#maybe next time I just curl up in the woods and expire

[frostmarris]

Suspiciously plainly-titled KakuSaku (≖_≖) explain

I think I shared snippets in the AkaSaku server a while back when I started writing it!! An abandoned oneshot that I BELIEVE was supposed to have a??? magical girl or maybe demon Sakura in it, I can't remember exactly lmaoooo

Anyways, here's what I had written in it's entirety!

"Easy job, he said," Kakuzu growls under his breath, back pressed against the wall and his gun raised and ready. "Just in and out, he said. Just one guy, he said."

A bullet whizzes by his head as he just barely glances around the corner, his lip curled and his eye twitching as he jerks back. He's got one more clip before he's out of ammo and there's four assholes down the hall, waiting to blow his brains out. One of them, the beefy bald-headed guy, had already grazed his other soldier, but Kakuzu had fortunately already taken out three other goons. All he had to do now is get to the stairwell at the other end of the hall and down to the lobby.

Then he could go back to the base and break Hidan's nose.

The dickhead.

How the hell was seven assholes with guns in a decaying, abandoned hotel an easy job?

There's a muffled grunt down the hall and a chunk of the wall corner next to his head is suddenly blown away, shards of wood sent flying. A few hit his face, scratching up his cheek and forehead but, fortunately missing his eyes. Kakuzu growls again and quickly leans around the corner, catching sight of the shotgun that had just blasted the wall as he fired off three shots of his own. A vicious grin crosses his face as he gets one guy in the head, but he only manages to tag another in the leg. The other two, Beef and Shotgun, are quick to return fire and Kakuzu ducks back around the corner, grumbling as he drops the empty clip and loads up his last.

Definitely gonna break Hidan's nose.

The guy he'd hit in the leg is still shouting and wailing about all the blood he's losing, but, under his bitching, he can hear the other two reloading and decides to make a run for the stairs. As Kakuzu slides out, he pauses for the briefest moment, attention caught by a shock of red on the wall behind the men. It's extremely unlikely that the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall isn't expired, but he's willing to try anything if it means getting out of this dump alive. Quick to react, he raises his gun and aims, that grin returning as the bullet hits home and the extinguisher explodes into a massive cloud.

The remaining men shout and curse and Kakuzu turns on his heel, hightailing it down the hall and narrowly avoiding another bullet as it flies past his ear. He throws open the door to the stairwell and slides inside, slamming it shut behind him. He jumps the railing to drop down half a level, landing hard on his feet and grimacing at the way the the edge of a stair crumbles slightly underfoot. But, he doesn't have time to worry about that and takes off again, racing down the stairs but not risking jumping the rail again. He can hear the moment Beef and Shotgun burst through the door above, having seemingly left their remaining companion behind, and he curses under his breath.

Keeping his distance from the open middle of the stairwell, Kakuzu's glad to at least be two levels below them and not have to worry about getting shot. But there's still five more floors to go. The goons chasing him seem to have less qualms about risking the stability of the old stairs as he can hear the hard impact of them jumping and landing half a level down, three times in a row, and everything seems to shake slightly around him.

He manages to skid to a halt just as Beef lands in front of him, a grin on the big guy's face.

"End of the line, assh-"

There's an almost immediate rumble and the stairs shake for a moment before the ground opens up under the man and he falls down another floor, his eyes going comically wide as he cries out in surprise. Kakuzu doesn't have time to laugh, however, as Shotgun fires off, hitting the railing to his right and sending a few tiny bits of shrapnel flying. Cursing, he considers the goon-sized hole in front of him before sighing and jumping down, taking a bit of pleasure in the way he lands on the barely recovered Beef.

His weight sends the guy back down onto the ground and Kakuzu socks him in the face once, as payback for hitting his shoulder earlier, before hopping off of him and continuing down the last flight. He can hear him groaning in pain behind him and there's blood on his fist from he'd split the guy's lip, but Kakuzu is too concerned with making it down to the ground level. There's a chorus of curses and shouting behind him, but the door to the main floor is within sight and he barrels through it with a grin. He briefly considers finding some way to block the door behind him but decides to just get the fuck out of here and starts to race down the hall in search of the lobby and exit.

He can hear the moment the door is slammed open, a gruff, pissed off voice shouting after him, but turns a corner on the hall and enters the hotel lobby a moment later. The front doors are practically straight ahead and he can't wait to get out of this musty building and into the fresh air. Outrunning that big lug should be a br-

Something huge and heavy barrels into Kakuzu's back with a roar and tackles him to the ground.

Ah, the big meathead was faster than he seemed.

He narrowly avoids slamming his chin onto the ground, but his gun goes flying, skidding across the grimy tile floor and stopping a good 4 feet away from him. Now, Kakuzu himself is a fairly large man, but this guy is ridiculous and he's pretty sure he might be crushed if he doesn't get out from under him. He grunts and tries to squirm free, but Beef sits up, a knee digging into spine and a gun pressed to the back of his skull.

"Y'fucking broke my nose, dickhead," He growls before turning his head and spitting a mouthful of blood off to the side. Kakuzu goes still as he presses the barrel a little harder against his head, watching the blood seep down an open crack in one of the tiles.

"Now, I really wanna just smash your skull open," Kakuzu rolls his eyes. "But if you hand over that little trinket the dumbass up on the 9th floor gave you, then I'll make it nice and quick and just blow your brains out."

Right, easy job. Just go to the dump of a hotel, meet Hidan's contact, get whatever goods it was that the Boss wanted, then return to the base.

Easy.

Granted, Kakuzu hadn't been expecting some weird necklace with a…- bone? Or was it ivory? - medallion.

"Now, hand it over, freak."

Kakuzu opens his mouth to respond, but then the ground seems to tremble beneath them. They both tense, that knee digging into his back a little deeper as Beef sits up and looks around. The distraction is all he needs though and Kakuzu twists under him, managing to roll over enough to punch the goon in the throat. The gun goes off but just grazes his arm - the same damn arm - and Beef reels backwards, choking and trying to catch his breath. It's enough for Kakuzu to pull his knees up to his chest and then kick out, boots impacting the larger man in the center of his chest to send him flying backwards.

[lafoiaveugle]

Christ, I hate being sick.

I've spent the last month or so waiting for today. Insurance approved it easily, I caught it before I needed too much prednisone.

Any then Redd got COVID. He's doing better, though I worry about him and long COVID. I don't think he gave it to me (I continuously tested negative at home) but it meant treatment had to be pushed back a week and a half.

I am fairly certain what happened overall is that I went from getting a 500 ml dose to 1000 ml dose and my body was not ready for that. I'll likely talk to my doctor about only doing 500 ml next time.

They couldn't get my veins to work. The first time or two was likely dehydration, then the rest was a panic attack. The super nice nurses told me I wasn't being the worst, gave me oxygen and let me blast Taylor Swift while tried to calm down. Once the IV was in, I fell asleep almost instantly.

At some point I woke up, and the nurse confirmed she would turn up the speed on the IV now that I had been in and out for 90 minutes. It was uncomfortable, but not the worse.

Until it was the worse. I nearly passed out, needing oxygen again. It doesn't help that I have this cough and sinus whatever. I felt like I Was going to throw up, pass out, jump out of my skin....I dunno.

I ended up throwing up towards the end. I am exhausted, achy, sick, though I am keeping food down.

Fuck my body so much.

[shreddedparchment]

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

[lazarettta]

The Babysitter

Characters ( Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader )

Rating (T) Word Count ( 2.9k) Warnings ( None, bad flirting, writing while intoxicated)

“For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

It was another late night studying on the living room floor of the Mayfair-Richards household. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend a majority of your nights here during the week and sometimes the weekend if you were needed and you usually weren't. Not that you would've minded anyway, your weekends weren't busy—mostly spent either dead asleep or trying to get out of plans you didn't want to be a part of anyway to get more sleep.

But it wasn't everyday that you were able to work for a Senator either, so even if you were busy, you weren't going to tell Ally Mayfair-Richards that. Not that she was a mean boss or anything, she was the Senator for crying out loud. And...okay yes, maybe you idolized the woman a little though it may be because you're studying law but honestly who wouldn't idolize this woman? She went through so much shit getting to this point in her life and career.

And she was hot. She was really hot but you kept it in your pants, but your eyeballs? Different story. You were just grateful that she chose you to watch her son when she was away, especially after you knocked over your entire cup of tea in her living room on the very carpet you were sitting on, and you were just a hot mess.

You thought you blew the whole thing, but the moment she produced the NDA to you a few days later when she called you back for a 'second interview' which included Ozzy this time, you'd been ecstatic and nearly knocked over another fucking cup but Ally was faster than you that time.

The giant TV was playing in front of you across the room but it was just the news channel but the volume was pretty low because Oz was asleep upstairs and you weren't really watching it anyway, you had your airpods in listening to Beyoncé and trying to create a decent scenario for one of the ten theories your professor assigned. It was due the next day so you thought picking the easiest one would work in your favor but it was turning out to be your worst nightmare—and you'd regretted choosing sleep over this, kind of.

You'd been so engrossed in your work, and music, you didn't hear the front door open and shut somewhere behind you or hear Ally quietly talking on the phone, her high heels click clacking on her polished wood floors as she came into the living room. Ally paused slightly at the sight of you and her coffee table, your books and yellow pads scattered everywhere, your head bopping slightly to whatever you were listening to as you scribbled away.

Ally smiled softly, and continued on her way upstairs to check on Ozzy knowing that she was going to find him safe, clean and fast asleep with a full belly. You'd been his nanny for four months now and you were such a blessing for Ally, she'd been reluctant to hire and trust another person with her baby boy but her career was too demanding and Ozzy was only ten. He could stay home alone for a few hours maybe, but not days or even a week or two.

After everything, Ally did have cameras around her home on the outside and she had one directly over the stairs because it overlooked the foyer and parts of the living room from an angle. She didn't want too many camera's inside of her home in case they were hacked but she wanted something at least.

Ozzy's room was dark except for his nightlight by the door and Ally quietly made her way inside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his curls from his face. She was ever thankful that he finally stopped having those horrible nightmares, it meant that she wasn't wasting her money on therapy sessions.

When Ally came back downstairs, you were predictably in the exact same spot you were in and Ally finally did away with her coat, placing it over the spine of the sofa and she stepped out of her heels before coming around and plopping herself down, careful not to knock over your stack of books.

The sudden movement startled you out of your skin and you quickly pulled out your airpods and looked at your boss, “Hey! Sorry, how long have you been home?”

Ally smiled down at you tiredly, practically sinking into the sofa and you could feel her exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and you couldn't help but sympathize because damn, and you thought you were tired.

“I just got in, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, things got busier than I expected and then everything went into chaos.”

You smirked when she threw her hands up half heartedly with a roll of her eyes, “Would a glass of wine help?”

“No, but it would definitely be a start if you join me for a glass?” she raised an eyebrow, and as much as you wanted to say yes you've already procrastinated enough and you really didn't need alcohol in your system around her lest you say something you absolutely shouldn't.

“I would but I have to finish this and it's getting late. Do you mind waiting up until my Uber gets here?”

“It's really late, you should just stay the night, (Y/n).” Ally sat up then, waving away your comment, though now she was closer and hovering over you a bit, “I'll take you home tomorrow after breakfast, that sound fair?”

It wouldn't be the first overnight stay but it would definitely be the first time that she'd be home too and you just couldn't say no to that even though you probably should have insisted more that you go home, but you accepted her offer without further debate. You'd gone back to your assignment, minus the airpods this time, and Ally got up to go to the kitchen and you could hear her fixing herself a glass of wine.

Ally set a bottle of water next to you on a coaster before settling back in her spot and finding something to watch on TV, and of course you noticed that she was a hell of a lot closer than she was before.

Your pen had paused on the yellow paper and your eyes glanced over the same sentence three times before your mind processed that you could practically feel the heat from her legs next to your arm through her slacks, and if you leaned just an inch you'd be touching her. You fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, but instead you looked up from beneath your lashes and saw that she was browsing the movie channels at a snail's pace.

Behind you, Ally was sipping her wine in one hand and flipping channels with the remote in the other but her eyes were nowhere on the TV screen. But she noticed the moment your pen stopped moving and your shoulders tensed more than usual, she'd been watching you closely and curiously.

“You okay, honey?”

You turned around to answer her with what you hoped was a calm smile and wished that you hadn't, really. Ally was going to kill you sitting the way she was sitting, her energy screaming big dick and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone and her hair was a little messy. Either she was going to give you a heart attack or your libido would.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked, coming back to reality so fast you would’ve gotten whiplash, “Uh, yeah...maybe I guess I’m just tired too.” Yeah right.

You chuckled nervously, embarrassed really, and licked your lips again and Ally tracked the movement with rapt attention not that you would've caught it because you were busy being mortified being caught staring like a creep.

“Are you sure? You look flushed, drink some water,” you smiled at Ally, ever the mom.

“I’m not—” not what? Thirsty? Yeah you were but not for some water.

“You’re not what?” Ally pressed, still holding you hostage with her eyes alone.

“Not thirsty for water.”

Ally raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching and you hate that you noticed, “Oh? Then what would you like to drink if it’s not wine or water?”

Good question. One you didn’t have a good answer to. Not trusting yourself to formulate words into an appropriate sentence, you just nodded and turned back around and grabbed the water she brought you. You were determined to ignore until you were finished with your work—for the sake of your sanity and dignity.

Fuck.

Still watching you, Ally laughed quietly into her wine glass and finally settled on a movie, keeping the volume low as she got comfortable. Deciding to let you off the hook for not answering her question. (This time.)

~~

A few days later...

It was another late night for you but you weren't working for Ally tonight, so you went to the gym instead after studying. You were still wearing your tights and sports bra when you left, only throwing on a jacket because the night air and sweat weren't a great mix.

You didn't have anything at home to eat that wasn't expired or so frozen it came from the ice age...it all went in the trash so all you had left in your fridge was a case of water and cheese sticks. It wasn't surprising though, you spent a majority of your free time at Ally's home and you just ate lunch and dinner there usually. So you went straight to the grocery store after your workout with your trainer.

“Hey (Y/n)!” you looked up and internally groaned, rolled your eyes and threw a whole bitch fit.

You offered Sean a tight near sarcastic smile, “Sean. What is up.”

“Nothin',” he said, leaning against the counter he was standing behind with a cheesy smile, his eyes leering—and it made your skin crawl, “Just working...you?”

“Uh,” you were already over this conversation, “Same, anyway—”

“You still work for that crazy killer lesbian?”

You stopped, pivoting back around slowly to see if he was joking or not, of course it was hard to tell because he was looking at your ass, but the minute he turned around his eyes laser beamed to your chest. Specifically your pebbled nipples and the bars pierced in them. You moved the labels of your jacket to cover them fucking pig.

“Uh, my eyes are up here and two, that 'crazy killer lesbian' is your Senator.”

He shrugged, “I didn't vote for her.”

“I'm...okay, it was nice talking to you but I have things to do.”

“Well, wait,” he moved in front of you, stopping your escape, “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about actually, uh, but listen...do you maybe wanna go to dinner with me this weekend? My treat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed with his audacity, “You literally just called my boss a crazy killer lesbian and now you're expecting me to go to dinner with you?” as if, you wanted to add but held yourself in check—barely.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sean only shrugged but he was bashful about it but it only served to irritate you further because it was obvious that he didn't quite mean it and you were mentally slapping yourself for just not ordering that damn pizza.

“Whatever, goodnight Sean.”

you tried to move around him but he shifted, keeping you in place and you knew you could've just turned around, you should've but he would've just followed you, “Well wait, you never answered my question. About dinner?”

“No.”

“Well, wait a minute...why not? The lesbian thing? It was just a joke. You can take one, can’t you?”

“And I'm not laughing, get the fuck outta my way Sean—”

“You—”

“I believe she told you to fuck off.”

Sean's eyes snapped up over your head slightly, and you would've laughed at his stupid face had you not been pivoting around yourself, your eyes meeting a very familiar chin and you looked up, but Ally's eyes weren't on you but instead glaring daggers into Sean. He'd be ten feet under if she got her way with that look. You wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. (Maybe another version of it...)

“S-senator?”

“Oh, I'm not the crazy killer lesbian anymore? How disappointing.” when Sean could only stare at her like a fish out of the water, Ally stepped forward—a lot closer to you and you didn't have the strength to move or even look away, “I believe you were told to leave. Oh and if I even hear that you looked at or said anything to (Y/n) incorrectly, you're going to have a lot worse than a harassment complaint from a Senator to deal with.”

You didn't see him leave but you heard the squeaks of his sneaker and in seconds flat you and Ally were alone in the cereal aisle and you had absolutely no idea how to even breathe at the moment, much less process that she just saved you from...whatever that even was.

When Ally was satisfied that Sean was gone, she finally looked down at you—there was still a fire in them that you couldn't place but her brown eyes were softer than they were a few seconds ago, and you felt your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You cleared your throat, taking a small step back—but you still felt exposed under her unblinking stare though not in the same way you felt with Sean, it was the complete opposite, “Yeah thanks to you, so um thanks...a lot. Your timing is impeccable, but what are you doing here so late? Where's Oz? Is he okay?”

Ally smiled at you, shaking her head disturbing her always perfect hairstyle, “Oz is fine, or at least he will be, he must've ate something today at school and it's not sitting well with his stomach,” Ally rolled her eyes but not at the fact that her son had food poisoning but that he had food poisoning from the school lunch. She could only imagine that other children—reforming school lunches was already on her agenda but now she was seriously considering moving ahead of schedule.

“Oh no, how bad?”

“Not too bad...he'll be okay, I'm just here for medicine to stock up on,” Ally reassured you, her eyes flickering over your shoulder for a second, “What are you doing out so late?” and wearing that? She mentally added, but held her tongue because she knew that it wasn't her place to comment on your attire—not that she was complaining about it, but Ally just didn't like the way Sean was leering at you either. She was a hair away from showing him how she earned her title.

Suddenly aware of how much skin you were showing, and that your jacket fell open again but unlike with Sean you didn't feel the need to really cover yourself (even though you knew that you should've). You appreciated her eyes more than his...and probably anyone else's.

“Oh, I went to the gym and since I don't have any food at home...”

Ally chuckled, “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

“No! No, no you pay me plenty...I'm just too busy to cook is all and then I'm just too tired to eat sometimes. College life.”

“I was teasing, welcome to adulthood. It doesn't stop,” you laughed along with her but you both knew there was truth behind those words.

“I shouldn't keep you, I know you have things to do.”

“You know, I doubt you're going to get a decent nutrient meal here tonight, especially shopping while you’re hungry...” Ally hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something before opening her mouth to carefully speak those words, “You're more than welcome to come home with me for a late dinner if you have nowhere else to be. I'd be more than happy to feed you.”

Heh. Feed me what? You blinked, mildly surprised with how fast your mind went straight to the gutter and you felt your face heating up faster than a house fire, and you had no doubt in your mind that your boss knew exactly what she was doing to you.

But she didn't, Ally didn't have one clue to what was happening in your mind because her own mind was a pile of scrambled eggs while forcing her eyes to stay above your neck. You were both very much still in public.

And the last thing Ally wanted to do was make either you a cliché, especially with her being a public figure in a male dominant career field, both in politics and her restaurant.

“Unless you had your sights set on cereal?” Ally coughed lightly, suddenly nervous and you realized that you'd been standing there staring at her like a moron this whole time.

“No, I'd love to come home with you,” you said cheerfully, meaning every damn word for different reasons, and you smiled at her, before your eyes widened when realizing how forward you sounded, and suggestive as hell, “For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

Direct result after two blunts...sorry if it's kinda lame tho lmao I went in thinking I was writing smut and gave up somewhere

[electronicgrowth]

Can’t Get Enough Part 3

I can’t get enough of posting this (ahahaha get it?). There’s a little violence in this chapter and a lot of time period standard sexism. Sorry, but it’s the 60′s my friend. 

I was planning on posting this at a later date, but I had an absolute TERRIBLE day yesterday and in the midst of it I was able to smile because of all the love this series is getting. It’s not much but every single like means the world to me. So, without further ado, here’s the next chapter a little early as a thank you for making me smile on a horrible day.

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 3.2k

Billie drifted through the rest of the day in a distracted fashion. She helped her mom in the kitchen for a bit, then she was allowed to read her book. Before dinner she decided to go clean up. She fixed her hair nice. She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted to impress Lee. She fought with herself. She saw her whole future laid out before her. If she stayed in Knockemstiff and married Lee, she knew her life would be good. She knew that deputies made good money, and sheriffs made even better money. They could have a nice house. And all the babies she wanted. The other part of her still wanted adventure. Maybe Lee could be her adventure. She didn’t know anymore. 

Billie’s parents always went to sleep at nine. Billie went up around the same time each night. Unfortunately, she shared a room with Sylvia and Clara. Sylvia was sixteen. So, both her and Billie covered for the other. And Clara stuttered so bad, she couldn’t tell her parents even if she had caught her older sister. Billie told Sylvia she was going out that night, Sylvia smiled. The worst thing about the farm house was that all the children’s bedrooms were upstairs and each floorboard creaked underfoot. Billie carefully avoided the loudest steps as she snuck out of the house at 9:45. Joseph and Thomas were still in the living room, luckily the living room was just outside her parents room. The boys were watching some program on the tv while playing cards. Not paying attention at all. Billie managed to slip out of the back door totally unseen. She ran across the yard and into the woods. Once she was into the woods, she slowed to a quick walk. She felt safe with the trees wrapped around her, hiding her from prying eyes.

She walked until she got to the road where Lee said he’d meet her. He was already there. He was leaned up against the cruiser, smoking a cigarette. She emerged and smiled at him. He was quick to put out the cigarette and open the driver’s side door for her. She slid in, but only just so he could get in. She was pressed up against him. The car roared to life, Lee drove just ten minutes. They drove away from town, he slowed when they drove just barely off the road, down a dirt path. He cut the engine and turned to Billie. 

She pounced on him. Kissing him aggressively as she climbed into his lap, straddling him. The skirt of her dress rucked up in the process. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. Her tongue skated across the roof of Lee’s mouth. His hands were everywhere, her thighs, her breasts, her ass. He couldn’t touch enough of her. She ground down on Lee’s lap, he was hardening under her. She moaned into his mouth. He pulled away, panting against Billie’s lips. 

“Lay back, baby,” Lee grunts. She followed his directions, laying herself across the front seat of his cruiser. He pushed her dress up and pulled her underwear down her legs. She’s exposed to him. He rubs his fingers up and down her slit, wetness leaking out of her. He sinks two fingers into her, pumping in and out of her vigorously. He curls his fingers inside of her. She can barely contain her cries. Her eyes are squeezed shut in ecstasy. 

Lee decided that he wanted to try something new. He kneels on the floor of the car, continuing to fuck her with his fingers. She doesn’t even notice that he’s changed his position. He leans forward and removes his fingers from her. She whines at the loss. But Lee quickly laps at her folds. Billie’s eyes fly open and she sits up in shock. 

“Just relax, baby. Let me make you feel good,” he groans. She lays back down, sounding breathless. Lee continues to lap at her, soon he pushes further in. He sucks her essence from the source like a man dying of thirst. 

“Lee,” she whimpers breathlessly. He grabs her thighs, pulling her closer, humming against her. The vibrations making her even wetter. Lee separates himself from her folds, and licks up to her clit. He spells the alphabet with his tongue and places his fingers back inside her. He moves his fingers almost violently. Billie can’t contain herself much longer, her thighs begin to shake uncontrollably and she gasps for breath. She cums with a strangled cry. Lee lets her ride out the orgasm before removing his fingers from her. She’s panting as she watches him suck her juices from his fingers. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he groans. Billie sits up and kisses Lee. She can taste herself on his tongue and she’s desperate for more. Billie undoes Lee’s belt as they kiss. His cock emerges hard as a rock. She delicately wraps her hand around it, and jerks him back and forth. She’s going slow, painfully slow. 

“Your mouth,” he says. Billie nods and gets down on her knees. She licks up his length multiple times before taking him in her mouth. She bobs her head slowly, Lee looks down and makes eye contact with her. Lee has a unique taste. Despite the fact that she just came, she clenches her thighs as she tastes him. He thinks about fucking her face, but she’s so pretty like this, mouth stuffed with his cock.

“Faster,” he grunts. Billie obliges quickly. Her hands aid her mouth. One hand wraps around his cock, it closely follows her lips, gently twisting. Her other hand fondles his balls. 

“Good girl,” he groans, head leaning back as he closes his eyes. One of his hands rests in her hair. She seems spurred on by his encouragement and she speeds up. 

“That’s it baby. You’re doing such a good job,” he praises. He opens his eyes and looks down at her, “You gonna be this good when you take my cock in your little pussy?” Billie moans around him, a desperate look in her eye. 

“Oh, I bet you are. Gonna let me fuck ya, nice and deep. I’ll ruin you. You’ll never want another man after me,” he snarls, his other hand goes to her hair to hold her in place. He thrusts his hips up and she gags around him. He fucks her mouth as if it were her pussy and cums with a roar. She swallows all of it down, not wasting a drop. Lee pulls out of her mouth and reaches for a handkerchief in his gloves box, he wipes the excess salvia off her chin and neck. 

Billie rejoins him on seat. They both fix their clothes. Lee looks at his watch, it’s only 10:30, they have some time yet. So, he holds her, rubbing a hand up and down her back. Lee would give anything to hold her like this each night. He can tell that Billie is starting to drift and he drives her back to the wooded area near the farmhouse. He kisses her goodnight and sends her on her way. 

Billie sneaks back into the farmhouse with no issue. She sneaks upstairs and changes into a night dress, before crawling into bed. Her parents none the wiser to what she’s been doing. 

Billie and Lee continue on, meeting at least three nights a week. Sometimes they just kiss endlessly. Sometimes they really fool around. Other times they talk. One night Lee brings a blanket and they stargaze for hours. They learn all about each other. But Billie never lets Lee forget that their time together has an expiration date. She reminds him that she’s going to school and nothing can stop her. Lee visits her at the diner at least five days a week. He can chat with other locals when she has to take care of other tables. Billie is thankful for anytime that Lee eats at the diner. The boys her own age leave her alone when he’s there. 

Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights. Billie was working the late shift. Some of the boys from her graduating class were hanging around. They were making sexual comments at her and staring. When they finally cleared out she was grateful. Patty told her to hit the road. She promised that she and Peter could lock up. Billie was glad to get off early, she could crawl into bed early that way. She walked out the back door like she did after every shift. 

She doesn’t notice a car full of boys following her. She’s one block away from the diner when the boys park and gather around her. Billie panics. Among them is Ralph. 

“Can I help you boys with something?” She spat. 

“Heard you wouldn’t give it up for poor Ralph here. So, we figured we would help him out,” said one boy, Jay. 

“I don’t give it up for anyone,” Billie said with a roll of her eyes. Just a moment later she was slapped across the face. She’s shocked and that gives the boys a chance to pounce on her. She’s fighting with all she can, but she’s no match for five boys. She kicks anything she can, claws the face in front of her. She doesn’t care. She’s not going down without a fight. She’s screaming as loud as she can. Another boy closes his fist and hits her hard in the stomach. It incapacitates her enough that they slam her on the hood of the car they were in. Each boy holding down an arm or a leg. She’s overwhelmed by the smell of moonshine on them. She doesn’t know how any of them are standing. Ralph smirks down at her, about to get what he always wanted. He tries to kiss her but she bites his tongue. 

“You fucking bitch!” He shouts. He lifts her head and slams it back on the hood several times. Unwillingly, tears stream down her face. She’s sure this is it. She wishes she would have told Lee how much she cared for him. She really wished she would have called Thomas to pick her up. Then, just as she is giving up hope, she sees a flash of blue and red lights. 

“What the hell is going on?” Shouts a familiar voice, Lee. Thank god. He and several other deputies rush to see what’s going on. The boys try and keep calm, they release their grips on her and she slides from the hood of the car to the road. Gravel digs into her exposed thigh but she can’t find the will to move. 

“We’re just joking around,” one claimed. 

“Billie,” Lee said, “What’s going on?” Billie can’t answer, she just sobs. 

“Billie, you have to tell me,” Lee coaxes gently, crouching next to her. 

“They—they grabbed me and they were— they were gonna—“ Billie can’t finish her sentence, she starts to sob even harder. Lee pulls her head to his chest. 

“Arrest them,” he says to the other deputies. Another couple of police cruisers pull up. One by one the boys are cuffed and put into cruisers. They each are trying to talk their way out of it. But the deputies don’t listen. 

“Billie, honey. You need to get up off the road. Can you do that for me?” Lee asked, reaching out a hand for her to grasp. She slowly comes to her feet and Lee really examines her. She’s covered in bruises. Her nose is bleeding, her lip is split. She has cuts all over her hands, suggesting she maybe landed a few punches. 

“Did they— did they touch you— down there?” Lee asked gently. Billie shakes her head. 

“Good, good,” Lee hums, he leans down and picks Billie up, and carries her to her car. 

“I wanna go home,” she begged, between gasps for air. It broke Lee’s heart, but he couldn’t take her home. 

“We have to get your statement at the station,” he said, quietly. Billie silently cried the entire way to the station. She had pressed herself up against the passenger side door, as far away from him as possible. Lee had no idea what to say. When they arrived at the station, he led her inside to his desk. Only then did Billie realize that her work uniform was completely torn. An inappropriate amount of leg was showing and the front of the uniform was torn so much that her bra was peaking out. She felt horribly exposed. Lee made her sit down gently, before turning away. And grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair. He helped Billie slide into it. At least that helped her cover a bit. 

“Edna is calling your mama,” he told her, gesturing to the secretary, “But in the meantime, you have to walk me through what happened. We need it for the police report.”

Billie began gasping for air. 

“Shhh, shh. It’s okay, just take a deep breath, hold it for two seconds and slowly blow it out.” Billie did as he said five times. 

“Good,” he murmured, “Now just walk me through it and take as many breaks as you need.” 

“I was walking home from the diner,” her voice was terribly hoarse, “Patty had let me go early because we weren’t busy. I didn’t even see them until it was too late. One of them said something about me giving it up for Ralph. And then they were on me. I—I tried to fight them off, I really did. But there were five of them and I’m just me. They hit me and slammed my head on the car. I-I-I really thought Ralph was going to rape me. They had me pinned to the hood of the car. I didn’t know what to do.” She was sobbing, fighting against her cries to speak. 

Lee nodded as she finished. She didn’t even notice that he’d been quickly writing down all that she said. 

“I’m going to get you some water and a damp cloth for your face,” Lee said before standing up and strutting away from the desk. Billie took her self in. Her knees were bloody and scrapped, gravel stuck into the injuries. She peaked inside the jacket and saw that at least one elbow was in a similar condition. The exposed parts of her chest were bruised. And she didn’t even want the opportunity to look at her face, because if it looked as bad as it felt it was pretty horrible. Lee came back damp cloth in hand. Glass of water in the other. He gently rubbed under her nose, cleaning the blood that had started to dry. She winced as he rubbed the cloth against the cut in her lip. 

He leaned back, once he got her face cleaned up. “Gibson, get me the first aid kit, will ya!” He shouted at a younger deputy. Gibson scurried away in search of the first aid kit. Lee gently brushed the gravel from her knees and elbow when Gibson returned with the kit. Lee rubbed the antibiotic cream over her injuries before finding the largest bandages to cover the abrasions. 

“Thank you,” Billie whispered. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, studying her face. 

“I want to go to bed,” she responded. 

“Don’t worry your mama will be here soon,” he placated. 

“Are they even going to get in any trouble?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “They got you pretty good. But they’re all from good families.”

“You mean rich families. And my family is just a bunch of poor farmers,” she spat. 

“If it were up to me, they would get thrown in jail,” Lee growled. 

“But it’s not up to you,” Billie nodded. 

“I’m so sorry, sugar,” he murmured. 

“I know.” 

“Billie!” Joy ran into the building in a desperate search for her daughter. Closely following Joy was John. 

“Oh my baby!” Joy gasped. 

“What happened?” John asked gruffly. 

“It seems Billie got attacked by five of the local boys. Ralph Johnson, Jay Smith, Grant Parker, Gideon Cousins, and Jimmy Barrow were the boys we found with her when we pulled up. Four of them were holding her down. It sounds like they were planning on holding her down so Ralph could violate her,” Lee explained. 

“Were you leading that Ralph boy on?” John questioned. 

“No, I went on a date with him back right after graduation. But that’s it,” she answered. 

“Well, you know how boys are honey,” Joy attempted to soothe. 

“Even if I slept with Ralph a month ago, which I didn’t, it still wouldn’t be an excuse for this. All we did was kiss!” Billie yelled. 

“Calm down,” John commanded. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” She maintained. Lee decided to step in to de-escalate the situation. 

“I’m inclined to agree with Billie. It probably has very little to do with her and more to do with the fact that those boys were drinking and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Lee conceded, “I’ve already taken Billie’s statement and I think you should get her home. I’ll check in tomorrow.” 

“Thank you Deputy Bodecker,” Joy beams. 

“Just want to make sure that our Billie here is safe,” Lee answered. Billie slips out of Lee’s jacket. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow that. I hope I didn’t bleed on it,” she said quietly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. John and Joy lead Billie out of the station and to their own car. When they’re out of sight Lee marches to the sheriff’s office. 

“You gonna charge those boys?” He asked the sheriff as soon as he entered the office. 

Sheriff Collins sighed. 

“I can charge them with possession of moonshine and third degree assault,” he grunts. 

“Third degree? They weren’t just recklessly messing with her and she got hurt in the process, I would say there is considerable evidence for first degree aggravated here. They may have drunk, but they knew what they were doing,” Lee said in disbelief. 

“Look Bodecker, those boys come from good families. The Dechswaan family is nice. But they’re trash. No money. No real standing,” Collins responded. Lee walked out of the office in disbelief and disgust, slamming the door on his way. He wanted to really go after those boys. He’d seen it before with men like his father, nothing was going to stop them from hurting another girl. But he was at the mercy of the sheriff, and if the sheriff wouldn’t press the appropriate charges there was nothing he could do. 

Joy helped Billie from the car and to the bathtub. She took Billie’s ruined uniform away. 

“I know Lee patched you up at the station, but I want you to really clean the wounds and I’ll get you some fresh bandages. Holler if you need anything,” Joy said from the door. Billie did as her mother said. She cleaned the abrasions. She scrubbed the dirt from her body until her skin was raw. She even washed her hair, it’d gotten dirty in the scuffle. Billie re-bandaged herself and dressed in the clean nightdress her mama had left her. After that Billie crawled into bed and passed out. But even her exhaustion couldn’t keep the nightmares away. 

@greeneyedblondie44 @bxnnywriting

[hazbincalifornia]

Soiled Tea

Chapter 23: Blitzo gets home and contemplates things.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and brief mentions of underage drinking. Generally shitty thoughts about babies.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Blitz.” There was a pounding on his door, and it took a few seconds to process that it was Loona. “You’ve been in there for like three hours. The fuck happened?”

“Piss off!” Blitzo called back, scrolling mindlessly down Voxtagram with only a pause to scrub at his sore eyes. The phone buzzed with another text from Stolas, and he swiped it up without looking like the last twelve. A growl rumbled from behind at the door, and the scratch of Loona’s claws dragged down the wood.

“Fine, don’t tell me! It’s not like I care either way, I just want to know if you’re going to start bitching at me over whatever it is!” Loona’s weight creaked the floorboards as she padded away from the door, mere moments before Blitzo’s stomach growled.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the little fucker was going to be feeling that.

...It’d be easier to starve the bastard if it wouldn’t hurt him too. He only realized that his fingers had dug into his stomach when the red glow fluttered in and out, and his teeth gritted as he pushed himself off the bed, the creak reminding him how badly he needed a new mattress and frame. Stolas sleeping on it the other day couldn’t have helped, and it was going to collapse under him one of these days. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there he didn’t feel like puzzling through at the moment.

Moping later. Food now. He was pretty sure they’d stocked up a few days ago, so unless Loona had eaten everything since he’d been out, he could make some cup noodles and curl back up on the bed in peace. Loona was draped over the couch with screams and gorey splatters echoing from the TV when he exited his room, and she raised an eyebrow at seeing him mere moments after he’d told her to piss off. Blitzo sighed.

“Look, I just want to bury my sorrow in some cheap-ass junk right now, got it?”

She pointed to the freezer. “Try the strawberry scoop.”

“Thanks, dear.” First he needed to get the noodles, though. Blitzo opened the cabinet, reaching for the cups before brushing against a small bag. Why did he have a bag in the…?

His fingers froze, touching the edge of the packet- it was Stolas’s tea from their café meeting, tied with a pretty little bow. He’d mostly been over the nausea hump by the time he’d gotten it so it had been stuffed in the back of the cabinet, and right now, it was leaned against a partially-opened hot chocolate packet that must have been years old. It made the wood smell both moldy and chocolatey-fresh. Over the last few weeks, the powder had seeped into the mix of the tea- and probably ruined it too. There was an ant curled up in front of the fancy little bag which was almost certainly dead, flat on its back with legs curled heavenward.

The thing was moving again, but when he smacked the side of his stomach, it turned over a little with a shudder and stopped. Progress.

His hands were shaking by the time he pulled the noodles out from next to the tea (and next to the hot chocolate, and some expired crackers, and the little baggie of rat poison he’d borrowed from Millie and Moxxie’s closet) and began boiling the water to prepare them the same way he’d done hundreds of times before. No thinking required. The TV droned on in the living room, but the volume was low and he could still hear the water dripping from the leak over the fridge and his own heartbeat.

Casually, he leaned back against the countertop as he waited for the water to soak in, then realized that angle made the bump stick out even more, and also that he’d never actually taken off Stolas’s shirt. The knot in the back was thick and hard on his back, and it pressed on his protruding vertebrae against the granite. He tapped the end of his tail next to a stray protein bar wrapper on the countertop before sweeping it towards the trash. It missed, fluttering down to the dirty floor like a dying moth. Blitzo scooped up the cup, stabbing the top with a fork before bringing it back to his room and turning on a video of some idiot screaming at video games to drown out whatever thoughts couldn't be suppressed otherwise.

Loona didn’t bother him for the rest of the night, but he could hear her slam the fridge’s door shut and pop open a can of something around ten. He peeled off the shirt and went to bed.

__________________

An hour after going to bed, he realized that the sex-sweat stuck to his skin was itchy, sticky, and smelled like shit. He managed to last approximately fifteen more minutes before dragging himself off the bed and crawling into the shower, flipping on the water and twisting it to scalding. He didn’t bother to scrub anything down, simply letting the pounding water pelt into his body until the caked sweat slid off like a bug shedding its skin.

Loona was still in the living room, playing some kind of racing game. They made eye contact for a few seconds and she sighed, chucking him a chocolate bar that she’d fished out of the cushions at some point during the night when he’d been in his room.

Sure, she couldn’t actually eat it herself anyway, but the gesture was nice, even though his teeth felt kind of fuzzy when he flopped back on the bed again after pulling on a worn-out band tee that had become a crop top at some point even before the pregnancy. 

__________________

The kid was moving. Of course they were. It wasn’t like he could ask for sleep or for them to allow him to pretend they didn’t exist for a few hours, could he? They were just a lump of stupid meat, they didn't know any better than being an annoying pest that their daddy couldn't stand. He screamed into the pillow again. It didn’t help.

__________________

Maybe he could join the circus again. He had new, better jokes now. Like his life. (That one would have gotten a laugh, or at least it would have with a crowd that wasn’t drunk off its ass- or maybe that would have been the exact audience for it. Kids were never drunk enough, and the ones whose parents shoved bottles at them to get them to shut up just puked everywhere. Their taste buds weren't developed enough yet, it just tasted like piss half the time before you got used to it. He still remembered the smell of the cheesy chips incident.)

__________________

Had Stolas planned this all along? He’d sure as fuck seemed to think that Blitzo had already known what the deal was, and maybe he’d wondered a little, but come on, the guy had been so excited, anybody would have figured that he wanted to be the one to raise it. Babies were (literally) shitty little leeches on the lives of whoever was unlucky enough to pop them out, but Stolas had been so pumped for another kid, obviously he’d wanted to raise it. This was entirely his fault. This was entirely his fault. Blitzo was a smart guy, he'd find some way to get out of this. He'd made it this far, hadn't he?

__________________

Could he get out of this? He tried to remember exactly how the deal had been phrased, but then realized that Stolas would probably yank the book back if he did manage to find some way to kill the thing without offing himself. Well, shit. That’d suck, and he’d probably lose Moxxie and Millie in the bargain, and then him and Loona would get chucked out on the concrete and have to forage for scraps until they managed to mug some particularly wealthy sinner. Could you pass on syphilis through bites? Loonie’d probably know. It was something to keep in mind as a potential threat.

__________________

Did orphanages do speed dial? No, Stolas would find it somehow. He probably had some kind of magic tracking device for occasions like this.

__________________

God damn he needed a better mattress. He could still feel the indent where Stolas had been if he rolled over just right, and he smacked at it until it felt like the rest of the bed.

It didn’t actually help that much, but at least when one spot got hot, he could roll over a little to the cooler half without sinking in.

__________________

What would it even look like? Would it be kind of cute or some mutant monstrosity? Both its dads were hot, so it would have to have something going for it if it wasn’t just some horrible moaning mess of feathers and patchy skin.

He hadn’t really minded the thought of being, like, an uncle or some shit. There for the fun parts, popping in like twice a month to jingle keys above its face and teach it to play paintball. If Barbie had squeezed something out after fucking around when they were still a duo act he could have dealt with that as long as they didn’t have to sleep in the same room- he didn’t really mind kids that much in small doses. They could be fun little chaotic monsters, even though they were judgmental as shit and smelled fear.

With this, though, he couldn’t just hand it back when he got bored, and he always, always got bored or scared or- fuck, not thinking about that.

He would try scrolling Voxtagram again, but he came across an ad for maternity wear before trying to go to sleep the first time and nearly chucked the phone. 

__________________

The only thing that kept him from rolling off the bed and grabbing a hard drink to knock him out, baby be damned, was the fact that he’d found a spot that almost was comfortable in the sheets now soaked with sweat again. Unfortunately, the clock said it was 5:13 AM.

__________________

The alarm blared directly in Blitzo’s ear and he whapped it with a pillow, slamming it off the bedside table and into the floor. It was definitely broken now from the horrid cracking noise, and he groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

“Morning, sleeping ugly,” Loona said as she gargled mouthwash in the sink. She had the bags under her eyes that probably matched his and said she’d been drinking more than usual last night. Smart kid. He’d picked one that he could be a parent to without changing diapers for a reason- so he could be supportive to an actual person and not just a screaming little meat-lump that couldn’t even drink or smoke yet. Maybe Stolas could make it magically grow up so he wouldn't have to deal with that shit? “You gonna finally tell me what the fuck happened? You look like you watched the apartment blow up and you smell even worse.”

“Come on, honey, I showered-” Blitzo cleared his throat. To be fair, sex-stink didn't come off that easily when you were going at it for days, and Loona had always had a real sensitive nose. “Daddy’s maaaaaybe got a little tiny problem,” he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“And that problem is? Usually, you’ll be upfront about why you’re being a whiny-“

“Apparently,” he started, and his tone made Loona’s mouth snap shut, “Stolas thought I was going to be the one actually raising the little bastard.”

“What the fuck? You two didn’t clear this up months ago?” Her claws dug into the counter as one eye twitched, and a bit of mouthwash foam dripped off her chin.

“I didn’t think we’d have to! He wanted the thing, he’d take it, that made sense!” He dragged a hand down his face, and Loona leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms. The foam hit her top, soaking in next to the left tit.

“So get rid of it.”

“I can’t, he enchanted my guts.” Blitzo snatched a butter knife smeared with long-dried jam off the table and aimed it at his stomach- moments before it touched the skin, red flashed. His hand shot to the side, preventing anymore more than a slight scratch. “I don’t even want to know what’d happen if I tried to take a pill or something and puked it up. Explode, probably.”

Loona sighed. “Well, this is fuckin’ peachy.” She crossed the kitchen, grabbing some toast that popped up, pressing more down and dropping the plain bread with a pad of butter on the side on a plate in front of him. “Toss it at an orphanage.”

“It’s gonna be a freak, it’d probably just get mauled. Imp kids are vicious, especially orphans, they’ve all gotta fight for table scraps.”

“Why would you care?” Loona shifted a little on her seat. “You get rid of it either way.”

“Stolas’d kill me.”

“He likes your dick too much, he wouldn’t. I’m not changing diapers. Why can’t he take it again?”

“He thought his wife would shank the fucker. Considering she tried to stab me, it’s probably not that far off. I’ll find some way to-” he yawned. “To pawn it off or something. Maybe we find somebody that likes exotic pets.” His head swam with visions of a shiny, gilded cage containing a little feathered imp that wore sequins and hissed at anything that got too close. He stabbed at the butter. “I don’t want this either, alright?”

“But you went along with having it anyway, and with me, you wanted-” She cut herself off and drummed her fingers against her bicep. “This is your fuck-up, I’m just saying don’t drag me into it.”

“Very reassuring, thank you,” Blitzo muttered, sarcasm thick enough to gore like it was a pig. "We have any coffee?"

"I finished it the other night. We can go to that place on Sixth before work." Loona snatched her own toast as it popped up too quickly to actually have toasted any and stuffed it in her mouth plain, tearing off a bite and chewing in a way that was reminiscent of thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d be nice enough to let you die when it pops out, and you screw up all the time and haven’t completely ruined your life yet. You can figure shit out from there. Maybe we can sell them on the black market and move out of this fucking dump, or you can flutter your eyelashes and get him to change his mind. Worst comes to worst, it's sharing your room.”

“Thanks, Loonie,” Blitzo mumbled around a mouthful of bread. “Always know how to cheer me up.”

The phone buzzed, and he was about to ignore it again until he saw that it was from Millie.

“Still at Stolas’s or coming in to work today Blitz? Moxx and I miss you :)’

Blitzo wiped crumbs on his pants and groaned before typing back.

‘yeh im coimin back’

He added extra jam to the bread before shoving the rest in his mouth, and the kid kicked his bladder hard enough that he almost pissed himself right at the table.

Today was gonna be fuckin’ peachy.

[iceshard1011]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders Characters: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Self Confidence Issues, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Relationship, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, janus is somft, Deceit | Janus Sanders is a Sweetheart, roman needs so many cuddles (as per usual), Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Good Friend, they all love each other okay, possibly hinted future roman/virgil/janus?, Healing, ‘roman genuinely fell for janus before he realised he was being used’ hc squad raise your hand Summary:

Roman doesn't think organising a movie night should be this hard. Janus isn't sure that that's the issue.

2.4k word fic below :)

His first mistake, Roman believed, was letting newfound confidence get to his head. He could consider blaming Nico, and the well-started friendship he and Thomas were gaining. If he jumped through enough hoops, he could probably blame Virgil, for his quiet support and encouragement throughout the past few weeks.

Roman didn’t want to do either of that, though. He loved Virgil, and he was quite sure he liked Nico a whole lot too. Blaming them would not be fair nor helpful. Being practical was the best option.

Roman supposed thinking that way made a lot of sense, given whose door he was standing in front of, fighting with himself to knock.

Do it, he hissed at himself. It’s not that hard.

Plus, this was Logan, of all sides. More than enough times, Roman had certainly been offended and sometimes even hurt by the logical side and what he often had to say, but as of recently... Roman wrung his hands together. Roman hadn’t been a particularly dependable friend, either.

You owe him.

The spike of guilt that sent jolting through his arms propelled his hand forward to knock solidly against the door.

The door opened without much of a pause — Logan had always been organised and timely, not something that Roman could say for himself — and Roman was being looked at with mildly disguised contempt. Nothing new, there.

“Hey, Specs,” he said with a trying grin and small wave.

Logan straightened his tie. “How can I help you, Roman?” His voice was crisp. Colder than usual. Roman tried not to feel intimidated.

“I just... Well, I thought that we haven’t had a movie night in quite some time.”

Logan did not respond. Roman continued.

“And, you know, we have some popcorn that  needs  to be eaten.”

Logan did not leap forward to correct him that popcorn kernels that were packaged to be microwaved did in fact not expire or hold a due date to be consumed.

“I also thought we could probably eat some pizza, too, because,” Roman laughed, “who doesn’t like pizza, right?”

Logan did not laugh in return. In fact, he barely reacted at all, beyond a slight, irritated twitch of his eyebrows. Roman ducked his head, then, feeling suitably chastened.

“Figured… it would have been a fun idea,” he finished in a lame mumble. He waited for Logan’s door to close, or to be frigidly turned away. Instead, there was a quiet hint of a sigh, and Roman glanced up. The logical side had lost his mask of frosty indifference, but there were still edges around his eyes that looked dangerous. His shoulders had relaxed, though, and when he met Roman’s gaze, the creative side felt a little more welcome to be talking with his friend.

“I will be downstairs at seven o’clock, then,” Logan said. Roman lit up.

“Brilliant!” he said, a little too loudly, and lowered his voice. He nodded vigorously, grinning. “See you then!”

Logan paused for a thoughtful moment, before replying, “See you then, Roman,” and closing his door with a gentle click.

Roman turned and almost happily skipped down the hallway until he realised which door he had to head to next. He swallowed back any hesitance before it could creep into his muscles and halt him in his steps, and knocked on the light blue wood.

“Coming!” called Patton’s high, cheery voice from inside. Roman wondered if he was faking again today. The moral side had reverted back to repressing a lot of his less-than-ideal feelings, especially after tension in Thomas’ mind had skyrocketed. With the majority of Thomas’ sides suffering from the current events in his life, Patton had taken on the role of being the one source of optimism and happiness again. Roman wondered if it was for everyone else’s sake or his own, at this point.

The door swung open to Patton’s beaming smile. It looked a little less force than the last time Roman had seen him. How many days ago was that?

“Oh.” Patton’s breath rushed out of him, but before his disappointment could pierce Roman, he was smiling again, tremulous, his eyes slightly shiny. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hi, Pat,” Roman murmured, then steeled himself. “Pizza and popcorn and movies for dinner at seven, if— if you wanted.”

Patton blinked then lit up like a Christmas tree.

(Fitting, Roman thought mildly.)

“Oh, that’s a great idea, Roman!” he said, and Roman felt his heart flutter happily. He wasn’t sure if Patton hated him yet, or still, but the look he was giving Roman made him think that maybe he hadn’t completely ruined his relationship with the moral side. He smiled.

Patton leant forward for a moment, as if he wanted to hug him, but then thought better of it. Roman instinctively wanted to cry a little, at that, but the cautious but loving hand-squeeze he got in place made things a little better.

“I’ll be there,” Patton promised.

Roman nodded, stepping back once Patton let him go. “Good, then. Uh, yeah, good.” He turned to head down the hall but then paused and glanced back. Patton tilted his head imploringly. “I just, uh... good job, the other day. With, uh— when Thomas rehearsed what he was going to say to Nico, in the public bathroom.” He shrugged. “Even though... you know, he never actually got to say any of it.”

Patton looked surprised, but he recovered. His smile was gentler, this time, more genuine. “Yeah. Nico’s… Nico’s something special.”

Roman looked down and thought of sparkling eyeshadow. He hid a smile. “Yeah, he is.”

The final stop Roman had in mind before moving back downstairs to help with the construction of an epic pillow fort made Roman feel as if the floor was not beneath his feet.

He hadn’t bothered to think about trying to contact his brother. If Remus heard what was happening and wanted to join, he would anyway. It wasn’t much of Roman’s business. This whole idea had come to life when Roman had mumbled something about family nights, and Virgil, who had been lying on Roman’s bed while the creative side was splayed across the bedroom floor, had pointed out that it sounded like a great idea. This, unfortunately, only left…

Roman curled in fingers into fists to keep his hands from trembling. It didn’t work. Even as he raised a fist to knock on the door, he was quivering so much he feared it wouldn’t be loud enough.

He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, pounding on the door. The resulting gentle thunks didn’t seem to match up.

The voice from inside was muffled. “The door is locked.”

Roman paused. He almost turned to head back downstairs before he wanted to smack himself in the forehead and hated both himself and Janus for it. After the handle was twisted cautiously, the door creaked open. Roman peered into the room, unwilling to go in much further. He could vaguely see Janus sitting at his desk, back turned to the door. When he heard the door open without greeting or the sound of entrance, he sighed. Roman wondered if he expected a prank from Remus.

The deceitful side stood and turned for the door, but froze when his gorgeous — no, no — eyes found Roman’s face.

“You are not Patton,” he said. Roman tried to keep his expression neutral.  Sorry to disappoint,  he thought but didn’t say. He pulled away from the door as Janus approached.

“Family movie night,” Roman said. He stared past Janus’ shoulder, unwilling to look at the expressions dancing over the deceitful side’s elegant features, or the questions in his glowing eyes. “Downstairs. Seven o’clock.”

There, he told himself, and felt his rigid shoulders relax slightly. You’ve done it. Now he could escape back downstairs to the comfort of warm hoodies and murmured affirmations.

He didn’t get a chance to pull back.

Soft gloved fingers were curling, impossibly gently, around Roman’s own trembling hands, and the prince wanted to scream. Janus spoke, and for a moment, Roman thought he was being lied to again.

“I hope you’re angry,” Janus whispered, and Roman fought against the tremors in his hands. He wondered if Janus could feel them. He hoped not. “I hope you hate me. I hope that’s what this,” he squeezed Roman’s hands, and the creative side almost collapsed, “is. I hope to Thomas that you’re not scared of me.”

Roman didn’t meet his eyes. He stared miserably at the floor, dutifully ignoring Janus’ hypnotizing gaze burning holes into his forehead. Roman wanted him to let go. He wanted Janus to look away. He wanted to curl up in Janus’ arms and never leave.

He couldn’t answer. His silence spoke for itself.

Janus let go of one of Roman’s hands. He didn’t know what the snake was doing at first until he felt the barely-there whisper of gloved fingers caressing against his cheek. He flinched away. Janus recoiled.

“Roman,” he said quietly. Roman bit his lip. “Roman, can you look at me, my prince?” Roman closed his eyes.

A shaky sigh, and those hands clasped Roman’s again. When Janus spoke again, his voice was firm, but not uncaring.

“Roman Creativity Sanders.”

Roman still went tense.

“I know I’ve wronged you. You know that you have also wronged me, albeit on a much smaller scale. I doubt there will be a day I don’t regret hurting you.” Roman swallowed the whine beginning to lodge in his throat. Janus’ voice dropped to a whisper. “No matter what happens between the mindscape, between us,” Roman felt a cool forehead pressed to his, “I promise that you will never need to fear me.”

Roman’s eyelids fluttered. Janus’ breath warmed his lips. Roman worked his jaw a few times before he managed to speak.

“I fear what you’re capable of.” Roman wanted to hate how his voice cracked. He couldn’t.

Janus’ breathing shuddered painfully.

“In all honesty,” he whispered back, “me too.”

Finally, Roman opened his eyes again. He still didn’t look up. “Really?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Janus murmured. Roman sniffed, though he wasn’t sure why. Was he crying?

“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” Roman said, and it sounded like an almost-sob.

“I know,” Janus soothed. Roman had to actively fight the urge that told him to press himself against the deceitful side. “I know, darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my prince.”

Roman bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything else stupid. Janus rubbed his thumb along the groves in Roman’s hands. He didn’t stay composed long after that.

“I’m sorry,” Roman blurted, the words spilling from his mouth like vomit.  (That  was a particularly Remus-like thought, he managed to realise, before it was overtaken by chants of evil twin evil twin evil twin). “I’m so sorry, it’s— I—”

Janus tried to hush him, moving his hands to rub Roman’s shoulders (except his hands were still squeezing Roman’s, and how did that work?) but Roman was blabbering over him.

“It’s all my fault, everything, Thomas, Patton, I— he should have gone to the call back, but I stopped him and—”

“Roman, my dear, please—”

“It’s a gorgeous name,” Roman babbled, and Janus paused, surprised. “It’s beautiful, truly, I—  I’m so stupid—”

“Stop that.” Janus’ tone was snappish. Roman recoiled. A third pair of pairs moved to cup his face. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me?”

Roman couldn’t speak.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Janus coaxed. “Tell me it’s not your fault.”

“I can’t,” Roman whispered.

It was silent. Roman wondered if Janus was getting sick of him, if he wanted to stop trying and go back into his room.

“Then I’ll stay with you,” murmured Janus, “until you can.” Roman trembled in his arms. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Please,” Roman whispered, and Janus ducked his head, as if trying to meet his eyes. “I mean— I— yes, yes, please, I—”

Janus’ — multitude of — arms encircled him further, pulling him forward to rub at his back and comb fingers through his hair and stroke his face. He hushed and hummed, his voice vibrating through his chest where Roman had rested his forehead.

Roman didn’t know how long the hug lasted, but eventually he felt the gnawing worry of what Virgil would be thinking if he didn’t return downstairs soon.

He leant back. Janus’ arms loosened compliantly but didn’t let go completely.

“What is it, my prince?” Janus asked, rubbing Roman’s shoulders.

“I should get back to Virgil,” Roman said, but his voice was strangely hoarse. He expected Janus to recoil, or grow tense, or even for his voice to betray hints of hurt. Instead, he only gifted Roman with a gentle smile. Roman didn’t look further up than his lips.

“Of course,” Janus said. “We wouldn’t want him to panic unnecessarily.” Roman tried to smile back but failed miserably. In return, Janus ran a thumb along his jawline. “Don’t try, sweetie. It’s okay. You don’t need to lie to me.”

Roman nodded, suddenly holding back tears.

“Would you like me to stay with you?” Janus asked, and Roman couldn’t understand why he was being so kind. After what Roman had done? Why wasn’t he being yelled at, snapped, insulted, shoved away?

“Not right now,” Roman said, and had to clear his throat to try to not whisper. “But… tonight…?”

“I’ll be there.” Janus nodded. “Save me a spot,” he added with a smirk. Somehow, it didn’t make Roman feel as if he was the victim of malicious flirting.

Roman nodded back and started to back up. Janus pulled back, his fingers lingering against Roman’s for a moment before retracting completely. Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times before he realised that he didn’t actually know what he wanted to say. He turned to make for the stairs.

“Roman?” Janus called after him. He paused obediently. “I’m not being true to my function when I tell you that: your bravery astounds me.”

Roman mentally paused, then, too, taking his time to pick that apart. Once he worked it out, he turned, his eyes wide. His gaze met Janus’. He couldn’t smile, but he knew Janus could see the gratitude in his bright eyes.

Janus winked at him, and it wasn’t flirtatious or mocking and it didn’t make Roman feel like he couldn’t stand. The yellow door closed, and Roman felt like he was filled with warm sunbeams. Virgil wouldn’t ask when he returned downstairs, quieter, but in a much happier mood than having left, but he’d study Roman in the corner of his eye until he was reassured that he was alright.

And that night, if Janus arrived, a little after Logan and Patton but before Remus, and inserted himself on the couch beside Roman to idly play with his hair while Roman melted under his touch, well, no one was going to comment on it.

[maple-writes]

[Image ID: Banner image reading: The City of Eventide, Chapter 28, Maple-writes. End ID]

Guess who finally finished the next chapter? This one took a lot longer than I thought it would oops

###

This was wrong, this was all wrong! I paced back and forth along the pebbly edge of a lake far enough out of the way for hikers to find me. Far enough I wouldn’t find them.

           Shaking hands ran through wet hair, claws digging into my scalp and brushing against dark horns. They should have gone, should have gone away by now. Why were they still there? Why were—

           I knew why. I knew why. I stopped beside the calm waters, doubling over around my aching chest. I knew what was going on. I knew. I knew and I’d ran away all the way up here and now… Now what? What was I supposed to do? My blood burned  through my system, fast and frantic with a beat that wouldn’t slow. It was over. Was this? I squeezed my eyes shut. Was this what Ember had felt? What Wendy?

           It didn’t matter! I threw my head back to the cloudless sky, chest heaving as I fought for air. Trees shifted all around me, tops swaying and creaking in a wind that sent shivers across my overheated skin.

           How far away was I really? I swallowed. hopefully far enough. Far enough out of the way that—

           What if Vena was right though? My eyes opened wide, watering in the light, burning in the sun. The game was up. There was no question what I was. And what really was there to leave behind?

           Fuck, fuck how nice would it be to just rest. My lungs burned, my heart faltered, my legs shook. What was stopping me? What was I doing this for if it would all go to shit either way?

           Striker would be so disappointed. So disappointed like so many times before. So many, so many, so many. Anger flared behind my bones. He’d neve, never be able to save me. He was wasting his time. He—

           I screamed, long, loud, to the cloudless sky. the empty blue, void of anything that could—

           What had Eventide ever done for me? I snarled, lurching forward on unsteady ground. What did I owe to this city anyway?

           Grasses and mosses died under my feet with every step. Beetles stopped crawling, curing in on themselves as they expired. I panted as I paused, jaw parted and hot saliva dripping from my mouth, down my chin and mixing with the blood dried on my face.

           Why shouldn’t I do what I was born to do? If I were born to kill, to tear, to destroy, to steal, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I destroy the place that held me back, that wouldn’t, where I couldn’t…

           Where I was nothing and always would be.

           It was like Vena said. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Not in 23 years. How dare anyone stop me.

           I flexed my claws, light vanishing between my fingers, leaving only shadows. Shade gathered around my legs, stolen from the sun before it could hit the earth. The wind blew browned needles from dead pines until they stood towering and bare. The lake vanished below the dead foliage choking its shores, broken only by the floating bodies of fish breaking the surface. Dark tails thrashed behind me, coarse and dark where light couldn’t pull way, couldn’t escape. My shoulders bunched up to my ears as every hair across my body bristled.

           Something moved behind me.

           I turned, a growl loud in my throat and eyes narrowed as Cirrus stepped out of the forest of lifeless trees.

           He froze where I met his stare. He stood. He stood. All the did was stare as my heart hit my ribs one, two, fifteen times in quick fast. Even from where he stood he was too much, soul trapped in too small a vessel, arching and writhing like violent solar flares held back by paper skin.

           All he did was stand there.

           I snarled, curling my claws at my sides, the shadows creeping higher, higher up my legs. “What do you want?” My shout echoed through the dead wood, loud like it all but tore through the pathetic wall of my chest. “Don’t you have a mother to let down again?”

           Cirrus flinched, face twisting a moment before taking a hesitant step forward. “Asher,” he spoke softly, like I was a goddamned animal. A spooked livestock to be calmed. “Asher it’s—”

           “What?” I bared teeth sharp and gagged like broken glass. “You better say it quickly before I rip your voice from your throat.”

           “Relax, relax Asher,” Cirrus took another step, then another, approaching with a wary eye. “Ginger said you got into a fight and didn’t come home and I…” He stopped only three arm lengths away, keeping his eyes low. “Are you okay?”

           What kind of? My tails lashed across the lifeless ground. Heat spread out from the base of my throat, hot and searing through my already overcooked heart. I clenched my jaw and looked my eyes but I…

           That was Cirrus. Cirrus. Pain wrapped tight around my ribs, choking in my neck. I told him. He knew he should never. He knew. My teeth jut through my cheeks, my gums. Blood seeped into my mouth. How dare he show up like this.

           Still he kept talking. “Ginger’s probably not far behind. Ember said over the phone this is where you two used to meet.” He swallowed. “Is that true?”

           “You told Ginger?” I spat blood to the ground, the rest oozing from the corners of my lips. “You bastard. You good for nothing piece of shit.” I paced back and forth, glaring hot and dark at Cirrus. “The hell you think you’re down here? Show up, showing, like I’d care what you had to say?”

           He opened his mouth and started to speak, but I cut him off. I wasn’t done.

           “You idiot. You worthless idiot.” A sharp toothed grin pulled at my mouth. “You’re nothing but a fool if you thought I’d ever love you. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to trick you, trick you into thinking I gave a fuck about a worthless lowlife like you.”

           Cirrus didn’t seem to know what to say. He stood, staring, eyes furrowing and lips tightening. I stalked forward. The light vanished behind me, blanketing the dead grass in night. Cirrus didn’t move, didn’t back up, didn’t flee, he stood his ground as I came closer, closer, every step closer until we were nose to nose. My skin crawled this close to him, this close to the unrestrained power nestled between his lungs.

           “A-Asher what,” He choked on his words. “What are you doing?”

           “I told you not to follow me, didn’t I?”

           He yelped as I grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him down. Before he could even try and get back up I was on top of him, my knee on his chest and my hand on his throat. My skin burned as his wild energy surged up through my arm.

           “Asher stop—”

           “I know why you came here, Cirrus.” I leaned in, teeth bared and blood mixed with saliva dripping from my open mouth onto his wrenching face. “You thought you’d be safe, didn’t you? You thought I’d care it was you, right?” I ghosted my hand over his heart. “You thought since I couldn’t take this that you’d be safe? You thought you’d be safe cause I couldn’t destroy your soul?”

           He didn’t answer, staring up with wide, wet eyes. Shadows curled and twisted around my shoulders, crawling like thousand-legged insects up and down my back. My eyes went black as I gripped Cirrus’ jaw, forcing his head up and hunching over to meet his face.

           “Maybe you’re right, maybe I can’t.” I tightened my grip, points of claws sharp against his skin. “But you know what I can do?”

           His hand closed around my wrist, pushing my arm away from his face.

           “I can hurt you. I can cut through your skin, tear your muscle off the bone.” I leaned in deeper, pressing my head against his. “I can rip you apart limb to limb, shred through to your organs.”

           Wind picked up in the treetops, scattering the last of the dead pine needles across my back.

           “I can make you wish, make you beg for me to kill you.” I smiled with narrowed eyes. “You should have done what I told you.”

           “Asher please—”

           “Why don’t I start with your eyes?”

           I ripped my arm from his grip and grabbed a handful of his hair to keep him pinned in place as I raised my other hand, claws sharp and my eyes locked on his. Panic raced through my blood, leaked from where my palm touched his skin, and he stared, frozen, scared, hurt.

           Strange, seeing him like that.

           “Hold still.”

           I brought my hand down to strike across his eyes, but Cirrus threw his arms up over his head. My claws raked the length of his forearm instead, ripping his sleeve and cutting through skin that bled.

           The first drops of rain fell around us, more and more as the wind blew hard and cold straight through my clothes.

           Cirrus grabbed at my arms as I clawed wildly at his face, his shoulders, anything I could try and reach, yelling and snarling as anger drove me forward. How dare he come here, how dare he after I told him not to, and how dare he try and fight me back. He knew. He knew what he was getting himself into! He caught my arms and shoved me off.

           I fell on my side, the ground already starting to muddy from the downpour without the live grasses to hold the sediment in place. Before Cirrus could get up, I swiped and grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt. I pulled him down with a snarl and lunged to bite his shoulder but he grabbed one of my horns and forced my head back. He pushed off against the ground and yanked my head back, throwing me down as he scrambled to his feet.

           Rainwater dripped from my hair, plastering it to my forehead as I found my footing on the mud. I slipped trying to get up, dirt mixing with the dried blood on my arms, on my pants, on my clothes.

           Cirrus backed towards what was left of the tree line, his sleeve darkening with watered down blood. He was going to run, wasn’t he? Going to run away now that he saw what I was? Of course he was. I opened and closed my fists at my sides. If he thought he could run he was dead wrong.

           A yell tore from my aching throat as I charged. My feet slipped as I ran across the mud field, chasing after Cirrus as he fled into the trees. Branches and bare bushes whipped against my arms, my face, my sides, stinging wherever they found skin instead of torn fabric. Wind blew through the trees, shedding needles and lichens as I raced past in pursuit.

           Cirrus weaved in and out of the trees ahead of me, barely dodging boulders and skinny trunks and struggling to keep his footing on the wet hillslope.  

           My breath came fast as my strides as I ran, feet hitting soft springy ground of a trail with frantic rhythm. Eyes locked on the back of Cirrus head, anger burned deep in my body. He was trying to get out of the forest, back to the parking lot, wasn’t he? Coward. The gap was closing, closing, I was getting closer, closer. Coward coward coward.

           Cirrus glanced back over his shoulder.

           His foot caught on a protruding root.

           He fell.

           I leapt on his back, claws digging into his shoulders as he struggled to throw my grip. He thrashed, and I sunk my teeth into the back of his arm. He screamed, cursing and pleading. Blood oozed hot into my mouth. He tried to move just for the tissue to tear even more between my jaws.

           He twisted, shoved my head back and wrenched his bleeding arm from my mouth. He tried to scramble backwards, to escape, but I pushed forward, reaching, grabbing, swiping at his throat as he tried to get away. Just fast enough he managed to get away until he backed himself up against a sturdy conifer.

           I lunged just as Cirrus drove his heel forward, straight into my chest. My breath faltered from the force and I fell sideways onto the cold wet ground. I coughed, pushing myself back up in time to see the last of Cirrus disappearing through the trees.

           Cold rain dripped down into my eyes from soaked hair as trees creaked and swayed the wind above my head. No doubt Cirrus would run back to Eventide. Run back, hide, whatever. I dug my hand into the rain-softened earth. He was going to pay for coming here.

           I pushed off from the dirt and started in the direction he’d left. Shadows gathered around my footsteps, choking out the mosses and the ferns and leaving dead, wilted foliage along my path. Insects that couldn’t get away fast enough fell from the damp wood bark and disappeared among shed leaves. The trees thinned into the trail, a clear way down the hillslope. My feet slipped on the wet ground as I walked, pushing on and on towards the mouth of the trail. Towards Eventide.

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 27]

Rating: M Words: 2025 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: morning after :’)

Enjoy!

Kristoff woke with an unfamiliar but not unwelcome weight on his chest. Taking one deep breath in before opening his eyes, he flexed his half asleep arm and turned to face the still soundly sleeping redhead beside him. Her little snores were fucking adorable and Kristoff felt his heart soften under her palm as he focused on the feel of her breath warming his throat. “Anna,” he whispered, pressing his nose against her forehead. A little louder, “hey, Anna.”

She let out one loud snort and a snuffle before nuzzling deeper against his skin. He couldn’t help the breath of laughter that passed his lips. “Baby,” he tried, the word still foreign in his mouth, stroking his free hand down her cheek. “Wake up.”

“Mmmno,” she hummed, her arm wrapping around his neck as her ankle hooked around his calf. “Comfy.”

His thumb kept moving against her skin, stroking over the mess of freckles he had grown to be so fond of. He wouldn’t move if he didn’t have to… but it was kind of bordering on urgent. “I have to pee.”

Anna let out an annoyed groan before she let go of him, scooting just a little away as she tugged blankets tighter around her shoulders. “Come back soon,” she slurred, already drifting back off. He lifted his hand up to her skin, fingers brushing lightly against her as he pushed her messy fringe away from her eyes. A small smile tugged at her lips, and Kristoff found himself unable to look away.

She was beautiful, laying there so peacefully as her little snores started up again. Kristoff was realizing that he had never quite seen her this relaxed. There was something about it - about how sure she seemed that he would be cuddling up beside her again in no time - that made his heart soar.

He didn’t know what was holding him back. 

He loved her, he knew he wanted to be with her, and he knew she felt the same. She understood his fears and baggage and accepted him anyway, and was willing to wait for him to deal with it. Every moment with her felt like a step in the right direction, and every part of him longed for her when she wasn’t around. He didn’t even like going on away games anymore, because video chat wasn’t enough.

So what was holding him back?

Cupping her jaw, he ran a tentative thumb over her bottom lip. She breathed a heavy sigh through her nose and he couldn’t help but smile. 

He supposed if you believed something for so long, it took more effort to change it in the end. He wasn’t magically going to get over these hangups and be ready just like that, but Anna was worth the work. Anna was worth all the time and effort and mental challenges he would face to get to a point where he was ready.

And maybe she’d even be willing to help him along the way. 

Where she could.

Pressing chapped lips to her forehead, Kristoff moved to get up. He jostled the bed as he practically fell out of it, wishing there was slightly more grace in his bones - but it didn’t seem to wake her in the slightest as she pulled a pillow down to her chest to get back to something she deemed comfortable. He didn’t bother putting on any clothes as he made his way to her small bathroom. 

He did his business, splashed his face with some water, and stroked wet hands through his still stiff hair, grimacing as it practically crackled under his touch. He needed a shower, bad. He knew where she kept her towels, knew she had not-so-secretly gone out and bought some of his preferred products, and knew she wouldn’t mind it in the slightest…  So Kristoff flicked on the hot water, stepped into her small square of a standing shower, and washed away the remainder of the evening.

Judging by the levels of light in the apartment, it was barely 7.

Kristoff supposed he could go back to bed - they had been up awfully late...

Or he could whip something together by the time she woke up.

—

-

—

Anna was cold when she woke up. She was cold, and she was alone.

Her hand stretched out in front of her to see if there was any remaining warmth where Kristoff had been sleeping, hoping that he had just gotten up a little bit earlier. It would be okay if he had just gotten up.

But there wasn’t.

Swallowing hard, Anna curled her fingers into the fabric of the pillow. Had he really left? She vaguely remembered him getting up some hours earlier, but she had assumed he would still be tired and come back to bed. Had he seen it as an opportunity to leave? Had he taken one look at her - all knotted hair and smeared makeup and probably some drool crusted on her chin - and decided that it was too much?

Had it been too good to be true?

She sat up just enough to notice his wallet and keys were gone from the nightstand, and his clothes were no longer scattered around the room, and she felt her heart clench under her ribs. There was no trace of him left.

Oh.

Anna had thought - hoped - that their short conversation the night before was a step in the right direction. She had thought it meant he was going to stick around for a while. She thought he meant that he wanted her, that she was going to be his choice when he was ready, thought that the promise of my place next time meant that he was going to start letting go of old baggage… But clearly it had just been the soft encouragement of liquor loosening his lips.

This wasn’t the first time she had been wrong. 

It just never hurt quite this much before.

She was just about to settle in for a day of not leaving the bed and moping when a loud crash from somewhere else in the apartment startled her. “Ah, fuck --” It was louder than a whisper, but clearly hushed as if not to wake her. 

Her whole body tensed as she clambered out of the sheets, grabbing at her small shorts and large tee that she kept thrown over the back of a chair, and padded as quietly as she could out of the bedroom. It was probably just Elsa… or…

Peeking her head around the corner, Anna felt her pulse quicken. 

Kristoff was standing in the middle of the kitchenette, shirtless and cursing as grease popped up from the stove, his suit pants slung low on his hips without the belt secured, and he looked freshly showered and downright glowy as the warm morning sun filtered in through the small window over the sink. Anna swallowed around the lump in her throat.

He was still here.

Barely controlling herself as she moved across the cool wood floor, Anna did her best not to leap on him as she threw her arms around his neck and buried her nose into his shoulder. He jumped just slightly, clearly not noticing her before she collided with him, and let out a short laugh as she tightened her grip.

“Good morning,” he grinned, his voice just a little raspy from disuse and the strain of the night before. “You -- Oh, okay--”

Anna had practically started climbing up him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he lowered one hand to support her bottom. He turned her away from the stove, doing his best to protect her from the splashing bacon while also not letting it burn. “Anna, this --”

“You’re here,” she mumbled against his skin, pressing her mouth and nose into the crook of his neck. The relief she felt coursing through her was almost unbearable.

“What?” Kristoff pulled his head back just enough to look at her. “Of course I am…” His grip tightened on her, and she squeezed his hips with her thighs. “Did you think I left?”

Frowning and pressing her nose back up against his neck, Anna didn’t answer right away. She had, and now she felt ridiculous about it. “Well… all your stuff was gone.”

“Baby,” he laughed and reached back to the pan to flip the now crisping bacon. “I went to the store.” His mouth lowered to rest beside her ear, and his voice dropped to an almost whisper. “How do you live like this? All your fridge had in it was a carton of expired milk and half a jar of pickles.”

Her mood immediately lifted, his teasing brightening everything about the day. “Excuse me,” she snorted, leaning back and straightening her back. She quirked one eyebrow as she stared down at him, practically turning her nose up. “There is a pizza in the freezer.”

He laughed, a full belly laugh, his cheeks stretching with the width of this smile, and Anna was enamoured with him all over again. She had to kiss him. Had to. Her hands rose to his jaw, and she planted a chaste, wide grinned kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Kristoff’s laugh cut off, but he continued to look at her with adoration in his eyes and a softer smile playing at his lips. She continued stroking her thumbs over his cheeks as he swallowed, flushed pink, and then turned his attention back to the stove.

“Shit…”

Smile dropping, she looked down at the pan of burnt meat and laughed. Bacon did burn awful quick if you failed to give it your full attention. “That’s okay.” Her fingers found their way to the hair at the bottom of his skull again and scratched gently at his scalp, her cheeks flushing when a soft moan left his throat at the contact. “I like my bacon extra crispy anyway.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” he chuckled, bouncing her higher on his hips before taking the hot pan off of the stove. “I’m positive you’re not just saying that.” He reached up to flick off the gas range, slid a spatula under the extra crispy bacon and dropped it down onto a waiting paper towel.

Anna couldn’t help her own giggle from bubbling up behind her lips. “I promise!” And then she lowered his head to kiss him again, both of their toothy grins prohibiting the kisses from being anything but innocent. “I love burnt bacon.”

“Well,” he sighed, his newly freed other hand pressing firmly against her mid-back as he savored her small, peppering kisses. “I’ll burn your bacon every morning, if you’d like.”

“Ooh,” she hummed against him, as if seriously contemplating it. “Tempting.”

Kristoff’s tongue teased her lips then, breakfast quickly forgotten as a heat rose between the two of them. Unspoken promises of many future mornings whispered in the back of her mind, pressing her desire to the forefront as his hands roamed over her body, mapping every inch of her.

She wanted so much, but groaned at the feeling of hairspray still stiff in her hair, makeup still caked on her face, and sweat dried slightly sticky against her skin. She needed to be clean before anything else could happen.

“Ah,” she sighed, pushing regrettably away from him. “It’s my turn to shower.” Anna almost laughed at the clear frustration in his eyes as she wiggled out of his grasp. “Are you willing to burn some eggs for me, too?” 

Watching with delight as his tongue pressed against one cheek then ran across his bottom teeth under his lips - a sign she had learned meant he was wound up and annoyed that he had to tamp it down - Anna touched her feet back down to the cool floor. 

“... Maybe pancakes?”

“Am I your personal chef now?” His teasing irritation made her smile.

With a laugh and a quick hop up to place one more soft kiss against his cheek, Anna grinned. She practically sang “only on the weekends, I suppose,” before skipping off to the bathroom and shutting the door quickly behind her, cutting off any protests he may have had.

[lost-n-stereo]

A/N: Nabrina Prompt #18 “Did i ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

and I keep waiting (but I won’t say I’m waiting)

They say time heals all wounds.

That would be great if she wasn’t practically immortal, in an odd limbo where her body is barely changing but her friends are growing up and moving on.

You would think that it would hurt less as the days go by, since it’s been nearly two years since Nick sacrificed himself for the greater good and Lilith took him to hell. Except, he didn’t sacrifice himself for the greater good, he sacrificed himself for her. And that makes it a hell of a lot tougher to let go.

The first few months were the worst, when it was still fresh, always there in the back of her mind that he was possibly suffering in hell because of her. She took solace in Lilith’s promise to watch over him but it didn’t keep her from imagining horrible scenarios of torture and pain.

The Fright Club met often, dreaming up ways to go into hell to rescue Nick. They plotted ways to get Lucifer out of his body, searched tomes and spell books for clues or incantations, but always came up just a little too short.

Things changed within their friend group gradually over the last two years of mortal high school. Theo started dating a sweet girl from Riverdale and started spending less time with them. Roz and Harvey took a break in their junior year, in which time Sabrina and Harvey gave it another shot. They soon realized their mistake, that their love was one based in their past, and it wasn’t long before Harvey and Roz were back together for good.

Sabrina wasn’t waiting for Nick, exactly, but she always had him in the back of her mind. And always in her heart. She went on dates with nice boys, mortal and warlock alike, but never felt the connection she’d had with him.

“Tell me again why I decided to go to school all the way across the state,” Roz says, her voice pulling Sabrina out of her mind and back into the room her best friend is currently packing up.

“Because it’s fun and exciting,” Sabrina says, shaking off her inner monologue, as she grabs a pink stuffed bunny off of Roz’s nightstand. “Are you taking Mr. Wiggles with you?”

Roz laughs. “I’m eighteen now. Do I really need to bring my childhood toys with me to college?” She nibbles on her bottom lip and both girls speak at the same time.

“Yes.”

Sabrina giggles and sets the bunny on an already packed suitcase. “I think he’ll fit right in. Are the boys still meeting us at the diner before you head out?”

“Yeah, Theo said they would meet us around five.”

It’s been a summer full of the four of them, which isn’t to say it’s been much different than every summer since before she could remember.

Summer always comes with an expiration date. The days are long and warm, afternoons spent in Sweetwater River playing and splashing around with the kids from across the water and nights spent at bonfires and house parties. Fall is always a surprise no matter how much you’re prepared for it. She used to wait all summer long for autumn to hit. It meant her favorite season, her birthday and all the fun witchy holidays that she loved so much.

Now it’s just a reminder that high school is over and everyone is going their separate ways.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be all alone here for awhile,” Sabrina says wistfully. “Greendale won’t be the same without you guys.”

Roz stops packing, drops the dress she was holding into the open suitcase in front of her without folding it, and curls up on her bed with Sabrina. “You have so many responsibilities at the academy, time is going to fly by and before you know it, it’ll be Christmas break.”

“Winter solstice,” Sabrina amends and they both laugh. “You’re right. I’m just going to miss you all so much.”

They hug and Roz gives a watery laugh as she pulls away. “Okay, no more crying. We’re going to go have fun and we won’t be saying goodbye tonight. Just a ‘see you soon’.”

Sabrina nods and stands, wiping the corner of her eye with her thumb. “You’re right. Let’s get you packed up. You’ve got a long car ride ahead of you in the morning.”

*** The sun is shining high and bright when she wakes up the next day.

A look at her bedside clock tells her that it’s after nine, which means Roz and Harvey are already on the road and headed to their new school. Sabrina wasn’t surprised when Harvey told her months ago that he was applying to the same school as his girlfriend. Their relationship was built to last and it made her happy knowing they would have each other living so far from home. Theo wasn’t going far, only a short two hour drive away, so Sabrina knew she’d see him more often than the others.

She tried not to think about how she was losing her mortal friends to the real world. Instead, she decided to focus her attention to her non-mortal side and all of the people she still had here at home.

When Father Blackwood took off the Church of Night was left with only a handful of people, not many students at all. But with Aunt Zelda becoming High Priestess it brought forth a whole new group of witches and warlocks that were eager to study under her new leadership.

“Sabrina!”

Speaking of Aunt Zelda…

“I’m up!” She calls, popping up out of bed refreshed and ready to begin the next chapter of her life. Salem meows from his window perch and Sabrina smiles, scratches him on the head behind his ears the way she knows he likes. “You may not be a real cat, Salem. But you sure do purr like one.”

Twenty minutes later they are on their way to the academy, with Aunt Hilda and Ambrose in tow. Rebuilding the Church of Night was a family effort, one that Sabrina has not yet lived full time because of her dedication to finishing mortal high school. Now, she can not only help her family in their quest to make the church one that is wholly inclusive and thriving, but she can finish her dark arts studies without having to juggle her mortal ones.

“Conjuring today, eh Sabrina?” Ambrose asks as they walk through the doors of Gehenna Station. After passing all of her general courses last semester she’s finally able, and more than ready, to start her conjuring training.

In reality, she doesn’t need schooling or classes or spells, even. Learning you’re the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, with power most witches and warlocks can only imagine, was difficult to come to terms with. She decided that she wouldn’t use those powers unless absolutely necessary and instead sticks to the magic used by everyone else.

“I’m excited,” she says as they pass the new sculpture in the center of the room, Lilith in her true form, beauty and power emanating from the carved stone. “Conjuring was always Nick’s favorite...”

Ambrose frowns when he sees Sabrina’s face fall. “I’m sorry, cousin. I know it doesn’t get any easier. But one day, maybe…”

“It’s a big maybe, Ambrose,” she says sadly. “Plus, there’s no use thinking about it constantly. Thinking about it changes nothing. I’m going to focus on what is happening in the here and now.”

“Good on you, Sabrina.” Aunt Zelda steps up beside her and looks up at the statue of Lilith. “I’m sure the Queen of Hell is watching over your young warlock as we speak. She knows how important he was to you.”

“Is,” Sabrina corrects gently. “How important he is to me.”

***

August turns into September and then into October with little fanfare.

She keeps in touch with Harvey, Roz and Theo over group chats and Skype sessions. There are tentative plans for Halloween, also known as her birthday, but she knows there are no guarantees when it comes to long distance friendships. They have mortal responsibilities that she just doesn’t have any more.

Besides, even if her eighteenth birthday is spent with just her aunties and Ambrose, it will still be fun.

“I love this weather,” Sabrina says to Ambrose as they walk through the woods on their way home from the academy. “The sky looks like it could crack open at any time. I can’t wait for the rain to begin.”

“Agree completely, cousin. All feels right in the world when it’s dark and gloomy.”

Sabrina kicks a small rock out of the way of the path with the toe of her boot. “How’s Prudence? Have you spoken with her?”

Ambrose shrugs and offers a small smile. “Still on the hunt for her father, o’course. I wish I could be out there with her but…”

“But Aunt Zelda needed you,” Sabrina finishes for him and he nods.

“She’s a strong girl, that one. I know she’ll find him and when she does…I’ll be there to help take him down.”

It’s been strange being at the academy without Prudence, especially considering two thirds of the Weird Sisters are still attending students. Dorcas and Agatha have been unlikely friends, although Sabrina thinks sometimes it’s her heritage they admire in her and not her personality.

Still, it’s nice to have friends.

“So what’s the big plan for your birthday this year, cuz? Your friends making the trip?”

Sabrina sighs. “I’m honestly not sure. They are so busy with school and the distance is a lot. I’m hopeful but won’t be disappointed if they can’t make it.”

“Very mature of you,” he says with a grin and she smacks him on the arm.

“Well I am almost an adult.”

Ambrose snorts, winds his arm through Sabrina’s and leads her towards their house.

“Trust me, cousin. You’re nowhere near an adult. Now your 118th birthday? That’s when the real fun begins.”

***

A knock on the front door wakes her up at 12:03 am on October 31st.

“Can’t even get a good night’s sleep the night before my birthday,” she mumbles as she climbs out of bed, slipping into a robe and a pair of slippers to save her bare feet from the cold wood floor.

No one else in the house woke up to the knock, which surprises her not at all. Her family sleeps like the dead most of the time and the knock isn’t particularly loud or demanding. In fact, she’s shocked that she heard it at all.

It doesn’t occur to her to maybe be wary of a knock sounding at midnight. There could be an untold number of dangers awaiting her on the other side but she doesn’t feel fearful at all.

Nothing can prepare her for what’s actually on the other side of the door.

“Happy Birthday, Spellman.”

Sabrina’s breath catches in her throat and she’s scared this is some kind of trick. An evil manipulation, perhaps, although she has no current enemies that she can think of. Except Lucifer, obviously, but he’s supposed to be in hell. In Nick. Except…

“Nicholas?”

“Hello, Sabrina.”

He looks exactly the same as when she last saw him, except his eyes aren’t red with the devil inside. There are no marks or blemishes on his skin, no visible signs of torture like she was afraid of.

“How…? What…?”

Nick chuckles softly. “Two very excellent questions. Sabrina…”

Her name is barely out of his mouth when she flings herself at him, her hands coming up to touch his hair, his face, his shoulders. He’s so solid and strong and real.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she says, relishing the feel of his arms around her waist. “I don’t know how this is possible but I almost don’t care.”

“Lilith,” he whispers. “She found a way to contain him in Hell. I can explain it all to you but right now…”

His fingers card through her hair and she smiles against his lips when he presses them to hers.

“Your hair is longer,” he says when they pull apart. His eyes are intense when he looks down at her and she blushes.

“What?”

“Did i ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are? Because the memory of them has kept me sane for the last two years and now, looking into them…it’s like a dream come true.”

Her blood warms at his confession. “Nicholas.”

He kisses her again and she can feel in that single moment the amount of love and devotion that he has for her. Nothing that’s ever happened in her life thus far feels like this.

“I know we have a lot to talk about,” he says, his eyes downcast. “So much happened before I left and I know how angry you must be with me.”

Sabrina shakes her head, puts her hand on his cheek so he’s forced to look at her. “I was angry, Nick. But I also missed you terribly. And I know why you did what you did. It doesn’t make it easier or excuse it but I do understand.”

“I’m so sorry, Spellman.” He practically collapses into her when he hugs her again and she can actually feel the wave of exhaustion roll off of him. “I promise to make it up to you.”

“Stay here tonight,” she whispers. “Come with me.”

She holds her hand out and he takes it, bringing it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

There is a piece of parchment on her bed that wasn’t there before. She turns it over in her hands to see a simple line etched in black ink.

Happy Birthday Sabrina. I told you I’d take good care of him.

“What is that?” Nick asks, coming around behind her to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“A birthday present from Lilith,” she says as she leans back into him.

“The parchment?”

Sabrina laughs, turns around in his arms and brings his head down for a kiss. “No, silly. It was you.”

***

She wakes up hours later to her aunts’ surprised voices.

“Nicholas? What are you doing here?!”

“And in Sabrina’s bed, no less!”

“Aunties,” she says, pulling her blanket up around her and Nick. “I’m eighteen and my boyfriend just escaped hell. Can you cut me a little bit of a break?”

Hilda mumbles something about baking a cake and Zelda eyes Nick carefully.

“We’ll expect a full report of how exactly you’re back,” she says and Nick nods earnestly. “Well then, have a good morning you two.”

Ambrose passes by the doorway as Zelda is leaving. “Happy birthday, cousin.” He does a double take when he sees Nick. “Nicholas, good to have you back, friend.”

Nick laughs when the door closes again. “Your family is something else, Spellman.”

She turns so they are lying face to face. “I still can’t believe you’re here. In the flesh, lying next to me right now. I thought this day would never come.”

“Not me,” he says seriously. “Every single day I had to be away was just one day closer to being with you again.”

Sabrina sighs happily and lets him pull her body flush with his so he can kiss her. “Nick…what would you have done if I had, you know, moved on?”

“Cried.”  They both laugh and he drops feather light kisses to her nose, then her cheeks and forehead.  “It wouldn’t have mattered. As long as you’re safe and happy, that’s all I care about. You’re all I care about.”

He snuggles closer to her and kisses the top of her head.

“It would have really fucking sucked though.”

Sabrina laughs out loud, pulls him so he has to brace himself on both hands over her.

“Good thing for you the other boys I dated were so bland.”

Nick kisses her, presses his body down on hers a bit before sitting up with a start.

“Wait…what other boys?”

SEND ME A SHIP + PROMPT

[marsupials-of-mars]

Night Terrors

Part three of my Dreams/Nightmares series (Dreams came first, then Nightmares, now this much later), because once Remus was revealed it was clear he should have totally been nightmares instead of Virgil but I worked him in anyway!

Contrary to Roman and Virgils nights with Thomas, Remus generally didn't talk much. Suprising really, considering his personality, but the videos they watched together had some auditory stimulus that he didn't dare interrupt. So he just enjoyed himself, lending his presence. He loved his Thomas nights, a full night to be good and nasty and Remus it up, loosen up after a long day, for Thomas to tire himself out for a good nights rest. A night all to himself and Thomas, what could be more fun?

But as all good things must come to an end, so too did his contributions. Thomas was tired, and that meant off went the explicit content, onto it's charger, and under the pillow. Remus whined. Sleep. What was it good for anyway? Just to waste time. He sank back into Thomas's subconscious and sulked over to the basement door. He yanked it open and practically oozed down the staircase. He didn't want to sleep that night. Sleep was boring, he wasn't even tired! He wasn't...

His eyes lit up at the realization. When a side wasn't tired it meant... Remus scrambled back up the stairs on all fours, bursting out the stairwell and into the hallway. And now that he was facing the right direction, it was clear as day. A black and hot pink door. Remus squealed.

Aint no rest for the wicked.

He skipped down the hall, overwhelmed with excitement. He didn't care much for the guy really, but he sure loved the work. He popped his knuckles, dagger-like claws bursting from his fingertips. He would have toyed with his coworker a bit but he didn't feel like wasting any time that night. He gouged his claws into the wood of the door, dragging them down its length with a terrible, grating noise.

"UP AND AT EM BEAUTYSLEEP, WAKEY WAKEY!" He pressed his ear to the door. Silence... but he could smell the fear.

"Okay, rude, I was willing to be polite but here goes." He sent his tentacles about the doorframe, their boneless, mucus-soaked nature letting them slip through the cracks and around the door in its entirety, effortlessly ripping it off its hinges. "See!? See what I gotta do when you bully me?" He waved the door around above his head before chucking it aside and retracting his slimy extremities back into his person. He locked eyes with a face of absolute horror and disgust, apparent even through the sunglasses. "Well I won't hold it too much against you Remy... after all, we're still NAME TWINS!" He finished in a singsong voice and fell into his host's arms.

"EW!" Remy gasped. He dropped him and quickly retreated backward until he was pressed against a wall. "Bitch, you will not TOUCH me, you will not SPEAK to me! WHY do I still not get some warning when one of you are coming?!" He hovered his contaminated arms far away from the rest of his body.

"Hey, I warned you! Warned you not to piss me off!" Remus giggled from his spot on the floor. "Cmon, you love me!"

"I don't! I really don't, I'd appreciate if you jumped in a lake! It'd at least be some sort of bath, you heathen." He sneered and whipped out a portable hand sanitizer. He started slathering his forearms extremely thoroughly.

"Aww, 'heathen'? You flatter me..." Remus brought his hands to his face as he blushed a warm shade of puke green.

"Whatever. WHATEVER. Get the job done and get OUT." Remy massaged his temples. He seemed to be going out of his way not to look in Remus's direction. It filled Remus's stomach with delighted butterflies. Maybe moths... mosquitoes? Mosquitoes sounded right.

"But REM!" Remus whined. "Last time Virgil was in here he left all pretty with face paint and claws-"

"Makeup and acrylics. Because we had a bonding moment. Acrylics are EARNED." He took a sip of his coffee. With a second thought he mumbled around the straw: "And don't call me Rem."

"Pleeease? Please with something hairy on top? I'll make it worth your while..." He bit his lip and winked. Remy nearly spit up his coffee.

"You need to CHILL."

"But I CAN'T! The only thing that could ever quell my madness is claws and facepaint! But alas..." Remus sighed dramatically and brought the back of his hand to his forehead. "You couldn't possibly provide such things..." He opened one eye and grinned when Remy groaned.

"Fine. FINE. But we're watching what I want." He grudgingly dragged his feet over to a cabinet by the TV and pulled out a makeup bag and a bin of nail supplies. "Wasting my best stuff on you..." He mumbled to himself at a volume that made it difficult for Remus to believe that he wasn't supposed to hear. Remus squealed and leapt onto the couch, giddy to be included, even more giddy that it was a grudging inclusion.

He was suddenly hit in the face with a container of wet wipes.

"I'm not touching your hands until you get that grime off, I'm not catching any diseases tonight." Remy pulled out a binder from a bin under the coffee table. The wipes quickly turned various shades of brown as Remus scrubbed his hands, but his attention was elsewhere, peering over Remy's shoulder.

"Whatcha got?"

Remy placed the binder gingerly on his lap. "Ideas."

As soon as Remus got a good look at it, he recognized his brother's calligraphy. He scrunched his nose. "So you and the Quest for Camel-snot are real besties aren'tcha?"

He knew that Roman had work with Remy too, but in the moment it kinda stung. He got the lights, did he really need the extras too? But Remus didn't really want Sleep, not his type. So it was fine, right?

"My closest girlfriend, bitch numero uno. He's a genius, really. Full binders of inspiration for every one of you." He flipped through the binder, double tabs color coordinated to each side, nails and makeup. Profiles and front views of each side's face in Roman's swoopy, perfect art style, graphite with oil pastel for color. Remus craned his neck to see.

"You're at the back. He has a lot of ideas for you, he talks about them a lot. Never gets around to drawing them up though, pretty sure it's personal. Gets uncomfortable drawing your face."

Remus ignored that last piece of commentary.

"Don't care, show me what he DID put in there! Probably awful, I could do better..."

Remy flipped to the green-tabbed page. There were three pages in the Remus section, contrasted against the five or more for every other side. But Remus wasn't focused on that. He was focused on the drawing: The palette was dark but bold, dark greens, black, metalics and greys. The look was extremely busy with intense, full mascara, black lipstick dusted with metallic green, tentacles curling from the eye flaring in the direction of the lashes and writhing down the side of the face. He was even crazy enough to scatter black rhinestones and silver glitter about, seemingly at random but somehow in just the right places. Remus stared at the drawing in awe. It entirely fit his aesthetic, minus the grime. The drawing still didn't quite look like him, though, and it broke Remus out of his trance to laugh out loud as he realized why. Roman had deliberately refused to draw in the mustache.

"What?" Remy squinted at him.

"He's so petty!" Remus conjured a pencil and scratched on some glorious facial hair in some frustratingly wobbly lines compared to Roman's. "There! There's my guy!" Remy grabbed the binder and clapped it shut.

"Ugh, you ruined it!" He opened the page back up and pouted.

"It's better now! Whatever, just fuck me up!" He sat up and closed his eyes, ready for beautification. He felt a wet wipe instead, though it wasn't like he was caught of gaurd by a sudden cold dampness to the face. "What are you doing?"

"You're so oily, if I tried to apply anything it'd roll right off like water on duck feathers. You owe an apology to your pores hun... and a shower."

"Nah I'd rather you keep with the wiping. Feels nice and sensual." He felt the scrubbing grow more hesitant and heard a quiet but exasperated sigh.

"Tell you what, if you can keep your feral little mouth shut for the next ten minutes I'll let you at the expired wine. It's real vinegary."

"Ooh!" Remus mimed zipping his lips and flicking away the key. Remy seemed suprised that his deal worked.

They sat in relative silence for a while, save for Remy's instructions for Remus to tilt his head one way or another, and the scrapes and clinks of makeup containers on the coffee table.

"Aaand...done!" Remy sat back and surveyed his work. Remus blinked.

"Wait I can't... I can't see..." His eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to look at his own face. Remy rolled his eyes.

"Cut it out, I've got a mirro-" Before he could reach under the coffee table, Remus had already plunged his fingers into his own eye sockets and torn his eyes from their nerves.

"HOLY SHIT-" Remy threw up in his mouth but managed to hold it back. Remus turned his eyes to look back at his face.

"Ooo well done! Though the eyes are a little smudged."

"Because you just mutilated your mascara with your fat knuckles you ANIMAL!" Remy grabbed Remus's wrist and pushed it back toward his face. "Back! Back in!"

Remus groaned and popped his eyes back in. He blinked rapidly as they resituated their orientation in his skull.

"I didn't even bleed, cmon, I'm being respectful of your work."

"Whatever, just sit still..." Remy pinned his shoulder to the couch and kept his legs down with a knee. He blended out some smudged eye shadow and reapplied the mascara. "There." He fell back onto the couch and massaged his eyes. "Now grab us some wine so I can make it through the rest of the night. Right of the fridge, top shelf."

Remus hopped up from the couch and twirled over to the cabinet. He found the bottle that had clearly been re-corked among the vast array and popped it open with his teeth. He waved it under his nose. Vinegar. He called over his shoulder; "You said I could have all the expired stuff?!"

"What else would I do with it? Grab me something."

Remus re-corked the bottle. He grabbed another bottle of red and a single wine glass and ran back to the couch. He cannonballed into the cushions with enough force to make Remy yelp and send out his arms to stabilize himself.

"Claws now!" He clapped his hands. Remy held up a finger.

"Just a sec, hon." He opened the fresh bottle and filled his glass. And kept filling. And kept filling. He tipped the bottle back just as he reached the brim. He took the glass gracefully and downed it in a single tilt. He let out a sigh of relief. "Mkay. Claws."

The next two hours were occupied with messy, drunk acrylic construction, trash reality TV, and half coherent conversations about either the meaning of life or over which two patent moms would get in a fistfight first based on their initial introductions. Remus could half remember Remy crying at some point over how bad the nails looked and how he was losing his gift, and another point where he ranted about how the other nail techs of the world better "step the fuck up or drop dead" at his sheer talent.

Remus began to come to, though barely. He pawed at Remy's shoulder. "Rem, Remmington, up up up! Got night terrors to make!"

Remy rolled over. His lips were smudged with black and metallic green. Remus didn't say anything, though silently cursed himself for having blacked out through that part.

"Hm? Nah bitch, you're on your own. Scary shit, not my cup of tea."

"You've got the assets!" Remus snorted at the word. "Yknow, the characters and stuff."

Remy groaned for a long time. "Fiiine." He rolled off the couch and followed Remus to the recording room. Remus attempted a cartwheel but fell over halfway through. He made it into the room at least. Remy snorted.

"GIRL! You're WORTHLESS!" He pulled a giggling Remus to his feet.

"Yeah..." Remus bounced from foot to foot. "Gimme!"

"Hold on a sec!" Remy yanked open a file cabinet and pulled out a handful of folders. "First choice..." He hiccuped. "Classic spiders."

"Cmon Rem, what kind of creativity would I be to keep using spiders every time?"

Remy thought. "A bad one?"

"Correct!" He reached into the folder and pulled out a spider. With a tap of his fingers he multiplied them into the thousands. "Next!"

Remy pulled out the next. "Sharks."

"Nah, that's just a sharp fish. Something GROSS, something WEIRD. Next!"

"Ummm...Thomas saw a dead mouse the other day. Part of it's belly smushed open."

"ZOMBIE! RATS!" Remus grabbed the mouse and threw it on the ground, instantly multiplying it into a writhing pile of the living dead, which quickly dispersed through the blackness, some eating spiders and the others being eaten by spiders. It was quite the beautiful display of the circle of life, but Remus wasn't thinking about that as much as he was thinking about how awesomely disgusting it was.

"MORE! Characters!"

"Mom! Fitness trainer! Mark from Rent! Moana!" Remy read off folder titles.

"All of them! To be CONSUMED BY THE ZOMBIE RATS!!!" He dumped the folders into the swarm of arachnid and gorey fur. Remy began to squint and avert his eyes. No matter how drunk, there was only so much he could take. "Last part! Setting!"

"We've got... woods behind our old elementary school, the underworld from the first Percy Jackson movie, and the church basement!"

"When presented with some form of hell, hell it is!" Remus grabbed the underworld folder and opened it to surround them with sweet sweet fire and the wails of the damned.

"Okay! Let's go!" He grabbed Remy's shoulder. He rewound the terror and hit play from the beginning before pulling Remy out the door. He slammed it behind them. Remy, who was just coming to, winced.

"You know you could have made the whole thing while it was paused?"

"What's the fun in that?"

Remy huffed. "Well, we're done. You can finally get out of my room.

"Do you really WANT me to though...?" Remus wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Remy with his elbow.

"Yeah. I REALLY want you to."

Remus gasped in offense. "Fine. Be that way. I had fun."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Well once I got drunk you weren't as bad. Take that as you will."

"I'll internalize that as a confession of your deep sexual attraction to me."

"Please don't."

"Too late!"

Remy grabbed Remus's shoulder and spun him towards the door.

"Just get out."

Remus snorted and made his way to the door. He stopped and turned back. "You might want to get your door fixed by the way. I don't want to alarm you," He put his hand to the side of his mouth and whispered. "But I think some idiot broke it."

Remy gestured for him to shoo. "Yeah. I'll look into it."

Remus grinned. He looked down at his acrylics for nearly the first time. They were wobbly and awful and sharp, like twisted daggers. Not what the sketchbook recommended, but better than Roman could have come up with anyway. He looked back up at Remy.

"Great. Bye name twin!"

"Good riddance."

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Turn ‘Em Out

A/N: Soooo. I recently posted a list of questions for you to pose to my characters. (I got so many good ones! I’ve worked through about half of them but I have a few more to get to and you know me, I tend to ramble.) Well there was one in particular that I truly hoped someone would ask when I posted that list, and was strongly considering writing the answer to it regardless...but then it DID get asked! And I was pumped! But then I started writing it and...well...it got LONG. And it came with a slew of other asks, so I decided that it was best to answer this particular one separately, and I’ll finish the rest that came in that batch next. Anyways. How’s that for rambling, huh? 

Prompt: @something-tofightfor asked What’s in Ryan’s pockets? 

Word Count: 2,667

Ryan’s got a lot of pockets, which is great because there are a lot of things that he needs and space in his pack and guitar case is limited. He can literally only take with him what he can carry, and he can’t carry too much because he needs to be able to quickly get on and off the trains, so he can’t be too weighed down. This means that every single thing that Ryan Brenner has in his pockets is absolutely essential. 

Let’s start with what he’s got in his jeans. While he’s out and about, his wallet is in his right back pocket. There’s an outline of distinct wear and tear in the shape of the thin, brown leather billfold where he keeps the cash he makes from busking, two pictures, and his driver’s license. Currently, on your floor, he’s got about $168 in cash, most of it made that very day on the 16th Street Mall. The two pictures both have curled, torn edges, the older of the two has a thick crease down the middle from where it had been folded when it lived in a different wallet with a smaller pocket. The older photo was of Ryan with his cousins on the beach from the time he got too drunk and fell asleep without sunscreen. He and Taylor, both red as a radish, were in the center wearing grimaces to go with their burns, surrounded by Patrick, Fitz, Zach, Jimmy and Tommy with wide, goofy, drunken summer grins on their faces. The second photo was from his first year on the rails, out in Oregon with the group of friends he shared his first tattoo with. Oz, Robin, Louie, Nikki, Georgie, Cowboy and Kissie with Ryan mid step to get back into the frame before the timer on the camera went off. The crew was camped out by the bay, two tents that belonged to Oz and Nikki popped up behind the group with a makeshift clothesline and a rock ringed fire pit visible to the left. Cowboy, Robin and Georgie all wore frozen laughs, Ryan’s mouth quirked to the side and his eyes narrowed in a comeback to whatever smart ass comment Oz had just made. Both of them reminded him that he had his tribe of people scattered across the country and back home in Georgia, and he’d pull them out on cold, lonely nights on the train or sleeping in a park, and looking at them would always make him feel less alone. He could almost hear their laughter and feel their embrace, and when the hour was appropriate the next day, he’d give someone a call just to fill his ear with a familiar voice. 

His driver’s license was issued in Montana about four years ago. At that point he still had about a year on his Georgia license before it would need to be renewed, but he didn’t want to limit himself and have to go back if that’s not where the road was taking him. He’d be back soon enough for another cousin reunion, and he didn’t want there to be a lapse in valid I.D.s. They were hard enough for him to get when they weren’t expired; without a permanent address, the amount of paperwork you need to bring to the DMV is astounding. So since he had planned to spend a whopping 4 weeks in Livingston, MT to help Georgie’s uncle’s friend repair fences and patch the roof of the barn after a particularly harsh hail season (the price was RIGHT so even though it meant sticking in one spot for much longer than he was used to, Ryan couldn’t pass it up) he decided that it was as good a time as any to get a new license since Byron, the owner of the ranch and the man who was putting him, Cowboy, Virginia and Georgie up in the guesthouse, had allowed Ryan to use his address to have some mail forwarded, so voila! A “permanent” Montana residence. Montana licenses are good for eight years, too, so he’s still got a while before he needs to decide where to renew. 

Ryan’s back left pocket held a pair of thick wool gloves, palms tucked in and fingers waving free. They’d been a Christmas gift from Cowboy and Virginia (Ryan knew it was really Ginny who’d chosen the gloves with him in mind.) and they saved him from frostbite on plenty of occasions. They were bulky with insulated lining sand reinforced deerskin palms, and when his hands had all but cracked and bled from playing for hours in winter weather, they were a welcome reprieve. He couldn’t wear them getting on or off the trains, because the knit stitching was liable to snag on some part of the car. Ryan has heard his share of stories about what can happen when your clothes get caught in a chain or a rough, weathered edge of the steel, so he slips them off right before hopping and shoves them in his pocket. (He’s got a pair of canvas work gloves, too, but they’re inside the main part of his pack with his clothes. Those are for odd jobs and things that crop up along the way) 

Ryan’s knife is in his front right pocket. It’s small, with a carved wooden handle. It’s old. Older than Ryan. It belonged to his grandfather and His aunt (Patrick’s mom) gave it to him when he was home around his 22nd birthday. It wasn’t a secret that Ryan was granddaddy’s favorite; he saw the same spark of mischief and excitement for life that he had as a younger man. Some of Ryan’s favorite memories from his childhood are of summer afternoons, when the sun was too hot to be out for too long and he and his cousins would be forced to find shade for an hour or two, and he’d sit on the porch next to his grandfather as he whittled whistles and figurines. He’d pile up the curled shavings, wrapping them around his fingers as he watched forms of bears and birds appear out of solid blocks of wood. Once he asked him if he could teach him how to carve. 

Granddaddy laughed and ruffled Ryan’s mop of soft brown locks, lightened from the summer sun. “When yer older, Ry’n. You’ll chop yer fingers clean off, I teach ya now.” 

Ryan never got to learn. The time was never right before he left, and there never seemed to be enough when he was home, and then time ran out and Ryan was left with one of the biggest regrets that he’ll carry; that he didn’t make the time. So when his aunt gave him the knife when he was home around his 22nd birthday, Ryan’s eyes went wide before blinking fat tears from the corners, and the knife instantly became his most prized possession. He still doesn’t know how to carve, but he uses it almost every day. 

His left front pocket is for random extra necessities, which vary by season. In the winter there might be a few hand warmer packets, cough drops or some kind of hard candy, maybe some tissues or a handful of paper napkins. 

The heavy canvas coat he wore held some of the most vital items as those pockets closed with zippers or buttons. The inner breast pocket housed his black plastic flip phone, the charger cable wound around it. It was by far the most important item he carried in terms of survival. The ability to call for help should he need it was crucial, making the charger cable just as important as the phone itself. It was also his link to the people that mattered most to him, his way to let them all know that he was okay, a way for them to do the same. Radio silence from time to time was normal, but contact through the network every few weeks or so put everyone’s hearts at ease. Right now, around your third or fourth song on your floor in front of the fireplace, Ryan’s wondering if you’ll be added to that network… wondering if you want to add him to yours. 

The lower inside pocket is larger, so it can hold a few of the bulkier things that he carries. There’s a keychain sized flashlight that may have been attached to an actual keychain at one point. Ryan’s not even sure where it came from, but it has come in handy on more than one cloudy night when he couldn’t rely on the moon or stars for visual assistance. A standard Bic lighter (currently a plain red one) and a book of matches from a motel he’d stayed in with Georgie and some of his new friends down in Jackson, MS a few months back. He had about twelve matchbooks in a plastic zipper bag in his pack, habitually taking them anytime they were offered- motels, diners, truckstops. Plenty of smoke shops that he’d stopped in offered a free book with a pack of papers. Being able to start a fire for cooking or warmth was crucial, and having fire to light an expertly rolled smoke was a bonus. There was also always a length of twine, coiled and tied off to avoid tangling into a knot. It was useful in dozens of ways, some of the most used being as additions to fire starters, makeshift clotheslines, and replacement shoelaces. Loose or untied shoes due to a broken lace are unacceptable for a number of reasons, but all purpose twine works as a stop gap until he can get new laces. Whenever he gets close to running out, Ryan visits a local hardware shop and restocks. 

There’s one more inner pocket on the opposite side. It’s small but it only has very small items in it, and they almost never leave their place so it works just fine. Ryan’s not a superstitious man, but he’s not about to turn down good luck, so this pocket serves as a tiny treasure trove of things he’d acquired over the years that have supposedly been partially to blame for his continued good fortune: a lucky penny Taylor had given him before he left the very first time. She was only 14 then, but she swore that penny was with her on “the best days of her life” and she wanted Ryan to have it so only good things would come to him on his travels. She probably doesn’t remember it anymore, but Ryan’s kept it the entire time. Tucked in with the penny is the first guitar pick he’d ever used, his own little charm that he wasn’t sure was lucky per say, but that he couldn’t seem to part with. There was a four leafed clover that Robin had sent him from somewhere outside Seattle along with a postcard. (When he’d make it back to Georgia, usually every three years or so, he’d always have a small bundle of letters and postcards from his road family. Maybe someone spent a week longer than planned in a city that they fell in love with and they wanted to share the recommendation. Maybe someone saw something or heard something or felt something that reminded them of him. Maybe someone just missed him and wanted to write it down. Ryan tried to scribble notes now and then, too.) 

The last item in that pocket was a flint arrowhead that he’d been given as a gift a few summers ago. He’d been staying in Kentucky for about a week or so with Cowboy and his cousin Nate, and Nate’s ex wife had unexpectedly dropped their son Julian off about two days in to Ryan and Cowboy’s stay. Aat first Ryan’s inclination was that he and Cowboy should hit the road and change their plans, maybe head on up to Ohio or Pennsylvania for a stretch, but Nate insisted that they stay. Julian was 9 but had the attitude of a 19 year old, and Ryan couldn’t really blame the kid from what he’d seen of his parents. (He was grateful to Nate for letting him have a place to crash, a shower, somewhere to cook and rest up. But it was clear from the way that he and Maya, Julian’s mom, screamed at each other, neither of them were mature enough to raise a well adjusted kid.) By the third day, Julian was bored as all hell, and Nate had no real clue what to do with him. Ryan figured it wasn’t that hard, just offer to include him in what you’re doing and see if he bites. “Hey Julian, I’m headed into town to hit the hardware store. Need to get some twine. You wanna come?” “Hey, Julian, I’mma sit out back and play a little, maybe see some constellations if you wanna join.” “Julian, we’re goin’ fishin’ later, you in?” By the end of the stay, Julian’s mood had improved and Nate was left dumbfounded, asking Ryan if he had kids and how he knew how to get through to his son. 

Ryan shrugged. “Just treat ‘em like people.” 

Julian had found a handful of arrowheads on that fishing excursion after Ryan showed him what to look for and where he was most likely to find one (along the banks of the small river), and when he and Cowboy were getting ready to head out, Julian shoved one in Ryan’s hand with a nod of his prematurely serious head. If his granddaddy’s knife took the number one spot, and his guitar held number two, Julian’s arrowhead, Taylor’s penny, Robin’s clover and his pick collectively took the number three slot in the things that were most important to him. Ryan wasn’t superstitious. Not at all. But whether those items brought him luck or not, he wouldn’t be caught without them. 

The two front pockets of his coat were usually empty unless his scarf was stuffed into one- depending on where he was, if the sun was high sometimes it was warm even in winter, and he’d find himself sweating in the thick, cable knit scarf. But in just an hour or so the weather could change drastically, so rolling it up and securing it away in his pack would be inconvenient if he’d be needing it again so soon. The old Carhartt’s front pockets were deep and wide and the entire scarf fit in one with no problem. The other would sometimes have a granola bar or a bag of nuts, something quick he’d picked up at a convenience store or gas station that he could munch on through the day, in between songs or while seated in the back of a pickup hitching from the train yard to wherever the next destination was. 

It would be too much to get into every item in his pack, but the essentials in the top front pocket include a toothbrush and paste, small travel sized bottle of mouthwash, bar of soap stored in a seafoam green plastic clamshell holder, and a travel sized shampoo. In a separate zipper bag in that same portion is a small tube of sunscreen, one of moisturizers, a few band aids, some tape and an antiseptic cream for small burns, cuts and nicks. In another of the front pockets he keeps his leather bound notebook, two pencils and a pen, along with a small print out map that boasted stars and circles for all the places he’d traveled to- circles meaning he’d been there once, stars indicating multiple visits. His harmonica also had a home in that pouch for easy access on long quiet stretches of rail.  

There wasn’t a stitch of extra space anywhere on him, but somehow Ryan always managed to fit anything and everything that he needed. He’d left things with people and gained new items along the way, but somehow the amount of space he had always accommodated exactly what he needed it to. 

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden 

apologies if you didn’t want to be tagged in this essay, i just went with the Passing Through taglist :) 

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Afterward (4/13)

Chicago, Illinois: The Sexton Baby, Connor Rhodes

15 January 2019 | 09:00 Local Time

I worked out early this morning for certain that April is not being haunted by her own child. I haven’t told her yet, but she has allowed me to look at hospital records to see if I can identify the baby and its mother who have begun to destroy her life. As far as I know, they could still have some connection that’s important to being able to free them.

Connor is hanging around still, and seems to be wary of me. I know he sees me, but he hasn’t approached me again and sticks much closer to Dr. Halstead than in the past. Should he become violent, I believe it would be Dr. Halstead5 who is most at risk. Before the end of the day, I should talk to him and try and help him, find out if he’s experienced anything that could be described as the haunting he’s experiencing. Some people just don’t notice. If he knows what he’s dealing with, he'll be safer.

-

When Sarah wakes up, she feels calmer and safer than she has since she was a small child. There’s all this hair in her face, smelling like fruit and sweetness, and when she opens her eyes she can prove to herself that it’s April who’s pressed against her, whose legs are tangled with hers, who has a warm stomach pressing against Sarah’s hand because her pajama shirt rode up sometime in the night. This is the sort of thing she’s been craving her entire life. Intimacy. Happiness. 

But she suddenly gets this itch under her skin, this doubt, this fear that she’s overstepped. There’s no way to know if April is into women, let alone Sarah. She doesn’t want to be someone who’s made assumptions, who’s taken advantage of the fact that they slept in the same bed. As carefully and quietly as she can, Sarah detangles herself from April and slips out of bed. Hopefully April won’t mind if she showers and puts on clean clothes, maybe makes them breakfast- she did say the kitchen was open, and Sarah brought her own soap and such. Five minutes to wake up and get clean, then she can make something for the two of them to share.

She showers as quickly as she can, especially once the crying starts up again, which will undoubtedly wake April. Her hair takes forever to dry, but she doesn’t wanna bother with it and twists it into a bun in hopes of drying it with the hand dryers at the hospital. April has a blowdryer on her counter, but Sarah would feel weird using it. So she doesn’t, and towels off quickly, too much so in fact, because there’s still water dripping down the back of her neck when she pulls on her t-shirt. She sticks her tongue out at her reflection in the foggy mirror.

Once she emerges from the bathroom, she can hear April starting to shift in the creaky bed, but it plays second to the quiet but still audible crying, and now the mother’s tired shushing. She isn’t sure why it took so long for the mother to make herself known, but what matters is freeing April from the spirits haunting her. It’s the one thing Sarah can do to help people, and she’ll do it. Even if, some day, it kills her. 

The kitchen is poorly stocked. Most of it is dry goods, nothing that expires. No fruit, no milk or yogurt. It’s a little gut wrenching, but Sarah knows the feeling. No sleep, filled with anxiety and paranoia, terrified of the spirits with no idea how to control them. So she doesn’t make anything for breakfast, and sets to cleaning up the things left behind last night when April saw things humans aren’t meant to see. The ash is closed, but appears to have spilled anyways, and there’s wax sprayed around the candles. She picks them up carefully, packs them away tenderly, and gives herself a moment to think over the remains in an effort to cleanse them from the energy that bathed them in anger the night before. Her eyes land on her grandmother’s crucifix. Just like before, she knows it has no real power of its own, but it’s the thought that counts. Sarah curls her hand around the smooth wood and pulls it out, imagining the way her grandmother always felt so safe with this to protect her. It’s the energy attached. The warmth. 

“Morning,”  April says, and her voice is like pure sugar spun into the most delicate gossamer, and Sarah wants to suffocate in it. “Sorry I don’t have much-”

“It’s okay.”

Sarah still has the cross in her hand when April kneels beside her, and she smells like sleep and linen, and the point where their knees touch is electric.

“You’re Christian?”

She shakes her head and rubs her thumb against the cold torso of what had been Christ before years of worrying the wood has worn it mostly smooth. “I don’t believe in anything, but my grandmother did. What matters is that she believed in it, she loved it, and she put faith in it. The love, that’s what matters. It’s the thing that really protects us. So people with faith, I understand, I guess. Believing in things helps.”

“I’m Catholic, and believing used to help. It hasn’t much, lately.”

Sarah presses the cross into April’s hand, allows the pads of her fingers to skim the golden skin of her palm. “Maybe this will help. It makes me feel safer than anything else in the world.”

April smiles, pulls the crucifix in tight to her body like one would hold a baby. She cradles it, holds it against her chest and for the briefest of seconds, she imagines April holding the child which has been haunting her, and she knows- she has to ask. But she can’t yet, not in such a fragile moment like this one, after what they went through together last night. Instead, she decides she can and should do her own research at the hospital. Look into records, try and talk to anyone she can about Connor, and come up with a solid plan to set April free from the spirits.

When April stands up, still holding the cross, Sarah suddenly feels somewhat cold, like she’s missing something even though the only shift has been a change in the presence next to her. She hasn’t seen the spirits again, but she can still faintly hear them, although it’s quieter now. Less invasive. She can’t resist feeling lighter, even as it fights an indescribable heaviness borne of the sudden distance between herself and April.

“Is there any way you can let me look at hospital records?” she asks, instead of evaluating why she feels the way she does all of a sudden. “Any infant deaths, any deaths during or after labor, anything like that. And, if possible-” Sarah has to collect herself first, “-anything in the system about Connor, specifically about his death.”

The bubble of warmth they built bursts immediately, collapsing in shards around Sarah so quickly she can practically feel them cutting into her skin, energy so intense it becomes borderline tangible.

“Why are you still asking about Connor?”

Why is she still asking about Connor? It’s not a bad question, in all honesty. He seems to not be causing any trouble, at least not yet. The best answer she can give is a shrug, and in a light voice that doesn’t entirely come from her own lungs, she says, “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“Nothing does at Med, not since way before he died. He has nothing to do with it.”

Maybe it’s not his fault, but he’s part of it, and probably the same thing is what’s causing April to be haunted. Hospitals, they’re breeding grounds for spirits. They get infested. And something at Gaffney isn’t right, something needs to be fixed and taken care of before something worse happens. And it looks like Connor might be a good place to start, if his death was “suspicious” but there was no detail, no explanation, and no one wants to talk about him, least of all Connor himself.

“It could be connected to your baby, April.”

She presses her lips together and looks down, but she’s still holding the crucifix in her hand, albeit a little tightly. The wood must be digging into her skin. But she’s thinking about giving Sarah access to the records, and those could very well be the key to understanding this whole thing. She can help people. She can help April.

“I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” Before Sarah can thank her, April sighs, and says, “I think you should talk to Will.”

[shootwinterfest]

Let It Snow

Shoot Secret Santa by @spicycheeser!

*_*_*_*_*

The whole situation feels really weird and the fact that she agreed to it means… well it doesn’t matter now, because they’re already here.

She pushes open the door to the cabin, knocking the excess snow off her boots before heading inside.

“She says a light switch  on the right,” Root says, entering just behind her and dusting the snow off the shoulders of her coat.

Shaw slides a hand along the wall until she finds the switch. The lights flicker on and they get their first look at the place they’ll be spending the next four days.

The living room is open, all high ceilings and exposed wooden beams, everything you’d expect from a “luxury ski lodge”.  To their left is a fireplace. A couch and armchair sit around it, with a soft looking rug and coffee table between. Bookcases and a few paintings line the walls. The kitchen is open to the living room, only separated by a breakfast bar, and there’s a staircase to the second floor loft that winds up and around (to the bedroom, Shaw assumes).

Slipping off her boots, Shaw leaves her duffle bag by the door. Padding to the kitchen, she begins rummaging and finds both fridge and cupboards to be fully stocked. Recently too, if the expiration dates are accurate.

“She says there’s a freezer in the basement with extra food as well,” Root says, leaning over the breakfast bar. “There’s sports equipment down there. Skis, snowshoes, that sort of thing.”

Shaw grabs a banana from the bowl of fruit, peeling it down. “Looks like Robot Overlord thought of everything.” She takes a bite, enjoying the minut flinch of annoyance Root makes at the nickname.

“Even if this wasn’t her idea, She likes to make sure we’re taken care of.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, takes another big bite of fruit so she doesn’t have to respond to that. It’s true though. However serious or not Shaw’s comment about going on vacation together was, it was Shaw’s idea. And now here they are, fully stocked cabin in the middle of nowhere siberia, four days to kill until their job in Moscow comes up.

“I’m going to take my bag upstairs and unpack,” Root clicks the ‘k’ at extra hard and attempts a wink before sliding away.

With reluctant sigh Shaw finishes her banana, tossing it before heading back to grab her bag as well. Ascending the staircase she follows the thin banister around to the one and only door and heads inside.

The loft bedroom is... fair-sized. She might be ill or something because “cozy” was honestly the first adjective that came to mind. There’s a dresser on each side of the room, a small bookcase, and a door that probably leads to a bathroom. Most of the room however is taken up by the enormous bed and now, as Shaw stands at the foot of it, she’s struck by just how little thinking she did about this whole vacation thing. What it might entail, for example. Not a vacation in general but a vacation with someone. With Root. It’s a thought exercise made infinitely harder to since she’s not exactly sure how to define what being “with Root” means either.

They’ve fucked (once) and kissed (twice) and spent plenty of time together flirting and shooting at people. All of that happened on the job though so downtime like this is completely undefined. Shaw’’s not sure what Root expects and not what sure what she wants from Root either.

Tossing her duffle in the corner, Shaw flops back onto the bed. There’s a skylight above, currently featuring a perfect square of grey-blue winter sky. She feels the bed dip beside her and hears Root release and over exaggerated sigh.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Shaw wonders outloud.

“I can think of several things,” Root hums, teasing tone not o be misinterpreted. “But vacation is about doing what you want to do.”

Shaw sits with that for a fw long minutes. She’s still not sure what to make of it, even when she feels Root roll off the bed and head towards the door.

“I have a project I want to work on,” she says by way of exiting, and Shaw is alone once more.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Shaw looks out the small window. There’s a fresh layer of snow out there and more forecasted for the evening as well.

Four days of this, Shaw thinks, wondering what on earth possessed her to even entertain the idea, much less suggest it. She conjures up ideas of what ‘normal’ people do on a snowy vacation and finds herself with a barrage of media stock images that involve people snuggling together for various activities.

Suddenly the idea of staying inside makes her itch.

Shaw heads downstairs. Root is on the couch, curled up under a blanket, laptop in lap. “Leave it to you to manage to find a WiFi signal in the middle of the woods.”

“She and I are well practiced at creating our own hotspot,” Root hums.

“Ew, okay, I don’t wanna know,” Shaw says, waving hand and making her way towards the basement.

Descending the stairs, she’s actually surprised by what she finds. The basement is tidy, well organized, and labled. It reminding Shaw of something she’d expect to find in White Suburbia rather than the frozen tundra. She heads for the sports equipment mounted and displayed towards the back and shuffs on a pair of snow pants (surprisingly just her size). She grabs the cross country skis, having watched enough Winter Olympics to know that if she wants a good burn that’s a good bet, and heads back upstairs.

Root’s still staring at the computer and Shaw can tell from the faraway look that the Machine must be talking to her. Fingers flying across the keys and Shaw wonders who is dictating to whom. Though, remembering Root’s prior innuendo ,maybe she’d rather not know.

Shaw walks behind the couch and pulls on her jacket. Peeking over Root’s shoulder she sees lines of code growing of across the screen. It’s a language Shaw has no desire to learn, and a lifestyle she has no interest in adopting. The contrast between her and Root sits odd in her stomach and propels her out the door even quicker.

Outside, the sky is still bright grey and she’s thankful she remembered to bring sunglasses for  the glare off the snow. Strapping into the skis it takes a few minutes to figure out how to get moving, but it’s not long before she’s gliding along at a good clip.

The trail near the cabin excellent, challenging. A good rhythm going now, she feels confident enough to push a little harder. She loses herself in it, letting concerns and thoughts from before fall away and shifting attention inward to the way her quads burn or the bite of the cold air at her lungs. The world around her is crisp and quiet, the only sounds are the swishing of her skis and the hiss of her breath. Every once in awhile she’ll stop and take in the serene woods. Watch the way the light glints off iced branches, or examine some animal tracks she crosses. She spends a few hours like that and by the time she gets back, the waning light has taken on a golden hue.

Back inside, Shaw is almost thankful not to find Root where she left her. Instead, she’s in the kitchen, starting at the open cupboards in thought.

“Problem?” Shaw asks, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Just reviewing dinner options. Decisions, decisions.”

Shaw pops the top off the beer with her belt buckle, taking a long swig. “Kinda assumed I’d be doing the cooking, you know, considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering half the time I have to remind you to eat,” Shaw huffs, taking another sip. “Food’s not really your thing.”

Root looks at her and it feels heavy somehow. She tries not to squirm under it, changes the subject. “Look, don’t blow a microchip- let me shower and I’ll make something,” she shrugs like it’s nothing, even though Root is still looking like it's anything but.

Shaw moves towards the door, before Root’s voice catches up with her, “Need any company?”

The tone is light, the weigh from before evaporated. “I think I can handle it,” Shaw deadpans back.

Back upstairs, she takes a few extra minutes in the shower, letting the hot water defrost the cold ache from her bones. After, she finds that Root seems to have taken it upon herself to unpack their bags. All their clothes are neatly folded in the dresser to the left of the bed. Shaw’s extra ammo clips, gas mask, and other gear is organized in her duffle bag, tucked under the bed.

It’s annoying in its efficiency, annoying because it’s exactly how Shaw would have done it. Totally unnecessary. Could have done this myself, Shaw thinks. Helping herself to her favorite pair of worn USMC sweats and a hoodie, she pads back downstairs.

“You look cozy,” Root says. She’s kneeling near the fireplace depositing another log on an already roaring fire.

“She help you with that too?” Shaw asks.

“Fire setting happens to be one of my skills actually.”

“Somehow not surprised,” Shaw states and heads to the kitchen.

Cooking has always been luxury when she had the time to indulge, so she’s happy to seize the opportunity. The cabinets are still open from Root’s rummaging and Shaw browses those and the fridge before settling on a meal. There’s a whole raw chicken which she helps herself to, spending a few minutes of collecting seasonings and other essentials before setting to work. She dresses it the way she remembers her mother doing years ago and makes sure to grab and chop an assortment of veggies to lay underneath the roasting bird too.

Root could use the friggin’ nutrients, she thinks idly.

Shoving the whole thing in the oven, she sets a timer before heading back to the living room. Root is back on the couch, feet on the coffee table and afghan blanket wrapped around her legs like a mermaid tail. They have about an hour before dinner so Shaw makes her way to the bookshelves. Perusing the titles, she can’t help sneaking quick glances back at Root. The woman is typing away oblivious, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a sight Shaw finds to be a weird comfort normally, but here it makes her slightly unnerved. Not because of the action, but because it leaves Shaw to her own devices. It’s the ‘what’s next’ anticipation that’s bothered Shaw since they got here, and it seems like she’s the only one.

Eventually she selects a book, a popular title she recognizes from a few years ago, and is then faced another choice: Where to sit. The armchair, the other end of the couch? Root’s words about Shaw doing whatever she wants on vacation mock her and it pisses her off enough she bypasses the couch and chair, opting to flop down on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Root doesn’t look up from her typing but states, “The bear skin rug was the owner’s Great-Great Grandfather’s. He killed the bear himself and fed his family for 6 months off the meat. It’s a family heirloom and the owner apparently takes a eat deal of pride in it.”

“So sex on the rug is out?” she jokes, enjoying the way Root’s glitches excitedly. Shaw doesn’t bother waiting for a verbal response, simply rolls over, faces the fire, and cracks open the book.

Time flies after that. The book is good, but the wafting smell of roasting chicken and subsequent stomach grumbling buoys her to the present. Shaw portions dinner for them, Root watching ruefully as she very purposefully places roasted vegetables both plates. They eat at the small wooden table in the breakfast nook. Root takes her time, cutting her entire meal into tiny pieces before even taking a bite. Shaw has more of an eat-as-you-go style, which is why she's half done by the time Root finishes cutting. Shaw tries to slow her pace.

Companionable silence is one of her favorite things about Root. The quiet never feels pressured or uncomfortable. Even in the midst of this odd situation, it still feels right. They finish up and before Shaw can say anything, Root clears dishes. She returns to the table with a tumbler of whisky for Shaw glass of water for herself.

“She says I need to drink more water” Root says.

“She’s not wrong ,” Shaw chuckles, taking a sip of her own drink. “But She doesn’t mind if I’m dehydrated?”

Root smiles over the lip of her glass. “She thought you might appreciate a good buzz at the moment.”

They sip quietly, watching the snow starts to fall through the window.

“The owner’s hunting gear is in the basement as well. If you're wondering what you can do for tomorrow.”

Shaw was, in fact, wondering that. “What kind of gun?”

“Compound bow, actually.” Root says. “Game fowl season is in full swing right now.”

“Sounds fun.”

What about tonight? lingers heavily after but Root smiles lightly ,diffusing it. “I have a few more things I’d like to work on. Unless you have something in mind for us for dessert?”

Shaw makes a ‘after you/don’t let me stop you’ motion with her arm towards the couch like and Root heads back to her spot from before. Shaw stays, finishes her drink in her own time, but eventually returns to her spot on the rug as well.

It’s late when she finally lays the book down, the fire fizzled out to its final embers. Now the blue light of the computer screen is the only illumination and the creepy way it lights Root’s face, the strung out tiredness there, brings to mind an entirely different type of snowed-in scenario. The Stephen King kind.

All work and no play, Shaw thinks. Standing, she moving behind the couch and touches Root’s shoulder. “She going to remind you to take a break any time soon?”

“She avoids redirecting me when unnecessary. Doing so when you’re around seems redundant.”

“Fine. Then this is me telling me you look like shit. Be done for the night.”

Root smiles sleepily, closing the laptop and placing it beside her. “As you wish.”

Shaw ignores the reference and heads for the bedroom. She changes, brushes her teeth, and passes Root on the stairs coming up as she heads down to find a glass of water. By the time she returns to the bedroom, Root has changed into her monogrammed PJ’s and bunny slippers and is sitting on edge of the bed, odd expression on her face as she stares at her phone.

Shaw pauses in the doorway, not sure what she wants to do or what she’s going to do (two different things).

They've always slept separately in the past. She could still sleep downstairs but that’d be stupid when the bed up here is big enfor three or four people. She watches Root discard her phone, giving Shaw a open, content look before shutting off her bedside light.

It was neither invitation nor declaration. Another thing Shaw likes about Root- there’s never any pressure.  Doesn’t make this any less confusing.

Shaw makes her way over to the bed despite the continued indecision, and slides under the covers. When she rolls over, she’s facing Root who blinks back at her in the dark.

Fuck it, Shaw thinks. “What is this?”

“It’s call ‘rest’, I think.”

“You know what I mean. This. You. Me. “ Shaw pauses “Her too I suppose- it’s a package deal right?”

Root beams at that, “Very much so.”

“So yeah, what is this?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Can you just answer my question. I asked you first.”

Root shrugs, nuzzling her head further into her pillow. “I haven’t thought much about it.”

“Bullshit,” Shaw bites. “You always have a plan.”

“She always has a plan. I…” Root trails off. Shaw can tell it’s Root thinking rather than listening, so she waits.

“I enjoy you Sameen,” she says, quietly. “Whatever that is, day to day.”

“And Her?” Shaw asks, referring to the Machine. “She just along for the ride?”

“Mmm, on the contrary, she has always been quite invested in us as a pair.” Root smiles small, like it’s an inside joke. “She likes you too.”

“That is…” Shaw searches, but comes up with nothing. “Whatever. It’s fine, I guess.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Shaw rolls onto her back looks up at the skylight. Stars wink above, dots of bright in crisp, dark blue.

“I’m not good at this,” Shaw starts. Root doesn’t reply but Shaw doesn’t have to turn to know the woman’s attention is tuned in. “Not sure how it’s supposed to go.”

“On the contrary, you’re quite good at it. You make sure I eat, sleep-“

“So does the omnipotent FitBit in your ear,” Shaw grumbles.

“You talk to me, and listen,” Root continues. “And if I'm totally honest you're the first person, maybe in my whole life, who has thought about me. About my safety. About my health.” Root says it plainly, as though they’re discussing the weather.

There’s a pressure in Shaw’s chest at the words, like the air is compressing around her slowly, the weight of it clenching under her ribs. Something demanding attention, something stirring.

“It doesn’t have to be like on TV,” Root offers. “Or like what the rest of them, any of them have. Because we're not like the rest of them, are we?”

Shaw snorts, “Fuck no.”

“So forget them. Forget ‘should’ and ‘supposed to’.” Root adds, propping herself up on an elbow. “What you're not good at isn’t applicable. It’s a language you don't ever have to learn. Not with me.”

The pressure reaches combustion and that something that’s been building, building all day and even before, finally explodes. Without thought, Shaw pounces on top of Root, pinning her to the mattress.

Only anger usually moves her like this, but the sharp and familiar satisfaction that usually follow a snap is missing. There is relief, as she looks down at the other woman whose hips she was straddling, but she’s not sure where to go from here.

Root, by contrast, doesn’t seem unsure. Doesn’t seem surprised either. She simply looks back up at Shaw, and smiles knowingly. “Ditto.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, and dismounts, shuffling to her side of the bed once more, and letting the warm afterbuzz of that stirring thing, settle in her gut.

“Keep your freezing feet to yourself” Shaw says without malice, as she snuffles down further into the covers. “And tell Rosie the Robot to wake us up for 5am. I wanna shoot some stuff, bright and early.”

“Mmm, goodnight Sameen,” Root contently from the dark.

It’s odd, to have someone know her better than she know herself sometimes. To have someone who understands, who seems to hear the whispers within her like they were as clear as day. Maybe Root can help her hear them a little better too. Maybe together they can have their own language.

Shaw chuckles, into her pillow despite herself. The whole thing is so weird. So unexpected.

Inconceivable, she thinks as she drifts off. She falls asleep smirking at the reference and how ridiculous and maybe cool being ‘with’ some can actually turn out to be.

*-*-*-*-*

[cedarmoons]

written for my fic trade with @4biddenleeches,​ featuring Julian and her apprentice Aredhel! references events from her awesome one foot in the grave fic, but you don’t have to read that to enjoy this! vaguely nsfw esp at the end.

*

Once, Julian had not thought himself a particularly lucky man. He still remembers that night he’d broken into her shop, and she had presented him with Death’s sickle-shaped grin. But in the year that she has been with him—him! of all the people she could have chosen to love, she chose him, not once but twice, even knowing what he has done, to other nameless innocents, to her—he knows one truth:

Not even Fortuna herself could find another man luckier on the whole of the wide, wide earth.

Their visit to Vesuvia will be short—a break from their constant travels, to reacquaint with old friends and family, to allow themselves a plan for where they wish to travel next. They have sailed to the archipelago of Aransia; crossed to the wooded fjords of Hjallnir and its shining city built in the center of a mountain lake; traversed the desert of Nopal to Drakr, that verdant paradise where she had whispered of perhaps, one day, making a home.

(And oh, how badly he wants that—a home, nestled in the mountains, perhaps, with a well he could draw fresh water from while she leaned out the window of their bedroom and called out to him—)

But as Julian stands on the deck of the ship that is taking them into Vesuvia, his eyes on the horizon—red, he sees, and his mouth curls into a smile. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Surely, a sign, an omen of good fortune: the second time in two years he has returned to Vesuvia, yet this feels like a welcome home. He is not a hunted fugitive convinced of his own inevitable death, but a man in love, a man with a future.

(A future with her: he should have known, he thinks, even with his missing memories, that his twisting paths would have only led him back to her.)

A true year they will have been together, in one week’s time. A year since he had broken into her apothecary a second time, seeking Asra for answers yet again. Asra had not been there—but she had. She had, and that night his life had changed and his luck had turned.

He doesn’t want the day to pass without... some sort of celebration. Some way to mark this milestone, this anniversary (and how short, how inconsequential this one year would be, compared to the years, decades, he hopes to spend with her—a lifetime!).

He thinks of the apothecary’s rooftop garden. He had held her there, with Asra, watching the dawn until she’d been lulled to sleep in their embrace. There are other places, but it... it could be poetic, he thinks. To celebrate the year they’ve shared in the same place they spent what they thought would be her last night. Underneath the hawthorne tree, maybe. A warm blanket underneath her, to block the chill of the rooftop; candles to light the darkness, and rose petals—ah, were rose petals too much?

It matters not, a voice whispers. She will love it anyway, because it comes from me.

Once that thought would not have come with such surety. Now, the certainty brings him comfort, and curves the corners of his mouth into a wistful smile as Vesuvia breaks the horizon, a skyline against the sea.

He would plan the rest of the day, of course. But it would end with a dinner under the hawthorne tree, and he would lay her down and love her, an amendment to the promise he’d made all those years ago (I will lay you down in golden fields; we will rumple the grain as I make love to you); the sky will not be blue, but indigo, and sprinkled through with diamond-glittering stars. Their tapestry is barely woven, barely begun—he wants to add another memory to what is theirs (a thousand memories; a hundred thousand), like a weaver introduces another color and make the design all the more brilliant for it.

Vesuvia approaches; smiling (for there is a red sky at morning, and Fortuna is always smiling upon him these days), he turns and goes belowdeck, returning to her side.

*

They catch Asra the day before he’s to leave for a journey north. He’s glad to see them—dines with them and Nadia in the palace—and freely hands Julian a key to the apothecary, after Julian has pulled him aside and asked for permission to stay there.

“And where are you off to, then?” Julian asks with a sly smile, pocketing the key. “Scaling the Blood Mountain? Pub crawl from here to Prakra? You know, if you do want recommendations, my favorite one is right between Drakr and Hjallnir, it’s—”

Asra shakes his head, cutting Julian off. “Ah, no. I’m spending a week with someone in Nopal.” He half-smiles, and oh, Julian knows that look.

“Oh-ho, someone, he says,” Julian says, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. Though Asra rolls his eyes, he laughs, color rising in his cheeks.

“You don’t know her,” he replies, clasping Julian on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to dinner?”

Julian nods, letting it go, though his curiosity still has its tenterhooks buried in his chest. He would hold his tongue, for now, but the day Asra departs for Nopal Julian knows he will be on Portia’s doorstep—ah, no, Nadia would be more likely to know the truth—he will be at the palace doorstep, asking Nadia if she knows anything.

*

(It turns out Nadia keeps Asra’s secrets as well as Asra himself does—Julian gets nothing from her, other than a slight, warm smile.)

*

He is meticulous in his preparations when that joyous day comes; Aredhel spends the morning with Portia and Mazelinka, both claiming her on pretense (or convenient excuse) of completing errands that absolutely require her assistance. He uses that time to check the rooftop garden, just to make sure it isn’t dead—it isn’t—to buy fresh bread and fruit, and roses and rose petals from the florist. He also buys the ingredients for a meal Mazelinka has made for them countless times. Can’t quite remember the name of it, but Aredhel had always enjoyed it immensely.

Mazelinka is the one who comes by the shop that afternoon, to find Julian standing in Asra’s kitchen, staring helplessly at the counter, where the ingredients are arranged in a semi-circle without rhyme or reason. 

“I don’t know what her favorite meal is,” he says, staring at the ingredients. “We’ve known each other for years. She’s the love of my life. But I don’t—oh, God, I don’t know what her favorite meal is! She knows mine, why haven’t I asked—” His eyes widen and he spins around, gaping at Mazelinka. “I don’t even know her favorite color!”

“Ilya,” Mazelinka says, arching an eyebrow as she perches her hands on her hips. Ilya steps aside, sheepish, as she walks up to the counter, eyeing the ingredients with a critical eye. He watches her take a pinch of the basil he’d put in a small wooden bowl and lick it, grimacing soon afterwards. “Pah. Expired.”

She tsks, slipping a wooden spoon from an earthenware jar holding utensils as well as tithonia blooms. “Aredhel is on her way here,” she says. “You will take her out to that play you bought seats to see, and I will handle the dinner.”

Ilya’s shoulders slump. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Of course I know that,” Mazelinka scoffs. “But you are hopeless at cooking, and you have not spent one minute with Aredhel. I haven’t seen you since that whole business with Lucio ended—and thank Hashem you took care of that nasty Count. We’re all better off without him. This will be my treat, if you come to Shabbos dinner with me and Portia on Saturday. It’s been too long, my boy.”

“Of course,” Julian says, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Aredhel can come?”

“Da konesho, what kind of question is that? How many Shabbos dinners has she been to? Bah. Too many to count.”

Julian grins, despite himself. “Just making sure.”

He hears the door open downstairs, and Portia and Aredhel’s voices, lost in the blur of conversation. He hurries down the stairs, nearly skipping, and looks up just long enough to see Portia is carrying a basket, and Aredhel’s hands are free —and then the space is crossed, and his hands are on her hips, lifting her up and spinning her in a circle. 

Aredhel smiles at him when he sets her down, steadying herself with a laugh.

Once he had, only half in jest, called the two of them the Hanged Man and his undead bride. Yet here, having spent the morning in the warmth of the day, she is life incarnate, cheeks tinged red (not with fever, no, only exertion from the day!) and sunlight caught in her hair. Her green dress and her flaxen hair—she is spring, summer, Flora and Pomona, and he is but a (newly) mortal man in love.

He tucks her hand into his arm. “And what angel have you brought into this home, Pasha?” he asks, grinning. He tears his gaze from Aredhel to Portia, who is carrying a basket, and springs forward, gently taking the basket into his own arms. “One moment, I’ll be back!”

He deposits the basket on Asra’s dining table. Mazelinka, already rifling through the cabinets, does naught but raise her wooden spoon in acknowledgement—and then Julian is back downstairs, tucking Aredhel’s hand into his arm once again. Portia clasps her hands together and gives him a fond, long-suffering look. He shrugs, unapologetic.

Let him shout his love from the rooftops. Let the whole world know how much he loves Aredhel Mooney.

“Ilya,” Aredhel says, laughing, “what’s the rush?”

“What’s the rush?” Julian asks, arching an eyebrow and smiling as he reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing two tickets printed on orange paper. “Why, we have a show in half an hour, and the Countess herself has been gracious enough to loan us her box. The production was a personal recommendation of hers.”

“Oh? What’s it about?” Aredhel says. Portia, smiling, goes upstairs. Aredhel looks after her, but doesn’t move to follow her. Instead she refocuses on Ilya, and he grins at her.

“A tragedy about two lovers in fair Verona,” Julian tells her. “Sounds right up our alley.” He pauses, that old anxiety rearing its ugly, ugly head. “If you’re interested, of course. If not, why, there’s a thousand other things to do in this city, did you hear Nadia tore down the Coliseum—”

“Ilya,” Aredhel interrupts, kindly, and Julian closes his mouth, offering a sheepish smile. Aredhel smiles back and lifts herself up, kissing him hungrily enough that he ends up gripping her hips and holding her flush against him, until he remembers that Mazelinka and Pasha are upstairs and he abruptly breaks the kiss.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat, averting his eyes and ignoring the blush suffusing his cheeks. Aredhel’s laugh is husky and rasping, and he squeezes her hand. “To the theater, then! Allons-y, chérie!”

*

It’s dark by the time they exit the theater, hand-in-hand. Julian knows he should be talking about the play, asking her what she’d thought, but all he can think of is the heat of her hand.

Which she had rested on his upper thigh for the entirety of the play.

She had done no more than that—no, no more than an occasional coy smile in his direction whenever he’d shifted, or cleared his throat, or tried to distract himself from her hand’s proximity—but it had been enough to... divert his attention from the play. He wants to hurry back to the shop, get her onto the roof where they could be alone and he could do his part to rid the rooftop of its negative memories—he could reach under her skirt, and his hands would find naught but bare skin and the promise of pleasure.

“—Ilya?”

“Ah, apologies, my dear,” Julian says, offering her a shameless smile. “I found myself too taken with your beauty—what did you say?”

Aredhel rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of his hand. His breath catches and his grin deepens. “Why, ’Red, you’re a romantic!”

“You knew that already,” she accuses, playfully.

“Ah, but the play, the play has dragged that particular secret from its hiding place,” Julian says, gesturing dramatically toward the night sky, sprinkled through with stars. Strings of lanterns between the street hang over their heads. Not a single house is marked with indigo and black drapings. Not a single one of these families—not a one!—have lost someone to the plague.

What’s a plague doctor with no plague? he’d once asked. He’d thought himself purposeless, drifting, a wreck and a lost cause of a man. How blessedly wrong he’d been—how thankful he is now to see it.

The moon is heavy and full in the sky, and Julian is invigorated, heartened, joyous. It makes him throw his head back, beaming at the night sky and the lanterns that block off globe-shaped spaces of it. “Look! The moon knows the truth! Only she, and me.”

“And will you keep this secret?” Aredhel asks, eyes glittering. She’s playing along, and that only encourages him. “Will the moon?”

“Why, the moon has her own secrets,” Julian says, “it’s why she disappears each month. She can be trusted. As for me... well.” His smile softens, and he looks down at her, pressing a hand over his heart. “I will keep your secrets. This I do swear...” he arches an eyebrow, grinning, “’til my second dying breath.”

They reach the shop, after devolving into a conversation about the play itself; Aredhel unlocks it with a fluid gesture and pulls him inside, snickering at Julian’s dramatic renditions of Mercutio’s death scene. A plague o’ both your houses!

“You did community theater, didn’t you?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

Julian smirks. “What gave it—mm—”

She kisses him, pressed hard against the door, hands already working at the buttons of his coat. He hears his breath hitch and his head thuds against the wood as he helps her rid him of his coat, leaving it to puddle on the floor around his boots. His hands roam her body, and he can’t help but picture—

Aredhel laid out on the blanket on the roof, underneath the stars. His bare hand on her bare thigh. Her face, twisted in pleasure.

His cock twitches in interest, and he groans, pulling her closer, seeking out her mouth hungrily. Aredhel is in the middle of sucking a bruise into his neck, right where he likes it (where she knows he likes it), when her stomach growls and they both stop.

“Erm,” Julian says, blushing, “right. I had something for that.”

“I hadn’t even noticed, really.” To her credit, she doesn’t look embarrassed—and truly, it is he who should be embarrassed; he had planned everything except the meal. And he had told Portia about his plan for a rooftop dinner, but had she told Mazelinka—wait, had he really told Portia, he wasn’t sure, had the dinner been waiting in the kitchen all this time?—stop.

“Well, let’s get that taken care of, anyway,” Julian says.

He leads her upstairs, and there, the hatch already open—the ladder up which he had carried her, with Asra’s help. 

Aredhel stops. When he looks back at her still, unreadable expression, he suddenly remembers what had been a vague thought at the back of his mind, utterly banished when she had placed her hand upon his thigh.

“You sit there,” he says, gesturing to a seat at the kitchen table. “I have to—I’d planned to—I wanted a dinner on the roof. Is that all right, love?”

He doesn’t like the look on her face. He doesn’t know if she’s been up on the roof since that night he’d carried her up to watch the dawn, but if she hasn’t... he can’t blame her, if she now thought of that night as a bad memory. (Though he doesn’t, not quite: this is such happiness, she’d sighed, between the two of you.

Fortuna had been kind, not stealing her away from him that night.)

But the stillness eases, and Aredhel nods, sitting in the kitchen chair and watching him with a faint, amused smile. “Go on, then,” she teases, flicking her fingertips at him. Julian kisses the top of her head and clambers upstairs.

The food—still warm, oddly enough—is set on the blanket he’d draped over the platform under the tree, which has a hole in it that he doesn’t remember from four years ago. Anchoring the blanket is a clear vase full of fresh roses, a bottle of wine, votive candles, and the bag of rose petals he’d bought specially. 

The food is still warm; he spends time carefully dishing it out, placing a plate at each side of the blanket, giving them a not-too-bad view of the rest of the city. He lights the candles and uncorks the wine, but leaves it unpoured. He sprinkles the rose petals over the blanket, feeling foolish and also giddy for indulging this whim (why, Ilya, you’re a romantic!).

When he returns to Aredhel, he has only one request for her: that she close her eyes.

This she does willingly enough, though she wobbles on the ladder. He steadies her, of course, and once she is on the rooftop and led by the hand to the platform, he tells her to open her eyes. She does, and her breath catches. 

“One year ago today,” Julian says, “I broke into your shop and you threw a bottle of petrified leeches at me, which, strangely enough, was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His debonair grin fades and he looks down, swallowing as he feels his cheeks heat. “I wanted... I wanted to show you, erm, how. How important you are to me. How grateful I am that we got a second chance.”

Aredhel’s eyes are wet. Julian sits, reaching out for her, and instead of sitting beside him she straddles him. “In more ways than one,” she says, thumb brushing the apple of his throat. Julian swallows, and he feels her thumb press against his skin.

“In more ways than one,” he agrees.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says, fiercely, eyes bright in the darkness. The hand on his throat curves around, fingers tangling in his hair, and before he can stutter out a reply she’s kissing him, somehow hungrier than before. Her weight rocks forward, and he leans back on his elbow, one hand curving around her waist to cup the swell of her ass, helping her rock slowly against him as he moans into her mouth.

“Ah,” he rasps, when they break apart, “’Red, don’t you want—”

“You,” she interrupts, and oh, his mouth dries at that gleam in her eyes. He nods, glancing behind him once to look at the blanket behind him. He pushes the plate of food away and sweeps his hand out, at the same time the wind turns the flame toward his sleeve—

“Oh, fuck—”

He panics, slightly, flapping his arm in an effort to put out the flame that’s caught on his shirt. Behind him, Aredhel is laughing, and the flame jumps from his shirtsleeve to the blanket. Julian manages to put out the fire, but not before it eats the laced cuff of his shirt and a few holes in the blanket, as well as a single rose petal.

“Well,” Julian says, “that could’ve gone better.”

Aredhel’s still laughing.

His nostrils sting with smoke from a recently extinguished flame, and Julian blows out the nearest votive candle, setting it aside before looking at Aredhel. She takes his arm, exposing the pink burn on his skin, the pain of which hasn’t quite sunken in yet for all that he can smell his singed hairs. 

With her kiss, she heals him.

(Quite fitting, really.)

“You don’t have your mark anymore,” she says, gently scolding though her eyes glitter with mirth. “You have to be more careful, Ilya.”

Ilya grins, arching an eyebrow. “Do I? Whyever would I do that when I have you to take care of me, my dear?”

Her eyes narrow, playfully. Shaking her head, she kisses him again and lays him down, and there is no one to witness their lovemaking under the stars—none except themselves, and the moon.

[movieexpert1978]

Not Like Them

anon:  K - Post-apocalyptic wasteland AU 

So I did a little switch and I had King be the vampire this time with Elisa being the human. There is gore, blood and angst here. 

King Schultz is not my character. 

It had been a hundred years since the world ended or rather human civilization ended. Everyone thought that the zombie apocalypse would happen, but they were wrong, it was actually the vampire apocalypse. No one was sure how it happened. Some said the scientists released a virus that mad everyone crazy and drink blood. Others said that vampires were already around, but they found a way to attack in daylight, but it happened and there was nothing people could do to stop it. So the surviving humans adapted and adjusted to fighting vampires for a living. Humans were kept alive as feeders and breeders for more blood. Vampires also made artificial blood which helped the limited supplies as well. Everyone was fighting everyone and so they had been for a hundred years now.

King Schultz had been fighting for nearly all of that time.

He traveled by foot most of the time as he tried for the first few years on horseback. He made it through two horses before he decided to just walk it. He lost plenty of boots that way, but it made it less of a hassle for him to find food and water for the animal. He stared up at the cloudy skies. Vampires did not shoot nuclear missiles everywhere as they had human bodies too and could be injured from radiation. It may take many years longer for them to feel that effect but it could happen and nuclear fallout also damaged the food supply. So the sun shined on despite the cold atmosphere around King. He wondered where ever he felt like it so today he didn’t have a certain direction in mind. His rifle hung by his shoulder as his guns were holstered at his hips like a bounty hunter in the Old West.

“AAHHHHHH!”

King jumped when he heard the scream and started running in that direction. He found a girl struggling with a knife as hungry vampires tried to bite at her. She managed to stab one in the eye and he scrambled away snarling in pain. King pulled out his hunting knife and grabbed the creature slicing it’s throat and two quick stabs to the heart before it fell other. It’s companion hissed at King who waved his bloody knife around in a taunt. It growled and charged at him, so King dropped his knife and snapped it’s neck easily. He didn’t pay too much attention to his surroundings as he kneeled down and sniffed the dead vampire. He pulled out two big bottles and cut a small hole in the neck. He drained the blood into the bottles before he took the bleeding neck into his mouth and sucked for a few minutes.

“You’re one of them.” A small voice called out. King snapped to attention bringing his knife up as he realized he completely forgot about the girl.

“Oh shit.” He sighed bitterly to himself. He tucked the knife away and looked over her. She looked young with her hair tied up and her blue eyes staring at him with curiosity rather than fear. She was clothed appropriately and King noticed a backpack not far away from her. “Yes…I am unfortunately.” King nodded.

“I’m sorry.” She said sympathetically, but he only smirked.

“You need to be careful. There are wild ones all over the place. Don’t you have a gun?”

“No…just blades.” She said as she got up and picked up an axe that he failed to notice. She picked up her backpack and held out her hand. “Thank you so much for your help. I’m Elisa Prime.”

“You’re welcome, King Schultz.” He said shaking it. When he released it he turned and started walking.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere?”

“Well wait! Maybe we could work together…two is better than one.” She insisted following after him.

“I don’t think that’s wise you would only slow me down.”

“I can help I promise! I won’t get in the way.”

“Then stay behind me.” He huffed. King kept walking and Elisa followed behind quietly.

“So how old are you?” She started cautiously.

“Over a hundred.”

“So…you were there when it started?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how it started?”

“Not really, just bits and pieces. I heard they attacked everywhere and anywhere. Nothing could stop them.” He explained.

“Sounds scary.”

“Yes it is.”

“Hey I know you…drink blood and all that, but I have some food in my backpack. Would you like a snack?” She asked happily now hurrying up and standing by his side.

“No thank you.”

“So you just wonder around and hunt them?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“Look girl. You can’t follow me.” King huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because what I do is dangerous.”

“This whole world is dangerous.” She laughed bitter sweetly.

“You obviously don’t know how to fight very well.”

“Maybe you could teach me?”

“No! I work alone.” He snapped.

“I could be your feeder.” She suggested. She yelped when King grabbed her hair hard.

“Don’t you ever ask me that again! I am not like them.” He snarled. He shoved her to the ground and started walking. Leaving her sniffling and shaking slightly. Her head still stung from King’s tight grip as she slowly got up and followed several feet behind him. He didn’t say a word to her for the rest of the day and even when nightfall hit and he started to set up camp. He looked as she was curled up by a tree.

“I’m sorry I offended you.” She said quietly and slightly teary eyed. He didn’t say anything as he laid down and went to sleep. When he woke up Elisa followed after him still keeping her distance as they walked wherever. They came across an old building and looked around for a bit finding no stray vampires. They found a few supplies and moved on and they trekked a few more miles before stopping for the night.

“You can come closer if you want.” King called out finally. Elisa cautiously inched closer and sat across from him as he started a fire. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He said sincerely.

“It’s ok. I shouldn’t have said that.” She said quickly.

“No, it’s…I know what you meant by it. You wanted to try and help me. I’m sorry I hurt you. Is your head ok?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” She nodded.

“So what’s your story?”

“My family died a few years ago. We got ambush and some were killed, others captured, and some like me escaped. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“Any siblings?”

“No I’m an only child. You?”

“I had a brother a long time ago. He died before this all happened.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“I say it as more of a sympathy thing. I’m sorry your brother died. I’m sorry you’re upset. I’m sorry this happened to make you upset. I even say sorry for saying sorry.”

“Oh dear.”

“Where are you from?”

“Austria.”

“What are you doing in the states?”

“My brother moved here and I ended up staying after his death.”

She only nodded and after a brief silence King rolled over and went to sleep.

Xxxxxxxx

King and Elisa traveled peacefully for the next few days. They made some small talk but nothing much because Elisa was still nervous around him. She wasn’t afraid of his vampire side, but rather his human side because he wasn’t exactly warming up to her. So she kept quiet to keep the peace. They ran into a small neighborhood that was completely abandoned. The houses were crumbling and there were no supplies for them, but the sun was setting so they found a decent house and crashed for the night. They didn’t stay long as King heard intruders coming.

“Get down. They’re coming.” He hissed. She hid behind the couch as the door burst open to reveal a pack of snarling vampires. King pulled out his gun and started firing head shot after headshot making some back away. Elisa shouted and emerged from her hiding spot and swung away hitting vampires in head. The fight was over quickly as the pack was small, but King checked them over and hissed in disgust.

“What?”

“They’re rotten.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t drink their blood. When vampires get like this it means they’re starving.” He stated. He walked out of the house and she followed after him. He followed the vampire tracks down to a underground bunker. King grumbled as he found no blood, but he figured their supply must have been depleted for weeks now at the very least. They did find canned goods untouched and not expired over a hundred years ago. Elisa happily went at it and King took some for later. The stayed the night in the town before they hurried onward.

Xxxxxxx

She could tell King was getting aggravated about something. He was constantly snapping and growling at her, but she continued to follow his lead.

“King?”

“What?” He snapped glaring at her.

“I know why you’re upset.”

“You don’t know anything.” He growled before he continued walking.

“King, it’s ok. You can…”

“Can what!?” He snarled getting right up at her again. This time she didn’t back away and looked right into his eyes to stand her ground.

“You can drink my blood.” She said calmly.

“I told you I’m not like them.”

“I know you’re not. You saved my life. I already knew that.” She insisted.

“My answer is no.” He finished and started walking. They stayed silent and after it was dark Elisa grabbed his rifle and hurried off into the woods. Since he was weaker he was sleeping more soundly as his body was trying to preserve energy. He woke with a shout when he heard a gunshot. “Elisa!” He shouted getting up. He knew something was wrong as his rifle was gone. “Elisa!” He shouted again and still no answer. “Elisa!” He screamed frantically as he started running.

“King!” She finally called out. He ran in that direction and nearly ran into her.

“What were you doing?”

“I was hunting.” She said kneeling down. He looked to see that she had killed a buck.

“Are you crazy? You could have given away our position! I thought I told you to never go out alone after dark!” He insisted.

“I know, but I told you I want to help you. Since you won’t drink my blood maybe you can drink deer blood.” She explained. He blinked in surprise as he looked at her. She smiled lightly as she offered him the rifle back.

“No, go back to camp.”

She nodded as she walked away and when she was gone King bit right into the deer’s neck. Despite the big animal it just wasn’t enough as he only felt temporarily satisfied when he had drained the deer dry. He knew what he needed, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He bowed his head in shame because he knew Elisa was right. He knew they were heading towards a city so if he could wait it out until then maybe he could find some reserves. He cut up a few pieces of meat to save for Elisa and he went back to their camp. He cooked  the meat and put it away and managed to get a little bit more sleep before they got up in the morning and started walking.

“Any better?”

“A little.”

“Ok.”

They kept walking for a bit when King realized that she was behind him.

“You know you don’t have to walk behind me.” He said gently.

“I didn’t want to aggravate you.”

“It’s not you. Come on.” He said waving her in. She smiled at him as they kept going. He needed a trim for his hair and beard. It was getting a bit ragged. The sun was bothering his eyes so he put on some sunglasses, but he still felt that dull burn. He knew he was in trouble now, but he did his best not to show it. “Why don’t I teach you some German?” He suggested.

“Oh I would love that!” She said excitedly. The next two days were more bearable as King taught her his native language. He found it cute and humorous how she stumbled along with pronouncing the words. When they got into the city his anxiousness returned and the silence made her heartbeat that much louder in her ears. They kept close to the buildings so they wouldn’t be a big target on the open street. They wondered around for a bit until they felt a small hotel that had running water. The bedrooms even looked decent. “How come this place looks like it was just abandoned?”

“The takeover was a hundred years ago, but there’s been a power struggle for a long time now obviously. It’s been back and forth between humans winning and rebuilding to the vampires attacking again. I’m guess this is one of those places that got rebuilt and then lost.” King explained. She checked the shower and squealed in delight when the water got warm.

“I’m taking a shower!” She announced as she closed the door. King was grateful for the distraction as he filled up a sink in the other bathroom and cleaned himself up somewhat. His senses were on high alert, but right now he didn’t hear any vampires. He sighed when he trimmed his beard and cut his hair. He looked very refreshed, but didn’t feel it. He looked in the mirror and his skin was healing slowly from the sunburn. He was looking a bit skinny with a few outlines of his ribcage showing. He growled in aggravation as he put his shirt on. He heard Elisa shuffling around in the other bedroom. It wasn’t long before she came out to greet him and her hair was still wet. “King you ok?” She called out cautiously entering the room.

“Fine.” He nodded as he looked over his things.

“You look good.” She grinned with a thumbs up. “Hey…did you burn yourself?” She asked concerned. She touched his cheek and he just reacted. She yelped as he slammed her into the wall with his hands around her throat. Her eyes were wide as his eyes were an unnatural light blue and he was growling with his fangs bared. “King…” She whimpered out. His grip immediately loosened and he pulled her into his arms kissing her now sore neck.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” He whispered over and over again.

“King it’s ok.” She insisted gently. “Come on, talk to me please.” She pleaded. They sat down on the bed as King’s eyes returned to their normal shade of hazel.

“I was feeder myself for a few years.” He admitted. “It was horrible yet wonderful at the same time. I was put in luxury because that’s what they did with feeders. They treated them nice to make up for the pain of taking their blood. After a while the spell broke for me and I realized this was hell. I told them I would rather die than give them my blood again and at first I thought they were going to but…they knew they could do something far worse.”

“They turned you.”

“Yes and it was awful for a long time. They starved me to the point where when they shoved a human into my cell I would rip their throat out just to get to the blood. I learned to control it and I finally managed to escape. I’ve been hunting them ever since. I don’t want to hurt you Elisa.” He pleaded.

“I know you won’t hurt me King. You would have done it by now if you wanted to. I know that. I’ve seen strong vampires at play.” She spoke gently. She caressed his face as he looked at her nervously. “I want to help you King. Please…just take it.” She said lifting her head up. She waited for a few moments and finally King snarled as he bit hard at her neck. Elisa screamed in pain and clung to King as he drank from her neck. She whimpered as she felt her body getting weaker and weaker, but she didn’t fight back. She was willing to accept whatever fate King gave her. She let out a grunt of pain when King released her neck. She vaguely felt his tongue lick up a few drops of blood before she felt pressure on her wound. King lifted her up and placed her in bed, covering her up as he made sure to check her neck.

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Xxxxxxxxxx

She woke up with a moan of pain as she tried to sit up.

“Easy…easy.” King said as he helped her sit up.

“King.” She called out weakly.

“It’s ok Elisa. I’m here.” King answered. She looked and saw that the color had returned to his face and he looked so much healthier now.

“You look so handsome.” She smiled.

“Thank you.”

“I know you don’t like the idea of it, but I can be your feeder. I know you’re not like them.” She insisted. He nodded as he leaned in and kissed her forehead. She reached up and pulled his face down to hers and she kissed him. King returned the kiss as tenderly as he could. When they parted she looked like she was going to fall asleep again.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“I know you just want a chance. Well you have it with me King. I trust you.”

“I know and I trust you.” She stared at him as her eyes started drooping. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered laying her back down.

“King…”

“It’s ok Elisa. I’ll be here when you wake up.”