#hostyle17

❝ You know, I've walked home from work by myself a hundred times by now. You didn't have to walk with me tonight. ❞ Sookie leaned against one of the beams supporting the porch's roof, its paint cracked and faded. ❝ Or were you worried something bigger and badder than you was gonna jump out of the bushes and get me? ❞ Her eyebrow raised in a teasing gesture. Really, she appreciated his offer to walk her home. It made it less creepy walking through the dark on her own.

wednesday  was  no  stranger  to  crypts  .  the  addams  estate  resided  on  the  grounds  of  an  old  asylum  .  meaning  ,  it  came  with  its  own  graveyard  complete  with  mausoleums  and  crypts  worthy  of  all  of  her  favorite  gothic  story  tellers  :  poe  ,  shelley  ,  lovecraft  and  stevenson  (  though  so  many  forget  him  )  .  she  grew  up  caring  for  these  spaces  ,  digging  up  graves  for  fun  ,  and  delivering  offerings  to  every  headstone  during  dio  de  los  muertos  .  she  cherished  the  dead  more  than  she  did  the  living  .  most  of  them  anyway  .  all  that  to  say  ,  she  knew  what  good  crypt  keeping  looked  like  .

❛  what  do  you  want,  spike  ?  i'm  working  ...  ❜  buffy  told  him,  glancing  around  as  they  stood  in  the  alleyway  after  telling  her  co-worker  she  was  going  on  a  'break'.  not  exactly  how  she  envisioned  her  break  to  go,  but  it  was  better  than  watching  the  patties  on  the  stove  turn  brown  until  the  red  light  blinked  at  her.  ❛  you  can't  just  show  up  here.  ❜

He raised an eyebrow, almost condescending when matched with the rest of his face, his eyes glaring through the other as if he had expected more. “Oh please! Even if there was anything as I would tell a stranger, who are you again?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Even if you have done a few jobs for me that doesn't mean you are entitled to anything.” Jim had been through much pain during his life and there have been those who had left their mark on him, particularly when he was younger, before the walls he put up had become beyond rock solid. “You will have to do better than that dear Spike although I will say, those asking stupid questions do hurt me awfully!” he shouted dramatically, gasping as if it had truly offended him, before returning to his laptop. “Never ask that question again.”

The woman wrapped in tendrils of moss and pitch taps on the pub's glass. She smiles a coquette's smile, but her wide black eyes are pleasantly unhinged. The thin-faced man she's looking at is in the middle of his third pint with a merrily unsuspecting human.

It was late, long after his show had finished. She'd gone to see him in his dressing room, making polite small talk with his bandmates and crew as she made her way to the very last door—his name taped across the front of it.

"LET ME THE FUCK GO, SPIKE! PUT ME DOWN!"

He knew very well what he was getting into. Clementine struggled against his grip, kicking him every place that she could reach. Noticeably, she didn't nail him right in the balls -- she was being nice even in her worst moment, or something.