

“Yeah, we can’t make a decent milkshake at home, so I thought you should try it here” Dean’s still giggling, but slowly calms down. “I know you like peanut butter with strawberry jelly, so maybe you'd like a strawberry milkshake too” 

“Oh. This is too sweet” 

And I swear Dean is slightly blushing now, I swear! This is even funnier than Cas slurping, but I’m holding back a smile cause yeah, this is too sweet.

“Yeah, umm… No, I just… I though you’d like it…”

“I like it, but it’s too sweet.” Cas looks at him and adds “The milkshake”

“Oh!…”

This time I can’t hold it back and just burst out with laughter.

“What’s so funny again?” Castiel is confused even more, I can see in a back view mirror. 

“Nothing” - Dean to Cas.

“Shut up!” - Dean to me. But I just can’t stop.

“Gimme that!” - to Cas again, taking the milkshake from his hand and slurping even louder than Cas. "It's not too sweet it's just perfect!"

We haven't laughed like this for a long time, too long.

Through the months Castilel’s been absent, times were tough sometimes. Me and Dean, we had to sort out a lot of stuff, and believe me, it wasn’t that easy.  

We talked about a lot of things, then. We started with the simplest.  

What are we about to do now? Continue hunting? Get ourselves a decent jobs? Should we move somewhere else? 

Move, huh. We weren’t ready to, at that point, guess we’re not ready still, not sure if we actually want to. Not sure, we know where to, how to, even. So many things have changed, we needed at least something to stay the same, stay solid for us. So we kind of… continued our usual routine in the bunker, with an exclusion of hunting for a while. We needed a rest. Probably, sticking up with the domestic stuff helped. You wake, make yourself breakfast, you eat, you read or watch movies, you make some calls, you exercise, you shower, you sleep. You do groceries, laundry, cleaning. You, being normal. Functional, pretty much. Slowly accepting your new world and the life you're now living. Like, piece by piece, understanding and acceptance comes.

Bunker felt so... I don’t know, remarkably unoccupied those days? 

Weird, cause we used to live here on our own, sometimes for weeks. Sometimes even months. But now it was… I guess it’s just knowing, that this time someone won’t come back here, this knowing… it made it hard to walk those corridors. I missed Cas. I missed Jack, too. But… you know. 

First month we stayed at the Bunker on our own. I mean, of course I went to see Eileen, it’s the first thing I wanted to do after everyone returned. I don’t even know how I can describe the feeling when I've read the message from her. I… 

We were driving home. With Miracle, sleeping on the backseat. And Jack’s “I’m not coming home” still too loud in our ears. And my phone beeped. It was her. She was the first person we got a message from. 

“Hey, Sam” 

That’s it, “Hey, Sam” - and it’s easier to breathe. I remember, I couldn’t text her back, just kept looking and looking at my phone.

“Eileen?” Dean asked.

“Yeah… yeah. She’s… she texted” 

I literally could add nothing to that. Dean just smiled, but didn’t say anything.

Rest of the road we called and called everyone, checking, laughing on loudspeaker, explaining, repeating the story about Chuck all over again. It was good. Those were the moments worth fighting for - hearing the voices of your family again. We were so happy, so relieved. And free, at last.

Next day the first thing Dean said to me, was that I need to go to see Eileen. 

“Nope, now! Pack your shit and go! ‘Cmon, Sammy, do me a favor, huh?”

Not sure I need to explain the argument between us, cause I didn’t want to leave him alone. Or should I say, the argument inside my head between me and me, the one who cares about my brother, and the one who loves Eileen. But well, he insisted, he insisted hard. And I’d lie if I say, to see her alive and well, to finally hold her, wasn’t on top of my needs. 

So yeah, Dean understood me even better than I did myself. He assured me, that everything’s gonna be fine, and he has work to do - go to the vet with Miracle and buy all the things we need to make the bunker a home for her, too.

I came back home in two days. Eileen went for a long trip to meet up with all her friends, and she promised to come to the bunker in few weeks. And stay for a little longer. Dean was pretty excited, though, even asked why the hell I didn’t bring her back with me immediately. So yeah, visiting her friends was a nice excuse to… 

He needed time. 

I didn’t tell him how heartbroken she was, when I told her Cas was gone. 

He needed time. And I needed to stay close. Because even if I’ve lost my dearest friend, Dean have lost way more than that.

Dean seemed “normal”. Not sad, not unnaturally cheerful, not heartbroken, not… anything. And it was scary as hell. I didn’t try to talk to him. He didn’t try to talk to me. Geez, at that time, I didn’t even knew how exactly it all happened. How did Cas summoned the Empty? Why it took him? But I just waited. I just think it’s time, when…it’s time. Because one thing I knew for sure, something in Dean has changed. Changed very deep. And it wasn’t a grief, no, that was something else. 

One morning I saw him looking at himself in a bathroom mirror. I just stood at he door, not to interrupt, cause the look on his face was… like he was examining himself, actually seeing something for the first time. Figuring, if he likes it or not. 

So, I was there, and I was waiting for him to be ready to share. Giving him time and space. 

Dean quit drinking. 

He just stopped. I didn’t bring it to his attention, that I’ve noticed. It’s just one day I passed him a bottle of beer in the kitchen, and he mumbled something like “nah, I’m good”, and next day I saw him opening the fridge to pour himself some orange juice. And the next day, we were watching something, and I put a cold six pack on a table. He didn’t touch it. So I just quit offering. 

I didn’t ask.

 Now Dean is siting next to Cas on a backseat. Today, it’s been two weeks since Jack brought him back home, but Dean is still always around him, ready to catch him if he is dizzy again (yeah, it still happens sometimes), or he’s disoriented, or unexpectedly weak. Cas feels much better, though. But we constantly keep an eye on him. Well, I’d say I try to, but Dean doesn’t seem to let me, you know?  Actually, it’s the first time he left the bunker in these two weeks. He rarely even leaves Cas’ room, though, maybe only when he cooks for him or goes to the library to grab another book. When Cas falls asleep, he walks out, and we usually talk in the kitchen or wherever. 

 When we go to sleep to our rooms, Dean doesn’t stays in his for long. 

Two months ago he couldn’t sleep in his room, too, but the reasons were different. I remember constantly finding him in the morning, sleeping anywhere else but his bed. Face on the table in the kitchen, in the armchair in the library, on the couch in his cave. One time I’ve found him in the backseat of Impala in the garage. Dean used to drink himself to sleep, when times were tough. Now that he quit, he just stayed up until he passed out. No need to be genius, to figure he’s been having nightmares. No need to be genius, to figure what those nightmares were about. I still see the burning ceiling in my dreams, rarely, but yeah, I do.

And yeah, he told me he’s having nightmares. He told me not to worry about it, cause it’s a normal reaction, and it will pass. 

What he didn’t told me, Jack did.

That day, I woke up and went to the kitchen to fill my water bottle and go for a jog. Jack was there. Just standing next to the fridge, drinking milk.

To be honest, at first I thought I was still dreaming. But then he raised his hand “hi” and I… 

“Hi Sam!”

“Jack… is it really you? I mean… hey!” I’m not sure if I supposed to hug God but well, I did. And he hugged me back and for a moment it felt like everything is back as it used to be. As it used to be, yeah. Our kid drinking milk in our kitchen.

It was 6 in the morning, and I’ve had one of the most complicated conversations I’ve ever had in my life.

Jack told me everything. About the deal Cas made to save him. About the price of that deal. 

About Dean praying to him every single night for the past weeks. 

Jack was good, though, he coped very well with all his new responsibilities; hell is fine, Earth is fine, new Death is great, heaven is getting some renovations, and angels are finally calm and satisfied. The only problem is the Empty. Since he detonated himself in front of Cosmic Entity, he has no idea what was  happening there. If Chuck was able to bring angels and demons from there, it changed, apparently, after the explosion, because the structure of the void has been damaged.

“Every time I try to reach it, it’s like I’m walking in the dark, like I’ve lost the path and I have no idea where I should go. I tried to summon the Entity, tried to open the portal - nothing works.” Jack looked concerned and dreary. “I don’t know what is happening there. I can only guess, everyone’s awake there. And they all are supposed to rest, supposed to sleep. If I made them suffer…” He looked at me with remorse in his eyes. “Castiel is there too. Sam, what if he…”

I felt sick. What if Jack’s right? What if all the dead angels and demons are going crazy in there? What if Cas sacrificed himself again only to suffer for the eternity?

“They all deserve to rest, and I need to make sure they are. And I want him back, Sam. I want my father back”

“Yeah… yeah. We all do. We just didn’t think it is somehow possible again”

“I’ll make it possible, I promise. I’ll keep trying. But I don’t know if I should answer to Dean’s prayers. I cannot fill him with hope, I need to make sure…”

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t think he’ll be able to handle it, if we end up failing…”

“He probably thinks I’m an asshole” Jack grinned bitterly. “Or that I’m too busy, or I forgot…”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t pray to Jack cause I missed him too bad, and I didn’t think I’ll ever see him again. And about Castiel, I just understood it’s impossible to bring him back, the second everyone else have returned. If that were possible, Jack would bring him back with everyone else, too. I didn’t realise there may be a different possibility.

“You really think you can do this? Bring him back?” I asked instead. 

“I have to. And I will” He looked at me, stubborn and determined. “I just need time”

I took a deep breath. That was heavy. Seeing Jack again, knowing the truth about Cas. Stay silent for Dean. This is not the first time I have been hiding something from my brother. But at least now it is more than justified.

Next week Eileen arrived, and things got a little better. Dean was very happy to see her, though, like, really glad. The three of us been spending a lot of time together, constantly chatting about everything, watching movies, cooking, even playing board games. What can I say? Eileen is a ball of sunshine, of course everything’s better in her presence. 

And I knew Dean felt better, too. Since there were no news from Jack in weeks, I decided it was a good tactic, to keep the bunker filled with people we love. So, I called everyone, and the next month was full with friendly visits. 

Kaia and Claire came first and stayed for few days, they were on a hunt in a town nearby. Then Jody and Alex joined us. They both took two weeks leave from work and decided to spend some of it with us. Gotta say, I was upset when they left. Not least because Dean stopped making delicious “special occasion” pancakes for breakfast.

Charlie and Stevie called. They were on a vacation too -  just left to travel around Europe for a month. Yeah, good for them. They promised to meet up with us as soon as they come back. 

Donna couldn't make it to us, cause she was too busy. Things were relatively quiet in Stillwater, but her deputy got sick, so she had to work a little harder those days. So me, Eileen and Dean went to visit her instead. Those were two good days, a lot of hugs and donuts and the latest police gossips. 

The next stop was Garth's house, and Eileen was extremely excited to meet the whole werewolf family. Little Cas and Sam grew bigger and Garth warned us to be careful now with their teeth. Good point. We didn't stay for long though, just for dinner, but Eileen is now Gertie's bestie, and Gertie calls her "giant's girlfriend".

Not long after we got back to bunker, Bobby stopped by for a beer. He was doing well, too, same as all the rest of the survived refugees from the Apocalypse world. They all quit hunting and settled in Lebanon, living their lives peacefully. It was good to see him, all clean and calm. He deserved his retirement.

That was, actually, the exact moment I realised I don’t want to hunt anymore. I’m done. No more blood on my hands. 

Yeah, there’s still a lot of things to hunt in this world. But I just don’t want to. But we’re still the last men of letters. Why not to become…a mentors? Turn bunker into headquarters again? We can’t just leave all the lore, all the knowledge here, untouched.

This thought has firmly settled in the backyard of my mind. Yes, we'll come back to this later, for sure. When we will figure out all the things. 

A nice month, yeah. Then Eileen went to help her friends with a little ghoul problem. I must say, I’m still overprotective, but at least I agreed to let her go by herself, since she gave me The Look. Okay, three of them will be there, one ghoul. They can handle it. Besides, “Girl needs to have fun sometimes, Sam!” and yes, she needed some space. And she promised to keep me updated. 

It was the evening I’ve received “All done! That was too easy, I’m disappointed. We’re driving to their place now, it’s couple of hours. Facetime you soon!” No, I wasn’t relieved, because I wasn’t worried, honestly! But still went to Dean’s cave, where he was watching something, to tell him the news.

“Hey, got a message from Eileen, she kicked that ghoul’s ass”

“Ha! I didn't doubt her!” Dean grinned at me, making a sound of the TV quieter.

“Yeah, she probably will be home in few days. Listen…”

I didn’t finish. Bright light filled the corridor.

“Sam. Now” I couldn’t even see his face, but Jack’s voice was loud and high with emotion. 

“What?? Jack??” I screamed back.

“What is happening?” Dean ran out the room, facing the light in the hallway. “Jack?? Sam, what’s going on?” 

“Sorry, I didn't have time to warn you. It happened all at once. Sam, I'm coming in, I found the entrance. I can do it, I know. Explain to him, tell him…” And he disappeared.

We were standing there, shaking in shock.

“What the hell is going on? Explain me what? Sam? The fuck is happening? Was that Jack?” 

I wasn’t ready for this, it happened not the way I imagined. I though I’ll have enough time for this conversation. What was I suppose to do? Explain? How?? 

Dean was looking at me, eyes wide with concern. Okay, okay… just gonna tell it the way it is, calm and slow.

“Yeah, it was Jack…” And my mouth turned dry.

“….and?” Dean kept looking at me “Explain what? Sam, cmon! He was worried, goddamit! What’s going on?”

“Okay, okay… He, umm. For the past months he’s been trying to get to The Empty” 

Dean was speechless. He turned pale.

“He couldn’t get there, he couldn’t even summon the Entity to talk. He thought it was because of the explosion. But he, umm, he kept on trying. He promised me he will keep trying.”

“He… promised you?” 

“Yeah… He appeared here, a little more then a month ago. He…” It was hard to look into my brother’s eyes, but somehow, I did it. “Dean, he was trying to bring Cas back. All this time”

His expression was unreadable. Something between anger, fear, disbelief and shock. 

“And you didn’t tell me…”

“Because he asked. Because he wasn’t sure how long will it take. He wanted to tell you, when he’s ready to do it. And I didn’t want to tell you too, because if we fail at this…”

“Okay, shut up” He leaned into the wall, all trembling, trying to calm his breath. “He said… he said “Now!” Does it mean… Sammy, what does it mean?” 

There was a plea in his eyes. So much fear. And a plea.

“Yes.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You've heard him”

Dean grabbed my shoulder.

“Sammy…”

The bunker started to shake -  the walls, the floor, as like an earthquake. 

“Sammy… the dungeon”

And we ran, as fast as we could.

So yeah, today we finally went to buy Cas some closes, although he seems to like all those Dean’s hoodies, he looks like an E.T., when he wears them.

Nothing extraordinary, just basic stuff like jeans and shirts and sweaters. Though Dean bought him a cowboy hat, and I swear I could hear quiet “Not again..” from Cas. But he scored with picking one of the world’s ugliest sweaters that I’ve ever seen - blue, with a giant yellow bee on the front. Dean’s face was pure shock when he saw that one, and he immediately put it out of the shopping basket, shaking his head. But the second Cas got distracted with his shoelaces, Dean put that ugly piece back and quickly went to the checkout. 

Now he’s drinking strawberry milkshake in the backseat.

It’s a movie night tonight. Eileen makes popcorn.

[unbridgeabledistances]

kings of the southside: CHAPTER 2

The storefronts on the block were different now— fragile minimalist displays and organic coffee shops uprooting the aged wooden bar signs with peeling paint and bullet holes— but against all odds, and with everyone else moving on, he and Mickey had decided to stay.

(a canon divergent fic in which ian and mickey stay on the southside and take over the alibi)

read chapter 2 here on ao3, or below the cut! (see notes on ao3 for various credits)

--

The end of the first weekend of them running the Alibi came quickly, and with it came Mickey’s focus being pulled in a million goddamn directions; they still had to unpack all of their shit upstairs, still had to figure out inventory and restock the bar and balance the books. Between all of the swirling and circling tasks Mickey felt like his head was going to explode, a sharp shift after the smooth waters of doing fuck-all for the past few months before the weed security business took off and he’d been forced to snap back into business mode.

Ian had bounced back from that first Saturday night of running the bar, the slump relaxing and fading out of his shoulders, and he was chipper as ever all Sunday afternoon, constantly grabbing at Mickey’s waist and singing fucking songs in his ear as they brushed elbows while pouring beers beside each other at the bar. As always, Ian fucking sunshine Gallagher’s mood seemed to have some sort of trickle-down effect on Mickey on Sunday, despite Mickey’s best efforts to not be a love-crazed loon. So even though they had a million things to do for Ian’s 80s night bullshit and Mickey had every reason to be stressed, he found himself fucking whistling when he rinsed the dishes behind the bar on Sunday night, and Tommy started giving him shit— and Mickey realized that he didn’t think there was a time he’d remembered whistling, ever, in his goddamn life.

He couldn’t really help it; Ian was radiating this new, breezy energy that Mickey still hadn’t had the time to feel the past few months, with all the bullshit going on with Terry and his family next door that set his teeth on edge— but now Ian was melting into their new life, acting settled, acting like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world and everything was all figured out. And Mickey started to realize, in the fuzzy back corners of his brain, that maybe, just maybe— he could start to feel that way about their new gig at the Alibi and their new place, too.

They didn’t have to run from anything anymore.

**

Mickey practically couldn’t believe his ears the other week when Ian had willingly accepted custody of the Alibi with a too-relaxed air of nonchalance, with a well, maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands, on one of their final days scarfing down sugary cereal in the late hours of the morning in the Gallagher house kitchen. There was no way Gallagher was being serious about this— Ian was always talking about going somewhere, about being something bigger than he was, so there was no way he was offering to Kev that they would take over his dump of a bar. Except he definitely was— and for a sharp and splintering instant Mickey was worried Ian was saying this for him; that once again, he was holding Ian Gallagher back.

But Mickey had felt Ian’s warm palm resting on his leg under the kitchen table— and he’d seen the warmth, that fucking warmth that always heated Mickey’s insides, as Ian turned to him with his eyebrows raised in a question, in a wordless proposition— and once again it struck Mickey like a goddamn lightning bolt just how much Ian Gallagher loved him, if he looked this blissed out about the prospect of living in a shitty Southside apartment and running an even shittier bar with Mickey Milkovich for the rest of his days.

Mickey knew part of Ian doing this was for him, after all the Westside bullshit that Mickey had resisted at every turn. Mickey knew he’d lost his shit when he made that yuppie poodle lady rip their lease to shreds, but could anyone blame him? The few hours they’d spent at the apartment complex made Mickey feel like he was going to crawl out of his fucking skin, like the glares of everyone he passed by in the too-clean, air-freshened hallways made him itch from the inside out. There was no fucking way he could stay in a place like that. But he was going to try, if Ian wanted.

But with a simple sentence, with a simple maybe Mick and I could take it off your hands spoken into the dusty kitchen of the Gallagher house, Mickey was saved. This Alibi plan pulled them both above water, gave them both a shore to rest on— and now they were finally, finally on the same fucking page, after figuratively (and literally) butting heads about the future for so long.

So now they were here, and they were doing it, and it was scary as fuck. Mickey had never lived in a place so quiet, a small space so devoid of the press of other people screeching and fighting and leaving trails of clutter, and he knew that Ian hadn’t either; both of their childhood homes were always crawling with various drunks or Russian prostitutes or batshit crazy relatives, and the silence of their too-small studio, in the morning hours before the bar was opened downstairs, was deafening.

Mickey could feel his jaw start to clench as he laid twisted in the sheets on Monday morning, when Ian had gone for a run and Mickey was left in the apartment alone for an hour and it was quiet, too quiet— but instantly the boisterous noise of the Southside streets had started to flow just outside the open window, a cacophony of honking horns and shouted slurs and gunshots, and the trickling in of the sounds tickled Mickey’s scalp, and reminded him that he was still rooted— he was still home.

And then Ian came clomping up the stairs like a sweaty monster after his run and tackled Mickey into the mattress, flopping onto him like a fucking Saint Bernard—and Mickey remembered why they did this, why this was good for both of them.

Against every single one of Mickey’s instincts, against everything he’d always known— he was going to let himself have this.

**

Ian’s brows were furrowed, a pressed series of creases narrowed in focus, as he stared at the paint swatches with a too-sharp glare.

“Mick, I really don’t see the fucking difference between Charcoal Gray and Burnt Ember.”

Mickey huffed, snatching the series of paint swatches out of his hand. “Nevermind then. You’ve got no eye for this shit, Gallagher. Charcoal Gray has cool undertones, Burnt Ember has a warmer vibe. We’ve definitely gotta go with Burnt Ember, the lighting in this place is shit and I wanna make sure the kitchen has a good ambiance.”

Ian’s lips curved into a smile of disbelief, rolling his eyes. Annoying motherfucker. “They both look like gray to me.”

Mickey flashed a grin in reply, then swatted Ian’s chest with the remaining paint swatches he was holding. “It’s a good thing you’re good at manual labor. If we wanna have this place painted by Wednesday, we’ve gotta get moving.”

“On it. Lip’s coming by with the paint for the main room and the wallpaper stuff, too.”

And just then, there was a gentle tap at the door. “Ey, it’s me and Liam.”

Ian bounded across the room to pull the paint-chipped door open. “Speak of the devil.”

Lip strode into their shithole apartment carrying cans of paint and a wrench clenched between his fingers, Liam trailing behind him.

“Damn. It’s only been two days and I already forgot what a dump this place is.”

Ian shoved Lip’s shoulder. “Fuck you. If you can renovate our shitty house, fixing this place up should be a piece of cake.”

Mickey noticed Liam scanning the room— in a fit of annoyance the other morning, with the bright fucking sun streaming in because they hadn’t gotten curtains yet with the bar pulling focus downstairs, Mickey had sliced a black trashbag and pinned it to the window as a makeshift curtain. Liam’s eyes lingered on the hanging trashbag, and he raised a judgmental eyebrow at Mickey.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Ian chuckled. “Yeah, Mick’s a real interior designer.”

Liam just sighed. “You guys need all the help you can get.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. “Fuck you both. That was a temporary solution.” He walked over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer, just so he had something to do.

Ian grinned again, then reached out to ruffle Liam’s hair. “How’s the new place, superstar?”

Liam shrugged nonchalantly. “I like it. I just hung up all of my posters. Added a bit of vibrancy to the color palette that Tami chose to paint my room.”

Ian smirked, and nodded a head towards Mickey, who was standing by the fridge and fumbling with his beer bottle. “You should talk to Mickey about color palettes—we’ve been arguing for the last half hour about what shade of gray to paint the kitchen. Something about cool and warm undertones?”

Liam turned to examine the kitchenette in the back of the studio, hand on his hips. “Definitely warm undertones in a small space like this, unless you get some updated light fixtures.

Ian grinned. “Damn. Guess I really do have two interior designers in my family.”

Liam smiled back, his eyes lighting up. “You need any other advice? Mickey, I’d love to hear what unified aesthetic you’re aiming for with the décor.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the rhythm of smooth paint rollers sliding against the wall, the old radio in the corner of the room (that had probably been there for decades) turned to a low hum— Liam and Lip helped them shuffle through their belongings in the trash bags, moving the mattress to the center of the room and not even bothering to cover the already-stained hardwood floors with a drop cloth before they coated the studio’s walls in thick layers of paint.

Mickey and Liam were tackling the kitchen, priming the walls in a comfortable silence. Frank’s death had hit Liam pretty hard, and Mickey could only imagine how fucked up it was, to have all the heaviness and all those complicated clumps of emotion that came with Terry dying inside you when you were only a kid— losing a shitty father was almost harder than losing a good one.

But Liam seemed enthusiastic about helping with the renovation efforts— he covered the walls dutifully in multiple coats of primer, ran to the corner store to pick up canned pints of “Burnt Ember,” and even offered Mickey advice on various wallpaper swatches for a feature wall in the studio (which Mickey actually appreciated, because he was still learning all this shit and fuck if he knew what a “feature wall” was or how to make it look good). Liam also gave his review of the various pieces of furniture Mickey had circled in an Ikea catalogue with a black Sharpie. Mickey was flipping through the catalogue, Liam methodically painting a final coat of paint in the kitchen beside him in a comfortable silence, when Mickey tuned in to Lip and Ian’s conversation from where they were painting in the main room.

“So, you guys are really doing this shit, huh? Running the Alibi?”

Ian paused, presumably taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Don’t know, man. The neighborhood’s changing. My bet is the crowds’ll get thinner and thinner.” Lip paused, ripping a paper towel to wipe his hands. “You sure that you and Mick have thought this through?”

Mickey tried to hold back an audible scoff from the kitchen. There were a number of things he could’ve yelled from the other room— for starters, when in the last 12 months had fucking Phillip Gallagher thought anything through— but he decided to hold his tongue, listening for Ian’s reply.

“Jesus, Lip. Yes. We’re already living in the place, not gonna give it up now.”

A pause.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole.”

Mickey could hear Lip twisting open the soda can he’d been drinking from.

“I don’t know, man. It’s my job to care about this shit, isn’t it? I thought Fiona taking over the laundromat was a bad idea, and she still did it anyways.”

Ian gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah.”

The soft tempo of the paint rollers on the wall continued.

“You sure this is what you wanna do with your life?”

Mickey felt that twist in his stomach again— the ice cold one, the feeling of fear that always sunk into his bones in moments like this, when he knew other people saw what he saw: that Ian Gallagher was far, far too good for him, and that all Mickey doing was ensnaring him in the dirty streets of the Southside and holding him back, when everyone else was moving on with their lives into gentrified apartment complexes.

But he’d heard the smile in Ian’s voice as he replied.

“Absolutely.”

**

Finally, after a long fucking day, Lip and Liam had left the creaky apartment— the place was looking pretty good, the kitchen and the main room both painted, and Lip had even been able to do a bit of work on the plumbing and fixed the leaky sputter of the upstairs bathroom faucet (he had also tried to convince Ian to install some sort of fucking backsplash thing in the kitchen, a multi-day project that they’d both resisted). Now, with Lip and Liam out the door, he and Ian were ready to crash. Mickey strode across the room and opened all the windows as wide as they could possibly go, trying to dispel all the paint fumes and let in gusts of humid summer air so they could collapse on the mattress. They probably could’ve crashed at one of the other Gallaghers’ places for the night if they felt suffocated by the fumes— but for now the light evening breeze was quickly drying the paint, circulating the almost-too-small room.

Across the room Ian flopped onto the mattress, a ridiculous streak of gray paint smeared across his forehead. Mickey smirked, and crawled into bed next to him, sitting so his legs were pressed against Ian’s upper torso.

“I can’t wait to get a fucking bedframe,” Ian breathed out—his face buried in the pillow, his eyelids drooping. “And a new mattress. Not this shitty one with stains all over it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey smirked, reaching a hand over to card through Ian’s hair.

“Mm.” Ian hummed happily in reply as he kept his eyes closed, probably starting to drift off to sleep.

While was probably a horrible idea— at the very least, Ian should change out of his paint-streaked clothes and wash his fucking face. There were flecks of paint all over his face and in his hair, mingling and dried in his copper curls, from when he and Mickey had gotten into a moderate paint-splattering war like a couple of teenage boys when they were trying to paint the living room walls later in the day. He prodded Ian in his side, who was now laying curled beside him with a dreamy fucking smile on his face.

“Hey. Mumbles. Get the fuck up. You’re gonna fall asleep with that toxic shit all over your face.”

Ian yawned, his nose crinkling. “Don’t care,” he said into the pillow.

“C’mon, Ian.”

And all at once Ian’s eyes were open, and he was crawling his way on top of Mickey, boxing him in with his arms on both sides of Mickey’s head. Mickey felt a gust of air whoosh out of his lungs in surprise—and in an instant he was reminded of when they used to live at the Milkovich house, in his shitty bedroom with far too many bad memories for Ian’s presence to completely tip the scale and outweigh them with the good ones, when Ian would be laying sleepy beside him and they’d get into little wrestling matches and tussles like this, with grips of hair and breathed out “C’mere, army!”s. There was the same energy buzzing between them in this moment—but god, they were so fucking different than they’d been then. They were fuller, more solid; Ian was measured in a way that still made Mickey’s toes curl when he looked at him and compared him to the scrawny and glassy-eyed teenager that he’d been, to the hollow frame he’d been on the worst days when Mickey placed a hand on a too-cold ribcage curled under thin blankets and run a hand through his hair and whispered “please,” trying to will the light back into Ian’s eyes.

But that light was there all the goddamn time now— and it was there right now as Ian dipped down and kissed at Mickey’s neck, Mickey breathing out as a no-longer-sleepy Ian made his way downward.

He guessed Ian could probably just shower all the dried paint out of his hair tomorrow morning.

**

Tuesday was a blur of getting ready for Ian’s idea to host fucking 80s night, and getting ready for Franny to stay— Mickey had thought the extent of Ian’s plan for this party thing was going to just be playing some tunes and charging a little extra for beers, but apparently Ian wanted to go all out. He’d had Debbie make some sort of poster with a colorful font and stapled them all over random bulletin boards and telephone poles on the Southside, and posted a bunch of shit on her Instagram (which had a weirdly large following because of her whole “hot handywoman” thing, which was still a complete fucking mystery to Mickey). Mickey wasn’t sure that Ian’s plan of throwing a party at their random Southside bar on a Friday night was going to fix all of their financial problems— but hey, if they needed cash then they needed cash. And while Mickey’s preferred way of procuring cash was heading down to the local corner store with a gun stowed at his waistband, for once in his life he was trying to do this shit right. So maybe his goody-two-shoes husband was making him soft (he definitely, definitely fucking was)— but when his jackass ginger giant of a husband looked at him with fucking puppy dog eyes and asked him to go along with this plan, instead of Mickey’s not-quite-joking suggestions that they just rob the bodega two doors over instead to fix all of the Alibi’s money problems, there really wasn’t much that Mickey could do about it.

He and Ian were wiping the bar, Mickey mentally running through the list of shit they had to order to prep for Friday’s crowd, when their phone screens both illuminated with text messages on the bartop.

Debbie (2:34 PM): everyone make sure to post the 80s night flyer on ur socials!!!!

Lip (2:34 PM): What the fuck are socials

Debbie (2:35 PM): 🙄

Debbie (2:35 PM): u aren’t an old man, phillip. instagram, twitter, even facebook for dinosaurs like u🦖

Liam (2:35 PM): 👍👍 Already posted.

Liam (2:36 PM): But I don’t know how useful advertising to a bunch of 11 year olds will be…

Carl (2:36 PM): me and a bunch of the boys r gonna roll through- get ready to rage motherfuckers!!!

Ian (2:37 PM): ❤️❤️

Ian (2:37 PM): Thanks for all your help Debs

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sappy motherfucker.”

He decided to reply to the groupchat in the way that he knew best:

Mickey (2:37 PM): 🖕

Mickey remembered the first day that he’d been initiated into the Gallagher family group chat, nearly a week after returning from their “honeymoon” in the dingy motel that smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke— he and Ian had been back at the Gallagher house for about a week, sleeping in most long lazy mornings and getting up to… various activities. It was one of those lazy mornings in bed when Ian had gotten decidedly distracted from said activities by the series of notifications that were lighting up Mickey’s phone on the nightstand from the groupchat Gallagher Fam:

Debbie (11:34 AM): the jonas brothers are playing upstairs. everybody take cover

Lip (11:34 AM): Thank god I don’t live there anymore

Debbie (11:35 AM): also welcome to the group chat mickey xoxo

Liam (11:35 AM): Noise-cancelling headphones are on. An excellent investment

Carl (11:35 AM): i’m just seeking shelter & keeping it real in the basement 😎

Mickey had never been part of a fucking family group chat before—he’d barely been involved in any group chats, since the extent of his smartphone use before prison was nonexistent, and he’d relied on burner phones to do all of Terry’s shady bidding after he got out of jail up until the wedding. He’d used some of their wedding cash to get himself an iPhone—even though he barely fucking knew how to use it half the time, except for shitty multiplayer games he and Ian liked to mess around with— but he’d barely had an excuse to text anyone except Sandy about various wedding logistics, and obviously Ian.

But now he was crashing with Ian’s family, and he and Ian were fucking married, and he was a part of this shit for real— it was group chat official. Which strangely felt all the more real, even though Mickey already had a fucking ring on his finger. And he’d never tell a fucking soul, not even Ian, but it made something warm pool in his stomach— to have siblings to fucking banter with about who ate the last of the potato chips, or who could pick Franny up from school, or whining about whoever was making too much noise, in the same ways he and Mandy and his brother used to get on each other’s fucking nerves.

Ian smiled down at his phone at Mickey’s reply to Debbie’s nudge about the posters. “Excellent contribution. Thanks for showing Debs how grateful you are.”

Mickey brought his emoji to life and flipped Ian off. “You’re welcome.”

Ian bit at his thumbnail, looking down at his phone. “Debbie says she can get us a karaoke machine for Friday. That might be kind of fun, right?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Whatever you think, man. It’s your idea.”

Ian started tapping away at his phone, and Mickey turned back to tidying the bar, the rows and columns of those fucking black binders from the Alibi’s storeroom still lingering in the murky corners of his mind. He didn’t want to blow too much money on this shit— he had no idea how much a karaoke machine costed, but it probably wasn’t cheap. Why the fuck couldn’t they just steal one? Mickey gritted his teeth. He could crunch numbers any day, could make enough bank to stay afloat— but something about this, about running a fully legit business, was making him start to feel like he was being pulled underwater.

Mickey stayed tense the rest of the day, feeling like a bundle of fucking nerves without really knowing why— there was just so much going on, between moving and painting and Ian’s nervous excitement at planning this event bullshit. They’d both stumbled through the slow day at the bar, and now were collapsed in bed for the evening; Mickey was scrolling through various furniture store websites, weighing their options, while Ian was curled next to him, talking about something in a low voice that Mickey wasn’t really paying attention to.

“Sorry, what?”

Ian breathed out and smirked. “Nevermind. You weren’t listening.”

Mickey scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry, man. Just distracted.”

“Why’re you distracted?”

“Just thinking about all this shit. Furniture shopping, unpacking, whatever.”

Ian smiled. “Yeah? We can probably just pick stuff out when we go in person, we don’t have to overthink it.”

Mickey blew out a breath. “Yeah. Guess so.” He stretched his arms over his head— when the fuck did his shoulders get so tight?

“You ready for bed?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab the light.”

Mickey stood to pull the string for the bare lightbulb hanging directly above them, then thudded onto his stomach on the mattress. Immediately he heard Ian rustling under the sheets, moving closer to him, and eventually lifting on his arms to hover over Mickey’s back.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

“Relax, Mick. Just take a deep breath. Lemme take care of you.”

Mickey blew a breath out of his mouth into the pillow. “Not in the mood right now, Ian. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Not like that— just lemme make your shoulders hurt less, at least.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath on the back of his neck as Ian settled, sitting back on Mickey’s upper thighs and leaning over him. He ran his hands along Mickey’s upper shoulders, delicately rubbing his thumbs up and down near his spine and trying to work at the permanent knots there.

“R’you giving me a fucking massage?” Mickey mumbled the words into the pillow, letting his eyelids droop. It did feel pretty fucking good, if he was being honest—the tension was draining from where he’d been holding it in his shoulders all week long, absorbing the impact of all the changes swirling around them and trying to keep them both afloat.

“Mm.” Ian hummed in reply, working his hands down to Mickey’s lower back and digging his thumbs in right where there were bundles of dull pain. Mickey almost flinched—not because it hurt, really, but because Ian’s fingertips gliding across his skin felt so fucking good.

He remembered the first 17 years of his life, the years when he’d been touch-starved without even realizing it, when the only touches his nerve-endings knew were high-impact beat downs and fists connecting with his jawbone. Milkoviches didn’t fucking hug, aside from a casual slap on the shoulder or side-hug when one of them was released from juvie—and even after he and Ian got together it took fucking forever to know what being held, what being gently touched, felt like. Those first few times when Ian had dragged his fingers over Mickey’s hipbones when they were fucking made Mickey nearly shudder, his nerve endings sparking like goddamn fireworks; and he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. It was like his body was going on alert, like there was an invader breaching and he was always used to bracing for impact; but despite himself, all Mickey wanted was more— all he wanted was to press his cheek to Gallagher’s fucking jawbone and just keep it there and breathe in the scent of him, absorbing the warmth of his skin.

He still wasn’t totally used to this shit, the luxury of a warm body next to his after those years in a narrow prison cot, and on the run— but as he drifted off to sleep, his shoulders now unclenched and Ian’s warm, sturdy limbs circled around him, he thanked god, if god even did fucking exist anyways, that living in the shitty apartment over the Alibi was where he ended up in his life right now, with Ian by his side.

**

The next evening, just as the sun was setting pink outside the windows and Mickey was finishing up organizing everything behind the bar, Debbie towed Franny into the main room of the Alibi, wearing some sort of pink frilly shirt and carrying a kid-sized backpack with her pajamas and toothbrush inside.

“Thanks for watching Franny tonight, you guys are the best!” Debbie had barely set foot in the door before she was out it again and letting it swing shut behind her. Seconds later, Mickey could hear the distinct roaring of a too-expensive car engine coming from the street outside the bar.

Ian peered out the front window to inspected Heidi’s ride. “Jesus. It’s some sort of Ferrari convertible.” He scooped up Franny’s backpack from the floor, slinging the comically small bag onto his broad shoulders as he crouched to give Franny a hug. “Hey Fran, it’s so good to see you!”

“I missed you, Uncle Ian!” Franny enthusiastically squeezed Ian back.

Ian pressed a peck to the top of her head. “Missed you too. We’ve gotta have a talk with your mommy when she gets back about child road safety. That Ferrari was noticeably lacking a car seat.”

“Uncle Mickey!!!” Franny nearly squealed as she spotted Mickey behind the bar, running up and trying to jump up onto a stool so she could reach him. Ian laughed and lifted Franny so she was perched on a stool, her legs dangling as she reached forward. Mickey reached out an arm to fist-bump Franny, the best he could do with the bartop between them.

“Hey there, Little Red. Missed ya.”

Franny immediately looked Mickey up and down, like she was assessing if he’d changed at all since she last saw him. Her brows furrowed—then finally she spoke.

“Uncle Mickey, I have a question.”

Mickey reached across the bar to ruffle her hair. “What’s up, kid?”

She paused. “Can I rip the sleeves off my shirt too, like you?”

Mickey chuckled in surprise. He was wearing one of his flannel tank-tops with the arms ripped off—a white trash summer look in every way. “Let’s see what we can do. I think Uncle Ian’s got some old shirts packed upstairs that we can mess around with.”

Luckily, the bar was totally empty for the evening, aside from their three or four regulars— so Ian and Franny got to go upstairs and play dress-up while Mickey dealt with shit at the bar for an hour or so, deciding they’d close early so they could pay attention to Franny.

“Hey, Mick! We’ve got a surprise for you.” Ian’s voice wafted down from the back stairway that led up to the apartment.

“What’s up?”

“One sec. Stay downstairs.” Mickey could hear two sets of pattering footsteps coming down the staircase—and Franny dashed into the room, wearing a very baggy white tank top that reached her knees and an oversized flannel with the sleeves ripped off, an exact replica of Mickey’s outfit.

“Look, Uncle Mickey! I have an outfit like you! Now we can play liquor store robbery.” She looked at him seriously—then her face contorted, her brows furrowed and her lip sticking out in a face that Ian had taken to calling the “Milkovich scowl,” a trait that Franny had adopted in her many hours of playing “robbers” in the backyard with Mickey with her fake guns he’d gotten her for her birthday.

“Gimme all of your money!”

Mickey chuckled, and threw his hands up in surrender. “You got me, Wonder Woman.”

Ian walked towards the bar, lifting Franny up so she was perched on the countertop. “You like Franny’s new look? She was pretty insistent about wearing the tank top too.”

But Franny was still peering over at Mickey, like something had caught her eye.

“Uncle Mickey, can I have drawings on my fingers too? Like you? All the real robbers on TV have those.”

This time it was Ian who was laughing. “Oh my god. Debbie’s gonna kill us. If Franny gets knuckle tattoos by the time she’s seventeen, I’m blaming you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nothing wrong with family tradition. Fuck you.”

Ian tapped his fingers on the counter. “Wait, I have an idea. Franny, wait here.” Ian rushed upstairs, and came back down holding the black Sharpie that had Mickey had been using to circle pictures in the Ikea catalogue.

“Here, hold out your hand Fran.”

Franny held out her hand for Ian to hold—and he started to draw blocky letters between each of her knuckles. When he finished, he held Franny’s hand up for Mickey to see the doodled serifs, smiling sheepishly.

“L T T L   R E D  ♡”

Mickey grinned. “Now you’re a real robber, Rockstar.” Franny looked at her hands and smiled contentedly, running her thumb over the letters.

“L. T. T. L. I know all these letters. They’re different from Uncle Mickey’s. Mommy said his say ‘fuck.’”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, you get your own special letters Franny. They say ‘little red.’”

Franny beamed. “That’s what Uncle Mickey calls me!”

“You got it, kiddo.”

The rest of the afternoon involved many rounds of playing “liquor store robbery,” and Ian lifting up Franny to “help” behind the bar by pulling the lever of the beer tap— and by the early evening, when even fucking Kermit and Tommy had gone, Ian had the idea to make a fort out of the leftover empty inventory boxes, and Franny had repeatedly busted through the tower of boxes and shouted “Put your hands in the air!” as she pretended to blow up fictional liquor store walls.

Now it was late and they were all upstairs—Franny had crashed after dinnertime, after bouncing on the bed with a sugar high from the Poptarts Mickey had snuck her after dinner (to supplement some bullshit pasta thing that Ian had forced Mickey to feed her, even though he never remembered wanting to eat that shit when he was five— he practically lived on Honey Buns and pork rinds from the nearby gas station).

They still didn’t have furniture, and at one point they’d perched on the mattress so Mickey could show Franny videos of monster trucks on his phone— and now Franny was totally passed out against Mickey’s chest, breathing those raspy, loud breaths kids make when they’re deeply asleep.  

Ian came in the room from the semi-divided wall of the kitchen, wiping his hands after finishing rinsing the dishes (two plates, and a bowl that Franny ate from because they’d only swiped two of everything from the Gallagher house last week); and Mickey saw Ian’s lips curve upward in a knowing smile as he noticed Franny curled in the bedsheets, half-leaning on Mickey’s chest. Franny and Mickey were smack in the middle of the mattress, taking up most of the room; but Ian crouched to sit on the edge of the mattress beside Mickey, hooking his chin on Mickey’s shoulder casually as he peered over at Franny, still wearing her oversized flannel and smudged knuckle tattoos.

“Guess our babysitting duties are over.” He breathed out, trying not to unsettle Franny’s steady breathing. “Hope we didn’t corrupt her too much.”

Mickey scoffed. “Debbie’s dating someone who’s more of a fuck-up than we’ll ever be. Don’t think the ball’s really in our court on that one.”

“Fair.”

Franny scrunched her nose in her sleep, sighing out heavily before nestling deeper into the bedsheets.

“I kinda missed her, man.”

Mickey was surprised by the words as he heard them coming out of his mouth— they were true, but he hadn’t even voiced them to himself until now. As shitty as he’d always been with kids, he had to admit that goofing around with Franny was pretty fucking fun.

Ian smiled from where his mouth was pressed against Mickey’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a silence, the room filled with the soft sound of Franny’s steady breathing. And then:

“Maybe… we’ll have a kid of our own sometime.”

Immediately, Mickey felt his gut lurch. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about this shit—they definitely had, in the abstract moments before the wedding; before everything blew up in their face and the pandemic took hold and any thought of kids was pushed way, way to the sidelines. And it wasn’t like Mickey was avoiding the topic— but he wasn’t exactly bringing it up, either, and neither was Ian.

Mickey thought back to that moment before the wedding, back to the hushed “you want kids?” Ian had placed between them— and how in that moment Mickey had known how much Ian wanted kids, how much Ian constantly cared for other people, how his voice got all soft and mushy around the edges in the vicinity of a baby. He knew how much Ian wanted this— but even broaching the topic made Mickey’s muscles start to clench.

Mickey tried to keep his cool—even though he felt the tides starting to roll inside of him, threatening to pull him under.

“I’d be a shitty dad, man.”

Ian’s head pulled away from where it had been nestled against the crook of Mickey’s neck—and Mickey turned his head to meet Ian’s piercing gaze.

“No you wouldn’t.” Ian’s voice was soft, surprised.

Mickey swallowed. “What if I like. Beat it. Or—” he cut himself off, knowing his voice was starting to waver.

Ian’s voice was firm when he replied. “You won’t. You’re great with Franny.” Ian paused.” “You were great with Yev.”

And there it was—the other fucking elephant in the room, beside all of Mickey’s other daddy issues; the fact that Mickey already was a father, was forced to be a father against his own will, giving him some sort of complex that he didn’t even have the energy to dig into about the potential of scooping up some kid to raise with Ian…. when there was already one out there with his gene pool that he didn’t want, that he couldn’t want, whose existence was forced onto him at gunpoint and who he didn’t have the strength to take care of.

Mickey felt Ian’s hand, feather light, tracing down his side— pulling him out of the current of his internal monologue. Ian’s hand hooked around his hip; a touch to root him, giving Mickey solid ground to hold on to.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“You’re gonna be a great dad.”

Mickey swallowed down the lump in his throat—and with it he tried to swallow down whatever bullshit was holding him back from letting himself have this. He thought about Ian—despite all his own reservations, he knew Ian must be having the same type of feelings about all of this shit; Ian was the one who had stolen Yev, who had worked so hard to get himself to the person he was today—a stable place where he was allowed to dream about being a parent, allowed to dream about shit like this.

“I hate this.”

Mickey didn’t really know what he was referring to in particular as he said the words—he hated all of this, he hated the churning emotions inside him. He felt so fucking uncomfortable—but that was always the first thing he felt, wasn’t it, when there was something deeper inside? It was the first thing he’d felt when he started to fall for Ian, when he started to realize he much preferred scrawny redheads to the busty figures with long hair; the pushing and heaving of no no no from somewhere in his ribcage, because he knew how much letting himself have this was going to hurt, how much shit he was going to have to wade through.

But he’d fucking done it—and look where he was now: Ian curled against his back, their fucking niece sound asleep beside him.

“Hey.” Ian’s voice was soft, nearly tickling Mickey’s ears. “There’s no rush for any of this shit. I’m just talking about… big picture. Eventually. When we’ve got all our shit settled.”

There it was again—that word, the one Ian had been saying all the time lately, the one that had been radiating out of his pores. Settled.

Mickey clearing his throat, trying to dispel the huskiness he knew would be there when he spoke. “Yeah. Maybe someday.”

He looked down at his hands. He knew that saying that wasn’t enough— Ian had to know how much he meant it.

“I— I wanna give you that shit. Someday.”

Mickey knew that was still an inadequate expression of everything he was feeling, of how much he wished he could just race carefreely into making fucking forts and playing dress-up with a kid of their own; but he also knew that for tonight, Ian understood. He knew in the way Ian pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw, and said into the silence of the room:

“You’re so fucking good at taking care of people, Mick.”

Mickey let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. They were going to do this—someday.

“You know… now that we’ve got our own place.” Ian’s voice trailed off.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Well— we could be good millennials and start with a dog. Y’know, as a practice run. Get your fucking Milkovich pit bulls or whatever.”

Mickey instantly felt whatever remaining tense energy that had been clinging to him dissipate. He felt a grin creep onto his face. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”

Ian pecked his shoulder. “Cool. We can check out shelters sometime next week.”

Mickey shook his head, still smiling in relief. “A pit bull, I can handle. We’re gonna treat her like a fucking princess. Who needs kids anyways?”

Ian smiled back. “The first step in starting our own Southside family.”

Mickey’s insides instantly got warm and gushy at the words— and again, it was that mix of no no no and you don’t deserve this alongside something deeper, something more solid. He tried to do what Ian always told him to do, in the moments that he felt like this: he forced a breath in, forced himself to expand his ribcage. He forced himself to think:

You deserve this.

**

The next day had been uneventful, other than Franny’s tearful goodbye— and now it was the early afternoon on Friday, far too early for any sort of rush. Once again only Tommy and fucking Kermit were seated at the bar, but today he and Ian were barely paying attention to them, despite Tommy’s halfhearted attempts to drag Mickey into some sort of bullshit banter (as much as Tommy said he preferred silence at the bar, everyone knew that was a lie. Why the fuck else would be have been coming here every day for the last eleven years?).

Today, Ian had dragged a chalkboard out from the clutter of the dingy back closet of the Alibi, a sandwich board meant to be placed on the curb to promote the bar that looked like it had hardly been used. Ian continued to shuffle through the various boxes in the back room, making a shit ton of noise, until he finally found whatever else he’d been looking for.

“Aha!”

He held up a bent cardboard box of multicolor sidewalk chalk— half empty, and half broken, but it would get the job done.

He strode over to the bar, laying the chalkboard on it— then turned to Mickey, folding his arms in front of him.

“Alright, bartender extraordinaire. What drinks should we make for 80s night?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, puffing out a breath. “I don’t fucking know. Most of the guys who come in on Fridays just drink beer. We don’t gotta overcomplicate shit.”

Ian pressed his lips together, contemplative and looking down at the blank canvas of the chalkboard. “I’m not saying we should force out the regulars, because that’s definitely not what we’re going for with the event— but it’d be nice to have a couple of new things, in case the new people in the neighborhood do some by. Nothing too fancy or frilly or whatever.”

Ian dug in the cardboard box, plucking out a piece of chalk.

“And we should make our own signature drinks anyways, since we’re taking over the place. Make our mark on the Alibi.” He grinned. “Got any fun drink name ideas?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, and felt the corners of his lips turn upwards in an amused smile against his will, thawing. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

Ian continued smiling. “How about… the Milkovich Mojito.”

Mickey puffed out a breath of air, shoving Ian in the chest and furrowing his brows. “No fucking way.”

Ian just waggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, we own the place. It’ll just be a mojito with a shit ton of rum, only enough for someone with Milkovich-level tolerance. People will think it’s funny.”

Mickey felt his eyebrows lift upwards a bit, and he could see from the expression on Ian’s face that he’d lost this one. “Fine.”

Ian smirked, penciling in “Milkovich Mojito” on the chalkboard and drawing a little design around it. Mickey forgot how good Ian was at this— at the little details like this, at making shit look nice.

Ian rose from where he was hunched over the chalkboard when his masterpiece was completed, hands on his hips. “Alright. What else?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t know. How about ‘just fucking beer’?”

Ian laughed, and a warm feeling pooled in Mickey’s stomach despite himself. “Yeah. We should spell that out on the menu, so people know that’s our standard.” He leaned to write “JUST FUCKING BEER” on the chalkboard, drawing a little cartoon beer stein with foam on the top next to it. Mickey reached out, smudging a bit of the chalk of the drawing to annoy Ian, just because he could.

Ian swatted his arm away. “Hey! No touching the masterpiece.” He drew over the part Mickey smudged as best he could, biting his lip in concentration. Fuckin’ dork.

Ian stood tall again, admiring the finished product. “There. One more?”

Mickey shrugged again, feeling utterly out of ideas. He could balance a budget, sure, but he was useless with all the creative shit like this.

Ian bit his lip again, thinking. “What’re even mixed drinks people like? Sex on the beach?”

Mickey smirked. “There ain’t a lot of beaches in Chicago, man.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s more like ‘sex behind a dumpster.’ Or ‘sex on your twin bed at your family’s house.’”

Mickey grinned, catching Ian’s drift. “Sex in the dugouts.”

Ian laughed, then made a little gesture with his hands like inspiration had struck. “Mick, I think we have our final drink name.” He turned to write it on the chalkboard.

“What the fuck are we gonna put in it? Just a fuckin’ lukewarm beer?”

Ian smirked, looking off dreamily. “Ah, memories.”

Mickey prodded him in the sternum. “You’re a fucking sap.” He shoved Ian over. “Here, let me write this one.” He took the chalk from Ian’s hand. “No peeking.”

He scratched on the chalkboard for a moment, then stood back to reveal his work. “Ta-da.”

In scratchy handwriting, not unlike the “STAY THE FUCK OUT” sign that used to be taped to his door, read “SEX IN THE DUGOUTS”—and next to it was two drawings, of a cartoon dick and two stick figures fucking doggy-style.

Ian grinned wide. “It’s perfect. Definitely captures the vibe of the new owners.”

Mickey just smiled back.

**

It was 6 p.m. now, and the bar was just about ready—Ian had compulsively swept the floor during the lull in the afternoon, even though it would be dirtied and scuffed within seconds of the usual Friday blue-collar crowd streaming in through the doors, and Mickey was perched on a stool at the end of the bar, laboring over his playlist. He usually didn’t overthink this shit— he’d included all the classics, from Bon Jovi to Queen to fucking Cyndi Lauper, but there was something so public about he and Ian running this thing now, and about throwing a loud event to proclaim it, that make Mickey’s stomach start to do somersaults for some reason as the first huddled crowd of Southsiders shuffled their way in through the door.

The bar did look good— Ian had got some sort of lighting gels to put over the lamps in the Alibi, and the room’s lighting was tinted a suave blue color, making the small space feel a little hipper, a little cooler, while still retaining its comforting dingy feel. It almost reminded Mickey of the soft, colorful lighting in that random Westside bar they’d gotten engaged in, with the shitty overpriced beer and the sparkly fucking lights when they’d watched that god-awful harp band with Barry or whatever the fuck his name was— but the lighting here looked cooler, more deliberate, and cast a calculated glow across the room that added to the vibe. The bass was thrumming low through the speakers Ian had rented from somewhere— right now it was just playing some mellow Joy Division song as people continued streaming into the bar.

Ian had crept upstairs at some point, probably to change out of whatever sweaty t-shirt he’d been wearing all day; and Mickey saw a flash of red hair emerging from the stairway now, turning the corner to stride into the dark room.

“Hey! Oh my god, it’s great to see you guys!”

Immediately Ian was swept away by some group of people in their mid-twenties near the swinging door that led to the back of the bar, who were chattering away about how they’d seen the poster on Debbie’s Instagram or some shit. Mickey assumed they were some people Ian had known when he’d been locked up, one of the unfamiliar faces from their wedding that got involved with Ian’s “Gay Jesus” bullshit—and as much as Mickey knew Ian’s relationship with those figures from a very different time in his life was complicated to say the least, it was nice to see Ian leaning comfortably against the bar, chatting away with someone that wasn’t him or Lip— chatting with friends. Looking settled.

Mickey smirked, knowing his gaze was lingering for too long when Ian locked eyes with him from across the bar, tilting his head towards the stairway. Giving Mickey a chance to go upstairs, to freshen up, to take a deep breath if he wanted to.

Fuck it. Mickey strode across the bar, heading upstairs to the quiet sanctuary of the studio and its fresh-painted walls. He shuffled through the various shirts and baggy jeans that were now in their designated-clothes-pile in the corner of the room, at least until they got a dresser and hangers and all that shit. He decided to peel off his sweaty tank top and change into a blue Hawaiian-print shirt, the one he’d swiped from the laundry room at the yuppie fucking Westside apartment complex before he’d burned that bridge, to amp himself up and fit the vibe downstairs. The shirt was only a little bit creased from being shoved in a pile in the corner of the room, which felt like a bonus— and Mickey smoothed a hand through his hair and fixed the collar of the shirt as he caught his own eye in the cracked bathroom mirror. There weren’t lots of times Mickey really gave a shit about what he wore—he and Ian pretty much lived in tank tops and boxers at home, and tank tops and denim at the bar especially on hot fucking days like these ones— but he had to admit that it did feel pretty nice to put on a shirt with a collar, a shirt with bright colors and patterns on it that, fuck it, he knew made his eyes pop—just because he wanted to have fun, just because he could.

He ruffled his hair one last time, then clomped back down the back staircase towards the light chatter swirling in the room below. Immediately he noticed the line at the bar starting to grow, and walked with intention over to behind the bar to start taking orders from a mixed sea of regulars and younger, new faces.

“Looking pretty festive there, Mick.”

Mickey held up a middle finger to where Tommy was seated on his usual stool. “Fuck you. I look hot and you know it.”

“You definitely do.” Ian slid behind him, speaking low into Mickey’s ear and his hands gliding to bracket Mickey’s waist for a moment as he shuffled by to pass a beer to a customer, then walked to the end of the bar and start to take more orders without a glance back. Mickey felt his neck flush red, just for a second— Ian was always just saying shit like that, about how good Mickey was, whenever he looked nice. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

After a few hours the party was fully humming, and both he and Ian could barely glance up from the bar because of how many people were streaming through and placing their orders. Courtesy of Debbie, a karaoke machine was up and running in the corner of the room, the speakers blasting a series of poppy instrumentals across the small space—and as much as Mickey hated to admit it, he had to say that this event bullshit was actually a pretty fucking good idea. There were a handful of new faces in the crowd, a bunch of fucking millennials with man-buns and Ray-Bans and brimmed hats; but most of the crowd was the typical neighborhood crew, blue-collar workers with beer guts who were dropping slightly more money than their usual tab on an extra beer, and walking sloshed to the corner of the room to serenade their buddies with “Livin’ on a Prayer” (which made Ian stare across the bar at Mickey with a knowing smile between pouring drink orders).

At some point in the evening Debbie rolled in with a group of people from some gay bar she’d been pregaming her evening at, and Carl came by with some of his cop buddies; and all in all, the place had all the makings of a good fucking party. Which meant they were making good cash—beyond the wads of bills left on the bartop as tips, all the millennial jokers filtering through the space were surprisingly biting on the overpriced cocktails Ian had concocted, and they were racking up a good profit as the night went on.

Maybe they could fucking run this place after all.

Right now, a very sloshed Debbie was singing on the karaoke machine in the corner, belting out the final verse of “I Will Always Love You” and practically eye-fucking her new Grand Theft Auto girlfriend— an image that Mickey was trying not to pay attention to at all costs as he scanned the room, trying to mentally calculate just how well they’d done for the night. There’d been a good crowd streaming in for hours— and now the numbers were finally dwindling, and at last he and Ian could finally slow their pace for a bit, instead of being pulled in a million goddamn directions to wipe up beer spills or clear tables or refill the ice cubes in the freezer.

“Heeeyyyyy everyone! Listen up!” Debbie’s muffled voice took over the fade of the final chords of the song, her mouth a little too close to the microphone and making it screech as she spoke out to the crowd in the bar. “I just wanna say a shoutout to Ian and Mickey for taking over the Alibi! And for being the heroes that kept this place alive!” She teetered slightly. “Southside forever!”

Mickey scowled, and locked eyes with an amused Ian across the bar. “Control your fucking sister, man.”

Ian shrugged. “Eh. She’s the one that helped plan half this shit. Let Debs have some fun.”

Debbie pointed a finger over to where Ian and Mickey were standing behind the bar. “Everyone give them a round of applause! C’mon, they deserve it! C’mon!”

There were a couple of chuckles from the crowd, at Debbie’s deeply inebriated state as she tried to put the microphone back in its stand and drag herself away from the small TV showing song lyrics— but then, one by one, people at the bar started to clap— regulars, random newcomers, and even Tommy gave a little whoop as the cheers grew louder and louder and started to erupt.

Mickey just rolled his eyes, but Ian straightened his spine and smiled as he addressed the crowd. “Couldn’t have done it without all of you guys!” He wiped his hands with a towel, and went back to wiping down the bar as the applause settled.

Just then, Debbie turned and fumbled to grab the microphone once more. “Wait! Ian, Mickey! Come up here and sing a song.”

If Mickey thought he was scowling the first time Debbie had stumbled her way into the mic, now he was on a whole different level. He flashed a glance to Ian, and saw the sappy grin starting to grow on his face, like it always did when Ian had some dumbass idea. Jesus Christ.

Mickey needed to pump the brakes on this one fast. “No fucking way, Gallagher.”

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, reaching a placating hand onto his elbow. “C’mon, Mick. It’ll be fun.” Ian raised his eyebrows— and his stupid fucking eyes were shining again, doing that fucking thing where Mickey could feel in his bones that Ian was so ridiculously happy that they got to do sappy, mundane shit like this together…

Mickey blew out a breath. “I gotta do a shot or some shit before we do this.”

Ian’s grin grew ten sizes as he dropped the towel hanging from his shoulder onto the bar and swiftly turned to pour Mickey a shot of Jameson. Mickey’s frown deepened as he lifted his head back to pour the liquid fire down the back of his throat, bracing himself for battle; of course his stupid fucking American-Idol-wannabe husband couldn’t resist a call to do goddamn karaoke. Mickey blamed himself—he should’ve known Ian anywhere in the 1-mile radius of a karaoke machine would inevitably be a recipe for disaster.

Ian strode past the length of the bar and toward the corner of the Alibi where the illuminated screen of the karaoke machine was sitting there waiting— Mickey trudged behind him, shooting a glance at where Tommy and Kermit were seated on their regular stools.

“You two are in charge of the bar for 2 fucking minutes. Don’t fuck this up.” Kermit raised his hands in surrender, and Tommy just raised an eyebrow.

Ian was already punching at the little arrows on the machine. “What song d’you wanna do?”

“I could give less than a fuck, man. This is your fucking idea.”

Ian just flashed him a grin as he scrolled through the preselected song options. “Here, let’s do this one.”

He handed Mickey a microphone, and reached over to grab the second mic from Debbie’s hand (who was now successfully being corralled back to a booth by Heidi).

Instantly, the techno intro rhythms to the song began—and Ian started bobbing his head, causing the onlookers at the bar to laugh and one person to whistle. Mickey just shoved his upper arm.

“I fucking hate you so much.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows, and in a very off-key voice, started to sing:

“You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

I picked you out, I shook up and turned you around

Turned you into someone new”

Mickey felt his heart thudding in his chest—and fuck that. He owned the fucking bar, he could fucking sing with his goddamn husband if he wanted to. Fuck whatever everyone else was thinking.

So when the first verse ended, and quickly streamed into the second, Mickey clutched the microphone and half-spoke, half-sang the illuminated words on the screen:

“Now five years later on you’ve got the world at your feet

Success has been so easy for you

But don’t forget it’s me who put you where you are now

And I can put you back down too”

Ian’s grin was splitting across his face— and once again Mickey had to reach out and prod him in the chest.

“Stop looking so fucking sappy!”

Ian just held the microphone in both of his hands, and playfully started to sing the chorus:

“Don't

Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it

When I hear that you won't see me”

He looked over at Mickey, raising his eyebrows. “C’mon, Mick!”

Fuck it.

Mickey swallowed down whatever lingering… feelings were happening about all of this shit, and let the people watching them melt away, fading into the hazy blue lighting— because fuck all those assholes, anyways. He and Ian had been through way too much shit in the main room of the Alibi for Mickey to be afraid of doing fucking karaoke right now; he’d literally come out to his dad in these four walls. He’d had his face bashed in the moment he decided right here, rooted in this same spot on the scuffed hardwood floors, that he would do fucking anything to always be by Ian Gallagher’s side. So he squeezed his eyes shut, just for a second— and pretended it was just him and Ian, singing fucking Lady Gaga in their bathroom as they brushed their teeth (which, yes, they had been prone to do since Chromatica came out, fucking sue him)— and let himself actually sing, deep from his gut in the same goofy, lighthearted way that Ian was doing along with him:

“Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!

Don’t you want me baby?

Don’t you want me? Oh!”

Ian’s face was slightly flushed, still grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining as he bobbed his head along with the music— and as they both finished singing the chorus, everyone in the bar started to lose their shit. Everyone was clapping and whistling; even some of the old regulars Mickey had pegged as homophobes a long time ago were cracking smiles through their scraggly beards and clapping their hands together.

When the song finally ended, Ian took a dramatic bow— then he took Mickey’s hand, clasping it and raising it over their heads. The applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, and someone yelled out:

“Let’s hear it for the new owners!”

After that, for the rest of the night Mickey loosened the fuck up— and maybe it was the couple of shots in his system, or maybe it was the fact that there weren’t that many people in the bar now at all except for a thin crowd of familiar faces— but he was feeling happy and warm as he milled through the crowd picking up empty glasses. At some point Debbie switched up the playlist to more dance-y stuff, causing her and Heidi to start spinning in the middle of the room, and a couple others to push the bar tables to the side and follow suit.

And now, people were dancing—and some random middle-aged neighborhood lady grabbed Mickey by the wrist, a smile on her face, to come dance with them—and usually Mickey would scowl and say “Fuck no” to dancing with some random fucking stranger in a situation like this, but he was feeling the blood rushing through his veins, feeling fucking settled—so for just this once, he decided to dance like a fucking goof in his Hawaiian shirt with the random lady for a while, til he locked eyes with where Ian was standing across the bar.

And maybe they were supposed to be paying attention, because they were still the ones running the fucking bar— but all Mickey wanted to do in that moment was walk across the room and press himself closer, closer, and reach his hand up to the side of Ian’s neck, and drag him to lean down to just the right height to press their lips together, to feel the warmth between them.

So that’s what he did, in the midst of the whirring of their neighbors and strangers in the Alibi around them.

We don’t have to run anymore.

[arse-crack-thistle]

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians.  All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off.  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 17: Though Mighty, She Falls

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5663

Warnings: Language, blood

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 16: He Feels His Heart Break

In all your millennia, you’d never actually thought about death. Sure you were surrounded by it every single day, but you never pondered what it meant to die—to cease to live. Death was nothing but a term to you. It meant that another soul would be joining your kingdom. It meant that a mortal’s life had ended. It had no place in your life. And yet… Now it seemed that you were staring your own death right in the face.

The spirits in Elysium had all described it in different ways. Some said it was peaceful—a sweet release from life. Others said it was the worst pain they’d ever experienced—an excruciating way to go.

You had never known such pain before. Your body was alight with angry fires. Your limbs hurt at the slightest of movements. You were always parched, your mouth never moistening. It hurt to breathe. Every ragged breath you drew in lead to a round of severe coughing. The air in your lungs was tainted gold. Ichor flowed freely from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin in thin rivers. 

You’d been poisoned. 

It was the only diagnosis Pietro could come up with. Natasha and Carol had dragged him down to the Underworld after they and Peggy got you laid up in your bed. Though he was reluctant to venture down under as it was, he did his job well. As the god of medicine and stuff like that he was the only one capable of figuring out what had ailed you. “She’s been poisoned,” he said, pulling his hands away from your head and chest. He’d done his assessment, letting his magic flow through you through the two entry points, and that was the only explanation he could come up with. 

“But you can cure her, right?” Natasha’s voice had been desperate, begging. She feared for you when she saw you collapse in the throne room. You, her strong, older sister, had never once caught a cold, and you had suddenly started throwing up ichor. She was terrified; it was a strong poison if it could cripple a goddess such as yourself so much. 

Pietro has hung his head before delivering the harsh news. “I can’t... I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s old magic, old poison. I didn’t even know that it still existed. I don’t know of anything that would heal her… I’m sorry.”

No cure; no choice other than to wait it out, let the poison run its course, and pray that you would recover. 

He’d left you with some medicine that might alleviate the pain and make you more comfortable, but that was all he could do. 

There was no hope for an immediate recovery, you knew that much when you looked into Pietro’s eyes. They had been full of pity, of sadness, like he was looking at a woman who was already dead and just didn’t know it yet. 

Your sisters were optimistic, setting off on a fool’s quest to find you a cure. Just because Pietro had never heard of one didn’t mean that it didn’t exist. He was a newer god, after all, and so he didn’t know everything. There was always a chance that there was something as old as the poison itself that could act as the cure.

You, however, knew better. You’d seen enough death and pain yourself to know that chances were this was not going to end well. 

And so, after the first week, you began to make arrangements for your absence. It had to be done anyways, after all. It would be a long time before you recovered if you did at all. The Underworld would still run, but you wouldn’t be able to do it. You barely had the strength to sit up without help, how could you have the strength to run a kingdom?

So while your mother, your sisters, and Peggy took turns watching over you and helping you do basic human things, you divided up the responsibilities of the kingdom.

Peggy, bless her heart, took over the paperwork you had to do. All the Elysium applications and the renovations and other paperwork went through her. She’d shadowed you enough to know how to do it. When she wasn’t nursing you or helping you do basic things, she was down in the office trudging through the endless mountains. 

Pierce, helpful as ever, volunteered to lead the reconstruction efforts on Tartarus, directing gods and other beings on how to contribute, and take over the more official, executive aspects of the Underworld. Being the god of Death, Pierce had taken it upon himself a millennia ago to learn the way you ran things. Aside from Peggy, and obviously yourself, he was the only one fit to rule in your stead. While Peggy was managing the admin side of the Underworld, Pierce took over the engineering and execution of all other functions. 

Together, the two of them completely filled your role, leaving you with the peace of mind necessary to get better and recover. 

Though after the third week of pain, it didn’t look like you ever would. 

Natasha and Carol told you not to think like that, but you knew. You knew how death worked. You knew how death felt. You knew that the chances of you pulling out of this were slim to none. It was only a matter of time now.

———

“Mrs. Thomas from Elysium called again.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say.”

Peggy shrugged as she took a seat on the chair that had been set up at your bedside. “Oh, you know. Just calling to ask how you’ve been doing, wondering if she can bring you over her famous soup. She’s certain it will help you get better.”

You croaked a laugh, the breath stinging your chapped lips. “She always thinks food will solve everything.” Your eyes followed Peggy as she sat down, looking at the bowl she held in her hands. “If we can get me to keep food down, maybe take her up on that offer. I miss her cooking.”

She only smiled as she reached into the bowl. From it she pulled a damp washcloth. The white was vibrant in the darkened room as she wrung it out, letting the excess water fall. She reached over and began dabbing your face with the cloth. “I’ll be sure to do that then.”

You closed your eyes under the cool surface. It was a welcome relief from the constant fire you felt. One of the downfalls of this whole poisoning thing was the fever that came along with it. In all the three weeks of the pain, the fever had never once broken. If you were mortal, the constant heat would’ve boiled your brain by now. But, being immortal, it only caused you severe discomfort and the occasional delusions. The chill of the cold cloth was refreshing and it drew a shuddering sigh from your lips. “Thanks, Peggy.”

“Of course.” She continued to move the cloth across your face, letting it rest the most on your forehead. When it warmed she dipped it back into the ice-cold water and repeated her movements. 

It was soothing—just a bit of comfort from the pain you were in constantly. You let out a shuddering breath as you sank deeper into your bed. Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths. It was getting harder and harder to breathe with every passing day. You had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before you couldn’t breathe at all.

As if sensing your doubtful thoughts, Peggy’s hand stilled. “You’re going to be alright. I know it. Your sisters are searching for a cure and Pietro is getting everything he can think of.”

You didn’t want to point out to her that just yesterday he was almost out of ideas. You simply nodded. “Alright…” you rasped out. Carefully you inhaled sharply, letting the air scratch at your lungs. “But let’s not discuss that right now. Tell me how things are going. How’s my kingdom?”

Being laid up, you never got to go out and see how things were going for yourself. You had to rely heavily on Peggy and Pierce’s reports. You were paranoid. You’d never been away from the throne for that long and not having your hand in the workings of the Underworld made you anxious.

Peggy hummed. “It’s recovering. The Tartarus breech really did a number on things, but we’re rebuilding. Elysium renovations are going smoothly. The crack in the wall is almost fully filled. Pierce is doing well.” 

“Then why do you sound uneasy?”

She blinked, surprised by your question, but you hadn’t missed the hint of malice and skepticism in her voice when she spoke of Pierce. Something was wrong, you knew it. 

“What’s he doing?” You locked your eyes on her face, doing your best to read her expression.

Her brows furrowed and she tilted her chin down. Her expression was confused and she was confused by her own confusion. “He… He’s doing well, almost too well. (y/n), I can’t explain it, but the way he’s acting whenever he goes out to the cave… It’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like he’s already had everything planned out. He’s doing too well, and it’s giving me this bad feeling.”

“You’ve tested him?”

“Of course I have. He’s not being controlled—not by Kronos or anyone else for that matter. He’s completely in his own mind.” 

You licked your lips and gazed up at the ceiling. “Have you been down to the cave? To inspect his work?”

“No. I haven’t had the time to. Between keeping you alive and dealing with paperwork, I haven’t been able to.” She sighed heavily and dunked the washcloth into the ice water once more. Setting it on your forehead, she said, “But I will soon; cast a spell or two of my own to help. Do anything to make sure your father stays locked up in your absence.”

You nodded your head. “Thank you, Pegs. This is why you’re my second in command.” Your smile was weak as you grinned at her, but it was there and meaningful.

She laughed at that and shook her head. “I’m not sure that that’s the only reason why, but I’ll take it.” She sighed. “How have you been feeling?”

“Oh, shitty as ever. But hey, you’ll be proud of me. I’ve only thrown up ichor once today.”

“That’s progress!” Her eyes brightened with hope.

“Yeah… Progress…” You didn’t want to tell her that that one episode had lasted nearly a half-hour as you lay hunched over the side of the bed expelling what little you’d eaten that morning from your stomach and some more ichor with it. Your tired sigh ended with a half-hearted smile. “I’m tired now, Pegs,” you said softly.

She pulled the cloth away from your forehead. “Would you like me to leave you to rest?”

You barely moved your head in a nod. “Please.”

“Alright.” Her chair scraped the ground as she pushed it back and stood. “I’ll be down in the office working. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

The sound of her footsteps echoed in the room, growing fainter and fainter until they were nothing. You were left in silence once more. It settled heavy on the room, enveloping you in the cocoon of solitude. You used to hate the silence, but now it was welcome. Even sick, you rarely had a moment to yourself. Everyone was always scared you’d die if you were left alone for even one second. There was almost always someone by your side. 

It was overwhelming.

But you almost preferred the company. It kept your mind busy and away from unpleasant thoughts about your impending demise.

Though no one around you wanted to admit it, you knew it to be true: you were dying and there was nothing that could be done about it. It was a depressing thought, really. You didn’t want to die, but it didn’t look like you had much of a choice. 

You were going to die, and that was just the way of things. 

And that was…

Honestly, not okay with you. But the pain was just mind-numbing. Sure the medicine that Pietro prescribed for you helped ease it a bit, but it would always return with a vengeance. Nearly a month of this had sapped out all the strength and magic you had, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it all.

But you chose not to dwell on it. You couldn’t. It would only just kill you faster.

Approaching footsteps broke the silence, tearing you from your thoughts of dying and the partial-slumber it had been lulling you into. 

Your face screwed up at the disturbance, but you didn’t open your eyes. “Peggy?” you called out, the hoarseness of your voice surprising even you. “Did you need something?”

A chuckle was your answer. “It’s not Peggy, Precious.”

At his voice, your eyes snapped open. “Brock,” you croaked, trying to muscle your way into a sitting position. You couldn’t see him when you were reclined and you refused to be prone in his presence. You hadn’t seen him since you’d sent him away all those months ago, and that conversation had been left on severely rocky terms. You’d told him to leave, ending things between you pretty harshly. You couldn’t believe your ears when you heard his voice and so you had to see him for yourself. But to do that, you had to sit up.

You didn’t get too far. The pain in your chest and abdomen flared with the movement and you cried out in agony.

Brock was at your side in an instant, his hands pushing down on your shoulders ever so gently to ease you back against the pillows.. “Shh, Precious,” he murmured softly. “Stay down, it’s okay.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed. Gods, you wanted to sit up and berate him for ever showing his face in your home again, but you weren’t strong enough to do so. So you settled for just glaring at him. “Why are you here?” you hissed in a low voice. “I thought I told you to never show your face again.”

“You did not say that, Precious,” he said, his voice was gentle and kind. “You told me to leave, you didn’t tell me to never come back.” When you were situated on the pillows again, he set one of his large hands on your forehead and brushed back your hair.

“That still meant leave,” you spat. You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing. “Why have you come? How did you get past Peggy?”

“I have my ways. You forget I used to frequent this room without anyone knowing I was ever here. I know how to get in undetected.” With that, he sat down in the chair Peggy had been sitting in not even an hour ago. He pulled his palm from your forehead and reached for your hand which was lying at your side. You were too tired to move it, so he laced your fingers together. “I’m here to see you, Precious. I heard you were sick, but I— I never imagined…” His voice broke as he looked at your face. You could only imagine how horrible you looked.

“You’re not welcome here anymore, Brock,” you growled. “You should leave.”

“No, not until you hear me out.”

“Th-There’s nothing left for me to hear! I told you to leave.”

“Precious—”

“And stop calling me that!” You yanked your hand out of his grasp and glared daggers at him. “I’m not your precious anymore. You have no right to come in here and call me terms of endearment like we’re still… Like we’re still together! You don’t have that privilege anymore and I want you—” Your lungs were arrested by a fit of coughing and your body convulsed. Pain wracked your body as you hacked and coughed, trying to expel the insatiable itch in your throat. You coughed into your hands, cupping them at your mouth to catch the ichor that was thrown from your lungs so they didn’t land on the covers.

Brock rubbed small circles over your back as if that would help ease the pain or the coughing. “Shh, just get it out.”

You wanted to curse his name, banish him from your home for forever, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the energy to. When you finished coughing, you sat back against the pillows. Your hands were stained gold with your own ichor and it hurt to breathe.

He helped you get back the best he could, being nothing but gentle with your fragile body. He handled you like you were made of glass; like you could shatter at any second. When you were settled once more, he took his hand off of you and hung his head. “Please, Precious. I needed to come back; to apologize if nothing else. Please just hear me out.” His voice was desperate and soft; he was scared of what you would say.

You didn’t want to even give him the time of day, but because you were basically a captive audience, you really had no choice. You sneered at him down your nose but nodded your head. “You’ve got two minutes.”

“Thank you.” He inhaled sharply before he said, “I’m sorry for everything I ever did—or didn’t do—to you. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just scared of what you wanted. I thought that, if I committed myself to you, you would grow tired of me and leave or that I would lose myself in the process. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“But you are now?” You scoffed. “It’s a little late for that, Rumlow. You broke my heart too many times and I found someone who wouldn’t.”

Bucky…

Gods, you hadn’t thought about Bucky in weeks. Now, whether that was intentional or accidental, you weren’t sure; it had the potential to be both. 

It could’ve been accidental—just something that happened as a result of being preoccupied with poisoning and worrying for your kingdom.

But it could’ve been intentional—a coping mechanism designed to keep your heart from breaking further. Your body had enough to deal with; fighting the poison was taking everything you had, you had no energy to spare to deal with the pain of remembering Bucky’s devastated expression. You couldn’t even think about him without hurting.

As if on cue, pangs of agony struck your heart as his face surfaced in your mind and you fought hard to shove it back down. You couldn’t dwell on him now. He was gone. You’d sent him away. You’d said awful things.

He probably hated you now or at least didn’t love you.

You didn’t know which one hurt worse.

“Ah, yes. The god of spring.” The words were bitter and his lips curled back in a snarl. “If he loved you so much, why isn’t he at your side? Why isn’t he here taking care of you, searching for a cure for your poison like I am?”

Your eyes must’ve widened in shock because he laughed. “Yes, Precious. I haven’t been at your side these last few weeks because I’ve been searching for the cure.”

“H-How do you even know what’s wrong with me?” Your mouth was agape, though it probably wasn’t hard to guess what had afflicted you. You showcased all the typical signs of poisoning. But he hadn’t been around to see them.

He smiled softly at you. “The water has ears, Precious. Your sisters and your friend are out in the yard talking about it constantly. I have heard it all, and I think I’m this close to coming up with something to help you.”

“Is that why you’ve kept your distance? You didn’t want to come crawling to my side empty-handed?”

“Yes.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. “I didn’t want to come back to you unless I knew I had something to offer you. I know it may have been selfish, but please know that my intentions were nothing but good and pure.” He pressed his lips together as his eyes searched your face. “Please, (y/n), let me prove to you that I really do care for and love you. Let me help you. Let me stay.”

Every fiber of your being screamed “NO,” but you knew that he would argue with you and you had no energy or strength to deal with that. It didn’t mean that you’d let him weasel his way into your bed once more; it just meant that he could maybe pick up a shift in watching over you and give Peggy and your sisters a bit of a break.

Reluctantly you nodded your head. “Alright. You can stay,” you whispered bitterly.

He visibly relaxed, his lips falling into a soft smile and his eyes glistening in the dim light. “Thank you. Don’t worry, Precious.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there for longer than you liked. 

At one point in life, you would’ve reveled under his touch, but now that you’d had a taste of something different—something better that only Bucky could give you—it only made you cringe and long for the lips you really loved.

He exhaled sharply, letting his breath ghost your skin, before finally pulling away and replacing his lips with his hand. His skin was rough against yours as he pet your head, brushing your hair back. He smiled softly at you, his eyes holding a promise. “I’ll find a way to heal you; I promise I will. You’ll get better.”

———

You got worse.

Brock took over your evening schedule, taking care of your dinner by helping you choke down what little of ambrosia and nectar you could and holding your hair back as you later threw it up and by making sure you could sleep and were clean. He’d talk to you at night, telling you about how the kingdom was doing, how the rivers flowed, how everything was going to be okay.

If you didn’t absolutely loathe the man, you would’ve been grateful for him. He was a calming presence at your side, just talking with you. Not pestering you about cures or technicalities of the kingdom. He just talked about whatever came to mind.

For a while, nothing changed.

But then, a week after Brock came back, you started seizing. 

Carol had been watching you that evening when you suddenly tensed up and blacked out. She said you suddenly went stiff as a board before shaking, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your muscles convulsed. She didn’t know what was going on at first, panicking as you just shook. She was unable to do anything to help you and you had a feeling that that kind of powerlessness made her scared.

Pietro was called right away and he made his entrance right at the end of the seizure as you were coming out of it. 

You were confused and dazed; you didn’t know what was going on and it made you scared. You were tired and sore and your head ached. 

It didn’t take Pietro long to diagnose what had happened.

It had been over a month since you’d been poisoned, and you weren’t able to keep anything down, so Pietro labeled it as a provoked seizure due to low ichor-sugar. With no food or drink able to enter your system, the levels had dropped dangerously low and had triggered the seizure.

And that was when they broke out the IVs and feeding tubes. 

Your mother demanded them; she was growing desperate. While the gods didn’t need to eat to survive, they did need the nutrition to keep internal levels balanced. Such nutrition typically came from ambrosia or nectar, but you couldn’t get either down or keep them in your stomach.

So, if you couldn’t get the nutrition of your own volition, they’d force it in.

The tube and needle were extremely uncomfortable. They’d snaked the feeding tube into your stomach through your nose and you couldn’t move your head without it shifting weirdly. The IV stuck out of the back of your left hand, making it impossible to move it without pulling the needle out or jamming it in further.

You hated it, but it was necessary.

Your body was in desperate need of the nectar and ambrosia; the lack of it was only hurting your health more. 

But even when you were getting the sustenance you needed, you still were not getting better. Your health continued to go downhill gradually until you didn’t even have the strength to lift your hand. Breathing alone was a chore, and it was clear that your days were numbered.

Even your family had to admit it.

You weren’t living; you were surviving and you were barely doing that.

It was only a matter of time before you were out of time.

Brock was at your side, holding onto your hand as he always did, but for once he was silent. His eyes were dark and hooded, his lips were set in a seemingly permanent frown. He was sour, brooding, thinking, and the silence that entailed was driving you mad.

“What’s on your mind?” you croaked out, breaking the silence. Your voice, though the only sound in the room, was hollow and ragged. It wasn’t yours anymore; it was nothing but a harsh ghost blowing away in the wind. 

His brown eyes flickered up to you and his face softened. “Oh, nothing much, love. Just about you.”

“What about me?” You squinted at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. Even that was a struggle now; you were so weighed down by exhaustion that your eyes refused to stay open half the time.

He squeezed your hand gently. “How even when dying you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good to you like you deserved. I’m sorry I was stupid and foolish. I’m sorry I ever let you go.”

“Brock…” His apology was sincere and it made you happy and peaceful, but it wasn’t going to change anything. He’d had his chance and, even though the odds said that you would never have your Bucky again, he was never going to have another one. You’d done that game and your death wasn’t going to make you want to play it again. Sure, you were grateful that he was here to help take care of you, but that didn’t entitle him to another shot at your heart. You’d learned your lesson and you were never going to let him in again.

“No, don’t say anything, Precious. I know what you’re going to say but I can’t hear it. Just… Just let me pretend for a moment that I have you back, that you’re mine once more; just for a little bit longer.” He let out a shuddering breath then, bowing his head and resting it on the bed. “Please…”

You stayed silent. You didn’t have the energy to burst his bubble. You closed your eyes as the room fell into silence once more. Maybe you could nap now, but you didn’t want to sleep. All you did anymore was sleep and you were tired of it.

“Rumlow,” called a soft voice in the dark.

You cracked your eyes open to see Peggy standing at the foot of your bed. She was looking down at the man that was sitting beside you, her eyes cold and unfeeling. You hadn’t even heard her come in…

He straightened up, letting go of your hand and standing. “Peggy.”

The woman’s eyes glowed softly in the dim light. “You can go home now,” she said, her voice low so as to not disturb you. “I’ve got her for the night.”

“Are you sure? Really, it’s no trouble for me to stay here and watch her.” You could hear it in his voice that he didn’t want to leave.

“I’m sure. Go home.”

Brock looked like he wanted to resist, but the stare that Peggy was giving him was withering. Eventually, he backed down, lowering his head in submission. “Call me if you need anything,” he mumbled before walking out of your room.

It was just you and Peggy now, and you cracked a weak smile up at her. “You got me?”

At the sound of your voice, she turned her attention to you and grinned. “Yeah, always.” She made her way over to the side of the bed and sat down in the chair that had become a permanent fixture in your room. “How are you doing?”

“Same as always,” you choked out. “I’ll be honest with you, Peggy: I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Your voice cracked as you spoke and your chest rose and fell with labored breaths. “It… It hurts so goddamn much.”

“I know, love. I know.” She reached forward and placed her hand on your forehead, letting it sit there as her eyes fluttered closed. “I know it hurts. I know you’re suffering and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you…” She swallowed heavily and took a shuddering breath. “I think we’re running out of time, (y/n).”

You figured; but it was different hearing it said. It had seemed that there was some unspoken rule that stated that they couldn’t talk about death or how fast you were dying out loud, but now Peggy was breaking that rule and it made the situation that much more real. If everyone was being honest, you had maybe a week left at this rate. It’d been two months and, while you’d put up as much of a fight as you could, you were fighting a losing battle. 

You only nodded your head slowly. “I know we are… I think I’ll be leaving you soon. My mom and sisters don’t want to admit it, but I can feel it. And I can guarantee that if you had Pierce look at me, he’d know that I’m… He’d know that I’m dying.”

Peggy winced as the words were said aloud. Her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulder shuddered. “I don’t want it to be so.”

“But it is so, Peggy; whether we like it or not…” You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Which brings me to another point that neither of us are going to want to talk about, but it has to be done. If— When I die, I want you to take over as Queen of the Underworld.”

“Wh-What?”

“My sisters have their own kingdoms, my mother is retired, and I don’t trust Pierce enough to place him on the throne. You’re the next eligible candidate for the throne, and so I want the crown to pass to you.” You smiled up at her. “You’ll make a fantastic queen.”

She shook her head. “No, no I won’t, (y/n), because you won’t die on us. We can’t let you.”

“Peg, I don’t think you have a choice.” You took another deep breath but this one hurt you and caused you to groan. “I’m sorry.”

Peggy pressed her lips together and stood. “It’s not your fault, love. You should sleep now. I’ve got some things I have to do, alright?”

You were a little saddened that she was leaving you, but you understood. You just dropped a major bomb on her and you would want to get away if you too were in her position. “Alright.” 

She left, leaving you all alone. The room was dark, silent save for the sound of your labored breathing. It was an eerie setting: you in bed—a corpse just barely living—in the dark with only the dim light from outside illuminating the room. If you weren’t stuck there, you’d be running out as fast as possible; but you couldn’t move. You didn’t think you ever would again. 

Your eyes fluttered shut. You took a shallow breath. You clenched and unclenched your hands. 

It’s almost over. It’s fine. It’ll be okay.

So why did your heart hurt so much?

Probably because you were leaving people behind.

That seemed like a common theme in death: it didn’t hurt the person dying, but it killed everyone left behind. You couldn’t help but think of your mother and sisters, of the few gods that had been your friends, of… Of Bucky.

Oh, Bucky. You wouldn’t ever get to apologize to him for hurting him, apologize for not being strong enough to protect him, apologize for not being strong enough to live for him. You just prayed that Peggy would talk to him after it was all said and done. Maybe he could go to your funeral. You’d like that—if he was there for one last goodbye even if you weren’t. Maybe he would forgive you anyways. 

You started to drift to sleep, letting the darkness over take you, when you were disturbed by a sharp breath. Your face contorted in discomfort as you forced your eyes open, ready to chew out whoever had disturbed your sleep, but the air was sucked from your lungs when you saw the figure at the foot of your bed.

Red rimmed the man’s eyes and dark bags sat beneath them. His skin had lost its summer glow. A short stubble had covered his jaw; he hadn’t shaved in a long time. The blue of his irises was obscured by tears welling up in his eyes. His hands, large and worn, gripped your footboard with white knuckles as he stared at you, his lips parted in a saddened gasp. 

Tears welled up in your own eyes as you gasped for the air that had been stolen from your lungs. Your mind must’ve been playing tricks on you; this wasn’t possible. But that didn’t stop you from croaking out, “B-Bucky?”

Next 18: He Holds Her Close

[anythingandeverything1d]

The right way

“Hey, there you are.” Your friend walked into the room, belly flopping on the couch next to you.

“Here I am.” you smiled. “I didn’t know I was being looked for.”

“Well, it seems you are a very hard person to reach today. I sent you a text, then I called, then I emailed you, and then I sent you a DM on every social media platform.”

“Causal.” you laughed.

Your friend rolled her eyes and smiled. “My point being, you didn't answer any of them. So I figured I would come over to make sure you weren't lying dead in a creek or something. But now that I’m here it seems you are.....kind of okay?”

“Kind of okay?”

“Well I mean judging by the reruns of Dance Moms, extra baggy sweat pants, unbrushed hair, and empty ice cream container, oh and the lack of being on your phone...I’m guessing something is going on.”

You sighed and fell back, your head landing lightly next to hers. “I am feeling like I am in a funk today.”

“What kind of funk?”

“You don’t want to know...”

“Come on (y/n)...you're my best friend. Of course I want to know.”

“I just...I don't know...I had the urge...Immissingharry.” you mumbled covering your face with your hands.

“Say again?” your friend asked sitting up with a concerned face. “I think I heard you wrong...”

You sighed and sat up. “I kind of miss Harry.”

“Why?” she scoffed. “I mean its been what a year?”

“Well actually 11 months and 28 days to be exact.”

“(y/n).”

“I don't know okay? I just woke up feeling that way. Like ever since we broke up my life has been missing something. Missing him. I know he's probably moved on, dating some model, but today I just felt like I really wanted him back.”

“Are you ill or?”

You laughed and fell back with a groan. “I don't get it...Like its been so long. I was doing so well. I had moved on. I mean I’m happy! I just miss him. Its like a light ache in my body that just reaches for him constantly.”

“Okay seriously we need to get you to a doctor.”

“Stoppp.” you groan. “I threw my phone somewhere over there.” You pointed to the opposite side of the room. 

“Why?”

“You don't want to know....”

“Oh my god. You didn’t.”

You covered your face and groaned. Your friend grabbed your hands and tugged them away from your face looking you directly in the eyes. You smiled at her, partly laughing. “I may have....”

“No way.”

“I couldnt help it...It was a moment of weakness and I gave in.”

“You actually texted him.”

“What? No.”

“Oh thank god.” She said relieved.

“I wouldn't do that.” She sat up and smiled.

“Good because-”

“I called him and left a voicemail.”

Her mouth dropped and you shrugged. “(y/n) please tell me you're kidding.”

“I really wish....”

“What did you say to him?!”

“Ughhh trust me it was so bad.”

“Tell me!”

“Just that I was thinking about him and wondering how life was and that I was sorry for bothering him and calling but it just seemed like something I needed to do.”

“Wow. Out of everything you could've said to your ex boyfriend a year later thats what you go with?”

“I didn’t want to make it a problem if he was busy, or dating someone, or if he didn't want to talk to me.”

“So if you already called, why is the phone over there?”

“Because....I don't want to know if he responds.”

“Oh my god! How long ago did you call him!”

“I don't know....I think it was like 5 am...”

“You called your ex boyfriend, HARRY FUCKING STYLES, at 5 fucking o clock in the morning?! (y/n)! I’m actually concerned for your well being. What the hell were you doing up so early?”

“I had a dream...a scary dream.” you mumbled.

“A scary dream? Seriously. About what?”

“Harry. I had a dream that he died...and I woke up feeling sick to my stomach. I felt like there wasn't a life left for me to live if he wasn't in it. So I called. I just wanted to see if he was okay....but then of course I couldn't stop thinking about him. Then I regretted the call.”

“You told him about the dream in your message didn't you? Were you like panicking as well.”

“I may have been kind of crying but it was so realistic....I just couldn't get it out of my mind.”

“Girl, you could've called me.”

“I know...I was going to but then I didn't want to know what he said back, if he said anything back at all, so I threw the phone and haven't moved from my couch since.”

“Good lord girl, come on we are going to find your phone and look.”

“No! I cant...”

“Why not?”

“Because.” “Because why?”

“Because what if he didn't respond?”

“Then he's exactly the asshole I told you he was a year ago!”

“11 months and 28 days...not a year.”

“Come on.” She sighed and grabbed your wrist, dragging you off the couch. 

It didn't take long to find your phone. You had thrown it into the bin your blankets were stored in and it had fallen just slightly to the side. Your friend handed it to you face down. “I cant.”

“Yes you can. Just flip it over.”

You took a deep breath and flipped the phone over, the light flashing across your face from the movements. You looked down. “11 texts and 2 missed calls.”

“From Harry? Wow that’s obsessive...”

“No. From you.”

“Oh. Well that sounds like a caring friend...”

You laughed and scrolled past your social media notifications and emails and took another big breath. “1 missed call and 2 texts from Harry.”

“Well...what do the texts say?”

You opened your phone and clicked on the message, reading out loud. “Hey, you seemed a little upset in your message. I wanted to make sure everything was okay...give me a call so I at least know you're okay. H”

“Well?”

“What?”

“Are you going to call him?”

“No.” you crossed your arms, setting your phone in your lap. “No, I’m not going to call him. I shouldn't have called him this morning.”

“(y/n)...”

“It’s fine. I’m over it now.” You stood up, walking to the kitchen for a drink. “There’s no point in messing with that whole thing again.” You took a sip of the water as your doorbell rang.

“Expecting someone?”

“No...well I am expecting a package.” You sat the glass on the counter and walked to the door pulling it open. Your eyes were pointed down looking for a package, but instead all you saw were a pair of very familiar Chelsea boots. You froze, but your eyes managed to drag slowly up the body of the man in the boots. Harry stood there, his hands behind his back. He was in your favorite black skinny jeans and a black Calvin Klein hoodie. His hair was pulled back into a small bun, and his green eyes were anxiously searching yours.

“Uh hey.” he mumbled with a smile.

You were speechless, staring at Harry with a confused look. “Well is it your new bikini- Oh my god. That’s not a bikini....”

“Hi.” Harry said to your friend. 

She grabbed your hand, her arm around your shoulder defensively. “Harry what are you doing here.”

“Uh...(y/n)...she actually called me this morning and uh...yeah I just- I never heard back from her so I figured I would stop by and make sure you know everything uh everything was okay.” You were sill so surprised you couldnt find words. Harry looked at youth a little bit of regret. “uh maybe I should be going now though...”

He turned to walk away but you shook your head. “Wait, uh do you want to come in?”

“What?” Harry said at the same time as your friend.

You shot her a look and turned to Harry speaking up more clearly. “Do you want to come in?”

He smiled and nodded, walking through the door. Harry made his way to the couch, sitting down and making himself comfortable. You sat on the opposite end and your friend sat in the middle. “Wow this hasn’t changed a bit.” he smiled at you.

“Yeah..I haven't had a lot of time for renovations.”

“I like it.” he said. 

“Well this isn’t awkward at all.” your friend mumbled.

Harry shifted uncomfortably and looked at you. “Uh I guess the reason I’m here...this morning when you called, the messaged seemed a little panicked and not okay. I figured you would text me back so when I didn’t hear anything I uh I got a little worried and figured I would stop by and check on you...I hope you don't mind.”

“No...no not at all. I’m sorry for the frantic call this morning.”

“Don’t be..I was kind of happy to see your name on my screen this morning. It uh, it felt normal..”

Your friend gagged but you smiled and nodded. “I called because I had a dream this morning. A dream where you died and well it was so realistic I just couldn’t shake it...I just wanted to make sure you were you know...alive.”

Harry laughed and held up his hands. “Still alive and breathing.”

You laughed and nodded. “I’m glad.”

Harry smiled, the dimples you loved showing on the corner of his mouth. “So uh, how have things been?”

“Not too bad...you know just been working a lot...trying to stay on top of everything. How about you? You went on tour right?”

“Yeah, yeah tour was amazing. It was weird not having you there... but we managed to get by and I think the fans enjoyed it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and looked down. “I’m sure they did. I mean you could probably forget the words to every song and they would still love you.”

Harry laughed and nodded. “A girl asked me to hit her with my car...”

“What?” you and your friend both asked.

“Yeah she said that I could hit her with my car, maybe even accidentally kill her and she would die the happiest she could've been.”

Your friends mouth dropped open. “I think thats my cue to go...(y/n) don't make me come back over later.. actually answer your phone. Harry..It was...a pleasure as always.”

“Yeah, nice to see you.”

“I’ll call you.” you promised as she walked towards the door.

“You better!” she called, walking outside, leaving you and Harry in the darkening living room.

You looked over at him and he looked at you. “So uh, writing any new music..”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve got some stuff I’m working on but I’m enjoying a little time off actually.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I know unbelievable but I just felt a little tired. Like I wanted some down time you know?”

“Yeah I cant imagine...you rarely have time off so I’m sure its been nice.”

“Yeah it has...” Harry’s eye locked on the picture sitting on the coffee table. It was of you and your friend. “Uh is this..is this your boyfriend?”

You laughed shaking your head, “No..no that’s Ryan...he uh he’s kind of like my gay best friend.”

“Gay best friend?”

“Yeah...kinda.”

“Why kinda? Is he gay? and is he your best friend?”

“Well yeah.”

“Then there’s no kinda there.” Harry laughed and you smiled. 

“Uh I’m sure your girlfriend has enjoyed you having this time off.”

“Yeah...well I don't actually have a girlfriend but I’m sure if I did she would enjoy it.”

You bit your lip and smiled. “What happened to that one girl..the model?”

“She was always just a friend..I just can’t go for the famous ones anymore.” Harry laughed. “My mum might lose her mind if I bring home another crazy model who won’t eat her cooking because of the calories.”

“Well she should. Your mom has the best cooking I think I’ve ever had.”

Harry smiled. “I remember you ate like the whole pan of brownies that one day and my mum told me you were the one. A real winner in her book.”

You laughed and nodded. “Your mom is kind of the sweetest person ever.”

“I know. I know. She’s amazing.” Harry looked at you thoughtfully. “She misses you ya know?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you were her favorite I think.”

“Well she was my favorite too.” You winked and Harry laughed softly. 

“Whatever I won't argue that one. My mum needs the wins.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous? Am not.”

“Whatever you say.”

“How’s your family doing?”

“They are okay...my dad actually kind of misses you I think.”

“No way...there’s no way he misses me.”

“I think he does. I mean I know my mom does.” You laughed. “She sends me articles on you all the time, saying how proud she is that you are killing it. My dad just misses your dad jokes. He can’t seem to come up with any that match yours.”

“I mean I am superior in the comedy field.” You shake your head smiling and he laughs. “So your mom actually sends you stuff on me?”

“Oh yeah. She will be like ‘look at what Harry did! What a cutie!’”

“And how do you respond?” Harry looked amused.

“I agree with her.” You smile and look away. “You know I’ve always been proud of what you're doing...” 

Harry nodded and bit his lip. He started saying something but you screamed as a bug flew into your face. You jumped up, scaring Harry and tripping over the blanket on the floor at your feet. Harry jumped up laughing and reached a hand down. “Are you okay?”

“No.” You grabbed his hand and stood up. “That bug just assaulted me.”

“I think you assaulted it too.” he laughed. He brushed the hair back from your face and smiled. Your breath caught and he was staring at your lip. Your eyes met his, no one said anything and he leaned in slowly. Your lips lightly touched his. His hands pulled you a little closer, his lips adding weight to the kiss. He pulled his lips away slightly, yours following suit and opening up. He kissed you harder, his tongue slowly pushing its way into your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his hair and his hands dropped down your back to your butt. The kiss was fiery and fierce. It was one that left you breathless and wanting more. Your phone was buzzing and you looked at Harry. He was breathing hard, his hands not leaving your body. You ignored the phone and kissed him softly again, this time your hands slid up his shirt to his chest. You could feel his heart racing, matching yours. “Wait-” Harry stepped back a minute. You looked at him confused and suddenly very embarrassed.

“I’m sor-”

“No. No. Stop.” He stepped in again, pecking a kiss on your nose. “I just want to do this right...”

“What do you mean?”

“I want us to do this the proper way if we are going to do it.”

You sat on the couch, running your fingers through your hair a little confused. “What exactly do you mean...”

“Look. I don't know what you’ve been feeling but ever since our break up I just haven't felt the same. Something has been missing. When I got your call this morning I realized it was you. You are the one thing I just haven't had and that I need. I want more than anything to tear those sweatpants off you and carry you to bed. But if you want this...I want to do it the right way.”

“What’s the right way?”

“I want to take you on a date. I respect you more than just to take you for your body. Don’t get me wrong. I want your body too. But I also know I want more...if you want more. If you don’t want more I mean I’m not opposed to carrying you up to bed right now..”

You sighed and pulled him on the couch next to you. You kissed his cheek and gripped his hand. “When you died in my dream. I realized I didn't want to live either. If you weren't alive I shouldn't be either. I didnt even realize how much I missed you but I do. I miss you so much....”

“Then it’s settled.” You looked at him confused and he grinned. “You and I are going on a date tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I don't want to waste anymore time not being with you...”

You smiled and nodded. “Tomorrow it is.”

Harry stood up and you followed. “Wear something nice.”

“Like how nice?”

“Whatever you feel like.”

“Harry.”

“Youre going to look beautiful in anything. I mean look at these sweatpants...they are what 3 sizes too big and I’m feeling like I want to tear them off you and devour you from the bottom up.” You blushed and Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00.” With that he turned and walked out. You grabbed your phone, seeing multiple texts and missed calls from your friend. 

You fall back into the couch and smile, texting her back. *you will never guess what just happened...*

*what? wait don't tell me. you and Harry had sex.*

*no.*

*shit I really thought thats what it was.*

*he asked me on a date*

*seriously*

*yeah*

*you two dated for like what 2 years and he only asked you on a date*

*well we also kissed*

*I knew it. when's the date*

*tmrrw*

*where's he taking you*

*Idk...just said to dress nice...what the fuck does that mean tho*

*to dress nice*

*thats not helpful*

*I'll help you tmrrw. how do you feel about it*

*excited....I really do miss him*

*I know you do*

--- 

So I got a request about having them break up but get back together...this is what that turned into. There will be a second part though so stayed tuned ;)

let me know what you think so far!

xoxo

[joshslater]

Grimsby pt. 2

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"Canny mint spot, innit. Just by our door."

Declan expertly squeezed the Corsa into an empty spot next to the pavement on one of the narrow streets lined with like a million identical buildings of dirt-yellow brick townhouses. The building next to us looked run down, with a heap of rubbish lining the stairs to the front door. But that was the same for pretty much every house on this street. As we walked to the door I could see some grafitti wannabe artist had tagged the door with a thuggish looking "BROWN" in felt pen. Declan unlocked and motioned me to get in.

Having seen the outside, the inside didn't pose any surprises. Run down and filled with rubbish. It wasn't just dumped there though, but it looked like someone had lived there for quite a while. Empty beer cans, pizza boxes and dirty laundry all around the place.

"How long have you been staying here?" "Came yesterday. Drove when Butcher told me to." "But whose is all this?" "Chayse Brown. Ghosted a week ago. Now you're him."

I felt a chill up my spine. I wonder if the real Chayse was still alive or if he had just ran away from whatever Butcher Jones threatened him with. In any event it looked like I was set up with a spacious home and all the fag stubs a man could need. There were ash trays everywhere. Well, fewer insects I guess, which balanced the enormous amount of empty take away boxes that also littered the place.

”This is a lot... Do you think any of the clothes fit?” "You're already wearing it, mate."

Declan gave me a quick tour. There were two bedrooms upstairs, one with a real bed and clothes everywhere. It looked like a lost and found bin at a gym. A small bathroom with a shower, and a second bedroom with a rickety spare bed and an attempt at a home gym. Downstairs were a large living room with a big sofa, a decent TV and, to my joy, an Xbox. Next to the living room, under a ton of rubbish, I presumed you would find a kitchen if you dug deep enough. The path to the fridge was open at least, and Declan fetched me a can of Stella.

"You fancy a curry, lad?"

Did I ever? I hadn't eaten or drunk anything the entire day, which probably was why I was drunk already at my second Stella when the food arrived half an hour later. We spent the rest of the evening in front of the TV watching footie, drinking Stella and Dec showing me how to smoke properly. I barely registered Declan telling me we needed to be somewhere before 10 the next day, and I have no idea when we did decide to go to bed.

I did see that the time was 7:22 in the fucking morning when he woke me up. At least when I had regained enough focus to find the mobile. Apparently I had managed to plug the USB charger by the bed into the phone, and luckily it was the right kind of charger. My mouth tasted of death, my head hurt and my ears hurt. I surprised myself finding a stud in the fresh ear piercing, and manage to make it really hurt by accidentally tugging it. That brought the past day back. Fuck. Not even 24 hours ago I was sleeping in my own bed. Now I was wearing someone else's clothes, sleeping on top of someone else's messy bed. It hadn't even crossed my mind yesterday that I probably should wash things up, but then I hadn't been sober enough to consider undressing either. Looking out over the mess of a room I absentmindedly stroked my buzz and felt the morning wood stir a bit. Fuck no! Don't go there!

"Have a wash. Hafta go soon."

I did as Declan told and had a shower, hoping that would make things better. At least water would make the hangover some good. The only option was a big bottle of 3-in-1 adidas shower whatever, generically labeled "after sport". Since I already had his house, name, clothes and smelled like the guy, I decided to use his toothbrush as well.

"Y'alreet?" "Let's go." “Hey, Dec. You said you came the day before yesterday, but I only agreed to come yesterday." “Fate, innit”

How long had Butcher Jones been planning this? Or perhaps Chayse Brown was a role people rotated into three month each. Take guys of the same size, shave them, chav them and put them in a social grade E area and no one would look close enough to care. Makes you wonder what is going on here that he need this kind of operation for.

“You been here before?” “Grimsby? Fuck no.”

And go we did. Apparently Declan wanted to save on petrol money and decided we should walk to the dock. Everything looked pretty much the same, street after street, just different rubbish. All around us everything was quite green and colorful, so it wasn’t ugly depressing in a communist state sense of the word, but everything was worn and clearly not everyone was interested in upkeep. While we had a walking breakfast of Richmond Blue king size cigarettes and a shared Stella, Declan explained that Butcher Jones had me set up with someone at the fish market. He didn’t know more than that. It took us almost two hours to get there, and Dec had me ask for direction twice. By the time we got there my hangover was almost gone.

The fish market was busy with shoppers browsing, talking to merchants and sitting down for a bite. Everything looked newly renovated, with a modern look, slates, stainless steel, LED lighting everywhere. It all looked quite fancy. Declan stopped the first person he could find that looked like he worked there.

“Oi, you Jamie?” “No. Jamie who?” “Jamie Naylor” “Eehh... He’s probably in packaging. Go through that door over there.”

As we passed through the door he had pointed it was almost like going from the audience seats back stage. Harsh light and wet concrete. Not that many people.

“Oi, you Jamie?” “Aye. What can I do for you, lads?” “My mate Chayse Brown, Butch...” Jamie cut him off. “Good day Chayse. Mr. Jones put in a word for you. We lack some hands after the first rush, so he suggested someone could come pick up some slack. Is that you?” “Yeah”, I answered. “Need someone to move boxes, ice and stuff between 7 and 2. £60 cash after each shift, none the wiser. Sounds good to you?” “Aye.” “You can come in tomorrow?” “He will”, Declan answered for me.

We shook on it and left.

“Hey, I’m starving. Can we have chippie?” “You’ll hate them soon enuf. Let’s have burger”

We found a Burger King some 15 minutes away, and Declan bought two whoppers, no menu, using some 2-for-1 coupon. As I sipped the cold water from the paper cup and looked out at the fish market in the distance I was feeling tired again. Starting 7, I thought, and probably 1 and a half hour walk, I would have to rise at 5. I wondered if lifting boxes with iced fish would get you cold or sweaty. Perhaps a bit of both. Good thing there is a lot of shitty athletic wear laying around at home I can use.

I almost didn’t realize it. “Home”. How quickly you accept things. Declan was back with the whoppers.

“There’s your scran. Plenty of time for next appointment.” “There are more?” “Need to ink you to fit propa. I figure you haven’t any?” “Never.” “What you want? Nike or adidas?” “I... don’t understand.” “Swoosh thing or weed logo?” “Both are kind of tacky.” “I’ll pick then.”

We spent probably two hours just talking at the Burger King table. I wasn't wearing my watch anymore, so I didn't track it as well as I would otherwise. Other than some indifferent girl offering to clear our table, no one seemed to give a shit that we sat there. Dec spent a lot of time trying to get me to retell as much as possible of last evenings matches. It was hard. For one thing I was drunk, but more importantly I didn't really care. Also I had this low level of unease about the whole tattoo thing.

I was going back and forth between feeling violated for having this sprung on me, to be permanently marked with some shitty tat. On the other hand who doesn't have a tattoo? And a lot of them aren't that great anyway. This is after all part of getting me into some sort of disguise as quickly as possible. I didn't make the barbers appointment either. Perhaps the lacks of giving a shit was contagious from the burger staff, but once we walked into the tattoo studio I was pretty indifferent to it.

"Hafta wax it." "What? Why?" "If it’s shaved, people can tell. Can't look fresh."

That's how I had molten wax poured on me for the first time ever. People do this during sex? I guess that part was nothing compared to the pain when hair was ripped out of their follicles. And of course it wasn't enough to just get the area for the tattoo smooth. Tom, the heavily tattooed and pierced guy that appeared to be constantly flirting with both me and Declan, made my entire front almost completely smooth, leaving just some wisps of hair around the nipples and part of the treasure trail, before moving on to the tattooing part.

Declan selected some ink that would look a bit faded right away and asked Tom to make the edges a bit soft. I watched as he slowly filled in the outline of an old school adidas logo, making it look like I wore a permanent track top. You could laser it away I suppose, but I knew that wouldn't happen. It takes like a year, hurts like hell, and I'm completely broke. I don't even own the underwear I’m sitting in.

Once Tom was done with the inking and asked me to check myself in the mirror, I got a shock. It wasn't the tattoo. I'd been looking at it all while it was injected into my skin. No, it was the rest of me. For a brief moment I didn't recognize anything in the mirror except for the tattoo. It had somehow slipped my mind that I looked nothing like I did 30 hours ago.

Declan nodded approvingly, and handed over a new nicotine patch. “Looking mint”

[m39]

History of the Creed - Part 1: Assassin’s Creed 2

So… I’ve decided to do a marathon of my favorite game series, Assassin’s Creed (minus [probably] the first one) because Valhalla (which I’ll not buy until one year after its release) and some part of me decided that I should review them.

But wait a minute… I hear one you saying. Don’t you have over 250 Doom WADs to check?

Well, yes. But then again we kind of like to pile on new idea after another to do when there’s an opportunity. There is still the Galaxia WAD in make for one of you who liked my WAD reviews but I believe that the AC reviews will take a lead for now.

Also the reason that I’m not reviewing Assassin’s Creed 1 is because now when I think about it, it doesn’t sound that good as it was.

You are having a PTSD attack over flags, Templars and “side missions”.

Okay, let’s talk about something else. What I’ve decided to do is to play these games in a semi-completionist style, in other words: if there are some side activities in missions, I am not expecting to replay them to get it all 100% because I would go nuts restarting the mission/control point every time I failed this one, specific side activity. But the rest as in: all collectibles, side missions and places to clear? I’ll do my best to do them all… Even Odyssey…

…

I’m fucked.

But enough of that. Let’s talk about the game that is proclaimed to be the best game in this series.

ASSASSIN’S CREED 2 (The original PC release in Europe: March 5, 2010)

PLOT

It is Italy in the early Renaissance times. You are Ezio Auditore da Firenze, a young lad from a family of nobles who’s head of the family, Giovanni, is an Assassin. One day you find it out when your father and brothers are imprisoned and the next day they end up executed so you swear revenge on those Templar MoFoes for what they did.

Ah, revenge, the good, old plot device that never gets boring when it’s done right. And by being done right I mean when it has a nicely written characters. And that character is Ezio. I mean, who doesn’t like him? This motherfucker oozes with charm and personality. And Roger Craig Smith only solidifies it. He even gets a good character development. Example: When Ezio kills the guy who betrayed his family, his next goal is to run away to Spain with his mother and sister. After living two years in his uncle Super Mario’s villa, training under his eye and reading about Assassins and Templars, while still wanting to escape Italy, he’s now having a doubts about this plan and not until the harsh talk with his uncle decides that he’ll help destroy the Spaniard’s band of goons and get a revenge on him.

The secondary characters are fine but that’s it. They are perfectly okay with few of them standing out like Leonardo da Vinci (seriously, your best friend is Leonardo. Fucking. Da Vinci.). The villains are also just okay. Some of them have a personality of a Saturday cartoon villain, some of them are more dimensional. Rodrigo Borgia however goes to the former group. I mean, I don’t find him terrible at all, it just I wish he were better. But props to Manuel Tadros for playing him. He did a very good.

Oh yeah there is also some stuff in the modern times. It’s not bad but it basically exists only to move the plot forward and give us a reason why you can see the stuff from the past. But hey, the Desmond Saga is still better than this Initiate bullshit of the modern days plot.

GAMEPLAY

Assassin’s Creed 2 is basically the first game on steroids. You assassinate targets, you sometimes run using your parkour skills and sometimes fight with the enemies. There are some new stuff when you care this to Assassin’s Creed 1 like: Being able to use two hidden blades at once, healing yourself with medicine, shooting enemies with your loud hidden pistol, using smoke bombs, throwing money on the ground (LEAVE ME ALONE YOU BARD HYENAS!) and poisoning people, making them go apeshit (which I used only once in this run, in 13th sequence to be exact). Asides from the regular guards and archers there are three new types of enemies: Brutes, the heavy armored fatsoes, Agiles that can dodge your regular attacks and Seekers, who have a long ranged weapon and can easily find you in a haystack. You can also buy new, better weapon/armor and a bigger sacks for your knifes/medicine/poison. There is also a notoriety meter. When you fill it to 100% the guards will automatically be suspicious when you are in their line of sight. You can decrease it by ripping off posters, paying off heralds and killing the witnesses.

However, in spite of all of this crap that was added, this game feels easier than the first one. It’s not like it’s somewhat major con for me (I would rather play the game that is too easy than too hard) but I can understand some of you have a big problem with that. Imagine this: in theory, when you are spotted, you must use your abilities to run away from the enemies and use combat only as the last resort. But then I ask: why should you do that?! You are so powerful, you can destroy the entire Venetian army in 10 minutes! You are getting more durable and powerful with each sequence! Agiles can die by one counter attack! You can steal Brute’s/Seeker’s weapon, then one-shot them and then use their weapon to one-shot another fool who’s stupid enough to attack you! The fights are that easily! Sure it’s kind of tougher than I remember but still! Even if you don’t want to fight, smoke bombs helps you tremendously in both running away and fighting. Not to mention the enemies being stupid and that they couldn’t catch you most of the time.

Changing slightly the subject, you can also hire mercenaries/courtesans/thieves to help you distract guards. They are pretty helpful in missions, both the main ones and the side ones but outside of them they are rather useless because... well... I already explained you that.

Remember how in the first game you couldn’t swim? Well, now you can do this and use gondolas. Personally, however, I felt like I was faster on my own than on a venetian mini-boat.

ACTIVITIES

There is many stuff to do in this game. Like much more than you think. You can for instance buy paintings, collect money from chests/codex pages/feathers, find glyphs and solve their riddles, (like in previous game) you can climb on viewpoints to reveal a huge chunk of map, deliver letters, race to beat the best time of members of the guild of thieves, beat up unfaithful husbands, collect 6 seals to get Altair’s armor and fund for renovations of many buildings in Monteriggioni. Most of this stuff gives you more and more money every 20 in-game minutes by increasing the town’s status (which you have to withdraw from your villa).

In other words, the predecessor of your typical, modern, Ubiconic game. Personally I enjoyed doing these stuff but be warned; if you want to go after feathers, check a guide on their locations (same with Monteriggioni’s roman gods’ statues). I know at least one guy who went insane after trying to find the last one in Tuscany.

Liquid Bogan (in the background): F̴e̸a̴t̸h̶e̵r̵e̵s̷ ̶a̴r̷e̵ ̵l̴i̸f̵e̶,̴ ̶b̶r̸o̷t̷h̸e̸r̶.̸ ̶W̷e̵ ̶m̵u̵s̴t̴ ̸c̷o̸l̴l̴e̴c̸t̵ ̷a̸l̸l̷ ̸f̸e̸a̶t̷h̴e̶r̴e̵s̵,̶ ̷y̵i̵s̵?̶

He’s definitely fine.

THE GRAPHICS AND SOUND

This is where it turns into mixed-bag. While the sound effect are still very good, the graphics however, didn’t age well. Sure, the landmarks still look awesome and I love some of the details like the fact that some dust from buildings comes off when you climb but the character models… I don’t think they survived the time after the game’s release. The textures look sometimes blurry as shit, facial animation looks from time to time wonky, it looks especially bad in cutscenes. Then again, I don’t think people liked how they looked even in 2009 since I remember watching a review from my native country and the reviewer said that the character models lack polish when you take a closer look.

The soundtrack though… Jesus. Like, what can be said about it after so many people said earlier? There is a reason why people are calling it one of the best soundtracks in video games of all times. I would choose you three of those worth a listening but asides from the first three in the official soundtrack (for obvious reasons) there is too much to choose. So, here’s the whole bloody soundtrack.

STABILITY

Even though I played the PC version (and I heard that the PC version was a mess at the beginning) I didn’t really had many problems. Framerate was constantly smooth and I didn’t notice any drop in it. There were however 2 nasty bugs. The first one crashed the game when you have to choose if you want to play the memory or not; it happened at least 3 times. The second was when trying to assassinate Antonio Maffei and that monk fucker decided to noclip himself into the tower. Like- What the- WHAT THE FU-

Technical Difficulties.

Maybe it was because I paid the nearby herald. I don’t know.

SUMMARY

Despite its graphics getting somewhat dated and the game being kind of buggy, Assassin’s Creed 2 is still a fantastic game and I fully recommend it to you. Check it for yourself (if you haven’t already) and while at it, tell me your opinion about this game.

Thank you all for reading this long-ass review and I’ll see you next time.

Bye!

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #28: Souvenirs

Summary: Crowley doesn’t collect souvenirs. Of course he doesn’t. Souvenirs are stupid.

__

Humans and their constant need for knickknacks and souvenirs was something that had long puzzled and occasionally disgusted Crowley. He didn’t understand the instinct to crowd your surroundings with cheap little pieces of plastic that served only to remind you of something you were already going to remember fondly. Does looking at a snow globe really make you more nostalgic for your trip to the beach, he wondered. Does a shot glass emblazoned with a tacky lizard really take you back to Mexico?

He thought not.

He would never stoop so low.

No, his souvenirs were entirely different.

++

“When did you get this?” Aziraphale called from another room, on one of his rare visits to Crowley’s apartment in the days before Armageddon loomed.

Crowley hurriedly finished with putting the groceries away and wandered out to see what the angel was looking at now, only to find him running a hand over the eagle statue he’d liberated from the church after it was bombed. The church with the Nazis, where he’d rescued Aziraphale and Aziraphale had, in turn, saved them from incineration.

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Caught my eye when we were, you know – and I just decided that it would look nice in here.”

Aziraphale looked at him, one eyebrow raised coolly. “You stole this from a church?”

“No!” the demon said, a tad defensively. “I stole it from an exploded church. That’s entirely different.”

The angel, to his relief, laughed and didn’t press him any further, or question his explanations of why he had a piece of (formerly) consecrated statuary in his abode.

++

Several years later, as Crowley moved into the bookshop, Aziraphale tried to be helpful and assist him with some of his unpacking. This quickly became problematic because the demon was almost as fussy with his belongings as the angel was, and trying to help quickly led to having orders barked at him, being handed a box and then screamed at to “no don’t touch that” or “for fuck’s sake, be careful with that angel, it’s old!” until Aziraphale finally sat back and quit.

“I think I’ll just watch, if that’s all right, my dear,” the angel said, leaning back in the armchair and whipping himself up a whiskey – no, better make that a double – and taking a deep, calming breath.

“Perfect,” Crowley said. “Company is good. Helping is not.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sipped his drink. He wasn’t truly put out, though, because he enjoyed watching Crowley do almost anything, and he had to admit that a fascinating array of items were emerging from Crowley’s boxes.

“What’s that?” he asked at one point, when Crowley pulled out a hunk of what looked like iron link chain.

“Oh,” Crowley said, “that’s nothing.” He looked around for a small wooden chest he’d unpacked earlier and quickly crammed it inside, but not quickly enough to prevent the angel from catching a glimpse of a variety of odd-looking objects inside.

“No, it’s not,” Aziraphale said, “what was that? It looked like chain.”

Crowley looked at him for a long beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “It’s a piece of chain.”

“From where?”

“From the Bastille.”

Aziraphale sat up with interest. “You have a piece of the chains from the Bastille? Why?”

“Well –” the demon sputtered for a moment. “Because I’m a demon, aren’t I? Never know when you’re going to need chains. Might have to secure something. Always pays to be prepared.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but he could see the demon’s discomfort from where he was sitting, so he decided to gracefully let it go.

++

It was nearly two years later when it came up again. Both demon and angel had gradually shed many of their secrets, learning to reveal themselves, slowly and carefully, to each other. Aziraphale supposed the process would never really stop, finding new layers, peeling back the surface just a little bit more. It was almost addictive, really, the sudden surprise of finding something new about oneself that your love wanted you to open up about, the shock of pain and fear (lessened over time) wondering if this was it – the one thing that the other would not be able to accept, the one thing they would turn away or laugh at. And then the wonderful warmth and glow of being accepted, continually and constantly accepted, just as you were. It was better than any kind of drug, it was scarier and more rewarding than the highest roller coaster. It was the best kind of falling.

So when they decided to renovate the bedroom a little bit – expand the walls to make a little more space for a seating area, move Crowley’s big black wardrobe to a different wall, paint it dove gray – and the small wooden trunk appeared from its spot where it had been hidden in the corner behind the wardrobe, Aziraphale felt they’d progressed far enough that he could ask the question he’d wanted to ask at the start.

“Love,” the angel said carefully, “can you tell me about that trunk?”

Crowley sat down on the bed and looked at the item in question. It was a small, black wooden travelling chest, the old kind that were designed to be strapped on the back of a carriage and were reasonably-sized enough that they could be carried by hand if needed.

“I got it in Lisbon,” he replied evasively. “It’s old.”

Aziraphale gave him a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Crowley took a deep breath and picked it up, placing it on the bed next to him. “Okay,” he said. “Come see.”

Aziraphale walked over and sat down cross-legged across from the demon and smiled encouragingly. “Only what you want to show me, of course. But it seems like it’s important to you and I’d love to know more.”

“It’s things – things I’ve collected over the years,” the demon said. “Silly stuff, mostly.”

Crowley opened the lid. Inside were a hodge-podge of items, none of which made any initial sense to the angel from his vantage point.

The demon started with the chain segment, which was on top. “Already know about that one,” he said, laying it aside.

The next thing he pulled out was a piece of charred wood, about the length of his hand. “This…” he cleared his throat, nervously, “this is from the fire, at Glastonbury, where I pulled you out at the last moment.”

Aziraphale blinked, utterly surprised.

Crowley laid it carefully on the bed next to the chains. He pulled out a small bundle of red cloth and unwrapped it carefully, revealing an ivory-colored hunk. “This is a tooth from the big wolf that almost ate you in Germany in the 1100s.”

Aziraphale reached out and touched it, curious. “I’d forgotten about that. You saved me, ran him through just as he was landing on top of me.”

“Yep.” Crowley refused to look up. He continued to finger through the contents of the box, trying to decide what to pull out next. He came up with an old-fashioned metal pomander, a small silver sphere full of holes, with what looked like an ancient crumble of herbs and flowers inside it. It was attached to a long slender chain.

“This,” he said, “is from the fourteenth fucking century, when you got the plague.”

“I didn’t get the plague,” Aziraphale admonished.

“Oh, didn’t you?” Crowley said hotly. “Ran around helping and healing everyone until you were literally fainting on your feet left and right, drained all of your grace, then showed up at more door literally swaying and moaning about how you didn’t feel so good? You definitely got the plague. You just didn’t die because you weren’t human. But I had to nurse you back to health for almost two weeks, you fucking idiot.”

Aziraphale fidgeted his hands; he had to admit his memory was rather fuzzy on that whole point, but the demon’s words had a ring of truth to them. It sounded like exactly what he would have done. And there was a suspicious two week break in his memory of that time.

“Still a sore point, then, is it?”

“Damn straight,” Crowley said. “Why do you think I hated the fourteenth century so damn much?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. He reached out and took the pomander and took a sniff of it, then sneezed explosively. “Well that was foolish of me,” he said ruefully.

Crowley grinned a little, but his eyes looked oddly vulnerable.

“So, Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Are you telling me that you’ve been saving something from each and every time you’ve rescued me? For all these years?”

Crowley blushed. Watching a demon blush, Aziraphale had discovered, was an unmitigated pleasure. For all his swagger, Crowley was incredibly easily embarrassed, and he blushed beet red from his hairline down to his collar when he felt exposed.

“Perhaps,” he finally mumbled. “Just, you know, something to remind me that you’re a bloody moron and I better keep an eye on you.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, not fooled for one minute. “I don’t think that’s the reason,” he said.

“What do you know? You’re the angel who got the plague, for fuck’s sake.”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned in to kiss the demon soundly. “Well thank you for showing me your souvenirs, love… it’s wonderful to see them!”

“For heav – for hell—for Satan’s sake, they are not souvenirs, angel!” the demon snapped. “Souvenirs are stupid, tacky little coasters and keychains made in china and weird hats that don’t fit anyone right. I do NOT collect souvenirs.”

“Of course not, my mistake,” the angel said soothingly.

“These are my memories, that’s all.”

“That’s good enough for me, dear.”

Crowley snapped the box closed again. “All right, enough of that. Let’s get that wardrobe shifted, ok?”

Aziraphale let himself be distracted, knowing full well that he was going to ask the demon to show him the rest of the box at the next possible opportunity. He had learned, through six millennia, to be quite patient in his pursuits. He knew he would get there eventually.

[lilacsos]

Glory Days: Greaser AI Part 1

A/N: So, this is the first part of a story I came up with! Thanks to my dad, @heartbreak-5sos , for helping me out with this. I’m actually pretty excited about this series I have planned up. I made the like moodboard up there for the story. Anyway, I would love any and all feedback!

Words: 4.3k (yikes)

Pairing: Eventual greaser!Ashton Irwin x OC Nova McAlister

*Warnings*: Swearing, ghosts, ouiji boards, mediums, witches, mentions of violence and shooting

Summary: Nova and her boyfriend Calvin recently moved into a house that Nova bought. Everything was going great until Nova began to hear funny sounds, see shadows, and find cold spots in her new home. After some research, she learned that the leader of the South Side greaser gang in the 50s, Ashton Irwin, died in her home. Now in order to make him leave, she is faced with the task of bringing him back to life

Masterlist   Wanna be tagged?

     After years and years and years of saving, Nova McAlister finally saved enough money to buy her own home. She was beyond thrilled especially since she would be living in her new home with her long-time boyfriend Calvin. The two had been an on and off again couple since they were 17. Recently, they’ve been on a good streak and have been ‘on’ for about four years. Now that Nova is 23 and Calvin is 25, they feel secure in their relationship and like they are really in it for the win. Which is how they came to the conclusion to buy the house together. With the keys to her new home in hand, Nova pushed open the front door, taking in her new home. It was a simple house. Originally it was built in 1950 but it had been renovated in 2015 to make it more appealing to the general public. A family bought it right after it went on the market and they lived there for a little over three years before they sold the house as well. Nova wasn’t quite sure why they sold the house, but it was going for a good price and there wasn’t much work to be done so she bought it. It was a simple two-bedroom one-bathroom house with kitchen tucked in the back along with a small nook the previous family used as a dining room. Each bedroom had a sizable closet and enough room for a queen-sized bed to fit comfortably. Down below in the basement was a washer and dryer. There was no garage for the car but there was a driveway, so Nova didn’t mind. The kitchen was remodeled and now had all the newer appliances, the heater and air conditioner were in great shape, and all the plumbing was new. She didn’t think it could get any better. Calvin wasn’t thrilled with the house but considering the fact that it was Nova who paid for it all, he didn’t get a say. Nova squealed as she saw all their boxes and furniture sitting in the empty space that would soon be their living room. In her joy, she spun around and threw her arms around Calvin.

     “This place is perfect!” She kissed his cheek before she ran into her new home, her fingers running over the walls. They would be making so many memories here and she couldn’t wait to get started on that. “The internet guy said he would be here tomorrow to get started on hooking all of that up for us.” She whispered, feeling arms wrap around her waist.

     “You really like this place don’t you Nova?” Calvin asked, kissing the side of her neck.

     “Of course I do!” She spun around to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “This place is perfect. Especially since I get to share it with you.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before she slipped out of his arms and went to look at all the boxes. “Now, you know what would make this place even more perfect?”

     Calvin, already knowing her answer, rolled his eyes. Just to humor her, he asked, “what’s that?”

     “You help me with these boxes. I need your muscles.” She laughed and made her way to the large pile of boxes cluttering the new house

     Nova dropped down onto the couch and sighed deeply. “I am so glad you could move the big stuff.”

     “Oh, I’m sure you could have done it too my love.” Calvin came to sit next to her, pulling her feet onto his lap. “What else do we have to do to make this place amazing?”

     Nova thought it out, wondering just what this place was missing. It had the charm, clearly. It now had furniture. The internet and phone would be set up tomorrow. Besides some little décor items, she didn’t see anything missing. “I don’t think it needs anything.” She smiled up at him.

     Calvin hummed in thought before he shook his head. “I think it’s missing something.”

     “Really? What is it?” She asked, suddenly worried she had forgotten something important.

     “We need to make some memories here,” he whispered, moving her feet off of his lap and onto the floor as he began to crawl on top of her, “and I know just the one to start with.”

     Nova and Calvin laid in bed, her playing with his fingers and him playing with her hair. “You know I love your hair,” Calvin whispered as he twirled the strands around his fingers. “Love the color, love the curls, love the smell.”

     “You’re so weird.” Nova laughed and pushed his hand away from her. “You really love the color though?” Nova had grown up in a very beachy city where everyone always had beautiful blonde, beach wavy hair. Nova had dark brown, very close to black, hair and some of the craziest curls you’d ever seen. Hermione has nothing on her. So, of course, this was an insecurity she had growing up, knowing she didn’t look like all the other girls she knew and went to school with. Once she reached 15, she bleached her hair and she was blonde for a while, but she didn’t like it. Took a major change for her to realize that she likes her hair the way it always was. Of course she can still get insecure about it which might be the reason Calvin seemed to mention how much he loved it so often.

     “Course I do. I love everything about you.” Calvin kissed her cheek and smiled, pulling her close to his chest. “I happen to think you’re perfect.”

     The first few nights in the house were amazing, to say the least. Nova loved every second of it and once the internet had been hooked up, she loved it even more. Nova had been working for the local newspaper for the last few years, writing stories and such. Her real dream was to be an author but for now, the newspaper was great. She hardly had to go to an office to work which was great. She could stay home in her pajamas as long as she wanted. Life was good. She had a great boyfriend, a job she loved, and now she had an amazing house that was all hers. Really, she couldn’t think of anything that could go wrong. Ok, she could think of a lot of things that could go wrong but she didn’t want to dwell on the bad things that could happen. She wanted to focus on the good things that had already happened. Her and Calvin got started making memories right away, planning for the future, discussing repainting the walls, and even adding another room. So far, things seemed perfect. Of course Nova couldn’t stop the nagging words that seemed to creep into her mind constantly. Calvin worked for a tow truck company, so he was often gone during the days and even was on call during the night. It made life a little harder knowing that sometimes she could wake up at two in the morning and find his side of the bed empty. She knew he would never leave her for someone else or anything like that, but it didn’t stop the worries. After all, back when Nova was 18 and Calvin was 20, they were on a break and he slept with some girl. The fight the two had was huge and there had been a lot of yelling. Nova cried more that night than she had in the past month. Calvin yelled at her for thinking that because they were on a break that meant they couldn’t see other people. It wasn’t that Nova thought he couldn’t see someone new, she just didn’t think he would do that the day of their break up. That was their longest break up as the two were separated for about six months. Calvin spent those six months with the girl he had slept with and Nova spent them on her own, going to school to get her mind off of whatever the love of her life was doing. After their break, Calvin came back to Nova and asked if they could get back together. It was no surprise when Nova agreed and soon, they were back to acting like lovesick teenagers. However, their relationship was never the same after that. Nova was always worried that one wrong move would cause Calvin to leave her. She never brought up their break anymore because whenever she did, Calvin would go off on her. That wasn’t the worst for her though. Whenever Nova asked if he had been seeing someone else, he would begin yelling at her and blaming her for being worried and not trusting him. Sometimes when he really wasn’t in a good mood, he would break up with her. Nova knew this wasn’t how most relationships worked but this was hers and she wanted it to last. So, she put up with it. She put up with the yelling and the fighting and the constant breakups.

     A sudden sound brought Nova from her thoughts, causing her to spin around in her chair and look for the source of the noise. It sounded like a door or a window had slammed closed. That didn’t make any sense to her. There had been no open doors or windows, at least not that she knew of. She carefully stood, adjusting the waistband of her shorts before she began wandering around the house. Nova kept her eyes peeled for anything that looks like it could have been an open door or window. She stopped at each door and window, checking everything she could find. It seemed like nothing had been opened so she made her way back to her seat. Right as she sat down, she heard a loud crash and she spun around. There on the floor behind her was a broken vase. Glass and water scattered the floor. That vase hadn’t been anywhere near the edge of the table. She made sure of that because she was pretty clumsy. If anything breakable was too close to an edge of a table or anything else, would end up on the floor with Nova around. With a soft sigh, she made her way over to the broom and dustpan and began sweeping up the glass. Something wasn’t right about this. It was just her in the house so how on earth did something like this happen? She carefully dumped the glass and did one last check of the floor before returning to her seat. She started to work on her assignment for the paper again when it began to get very cold. “What the hell?” She whispered to herself and took note that she could see her own breath now. This wasn’t right. Something was off and she didn’t like it. Nova began to do some digging online, looking for an answer to what all of this could mean. Random sounds, falling vases, and now a sudden chill to the room? What the fuck is this? It didn’t take Nova long to find her answer. “Ghosts?” That makes no sense because ghosts aren’t real. Ghosts and demons and witches are not real. Sure there are people that claim they can do magic but they’re either liars or they’re crazy. Nova quickly shut her laptop and step away from the desk. She needed to clear her mind and get out of this house for a minute. 

     She threw on some clothes she wouldn’t mind being seen in and made her way outside, making sure to lock the door before she left. She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she began walking. She had no idea where she was going but she knew she just needed to clear her head. She had to get this paper done by tomorrow and she wasn’t going to be able to do that if she was worried about something that doesn’t exist. At the end of the street, Nova could see a book store and she decided that would be a good place to go. She could always use new books to read. Within a few minutes, she made her way inside and began wandering the aisles, not really looking for anything in particular. At the very back of the room, she saw a glass case that was locked. Curiosity got the best of her and she took a look at what was inside. On the shelves in the case were tarot cards, books on spells and astrology, and right in the middle was a Ouija Board. At first, she rolled her eyes at the discovery but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to buy the board. Ghosts aren’t real so if she got the board it really wouldn’t mean anything, but she could test it out and see if maybe, possibly, there was something in her house. No, that’s absurd. She doesn’t need one because there is no such thing as ghosts. She quickly turned around and made her way out of the store, not wanting to waste any more time here. Nova kept her head down as she walked home, not wanting to see anything that could make her think of ghosts or anything else that isn’t real.

     After struggling to get the key into the lock, she finally made it inside and took a look around the place. Nothing seemed to be out of place so she could only assume she was overreacting.

          The rest of the first week in the house went smoothly. Nothing fell and broke and there were no more slamming doors. Calvin had really grown to like the place and Nova couldn’t be happier. It was pretty obvious when she first bought the house that he didn’t like it but now it must have grown on him. It was nice having her own place with her boyfriend. Before this, the two were in a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of downtown. There was never any peace and silence and her neighbors were quite the party animals. Now that they lived in a nice little neighborhood, they didn’t have to worry about any of that. So far, the only downside was it was a further walk to the city hall where the newspaper had their office, not that Nova minded. Walking was one of her favorite things to do so a long walk just meant more time. So even the downside was good to her. This place was perfect.

     “I’ll see you when you get home,” Nova mumbled and gave Calvin one last kiss as she waved him off to go to work. She stood in the doorway until he was out of sight and then she began making herself some breakfast. Calvin liked to pick up food when he had an early call so most days, she had breakfast alone.

     With the bacon in the pan and the waffle iron heating up, she was almost ready to have an amazing breakfast when she could have sworn she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Did Calvin forget something and he needed to come back? She poked her head around the corner and when she didn’t see anyone, she frowned and went back to her bacon. That was really odd but of course it could have just been the curtains moving. There was no reason to think it could have been anything different. With a shake of her head, she finished making her breakfast and took her seat at the dining table. She would admit that sometimes it was lonely being the only person in the house, but Nova had grown used to it. Growing up her parents were always at work since they didn’t have the best financial status. Her mother was working her way up in a company and her father ran a burger joint by the beach. They managed to make it each month but sometimes it was hard. When it was too cold or a bad surfing day, her father’s restaurant didn’t do very well so the winter months were the hardest. Nova learned that she wouldn’t get everything she wanted but she had everything she needed and she couldn’t thank her parents enough for that. They were always so supportive of her and even when it was hard to make ends meet, they made sure their little girl had everything she needed. She played with the bacon on her plate as she remembered all those lonely after school days when her parents weren’t home when she thought she heard something. She stopped playing with her food and strained her ears to listen to what she thought she heard. “I miss bacon.” She whipped her head around to look behind her since it seemed like the voice was so close to her ear. However, no one was behind her. Of course, no one was there. She’s alone in the house so there shouldn’t be anyone else talking but she heard it. Someone or something said that they missed bacon. She must be going crazy, that had to be it. She rubbed her face and sighed, wondering if all of her ghost fears from earlier in the week had come back to haunt her. Ha, haunt. Nova giggled at her own wording and stood but she heard more talking. 

     “Oh, you think that’s funny?” She stopped dead in her tracks and held her breath. What the fuck is happening? “Yeah that’s right, be scared of me.” Slowly, she turned around to face the direction of the voice but there was no one there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move and, in her fear, the plate slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. This is insane and it can’t be happening. Ghosts aren’t real so the voice she’s hearing must be her imagination. She carefully began picking up the larger pieces of the plate and her leftover food and as she walked to throw them away, she heard the voice whisper, “cute butt.” That was not her imagination. She could hear it and she knew she wasn’t imagining it anymore. She ran over to her computer, the broken plate forgotten. Quickly, she began searching the records for her house to see if there could be any explanation for this. After a few minutes of searching, she came upon an old newspaper article from 1955.

     On March 23 at 11:30pm, a shooting took place on Sunset Road. The fight broke out at around 10 o’clock between two neighboring gangs. What started as a simple fist fight soon grew ugly as one member of the South Side gang pulled a switchblade, threatening the North Side members. The South Side boy was quick to take a slice out of one of the north kids. After that, all hell broke loose. Other boys drew weapons and began to attack one another. The north was not looking too great until their leader, well know James Curtis, pulled a gun and shot the south’s leader, Ashton Irwin. The south took off running and two south members carried Irwin into the house located on 152 Sunset. Irwin’s shot to the chest was fatal and within 15 minutes, he died. Police encourage citizens not to be worried as now with the South Side leader gone, there will be no more gang wars.

     Nova stared at her computer screen. So someone died here and now she’s seeing things and hearing voices and all this other crap. Maybe ghosts are real. She slowly closed her laptop and turned to look at her empty, or at least it should be empty, living room. What the hell was she going to do now? The first thing that came to her mind was the Ouija board she saw at the book store. That sounded like a terrible idea but what else was she going to do? So with that, she grabbed her bag and began walking to the book store.

     When Nova paid for the board, the old woman ringing her up gave her a dirty look and Nova had never felt so looked down upon. What does this lady know or care about? She could just be using it as décor. Nova also noticed she had gotten a lot of weird looks when she was walking home with it in her arms. This town was full of old ladies, all who probably remember the shooting from 55, who didn’t like anyone that was different. When she finally made it home, the first thing she did was take the board out of the box and set it on her floor. She was never scared of these things because she never believed in them but now that she could only assume ghosts were real, she had to believe in these too. “Swear if I die, I’m gonna kill someone,” Nova mumbled and placed her hands on the board. “Alright um… are there any spirits here?” She waited, expecting something to move her hands and the planchette but nothing happened. “Ok well, if there are any spirits here, I would like to speak with you.” Again, nothing happened. “I promise I just want to talk, I don’t want to hurt you.” Nova rolled her eyes. This was getting ridiculous. The man behind the counter at the bookstore warned her not to antagonize the spirits or threaten them at all but fuck this. “Alright you little bitch, listen up. I know you’re here and you have been fucking with me these past few days and I’m done. Either you talk to me like a fucking grown ass man, Ashton, or leave my fucking house!” She yelled into her living room, breaking the silence. Suddenly, the planchette her hands were on began to move and she was not moving it. 

     “F…U…C…K…Y…O…U.” Nova glared at the board and huffed. 

     “Fuck you too pal.” Nova honestly thought that something else would have happened to her for talking to the ghost like this, but she guessed not. This ghost was a little bitch. “Why are you even here? You’re dead so just move on.” Nova stared at her hands for a moment and she thought that maybe he wasn’t going to answer but sure enough, her hands began moving again. “I-C-A-N-T. You can't? Well, why not? What’s keeping you here Ashton?” Her hands once again moved but this time it seemed like Ashton the Ghost had a whole story to tell. “I hate to interrupt but this is a little long for spelling. Can I like, talk to you another way? Medium? You want me to get a medium?” When the planchette moved to ‘yes’, Nova sighed. “So I get a medium so I can talk to you and then you will tell me why you won’t leave me alone and how I can get you to leave?” When nothing moved and her hands still rested on the word ‘yes’ she took it as confirmation. “Fine. Bye bitch.” Once the planchette was resting on goodbye, Nova ran to her phone and began calling around. Apparently, there were more mediums in this small town than she ever thought possible. After a few hours of calling, she found a woman by the name Sapphire that was willing to come to her house in less than five minutes. Scrambling, Nova hid the Ouija board in her closet, not sure if Sapphire was a fan of them. Just as Nova left her room, there was a knock at the front door. Quickly, she made her way over and opened it to see Sapphire, who was not who she expected. Sapphire was an older woman who looked to be about 60 or more. She smiled at Nova and made her way inside.

     “You said there is a spirit here? And you want to talk to him?” Nova nodded and before she could explain, Sapphire closed her eyes and hummed softly. “Oh, he’s here. He’s saying that he needs your help if you want him to leave you alone.”

     “Well, what does he want?”

     Sapphire quickly shushed Nova and continued humming. “He says you must kill the man that killed him.”

     “What? Hell no! I’m not killing someone just because some dead guy wants me to.” Nova huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Stupid ass dead dude.”

     “Or, he said you can find a way to bring him back so he can do it himself.” Sapphire opened her eyes and turned to face Nova. “I can’t help you with that though. You see, I can speak to the dead and I can even see them, but I am no witch that can bring them back. I can, however, do something else for you.” Before Nova could ask what this woman had planned, Sapphire grabbed Nova’s face in her hands and began to whisper. Nova had no clue what she was saying but she did know that it wasn’t in English. Moments later, Sapphire made her way to the door. “Good luck finding help Nova.” And with that, she left.

     “What the fuck kind of name is Nova?” A deep, masculine voice said behind Nova, causing her to spin around. There, standing by the kitchen entry, was a man. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans with his hair slicked back.

     “Who are you?” Nova yelled and threw a book at him, but it passed right through his body. The two stared at each other and in amazement, and horror, Nova carefully made her way closer to the man.

     “You can see me? You can hear me?” He asked as he also began to move towards Nova.

     “You must be Ashton Irwin, the ghost that’s ruining my life.”

     “The one and only,” said Ashton with a smirk. “Nice to meet you.”

Tags

@lustingfor5sos @mycollectionofnuts @ohhmuke @softboycal @norawashere @who-do-you-love-5sos  @astrosashton @katiaw2 @littlesinnersins @bbyboyycal @rosecoloredash and tagging other people (hope it's ok): @calumsendgame @aspiringwildfire @cal-pal-cuddles

[ill-skillsgard]

Patterns in the Ivy, Part 1 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Patterns in the Ivy

Description: A continuation of Smoke & Money. Ghosts from the not-so-distant past come back to threaten her. She must choose between a lavish life of servitude or have everything she ever loved stripped away.

Warning: 18+ smut/swearing/mentions of drugs/kink & fetish themes

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

I never thought that my life would turn out this way. One day I was on my own, living in a crappy apartment with nobody but myself to worry about and before I knew it, that had all changed. I had her now. My beautiful daughter. She was almost four years old already. I was constantly baffled by the amount of time it took for me to become the person I was meant to be; a mother to a child.

She was the most incredible human being that I had ever met. Every single day she got smarter and with each of those days, it became easier and easier to talk to her. When I had her, I named her Ivany. She was a sweet little baby with brown hair and big soul-searching eyes. I loved her immediately. All the world melted away. All my problems had been solved by the birth of just one perfect human being.

Nothing in my past meant a thing after she came around. I left my former self behind in favor of her. She made all the bad whispers go away. She warded off my loneliness and filled the silence. She occupied my ever-racing mind so that I could just feel calm when I hadn't ever known the definition of calmness. Ivany was my last strand of hope, the only one that couldn't break.

I did everything that I could to make our life together a good one. I found us a townhouse to live in and I found myself steady jobs to support us. Before Ivany, I never knew a life of selflessness. I didn't know what it was like to love another person unconditionally and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Our life together was fun and exciting with zero complications and that was the way I wanted it. But of course, life had its way of ripping apart everything I loved like a rabid dog, tearing at the seams with seemingly no effort at all. Just when I thought I had finally let my roots grow.

It all began on a day that I decided to take Ivany to the park after school.

I was sat on a bench with a book in hand, unable to really take in the words as I was too busy looking up every twenty seconds to check up on her. Sick of reading the same sentence over and over, I put the book in my purse. I preferred to watch her anyway. There were a few other children and parents around and more coming in. Off in the distance, I saw an older man with a young boy approaching and older kids walking in from school.

"Watch me, Mommy!" I heard Ivany call from the swing she had claimed as her own.

"I can see you, Ivy!" I called to her.

After a little while, the park started to get crowded. I stood up from the bench and circled around, following Ivany wherever she went. To say I was overprotective would be a grand understatement.

"Is that one yours?" A male voice from behind me asked.

I turned around to see who it was speaking to me. It was the older man I had spotted earlier with the young boy. I feigned a smile. "Yeah, she is."

"She's a real cutie pie, huh? That one's going to be a heart-breaker someday."

I laughed uneasily. "I'll teach her to break fingers before hearts."

"She looks like you, too."

I always had doubts whenever somebody told me that Ivany looked like me. I had dark hair, almost black in certain light and hazel eyes. My facial features were softer, my nose more rounded. The peaks of my top lip came up to sharp points whereas her's were fuller. Her eyes were pools of dreary green that when I looked into, I could see visions of my forgotten past. Ivany didn't look much like me at all.

"Thanks," I said to him anyway.

Suddenly, I heard a shriek and my attention perked immediately. The sounds of my daughter crying sent me running towards where she was standing next to the swing set.

"Ivany!" I called.

The boy that had come with the man was standing beside her, little fists clenched at his sides and my daughter was crunched into a ball, holding her head and crying.

"What's wrong honey? What happened?" I asked her, kneeling down to look at her face.

"That boy hurt me!"

I moved her hand from where she had been clutching at her hair and saw that her pink barrette was askew and it looked like some of her hair had been ripped out. The more my daughter cried the angrier I got. The boy stood there watching, stone-faced and unmoved by her tears. I stood up as the man approached.

"Hey buddy, your kid just ripped out a chunk of my daughter's hair!"

"Kevin, that is not very nice! You apologize to the little girl this instant!" The man said.

The little boy turned towards us despondently and mumbled a half-ass, "sorry."

I lifted Ivany up, shot the both of them a glare and marched off with her in my arms, purse swinging from my wrist. Once we were far enough away I brushed my hand through her hair and rocked her a little bit.

"Are you okay to walk to the car, Ivy?"

"Yes, mom."

I set her down on the ground and looked at her red, puffy, crying face with sympathy. Unclipping her barrette, I smoothed out her hair and clicked my tongue in contempt.

"It's going to be okay, honey. Let's go get something to eat and then we'll go home and watch a movie."

I took Ivany home and got her settled down, fed and set her up in the living room with a blanket and her favourite movie. My girlfriend from next door was going to make her way over so that I could get ready for work.

Every two weeks I had to work late nights at my job and I had nobody else to watch Ivany. I had become very close to my next door neighbor, a petite ray of sunshine by the name of Kiki who had come to live in the States from Korea when she was just a girl. She and I got along well and Ivany loved her so we naturally became a little unit. I would look after her cats and she would look after my kid. It worked out well for both of us.

"Mommy, do you have to work?" Ivany asked me as I fluttered around looking for my misplaced items.

"Yes sweetie but Kiki is going to be here with you and you guys can watch TV together."

"I don't want you to go."

I stopped what I was doing and gazed at my daughter sitting up on the sofa. The look in her eyes made my heart sink into my stomach. I didn't want to leave for the night either. I had no choice when it came to working late nights. It was the only thing keeping me on top of my bills and rent.

"I'm sorry Ivy. I'll be here in the morning so don't you worry, okay? Work is just something adults have to do so you just worry about kid stuff like what kind of ice cream you want to have later and I'll take care of grown-up business. Deal?"

A smile on her face, she nodded at me. As long as she was happy and smiling, working a night job didn't seem too bad. Even if it was a gig as hostess of a strip club.

It wasn't ideal and I didn't love the idea of being around handsy drunk men but I got paid well for what I did. I was like a top-shelf shooter girl that still got tips but didn't have to take my top off and swing around a pole. Truth be told, it was a little reminiscent of my old job, only I didn't have to suck any dicks and nobody was actually allowed to touch me. I just had to kiss ass and serve drinks to bachelor parties and horny businessmen. I received the odd slap on the ass or 'accidental' tit grab but that was nothing compared to what I used to endure for money.

I didn't plan on being a glorified cocktail waitress for long. Just long enough to save for a down payment on a real house in a nice neighborhood near a good school.

Kiki arrived just in time for me to leave so I didn't have a lot of time for chatting. I gave Ivany a kiss, grabbed my purse and took one last look in the mirror to make sure I looked strip-club presentable. I never wore my uniform around Ivany. I kept it in my purse to change into when I arrived at work. It wasn't the raciest of outfits but it required me to wear a garter belt and stockings underneath a tight pair of high-waisted booty shorts, something I didn't need her to see me in. The last thing I wanted was for my four-year-old daughter to see me all sexed up for the job that I left for at night.

It was 7 PM when I arrived at work, an hour we called 'the graveyard' because we only had a few regular patrons at the bar and the dancers had yet to come out. It wasn't until later that we drew the curtains and turned up the music.

The club I worked at was upscale and recently renovated with a brand new stage, beautiful lighting, and a state-of-the-art sound system. The types of shows we put on were a little more tasteful than the average strip joint. Some of the girls put on spectacular performances, embracing the entertainment side of stripping and burlesque with lavish stage props and expertly choreographed routines. I had made friends with the owner as a cleaner but was quickly offered a job bartending. After I got good at that, I was promoted to head hostess when the last girl got caught running game in the VIP area- offering sexual favors for extra money on the side.

As I was preparing the bar for what was promising to be a very busy Friday night, my boss, the club owner, approached me with outstretched arms and a smile.

"My favourite Miss J. I have a special super-duper opportunity for you tonight madam and you are the ONLY lady on this planet for the job!"

"Oh my God, please don't ask me to clean the bathrooms again, I thought that's what the cleaning girl got hired for."

"Oh no, no, no," he clicked his tongue at me. "Somebody has requested your service in the VIP for tonight."

"What? Somebody specifically asked for me?"

"That's right," he sang. "And I know you're going to work that sweet, sweet magic and make Louie and yourself a lot of money."

"Is it a bachelor party?" I sighed.

Large groups of drunk men were not my favourite patrons to serve because at least one of them always mistook the waitresses for strippers and got warned or thrown out by security. It got old trying to explain the no-touching policy to someone who had chugged their weight in beer in the name of love.

"It's not a big party but they did rent the entire VIP lounge. Big money. Big, big money." Louie wagged his eyebrows at me.

"Oh no... Do I have to suck a cock or something? Is that what you're getting at?"

Louie laughed and guided me by the shoulders away from the bar area and towards the back room for a little more privacy.

"You don't have to do anything weird. I already explained that you are not one of the performers. They simply requested your services and yours alone..."

"I feel like there's something you're not telling me, Louie. What is it?"

Louie held his hands up in mock-prayer. "You know I would never ask but this is a very rich customer and if a blowjob means you and I can afford steak for dinner every night for the next couple of months... Would you be totally opposed?"

"Ew, Louie!" I hit him weakly. "You know I don't eat that shit."

"Eat the steak for me, honey! For us! I mean, I have my own price and I know you do too. Everybody does! Just... Give him the best damn service you can possibly provide, you hear? Don't do anything you're not comfortable with. Maybe take a shot or two. Who knows!"

I continued to whack him playfully, the saucy fuck. "I will serve the shit out of our prestigious guest but I am NOT sucking any cocks. I am above that."

"I'm putting Serge on the VIP with you so if you get uncomfortable you'll have him, 'kay? Now be good and smile. Stick your boobs out a bit more. You're starting at nine up there after its cleaned from top to fucking bottom."

"Wait!" I caught Louie before he flitted off to be meticulous somewhere else. "Just how much money does this guy have?"

Louie's eyes widened. "Honey, you don't want to know. He paid in cash. I would have shut down this entire place for the amount he was willing to splash. Let's just say I didn't bat an eye and neither should you."

I was extremely curious to know what kind of person needed an entire floor to themselves. Maybe it was a celebrity or a professional athlete. I had heard of the place shutting down for famous football players or millionaire actors before. I hoped it was somebody that I knew.

The club was alive with music by nine o'clock and I was getting ready to enter the biggest VIP room we had with a bottle of champagne that cost more than my monthly car payments and two glass flutes. Serge, the head of security, stood between the door and the top of the staircase to make sure nobody came up and there was another huge guy posted right outside the door that I had never seen before. I leaned over to Serge and whispered, "is he one of ours?"

"Nah. Client's guard I guess. Some important guy in there."

"Just a guy?" I asked, my intrigue growing.

I wondered what the second glass was for then if there was only one person in the room.

"One guy, one guard. You let me know if you have any trouble."

"Oh, Serge." I swooned at the hulking head of security. "I feel so safe when you're around."

That safety soon faded as I was allowed into the room and saw who our high-profile customer was. I nearly choked on my own tongue. I felt my toes go numb in my heels and my hands started to shake.

"Hello, Miss J."

I suddenly felt like my stomach was about to erupt. Nausea filled me to the brim and I had to close my eyes to try to stay balanced. Once I was convinced I wouldn't fall over, I opened my eyes and saw a man sitting at the table that I never expected to see again in my life.

"Bill? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"That's how you're going to greet your patron? I was told you were the best service in town."

If I wasn't so afraid to move I would have dropped the tray I was holding along with the glasses and the bottle of champagne.

"What is going on? How did you... How did you find me?" I asked, looking behind me at the closed door, wondering if I should make a run for it.

Bill leaned back in his seat, stretching out his long legs so he could cross one over the other. I gulped as I took him in, designer shoes to his tailored suit and his fucking face. He looked so much more mature than I remembered him. He had a few more lines around his eyes and his cherub-like features had sharpened up a bit more. He still had that same painful glower, the one I could feel making my skin burn from across a room. Five years ago I had been so terrified of him and now was even worse. This older version of him looked even more threatening than when we had first met.

"Bring me a drink, please." He ignored my question.

"How...? How did you find me?"

Bill only stared at me with those huge, unforgiving eyes. He beckoned me forth with his hand and I hesitated, rooted to the floor in my heels. I only approached once his impatience became noticeable on his face.

Each step I took towards him made my insides twist more tightly. I set down the tray and placed a glass in front of him, trying to ignore the way his eyes followed like rolling marbles in a stone statue. I was now too aware of the cleavage that my top showed and the shortness of my bottoms. I started to sweat from my forehead and armpits.

"And one for you too." He said after accepting the glass stem between his thumb and index finger.

"No thanks."

"J... Pour a glass for yourself and sit down."

"I would really rather not."

"Hm." He mused, setting the glass down on the table after drinking down over half of its contents. "I don't think the owner of this establishment would be happy to hear you're refusing me service."

"I served you. Are we done here?"

"Far from it. Sit. Please. Don't make me ask you again. I just want to discuss something with you."

I sighed dramatically and plopped down on the chair furthest from him. I still couldn't believe that he was there, staring at me and demanding my audience. I wanted to leave and tell Louie too bad, that I was refusing to serve him as he was a danger to me but at the same time I couldn't believe I was in the same room as him again. It felt like the worst case of deja vu I had ever had. A ghost from my past had materialized out of nowhere to terrorize me and there was hardly a thing I could about it.

"What would you like to discuss so badly that you had to rent an entire fucking floor to lure me into?"

Bill smirked. "I'd like to discuss our daughter."

My breath stopped and I felt my face go white. I couldn't speak for a moment.

"I... I beg your fucking pardon?"

"You heard me, J." He said as he took another sip of champagne.

"No, no... I must have heard you wrong because you said something that makes absolutely no sense at all."

"Drop the act already. I know she's mine. I know you know she's mine."

I wanted to wind back and hit him but I was afraid he might call in his bodyguard and then Serge would come in too and the whole room would just explode. I'd probably lose my job and that was something I couldn't risk. If it were me from before I ever met Bill, I would have hit him. I couldn't now but fuck did I want to. I wanted to slap that smug look off his face and I think he could tell I was contemplating it too.

"How. Fucking. DARE you presume MY daughter belongs to anyone besides ME! She is not yours! You have no fucking idea what you're talking about!"

"I know that Ivany is mine."

I turned away from him to try to compose myself. I knew I was about to lose my temper in a very bad way.

"How fucking long have you been following us for?"

"Long enough. You certainly didn't try very hard to cover your tracks after a while."

"I have no tracks to cover! I'm living my own fucking life! I shouldn't have to be looking over my shoulder for your spies! This is harassment! I'll take you to court for stalking me."

"And I'll take you to court for custody of our child." He said frankly.

"Ivany is NOT yours!"

"From what I've seen, she looks just like me and the timeline certainly seems to coincide with me having fathered that child. Deny it all you want but I know that she's my daughter and I've known for a long time."

"Then why now? Huh? If you think she's yours, which she is not, why did you wait so long to snake out of the fucking shadows you sick, arrogant prick?"

"I needed to be one hundred percent certain. Who knows who could have impregnated you at the time. You certainly knew how to make your rounds back then. I'm so glad to see you have upgraded to this dignified position."

I stood up to leave but not before hissing, "I'd fucking spit at you but I know that'd get you hard so... Fuck you! Goodbye. Don't follow me or I'll call the police. You're not the only one with bodyguards now."

Before I crossed the room to the door Bill cleared his throat. "If you leave this room I will have your job and I'll make sure the court knows about your profession when they ask me why you're unfit to have custody of our child. So I suggest you sit down."

Tears welled up in my eyes instantly. I clutched at my heart, unable to process the situation before me. Fuck. This was what I was always afraid of happening; the day my past reared its hideous head to condemn me for my poor choices.

"I don't do that anymore and I haven't since I left. Fuck you. Honestly... Fuck you. I have tried so fucking hard to recover from the wreckage and here you are after all these years trying to tell me what's what. Who the fuck do you think you are, Bill?"

"There are things we need to discuss so if you please, come back to the table and sit down with me." He ignored my lamentations again.

Defeated, I went back to sit down across from him. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat there scowling at him, hating him, wishing he would drop dead, wanting to bash his pretty face into the table or something.

"Thank you," he started. "Please, have a drink with me."

Rolling my eyes, I poured myself a small glass of champagne and sipped it meekly as I waited for him to say what he wanted to say to me. I watched when he pulled a pack of cigarettes and a chrome-plated lighter from his jacket pocket. He lit one and put his lighter away. I scowled at him even harder.

"I want you to come back with me. You and Ivany. I want you both to come back to the West Coast with me."

"No," I stated simply.

"She will have everything a child could ever need. The best schools, the best care available. She will have rooms to herself. She can take music lessons, dancing lessons... Whatever. Anything she wants she will have."

"We already have everything we need. I got her into a good school."

"A public school is not where a Skarsgård should be attending."

"Well, I'm sorry but you don't have any say when it comes to MY daughter. We are staying here. We have everything we need right here." I explained, drinking down the rest of the champagne before pouring myself another much-needed glass.

"So you think this little job of yours as a cocktail waitress is going to get you further than you are right now?" Bill asked.

I pressed my teeth together hard and balled my fists, doing everything I could not to lash out and flip the table. He had this miraculous way of crushing someone beneath the sole of his designer shoe without even blinking.

"This job pays me well as I'm sure you have probably fucking noticed seeing as you flushed a shit-load of money down the toilet just to be sitting here. You think I don't make good enough money? Is that what you're really worried about? Because you didn't seem to care that much the night you e-mailed a hooker to come to do your laundry."

I tried to bring him down the way he had shot me down but Bill seemed undaunted by my venomous words. He simply sipped away at his champagne and puffed his cigarette, rarely taking his eyes off of me.

"Well look at you now, serving drinks instead of pussy. You certainly have come a long way." He pointed out, tapping the ash from his cigarette onto the serving tray.

"Bill..." I said, exhausted already by the exchange. "Why the fuck do you want us to come back with you? What purpose does it really serve you?"

He crushed out the cigarette and leaned forward as if he were going to tell me a secret. I watched him bite down on his bottom lip, taking his eyes off of me for just a moment before he relaxed back into his seat.

"I just want what's mine," He told me. "Don't you miss being mine?"

I shuddered almost violently. That nauseous feeling returned to my stomach and I felt a new wave of sweat break over my skin. A lump so hard and ruthless formed in my throat that I literally choked on my words when I tried to speak.

"This isn't fair. You can't just come out of nowhere and uproot me because you want to."

"I want you and our daughter to come live with me. Why is that wrong? I've spent so much time looking for you."

I shook my head, incapable of processing all that was happening. I couldn't believe I was sitting across a table from Bill Skarsgård, the man who had caused me to flee my past life. The turning point of myself as a person. The reason why I had dropped everything and ran.

Those big, nebulous eyes raked over me and set my heart to hammering. I could not believe I was staring at his face again. I could not believe the way he licked his lips and kept his gaze on me. I could not believe how stunning he looked in his designer suit with his longer hair and his thinner face. His cheekbones were sharp enough to light a match off of. He looked tired but refined. Five years had most definitely turned the rich boy into a wealthy man.

And I just felt the same. Looking at him, I felt exactly the same as I did when we had first met; nervous and put-off yet unable to tear my eyes from him.

"I suppose I really have no choice in this matter. If I refuse you, you'll just take me down in court anyway." I sighed.

"Worse. I will get joint custody of our daughter and I'll take her with me wherever I go. Hawaii, Mexico, Sweden... She will see the world and she will know a life full of opportunity. She will have all the things a little girl could possibly want. Then she will go home to you and she will see her Mother struggling to pay bills, disappearing at night to do God knows what. She will look at her things and she will pine for her horses, her new toys, her art studio, her beautiful bedroom. She won't want to stay with you after seeing what her Father can give to her."

Fat, hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I shook like a leaf in a storm and felt like one too. Tiny, insignificant and helpless. Bill was a monster no matter how beautiful he was. The inside of him was black as tar.

"The choice is up to you. Come home with me and live in happiness or refuse me and watch what happens. I'll give you a little while to think about it. Just know that I will not be far."

I looked up at him, mascara most certainly running down my cheeks, eyes blazing with hatred.

"Try to run and I will rain Hellfire down upon you," Bill warned.

Everything I wanted to say was flying around my head like birds rattled in a cage. There were so many things I wanted to spit at him but nothing would come out. He had me mercilessly beaten without ever having laid a finger on me.

"You can go now. Take some time to think about it all. I'll make sure to tell your boss of how professional you were with me." Bill said, changing the tone of his voice. "I'll see you very soon, J."

Without a word I stood up and left, closing the door behind me and shielding my face from Serge as I walked by but he caught me anyway.

"J, is everything alright?" Serge asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Serge. It's all good. Trust me. I'm fine. I have to go."

I grabbed my purse from the back and left the club without telling anybody. I got in my car and sped off to home. Kiki had fallen asleep on the couch but I didn't bother to wake her. I ascended the stairs and opened Ivany's bedroom door. More tears fell from my eyes as I climbed into bed next to her and pulled her body as close to me as possible. I pressed kisses into her hair, waking her slightly.

"Mommy?" Her little voice cracked.

"Sh, baby. It's okay. Go back to sleep."

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 3)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

Her plan is to visit the shop and find the things she promised for the Doctor. But when she sees the citizens rushing to gather into the Town Hall, she has second thoughts. If nearly everyone is going to attend the meeting, it's probably important. And important means Jack... A clown riding a unicycle suddenly bumps into Sally, turning to give her a menacing laugh as he passes by. She jumps at the sound -- so dark and malevolent - and finds herself looking at the other creatures who surround her. They are all diverse, ranging from vampires to ghosts and witches. They all have certain aspects to themselves that make them scary. One man is even modeled after Satan himself, with horns protruding from his forehead and a sharp goatee. Sally tries to distance herself before she eventually reaches the stairs. Safe to say, she is the last one in and nearly collapses trying to keep the door open. When she turns around, she notices that all of the benches are full, and people are starting to crowd around the seats. "Hello there, miss!" She finds a tall tree smiling down at her, his face consisting of whirls and his eyes black sockets. 5 skeletons are hanging from his branches with rope tied around their necks. Like the tree, they were all smiling down at her politely. She goes to reply but is overwhelmed by more people coming into the room. She takes a step towards the stranger as to not get pulled in and lose a limb again. The tree notices the issue right away. "Oh! You're probably looking for a seat, aren't you? Please, feel free to sit on one of my branches if you have to! I have two of them, you see..." "While I do appreciate the offer..." She hangs the basket in her hands low. "How will I reach it?" "We'll help you!" One of the skeletons offers. They all nod in unison at this suggestion. The skeleton who offered extends his hands to her and cups them down. "Here! Step on my hands and climb on!" She accepts the offer and does as she is told. She's hoisted upwards and has only a second to grab onto one of the stems. She sits herself comfortably on the bark and looks around. There was nothing obstructing her view and she very well may have had the best seat in the house. Looking down at the stranger, she says, "Thank you! I don't believe I caught your name?" "Folks just call me the hanging tree!" He replies. "And these here are my hanging men. I've heard of you myself....you're Finklestein's new creation. Sally, right?" "That's right. Have you heard of me?" "Oh, trust me! Word gets passed along fast. You stick out like a sore claw in these parts."

It makes her feel nervous that she stands out. Attention is not something she wants - nor does the Doctor, for that matter. Her thoughts are interrupted when the lights suddenly dim, grabbing the audience's attention as a spotlight illuminates the stage. All conversations cease as they hear footsteps. She feels slightly disappointed as a stumbling Mayor reveals himself from the curtains. He climbs up the steps and approaches the podium. It's clear that the light bothers him and he is looking around blindly, struggling to keep the papers in his hands together. "Horrible day, everyone!" He greets. "Thank you for attending today's meeting. I wanted to discuss with you all about this year's Halloween." She leans forward in fascination. Jack may not be here like she had hoped, but she can at least learn something new about this 'Halloween'. He likes it very much, and since it seems so important to everyone, the least she can do is learn what it is about. The Doctor has never told her anything about it before, so she might as well take this chance to listen and see if she can understand it. "As hopefully none of you know, progress is going very slow this year. We have had a run-in with officials for some of the ideas this year, and we are going to need changes if we can make an excellent Halloween happen! I called this meeting for any suggestions that are more appropriate than what we have gotten this year. If you have any ideas, please, feel free to shout them ou-" "Let's replace all the lampposts with snakes! That'll keep them on their paws!" "How about we smear blood all over the windows?" "-Fake blood?" "-Sure, whatever." "We could have everyone howl from the rooftops!" The Mayor is quickly writing all of these suggestions down as they're being yelled. Sally feels very much like the outlier - she doesn't understand what is being sad. Blood? Fake blood? What did those mean? Has she ever seen a snake before? She recalls learning about them but she can't remember a thing. As the ragdoll is furrowing her eyebrows trying to keep up, the Mayor brings everyone to a stop by slamming a small hammer on the podium. "-Settle down, settle down, everyone!" They all quiet down. "I appreciate everyone's enthusiasm and I will most certainly have these ideas under review, but we have to get to more important matters now! I've had several conversations undergoing our renovations for the town's library. If anyone has any concerns-" By this point Sally stops listening. Her head hurts thinking about all these things and trying to listen to every voice at once. This town meeting isn't at all as enjoyable as she thought it'd be. She thought Jack would be here, and instead of the Mayor's voice, she'd be listening to his. His soft, melodic voice echoing about the room...sending wonderful chills along her spine, putting her in a relaxing trance-- "Miss? Everyone's leaving now." When she looks up, she finds people are leaving their seats. The tree must have pulled her from her thoughts. She climbs off with the help of the skeletons and gives a polite nod to her new friend as soon as she is down. She corrects her posture and stiffens herself, a habit the Doctor has given her. "Thank you, again." "It's no problem." The tree smiles. "If you ever need a seat, just go ahead and hop on. I attend every meeting there is." He uproots himself from the ground and walks out of the Town Hall. She cringes as she sees the hanging men swing by their neck. That must cause a lot of pain! They don't seem to mind it as they wave goodbye to her. She's left to leave through the door and find her way back into the market, specifically the store Jack recommended to her. When she approaches the building, she finds a large sign placed in the window. "OUT FOR LUNCH". Was she...too late? Oh, how horrible! She's going to get a brash scolding when she gets home. She can't explain where she has been for the past hour without mentioning the meeting. She suddenly feels so foolish for going to that meeting in the first place. She trusted herself to go into town, but here she is getting too involved in Halloween. Maybe the Doctor is right...she shouldn't meddle with the town's affairs and just focus on what he wants from her. And right now, she needs to find those spices! Jack's words suddenly ring through her head. "...Between you and me, you can get the same stuff very easily for no cost in the graveyard..." So she may not get grounded after all...She sighs in relief and leaves the market, wandering around in search for this graveyard. She realizes, after a good half hour of walking ,that she has absolutely no idea where she's going. Perhaps she hasn't thought this as through as she thinks she did-- "Lookin' a little lost again, dollie." When she turns around, she finds James standing across from her. His band members are nowhere to be found and he isn't holding his usual saxophone at the moment. She steps forward politely and bows her head. He might know where it is, being in town longer than she has. And she really needs the help! "Do you know where the graveyard is, by any chance?" She asks. "Graveyard? Yea...keep walkin' this way n' you'll find it." He points behind him, and she mouths 'thank you' as she passes him. Her basket is empty now, but she needs it full before sundown. Otherwise she will be in deep, deep trouble. --- She only has to walk a minute or two until she finds a pair of gates open in front of her. She steps right through them and blinks. It is awfully foggy here. She sees a hundred-or-so tombstones in front of her and a large spiral hill with a pumpkin patch underneath it. Black gates encircle the graveyard with sharp tips. Everything is completely silent.   She shivers at the cold that roams the fog. She walks through the graves slowly, listening to the unsettling noises as she passes by. The large pumpkin sun is burning brightly just past the spiral hill, but it does nothing to soothe the nerves creeping up her spine. She doesn't see the many thorns and bushes in between the graves. One of her seams catches onto one and trips the ragdoll. She falls harshly on the ground and hears one of her legs come off. The impact from the fall also causes one of her hands to fly off. When she sits up, she easily sees the two limbs beside her. She places the basket to the side to thread her usual needle. Stuff like this happens all the time; she was getting used to it. "Arf!" When she looks up, she sees an apparition staring back at her. It is a blanket that resembles the shape of a dog. Black, hollow eyes stare back at hers as the body levitates. The dog's sheets are constantly moving and she sees a spiral tall at the end of his body. On the tip of his muzzle is a miniature pumpkin nose that shines brightly within the fog. Sally drops the thread and needle in surprise. "A dog..?" The ghost comes forward cautiously. He uses his nose to sniff her dress and hair. She's very unsure of what to do. She hasn't encountered any animal like this before. The dog circles around before stopping in front of her. He opens his mouth to pant and that is when she notices his insides are completely transparent. "Woof! Woof!" Slowly, she outstretches her arm. Her hand comes into contact with the texture of a blanket. She's shocked. How could a ghost dog like this...exist? She's touching him! She runs her hand along his body and feels him lean into her touch. He nuzzles the side of her arm and ushers her to pet the rest of his body. A giggle escapes her mouth. "How adorable..." When he tilts his head upwards, she notices the collar around his neck. A golden, circular tag hangs down from it. There is a name engraved on the surface. She takes a hold of the tag and leans forward to read it closely. It reads: "ZERO". "Zero? Is that your name?" The dog puffs out his transparent chest in pride. She scratches behind his ear and refrains from cooing when he sticks his tongue out. This may be the cutest dog I have ever seen...She thinks to herself. That is, until he suddenly hovers away and takes her leg in his mouth. He wags his tail before flying off. A couple of leaves fall from the open hole as sheattempts to stop him. "H-Hey! Give it back!" The dog stops in alarm and slowly hovers back to her. Relieved, she goes to take it until Zero snatches it again. He motions forwards and backwards with his head, then opens his mouth and pants again. She finally understands the message. Or, at least she thinks she does. "Oh!" She picks up the leg. "You want to play fetch..?" "Arf!" Zero, clearly happy that this message got across, spins in a circle. She understands this. She once read a book telling her all about pets(while the Doctor repeatedly insists they have no use for any). In this game, all you have to do is throw something and the dog will get it. So that's what she does - making sure to secure the leaves before tossing her arm as far as she can. He goes after it and retrieves it for her. She throws it again and watches as Zero leaps for the leg. He comes back with it in his mouth and places it back down on the ground patiently. The two of them continue this until she decides to stop. She picks up her thread and needle and sews her leg back into its proper place. Zero whines before eying her curiously, hovering by her side as he watches. She props herself up with the help of a nearby tombstone and begins to search for the ingredients, looking at the tombstones she passes. Zero follows behind her. She stops in her tracks and jumps when the dog goes right through her. She shakes and mutters, "Witch hazel..." Zero barks to catch her attention. The dog nudges her side before leading her the other way. She follows and finds that he directs her to another set of gravestones. On these are several names of ingredients, including both Witch Hazel and Deadly Nightshade. The ghost wags his tail as he waits for her reaction. "Why, Zero! Thank you!" She starts gathering the spices in her basket. She stops collecting them once it's full and turns to face Zero. He tilts his head and gives a confused 'rrr?' She leans down and pats the top of his head. He wags his tail at the affection. She feels warm around this dog. He helped her find what she was looking for, and they even played a game together. Regardless how short a time it was, she's becoming a little attached to him. She runs a hand along his coat before heading back to the gates. He whines and floats backwards when they come to the exit. She turns to scratch the back of his sheet and catches the smile growing on his muzzle. "I have a funny feeling I'm going to be seeing you again, huh?" She asks. "Arf!" He agrees. "Are you my new friend?" "Woof!" "If I come back tomorrow, will you want to play?" "Arf! Arf! Arf!" Zero's tail wags vigorously. She places a hand in front of her lips and giggles, finally bidding the dog goodbye. His subtle whines echo down the alleyway but the ragdoll moves on. She has to return to the tower before it gets dark.

[themjinterviews-blog]

48. Put your hands in the air and say hell yeah. Captain Jack! Johnny Depp!

What motivates you to do what you do? Sheer necessity, usually.

What was the weather like the last time you went out? Hot. It’s Arizona so it’s probably near 100 + sunny.

Do you go for walks often? I’m pretty lazy and try to avoid it. You sorta gotta trick me into walking, like take me to a big shopping mall or something so I inadvertently walk around it whilst shopping.

What color shirt are you wearing? Gray.

What is your favorite type of youtube video to watch? I don’t really watch any. I just use it to occasionally look up songs or to record snippets of stuff to remix songs.

Do you need any new clothes right now? I got plenty.

What’s the next project you are excited to start? I’m working on a nonsensical Adult Coloring Book featuring animals committing crimes.

Do you collect anything? If so, what? Used to collect rocks and Pokémon cards. I suppose in a sense I collect all sorts of art/office supplies.

^and if not, what would you like to collect? Nothing really.

What was the last disappointing thing that happened to you? I don’t know. Suppose work being closed for renovation for 2 weeks kinda sucks because I sort of need cash.

What is something God has healed you of? I don’t really do the whole God/Religion rigamarole... Chances are if we are healed of something, there is a psychological, sociological biological or generally rational explanation.

Have you ever experienced a miracle? Like, a phenomenal coincidence? I think as much as I hate to be a downer, there's probably a lot to do with our perceptions of events

What was the last thing you ate? Lucky Charms.

Do you ever eat food that’s intended for kids? Well, Lucky Charms. I also love pizza rolls and chicken nuggets. But I’m not eating Gerber Peas&Carrot baby foods or anything crazy like that.

What was the last stupid thing you did? Define “stupid”? Most things I do are probably stupid to others but perfectly acceptable to me.

Do you get embarrassed easily? Sometimes.

Are you wearing pants or shorts right now? I never wear shorts.

What are your top three names you like for a daughter? Elliot (this is also my pick for a boy name), Tara, Hazel.

Would you ever film a vlog of yourself giving birth? Ew. Fuck no. Honestly, adopting/fostering sounds way more my style anyway. To be totally frank, pregnancy sounds gross and being unable to take my adderall sounds awful. I’d gain like, a million pounds.

Do you like getting caught in the rain? It’s usually a refreshing break from the heat out here.

Do you think your hair looks best straight, wavy, or curly? Messy, or in a side-pony.

What was the last craft project you completed?: Coloring books for my friends’ kid.

Name 3 youtubers you would like to meet in person: I don’t know any.

Has anyone ever spread an untrue rumor about you? Sociopath ex. Not sure he actually said them aloud to people other than myself, but I was constantly being accused of weird stuff I absolutely did not do.

What’s one rumor you’ve heard about yourself, and is it true? N/A. No idea. Not aware of any relevant or applicable rumors. I literally just keep to myself and do crafts.

What color are your nails painted currently? Not painted.

Do you use a pill box? Jesus, I’m not 80.

List 3 people you know who were loving and then turned cold: it’s kind of generic to assume either of those things as permanent traits. But probably most flings or whatever. It always feels cold when one party loses interest.

Have you filmed a youtube video today? Never filmed one in my life.

Do you leave the house when you’re on your period? Um yes. Life doesn’t stop just because I have cramps.

^If not, why not? -

Have you ever felt threatened for your life? Yeah. Sociopath ex would get overtly paranoid and mistake harmless or unrelated things I did or said to be conspiracies against him. And occasionally my imaginary betrayals would lead to violent words or actions. Like, a bundle of index cards with Carrabba’s menu items and their ingredients, word for word, from the Carrabba’s menu, was somehow coded plots to who the fuck knows to have him killed. Irrational stuff like that.

What are you behind on? Student loans. And when I say behind, I really mean that I actively chose not to pay them.

Do you get enough sleep each night? No because night is my time to be productive, uninterrupted and without bothering anyone. I hate having to stop my thoughts just because other people are making noise or trying to converse with me.

Which did you like better: high school or college? Absolutely college.

Which year of your life stands out to you as the most significant so far? Probably last year or two.

…and why? Big personal transitions and revelations in my life philosophy.

What was the last store you shopped at? Walmart, most likely.

Do you have a favorite pharmacist? I used to back in NY. Her name was Evie. She wished a customer Happy Thanksgiving on Valentine’s Day accidentally once and it cracked me up and we had a running joke about it.

Do you have a favorite cashier at the grocery store? I don’t shop frequently enough and I switch up stores when I do.

What was the last thing you ordered at Starbucks? Probably a toffee nut Frappuccino.

What’s something you discovered recently?

What makes you more creative? Emotional turbulence, certain drugs.

What’s the last magical thing you experienced? Um…Magical? The herd of unicorns crossing the I-10.

What is the theme of your bedroom? None. We are staying in a spare room at a friend’s. But we're actually moving this week because being micromanaged and constantly scrutinized was getting old.

Have you ever lived in a dorm? Yes, for a few years

Who is someone whom you admire, and why? I guess the lady at work, Amanda. She’s like 64 and works open-close every day, and still has a great attitude.

When was the last time you stepped outside of your comfort zone? I don’t know. I test the waters every once in awhile.

Where would you like to travel to next? Nowhere crazy. Just back to New York for the Renaissance Faire.

If you could win three dream vacations to anywhere, where would you go? Portugal—New Zealand—Ireland.

Would you rather ride a camel or an elephant? Camel. They’re fuzzy.

Are you a free spirit? I don’t know what that even constitutes. I think outside the box and I question social conformity and other preset patterns of thought. But I don’t know that has much to do with my spirit.

Do you want to lose weight? I think I’m okay for now.

Which insects scare you, if any? They don’t scare me, they just creep me out …spiders, centipedes, millipedes, roaches…ugh.

Do you think it’s silly to be afraid of a tiny insect? It’s not like I think they’re going to murk me with a sawed off shot gun. I know they’re harmless and therefor not technically scary…but they’re still creepy and unsettling somehow.

Have you ever experienced paranoia? To some degree.

Have you ever hallucinated? Indeed.

Were you raised religious? We were raised Roman Catholic. Didn’t stick.

Have you ever been abused? Psychologically, emotionally, physically and sexually. #sociopathic ex.

Do you think the cops should do more about bullying? I think cops have enough shit to worry about as is and don’t know how effective extensive police interference would even be. I think the anti-bullying message is stronger when conveyed by people closer to kids like teachers, parents, siblings or a celebrity figure they idolize.

Is there a coffee shop you like better than Starbucks? I like them all about the same.

If you could afford to get your hair professionally done, what would you get? Probably dye and highlights. Definite trim of my bangs.

If you had a lot of money, do you think you would use it wisely? Absolutely not. I have little to no money now and I don’t even use *that* wisely.

Do you know any rich people who are very irresponsible? I don’t know many people to begin with.

List five careers that you’d like to have: Lawyer (like A.D.A. Barba!)...Graphic Designer...Psychologist...Self-Help writer...and oddly wouldn't mind being a waitress still.

List five far-out things that you’d like to do before you die: I genuinely do not have a bucket list. If I stumble upon something that seems cool, I do it. Making unrealistic lists won't help my quality of life very much.

Do you dream big? Quite the opposite. I sort of just fly by the seat of my pants. Weird expression. Can’t recall ever having very fixated dreams or visions for myself.

What was your first imaginary friend’s name? N/A

What was the name of the first pet that you loved? Comet. <3

What was the first work uniform that you had to wear? Waitress uniform of sorts. I wanna say it was white button down and black pants.

Do you like to go barefoot? Usually. On some surfaces it’s intolerable and I hate the texture, though.

Do you like the same colors now that you did as a kid? Pretty much.

Do you have a blog? You’re on it, buddy. This is a survey blog.

Do you have a youtube channel? What would I even post videos about?? I assure you, I do nothing that the general public would find entertaining.

[choibns-blog]

hello there to all of you new people ! i go by r or rhu, gmt+1 timezone and currently on a quest to survive yet another day at uni while crying over this mochi over here ! hanbin is a good boi i hope to get the chance to develop in here even if i suck *ss at plotting, but meanwhile this is going to be a quick rundown of his story & you can find STATS / WANTED CONNECTIONS / THE BOOK SERIES here ! feel free to like this if you wanna plot or ask for my discord while i hop to write down my other boy’s intro ♥

[ PARK JIMIN, TWENTY-FIVE, CISMALE, HE/HIS ] hello, [ CHOI HANBIN ], this is the NERVE promotional discount offering 30% on the first three months of membership to whoever decides to join us in this limited amount of time ! it doesn’t matter if you’re an  [ NOVEL AUTHOR ], or if you think you’re too [ KIND HEARTED AND SELFLESS ] or too [ GULLIBLE AND SUBMISSIVE ] to live the NERVE experience, for the game is meant to be accessible to anyone. we at NERVE are well aware of how much you value your safety, especially considering [ YOU LIED AND TOOK BLAME OF SOMETHING YOU HAVEN’T COMMITTED IN HIGH SCHOOL WHEN YOU WERE THE VICTIM ] but don’t worry ! our terms of service are made to keep you and your peers safe. one of our next dares’ worth equals to 800.000KRW. so, are you a watcher or are you a player? 

                                    tw for: child neglect, bullying & sexual abuse

BACKGROUND

way before the great success of his books, hanbin was nothing but the only child of a very poor family living right near the docking areas of busan. both parents had to work three jobs to make meets end and grant their kid an education, but still hanbin was heavily affected by the lack of familial presence by his side, albeit not weighing it on the two at all.

being a very shy kid, tho, it was really hard for him to socialize, which is why he’d rather always spend time with books or with some paper to scribble on rather than playing with the other kids. it was a situation that never was brought up to hanbin’s parents attention simply because it was just seen as a juvenile shyness meant to disappear when growing older, something that only got worsened when at the beginning of high school he became target of bullies who would constantly point out his status and the fact he had to work after school. even then, hanbin never spoke about it and only closed himself even more into writing, winning a few poetry contests held in his school while starting the very first draft of what was going to become the first novel of his series.

speaking of his afterschool job ━a florist’s greenhouse where he had to tend the plants, not so far from the local arboretum━ , it was perhaps the only place where he felt safe and serene, and where hanbin himself said in various interviews that it helped him destress from the harshness of life and helped him write.

at the age of 18, he was framed by his bullies for an act of vandalism at the basement storage after he got dragged there with an excuse, and was found trembling and bleeding from his head nearby its entrance while the storage itself was essentially turned inside out. the incident left him very shaken and very prone to panic attacks towards sudden movements and unprompted touching. because of not speaking and not accusing anyone of what happened, he was pretty much considered guilty and forced to help one of his professors with afterschool work and ditch his actual job for that week as a punishment. it was that professor who found out of hanbin’s draft for his novel and encouraged him to try looking for an editor if writing was really what he aspired to do as a job.

that encouragement was the little spark this shy boy needed to go forth with his dream, actually signing with a known korean publishing house who had extremely appreciated his draft and only needed corrections and some more finessing to be done while he was busy graduating from highschool. he didn’t go to college due to lacking money for it and not wanting to become further weight for his tired parents, so he put all his heart and soul into alternating the greenhouse job and the final stages of his novel’s publishing.

serendipity came out exactly one and a half year later ( 2013 ),  and its story was an unexpected yet gradual success that brought the young man’s name under the spotlight. wonder ( 2015 )  and euphoria ( 2017 ) managed to raise the bar even higher to the point the three books got a complete cover renovation and was approved for translation in several countries as well as an official name for the saga:the serendipity gospels.

the great success of the book had him finally being able to have enough money to do whatever he’s ever dreamed of: he finally moved from busan to bucheon, where he took a small studio apartment ( and also bought a small bookstore where he’s pretty much most of the times, selling very rare books and writing his own stuff ) and keeps travelling to seoul from time to time due to being often invited to attend conferences, be a guest on tv shows and of course, working with the editor.

HANBIN

the living proof that angels are real and are too good for any of us. he literally forgave his parents for not being with him because he knew they had to work and used the money from the first book to repay them for all the sacrifice they’ve done, and also made a gift to the greenhouse’s owner to thank him for being patient with him and letting him appreciate the beauty of flowers even more.

very soft. very, very shy. never raises his voice. rarely talks unless it’s being asked something to him or he really feels talkative. which again, very rare moments, and has this thick busan accent many think sounds cute on his soft voice. and gestures a lot with those tiny fingers. pls god.

has ptsd from what happened during his last year of highschool and won’t talk about it claiming he doesn’t remember what happened, but it’s clear that it left a huge scar onto him that he’s unhealthily suppressing.

he writes the most beautiful poetry and the most heartwrenching scifi book series ever conceived and has had people in tears for how euphoria ended, like how dare he. that’s offensive.

loves the sea like he loves books, flowers and eating samgyeopsal.

fans keep saying that the protagonist of the series, a mute boy called seokjin, is a literal author avatar of hanbin, which has also been brought up to his attention duringeuphoria’s press conference. he has of course said nothing on the question, simply saying that like every author, there’s a piece of him in every part of the books.

catch yourself falling in love with how he giggles when he’s gotten an idea and pitter-patters to get his notebook to write it down, cause that’s the sound of happiness. or how he literally keeps his feet in the water and smiles fondly at the horizon regardless of he sea being calm or stormy. or how his eyes sparkle when he’s found a book to read.

his manager still is so pissed at him for buying a bookstore last year… but hanbin just felt the old, hidden place calling for him okay? he had to. plus he’s still working on his own books, he can do both things mister grumpy just watch him

he’s pure pls dont break him

[the-firebird69]

It's not Grandma's house but it's one of them were up there and it's not the store but it's a big house and it's been in it and that's where it was and it was moved down there to Cape cod renovated to what it looks like now taking apart and moved again and the tomb is moved underneath it prior to and they didn't notice it it's pretty deep and you'll never guess who's under it it's Alan Cromwell general Cromwell from the revolutionary War and he is general Schwarzkopf and he's in the house that they renovated and it's in California tons of people are going there and tons of people asking the guy who run his houses what he's doing cuz there's several of them that have tombs into them and they checked and he says thank you very much for all that harassment and his phase one of the lawsuit he was oh good you tell the truth too I don't know I told you before and you didn't believe me so I figured I'd say whatever I wanted and it doesn't matter what I'm saying it's a matter of what you did and what you're doing and you're ruining your future in your people is all part of your ass and illegal plan which will get you nothing

So we brought suit against him and was suing them for everything he has and he's getting killed beat up by everybody for having some of the tombs in his possession and hands off the houses to cover it people say it would sound pretty good I just got a fair amount of them it's probably a million houses total and he has about 45,000 of them

Thor Freya

And the new owners own a bunch of them too

Represented four or five more large lawsuits and he had to do his laundry pay attention to the idiot and it was my special request so we have to beat up these people. Two lawsuits went through today and are accepted by the courts Saint Elizabeth and Church of latter-day saints. Two more of a presenting tomorrow that's UMASS Worcester hospital UMass Amherst School and we have a lot to sue them for and it will clear his name so you can get her this money that Tommy f stole and he'll be out there fighting a lot of people will kill him and also UMass wister huge lawsuit by the way because of what they're doing West real state hospital and it's the state of Massachusetts and they have a lot to pay for, and Marlborough hospital revisiting and Tommy f and others were suing there for slander for messing his reputation for holding a prisoner and jobs and their for doing the surgery on his foot and causing the injury and more these are very serious lawsuits they're real the foreigners are breaking the barrier down at Sea soon will be in and not many of these people will be left to defend themselves Nintendo getting the money to him we intend on taking the family of his back in the AI we have a schedule and we're going to keep to it it's not much they can do about it.

And we introduce a couple more lawsuits against the people here constantly harassing and for malfron tons of it they keep turning away parcels or suing for every single one of them and bring it up to the federal government because they keep on doing it and blaming everybody else they're going to send down feds and start resting these people everyday

There's another side to this coin when we sue you people and you say no we go after you and we investigate and find stuff and take it and we don't announce we are of course and we we can you and destroy your armies especially here if your family opposed to it we destroy your clan several claims are all gone since he moved here and we started the lawsuits four of them are extinct and from a very old age not from the beginning but clans are gone okay.

And we're going to sue tons of people for everything they're worth can't stand you you suck so bad your mouths are flipping to all day long you have other people saying stupid things to us and you paid you won't shut up still the foreigners have the blockade broken up that's probably 40 or 50 entries into both sides the West and East of the nation and about 40 or 50 into South America on both sides too is it going there and they come up here and they arm up actually they're making weapons sound like crazy huge Army is going to be invading you this afternoon you'll probably fall fully and you won't be able to recover not really understanding your perspective you just want to be these hissing pissing smiling losers in the end tell me if it's falling too

We are suing Mobile oil for your performance at Shell and for excluding him from bus station which you may have had to take an emergency he started the argument Dr Gonzalez and you're not Mac Daddy you're the laundry guy and you're taking Max to the cleaners and you are a Mac and you're a higher up in a different plan he's trying to see you many times and you avoided it but you're not going to avoid us and you're the professor from the accounting class in Wentworth you and your buddy from Iraq you're not the I told it now but you have influencer and you're bothering him for it after you for that too but we're going to sue you now

We're taking Tommy f to court he's going to court today or he's going to have a warrant on him and it's in punta Gorda for Castle and the treatment to received there we're suing him for tons of stuff and he is going to be in denial he missed his court date yesterday there were warrants issued when you called up and said he'll show up today people are serious here in Port Charlotte he shows up and he gets arrested I'm assuming for money and of course you won't give anything in any stole money from our son we might mention it because he performed a bank robbery and is a criminal and so on record that he's wanted for it in Massachusetts the court session is at 4:00 p.m. today

Assuming the other organization supposedly a woman's organization but it's not it was up in Buffalo New York and it's in an acronym he doesn't like them didn't like them in the first place they treated like real s*** these people are awful no activities just take me for food for 20 minutes and rush you barely any money and using poverty and nobody was talking to him from home and he wrote letters he didn't answer it so he stopped finally they wrote a letter wrote back and said you didn't write me at all I wrote like 10 letters what would one expect they're all back and said you shouldn't speak to us that way and the way you're talking this whole time you're saying the wrong things to me I don't care to hear it I hear it from all these other people thank you very much they didn't write for a couple months then they said we're sorry they're doing it to us too I said why does it take so long to figure out you go outside and there's a huge assholes they said this it's racism and that's what it is I said it's very clear I do understand the same race and it's a burden and I'm near I would understand if you don't want me near you but you know we're in the same fix so they understood what you mean let's start working on stuff and it was much better he called it the family Sledge he started to get what you're saying I'm going to smash him it's a very old hammers around somewhere and he looked at and said what are those so you don't know what this is it says no I don't know what that is but I know it's near me sometimes I saw it ones inside a rock. So he says this will work to get those and we're going to be that Sledge family so yeah so he started thinking about it oh yeah. He's warned them too so there's too many clones so you have to be quiet and they did it was terrible terrible hard times so I'm going to sue them and it's up there in Buffalo New York and anachronism for a year to the library I know it is cuz we're finally the papers we have it ready and you want to sue them a long time ago cuz they're up there alone and just pick them off it's true too and there's only some people from there that are from here and they're disgusting assholes and they held him like a prisoner prisoner and he had practically nothing to do all day and was watching TV fiddling with stuff and you did some work yeah at the library is dumping whatever you could and it works and they're getting blamed for it still s t e l stell and it stands for something it's supposed to be housing for the mentally ill and a chance to get back into work for us and so forth they did no counseling when you went to the meetings or like berating people chastising them for the behavior in their talk making sure they didn't drink and drug and that was just about it handling it everybody's stupid problems during what's supposed to be counseling everybody start getting pissed I said we're in this trap and nobody's handling a regular problems and we can't get out of the problem area to idiotic jobs and getting stuck in Time cast is this as a place to stay when on this limo ride and they all said we got to get out of this had a party and associate and even our son was like man I can't stand it ain't going to throw up went outside and you're saying it to them and they said we know I said we need another limo that gets the f*** out of here it goes how are we going to get you out of here in a limo this is well end up leaving a bus is that a laughing it's kind of a limo well it's not a party bus but you guys can take the party bus after a while no it's the nightmares it's so bad the ride was so bad so they're on the ride some of them going this is hell important Lily couldn't figure out how to get there and Greyhound is going to help

We're taking over Greyhound and that was worse than here that place in Buffalo and excuse of Canada his relatives in Canada The Queen is there and helps them it was the most absurd situation I've ever had seen my life I'm going to go up there and hang out with the Russians you a****** like the queen and some Max or not dicks. You guys start laughing and said oh okay my grandma you know f****** fruits you got mad and said you know he's right about something we're beating ourselves up in him and he's not taking and he's just sitting there dishing it out a lot of people were. They plan to bring that out in the trial I'm going to point out who's falling him around and his employees of snow they knew exactly what he was doing and they took the wrong notes fortunately you could see through your windows with the telescope at what you're writing it's called super 8 it's like a continuous camera you can take one frame it looks just like a picture it started laughing I said it's not funny that's what it was from satellite and he could read the words oh you want to get into disguises and stuff that's perfect I'd like to do that oh Trump was the big fat lady that makes a lot of sense doesn't it Mr Holden poor beating up on him so what are you doing a****** then they stopped and started put Dan Doherty too and was not him the helpful soldier so he found out what he's saying and he was arrested a lot up there pulls out his gun and it was over we went after him a million times he just kept doing it now we're going to go after him up there cuz he was in style and he was hanging it up and he's a poor boy shortly

We're also suing the organization holding him here not treasure properties we're assuming the organization down the street the hospital which is run by Trump and assuming for everything he's worth and we're going to sue law enforcement again cuz he weasel into it again and we're going to sue that he's removed from several offices that Biden did not from put him into the forced his way in by getting officers of America caught in Iran and we're going to label Trump as a enemy combatant shortly

Also suing several other hospitals that had incarcerated our son against the law one of them is an obscure one is there for only a day and his dad rescued him and he doesn't remember where it was and it's not supposed to he's out in the middle of like Marlboro or near there it wasn't in my bro he says and no it wasn't there it was like Western it's like a weird place it was Weston Massachusetts and they're holding him there saying he's threatening people and he's waving his gun around and all sorts of strange things and the people in there are threatening him he started saying stuff out loud if you say that you'll be dead by the end of the day and they keep telling people what he's saying and the staff and you said I'm an important person the dod is monitoring me and you guys are out of line so if I go missing what are you talking about why don't you try something try something he kept on time to her and she ran out of there crying she actually was crying so he's going to kill me and so that was the idea because I'm protected by law they didn't believe you and she called a few people and the spies heard it they sent Dad in and on the way out you said you're all dead to the staff and dad said don't say that and say that I'm not saying that it's Mac and backed it up and I said we're going after you he went down there with a huge bunch of soldiers and took them all in well it was still going to sue them some of them around what a bunch of s***threatening him to get stuff and I already told him the same these words to him out loud and these words and these words it went on and on there's a few around here and they keep causing trouble we're going to sue for the facility and their houses and their personal finances and their investments and their clan stuff in all their weaponry and weaponry facilities every ounce of gold they have we're going to sue for everything they have because of their treachery and we're going to threaten the whole time and take their stuff the whole time I'm going to open that lawsuit right now I'm going to start suing the cops who pick them up to Boston the cops will pick them up in westborough and we're going to sue them for everything they're worth it's not Ken we're going to sue UMass wister for what they did to his mom and his dad I'm going to sue the hospital in New Hampshire for everything they're not even up there anymore I'm going to sue them for everything they're worth where they are no matter what they do and the hospice we already started taking it out of the hospice but we're going to sue the living s*** out of them and some of the prison people are doing it all of them we're going to sue them and the governor of New Hampshire and the governor of Massachusetts we're going to sue the governor here today and we're going to sue everybody who does this illegal crap until they shut the f****** it's not survival for one person he needs a huge team and this is way to gain the team and it's a way to defeat them as well he get into their stuff and you see how illegal it is and you have to use Force and to see what kind of torture our son is enduring and you have to use sympathy and empathy because it is intense

Bitol and Goddess Wife

He makes a joke because it's kind of fun and his little awkward and strange and he's a real smart person he said I'm going to be in an intents if this doesn't work and he's right they're trying to make him homeless so going after the homeless shelters here and the one up in Port Charlotte and we're going to nail them and we're going after Tommy f because he's sponsoring most of it and other Max who keep doing it it's ridiculous behavior and anybody connected with it

And we're presenting a lawsuit against the federal government from the military and it's going to look like Tommy f and Mac and really they should have been doing it but we're going to do it they might copy it and fall suit and I have two of them I'm going to sue them for most of the behavior that's going on cuz they want to bring him up here by threats and force and we're going to start all these lawsuits now and I'm soliciting our people for paying jobs we use RC remote viewing and more you're never going to be expected to come here usually we have people who are born on Earth do it All we have those who are severe egotarians and it just required that we have a presence but no one will ever be asked to do it is only if you volunteer yourself by yourself and we do check to make sure it is you this is a very tough duty and he has a very very tough people come here today these people are mean people it's been around sharks before it says this before or after we're talking about it so they're checking to see that they said they can feel it and sense it and said we should move in some foreigners and some kju see what it was so they going to do that they're doing it already I do thank you for your attention this is a great day and it's joke is pretty funny but it's really enlightening too and makes you spark up and get him we need to get these people so sick of them this dumb routine bugs in his hair is here and what a freaking pain in the ass you f*** are

And your nuts from you got shot point blank right in the head for what you're doing now you're nuts no that's what he said he said you're bothering me like you're bothering him I don't have to shoot you but I don't want you bothering him cuz I can just sit here for a thousand years he's hurt for like 10 and he can't stand you in any way he has to get at you that's why you died and you keep doing it cuz you're stupid