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valeriianz · 3 months ago

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Summary: Part 2 of my Hard of Hearing!Dream. Part 1 here! Dream struggles with his new disability and Hob tries to help... along with Dream's new friend, Jessamy.

Square/Prompt: A1 - Why Did You Do It?

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: human AU, deaf!Dream, angst, happy ending, established relationship

Fill for @dreamlingbingo! (thank you @mallory-x for the read through!)

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When Dream turned 30, he celebrated it in a crowded bar that doubled as an art gallery, close to his apartment. It was his favorite bar, because it was an eclectic gallery first, with a bar open for events. Luckily, there was a local exhibit on the night of Dream’s birthday and he knew it would be the perfect place to celebrate. This way, he could appease his friends who wanted to go out and drink and celebrate, and Dream could stare at art and make a quick escape if need be. It gave a chance for everyone to focus on anything else but him after the initial round of shots.

Hob never took his focus off Dream, though. Even when they would float away to opposite sides of the room, Dream would turn his head and find Hob staring at him, smiling at being caught before turning his attention back to the person he was in conversation with.

At that point, it had been two and a half years since Dream had told Hob about his diagnosis… that he would go permanently deaf. In that time, he did indeed completely lose his hearing in his left ear, but his right was still working pretty well. He had just gotten used to tilting his head slightly to the left so people would understand to talk directly into his good ear.

And Hob was still here. Patient, sweet, loving Hob. Who Dream secretly had a crush on probably since they were first introduced. They’d moved in together last year, and while there were some bumps in the road, complications that arose with moving in with a lover, Dream was surprised to find that he was… happy.

He couldn’t stand it, sometimes, how happy Hob made him. Even his friends had noticed how he smiled more, seemed to have a more positive outlook on life and even on his disability. And it felt natural, like Hob just brought out all the good traits about Dream, like they had been lying dormant and just needed the confidence, the reassurance that he was allowed to feel this way. This happy.

And then, 45 days after Dream’s birthday party, he woke up to Hob shaking him awake, because he was sleeping through his alarm that was apparently blasting through his phone.

But Dream couldn’t hear him. Or the alarm.

He watched with horrifying realization, as Hob’s lips moved, hovering over him, but no words came out.

So much for five years.

Hob had clocked Dream’s blank stare relatively quick, his lips shaping the letters of Dream’s name with a hand on his face, Hob’s brows pinched up and–

Dream cried.

He felt foolish for it. He knew this would happen eventually. He just thought he’d have more time.

Dream speaks with his audiologist the next day, with Hob by his side. Dream had wondered about hearing aids while he still had a modicum of hearing, but had been hesitant. His insurance barely covered them and, while hearing aids may have helped in the past, after several tests, his audiologist confirmed with Dream that now, they wouldn’t even be able to pick up background noise. They wouldn’t help at all.

Dream and Hob had left the office with defeat hanging heavy in the air. Mostly from Dream.

He’s not proud of the person he had been in the week following his permanent hearing loss.

But in time (and therapy), Dream was able to move on. And it really wasn’t so bad, once Dream accepted that this was his life now.

If he closes his eyes, he thinks he can still hear Hob’s voice, especially with his lips pressed against his throat, behind his ear, murmuring sweetness into his skin and sending vibrations into his skull. It’s one of the most calming things Dream has ever experienced; laying in bed with Hob, in the absolute darkness and absolute silence, his remaining senses heightened, it’s both relaxing and unexpectedly erotic. To feel Hob completely surrounding him, grounding Dream, warm and solid and safe, it lights Dream up from the inside and reassures him that everything would be okay.

And in time, Dream comes to appreciate the silence. It’s nice, it’s peaceful. Living in a large city, with constant chatter, cars honking and sirens blazing, used to be a sensory nightmare; that creeping, prickling feeling of overstimulation has vanished and now it’s just… nothingness.

It was scary at first, Dream would be a fool to not admit it; watching the world continue around him, people living their lives, living his own life, all in absolute silence. Not being able to hear the beep of the microwave, indicating when his food was done, or water coming out of the faucet while he washed dishes, or the sizzle of oil in a pan while cooking… little things that Dream had never really perceived whilst hearing them every day. All of that sound just– gone. Like hitting the mute button on a movie.

Dream tries to convince himself that he doesn’t miss the mundane noises, he could barely hear them anyway… but he often feels lost without them. So learning to welcome the quiet was the only way Dream could stay sane.

Though going deaf after decades of being able to hear (albeit poorly) and speak gave Dream the advantage of continuing to communicate in spoken English. He still has an inner voice, can still read lips very well, and so the communication gap with his friends and even strangers isn’t as wide as Dream had feared.

It makes learning sign language difficult. Dream at first did not take the lessons very seriously, especially with Hob being the only person to practice with, in those early days. Hob did help, though; he fumbles and signs broken ASL and Dream fumbles back. But it had been so easy to fall back on the habit of using his voice. But as months turn into a full year, Dream learns by trial and error that he realistically can’t continue traversing through a hearing world without sign language.

The hardest challenge he’d run into, for example… Dream never thought he’d need to prove his deafness.

Of course people get confused when he can speak perfect English, out in public spaces like a cafe or a bookshop, only to then turn around and seemingly ignore everyone around him. It is a strange experience, for Dream, to go around communicating as usual, speaking when he can’t even hear his own voice and reading lips. But he can’t be constantly on the lookout for anybody trying to get his attention. Watching belatedly as someone he had been exchanging dialogue with, roll their eyes and walk away in a huff. Dream truthfully has no idea how he might come off to a complete stranger who can’t realize that he’s deaf. Rude, perhaps. Or uncaring.

It’s enough to convince Dream to get fake hearing aids… he feels ridiculous wearing them, like he’s giving in to a social construct that only exists in his own head. But, annoyingly, while wearing them, the way people communicate and treat him improves exponentially.

Funny, that.

Hob, of course, notices.

“When did you get these?” He touches the little device in Dream’s ear, his fingers turning into a caress. “I thought aids didn’t work for you?”

Hob speaks while he signs, they both do, to help make the hand motions stick. Though Hob often slips up and signs exact English, not proper American Sign Language, which he’s doing now. It doesn’t help in the learning process, but it’s a start, and Dream has no leg to stand on when it comes to corrections.

Dream swipes his index finger across his nose.

“Fake.”

Dream offers no more explanation, turning a page in the book he’s reading. They’re sitting on the couch, Hob properly facing the TV, and Dream lounging sideways, his legs draped over Hob’s lap.

Hob taps the edge of Dream’s book, getting his attention once more.

“You’d rather put a sign on you that announces to the world you're deaf?”

Dream sighs, knocking his head back.

“I know I shouldn’t have to…” Dream starts, his fingers fumbling, a new sign of nervousness he never thought he’d had before. “But it might make things easier.”

“Things?” Hob finger spells, his hands coming down, palms up, in a sign of confusion.

Dream moves a hand to his mouth.

“Communication,” and then to his ear, “understanding.”

Hob’s brows furrow and Dream slowly looks back to his book.

Dream wonders if they’re thinking the same thing. Remembering how difficult it became, living together, after Dream lost his hearing permanently. Hob would forget that Dream couldn’t hear, which was frustrating enough, but the slip-ups were near constant in the beginning.

They’d get into arguments over it, a flame that Dream wasn’t proud to admit he’d always fanned. He hated that his hackles were constantly rising, always on the offensive, like Dream was expecting Hob to take the bait and fight back. That would, of course, spiral into meaningless fights over something stupid like leaving the laundry in the dryer for too long, or forgetting to pick up a particular ingredient they needed for dinner at the grocery store.

Dream was ashamed to admit he didn’t help in the situations, often coping out by just– not looking at Hob so he couldn’t see his lips moving or his awkward signing. He’d turn around and stomp away and Hob would be left to chase after him, hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around so they could communicate.

It got easier… Hob was so patient with Dream. He never got so angry he would give up. He always apologized, even when Dream was just being dramatic.

Hob knows by now that Dream would never take the easy route. And sure enough, Dream ditches the fake hearing aids. With them on, people started treating him with gloves on, or stare at him nervously, wondering how to approach. It’s frustrating and annoying– how Dream can’t seem to find a middle ground.

It takes unloading to his new deaf friends about Hob; seeking advice for how to temper these unexpected feelings of disappointment and changes in Dream himself… they never used to fight, before Dream lost his hearing. This is unknown territory for the both of them.

Dream had discovered the community in his city, for deaf people. He’d found a meetup online, after his therapist suggested looking into attending the weekly meetups.

As always, Dream was at first skeptical. His sign language was still spotty at best, and he wasn’t a social guy even when he could hear so. He wasn’t hopeful.

Luckily the deaf community in his city is more than accepting of him, patient when he slips and signs exact English. And when Dream is done airing out his grievances, they encourage patience with Hob. That having a hearing partner is always going to be a struggle, but Hob is clearly coming from a place of compassion and wants to learn. That’s more than can be said for most people.

Dream feels foolish, all the sudden, for his actions against Hob, looking sideways at Jessamy. She was one of the founders of these d/Deaf meetings, and they clicked immediately. Unlike most of their peers in the group, she too had been born hearing and then lost it due to illness. Her and Dream were a lot alike, though she was older and had been wading through this new world for over two decades. She was fluent in ASL, and didn’t even speak while communicating.

“It’s considered rude to speak here, during these meetups,” she had explained during Dream’s first time with the group.

Jessamy becomes something like a confidant for Dream. She too has a hearing partner, Matthew. The amount she and Dream have in common is almost frightening. But in time Dream discovers it’s nice… to be seen. To be understood. She helps Dream comprehend the beauty of the silence even more. And that they can still attend hearing events just as before.

So with her encouragement, a few months down the line, Dream and Hob join her and Matthew at a music festival. Jessamy excitedly points out interpreters several of the bands have on stage, and Dream feels a bit of relief. He can also feel the vibrations all around him from the loud speakers, though it’s not as pronounced as they would be in a venue with wooden floors; the earth beneath their feet grounds the pulsating bass lines to something dull and unrecognizable.

Dream’s not quite fluent enough in ASL to understand every word the interpreters use, especially at the speed they’re going in to keep up with the song, but he gets the gist. And he has to admit it’s… fun, doing this. He hadn’t been to a concert or music festival in almost five years, and spending it with both Hob and his new friends is nice. It’s easy to stay within their safe space and not feel pressured to speak with strangers or awkwardly ignore them; everyone here minds their own business and in time, Dream loosens up.

After finding available, good seats for the next band they’d all agreed on, Hob and Dream set out to the nearest vendor to grab drinks and snacks for the four of them, while Jessamy and Matthew hold down the fort, so to speak.

While standing in line, Hob asks if Dream is enjoying himself. And, surprisingly, Dream is. He says as much with a smile and taking a playful nudge from Hob.

As the line shrinks and they come closer to the counter, Dream’s gaze moves from the short menu taped to the window to the man taking orders. His lips move sluggishly and hesitantly, speaking with an accent that makes it difficult for Dream to parse. But it doesn’t phase him, what everyone wants is on the menu and the transaction should be simple.

Now, Hob could just place the order for him– for all of them, but Dream had been determined, lately, to converse in transactions like this himself. It was good practice not only for Dream, but also whoever was taking his order as well. To learn patience and practice his communication skills. It was a little nerve wracking, but for the most part it was easy. If a cashier or barista or medical professional had trouble exchanging words with Dream, well, that’s what he carried a pen and pocketbook around for.

The person in front of them moves to the pickup counter and Dream sees the man behind the counter call out what must be a, “Next!” but the way his lips move, it looks more like, “Nect!”

Dream swallows and signs as he speaks, to– hopefully– indicate how this would potentially be a one-sided conversation.

“Two orders of fries, one mac and cheese, three shots of Bacardi, one shot of vodka, and a lemonade, please.”

The man barely looks at Dream while he types the order into an iPad. Dream nods, mostly to himself, and looks down as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet.

When he looks back up, the man is in the middle of saying something to him.

Dream’s brows wrinkle.

“Can you repeat that? I can’t hear you.”

After he speaks and signs, Dream offers up his card, assuming the man just told him the total.

But the man visibly sighs and leans forward a bit, his mouth opening widely.

Dream focuses but only manages to make out the words “fries,” “double,” and “which do you want?”

“Um…” Dream licks his bottom lip. “One more time? Slowly, please.”

With a truly agitated face now, the man moves his lips again, but as Dream studies them, hoping to fill in the words he missed, instead new words are added and Dream finds himself stumped.

“Fries, yes. And singles, for the shots,” he guesses.

The man types something into his iPad but looks again at Dream with a growing look of irritation in his gaze. Dream looks behind him and sees a line of customers, before facing the man again, once again catching him in mid speech.

“Hold on,” Dream grumbles, settling the card down and digging through his pocket for the pen and paper. “Clearly I am deaf and raising your voice is not helping–”

Dream nearly jumps as Hob steps up suddenly to the counter, almost getting in front of Dream.

They exchange a few words before finally Hob nods and hands the guy his own card.

Dream stands silent, his pocket notebook in his hand and blinking slowly at Hob, who gives him a sheepish smile over his shoulder before nodding again to the man and taking both their cards back as well as the receipt.

They walk to the pickup counter without exchanging a word, meanwhile something begins to burn the back of Dream’s neck, prickling down his arms and coiling in his stomach.

Dream tugs on Hob’s arm as they settle next to the mobile vendor.

“What just happened?” He doesn’t speak. Dream can’t find his voice right now.

Hob rubs the back of his neck, his gaze focused on something behind Dream.

“No french fries,” he signs without confidence. “Curly fries only.”

Dream blinks. The uncomfortable feeling in his gut tightening.

“Did you just order for me?”

Hob’s shoulders deflate, nodding.

Dream gapes like a fish for a few seconds, his eyes darting from Hob to the man that just took their order, and back.

“I don’t want curly fries. I hate curly fries. We could have gone to another vendor. You didn’t have to–”

Dream cuts himself off, balling his hands into fists and taking a long breath, closing his eyes, shaking his head.

Hob always did this.

It took a while for Dream to notice, how if they were together, Hob would finish a conversation for Dream. Would speed an uncomfortable situation along with an interjection or provide unnecessary context with a stranger “He’s deaf, sorry…” without consenting with Dream first.

When Dream realized Hob was doing this, he would go quiet, unsure whether or not to stop him or correct him in some way. Dream never knew exactly what to say. Did Hob think Dream was incapable of handling tricky conversations himself? Did he think Dream was a hassle?

When Dream opens his eyes Hob’s hands are out, placating, his eyes apologetic.

“Why do you do that?”

Hob blinks. “What?”

Dream’s heart rate is steadily rising, his fingers shaking slightly.

“Make my decisions for me.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” Hob starts, his own signing gone fumbly. “I thought I was helping.”

“Yes. That’s the problem…” Dream starts, finally speaking again and letting his hands fall to his sides, his brain struggling to interpret correctly.

“What do you mean?” Hob asks.

“You don’t need to rush me out of an uncomfortable situation,” Dream starts again, his hands gesticulating uselessly. “If I’m communicating with someone whom I can’t understand, we can figure it out. They will learn. They need to learn.”

Judging by the way Hob is nervously looking around, Dream’s volume is surely rising. But he finds he doesn’t care.

“I’m not this thing you need to handle with gloves. Let me see a problem through until the end. No matter how long it takes.”

Dream is breathing heavily, he realizes, sucking in a gulp of air.

“Of course not.” Hob finally speaks, forgetting to sign. “I'm sorry.”

Hob’s eyes are welling up with tears and it somehow makes Dream more agitated, more words stumbling from his mouth without his permission.

“Then stop treating me like a burden!”

Dream turns and walks away.

It’s foolish, and childish. And as Dream stomps away, his own vision becoming blurred with tears, he knows it’s not just this moment that’s made him snap. It’s the culmination of events from the past year of being fully disabled. He hates that he can’t hear. He hates this adjustment period. He wishes he’d been born deaf so at least this hurdle, this life change wouldn’t feel so mountainous.

Dream wipes his eyes shamefully as his pace picks up to a run, pushing past people blindly. Regret screams in his bones with every step he makes, with every inch he puts between Hob and him. His chest aches with the urge to turn around and apologize, but he shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t!

Dream’s shoes clumsily connect with the dirt underneath him, his face becoming hot and, as he rounds the corner of an unoccupied stall, Dream collapses to the ground and allows the tears he’d been fighting back to fall freely, a sob choking in his throat.

He grips his hair as he cries, his face stuck between his knees. The past year flashes before Dream’s eyes, all of the hardships, the doctors’ visits, the fights with Hob. He didn’t deserve Dream. All of his kindness and patience and for what? For Dream to snap on a dime and expect too much out of him all at once?

Dream groans loudly, agitated at himself for seeing the problem; him, and unsure how to change. He knows he has a right to his feelings, but communicating them was so difficult. He’s becoming impatient with himself, with his slow learning curve, with Hob’s complacency to stay in their safe little bubble and treat Dream like this breakable thing.

Dream couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but his sobs had stifled down to sniffles, and by the time he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder, Dream was doodling shapes in the dirt.

His head snaps up and finds Jessamy staring back at him, her brows creased in worry.

“Hey…” She’s bent over, her hair falling in her face. “What’s wrong?”

Dream ducks his head, shaking it, officially feeling foolish for running away. The regret he’d felt for leaving Hob starts up again and he suddenly feels so scared. At this rate, Hob would break up with him. Surely he was getting sick of Dream’s dramatics, him lashing out.

“Hob and I never fought…” Dream starts, his hands moving sluggishly. “... when I was hearing.”

Jessamy plops on the ground in front of Dream.

“It’s me,” Dream continues. “I’ve become so… sensitive, since going deaf. I feel like, sometimes, Hob treats me like a child. Like he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap. It’s so infuriating– I’m not some helpless thing that can’t figure things out!”

“No, you’re not…” Jessamy starts, reaching a hand out and giving Dream’s knee a shake.

“It is OK to feel like this. You’ve only been deaf for a year…” her brows come up encouragingly. “The transition is tough, but it will get easier, in time.”

Dream nods solemnly, tracing lines in the dirt again. Jessamy waves her hand to get his attention once more.

“And you’re not alone, you know.” She smiles gently. “You got me and Matty–” she huffs a laugh at the look Dream gives her. “... and the entire gang to support you.”

Dream knew she meant everyone at their d/Deaf meetups and offered her a small smile. She’s right, of course. Despite how withdrawn and antisocial Dream had been in the beginning, even now still creeping out of his shell, the people he’d surrounded himself with had been nothing but kind and accepting and willing to listen and connect in ways Dream hadn’t thought possible.

“Hob is still around, too,” Jessamy interrupts his thoughts, her brows lifting knowingly. “That man loves you so much; you should see the way he looks at you– it’s disgusting.”

Dream manages to crack a real, genuine smile at that, especially with the way Jessamy is fluttering her eyelashes and putting on a spot-on impression of Hob’s puppy dog eyes.

He pulls a hand through his hair and looks down again. Images of Hob’s easy smile flashing behind his eyes, his hands caressing Dream’s skin, his strong arms lifting him in a hug, his sweet lips tracing the lines of his jaw and ear, murmuring sweetness that Dream could no longer hear but feel instead. Could plainly see Hob’s devotion and affection in their everyday lives together, how he would always start the coffee in the mornings so Dream would wake up to the smell of it. How Hob would leave the hallway light on during the day so Dream would come home– late from work– and have something to see by. How he always offered to help with dinner prep, chopping veggies or stirring something, often using the excuse to crowd Dream against the counter and kiss Dream silly.

“That man would pull the moon down for you, I hope you know.”

He would, Dream realizes, swallowing thickly. And he would do the same for Hob.

Dream nods, wringing his fingers out as Jessamy continues on.

“Remember, this is a learning experience for him, too.”

Her painted nails move with perfect fluency, always slowly for Dream to understand. And as one thumb comes down from her forehead to meet the thumb on her other hand, Dream nods again, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her lips curl sweetly, gaze flicking sideways suddenly.

She nudges her head. “Speak of the devil…”

Dream looks too, and finds Hob approaching them.

He curses to himself, wiping his eyes with more urgency and catching the almost giggle that Jessamy makes.

“I’ll leave you two alone?”

Dream takes a steadying inhale, pushes his shoulders back, and makes a weak fist and nods it back and forth.

Jessamy stands just as Hob steps up to them, his eyes guarded yet hopeful. She makes a sign of texting before stepping around Hob with a clap to his shoulder.

Hob watches Jessamy leave before meeting Dream’s gaze again, but says nothing. His eyes never leave Dream as he crouches down and takes a seat next to him, leaning back against the wall.

Dream stares back, studying the lines of Hob’s face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are shiny and puffy, like he’d been sobbing, too.

“I’m sorry,” Dream whispers, pushing a fist into his chest.

Hob sighs, his shoulders going with it. He speaks as he signs.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Dream shakes his head. “You’re always the one apologizing for my outbursts–”

“But you were right,” Hob interjects, his eyes pleading. “Dream, can I say something?”

Dream’s heart leaps into his throat, swallowing harshly. He nods.

“You need to tell me…” Hob’s gaze shoots up to the sky, as if searching for the words for his hands to convert. “... the first time, when I do something that makes you uncomfortable. So I can remedy it immediately.”

Dream takes a deep breath as Hob continues, his hands moving slowly but surely.

“Don’t let bad things fester and build. Talk to me.” His hand comes to his mouth in a motion similar to how Dream explained on the couch months ago. “Communicate. If you don’t correct me in the moment, I’m bound to repeat it.”

He takes Dream’s hands, his thumbs tracing circles over the knuckles.

“I want…” Hob awkwardly makes the simple motions with his hand still clasped with Dream’s, making him bite back a smile. “... to do this right.”

Dream takes another breath that rattles, his eyes prickling at the corners.

Hob’s eyes have gone watery, too, his smile lopsided.

“OK?”

Dream nods. “OK.”

Hob rises up on his knees just as Dream does, falling into each other. Dream squeezes his arms around Hob’s shoulders, tucking his nose into Hob’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, letting it envelop him and calm him.

Hob’s lips brush the skin behind Dream’s ear, pressing a kiss there, before he feels them move.

I love you.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dreamling bingo 2024 #sidenote: yes this is an american AU #because i know ASL and not BSL #yes im that simple lol #hoo! i made it!#my first fill letsagooo #this one kicked my ass sheesh #my writing

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years ago

Photo

The Conch Republic was a micronation declared as a tongue-in-cheek secession of the city of Key West from the United States on April 23, 1982

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la-fumettista · 1 year ago

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#art #artists on tumblr #comic artist #key west #art of the day #drawn to key west #mallory square #sunset celebration #key west mallory square #indie comic art #indie comic artist #writers on tumblr #comic artists on tumblr #graphic novel artist #kickstarter comics

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countrymusiclover · 5 months ago

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11 - Must Answer the Call

Part 12

Dr. Redheaded Neighbor

Comment your thoughts down below or in a reblog post

Tag list - send an ask to be added @annieradcliff @watermeezer @zaidatorcuatomorgado @kmc1989

One Year Later

Running as fast as my feet could carry me I abandoned the building that was on fire falling down onto the ground tripping on some wood that had fallen off the house because of the fire. I groaned blinking my eyes seeing Casey rushing to my aid where he yanked me up before our bodies got thrown forward by an explosion of flames. “Easton! Ugh – are you alright?”

“Yeah. I – I think so. How are you?” I forced myself to my feet as best as I could offering him my hand helping him off the ground. Brett and Dawson had already left in their ambulance with the patients that needed o go to East Mercy hospital.

Casey removed his firefighter helmet from his head running a gloved hand through his hair. “I’m okay. I’ve been in tougher situations than what we had today.”

“Hey chatty Kathy’s let’s get back to the house. Mill’s has food going in the oven and I’m hungry!” We turned our heads in the direction of the fire truck that Kelly was climbing in the backseat.

Casey and I made our way back over to the fire truck where we made our way back to the house. Climbing out of the passenger seat my boots hit the stone concrete floor. I hung up my firefighter gear just walking around in a fire house 51 shirt, some blue jeans and my brown boots about to go get some food until my phone rang off inside my locker when I walked past it. “Hey, Halstead. I wasn’t expecting to hear a call from you this early in the day.”

“Are you Ms. Mallory Easton?” A computer operator voice responded through the phone.

“Yes. This is she. Who is this?”

“You’re call is now being transferred.” The operator answered back.

“Ms. Easton, this is Lieutenant Griffin. I have been trying to reach you for a while now.”

I ran a hand through my hair nervous to hear his voice after all this time. “I apologize for that, sir. I have gotten a new job with Firehouse 51. So, I haven’t been seeing your phone calls recently. Um, what exactly do you need to tell me about?”

“I must inform you that we need you and Maxon back for deployment.”

Slowly lowering myself down onto the wooden bench in front of my open locker I couldn’t believe what he had just said to me. “Sir, I - I have no clue what to say. I thought I was done – that I had finished my tour.”

“When Dr. Owen sent you home we believed that we had cleared everything from here. Unfortunately we had some new information come in from one of our guys. Somebody is planning on attacking the US soil.”

Sucking in a breath I felt like I was frozen in some sort of nightmare. I was finally with my best friend. I had found some more friends and gotten a new job that I was beginning to enjoy here. Now it might all get taken away from me. “Sir, how soon would I have to be deployed out?”

“I’d give it would be three to four months at the most.” He responded through the phone with a very heavy sigh meaning he didn’t care for the answer he had given me either.

“Lieutenant Griffin, when do I need to let you know that I have everything squared away on my end?”

He corrected my statement. “You have to remember Ms. Easton. This is the military you don’t have to give us notice. If we need you you’ll just have to follow the orders you’ve been assigned.”

“Yes, I understand sir. I’ll figure this out.”

He hung up the phone without another word. “I’ll be in touch. Good day.”

Sitting my phone down beside me I hit the lock button on my phone then turned it back on to show the lock screen that Will and I had taken with Maxon on our one month anniversary where we had went and done the tilt at the John Hancock Building.

“Two tickets for the 360 tilt.” Will handed asked the cashier woman at the front desk the money.

I was standing behind Will and Maxon was sitting beside me while I held his leash attached to the collar loosely in my hands. “Oh, I’m sorry ma’am. But he can’t be up there unless he is a service dog.”

“He’s actually a former Army veteran K-9. I think he meets that criteria.” I corrected her statement with a smile.

She nodded seeing Maxon wagging his tail happily at her. “Ah I see. Have a good time.”

The three of us entered the elevator with a few other people who were going up with us. Once the doors opened I led Maxon forward until we reached one of the windows and he put his paws on the glass wagging his tail happily. “Pretty neat isn’t it, Max?” He barked in response to me.

Will joined us looking out the window seeing all the city buildings from this high up. “And here I thought the hospital balcony had a view.” He chuckled in awe never being up this high.

“This is the second time I have been able to enjoy being this high off the ground. When you look out the side of a helicopter it’s not the same since you’re going off to war.” I held my mouth opened just living in the moment with the building lights shining all over the nightly windy city.

An idea popped inside the ED doc’s head where he took out his phone nudging my arm. “Let’s do a picture up here.”

“Yeah but you’re getting in it too.” I told him bending down on a knee to be level with Maxon.

Will held the phone up wrapping one arm over my shoulder. “One, two, three. Got it.” He hit the camera button a few times showing me the picture of the three of us.

“We’re pretty good together. Happy anniversary, Mal.” Will leaned down kissing me softly on the lips with a smile.

I smiled into the kiss leaning up on my toes, wrapping my fingers around the tea shirt he was wearing. “Happy anniversary, Will.”

Hearing footsteps entering the locker room I bent my head down into my knees trying to still process that phone call. I wasn’t prepared to get deployed out after getting the leg brace. And now Will and I were in a really good place, so what was he going to think now. “Hey Mallory, Mills wants to know what type of pizza you want. Woah, hey what’s wrong?”

“Huh – oh it’s nothing Brett.” I attempted to lie hoping she wouldn’t pick up on it.

She slowly came and sat down to me. “If you’re crying then it’s clearly not fine. I’m you’re friend you can tell me anything.”

“I got deployed, Sylvie.”

She covered a hand over her mouth in shock. “I’m sorry. Are you going to tell Will?”

“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I just know I need to tell the truth of something we’re gonna have to deal with together.” I responded to my friend.

She noticed me slowly getting up and grabbing my normal gear to go home for the evening. “Where are you going, Mallory?”

“In case the Chief or Casey ask where I went. Just say I had an emergency come up but I’ll be back tomorrow.” Shrugging on my jacket I bolted out of the room and to my car needing to see my boyfriend sooner rather than later.

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moominvalley-state-of-mind · 10 months ago

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head canons for drawing styles! yayayya:

(not a ton of charicters are on here cause i didn't think they would draw/im not sure what their art style would be)

percy jackson: all his drawings somehow look like they were made in mspaint and half awake

annabeth chase: diagrams, but when she dose draw someone (like percy or sally) its very sketchy, like Role Dahle's drawings

piper mcclean: that grungy alt style with the long eyelashes

leo valdez: realy only dose diagrams, and said diagrams are mainly made up of basic shapes and stuffs but when he dose draw people its the worst stick figure you have ever seen

frank zhang: very cartoony, simmiler style to We Bear Bears

hazel leveque: charcoal drawings, also kinda realistic (i think its cannon that she dose charcoal, or knows how to)

nico di angelo: realism, but focuses more on landscapes than people

magnus chase: stick figures

alex feirro: like annabeth and leo, most of her drawings are diagrams but i think his style is kinda art-nouvoe ish

mallory keen: is simmiler to a lot of fashion drawings from the 70s, but i think its also kinda resembles ND Sevenson (the person who origonaly made Nimona)

t.j.: realism. while he didn't have much time to draw in his life, i like to think he did it as often as he could and took some classes on art during death. no basis for that one, but i think hes also good at pixel art.

halfborn: has a range of styles, but mostly relies on a semi abstract one

blitzen: fashion stylist, gotta get things down quick, so i think his style is full of shapes (all styles are but whatever) and kinda scratchy.

hearthstone: kinda loopy and sketchy, some how one line drawings

carter kane: realism, but i think it would be cool if he did watercolor too. him doing lanscapes sounds interesting too

sadie kane: scean 2000s drawing style with the square mouths and pointy teeth

EDIT:

holy moly how did i forget about rachel dare

i think she also had a realistic style, but its like. 1800s or 1700s realism. and she defenetly has alot of diffrent styles like halfborn

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slashmeharderdaddy · 14 days ago

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FREEZER POP

Aunt Flo’s in town and it gave me this idea. I only just now got around to writing it. Art’s s/o, Mal, is on her period and, knowing Art’s a cannibal, decides to give him a special treat.

TW: Blood, menstruation, periods, mention of cannibalism

Mallory winced as another sharp pain stabbed through her. Gritting her teeth, she sucked in a breath through her nose, held it for a few seconds, then let it out through her mouth. She’d always had hellish periods before going on the pill, but after switching to an IUD a couple years ago, her period cramps had returned. She had been tired for the last few days, so much so that she had called in sick the day before just so she could get some sleep. When her period started, she finally understood why.

“Fuck this shit,” Mal grumbled as she grabbed a square of toilet paper to keep the blood off her fingers. The tampon came out with a single yank. Just as she was about to drop it into the toilet, she paused, an idea springing to mind. “Hold on a second…”

Mal glanced down at the tampon. Art had been in her life long enough for her to know he had some…unique tastes when it came to food. He had already earned his red wings, and then some. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he had spent the rest of the night eating her pussy like a man half-starved. He never spent more than a night—maybe two—with her, but he had spent the entire week with her that week, disappearing during the day and returning at night to eat her out again.

Now, staring at the tampon in her hand, Mal wondered if he might want it. Never before had she considered keeping any of her used tampons. To her, it was disgusting, and they were meant to be thrown away. But her cannibal…whatever the hell Art was…might not think so. Maybe he’d want them. Maybe they’d be a treat for him.

Sighing, Mal tossed it into the sink and finished up. Wrapping the tampon in a paper towel, she stashed it in a Tupperware container in the back of the fridge.

~ ~ ~

I have a treat for you,” Mal said when Art inevitably returned. Ever since that night, he’d somehow learned her cycle. She didn’t want to know how—when it came to Art, some things were better left a mystery.

Art perked up, his mouth forming a surprised O as he gestured to himself.

“Yeah. It’s in the freezer if you want it. It’s in the Tupperware in the back.”

Art clapped his hands and skipped into the kitchen. Mal shook her head, still in awe of the way he could be so lethal yet so whimsical at the same time. She knew as soon as they’d gotten involved with each other that he would be her death.

Mal followed Art into the kitchen, where he was digging through the freezer. She smiled as he pulled out that morning’s Tupperware container. Several more used tampons had been added to it, wrapped in a paper towel. She had written Art’s name in glittery pink gel pen on each one. His eyes widened when he opened the container. Glancing up at her, he pointed excitedly at his name.

“Yeah. I wanted to surprise you.”

Art grinned and grabbed one of the tampons, tearing at the paper towel with his teeth. He paused, stunned, when he saw the tampon.

“It’s probably weird, but…I thought these could be a sort of…well, freezer pop. If you want them. If not I’ll throw them out—“

Art cut off Mal with a wave of his hand before popping the tampon into his mouth. If he were the type to ever make a sound, she knew he’d be letting out a moan of delight as his eyes fluttered shut. He replaced the lid and shoved the container back into the freezer.

Art opened his eyes and held out his arms with a beckoning motion. As Mal stepped forward, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I take it you like the freezer pop?” She said, chuckling. Art nodded. “Good. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

#art the clown #art the clown x oc #tw blood #tw periods #tw menstruation #tw menstrual cycle #tw cannibalism mention #art the clown is a fucking trigger warning #no beta we die like dawn #Terrifier fanfic #art the clown fanfic

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te-pu-si-ti · 1 year ago

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The Persephone Un-loop

Inspired by:

Sam Booth | Eric Jackson Bradley | Ali Goldsmith | Folu Odimayo | Carl Harrison

The man in the grey suit steps out into the town square, singing. "It's a lonesome old town, when you're not around. I'm lonely as I can be..."

He picks up a bouquet of narcissi from the flower cart. He carefully sets down the flowers one by one on the ground of the Trojan square, then he returns to his office and shuts the door.

Outside, a spotlight is moving slowly across the length of the square, from the office to the flower cart to the department store, finally settling on a well in the corner. You'd hardly notice it, if you didn't know it was there.

The spotlight lingers. The music begins to swell. Just then, a woman bursts out of the water. She looks around, her hair dripping, her eyes large and uncertain, examining her surroundings.

She climbs out and lays her bare feet on the bricks, leaving behind puddles. With inquisitive eyes, she picks up a daffodil, and another, and another, breadcrumbs leading her... somewhere.

She walks by a man dressed in rags who seems to recognise her, but she flinches away from him. She continues following the flowers, and they take her to the office door, underneath the blue light. She knocks.

The man in the suit opens the door and takes her in. "Welcome home, my love," the strange man says.

"Home?" She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember..."

"The waters," he says coolly, "It's the waters. Give it time." He wraps her in a blanket and sits her down in a leather armchair.

She looks with consternation at the framed photo on the side table. It's... her. And him. He holds up his hand, showing her the ring on his finger, and pointing to the matching ring on hers.

"What's going on? What is this place?" She stands up, and looks at a painting on the wall, so dark, so terrible, and yet...

She shakes her head. "Where am I?"

"It will come back to you. It will all come back to you."

"The keys to the city," he says, nodding towards the rack of keys on the wall. "Don't rush yourself. You have all the time in the world."

She walks over, examining the keys, and the little wooden puzzle toy on the table. A labyrinth with a tiny metal ball inside. Seven keys, each hanging from their own hook, each on a keyring. A horse, a bull, a flower...

He's grabbing his coat. "Where are you going? Can't you stay?"

"I have to go," he says. "You have to find your own way." The only person she has in this strange city, and he's already leaving her alone.

He shuts the door, and she's alone with her thoughts and the sensory overload of waking up cold and wet in a strange world, with a strange man, who seems to know her even though she does not know him. But he is kind to her, and he shows her love, and somehow, she trusts him.

The more she thinks about this situation, the less it makes sense. The more she looks around this room, the smaller it feels, the more trapped she is. She spins around in the empty office, gasping for air, adrift. Blue lightning flashes outside the windows as the power surges, as if in tune with her. She would scream if she could, but there's not enough air.

Thunder rumbles. Discordant piano. Gasping, spinning, turning, choking, it's too much it's too much it's much too much --

She's exhausting herself. She goes to the desk, sits down, and counts backwards. Grounding. One thing at a time. One foot in front of the other.

She leaves the office, into the city, and finds a fashionable-looking shop. No one is working there, and she has no clothes of her own, so if nobody's looking then nobody can mind... She takes a red jumpsuit that fits her perfectly, and a pair of shoes, and a lovely fur coat. In the pocket, there is a torch...

In the alleys of the city, she finds a map pasted on the wall. Shaped like the wooden toy from the office, an intricate maze - no, a labyrinth. Labelled with strange names.

Hesperides? She sees the sign lit up above her head. She wanders into a beautiful flower shop, with roses and greenery dangling from the ceiling and every type of blossom you could imagine laid out in the corner. Once again, it's empty behind the counter.

So she searches for clues - What is this place? Where, and when? How does she fit in? Did she once belong here? She rifles through drawers, papers, a box full of... feathers? A portrait of a Grecian goddess? It's all so strange.

A man in a yellow velvet suit comes up to the counter. She freezes. Act natural. "Hello," she says, "...How can I help you?"

The man gazes around idly with large, round eyes. "I'd like a bouquet," he says softly.

"Sure!" she says. There's one right on the counter. "Here you go."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I was hoping for maybe... that one, by the mirror?"

"Of course." She goes over and retrieves it. The flowers are beautiful, but they're all fake. Such a large shop, is there such a high demand for faux flowers?

She lays down the bouquet for him and he smiles. "Actually, could you add something extra for me? Something special. Your choice."

The charade is wearing thin. She doesn't actually know anything about flower arranging. What flower would suit? She looks around at the stems on the counter, and grabs the one that catches her eye. A fluffy pink peony, a splash of colour in the pale bouquet.

She unwraps the bouquet to add in the extra flower. But there's something else inside... a paper parcel falls to the counter as she's unwrapping. She sets it aside so her customer cannot see.

She wraps up the bouquet in some fresh tissue paper, with a green ribbon cut with an unnervingly large pair of scissors. "Here you go," she says, relieved that she has not been found out.

He examines the bouquet and sniffs the flowers. "Oh, uh," the woman says, "You do know they're fake, right?"

The man in the yellow suit, blue neon reflecting off his skin, smiles. He picks a business card up off the counter. "Yes," he says, "The finest." Hesperides: Finest Fake Flowers.

She laughs uneasily. "Right. Of course. Have a good day!"

The man pauses as he leaves. "Have a good night," he corrects.

She lets out a sigh after he walks out. How did she get into this mess? But something about the little paper parcel intrigues her, and she unwraps it. It's some kind of bureaucratic form, SPECIAL PERMIT. Inside, there's a little metal horse figurine. And on the paper, someone has scribbled an address: PEEP BAR, 3rd ~ C / 3rd Division / UW.

She takes her torch back into the alleys, reading the strange names on the posters and flyers and neon signs of the city. Philotas. Sikinnis. Terpsichore. Who are they? HIC HABITAT MINOTAURUS. What?

She emerges into a square, and she can hear pounding music from across the way, and she sees the sign for PEEP. There it is! And she wouldn't mind a drink to settle her nerves. So she goes in.

It's a wild and debauched place, this strange bar draped in velvet. Ghostly faces leer at her and cheer at the dancer on stage. It is a tall, thin creature in a black catsuit, beckoning one of the emcees on stage with a clawed finger. The emcee jumps up eagerly, and the dancer licks their lips, pulling their victim closer and then choking them and shoving them to the ground.

She finds a seat, and gasps at this dark entertainment that is driving the crowd wild. But there's something incredibly alluring about it.

The dancer leaves the stage to raucous applause and gives her a wink as they pass. She sips her drink and wonders if she should leave, when suddenly...

The door opens. The bar host drops their martini glass in surprise. "We have a visitor. A friend? A presence. A gift! A surprise guest has descended upon us!"

It's the man in the grey suit again. He gets on stage, and the bar hosts kiss him on each cheek. Unprompted, the band starts to play.

She decides to stay for a little while longer. Is he a performer too, like that slithering dancer dressed all in black? He doesn't seem the type at all.

"If the sun should lose its light,

and we lived in an endless night,

and there were nothing left that you could feel...

That's what it would be would be,

What my life would seem to me,

If I didn't have your love, to make it real."

He's singing to her. She doesn't know him, not really, but he knows her, and he's serenading her with this strange and beautiful song.

"If the stars were all unpinned,

and a cold and bitter wind swallowed up the world, without a trace,

That's where I would be! That's what my life would seem to me!

If I couldn't lift the veil... and see your face."

The lights swing around to light her face in red and blue. She feels herself blushing. All this for her? Why?

"To make it REAL! ...Real!" During the instrumental break, he fills the time with a cute little shuffling dance. He blows her a kiss - overcome by this whole sweet gesture, she catches it.

"If the sun should lose its light, and we lived in an endless night, and there was nothing left that you could feel...

If the sea were sand alone, and all the flowers made of stone, and no one that you hurt could ever heal! That's how broken I would be, that's what my life would seem to me... if I didn't have your love... to make... it... real..."

"Well. Shoot a speeding arrow through my tiny, tiny heart." The hosts of Peep pop up through a trap door behind him and usher him off the stage.

The man comes down and puts his arm around her shoulder. "That was wonderful," she says, brimming with sincerity. "Nobody's ever done that for me before."

A beat. "...I have," he replies. "Let's go."

He pulls her through the square with an odd sense of urgency. But she wants to see, she wants to know this city that he claims is her home - and why is this young man drawing a circle of chalk in the square?

But there are sirens blaring, it might not be safe, so she turns and heads towards the office. Another man, in a long leather coat, scared, desperate, is turning the corner just then and collides with her. He rushes away with hardly a chance for an apology. She scurries into the office, her makeshift home.

The man in the suit guides her to the desk. He offers her a pair of headphones, which she gratefully accepts. Anything to drown out those terrible sirens.

Take a deep breath and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

He hands her a papier mâché pomegranate from a wooden bowl, which she clutches as she closes her eyes and sinks to her knees.

Close your eyes and picture yourself in a meadow, on a beautiful May morning. The air is filled with the scent of wildflowers. All around you things are growing, blossoming, bursting with life. Feel the grass between your toes, the sunlight on your skin. Now, open your eyes and know that the sunlight is with you still. Even in the middle of the darkest night, it shines forth from within you, awakening life around you. As the world turns and season follows season, everything is unfolding exactly as it should. You have all the time in the world. All you need is here.

Slowly she opens her eyes and rises up from the floor. The pomegranate in her hand is real, fresh and juicy.

"Did I just...?"

The man claps his hands and has a broad smile on his face. "Yes, my love! You did!" He takes one side of the fruit, and together, they split the pomegranate in two.

"You're... you're my husband."

As she disappears into the cabinet, he smiles dreamily. "That's my wife," he says with affection.

Inside the cabinet, she moves backwards. Time rewinds, and she finds herself at a table, facing a pinboard of clues, speaking into a tape recorder.

"Meditation tape number... 572. Take a deep breath and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

"Don't panic. Every time you panic, you lose yourself."

Frustrated, she shakes her head. "No, that's not right. You can't just tell someone not to panic. That'll make you panic."

"Take a deep breath, and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The mind is a maze, isn't it? The mind is a dark, mysterious maze of winding streets that are only seldomly lit by knowledge, and experience, but ultimately, memory. Memory lights our way through this dark maze.

And every time I come back, it's as if the power has gone out. As if I'm drowning in a sea of darkness. It's as if I am dead.

But every once in a while a glimmer of light shines from around the corner. An object, or a song, or a face... Your face. That feeling guides me the most.

I hate that it has to be like this, but show me the light and I will come back to you every time, my love, like a moth to the flame.

I can feel the seasons changing, and I know that I will leave you soon. I hope this tape can be a beacon for you, the way you are for me. Know that I will come back. I always do. Always."

She's not sure where to go next. She wanders back to where she started: Alighieri's department store. As she passes, her husband looks down at her from a balcony - she waves shyly, but hurries on.

Her next clue is the special permit border pass and the tiny pewter horse. She sees a sign - BORDER CROSSING AHEAD, HAVE PAPERS READY. So she crosses over.

She rummages around the border crossing station, finds other border passes like her own - or, the one addressed for Judith Kore. The one she has claimed as her own.

She wanders into some sort of store room, cold and deserted, full of massive wooden crates. In the corner is one covered in horseshoes. This must be the place.

On the floor of the crate is a horse, splayed out, motionless. She sits beside it for a while, looking for signs of life. Instead, she sees a coin resting on its head.

Harsh torchlight shines into the crate.

"You. Out. Papers?"

She slips the coin into her pocket as she marches out, not wanting to cause any trouble. She hands over the only papers she has.

He looks them over with suspicion. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe. Go, now." The Watchman waves her away.

She heads back to the city - to Troy, judging by the poster plastered over a wall, reading TROY WELCOMES YOU. Troy doesn't feel that welcoming... it's dingy, a bit rough, with all the graffiti on the walls and the yellowing papers wheatpasted one over another. And in the corner of the square is a man, huddled up in his rags: by all appearances, a beggar.

But he looks... familiar. Yes! He was the first face she saw in this place! He takes her hand, spins her round, and... snatches the silver coin from out of her pocket.

"Hey!" She runs after him, chasing him to the doorway of a hotel - The Elysium. He holds out his two fists and nods for her to pick one. When she does, he opens his hand to reveal a key. Another link in this strange chain of events.

Then he stands stock-still, and points her into the hotel. "Rrrrrrring, rrrrriiing," imitating the sound of a telephone. She steps inside the cramped hotel reception area, and picks up the receiver.

She listens for a moment to the voice on the other side.

"Hello? ....I don't know. I can't remember."

"OK, fine. There was this big party, a chandeliers and caviar kind of thing. I felt... out of place. So I got a drink. A martini, I think. And there was this beautiful woman, covered in sequins, and she walks up to me and asks to read my palm."

"She traced her finger along the heart line, and said I was a hard girl to pin down. That I'd find love later down the line."

"Then she reads my head line, and she said I was... I dunno... Forgetful or something."

"And then she read my life line, and that's when things really got weird. She looked at me with her big smiling face, and she said, well the funny thing is, according to this, you're already..."

The line goes dead.

She goes back to her husband's office. He's not around, so she has a chance to search out clues.

She lays her border pass out on the table, and notices some stationery on the desk. His cards and letterheads all say HH, 9th C, 1st D, UW.

H, H? U, W?

She rifles through his papers, finding magazines, punchcards, music scores... Nothing helps.

She looks back to that haunting painting on the wall. Those lost souls, falling into darkness. 9th C, UW... 9th circle...?

The address on her pass matches. "Welcome home, he said... I am Judith Kore?"

Her husband walks in, and she hastily puts away what she's been searching through.

Judith scoots to the edge of the room and changes the music that's playing. She puts her arms around her husband's neck and sways gently. A solitary piano grows into a sultry tango.

And they dance.

Slowly, closely, until they find each other's rhythm. Then it grows. They are a whirlwind together, this tiny office cannot hold them.

They burst out of the door, and the city opens up before them. And though she's never done this before - or maybe she has - she feels like she's always known these steps. It's effortless.

She runs, she jumps, he catches her, they really must have been something, mustn't they? Back before she lost herself. They're so in tune.

Almost in tune. He's under her spell, so she can lead him back in the office, and he's so blinded by her that he doesn't notice her hand slip into the key case. Judith holds the bull key behind her back as he picks up a flower and presents it to her, like a shy little schoolboy.

She accepts it and smiles warmly.

"It's beautiful," she says with sincerity.

"It's fake..."

"I know." She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and turns to leave.

"Come back to me..." he says weakly.

"Sure, I will." She'll find her way back eventually.

But first... find the bull. She hears pounding music up above - something big is happening. She climbs up the stairs into the hotel, down the long, dim hallway, into a terrible scene.

She can see it through a large window, glowing red. A gruesome gang are holding a man down, looking up hungrily at a tall, thin woman in a fur coat. The woman bends down, screams, and claws at the poor man's face. She triumphantly holds up two bloodied eyeballs.

"Shit." Judith backs away, aghast at the horror. But there's the bull, or rather, a golden idol, a man with the head of a bull, with compartments in its chest. She unlocks one to find a tiny plant, inside a glass dome. Small enough to fit into her pocket. It must be another clue.

The blinded man gets dragged into the room by a stone-faced woman. He crawls along the ground, pitiful, sobbing, alone. Crying for help.

"Come here," she beckons. "I can help you. Follow the sound of my voice."

There is a bowl of water and a cloth already there, as if waiting for him. The bloodied weeping man scoots over to her and she wipes his eyes, his injuries seemed so serious but all it takes is a few passes of the rag, and he is restored.

She wanders the halls of the hotel, and there is a strange feeling around her, as if the entire city is moving at once. As if something is dawning.

The next door she opens takes her into a room with a greenhouse inside. I thought we were in a hotel? But anyway, a greenhouse is where plants belong, so she must be on the right track. She retrieves the little plant from her pocket.

As she pokes around in the greenhouse - a strange greenhouse, where there are no plants, only barren trays of soil! - the man in the yellow suit arrives.

"Oh, hello again!" It's good to see a familiar face.

But he cocks his head. "Again?"

He's probably trying to save her the embarassment of their prior encounter...

"Is this your greenhouse? Maybe you can help." She show him her little plant. He smiles, goes to the back of the greenhouse, unlocks a safe. A safe? What does he need to lock away...?

It's another plant. Bigger, stronger, but still a seedling, and clearly precious to him. He hands it to her with reverence, and moves out of the way, as if he knows what's about to happen.

Because when she takes the plant - when she runs her fingers through its soil - she feels a connection that she has never known in her life. Or maybe, has never known since she forgot everything about her life.

Judith feels the earth between her fingers and she knows what she was made for. This is the root of her power, here in the soil. She finds herself, in the roots and the stem and the leaves.

Energy travels through her, electrifying her from toes to spine, and she bends back, taking it in, absorbing it, letting it return to her. It's terrifying and thrilling and yet it feels right. It's overwhelming, but she knows she can handle it - it's part of her. It was just waiting to awaken.

The florist looks on in awe. "Your majesty, welcome home." He bows deeply.

Your... majesty...?

He presses a baggie into her hand. "New life for Troy," he says softly. The bag is full of tiny seeds.

She thanks him, promises she'll keep them safe, and continues on her journey. Somehow, this raised more questions than it answered. But she feels she's on the right path.

She sees the man in the ragged coat, who helped her once - maybe he will guide her again. He takes her by the hand and spins her around, then holds her against the wall. With a piece of chalk, he traces her outline. Draws a pomegranate in her hand, and a crown on her head.

After this, he leads her over to a chair, and pours her a cup of tea. Sure, tea would be nice. The radio is playing; a chipper announcer is speaking.

"Hey! Thanks for tuning in. We're asking for your best party stories, we'd love to hear yours!"

"Hello? ...I dunno... I can't remember..."

Wait.

"There was this beautiful woman, covered in sequins, and she walks up to me and asks to read my palm."

The potter stretches his hand out, asking for hers.

"She said I was... forgetful, or something..."

Judith smiles, rolls her eyes, OK, very funny. Great prank.

But the man continues, tracing his finger over her palm, and she continues hearing her own voice over the radio, "And that's when it got really weird."

"The funny thing is..."

Judith cuts in. "The funny thing is, according to this, you're already dead."

The beggar holds up a candle and looks around. As he brings the light higher, ghostly figures appear out of the darkness. One by one, their pallid, motionless faces emerge from the mist. Judith staggers back.

"It's OK," the man says softly. "They don't do anything. They just watch."

She steps forward and brings a hand up to one, gently touching its face. Have they been here all along?

She takes a step, they take a step. She walks away, but they follow her. She turns a tight corner and ducks into the back entrance of a bar. Still, they pour in after her.

She tucks herself into a corner, finding a stool, and beckons the barman for a drink.

"There's so many of them..." Ghosts fill the bar, cramming themselves in, their eyes fixed on her. "There's so many of them."

"Just the right amount, I think," the barman says, oblivious, admiring his array of bottles on the wall. He pours her a drink.

Judith examines their faces, looking back at her attentively. "Maybe they're just lost," she muses. "Wandering in the darkness."

"We're all a little lost," the bartender says agreeably.

"Cheers to that. The funny thing about darkness, you know... You need the darkness to see the light. From darkness comes light, from night comes morning, from winter comes spring, from death comes rebirth... hopefully." She downs another shot of sake. Zagreus takes the empty cup and spins it on the counter.

"Over and over and over again. Circles and cycles and circles and cycles... they keep going, on and on... but do they ever break?"

The barman shrugs. "Everything breaks eventually." The spinning cup comes to a stop.

"Hey, I remember you!"

He looks back blankly.

"I recognise you, I do. We crashed into each other, remember?"

The bartender looks puzzled. "We've only just met. I've never seen you before."

"C'mon, you must remember... Nevermind. Thanks for the drink."

Judith rushes off, out into the square - outside the entrance to Peep. Familiar music is playing.

"Hey, they just played that song an hour ago! Is it just me, or is everything repeating? Going in circles, round and round?"

"I can see you... and you can see me, right?" The shade nearest to her nods.

"Right, so if this is all happening again, that means he'll be there, in there, and he'll know what to do! He can explain everything! Let's go!"

She rushes into Peep, and sure enough, Kampe is dancing on the stage again.

"Give it up for Kampe! They really glisten when they move, don't they? That reminds me..."

The emcee drops their martini glass. Judith catches it, a smug smile on her face. She nods, assuredly, "And now he'll come in... He'll come in... Where is he...?"

"...We have a visitor. A friend? A presence. A gift!"

The Peep hosts look down at her. They hold their hands out to her and hoist her on stage. They each give her a kiss on the cheek.

"No, this isn't right... It's not supposed to be me..."

The band begins to play.

"I... guess I do know this one. I think I remember the words. I can try, anyway."

"Something about... if the sun should lose its light? And we're in endless night? And a veil lifting up to see a face?"

"And if the sea were sand alone, and the flowers made of stone... Flowers made of stone? And no one that you hurt could ever heal?"

Everyone forgetting. All the flowers fake. All the water dried up. Morning never comes.

"That's... That's what this is. That's where we are. That's what this is!"

The hosts pop up from the trap door. Just like before. "...they're behind me, aren't they? I'm sorry, I have to go..."

"Well, shoot a speeding arrow through my tiny, tiny heart..." But she's already rushing off, back home, back to Hades House, the office where she hopes she will find him.

And she narrowly avoids running into the barman, because she knows he will be passing through at that moment. She swings open the door, where her husband is preparing a game of checkers for them.

A game? When outside, people are risking their lives? In a war that may be artificial, but is so very real to them. She saw the fear on the barman's face.

So they sit down, Judith and her husband, inside Hades House, and prepare to play a game.

"You see them now, don't you?" he says.

She nods.

It's a simple game, checkers, draughts, whatever you like to call it. One move after another, wait for your opponent to give you an opening. Faster and faster they trade moves, until Judith is sick of it all - she throws her keys down on the board. Look what I've accomplished, no thanks to you.

War is screaming outside. She screams with it.

He shrivels, he falls to the floor. She rips open the curtains, forcing him to see the blood that has been split.

What is this horrific place? And how do we figure into it, you and I? We are both a part of it, and not a part of it. They all forget. They all can never heal. You and I persist. What is this?

It's a shock to his system - perhaps he didn't expect her to work it out so quickly. He's frozen, stiff, curling up into a little ball, such a tall proud man now vulnerable. She softens, goes to him, picks him up. She reminds him of their bond, tangoes him to the desk, and finds...

Their pomegranate.

The one that she created. The one she gave life to.

She stands tall over him, pushes him down onto the desk. She takes the juicy fruit and squeezes, drips it down into his mouth and onto his face, the ruby seeds sparkling in the light, feeds him this product of her power until he believes again, until he begs for mercy.

Her demands are simple: "Show me."

"I'll show you," he replies, "I'll show you everything."

They pass through the rubble of the invaded city. A princess laid out, shroud over her head. A Watchman, picking up the pieces. Judith's husband hands her a lantern, and she lights her way.

A domestic worker freezes, caught in the light. Everyone here prefers darkness.

One of the arcade cabinets is full of black sand, with tiny figures inside - figures of her and her husband.

Hades hands her the final key. He points to the stage door.

She chooses a few shades to be her companions. Ones that have been with her on this journey all along, ones that have been paying attention. Ones who will see it through until the end.

They go up the steps, together. They look out onto the city, together.

Judith goes out onto the balcony.

"Is our city not fair and vast? It shines for you, all for you, dear Judith."

"Fair and vast is your city." "Yours, Judith. Yours forever. Here, multitudes reside. They'll be your companions forevermore."

"Fair and vast is your city..."

"Here is a handmaiden, loyal to us both." A young woman in red, barely more than a girl, looks up. "Here, a vial to catch tears of sorrow, tears of joy, dropped from the eyes of time's fleeting shadows."

"The streets of your city are marked with blood. Blood runs down the walls, blood stains the paving stones. The clouds above throw bloody shadows. Who has bled for the sake of your city?"

"See, but ask me nothing. Look, but ask no questions."

"I only remember one thing: I came here because I love you. But I will not have a single door held shut against me."

"Take care Judith, you're ahead of yourself. Why hurry? We have all the time in the world."

"Not a single door held shut against me. I demand it."

"I will show you everything. All in good time."

"All in good time… In a world where time seems to stand still..."

She turns to look behind her. "I was lost when I arrived, just like you. Lost in the labyrinth of these streets. But hedged by gloom, a garden. Our garden. Filled with lifeless flowers. A fallen horse gave me solace and made me rich. Rich with abundance, rich in brain and body. I am the sunlight. So many of you, wandering in the darkness. In a world filled with cruelty, torture and war, I heard your city sighing. I heard your kingdom crying."

"...city sighing, I heard your kingdom crying."

City sighing, your kingdom crying. City sighing, your kingdom crying.

There is a crack in the record. It begins to skip. She wasn't speaking, it was only a recording.

Now... The recording is over. She walks her own path.

There is a display case in this room. It holds a record player needle.

She opens a door and finds an ancient Greek pot in another display case. On one side, a scene of violence she has seen play out in this city. On the other side, a key.

Another dark room, another case of pottery. But there is much more ground that needs to be covered, and not much time.

"Run!" she calls to her ghostly followers. Down the halls, through the strange museum, until she finds a locked door, and a daffodil laid in front of it.

This must be the place.

The last door. The last key. She steps inside, and feels sand under her feet. She walks slowly, the lantern lighting her way. She picks up a stick of chalk.

Nothing but darkness ahead.

"It's the strangest feeling... I can feel it all coming back."

A straight path. One foot in front of the other. Don't panic.

"If the sun should lose its light, and we lived in an endless night..."

She begins to draw on the wall of the long corridor, organising her thoughts.

"and there was nothing left that you could feel... If the sea were sand alone" -- she draws the waves on the wall. Not a drop of water in this place, only sand. "And all the flowers made of stone..."

"And no one that you hurt could ever heal..." She draws an infinity symbol on the wall, tracing it over and over until something breaks in her.

MEM

BER

"I remember..."

She walks on, past more walls with more chalk scribblings, and more, and more, flowers and waves and infinities and labyrinths and I REMEMBER over and over and over and over and over, layered one over top of another.

Proof of the years gone by, proof of the seasonal cycle, proof that she always, always comes back, and she always remembers, and she's always been capable, and she's always been able to find herself again. The power was within her all along.

"My name is Judith Kore, better known as Persephone," she says, to herself and to her lost souls. "Queen of the Underworld. Child of Earth and Starry Skies. My people are heavenly, and yours are too. I grant you safe passage into the land of the shades."

She emerges, with her shades, through a curtain into a sharp dagger of light in the middle of No Man's Land, Mycenae. Iphigenia-turned-Hecate delivers to her the last tears of Patroclus before she murders him. Agamemnon ascends the stairs triumphantly to his doom. Persephone sees it all laid out before her in perfect order, ticking along exactly as it should, as it always has since time immemorial.

She heads back towards Troy - She must find her husband, Hades, and take her place on the throne alongside him. He tried to hide this from her because she had to find it herself. Would she really have believed him if he had told her from the start?

On her way to the border, she crosses paths with the Watchman. He has a talent for making things grow - he holds the last vestiges of new life in this country - she knows this. So she entrusts him with the seeds that Askalaphos gave her.

Something is brewing when she arrives in Troy Square - Hades is setting up a new cycle to begin. Or end. What's the difference, really?

They embrace. He knows that she knows. He points her to the office. One last secret?

She trusts him.

Persephone enters, puts the headphones on, and hears her own voice. She has been guiding herself all along.

"Get up," the voice tells her. "Stand up." More insistently: "Up. Higher. Higher..."

So she climbs up onto the desk.

"Now. Take a deep breath. And look around. This is where you need to be. Where you belong. There is power within you, feel it awakening deep inside you. Growing, flowing, and blossoming in spectacular profusion. You are the sunlight. This world is beautiful. This city is yours. From the highest heights, down to the darkest depths. Yours. All yours."

"When you are ready to go deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper..."

The darkest depths...

A floorboard is loose. She bends down and lifts it up, revealing a cellar, with dozens of vials of tears, exactly like the one she has around her neck.

"The history of the world in teardrops, Judith. Tears of sorrow, tears of joy... Mortal emotions, immortalised. Preserved. For us. Forever."

They kiss, finally reunited, finally themselves. She hugs him close.

"Thank you for coming back to me," he says quietly.

"Always. Always."

She goes to the record player, and lifts the needle.

"I love you..." "I love you too. Are you ready?"

Hand in hand, they emerge from the office. There are a few final orders of business.

He presents Hecuba with her coat; she wipes off her blood-stained hands.

At the end of everything in Mycenae, she finds the last soldier standing, the whole remains of the Greek army. She wipes the sweat from his brow, and points his way to join the rest of the lost souls.

The last of the music starts to fade. She throws down the rag with the sound of a gong.

There they are, the fall of the damned, rolling down the grand staircase to greet her. They are naked, broken, identities fading away, becoming one mass of the Dead, her faceless nameless subjects. She continues upwards, head held high, exuding power. She knows herself now, she is a goddess of two sides: life, yes, plants, yes, but death too. She knows both sides of the cycle. She too has died and been reborn, every six months she resets back to the start, and comes back stronger for it.

So she ascends, to meet her husband Hades, ruler of this underworld, harshly lit on that long, cold stone table.

Hades & Persephone find their spot to watch the proceedings, the last gasp of this world as it dissolves into nothing. The souls race around, Clytemnestra reaches out, desperate for any connection, but she cannot reach them.

What a beautiful piece of theatre he has built for her. She looks out with him, and points, cueing the dust to fall.

They break open a new pomegranate, each bringing a seed to their mouth. They kiss, and the lights fade.

What a beautiful record. Rips your heart out every time.

With thanks to everyone who worked on this show to make it as magical as it was.

#the burnt city #the burnt city spoilers #punchdrunk #persephone #hades #immersive theatre #writeup #tbc oc

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seiya-starsniper · 1 year ago

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secret moments (shut in the heat of the afternoon) - Dreamling (AO3)

Rating: Explicit | Status: Complete | Chapters 1/1 | Words: 2K

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics,Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Post-Coital Cuddling, Possessive Alphas, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dream is still figuring out if he wants pups or not, In the meantime he unlocks some new kinks unintentionally, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Domestic Fluff

Summary:

Having a heat partner, Dream realizes, makes everything about his constitution so much more enjoyable.

A short PWP set during Dream's heat in A Dream for a Viscount. They're horny and domestic and in love.

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My fourth work for @dreamlingforukraine, thank you for your support @mallory-x!

I had a ton of fun writing this and it actually helped me a lot with my writer's block for the next part of this series so BIG EXTRA THANKS for that 💖💖

Thanks @honeyteacakes for beta reading too! 💖💖

I'm accepting commissions in exchange for charity, see my Creator Post Here. Despite the naming convention, I'll accept both Dreamling and non-Dreamling commissions!

Edit: I'm no longer accepting commissions but please check out the blog to see who is!

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This fic is also being used as part of my @dreamlingbingo card for Square C1: Hand Feeding.

Also, because I can, I'm gonna tag #JulyKinkFest2023 since this does fill today's prompt for begging ;)

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #the sandman #nsft #seiya writes #julykinkfest2023 #omegaverse #omegaverse regency au #seiya writes dreamling #alpha hob #omega dream

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billdecker · 4 months ago

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I have finished a new Mills & Boon!!

Get ready and steady yourself for the rundown on Extreme Provocation (from 1993).

I will say before you hit the Read More that there are plenty of triggers in this for sexual assault. I thought Gentle Savage was something but get ready for this one...

SO Lucy is a nursery teacher in London. She's from a very rich family. Her grandad owned the ENTIRE SQUARE of Georgian houses. But her dad is wastrel. He's sold every single house on the square except for their own and he's gambled and drunk ALL of the money away. Lucy has had ENOUGH so she goes to the casino, Marlborough's, and plans on dragging him away.

When she gets there she demands to see him but this massive ripped dude with a scar on his face says that she can't and takes her to his office. He's sparing her, you see. She's just dressed in this tiny little silk dress that clings to her tiny itty bitty waist and big boobs and the men in there will eat her ALIVE.

And this is where his first sexual assault takes place. He decides he's just gonna do that instead and kisses her without her permission. She tries to fight him off and struggles, only getting free when she scratches his face. She runs out of the casino and goes home, leaving her shawl behind.

The next day she's doing some shopping and a big penis-extension sports car pulls up by her side and it's the dude from the casino. He's called Randal and he's got her shawl. She says thanks and tells him to go away, but he won't . He MUST have her and he's going to have her. He calls himself a hunter and she's the prey and he says delightful things like this DIRECT QUOTE:

'You really are a tempestuous little creature, aren't you?' he murmured. 'It's funny. I've always had two types of women. Can never decide which I prefer.' He looked her up and down slowly drawling, 'Virginal blondes or tempestuous whores.'

A real charmer, right? And he drawls a lot. The writer has him always drawling when he speaks or he's talking flatly. He's always looking at her mockingly.

So he follows her around the shops and refuses to leave her alone, eventually following her into what I assume the writer is describing as Boots. Lucy goes to the perfume counter and he follows. He picks up a tester and in front of everyone he spritzes her neck with it and tells her he wants to perfume all of her pulse points, and tonight she will go home smelling of him. Lucy rightly runs away. This time he doesn't follow.

But when she gets home, there's a parcel waiting for her. It's the perfume from Randal. She chucks it down the sink.

Lucy has a boyfriend. He's called Edward, and he's her father's accountant. She's known him since childhood and they're promised to marry each other. Edward is just as much of a prick as Randal. He tells her that her job is nothing and the best job in the world for her to do is to make him and her father dinner and she needs to stay in the kitchen and not worry her pretty little head about her father gambling and drinking them into destitution.

By this point Randal has already forcibly kissed Lucy on about four different occasions and each time is just more gross than the last. And each time her pulse goes so haywire this girl needs to get hooked up to an ECG.

Lucy's dad then gets an invitation to a thing called the Mallory ball. Apparently it's an exclusive society thing but no one has heard of it. Lucy is like, 'We can't afford dad!' But he's like, 'Don't worry, I'll get you a ballgown from Harrods.' This ballgown is more like something from a period drama than from Harrods. It's all hoop skirts and a busty number.

And guess what... Of COURSE Randal is the owner of the Marlborough casino and is the host of the Mallory ball! And he's there, all suave and with a scar that she says makes him look like a pirate, and encourages her dad to go off and get pissed so he can take her alone to his office where once again, you've guessed it, he forces himself on her. But this time his mum appears, thoroughly embarrasses him, and he has to take Lucy back to the ball.

Lucy's dad has driven to Kent for the ball and can't drive back because he's pissed so Randal insists that Lucy and her dad stay the night. He sorts out one of his mother's neglieges for her (I KNOW), which is a size too big and hangs off her body showing off her boobs. Lucy locks the door because she knows he'll only try to get in and sexually assault her YET AGAIN.

The next morning Randal knocks on the door and he's got a dress for her. It's a pink silk number that again BELONGS TO HIS MUM, and he tells Lucy how ravishing she is going to look in his MUM'S DRESS. Again the dress is too big and the straps fall of her shoulders. Then he practically forces Lucy back onto her bed and forcibly kisses her again until his housemaid knocks on the door.

At breakfast, Lucy's dad invites Randal to lunch later that day. Lucy hatches a plan to invite Edward too so Randal won't do anything bad. But Randal gets there first and follows her into the kitchen, where, you know the story by now, he forcibly kisses her AGAIN. He's only stopped by the knocking on the door of Edward.

Randal chats to Lucy's father and Edward follows Lucy into the kitchen. He can tell that she's kissed Randal and he wants to know wtf is going on. So he agrees to publicly announce the engagement, but only so Randal will stop stalking Lucy.

But it doesn't work! The next day Lucy finishes work and Randal's penis-extension car pulls up beside and he's like, 'Hey, I've just bought a horse, wanna come see?' He's called it Miss Lucy's Passion. So they go to his Newmarket home to see the horse. Then he takes her to his house where they chat before he chases her, demanding that he's finally going to bed her this time!! He literally chases her through his house, but she opens a door and it's a bedroom, and he backs her onto the bed, and the Benny Hill theme is going through my head.

And basically they tear their tops up, and he sucks her tits or whatever, Lucy wants Randal but then he stops and laughs at her and is like, 'I told you you couldn't resist me! Put your clothes back on, you whore!' Then he drives her home.

She goes to bed but then in the night she hears her father return home late and he looks like something has terrible has happened but he won't tell her what. Later that day Randal arrives and reveals to Lucy that not only is her father now bankrupt but he's in debt. She asks how he knows and it turns out that of coure Randal owns the bank her father uses!

Randal says he'll give Lucy's dad a job. Lucy is horrified by this because her dad has NEVER WORKED. Her dad agrees to take a job but that's not enough. So he doesn't get taken to bankruptcy court LUCY MUST MARRY RANDAL.

So Lucy agrees and they buy a ring, but then she has to tell Edward. She asks Edward why he didn't tell her about the state of her father's finances and he's like, 'You're a woman! You're too silly to know anything about money!' Which quite rightly pisses Lucy off. Then he notices the ring and Lucy tells him she must marry Randal because of this. And Edward is upset but he's also like 'WE MUST BE STRONG! WE MUST BE STRONG!' like a shit Brief Encounter or something, and then he runs away.

Randal thinks this is hilarious and then he and Lucy argue again. And then this is another genuine quote from the thing:

'You can take a horse to water,' he drawled softly. 'Or should I say - a whore.' Somehow she got her wrist free and slapped him again, harder. His teeth met and he jerked her hard against him. 'Don't you hit me again, you little bitch, or I'll prove what I'm saying by taking you up to bed immediately and giving you what you so obviously, desperately want!'

By this point I was genuinely longing for Marshall and the cement mixer accident. I was two-thirds through and I didn't know how much more of this I could take. But also I like to self inflict shitness on myself and purposely watch terrible things and read shit like this because I can't just leave it alone, I HAVE to finish it.

Three weeks later, Lucy marries Randal. At the wedding, he tells Lucy that Edward is actually a bastard. That he stole all of her father's money and that's why he has nothing and Edward has spent it on a flash car and a Park Lane flat. Lucy doesn't believe. She thinks she still loves Edward but she's getting more of the hots for Randal.

He takes her to Rome on the honeymoon where all they do for the first few days all they do is bang. Which Lucy loves, but hates. But then she loves banging so much she realises she's in love. But they argue all the time. He says Lucy is his wife but he always wants her to be his mistress. She keeps saying she hates him, and when they go out for gelato they bump into one of his old flames, Apollonia.

Apollonia is curvy and her dress can barely contain her rocking tits. She flirts with Randal and invites them to a party. Lucy accepts to prove to Randal that she doesn't care about him.

So at Apollonia's party, Randal goes off with her to dance. It's like Danny and Cha Cha, but not as hot. So Lucy starts talking to a American-Italian film director called Michael Salvatore and he's like, 'Your husband is being cad, lets get some air.' So he takes her outside. He tells her that a blonde actress has pulled out of his latest film and she would be perfect for it. He then kisses Lucy on the lips. Randal comes out just in time and decks Michael and drags Lucy away.

They come home and there is this cracking little paragraph

By the time they flew back to London, Lucy was a sunblushed beauty with tousled blonde hair, a love-bruised mouth, and a penchant for off-the-shoulder clothes.

Back in London, Lucy decides she's going to secretly visit Edward while Randal is in Newmarket. She doesn't believe what Randal has told her about the embezzlement, but then Edward lets her into his flat. They argue. She can't believe what he did to her dad. She storms away and when she's outside Randal is there waiting with his penis-extension car to take her home.

They argue. He doesn't come to bed. It's the first time they haven't shagged since Rome and. Lucy is so sad about this she genuinely contemplates throwing herself off the bedroom balcony at Mallory. When he does come to bed, he stinks of whiskey. Randal is convinced that Lucy still loves Edward. He's not meant to be bothered seeing as he only married her for sex and to always call her a bitch or a whore (he does this frequently, and she constantly wants to slap him)

At some point they argue and he literally physically forces himself onto her to have sex and my jaw was genuinely dropped for the fuck knows how many time.

The next day she goes to London again to tell her dad the truth about Edward. Edward turns up. They argue. Her dad hits him and Edward falls into Lucy's arms. Randal turns up. He shouts DON'T TOUCH MY WIFE and hits Edward. And Edward was all 'SO IT WAS YOU WHO GRASSED ME UP TO THE INLAND REVENUE' and runs away.

At home that night, Lucy confesses that she told her father everything because she wanted to stop protecting Edward because she no longer loves him but loves Randal. Randal confesses his love back. And then they bang again. The end.

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