#The writing is on the fucking wall people

[qqueenofhades]

Gotta say, it's heartening to see just how terrible a time these GOP chucklefucks are having. This administration and its cronies are even MORE disastrously incompetent than last time, and that's saying something. Yeah, the next several years are still gonna suck, but at least we can laugh at these shit-for-brains assholes continuing to run head-first into the brick wall of their own incompetence. And perhaps even prevent the worst outcomes.

Honestly, the biggest fear for everyone was that giving the fascists four more years to plan and actually write down all of Project 2025 would mean that they were focused, competent, stone cold driven, ready to actually work to change things for real, and otherwise buckle down and be -- well, if not something approaching competent, at least effective. Or the fear that the American public, being fickle and underinformed at the best of times, would just sit back and let them do it. Because, yknow. Half this godforsaken country did just somehow shrug and vote for the orange monster again, so.

But that said, as I pointed out earlier today, it IS fucking heartening to see that they're the same mean, stupid, chaotic shitbags as ever, they really decided to go for the shock-and-awe LOL WATCH US BLOW EVERYTHING UP!!! approach that has gotten them nothing except turbo-sued and enraged the entire country, they basically united the entire world against Russia and for Ukraine in literally ten minutes yesterday (hope you enjoyed that little clown show, Vladimir!) and furthermore, nobody is afraid of them, which is death to fascists. I often point out that fascists desperately want people to be afraid of them and think they're cool, competent, unstoppable, and suave. They also especially, incredibly, desperately hate being laughed at and mocked. They can't stand it.

As such, the fact that they're just the same as ever except worse, and are not magically more competent (in fact, much worse) and are their own worst enemies, does in fact bode well for our ultimate ability to get through this. They will break shit, they will needlessly alienate friends and allies, they will torment every vulnerable group they can just to be dicks, and all of this was just so avoidable... but. Nobody likes them for it, even the people who deluded themselves into voting for them. They're scared little chickenshits who are having a bad bad time that will only get worse, especially if they actually try to cut Social Security and Medicaid, which is basically the death knell of stupid things to do in American politics. Because they just can't help themselves, but this is really, REALLY not going to work out well for them. It just won't.

As such, when they're already running from the heat ONE MONTH into the Glorious Eternal Rule of King Donald, like the little pissbabies they are, it tells me that there is literally no way they're gonna manage four years of this. They just aren't (and Deo volente Trump will finally have an aneurysm and die facedown in a Big Mac before 2028). To say the least, the 2026 midterms are gonna be interesting, especially if the GOP keeps digging their own grave, and yes.

As I keep saying: things are bad. They will get worse. But these miserable jabronies are just as pathetic and beatable as they have ever been, they did not suddenly get magically competent at being pointlessly evil, the country is showing out with a spirited will to make them suffer immensely for every braindead numbnuts piece of Nazi performative cruelty they attempt and often fail, and in these dark times, every day that we can fight back matters a lot. It’s working and we have gotta keep doing it. Idk about you, but I feel energized by seeing it. So yeah, say it with me:

STAY! STRONG! AND! KEEP! THEM! SCARED!

The end.

[khorneschosen]

Typically the left wing of this country. However I do like keeping things broad enough to say that the you can refer to whoever it hits. If you read this and think this applies to you then it definitely does.

I will clarify my meaning however. And expand on it because I usually write a lot of these and don't expect much attention for them.

The left wing has always found it ideal that it's opposition would not be conservatives or libertarians because these typically operate with an entirely different framework of philosophy. And that means there is a meaningful choice between you and them.

However if you notice in Europe there is the opposite trend where people are asked to choose between national socialism and socialism. If you want a clearer example of this is the European politics particularly those in the western sphere.

It's why right now many of the more libertarian or at least alternative parties are gaining in traction in the Western European countries.

For example the Conservative party of the UK has always been a party of anti-capitalism since it's inception. Resulting in a originally feudalesque approach to politics which is not necessarily fascistic but it's differentiation is rather limited in its approach to problems. And it does not have the radical ideology which demands complete loyalty to the state.

This is the ideal state for left-wingers and socialist of all stripes that their opposition necessarily concedes to the principle behind what they proposed to do.

Understand the ultimate ideal behind socialism in this country and abroad is that you cannot demolish the Master's house with the master's tools in other words you have to overthrow the entire system in order to bring about the change you want thus it is not necessarily a boiled frog approach but you must actually dismantle the system violently and thus having an opposition who would validate your violent approach to politics is necessarily something you would need it order to engage in your Utopia building.

Thus as I pointed out from a political science perspective socialists need Nazis in order to bring about socialism.

However in America fascism is not a popular philosophy. Because necessarily in order for fascism to take hold Americans would have to a either start becoming racist which they are unlikely to do considering their outgroup preference or at least the whites out group preference is higher than its own in group preference so that's not happening.

Two and two after a decades of having even a slightly more authoritarian government since world war II the result has been a complete and total hatred of the federal government thus the state worshiping necessary for fascism cannot be maintained either. Americans made love their country but that does not extend to their government.

What's more it's kind of goes against the framework that has been defining American politics which is been the 2008 economic crisis and recession. In which the principled new right and new left were defined by occupy Wall Street and the tea party. Libertarianism and socialism.

In short fascism is not possible here and this is not even getting into the sheer amount of political parties and political interests that would not want this. If you look at the special interest groups not a singular fucking one of them actually once a authoritarian system because I will tell you blatantly that means that they're going to have to pay a lot more for lobbying rather than less.

However it is popular with a small subsection of Americans who don't realize that that is exactly what they're doing. And typically it's those who are trying to bring about the Chinese model in America. Which is often times you are very young and very naive and honestly very stupid American left-wing socialists. The differentiation between them both philosophically and just in policy is becoming weaker by the day. Though they typically don't do the predominant ethnicity sort of thing even though they do have their preferred ethnicity which they consider to be non-white. Particular focus with black because that is the ethnic group which scores highest in their privilege hierarchy. And when you necessarily start looking at what is the concept of power plus privilege and racism you start seeing a philosophy which is very close to David Duke's racial realism.

In short the differentiation between you guys and the Nazis is becoming a lot less day by day and I don't think you guys understand that or care to fight it because again the end of socialism being the creation of this utopia is an ultimate good and the ends justify all the means.

And finally for the part where I said we do not recognize your observations anymore it is mainly due to the amount of things that you have called fascistic or Nazis in the past decades. For example I was called a Nazi for bringing up the issue I had in my local community that being the hog from the feral hog problem the one that causes billions of dollars in damages in my state. Or the state next door which has one of the highest hog populations in the United States. One wonders if they even have people there or if the hogs finally started walking upright like Orwell said. Jokes aside Napoleon.

The ultimate point here is that we no longer recognize your ability to be one truthful and to actually be able to tell what is and isn't fascistic.

For one your movement has fascist as I pointed out and two the baseless accusations that have gone on for so long that you've ultimately destroyed the meaning behind that word and it has semiotically meant opposer.

Three the left wing approach to what is fascism historically and Nazism historically have been discredited because they are not accurate depictions of fascism or Nazism. It is a model which cannot be used to predict anything about what they did during the war or the philosophy of it or their actions during it what's more it is in conflict with how those people at the time describe themselves. And say what you will about subversive philosophies being one of yourself you necessarily know that they have to at some point tell you something about the ideology you are supporting You have to have a reason for it Free association and clever rhetoric will not actually get you supreme power anymore than any other subversive ideology.

In closing I'm glad that you allowed me to answer both your question and to clarify my own statement in greater detail.

An important PSA to remember!

[ID in Alt]

[16ferrari]

DOUBLE TROUBLE | LN4

୨୧‎ lando Norris x fem!reader

୨୧‎ summary: lando knows how to push your limits.

୨୧‎ warnings: jealousy, tension, kinda (small kinda) sub!lando, switch!reader, public sexual activity. edited but probably some missed errors

୨୧ a/n; I haven’t written anything in so long, so I’m sorry if this is shit. I’m trying to get back into writing

Lando knew you were possessive about certain things that were yours, and him, well he was the prime example of that. And he fucking loved that.

He knew the correct way to get under your skin and push those buttons. He knew the correct way to use your possessiveness to get you act crazy enough to get exactly what he wanted from you.

Attention and focus on him

He grabbed the closest girl that was near him and pulled her into him. He touched every inch of her, but kept his hands at a safe distance from where she clearly wanted him the most. He kept his gaze on you from across the bar. A stupid smirk laid on his lips as he saw just how red you’d gotten even from the quite distance you both shared.

He moved his hands down her back, touching her hot and sweaty skins. He cringed at the feel, but continued to play the game. She turned around and placed her hands on his shoulders and pulled him in closer, so close he could smell the strong scent of alcohol and cigarettes.

“Wanna get out of here” her voice was practically a moan as she tried to lean forward and bite his neck. He pushed her away once he saw you stand up straight from the bar. He chuckled and walked away from the dance floor, making a beeline to you.

“What’s wrong love?. you look a bit flushed” he placed the back of his hand against your forehead feeling just how warm you’d gotten. “You’re very warm, you feeling sick” he teasingly asked, ordering a drink from the bar.

“I hate you” you muttered under your breath, body relaxing after seeing the girl who was still waiting for him to return to her, walk away after she saw him return to you.

“She wanted to fuck you, you know right’’ you took the shot he’d ordered and drank it.

“Of course i knew, wanted to see you break into pieces before you got to where you are now’’

You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, honey. You’re in huge trouble” he sucked in a deep breath. his face turning more redder than it was before. You ran your fingers up and down his leg, chuckling when you saw his chest start heaving fast.

“You know I hate when you do shit like this lando” you nibbled on his ear, hand disappearing underneath his white dress shirt he wore. He shuddered as he felt your hand trail down his abs.

“Oh, Fuck, I’m sorry” he groaned. His hand grabbing onto your back, pulling you more into him. “Can we leave now” he begged, pants becoming so uncomfortablely tight he wanted them off him.

You laughed and pulled away from him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Nope, you’re gonna feel my suffering honey.’’ You left him at the bar by himself, walking into the crowd of people and grabbed the nearest guy. You turned around and backed into him, dancing to the beat. You let him rub his dirty and disgusting hands all over your body.

Lando felt his heart beat speed up with anticipation and desperation. You continued dancing with the unknown, swinging your hips everywhere and even unbuttoned his shirt so you could feel his abs.

You danced for what felt like forever, until you felt a hand pulling you away from the crowd in a rush.

“we’re leaving’’ you smiled behind his back as he led you outside. His voice was heavy and breathy.

“What’s wrong, did something happen that you didn’t like’’ you jokingly pouted at him, “poor you”

He looked around before he pushed you into the dark alley. Before anything could fall from your lips, he pushed you up against the wall. Lips crashing onto yours roughly.

He pushed your dress up your thigh as he wrapped your leg around his waist. He broke the kiss to place kisses down your jaw to your neck. You moaned throwing your head back against the brick wall as you felt his teeth sink into your neck.

“m’ so sorry” his hand disappeared underneath your dress. Fingertips messing with the black panties you wore. “Do you forgive me, love”

“Debating on whether I should- fuck” you felt him push aside your panties, “what you pulled tonight” he rubbed light circles on your clit.

“Will never happen again, I’m sorry” he spoke against your lips. Biting onto them, causing you to whine in pain. “will you do that again” you laughed, firmly grabbing onto his hair while pushing him down to his knees.

“Baby, of course not. But you bought this onto yourself, now-“ you threw your leg over his shoulder, and tugged up your dress even more as he could settle between your legs.

“You will make it up to me, right” you softly ceased his face.

“Yes ma’am”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

.（ℱ） LEAVE ME, RUIN ME ?!

✩ tw : nsfw/smut, creampie (vaginal), angst, no aftercare, no fluff, mentions of sexual assault (none happens dw), Possessive mydei, rough mydei, fem!reader, chocking, hair pulling & others. [MDNI]

✩ sum : As Mydei prepares to leave for a dangerous mission, he and the reader share a desperate, punishing night together, knowing it might be their last. Fueled by fear and unspoken love, he takes you with a raw intensity, marking you as his even as he’s forced to walk away. Left alone in the aftermath, your left to grapple with the unbearable weight of his absence, fearing he may never return.

✩ note : short fic since i’m not good at writing angst. not proofread.

The chamber felt suffocating. The air was thick with candle smoke and the scent of something burning, but nothing smelled stronger than Mydei’s desperation. His fingers curled into his palms, his golden eyes stormy as he stood in front of you, his breath unsteady. He was leaving—heading straight into Amphoreus on a mission that could very well be his end.

And there was nothing you could do to stop him.

“You know what they’ll do to you if they catch you,” you said, your voice sharp, your heart slamming against your ribs. “You’ve seen what they do to traitors. To people who go against them.”

You swallowed hard. “To me.”

Mydei flinched. His jaw clenched, his breath hitching. Of course, he knew. You had been captured once before—torn away from him, left in the hands of those monsters. They hadn’t broken you, but the memories of what almost happened never left. You had told Mydei everything, and he had listened. Had held you so tightly you thought he’d break you apart just to put you back together.

But now, he was choosing to walk right into their hands.

“You think I don’t know that?” he rasped. “You think I don’t see their faces every time I close my fucking eyes? You think I don’t remember what they did to you? What they almost did?”

His hands were shaking as he reached for you, gripping your shoulders like he was trying to steady himself.

“I won’t let them take me,” he swore, voice raw. “I won’t let them take me the way they took you.”

“Then don’t fucking go! Stop spitting out random bullshit!”

The words ripped from your throat, but you already knew they were useless. Mydei had made up his mind long before this conversation started.

And it broke you.

He must have seen it—the way your body slumped against the wall, the fight leaving your limbs. Because something inside him snapped.

He surged forward, his lips crashing into yours, desperate and bruising. His hands moved to your wrists, pinning them against the cold stone wall, pressing his body flush against yours as if he could carve himself into you, leave his mark before he disappeared into the abyss.

“Tell me you hate me,” he whispered against your lips, his breath ragged. "Tell me I disgust you."

You stared at him, horrified. “What?”

His grip tightened, his forehead pressing against yours. "If you say it, maybe it’ll be easier to leave." His voice cracked on the last word, his entire body trembling. “Say it.”

Your throat closed up.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you whispered. “And a coward.”

A broken sound slipped from his throat.

Then, suddenly, he was tearing your clothes from your body, his hands rough as they grabbed at your tits, squeezing, marking. His mouth latched onto your throat, biting hard enough to leave bruises, his fingers moving between your legs, dragging through your wetness.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost in disbelief. “Even when you hate me?”

“I never said I hate you,” you bit out.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you, forcing you to wrap around him. He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, but he didn’t push in.

Not yet.

He let his fingers slide over your slit again, teasing your clit, spreading your wetness.

“I should’ve fucked you like this sooner," he whispered. “I should’ve ruined you long before now.”

“Then do it,” you spat. “Before you run away again.”

Something dark flickered across his expression, and then—he slammed into you.

The stretch burned, but you took him all at once, your back arching, your nails clawing at his arms. He was relentless, thrusting deep and fast, his grip bruising, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your ear.

He needed this.

Needed to feel you, needed to brand himself into your skin before he walked to his own execution.

He grabbed your throat, squeezing just enough to make you lightheaded, his cock driving deeper, hitting that spot that made your toes curl. His pace grew frantic, each thrust rougher, more desperate.

“You’re mine,” he rasped. “Even if I die, you’ll still be mine.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

His grip tightened on your throat, his other hand shoving between your legs, rubbing your clit in fast, messy circles.

“Cum for me, baby,” he ordered. “Now.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Pleasure tore through you, your walls clamping down around him, milking his cock as you came undone.

Mydei let out a broken moan, his hips stuttering as he buried himself inside you, filling you with his release, his breath shuddering. His grip on your throat loosened. His entire body trembled.

For a moment, he just held you.

Then, his arms tightened around you—so tight it hurt. His face buried in your neck, and when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"I don’t want to go," he admitted. “I don’t want to fucking leave you.”

Your hands came up, gripping his arms. “Then stay.”

But you both knew he wouldn’t.

And before you could say anything else, he was gone.

The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the echo of his absence and the suffocating scent of sweat and sex in the air. Your legs trembled as you slid down the cold stone wall, cum dripping between your thighs, your body still aching from the way he had taken you—desperate, punishing, like he could fuck the pain away.

But he was gone.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your fingers clutching at nothing. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry. That you wouldn’t be weak. That you wouldn’t let his absence carve its way into your ribs and settle there like a festering wound.

And yet—

A choked sob slipped past your lips, and then another, and before you could stop yourself, you were breaking.

Mydei had held you like you were his lifeline, had kissed you like he was trying to breathe through you, had fucked you like he was already mourning what he was about to lose.

And now?

Now, he was walking straight into hell.

You curled your arms around yourself, body wracked with silent, shaking cries. You could still feel him—his bruising grip, the way his fingers had tangled in your hair, the possessive, desperate way he had growled mine over and over again.

It wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Because if he didn’t come back—if he didn’t survive—then you’d be left with nothing but the memory of his touch, the ghost of his body pressed against yours, the taste of his lips lingering on your tongue.

You forced yourself to stand, your legs weak, your body unsteady. The sheets on the bed were still a mess, the scent of him clinging to them, and for a moment, you considered crawling beneath them, burying yourself in what little remained of him.

But you knew better.

You knew that if you let yourself fall into that grief now, you would never crawl back out.

So instead, you cleaned yourself up, wiped the remnants of him from your thighs, and dressed. Every movement was mechanical, your hands shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to pretend you weren’t still trembling.

The outside was quiet.

Too quiet.

You walked through the dimly lit corridors, your mind a mess of fragmented thoughts, of whispered prayers you refused to let yourself believe in.

He’s coming back.

He has to.

And yet, deep in your chest, you felt it—something cracking, something breaking, something warning you that this time, hope might not be enough.

Bonus : he doesn’t come or cum back, he’s stuck outside of okhema. Oh, also, you get pregnant and he doesn’t know that. ❤︎︎

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[dearru]

do u guys know that one song by doja cat that goes “like fortnite ima need ur skin.” that’s what inspired this. hope u enjoy. | mlist

imagine you, an aspiring singer, starting to date the wildly influential streamer, kodzuken. you two are the definition of a picture perfect couple, and you start to make lots of content together. as a result, your career begins to take off, and kenma’s content grows in popularity,

everything’s great— until it isn’t. the relationship ends up crashing and burning in an embarrassingly public breakup.

people are devastated. video essays are made. diehard fans even claim the split is the equivalent of “parents divorcing.”

it’s a whole ordeal.

but as time passes, the wounds heal. and in true internet fashion, it becomes old news. some people still whisper about how they believe you two are soulmates, but for the most part, kenma’s chat and your comment section don’t get flooded with invasive questions about whether you two will get back together anymore.

fast forward to two years or so after the breakup, you and kenma end up growing in your respective careers. his several business ventures have grown exponentially, and you’re now selling out stadiums.

kenma doesn’t stream as much as he used to when you two were together, but he chalks it up to having to juggle so many different commitments now. fans speculate as to whether or not that’s the true reason, but as a collective, they agree that they’ll take whatever content they can get from the elusive creator.

despite not streaming as frequently, kenma still likes to indulge his audience every once in a while by hopping online. normally, he likes to decide what to play, but every once in a while, he’ll let chat decide.

tonight is one of those nights.

on a whim, he gives in to requests for him to boot up fortnite— an old favorite of his— for the first time in months.

big mistake.

the second he opens the once beloved game, he gets jumpscared by something that even his worst nightmares couldn’t have fathomed.

you.

everywhere.

to his horror, and the chat’s delight, he finds that you’ve become the poster child for fortnite’s newest campaign. your face is on the menu screen, banners of you flash in bright colors, and you’re plastered everywhere in the item shop.

they say men are constantly haunted by the ghost of their first love, and in a cruel twist of fate, it’s a saying that has become ironically true for kenma as he realizes that epic games has made you into a fucking skin.

he debates the consequences of throwing his pc into a wall, but his screen flashes with an overly excitable chat faster than he can make a decision. old fans are freaking out, new gen fans are wondering what all the fuss is about, and someone donates just to type “YOU’RE FUCKED.”

kenma has half the mind to laugh as the notification illuminates his face because he knows the donor is right.

he’s not an idiot. he knows that you’re popular now, but to be so famous that you have your own skin? he’s in absolute disbelief. there’s no way the universe hates him this much. it’s bad enough that you’re on every headline and radio station. now you’re in his favorite video game?!?!

he is so unbelievably, irrevocably fucked.

—a/n: i think that kenma’s viewers are evil and they all band together and emote on kenma with ur skin whenever they see him online.

—a/n #2: has anyone written abt this concept before. pls lmk. i would love to read it bc i giggled so hard when the thought popped in my head HAHAHA.

—a/n #3: guys i don’t play fortnite, watch streamers, or write for kenma at all so pls don’t hate on me ok thx love u

[crowsofdarkness]

Steve has a special request for his birthday.

18+ CW's below the cut(public sex, slight knife play, oral with female receiving, spanking, unprotected pinv, use of "sir", reader is bound.)

Steve only wanted one thing for his birthday. Me, on my knees, in the middle of the woods behind the Avengers Compound. Everyone thought he was Mr. Shy Guy; quiet and reserved. 

But I knew different. I knew the darkness that lived inside of Steve. Which is why we were here outside in the woods, while I was on my hands and knees naked for him and my arms were bound behind my back. Steve loomed in his full Captain America suit. 

His hands held my hips with a bruising force, halting me up slightly so my pussy was directly in line with those luscious lips. Since my hands were bound behind my back, my body folded awkwardly but I dared not to complain.

“So pretty and wet, all for me,” Steve mused with a flick of his tongue over my clit. 

“Oh god,” I moaned, pressing my pussy closer to his mouth. 

I needed more of him. Desperately. 

A swift smack to my ass echoed in the woods causing me to cry out. “No god here, Doll. Just you and me.”

All at once, his mouth devoured my pussy, tongue fucking me for a few beats before his teeth grazed over the overly sensitive bud of my clit. He’d been working me up since the second we stepped foot in the woods, so all it took was his face between my legs for a few seconds before my release rushed out of me with a howl of euphoria. I cried out while writing against his face, making his grip on my hips tighten as he licked and sucked me through my orgasm. 

“I fucking love the way you taste,” a gentle kiss to my over stimulated clit. 

I was breathless, ready to fall into a heap in the ground, but Steve had other plans. 

“Are you ready for my cock now, doll?” 

All I could do was nod which didn’t seem to please him because he landed another smack to my ass. 

“Try that again,” he snarled. 

Oh, right. 

“Yes sir,” I squeaked out. 

“Good fucking girl,” he crooned before sinking himself deep inside of me. 

It was an adjustment to have him fit in between my walls. His cock was much larger and it was always an adjustment so he had to pull himself out before sinking in slowly a few times until I was fully open for him. 

“You take my cock so well, doll. Like you were made for me,” he said while snapping his hips against my ass. 

The only noises that lingered in the air of the woods was our shared panting, skin on skin, and me writing in the crunchy leaves. Every time Steve would piston his cock into me, my body would shift up half an inch. He let out a low growl and wrapped an arm around my midsection. He hoisted us up so he was kneeling and I was speared open on his cock. The new angle made stars dance in the edge of my vision and I rested my head against his shoulder. I felt the rough material of his suit scratch against the bareness of my back as he lifted me up and down on him. 

“I love the way you fuck,” Steve sank he teeth into my neck and I cried out. 

Suddenly, a cold bite of metal was pressed against the spot he bit down and I froze in his grasp.

The knife he brought, the one we frequently used during sex, was pressed against my neck.

“I need you to be quiet. I can’t have people hearing how pretty you sound,” he grunted when his cock swelled inside of me. 

He was close. 

With the knife pressed into my throat, I rolled my hips against him, trying to bring him closer to the edge because I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. The second he slipped himself inside of me, my second orgasm was building. I was so far gone in the aura of him, desperate for that release, I hadn’t realized the tip of the blade pressed a bit too hard into my skin, drawing the smallest of blood. 

Steve changed our position again, once more being face down on the ground as his entire body laid against mine, his pace almost ruthless and erratic. A curse fell from his lips and then something soft brushed against my back. 

“I’m going to fill up that pretty little cunt, doll.” 

I lifted my head to try and get a peek at him, wanting to taste those lips I loved so much, but Steve let out a noise of disappointment and shoved my face into the ground, causing me to take in a mouth of dirt. 

But I didn’t care because my second orgasm of the night ripped me in half when the head of his cock hit that spot which made my vision blur. He pumped himself a few more times until his cock twitched just as he let out a low whine, coating the inside of my walls. 

“Best. Birthday. Ever,” his voice was muffled by my hair as he buried his face into it. 

[scribesynnox]

Bored

Kef's post here, specifically the art at the end, is haunting me. It is fucking with me bad. I wouldn't wish boredom and lack of mental stimulus on my worst enemies, and here Jazz is. Stuck and trapped.

Aimless.

So I decided to write a little something because OOF. Do you know what it's like to be bored? Constantly? Because I do and it SUCKS.

For @keferon's apocalyptic ponyo au.

There’s nothing to do.

This isn’t anything unusual. Jazz regularly finds himself bored out of his mind every day. He’s exhausted every avenue of entertainment he can and then some. He already knows this human dialect, English, so he can’t entertain himself trying to puzzle out words and letters. The people at this aquarium haven’t given him any toys to mess around with either. It’s always a toss up whether the aquariums he ends up at give him toys or not. He prefers it when they do. It’s demeaning sure, but what isn’t in his situation? At least with a beach ball, he could do SOMETHING. It’s night and usually, Jazz would escape his tank by now to explore the building, but the aquarium was setting up some new policy, something about frequent tank escapes and trying to prevent them. It’s not from Jazz’s end, he’s too good at this by now to get caught, but the octopi weren’t exactly being subtle when they went to throw rotten clams at their caretakers. What this means for Jazz though, is that the aquarium is busy tonight, and there’s too many humans around for Jazz to risk it.

What it means is that there is nothing to do, and Jazz is bored.

Bored bored bored, he is so BORED, there is nothing to DO!!

He bursts into an agitated swim, circling circling and circling, trying to burn off the restless energy, or maybe to get dizzy just to feel something, anything, but he’s done this too many times, it’ll take more than that to get him dizzy. The apathy and numbed anger quickly comes back, stealing his energy and hollowing him out. He hangs in the water, bored.

There is nothing to do.

More notes on being Bored!:

when you spend all day every day almost always always always BORED, you start creating your own entertainment

Jazz zoning out a LOT because there just simply isn't anything for him to do. Sure there's the training and there's the performances and the checkups and the people watching, but they can only take away the boredom for so long.

Oh! By the way, off tangent, but I finally thought up of a reason for why Jazz hasn't tried talking to the humans in an attempt to get them to realize that he's sentient and that he has a home and he wants to be free. Or to get them to make his tank more, you know, hospitable. Or at the very least not claw at the walls inducing.

Uh, simple reason: he physically can't. Like, merfolk just Do Not have the vocal cords to pronounce human speech. Humans don't have the vocal cords to copy a lot of noises! We can do a lot, sure, but we can't do everything! I say it's the same for merfolk! They may look like humans, but humans look a lot like mers too, and so I say: while both of them can learn the other's language, they're gonna have a difficult time actually speaking it.

so like, Jazz DOES try to talk to the humans, tries to get them to realize that he's a person and he just wants to go home, please please PLEASE-!

but he is clumsy with human speech and they just think he's like a clever parrot. He has intelligence, sure, but that's it. They think his cries are because he misses his home and his pod, sure, but they also think he's better off in captivity since he is so small and alone. They know better. Poor little orca, so scared and hurt. But they know better. It's for his own good. It's okay because it's for his own good.

ANYWAYS I'm digressing, back to boredom notes.

Jazz loses time a lot. There's just.. so little for him to do. And so little reason to do it. He tries to keep himself busy but sometimes he's just.. tired.

He swims because he's bored of staying still, and then he stays still because he's bored of swimming.

haha, wait, oof, ya boi probably has depression honestly.

He probably gets moments of mania too. You know, ACTUALLY clawing at the walls, throwing himself against the tank because he hates hates HATES how small and cramped it is! How it's only big enough for him to swim in small circles! HE HATES IT

The buzzing in his skin, the restlessness, the need for something, ANYTHING, to make him think, to make him FEEL. He’s going to claw at the walls, this is torture.

The reason why Jazz knows so many human languages isn't just because he was passed around a lot and was exposed to them, it's because he was actively trying to learn them. At first, it was to try and tell someone that he just wants to go home, but when it became clear it wouldn't work, he still kept learning anyways because that way he could overhear conversations, read information from maps and leftover textbooks/papers, and try to escape on his own. Can't escape from the aquarium if he just gets immediately lost once he's outside. (don't think about how he wouldn't be able to escape even if he can read and listen. That path leads to numbness and Jazz has had enough numbness, he needs to focus.)

There's also just.. nothing else for him to do. And if he wants to stave off the boredom and Empty Hollow Fog, then he has to do something.

Honestly, when Jazz and Prowl escape, Jazz is going to have one HELL of an adjustment period outside of just learning mer culture and the ocean world. Going from being bored every day to NEW EXCITING DIFFERENT CHANGES is going to be exhausting. Like, yes, it's all very new and very exciting, and Jazz is going to be a little too preoccupied with staying alive and being terrified to really feel the crash, but man oh man, when there is a lull in all of this? This mer going to crash a LOT.

He's going to have to take a lot of breaks, not just because his tail is weak and undeveloped, but also because he's never had So Much happening All The Time before. It's a lot to adjust to!

(Not that Jazz will let himself have those breaks because uh oh, he's kinda lowkey ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED that Prowl will leave him behind if he can't keep up and Jazz is tired, but he can not go back to being alone.)

Jazz has so many made up games and tricks and stories and music and and and in his head. Because, and I can't stress this enough, there is nothing else for him to do! And when there is nothing for you to do, you start making shit up because the only other alternative is to zone out and lose time, or hit something. And Jazz gets bored of zoning out too, and the last time he hit something, they restrained him and sedated him, so uh. No. No more of that.

Jazz spent a lot of time tinkering with the locks on his tank and practicing moving himself on dry land. He's gotten good at escaping, and very good at doing neat tricks, like doing pull ups to haul himself up the stairs by using their railings, or waddling over the itchy carpet by lifting his tail in the air and keeping it there, or doing a semi cartwheel where he flips himself head over tails by using his tail to help himself roll over (okay that last one is just for fun but come on, he's allowed to have fun.)

Sometimes, when he gets too good at sneaking around, sneaks around while giving himself a handicap just to give himself a challenge. Is it a good idea? Probably not. But he's so bored.

He's gotten some close calls, but he is now very good at sneaking around.

Jazz watches people, just like they watch him, and makes up stories for them. The lady with the screaming toddler is actually secretly a spy, and the child is their cover story! But the spy lady is regretting everything in her life now. She can hack into any computer ever, but she can not hack a child and tell them to behave. The man lingering by the penguins is staring at them because he's thinking about a lover who was lost at sea! The kid popping bubblegum in the corner has parents who are going through a very messy and very dramatic divorce, and they came to the aquarium to escape the fighting. The lady in the giant hat is having a secret affair!

He is so bored.

Jazz also observes, and notices people. Notices their behavior, their motives, their patterns. The caretaker with the Tuesday shift get nervous with loud sudden movements, so Jazz is careful to be small and gentle when it's his turn to feed him. Because if he is small and gentle, then the Tuesday Caretaker will give him a small smile back and sometimes, he'll spend a little extra time talking to him while feeding him, telling him about his classes or about whatever game he's playing for the week. The teenager regular, who must be one of the staff's kids to be able to come so often, loves it when he puts on a little show, playing up his cuteness, and acting playful. She stays longer when he does so, and that means that she stays long enough to meet with one of the cleaning staff members that she's friends with. THIS leads to them greeting each other, and the janitor leaving his cleaning cart unattended, and if Jazz is verrrrry careful, he can snatch one of the chemicals from the cart before the janitor notices. The night guard on Fridays is lazy and always leaves his shift a little early than he should, which means Jazz has less time to get back to his tank on those days.

Jazz notices it all.

There's little else he can do BUT observe.

Jazz probably fidgets and stims a lot too. Idle tapping of his fingers, splashing his tail into the water absentmindedly, humming notes to made up music, or snatches of songs he's memorized, making nonsense noises to himself, tearing up bits of his environment, like peeling paint or crumbling plastic rock.

He tries to stave off the Empty and the Fog, he DOES, but it doesn't always work. Some days, the Fog wins and he just.. floats. Listlessly. Bored. He's so sick of it all, and he's so tired.

He's heard about depression from the college interns and he's pretty sure that's what he has. Lack of stimulation, isolated, and bored bored BORED. Plus, there's that small deal with him being FUCKING TRAPPED AND HELPLESS TO THE WHIMS OF A PEOPLE WHO DON'T SEE HIM AS A PERSON. So you know. He's probably depressed. The Empty is probably the depression. Yippee.

He just wants to go home.

please.

[straows]

You loved him. But he threw it away.

Tw: I cried writing this, Angst angst and more angst, Cheating, Break up, Alcohol, Betrayal, short blurb, bad living situations/financial problems mentioned.

Song: crawling back to you - hozier cover.

You adored him. Everything about him. Your eyes were so full of love when you looked at him. Always that some, head over heels, puppy love, doe-eyed look. You gave him everything.

Gojo looked down at you, and you were just staring at him, admiring him, adoring him. He was your everything.

“Something on my face?” He’d smile, that cute little grin on his lips that you adored.

“You’re so perfect.” You’d whisper so softly it would take Gojo’s breath away. That look of love had his heart skipping a beat and his knees growing weak.

You two were at a party. You were dressed in a cute little outfit, and had been sipping on the same beer all night. Gojo however was about four shots deep. He was definitely more than tipsy.

But he’d always return to you, giggling like a love sick fool, wrapping his arms around you like you were his life line.

However, tonight was different.

You couldn’t find him.

Where was he?

You’d pour your drink out and throw it away, before asking around for him.

You started from the front of the house, all the way to the back.

“Have you seen my boyfriend? Gojo?” You would gently tap on people’s shoulders. Feeling an uneasy feeling settle in the pit of your stomach the longer you couldn’t find him.

You finally stopped asking around and just began opening doors. The bathroom? Had two strangers making out. A bedroom? Someone was throwing up all over the duvet.

However, it wasn’t until you made it to the last door. Without hesitation, you opened it. But your heart shattered the moment your eyes landed on the bed.

Gojo had some stranger riding him.

That wasn’t even the worst part, because when he looked over at you, it was like he didn’t recognize you. His eyes were so fogged by lust and alcohol, that he thought you were some stranger.

“We’re kinda busy. Unless you wanted to join? You have a nice enough body.” He’d wink at you, before turning his attention back to the woman riding him.

Tears were rolling down your face before you could stop them. Your breath was stuttered. Throat tight and mouth dry.

Slowly, stiffly turning away, you began to walk out of that house. Step by step, your heart breaking.

You loved him. You loved him so much it hurt. So much so that you never even imagined that he could do this. You loved him so hard that his actions left your heart cracked and in ruin.

You walked home that night. Feet sore and cracked, bleeding a bit around the heel from how far you walked.

But when you made it home, you just sat down and stared at the wall. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t. You were in denial. But what followed denial was a sadness you weren’t ready for. It was the kind of sadness that left you empty.

White lashes fluttered open and groan heaved past his lips. Gojo sat up slowly, holding his head. “Fuck I’m hung over… baby?” Feeling to his left, he felt his hand touch someone. But when he looked over, it wasn’t you. It was some stranger.

He inhaled sharply and immediately shot out of bed. Tripping over his feet as he got dressed. He’d never moved so fast in his life.

Scrambling out the door, he called an uber. And when the car parked, he rushed into your shared home.

He saw you on the couch, still awake. Your eyes were red and your face was puffy, you looked exhausted but your face was empty.

But when you looked at him, he crumbled.

Your look of love and complete and utter adoration, was gone. Replaced by something that knocked the air from his chest and had him swallowing thickly.

“Y/n- I-I-“ he knew you knew. How could you not when you looked at him with such sorrow? Such pain? Such betrayal? “It’s- it’s not what it seems like.”

You just stared at him. That ache in your chest was heavy. So heavy it was hard to look away. “Have a nice night?” You mumbled, your voice hoarse from crying so hard the night before.

Gojo’s brows furrowed and his eyes grew glassy. That feeling of guilt began to swallow him whole. The guilt that made his limbs heavy and his eyes burn. “Baby- please,” he begged. He didn’t know what for. Forgiveness? For you to just be angry at him? To yell and to scream instead of looking at him like he just destroyed your hopes and dreams. And he had.

Slowly, you stood up. “I hope it was worth it,” you murmured before grabbing your phone and leaving the house. Not looking back as you left Gojo to hold onto his chest to try and calm the pain.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean for this- I- I was drunk I-“ he spoke to himself. But even his own words felt alien to his ears.

He’d ruined 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. Just for moments of pleasure. He threw away your relationship, your love, your future… and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

So in your shared home, he’d never felt more alone. Clarity brought pain, pain that he was to blame. Of course he was. His own inner voice mocked him. His nails dug into his knees as began to cry. To mourn his own mistakes, to mourn the loss of you.

He’d ruined everything.

But he wouldn’t let this be the end.

He could fix this.

Couldn’t he?

It’d been two months since his betrayal. Two months since you’d left him standing there. Two months since you took your belongings and left your shared home.

Two months since he’d seen you.

His mistakes had left him broken. But he knew he could only blame himself. It didn’t hurt any less.

You’d left behind a hoodie, and it smelled like you still do this day. Gojo made sure to spray your perfume on his pillows so they’d still smell like you.

Your eyes hung low. You were tired. Exhausted. You’d had to get a job as a waitress to pick up the income that Gojo’s absence left you without.

You were working exhaustingly long shifts. Picking up doubles when you could. Having almost no off days.

You’d lost weight. You didn’t look well. You were worked to the bone, but you didn’t have time to apply for a better job. Rent was so expensive, even in the shitty neighborhood you now lived in.

Retying your apron, you grabbed a pen before heading to a new table. Not yet looking up, you greeted the guest. “Welcome to Joseph’s boil, how can I hel-…” your words fell on the tip of your tongue as you saw him.

He was just as shocked as you. His shock turned to worry and concern. He’d never seen you in such poor condition. Was it possible for someone to look the way you did in just two months?

His heart ached but rejoiced as he finally was able to see you again. To hear your voice. To inhale your scent.

“Y/n?” He said your name so softly.

His voice broke the flood gates. Your hands had started shaking and your bottom lip quivered. Your pretty eyes turned glassy with so much emotion not even the finest author could put it into words.

Slamming down your apron, you quickly fled the restaurant. Despite the heavy rain or the fact that you were getting soaked.

“Wait!” Gojo got up from his seat, the chair falling back with an ear piercing screech.

He ran after you. His shirt sticking to his form as water drenched him just as much as it drenched you.

“Leave me alone!” You yelled, your voice pathetically shaky. You choked on your words as you cried and tried to speed off.

“No! Please- please just wait!” He managed to catch up and grab you by the wrist and pull you back in.

“Get off of me!” You yelled, and tried to yank yourself out of his grip but he wrapped his arms around you and you held you against him. Even as you pounded your fists against his chest. “I hate you! I hate you so much!”

Your words pierced his heart, your tears felt like acid on his skin but he held you close. Held you even when your body just went limp against him.

“I hate you…” you’d whimper into his chest, sobbing as everything came crushing down on you at once. “How could you do this to me?! Why?!”

“I don’t know. Im so sorry,” was all he could whisper.

And at the end of the day, even when you were just holding each other in the rain, nothing could repair the pain he left forever in your heart. The insecurity and trust issues he planted in your soul. Nothing would ever fix what he broke.

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 7

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: she had never realised how cold blood could feel, how raw her own hands could leave her skin, how your presence lingered in every corner of her house and in every inch of her body, but you weren't in the room with and yet your arms wrapped around her waist as if nothing had changed.

Warnings: blood, mention of torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, mention of guns, mention of character death, panic attack, nudity, medical equipment and mentions of surgeries. I promise that there's hints of fluff and pretty things as well.

Authors note: Like a zombie, slithering through the ground, I come to you all bearing gifts. Here you have the newest chapter, that has taken me far more time than I had anticipated. This is the last bit of big drama that I will write, so fluff, romance, and smut will be coming your way soon. No one worry because I will fuck Avis's brains out soon, I promise. I understand that this chapter might not be to everyone's liking but I still hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas and suggestions that you might have. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader and for being there to help me when I got stuck and give me wonderful ideas. I love you and I will give you a barrel of olive oil some day. Also shoutout to @p2pecleanerwitheyes and @renyfisher for being wonderful human beings ❤️

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.6

Word count: 30K (As an apology for taking so long)

Take a breath and open your eyes, my darling

Every sound was muffled, as if a pair of hands were covering her ears, her eyes moving from side to side in a sedated state when everyone around her seemed to be rushing around, up and down the hallway, doctors and nurses barking orders that echoed against the white walls. All the people around her were barely shapes, only clouds of colours that her eyes refused to focus on as the stretcher you laid on vanished through two heavy doors at the end of the foyer, leaving her standing over cold tiles. She couldn’t remember how or where her jacket was, a thin white blouse clinging to her body, the once pristine fabric now covered in splatters of blood and dirt, the imprint of your hand resting on her abdomen, the material having picked up every wrinkle of your skin, the shape of your fingers, every line that crossed your palm. She could even make out your fingerprints, the sight burning the skin beneath as much as the bitter tears that had formed in her eyes begged to fall and yet she refused. No one in that entire hospital mattered to Avis more than you, and when her trembling voice had asked the doctor if you would make it the gravely look on the older man’s face had been enough of a response, words never answering her question. That might be the last time she saw you, battered and bruised, hanging on to life by a ripping thread that she could not fix as they whisked you away. She hadn’t even got to say that she loved you.

Her entire body shook, adrenaline and fear holding her upright as grief and agony enfolded her completely, her chest rising and falling arrhythmically as she fought the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. She was perfectly aware that she was leaving dirty imprints on the clean floors, dust, sand and mud stuck to the soles of her heels as your blood dripped from her fingertips one drop at a time. She was mesmerized by the way it ran along her palm, slightly reddened by the butt pad of her shotgun, in slender rivers that followed the path of each crevasse on her hands, lingering in between her fingers before they branched out, coating her soft flesh and sinking deep on the imperfections of her skin. Only a few minutes ago the crimson liquid had burnt her skin as much as the muzzle of the weapon had caused blisters to form on the pads of her fingers, but they had been completely different sensations. She would have preferred to take a knife to the heart over and over again than to have your blood on her hands, the emotional, mental and physical pain almost too much for Avis. Standing in the hospital now it was as if instead of the molten lava that had scorched her, she was feeling the sharp edges of an icy river. Her eyes just could not steer away from the way the droplets formed around her scarlet nails and fell in slow motion, almost as if gravity both pulled them to the ground and repelled them until they crashed onto the tiles beneath her feet.

The sound was barely there, so quiet that no one should have been able to hear it, but it blasted inside Avis’s head like an explosion, a thousand bombs going off at the same time, rumbling inside the building like an earthquake that was making her tumble on her feet. She had taken a step forward, unsure of what to do with herself, and if it hadn’t been for a pair of slender and gentle hands that wrapped themselves around her arms she would have fallen down onto the hard ground, the skin of her bare knees scratched and bruised where it would have collided with the freezing tiles. Her own body was protesting against the weight that her legs had to support and the hands that aided her in standing upright, but she could not fight either of them, and as the heat of the person that was keeping her on her feet seeped through her blouse onto her skin she felt the freezing touch of your hands on her. It was as if Death had greeted her, it’s bony fingers clinging to your body as your lungs fought to draw breath, Avis’s hands never letting go of yours thinking that having her close could bring you comfort, her soft words, laced with anguish and the hint of tears that she refused to cry in front of you, begging you to not leave her. She still had the sound of your raggedy breaths engraved in her brain, carved in blood and fire so deeply that it left her lightheaded.

Guilt sliced through her like a dagger, a constant train of what-ifs running on a loop in her mind. If she hadn’t let you leave the night before none of this would have happened, if she had listened to what her heart was telling her instead of being so terrified of what her daughter or everyone else would think if they saw you enter her house and not leave until the early morning she would not be standing in a hospital praying and begging to any and every God that wanted to hear her to please save your life. If she had held onto you instead of watching you slip through her fingers like smoke no one would have got hurt and she wouldn’t have had to kill a man, something that she both regretted and knew was the only way out. She would not be crying venomous tears that clawed at her skin and ripped her cheeks to shreds for the only person who had loved her for her and who she had learned to love back, no fake smiles and expensive presents given to her to hide all those things she already knew were happening behind her back. Ace was barely a few floors away from her and the thought of seeing him hadn’t even crossed her mind, all her attention on you and the memory of your broken body, cold under her touch. How was she meant to give the image of the worried wife when the person she truly loved, the other half of her beating heart, was fighting for her life?

None of this should have ever happened, not for a film, not for the studio, they were only material things that could be replaced, restarted from scratch but the loss of a human life could never be fixed. She was well aware of such a fact, the sight of Lon gurgling and choking in his own blood flashing before her eyes for an instant, a shiver running down her spine in disgust, and as much as she regretted having been forced to reach such a point it was impossible for Avis to feel full remorse for her actions. They had taken you in the night, like the criminals they were, and had let Lon do whatever he pleased, Ace partially to be blamed for having granted him far too much freedom all these years, and for what? Among all the anguish that poisoned her blood, she felt rage, a fury that she had never felt before that rotted inside her and made her feel like the worst human being on the planet though there was no real reason for her to feel such a thing. But the guilt crawled through every pore and chanted in her mind that she was to be blamed because she had green-lighted Meg and she had accepted the position of head of the Studio when she could have easily handed it to Dick, maybe even to the board, and it was her, and only her choices, that had ended up with you barely alive in her arms. There was a hole in her chest so deep, so vast that she feared she might never recover, withering like a rose as winter drew in. If she lost you, your sparkling eyes closed forever, your angelic face still for all eternity with no smile to lift her spirits and make Avis’s heart leap in her chest, bruises and wounds she would never forget hidden under layers of makeup that showed only a glimpse of who you had been, she would lay beside your coffin and force Death to claim her because a life with you would be like a universe with no stars, forests without trees, her body without a heart and soul.

Her entire being felt as if it was caught in a hurricane, emotions drowning and confusing her in a whirlwind that swept her off her feet and left her floating in between rough winds that cut through her skin like sharp shards of glass, words written in your blood carved onto the weapons as they dug onto her body. Each word lingered like the last embers of a fire, and it felt as if they had been tattooed on her skin, blistering her flesh and consuming her in a constant wave of pain that she couldn’t escape. A rogue curl had fallen from her perfect updo, the ginger tones masking the specks of blood her hands had inadvertently left on her soft hair as it brushed her cheek, flyways twisting in frizzy ringlets on the back of her neck, where the warm breath of a person touched her skin. Hints of a floral perfume mixed with the metallic stench her body was immersed in, her brain slowly comprehending that Ellen was the one holding her up even if she was risking staining her blue suit with your blood. Nausea began to build as the smell became unbearable, Avis lulling her head back as her face turned pale, fighting with all her might to not vomit in front of everybody; she would never be able to face them. Not that she could find it in herself to turn around, afraid of what half a dozen pairs of eyes would see on her face and shaky frame, dishevelled and utterly miserable and broken, but worse of all was what she might see on theirs.

Would they pity her or be afraid of her? She could not blame them for choosing either of those options, after all, she was asking herself that same question, but if she were to turn around and face the answer when she was so down, when her heart had been ripped out of her chest and sliced until it laid in shreds on the cold tiles of the hospital hallway, she would not be able to recover. Ellen took a step to her left, dragging Avis along with her but the woman’s body sagged heavily on the other one’s slender arms, black heels scraping the tiles as the ginger tried to get her legs to work, weak and trembling as the adrenaline she had been running on began to fade leaving an amorphous mass of aching muscles and stinging scrapes behind, the small wounds she hadn’t even noticed before adorning her hands in a gruesome spectacle. She hadn’t even seen the skin that had been peeled on her index finger from where her flesh had gotten caught on the trigger of the shotgun. She was no longer paying attention to her surroundings, voices barely making their way to her ears as Ellen carried on pulling her towards the side, her oak eyes glued to her hands once more as if she was only now noticing what your nails and hers had done to her skin, hidden underneath the blood that was beginning to dry, coagulating and thickening around her wrists and on her palms, leaving a horribly disgusting sensation behind. 

With clumsy steps, Ellen managed to get Avis to the closest seats, black wooden chairs that were clearly too uncomfortable to sit on for long periods of time, but whether her friend noticed or not was of very little importance to her. As soon as the back of the redhead’s knees hit the cold seat her body crumpled down, legs completely unable to support her any longer. How could she feel everything so raw, so vividly and at the same time be so numb? It made no sense. There could never be enough words to describe the turmoil inside her, the pain, the shame, the regret, the anger… it was a mix of it all that ravaged her mind and slammed against her skin, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but rubble and dust behind. Every moment of her life had been the same, controlled, measured, even when she went down to the gas station, did she do it knowing how and where, but you had changed all that. For the first time in her life there was excitement, there was the thrill of sharing experiences with someone, not out of duty, but because you cared, there was a reason for her to wake up in the morning and get through the day, your smile shining around every corner, your eyes a constant in her mind, their life and eternal light getting her through the worst. You had given Avis her life back, her reason for existing, and now all she had was your blood clinging to her, suffocating her as the splatters turned into thin, sharp tendrils of crimson poison that wrapped around her neck, trapping her, slicing through her flesh.

She was falling apart, breaking piece by piece with each passing second, feeling how her own blood was seeping from in between the cracks like a waterfall, leaving her dry, barely alive even if in truth her body still drew breath and the droplets that stained her skirt and slid down her legs were not her own. Never before had Avis felt as if nothing but glass was coursing through her veins, the pain never-ending, escalating by the minute like a constant reminder that it was her fault, and she could not escape, chained forever by her actions to the freezing ground as water rose all around her, threatening to drown her. Ellen’s face was maybe a foot from hers, but her features were blurry, incoherent shapes that her eyes could not focus on, her mind too distraught and busy to pay attention to her, or perhaps she was frozen in time, stuck still in the car with your broken body in her arms, pushing clammy strands of hair from your face as if that would make the wheezing your lungs produced less gravely, as if your eyes would open and look at her once more as if nothing had happened. But it had, and her perfectly planned and controlled life had been smashed to the ground, dust clouding her mind, voices in her head screaming at the top of their lungs making her deaf, unable to hear anything but her own guilt. She wanted to run away from it all, to make it stop.

The night you came to her house for the first time with your old coat around your frame and a never-ending line of documents in your hands, she had thought you another of her husband’s conquests. A pretty young thing who wanted nothing but to become a star, after all, that was the only reason she had heard for more than twenty years why people move to Hollywood, but when you had told her that that was not your case, she had taken an instant interest in you. You were… unusual, to say the least, and you most certainly were worthy of her attention after what you had done with her, matching or even surpassing Jack and Ernie, but you had not left her after that. You had showered her with affection, your eagerness to please her endearing to her flirty nature, and as you shared more of your time with her, she became drunk in the way your eyes lingered on her body as if she was a diamond, completely enthralled and bewitched by the way you were making her fall in love without realising it. You had shifted her entire life into something worth fighting for, had made her trust her own decisions and stand firmly on both her feet, only to be caught in the crossfire in the end. You would be safe if she had stayed in her lane, if she had not taken charge like Ace had wanted her to, but as much as she wanted to blame him, he had not given the order to produce Meg, she had. To her she seemed as if she had been the one who had killed you with her own bare hands.

And it stung. Her skin, her muscles, her very own blood choked her with disgust and anger at herself, crawling through every inch of her flesh like a thousand cockroaches and spiders that wanted to eat her alive until nothing, but bones remained, but even then, she would not escape the guilt and the absolute grief that knocked her to the ground. She had shared things with you that she had never been able to tell Ellen, her best friend for more than a decade, your tender touch drying her tears, your rosy lips letting words of love and kindness drip onto Avis’s skin like a balm, healing her, picking up the pieces that life had left for you and building her again, gold and roses sealing each piece with each kiss. She could not bear the thought of never hearing your voice again, of not having you there to console her and tell her that everything would be alright, her secrets and her love laying beside you under soil and dirt as her tears soaked the ground under her, infertile lands that would never grow a single daisy, a single rose, vast plains of sand and rocks where not a drop of rain would ever fall. Void of life, matching the black hole inside her chest that fed on her despair, taking her light and her breath, with it, leaving her freezing on her chair, feeling the rivulets of your blood sliding down her flesh like snakes.

Would this be her life if you didn’t survive? A walking corpse, living half a life with the remorse that she could have prevented it all by keeping you in her arms, by leaving with you that night, by having pressed you more into staying. A thousand what-ifs ran rampant in her head, each making her feel worse than the one before, fuelling the fury and rage that hadn’t left her since she had seen the cross, only now anguish seemed to her guide and agony her path as a rain of daggers made pain a constant. The grip on the edge of the chair made her knuckles turn white under the dry and cracking layer of blood, following and seeping into every single crevasse and pore on both the palm and back of her hands, her vision unfocused. Ellen was fighting a lost battle, trying her best to gain her attention when Avis was in fact miles away from the hospital, lost in a hurricane that no one could save her from, slender fingers rubbing soothing circles on the ginger’s arms to no avail. The touch never registered inside Avis’s mind, lost in the ocean that separated her from reality, her body sitting on that dammed chair when her mind was still in that house, in the car, in every room of her house, and every room of yours, following the traces of your perfume as if she could find you and take you in her arms, clam her raging heart and tell herself that everything had been a nightmare. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to hear that you would come home with her, terror bubbling inside her as the thought of planning your funeral hit her like a building collapsing on top of her.

How on Earth would she do it if you didn’t make it? How would she choose your coffin, the flowers, the music… when all she would think about was the fact that her bed would forever remain empty, cold even if Ace woke up and returned home? You touch would linger on her skin, your ghost haunting her and the halls of her house with whispers and freezing clouds of future that had been take form you, Avis chasing you and your memory for all eternity as she lost herself to a madness that she never wanted to get over, because in that state of mind, losing all sense of reality, you would still be there. The tears that had gathered in her big, sorrowful eyes, broke through her will and fell in quick succession, burning her skin raw, leaving a bitter taste that mixed with the metallic stench that clung to her like a second skin. She had dreamt of a church filled with flowers, every corner breathing in lilacs and whites as she made you her wife, the love of her life walking down the aisle dressed in silks and lace of the purest pearly white, a dream that now could turn into the worst nightmare she had ever lived, the baby breaths and roses turning into lilies as her clothes bled into the deepest black the universe had ever seen, matching her rotting soul. She could not lose you and yet she could not stop thinking that no matter what happened today she would always remain your partner, your friend, and your wife until her heart stopped beating and her lungs expelled her last breath, and if life had deemed it right to claim your life, a fact she would forever resent, she would be your widow.

There were no clocks on the wall all throughout the hallway, but she still heard the incessant ticking of time that spoke of all the seconds lost into a past that could not be changed. Avis was finding it so hard to cling onto what little hope she had left inside her, the baby lights shining so dimly that the darkness that had built in her mind kept hiding them from her, its warmth at the tip of her fingertips, almost there for her to grasp only to be pushed away to the edges of the firmament. Why couldn’t she trade her life for yours? She would rather lay on a stretcher battered and bruised beyond recognition if you remained untouched, not a scratch on your beautiful body, your locks pristine and soft, your cheeks rosy and full of life, your perfect eyes glowing still as if they were not fighting to hold on to a ripping thread. Avis was freefalling down an abyss where there was no bottom, just an endless sight of darkness that took her away from you, or perhaps it was you who was being taken from her, but why would it matter, there was a rift building between you two that she couldn’t cross. She had never truly noticed until now how incredibly cold hospitals were, freezing in truth, tiles everywhere slamming shards of ice onto her skin, Ellen still trying desperately to get her attention. The blond could not remember a single day in her life when her friend had looked as lost and broken as today; the great Avis Amberg was crumbling in front of everyone and neither Avis herself nor Ellen knew what to do to prevent it, or if they should.

Sounds became bombs, and every breath, every footstep echoed inside her head as if she had an orchestra playing, every single instrument off-key and untuned playing a hellish aria that could make her head explode any moment. Everything irritated her, everyone unimportant to her right now, and suddenly all that she had been numb to only a few moments ago raked at her flesh, driving her insane, angering her exhausted frame to the point that without thought she pushed herself to a standing position. Ellen tumbled back, Dick quick to grab her so she wouldn’t end up on the floor, both pairs of eyes watching dumbfounded as Avis walked down the hall before pausing and retracing her steps. She was not herself, that was clear in the way her body sagged with each step, heels clashing and crushing against the tiles as her hands pulled on her clothes, nails piercing through her skin as the physical pain spread like wildfires all over, but it did nothing to quiet down her screaming mind. All she wanted to do was to make it stop, to sit in silence as she let sorrow consume her, but the world was too loud, too fast, too careless and cruel and its weight was killing her the same way it had done to you. Was this how love was supposed to feel when things were wrong? As if her heart was dying with you, like there was no tomorrow unless it was with you? If it was so, she had no desire to keep it, because she could not escape the pain, the memories that she held onto as if she was the one barely alive turning bitter with each breath she took, constricting her chest. If this was love, she would rather die than to be told you were gone. She could not bear a single second in this world if she could not go home with you.

Her entire body shook, trembling as if the entire planet was succumbing to an earthquake, tiles, chairs, and people fading in and out of Avis’s line of vision as she struggled to push air into her lungs. Everything around her was so bright, forcing her to close her eyes in an attempt to dim it somewhat, black spots dancing under her eyelids as she tumbled on her feet, hands flying in the air looking for something or someone to hold onto. They landed harshly over the freezing walls, contrasting with her almost feverish body, sagging and melting as her legs lost all strength, giving up under her. She was collapsing, exactly the same way her world was falling apart, every cell unable to breathe, lungs begging for an oxygen that Avis could not provide, the tears mixing with your blood as they fell over her ruined clothes scorching every inch of skin they touched as if they could leave blisters behind. Her knees bent, hitting the harsh material the walls were made out of as her ankles threatened to twist, her heels feeling like a thousand needles, her clothes like plaster that trapped her, unable to move. For an instant her eyes opened and focused on her hands, fingers leaving macabre paintings over the white tiles as her palms slid down, following her exhausted frame, traces of blood imprinted forever in between invisible cracks, Avis’s fingerprints fading before her eyes as the crimson streaks carried on forever. Her palms smeared your blood as if her flesh was completely covered on it, dripping thickly over her eyelids, falling off the tip of her nose, staining her lips and drowning her as if the only thing she could fill her lungs with was the hot metallic liquid that burnt her insides like lava.

She was on the verge of passing out, falling like rags on the ground, when two strong hands wrapped around her torso and pulled her up, pushing her off the wall as her eyes observed the work left behind, grotesque shapes of monstruous trails and partially imprinted palms staring back at her as the deep red liquid dripped towards the ground. Her feet never made contact with the floor. She was swept into someone’s warm arms, a whiff of pine and whiskey hitting her nostrils, but the smell did not make her nauseous as it mixed with the metallic stench, it was, in fact, a comforting aroma that she tried to hold onto with both hands, fingers curling around the fabric of a white shirt, colours that she could make out through the tears. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid, to be seen as weak by the people who were supposed to rely on her, to see a leader, someone they could trust, but she was now only a shell of her flamboyant persona, a broken item that people would run away from. She was supposed to be Avis fucking Amberg, not whatever she had turned into, whatever this was! How could anyone look at her and expect her to lead them ever again when all they could see was a weak, crushed woman? They would never respect her again, she thought, they would never look at her the same, and that brought a sense of defeat that she hated with every fibre of her being. Gently Jack walked over to the seats, placing her back on the chair she had just vacated with Ellen hovering over his shoulder, pale as snow, slender fingers aching to comfort her friend, but Avis did not want to let go of the man’s shirt, or perhaps she couldn’t, locked in place. Every joint and muscle felt stiff, the adrenaline in her bloodstream vanishing like smoke, fading and leaving behind an utterly depleted and trembling body that fought with all its might to sustain Avis.

-Mrs. Amber, please, calm yourself down.

-Listen to the man, Avis. Breath.

Had Ellen always sounded so sharp, so high pitched that it grated her nerves while at the same time, it made her blood freeze in her veins? She wasn’t a cruel or rude woman by nature; Avis could not think of a single moment in the woman’s life when she had been nothing but gentle and caring, and yet her words were commanding, though in the ginger’s current state of mind, she had not picked up on the worrisome tone that had laced the blond’s words. Oxygen, she needed oxygen, no matter how much, just enough so that the ever-growing black spots would vanish, so the weight on her chest would stop crushing her lungs and ribs, but she could not seem to get her brain to respond. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles per minute, her ears ringing as blood pumped through her veins at such a speed that she was beginning to fear her entire body would explode, which made her shallow breaths ever more rapid and arrhythmic. Ellen kept trying to get through to Avis, but half of the words got lost in the rattling of noises and screams that echoed inside her head, and as her skin turned paler, a gruesome contrast with the splatters of blood, Jack took matters into his own hands.

-Ms. Kincaid, bring me ice, as much as you can.

-Ice? Why?

-Yes, just trust me, please. Hurry or she’s going to pass out. – she had not a single inkling why he would ask for such a thing, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and rushed down the hallway and out through the white swinging doors, the sound of rubber scratching on the ground along with the screeching of the hinges floating in the air like invisible dust that gathered around the congregation, adorning and accompanying the whispers that fell from thin cracked lips.

-At least we are in a hospital if push comes to shove.

-Henry! What the fuck is wrong with you?!

Through the corner of her eye, Dick’s form moved as the blurry shape of a dark suit that stood a few inches shorter than the brown one next to him, and even though her puffy brown eyes could not see it, he was fulminating the younger man with a look that clearly meant for him to shut his mouth. He really did not know how to read a room Dick thought angrily, and so in an attempt to calm things down, Henry raised his hands in surrender and turned away, returning to his seat. Had Avis been her usual self she would have given him a run for his money, but alas she was still holding onto Jack’s shirt as if he was the only thing that was keeping her grounded, fighting to breathe as his hands ran up and down her arms. What must he think of me, she thought? A woman who had commanded him, who had stood on top as he pleased her and did everything she desired, a woman he owed his career to, to a certain extent, turned into what? She didn’t even know who she was, what she felt, what was left of her. But if only for a moment, just an instant, she could read his mind, see what he did, she would find that he didn’t see any of those flaws, the cracks she was so terrified of. She was so much more than just that façade she went around flaunting, she was a layered, complicated woman that not many had the pleasure to see in predicaments like this, and although what they had shared had been strictly business and had ended months ago, he did care for her. She had been through enough in her life, why did she keep getting knocked off her feet like this, the harsh cement scraping her hands and knees, making her bleed until she had the strength to get back up again only to end up back over the dirt, bruised? 

She didn’t deserve this. Jack had listened to her during that first encounter, the pain and the sadness that had laced every word in a way that she thought no one would pick up, breaking his heart little by little. How could he not when her eyes had been screaming for love, for anything, to anyone who would listen? Every moment spent with her had been filled with an aura of expensiveness and power he had not minded, a sense of respect, and to be honest, fear, running down his spine every single time, but beneath that tough exterior, an insecure, emotionally starved woman rested, a side of her he had only gotten a glimpse of on rare occasions and that now sat bare and open before them all. He had never thought anyone, or anything could crack Avis Amberg like this, but then again you were not an accessory in the woman’s life, you were everything to her, an extension of her being that anyone with eyes could see, two hearts beating in unison. Hearing Mr. Samuels speak hurriedly about what had happened to you had been a shock for the entire cast, and as Jack, Archie and Rock gathered their things to aid Avis he had stopped for an instant and wondered how she must have felt, how she was handling everything. Ace had never been particularly loving towards her, forcing a cold, tough layer of rejection to be cast over the hurt interior that had shaped Avis into the woman she was now, but you had shattered all that slowly with each kiss, every whisper and glimpse of affection you had thrown her way, melting the wax that had encapsulated her, freeing her at last like a butterfly that set flight for the very first time. Knowing that she could lose you at any moment had been just as rough back then as it was now, though kneeling before her trembling frame trying to prevent her from hyperventilating herself into a fainting spell, he began to think this aftermath was worse. He had not been ready for the sight that had welcomed him when Avis had returned from the half-demolished house, he had most certainly not been ready for what had been left behind in the hospital hallway.

Ringlets of ginger hair had swayed in the midday warm breeze, caressing the nape of her neck and her pale cheeks, all colour had drained from her face as the image of Lon gurgling and coking in his own blood played on a loop in her mind, as fresh as the splatters of the crimson liquid that had landed on her skin, like macabre freckles that painted her flesh, shards of bone having flown towards her legs shredding her stockings, small bleeding scrapes on her shins that his eyes picked up on briefly. The shotgun rested in a grip so hard her knuckles had turned white, Ellen running behind her completely out of breath but Jack’s gaze was not on the blond, blue eyes taking in the dishevelled and panicked look that shadowed Avis’s features as if the sun had vanished from the sky, the world eternally forced to live in perpetual darkness, no moonlight to show the way, no stars sprinkled in the navy canvas that spread above their heads. Jack was used to fear and terror, after all, he had fought in a war, but for some reason all that could not compare to the way fury mixed with horror in a way that made his skin crawl, Avis’s deep brown eyes reflecting every emotion as if her very soul was an open book. His hands had travelled down to her hips as his thoughts swirled deep in his mind, coming to rest gently over her knees after a moment, the touch of her cold skin and ruined stockings under his palms pulling him from his memories to stare at that same face that  shone with bitter tears, the crystal liquid turning pink as they picked up the red beads that had dried over her flesh. Neither of them could say if it was yours or Lons.

On his wrist a small golden watch ticked, the tiny black clock hands showing to everyone each second passed, the way a single second turned into a minute, then another, and as they accumulated in the air there was still no sign of Ellen, no footsteps to break the deafening silence that enfolded Avis’s rapid breaths. There was a constant rain of questions in her head that flooded the floor with no answers in sight to vanish them, making her feel as if she had lost complete control of her life, begging silently for a doctor or a nurse to come out and tell her what was going on, if you needed anything because she would give it to you, be it a better hospital, better staff, her own organs, her own blood, anything you required, but the hallway remained impassive to her suffering. She had been defeated, she thought, by her own hand to be exact, actions and consequences meeting in the same place at the same time at last. Jack’s hands remained on her, never ceasing the reassuring movements, not that they worked at this point, sobs fighting her physically to escape her throat as it gasped for air, the sounds making everyone around her watch in horror as she turned paler by the minute, veins visible under her translucent skin, but the boy would not give up so easily. With gentle hands his fingers travelled down her claves to her feet, and although the gesture might not look like much to others, he removed Avis’s shoes as tenderly as he could, placing her feet firmly against the freezing tiles.

The gasp that parted from her blueish lips was the first proper time her lungs had drawn breath in several minutes, the crisp, antiseptic air filling her chest in shock, but Jack knew more needed to be done. The ground would match her temperature soon enough and the shock would fade back to her panicking persona, but he could not leave her, not when her hands were still holding onto his shirt. He had to wait, much to his dismay, until Ellen returned. He would have to throw the garment away he thought, the fibres of the fabric ruined, soaking up your blood like a sponge, but he could afford to lose a shirt, there were millions of them on the planet, but no one in that entire hallway could afford to lose you. Next to him Dick and Henry talked in hushed words, the topic redundant to the task at hand, and yet Jack could not help wondering what was so important that had to be discussed right then and there when there were definitely more important things to take care of, but he was in no real position to interrupt them. The sound of a heel on the floor reached the young boy’s ears after a few instants, his head perking up to make sure he was not hallucinating, and just as he did that another one filled the space until the blond appeared through the swinging doors with a glass bowl in her hands, rushing back towards them. Her slender hands and bony fingers cradled the ice as if it was the most important object in the universe, as if those same hands had not touched Oscars, sculptures and paintings, not to mention pieces of jewellery that cost more than Jack’s own life. Nearly slipping on the ground as water dripped from the edges, Ellen kneeled on the floor next to him.

-What do I do with this?

-Help me pry her hands off my shirt and put them in the ice.

-But won’t it shock her… Oh! I get it now. You work on the left one, I’ll handle the right one.

 It wasn’t an easy task as Avis’s grip was iron like, hard and nearly unbreakable, but with enough determination the both of them worked on prying each finger off, the boy not caring much about ending up covered in blood, matching the stains on Ellen’s once pristine blue suit and Dick’s dark one, although you could not see them unless the sun hit him directly on the front. Avis fought against them at first, terror dripping from her eyes in between the sharp tears that seemed to never end, but her body was growing weak, and soon enough the warmth of the fabric changed to the heat of each their bodies as they finally worked her hands of his shirt, revealing imprints of scarlet red that would soon dry and remain there forever. Without a moment to lose Jack grabbed the ice and dunked Avis’s hand inside it, Ellen following suit, feeling the slicing cold on her skin, but her pain did not matter, blue eyes watching intently as her friend yelped and gasped once again, but this new shock to her system lasted longer, bringing with the sudden drop of temperature a physical pain that knocked her of her feet. It felt like a complete reset, as if her body had shut down for less than a second and then restarted again. Her tumultuous mind quiet for the first time in what seemed to be hours, breaking the cycle of self-deprecation and guilt she had fallen into, tears ceasing to fall at the unexpected touch of the ice on her sensitive skin, brushing painfully over her blisters and cuts, but neither Jack nor Ellen let her lift her hands. It somehow forced her brain to focus on only single thing instead of the millions of thoughts that had taken her mind hostage, registering one sense at a time, in this case, touch.

-Come on Mrs. Amberg, in in four and out in four. You can do it. – her gaze fell on his kind face, seeing him through the dark spots that had began to slowly fade in her eyes, hearing his deep calming voice as he counted. One, two, three, four. She took a deep breath and held it until the countdown began again. One, two, three, four. It was slow but sure work, and at last oxygen began to enter her system regularly, steadily filling her lung and every cell in her bloodstream, the dizziness she hadn’t even noticed before vanishing like smoke as a tender breeze swept through the hallway, taking with it every ailment she could possibly have and leaving behind only an exhausted body. With each inhale pine overwhelmed the bloody stench, whiffs of vanilla accompanying the fresh aroma as Ellen got closer to her. She had never thought of how sweet her friend’s perfume was, nor how manly but formal Jack smelled. Her mind could almost imagine your gentle berries lotion caressing her skin. – That’s the way to do it Mrs. Amberg. We can stay here as long as you need. In. One, two, three, four.

What sweet sound silence was, no screams, no madness that pulled her into a hurricane of insanities and grief, no voices grating at her nerves and playing with her emotions, kicking her while she was down, when she could not defend herself. It was heavenly to only have Jack in her head, not even herself as it was still stuck on the feeling of the terrible ice. It really was true what they said that one’s worst enemy was their own mind. Her panic melted of her body bit by bit like the wax of a candle, flames consuming them until nothing, but cold hard white rivers were left over metal candlesticks, specks landing on top of wooden tables that would never be removed. Parts of it still lingered under her skin, and would probably do so for the rest of her life, but with each silent tick of Jack’s watch her heartrate slowed down to a pace somewhat normal, the wheezing and sharp sounds of her lungs begging for help no longer in existence as they drew breath with relative ease, the boy’s voice fading into nothing as the attack passed. Chocolate irises could not bear to hold gaze with either pair of blue eyes, watching instead in disgusted fascination the way the ice melted under her palms, turning what once had been a most perfectly crystal clear water into a sea of pinks and deep shade reds that froze over the first thin layers of the mismatched cubes as blood clots fell to the bottom of the bowl, thin, translucent trails left behind, but this could never even begin to wash it off her skin. She feared it was all part of her now, forever stamped on her body. 

-Avis? – Ellen’s hand rested gently on the woman’s forearm, making her stare at the wet but warm fingers of her friend. She had never noticed the many wrinkles that decorated the pale skin, how short her nails were nor the way not a single spot blemished the back of her hand. They were small details that made Ellen so inherently herself but that for some reason the ginger had never seen before. – Avis, look at me. Please. – as much as she wished to run away from the surely pitiful glares she was going to encounter, she lifted her head, not ready to see the disappointment in everyone’s faces but at the same time unable to deny her friend her request when she voiced it with such a pained tone. As brown locked with blue she did not find a single trace of all those feelings that had been clawing at her, only worry. – Are you alright?

-I… Yes.

-You had us all so worried there for a moment. I was sure we would have to call for a doctor or a nurse. Are you certain you are fine?

-I am, Ellen. As fine as I can be under these circumstances.

-It’s not the answer I wanted but it will have to do. Take your hands out of the ice before you lose a finger. – Jack remained silent as Avis removed her hands, drying them on a handkerchief Dick was gallant enough to hand her, the soft touch of white linen on her wounds gentle and tender, even if the ice had numbed the pain a little bit. From the corner of her eye she observed the young boy, his hands inches from her bare feet, his countenance reserved, almost as if he feared she would yell at him at any given moment. Was he still terrified of her after what he had witnessed? Her hands trembled slightly as she grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet, but the gesture wasn’t harsh, her body could not manage harsh right now, and in those deep blue irises of his she found distress.

-Jack… Thank you.

-I… Of course, Mrs. Amberg.

-What is it?

-I don’t think I understand the question.

-Why are you looking at me as if you had just been through Hell? Did I say something or do something to you?

-No, not at all. It’s just… Well, I have come to think of you as some sort of friend and…

-And what? – How did she do it? Moved from nearly collapsing in his arms to looking at him with anything but kindness as if he was the one who had just been through the most traumatic thing in the universe and not her. Her hand caressed his cheek before it fell back on her lap, Ellen having removed the bowl from her friend’s thighs and leaving it on the floor to the side.

-You scared me. I had never seen something like this, not since the war and it was horrible to be face to face with the fear and the panic all over again, only that it was a thousand times worse because it was happening to you. You don’t deserve this Mrs. Amberg, no one does, but you, out of everyone I’ve ever known, are the one who deserves it the least. You should have never been forced to feel such horrors.

-Oh, Jack. 

-I mean it. You are my friend, at least I think of you as one, and someone as wonderful as you should never have to live through things like this.

-Life is not fair, my boy. The worst of people could live forever not facing a single consequence for their actions, while kind people, like you, have to face hardship after hardship. I’m hardly a saint, Jack.

-But you are no monster either. It is of no concern to me what you might have done in your life, but I am sure that it is not as bad as what has been done to you. You are finally happy; life can’t be so cruel as to rob you of that.

If only things worked like that, she thought. If only life could wait and let the world fix their mistakes before they sentenced them to pay for their crimes, but alas it kept on turning, waiting for no one, pausing for nothing, time running away from everyone’s hands as the hourglass turned only once, swirls of sand falling until the very last drop flew through the air. He was still so young with so many things to learn, and Avis felt so old, the decades she had lived falling heavily on her shoulders. There were so many things she wanted to say to him but all of them felt discouraging, heartless at most, and she did not wish to dim that beautiful light the boy possessed, a light that only yours could outshine. He had lit her up in every encounter they had shared but it could simply not be compared to the way you had uplifted her, put her in a pedestal and worshipped her as if she was the most precious work of art, dressing her in gold and placing roses at her feet, your essence, your light, forever casting a most perfect halo over her skin and underneath it. A shine that comforted and gave her the strength to carry on every day of her life since the moment she met you. You were younger than Jack and somehow you carried the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes that lingered in the way you walked, on the taps of your fingertips over wood, in each look and every word that fell from your lips, sweet as candy and soothing as honey.  

What wouldn’t she give to be staring at you right now and not at him, your baby blue dress draping around your bent knees like waterfalls, the gentle touch of your fingers barely making contact with her ankles instead of Jack’s calloused hands? Silence filled the foyer like an invisible gas that had rendered everyone mute. Suddenly heavy doors screeched, hinges screaming as they were pushed open making heads turn as fast as muscles would allow, a sharp pain running down Ellen’s neck at the motion, but she did not complain. A man in a white coat stepped into the hallway, years of medical practice engraved on his mature face as the heaviness of loss and work weighted him down, curving his spine as he made his way to the congregation. This was it, Avis thought, the moment everyone had been desperately waiting for. Her entire life was about to change, either for good or bad, and in both cases it made anxiety rise in her chest once more, completely unready for the grief that might slip from his thin lips, a nervousness that she could not control. But there was no need for her to do so, not when Jack, Ellen, Dick and the rest of them were there for her, would be there for her no matter what, and as the man’s steps got closer, the two of them held onto her injured hands with a caring and comforting touch. Her breath caught on her throat as soon as the man’s polished black shoes paused a couple of feet from them.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Doctor Friedman. How… how’s Y/N?

-She’s stable for now. She did come in an awful state, I won’t lie, and she will need time to recover from the extensive injuries, but for now the surgery we performed to handle the internal bleeding was successful.

-So, she will recover? She’ll survive?

-You brought her in with several bruised and even broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that we were able to handle before he took her to theatre, a punctured lung and bleeding spleen, along with many other minor injuries that the nurses are handling now. She was very very lucky, Mrs, Amberg. I can’t say that she will have the same life she did before, but she should get better, yes. -never before had she heard sweeter words. Angels were singing in her head as she released the breath she had been holding, the weight that had been crushing her for hours finally freeing her from its destructive grip. Relief was coursing through her veins as the doctor’s statement sank deeply inside her brain. You would be alright. Everything would be fine. And yet the man’s voice spoke in a gravely tone, his features darkened by the seriousness of the situation, putting a damper on Avis’s happiness for a moment. – I must warn you that her recovery will be slow. She is to be confined to a bed for at least a month, until I’m sure that her ribs have healed enough for her to stand without pain and once her legs are able to support her.

-What’s wrong with her legs?

-Her right ankle is broken, and she has a crack on her left femur, probably caused by a blunt object hitting her. I don’t know what happened to her and I don’t want to know, but it’s a miracle I’m not treating her for dozens of broken bones. She really is a fighter.

-For how long will she have to stay in the hospital?

-I cannot give you a specific amount of time, I’m afraid. It all depends on whether her lab work comes back within acceptable ranges and if there is no risk of her suffering any more harm once her body has begun to recover. We shall cross that bridge when we to it, if that’s acceptable to you Mrs. Amberg?

-Of course. Anything to make sure Y/N heals without issue. Could I… could I see her?

-I would usually say no as she is still in a very precarious situation, but I can give you a minute or two with her. She’s still under the effects of the anaesthetic and we did have to put her on a ventilator to reduce the stress on her respiratory system, so I’m giving you a heads up that the sight might be quite distressing, but it is only temporary. Can you handle that?

It crossed her mind to mention Ace’s state, just for an instant, how she had grown used to the sight of him surrounded by tubes that breathed for him, but her better judgment prevented those words from ever slipping out of her mouth. Without a second thought though she nodded her head, extracting her hands from Jack and Ellen’s tender grip, lifting herself off the chair and taking one single step towards the doctor. Jack’s hand on her knee stopped her just as her still trembling body had been about to take a second one, turning her head towards the kneeling boy to see him holding her shoes in his other hand. A sigh escaped from her red lips, the carmine slightly smudged on the corners of her mouth as she let him put them on. When Avis had been little, her mouther used to tell her stories before she had gone to sleep, tales from the old continent that she still remembered to this day, stories that she had read to Claire when she had been a child, before everything had turned to shit in her life. This very moment reminded her of one of those charming fairytales, but reality could never be as beautiful as the scenes in that worn-out book. Jack was not her prince charming putting on a glass slipper on her dainty foot, she was hardly a princess or even one of those ladies that wore tiaras and danced in room decorated with brocades and gold, and there would be no castle at the other side of the heavy doors. Avis’s princess charming was currently somewhere in this hospital asleep, waiting for her love to come and see her even though there would be no kiss that could heal you from the horrors that had transpired that day.

Her heels echoed against the tiles as she followed the doctor silently down the hall, feeling everyone’s eyes glued to the back of her head, but she never turned. She needed to see you, she needed to make sure that the words spoken to her were real and not just flimsy things that could easily be forgotten, taken by freezing drafts of cruel wind, and if she turned, even if it was for a single moment, and locked eyes with Ellen or Dick, her resolve would crumble. They would question her with one glance, and then she would begin to doubt herself, wondering if she really wanted to expose herself to whatever was awaiting her in your room, if she really had the stomach to see you in the same state her husband was in. They wouldn’t understand the visceral need to know that she had not lost you, that she wouldn’t have to fear a phone call in the middle of the night from some nurse or other telling her in rehearsed sadness you were gone. She was beyond grateful and happy that you were alive, of course, and she highly doubted anything could ever show and express the depth of her feelings of relief and utter delight, borderline delirious, that Lon had not taken you from her, that despite every hardship, you had fought and won, but there was still that tiny little voice telling her, asking her if it was real or just a panic induced hallucinations. She would have believed the later if Dick’s handkerchief hadn’t remained in between her fingers, the once perfectly manicured nails tracing the embroidery on the edges of the linen as the doctor held the door open for her.

In the course of barely twelve hours, she had gone through every emotion known to humankind, from lust and love to terror and anger, but this new fear that was taking hold of her felt completely different from anything she had ever felt before. Your body would heal, with time, but would your mind ever truly recover from something as horrible as this? Every time she blinked Avis could see the shape of your battered body on the filthy ground of that house, blood everywhere, your once perfectly alabaster skin now black and blue, not an inch of you safe from Lon’s wrath. But that had been but an instant, even during the ride to the hospital her eyes had remained on your face, never glancing down your body otherwise she would have broken down in front of you and she could not afford for such a thing to happen; you had needed her. But now you were somewhere safe, and she could not help but wonder what you would think of her when you woke up and told she told you about everything. She had killed a man for you, would you think her a monster? Was she truly ready for this? Her steps halted in the middle of the floor, the doctor not noticing her absence until he was around six feet from her, turning on the heels on his feet to look at her, eyebrows raised in a questioning manner.

-Mrs. Amberg? – those deep raspy tones that Dr. Friedman carried in his voice floated up to her ears, but they sounded to her like nails raking on a board, the undertone of his question lost before it could even be processed by Avis’s brain. Why couldn’t she just stop feeling so intensely? Why couldn’t her body just turn it all down for once and let her get on with the task ahead instead of making her feel like a scared child all over again?! For the first time in decades, she wished she could hold onto her mother’s hand.

-Come on, Avis. We’ll go in together.

In the back of her mind, she could trick her brain into believing that the perfume her nostrils picked up on wasn’t Ellen’s vanilla one but the floral she had missed for over twenty years now. No matter how old she got, how many years she cradled in the wrinkles that adorned her skin, she would always wish for her mother to be there with her, guiding her, telling her that everything would be alright, that she was strong enough to go and see you, to carry what you could not the same way you had been doing for her since the cold December night. Ellen’s touch on her forearms almost felt the same as hers, kind, loving, never rushed and never harsh, simply a statement that she was there for her. Turning her head towards the blond she saw a tender smile on her thin, rosy lips, and as if time had stopped to let Avis catch her breath, it began to tick once more as both women stepped forward in unison. Perhaps she had not given her friends enough credit, she thought, far too used to all those fake people that didn’t give a single fuck about her and her feelings, always believing that no one understood her, that she was everyone’s last resort when it came to things that didn’t involve money or connections. She was never even flirted with unless she started it, which always left her devasted by the time she got home. But Ellen was always there, listening to her, walking beside her down a hospital hallway just because she knew she would need a bit of push instead of telling her what a bad idea this whole thing was.

She made a mental note that she would make more of an effort from now on to show her just how important she was and how much she loved her. After all the poor woman had seen and helped her when she was at her lowest, when she had drunk herself to sleep after arguments with Ace, when she had had difficulties with Claire… The list was endless, and she could hardly recall a single time when she had said thank you to the woman for being there; she most certainly would fix that. In a small gesture of appreciation Avis moved her left hand until it came to rest on top of Ellen’s, the warmth of the blond’s skin mixing with her own bringing a sense of comfort that was very much needed, resumed their walk after a moment. The doctor guided them all the way to the end of the hallway and through a narrow corridor on the left, stopping in front of a dark wooden door that was marked with the number 217 in metal, each symbol hammered by thick nails onto the heavy planks. Her free hand shook as she pushed it open, the sound of several machines reaching her ears as both ladies stepped into the dimly lit room. It was exactly like Ace’s she noticed, with the same boring white walls and fluorescent light bulbs that flickered every once in a while, a single small window opposite the door covered in what only could be described as the grimmest grey curtains in existence, the smell of antiseptic and blood heavy in the air.

The sight was indeed anything but grotesque, crude, simply utterly heartbreaking. Your gentle frame lay underneath white bedsheets and a grey thick blanket; your skeletal body dressed in a gown that did nothing to hide the thousands of bruises that painted your skin. Dried blood remained stuck to your golden locks, turning them dark over the pillow, a mosaic of gruesome shades that made nausea rise in Avis’s throat for a moment, the acidic taste of vomit gracing the back of her tongue. You look so small, so tiny and broken in that big bed, wires and tubes circling your body in every angle and direction possible, dark glass bottles of blood and medication handing from drips, injected into your veins through yellowish tubes and wrapped around your arms and hands to prevent them from slipping, though you showed no signs of being on the verge of waking up any time soon. There were still red tinges on the parts of your skin that were not covered in bandages or plaster, the hues of death that refused to leave you just yet, on your temple, on the tips of your fingertips, around your cracked lips that were parted by a big white tube. She was quite familiar with that machine, watching with unshed tears the way the spring moved up and down with each monitored breath, the mechanical sound in no way a stranger in her life by now. And yet it somehow echoed differently in her mind, like a million screams that all matched your voice.

She had barely noticed how she had wayed on the spot, Ellen’s grip slightly stronger on her arms as to support her, Avis’s hands now dangling from her sides like rope, her entire body like a rag doll that remained on its feet because someone else was propping her upright. Your chest rose and fell artificially, and even though the doctor had been quite clear that it was to avoid any more stress on your weak state, she could not help but wonder if it had been a lie to hide the fact that it might be keeping you alive. Would you remain forever asleep, deep in a world so far away from Avis’s that all she would ever see of you again would be this, your deteriorating body as the days passed? Every minute spent with you had been like a blessed rainfall, washing her body of all pains and miseries, granting her fresh water to drink from your hands, an angel with no wings. She desired to see you barefoot over the grass, the sun bathing your alabaster skin with a perfect golden glow, locks of hair flowing freely in the wind as dandelions floated lazily around you, perhaps a butterfly or two landing on your fingers as bees buzzed in between flowers at your feet. Every waking moment was spent imagining you without a worry in the world, in the Garden of Eden dressed in nothing but your innocence and your golden virtue, waiting for Avis to fall into your arms in nothing but her wild locks of fire, laying down next to you in a bed of white poppies that cushioned you both from the hard ground.

She wanted you in ways that she could not understand, needed you so deeply that it made her entire body ache when she was away from you, her treacherous heart begging for you to be returned to her arms. Every instant without you made her soul yearn for you in ways that could make new sins appear on black ink on parchments at the Vatican, your name written in perfect golden calligraphy as hers followed suit in a deep red, like your humble apostle. She would set the world on fire for you, to see you open your eyes and find even a glimpse of love and recognition behind them, to feel your hands squeezing hers under all that medical equipment, to hear your raspy voice saying her name, and as she took one step towards you, Ellen never letting go just in case, she felt her chest constrict in a painful wave of grief. Yes, you were alive, but you were at the same time so far away from her, within her reach and yet her fingertips never seemed to be able to touch you, an invisible sea between you. Her brown eyes raked over your frame, but they always returned to your face, cuts and bruises decorating your pale skin in a macabre painting done by a madman, strokes deliberate, calculated over your once rosy cheekbones, splitting your lips and eyebrows as if he had been breaking a brand-new canvas, slicing your flesh so he could paint the walls of your enclosure with your blood, a hellish forest of splashes and puddles of burgundy and scarlet red dripping down the concrete, deaf to your pleas and screams. Stitches closed them up now shining under the flickering lights preventing your veins and capillaries from letting a single drop of your essence fall down your skin onto the bedsheets.

Ellen’s right hand held onto hers, and with curious brown eyes Avis watched as her friend lifted them and brought them to the edge of the bed. She made no attempt to touch you, leaving that part for the ginger to do when she was ready, but she remained a constant by her side, a supporting member of a team that played one of the most important roles; to simply be there. Avis hadn’t noticed how harsh the bedsheets seemed to be under her palm, rough, too starchy for her liking, and perhaps even a little worn-out, a feeling that she was incredibly displeased with and that she would make sure the nurses changed as soon as possible. You needed to be comfortable, and this was most certainly not up to standards. She was going to pay good money to this hospital once you were released, she expected you to be dressed in linens and cottons soft enough that they could never leave a rash on a baby’s skin, clean enough that Avis herself could eat on them and not worry about a single speck of dirt tainting her coffee, every single thing used on you of such quality that it could be used on the Royal Family without a doubt. It was understandable that since everything had been so rushed they had had to use the first thing their hands had grabbed, but that didn’t mean your entire stay would be like this, not while she was alive and next to you. The doctor cleared his throat behind them, making Ellen’s head turn to look at him to see him pointing at his wristwatch, a sign that the few minutes he had granted them were coming to an end.

-Avis, we’ll need to leave soon.

-Just one more minute. Just one. Please.

Dr. Friedman was not a cruel or heartless man, and as much as he knew he should follow every protocol in the book, he understood that whatever had transpired that morning must have been a most traumatic event and therefore the women in front of him needed the reassurance that his words were real. One more minute wouldn’t be the end of the world. He nodded his head silently, retreating back to the shadows by the door and letting Ellen whisper the good news to her friend who visibly relaxed her shoulders as she took a step closer to you, her ruined skirt barely a few inches from the mattress. With skin pale as milk, she could almost trace the outlines of your blueish veins up your arms through the many bandages that protected them, down your neck towards your hidden chest and over your eyelids. Everywhere she looked there they were, like spiderwebs of a tone between indigo and periwinkle that spread underneath your skin in different lengths and sizes, and if she narrowed her eyes just enough, she could almost make out what little blood you had left on your system coursing through them, your weak heart pumping in a steady rhythm. She only had a few more seconds left with you, this brief moment in which no words were exchanged, not even a glance except for Avis’s eyes roaming over your body, coming to an end far too soon and far too quickly for her liking, her hand inching closer and closer to yours as quickly as the speed of light and slowly as if she was traveling back in time.

Like lighting striking down her body Avis’s fingers finally made contact with your skin, a quiet gasp nearly falling from her lips as heat seeped from your body to hers. One single tear rolled down her cheek, eyes closing as she let the sensation wash over her, relief blooming fully in her chest like a garden in Spring, white roses climbing up the walls of her heart, daisies growing in her veins as her feet walked on the fluffiest of clouds or the softest of grass. She highly doubted she would ever forget the feeling of your freezing skin under her fingertips, like sharp shards of ice that had cut her flesh so deep scars would forever be imprinted on her skin, marks that no one but herself would ever feel, but as your still smooth flesh seeped a gentle warm glow onto her body, raining life back into a heart that grieved your absence and your memories, she was sure she could find it in herself to push every horror as deep into the back of her mind as it was possible. For the first time since you had kissed her tenderly last night, she could feel you again, alive against all odds. Euphoria could be a better way to describe what she was feeling, an unbridled joy even if she could make out all the tiny cuts and stitches that held your skin together, her fingers leaving reddish translucent trails of your own blood behind that the bowl of ice and water had not been able to remove, as she caressed the back of your hand, eyes watching the way your eyelids twitched almost as if you could wake up any moment, but she knew better.

-I’m sorry, Mrs. Amberg, but I can’t let you stay any longer. I suggest you go home and rest, perhaps have a bite to eat and come back this evening. The anaesthetic will have worn off by then, and it will only be a matter of time until she wakes.

-She will wake up, won’t she? – she refused to meet his eyes, afraid that the truth might be reflected in his greyish irises even if his mouth delivered what he might think were harmless lies.

-Yes. It might be later today or in a couple of days, whenever her body has recovered enough from the trauma and the surgery to regain consciousness. – so soon? What if she wasn’t there when you woke up and you thought you were all alone? She couldn’t possibly leave you now. Noticing how Avis hadn’t moved, not even attempted to step back from you, the man approached both ladies, and in a slow gesture he placed a bony hand on her shoulder in a way that could only be described as comforting. His voice carried a tone of patience and understanding that she wasn’t used to, each word delivered with such certainty it made her feel like there could be no other truth than his. - Mrs. Amberg, trust me when I say that she will be alright. I will keep an eye on her personally until you return, but that has to be in a few hours, alright? You need to rest as much as her.

Trust didn’t come easy for Avis, so used to being used by people as if she didn’t have feelings, just a means to gain something, but this man made it irrefutable for her to not do so. He didn’t gain anything by lying to her, she thought, looking at his older face over her shoulder, observing the veil of age and wisdom displayed in his eyes, a partially hidden smile gently gracing his lips behind a peppery moustache. He wanted you to live and go home as much as she did. A sigh made its way out of her throat, her fingers lingering on your hand for one more instant before they released you, leaving an empty spot that even in your unconscious state you somehow felt, knowing deep inside your mind that she was there, almost smelling her perfect perfume through the antiseptic and the blood. Not wishing to part ways like this, making it all seem so cold and distant Avis approached your head, pushing stained locks from your forehead before bending over the bed, balancing herself on the tips of her toes as her lips touched the soft skin she had just exposed.

 Her heart leaped in her chest the moment your warmth met her mouth, almost making her cry in relief as if she was coming to terms with how alive you were all over again,  but she could not prolong her stay any more than she already had and let her brain get lost in those wonderful thoughts, so as she placed her bodyweight back on her heels she observed through a wet chuckle the imprint of her red carmine on your smooth flesh. No one said anything about wiping it as Avis stepped back, her fingertips brushing the fabric of your gown before her arms came to rest at her sides, not that they were thinking about doing it in the first place, simply followed her silently towards the doors, Avis fighting to not look back just like Orpheus had done with Eurydice, afraid that whatever agreement she had signed with her silent prayers would be broken the instant her eyes landed back on your bed and she had to watch frozen on her spot as you were taken from her. Standing once again in the hallway the doctor was quick to excuse himself as he had other patients to check on. Ellen took the lead and pulled Avis away from your room and back to where everyone was still waiting, nurses smiling sweetly at them even though their eyes were blown wide at the state of both ladies. It made Avis hug herself, conscious that she looked nothing like she usually did with her curls bouncing out of the hairdo, frizzy and sticking out in some places, not to mention her ruined clothes; she felt nothing like her usual self. Ellen pushed the doors, holding them until her friend had walked through, letting them screech as they closed. Dick was the first to reach them, meeting in the middle of the foyer.

-Is she okay? How did she look?

-She’s… fine. Still sedated but the doctor says that she might wake up soon. He told Avis that it was best for her to return this afternoon.

-That’s good. Great news. Do you want me to drive you home Avis? – he placed a hand on her shoulder, a tactic she was beginning to hate. She wished for everyone to simply stop touching her, to let her handle all this however she saw if and at her own pace, but she partially understood that they didn’t have any other way of making her feel and see that they were on her side. The specks of anger that had built in her chest popped like tiny bubbles just as quickly, the angry words she was about to deliver to poor Dick getting lost among her aching muscles.

-No. I think I’d rather have Ellen do it. Besides, you have other matters to attend to.

-The film can wait for one day, Avis. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, don’t worry, I will personally cover the loses.

-I’m not talking about the film. Something must be done about Lon’s body. – the elephant in the room had the spotlight at last. None of the men had had the courage to bring it up even though they knew perfectly well what had transpired in that house, after all, shots could only mean one thing. Henry had flatly refused to even bring it up, saying, as both ladies left to see you, that he already had done his job and wasn’t going to get his hands dirtier than they already were, a cowardly move, Dick thought. The other three boys were simply too terrified of how Avis would react if they did that, that they had mumbled words under their breaths that sounded like excuses to the man, leaving only him to face the hangman at the end of the day. He couldn’t have been more grateful to Avis for bringing it up herself. - We can’t leave him there or it might draw some unwanted attention to us. Could you handle that, Dick? I don’t think I can, not right now.

-Of course, don’t worry. I’m sure that Mr. Psychosis over there knows of someone who can help. We’ll figure something out.

-Thank you. Just a heads up: it’s not a pretty sight what I left behind.

-I suspected as much. I’ll warn the boys. You head on home.

-Phone me if there are any problems, okay?

-I most certainly won’t. Go on, I’ll take it from here. – the first hints of a genuine smile broke through her serious semblance, picking at the corners of her mouth even if it was for a moment. She took the chance to squeeze his hand affectionately as a thank you before both ladies began their journey down the hall and to the parking lot. - Drive safely Ellen!

What had she done to deserve such wonderful friends? He was going out of his way to do something for her that she was extremely aware was dangerous, a criminal act that he was willing to cover up to protect her, and to a certain extent, you. No one would have ever even thought of doing that except for Ellen, maybe even Jack if you pushed him enough, but Dick would jump into action if he knew Avis could not. The boys waved them goodbye as they passed them by, Ellen mouthing a silent thank you to Jack for the ice trick from before, holding onto the ginger’s arm as they pushed the door open. Slowly, inch by inch, everything was sinking into her mind, every moment she had lived, every word she had heard replaying like a scratched record, the world around her not as blurry or as muffled as it has been when she had entered the hospital but still not quite as real as what was in front of her face, as if everything three feet from her didn’t exist. Every memory mixed as if they weren’t sure where they were supposed to go, like a puzzle that she could not finish even though she had all the pieces because the table kept on being moved, spilling them onto the ground over and over, her body aching even more each time she had to bend to pick them up. The sight of your body under all that equipment overlapped the image of Lon on the hard ground, you alive and him spewing the last few breaths the bullet she had embedded in his chest would allow.

She had barely registered the journey to the car, not noticing the hot rays of sunlight that hit her skin as if she was walking under a desert, nor the sound of her heels or Ellen’s on the asphalt as they approached the black Cadillac. Her purse was gone, she realised, looking from side to side in a panicked state as if it could magically appear out of thin air, not knowing where it was or if she had lost it in the turmoil of activities that had led them to this place, eyes flickering before she saw the blond pulling the car keys from a pocket in her jacket, unlocking the vehicle. It was right there, on the passenger seat along with the revolver she had handed to her friend. It was dangerous to leave both items for everyone to see, but at the same time she highly doubted anyone would have tried to steal them, bloody handprints almost engraved on the back of her front leather seats, perhaps from different hands, or where they hers? She seemed to recall a moment in which she had turned to beg Dick to drive faster, but she could not fully remember if she had rested both of her hands over the leather, maybe her friends had accidentally left them when they had manoeuvred you onto the back seats. Her eyes glanced then to where you had laid what seemed to be seconds ago, dirt and blood everywhere she looked, not inch unstained, the cabin filled with a horrible metallic stench that only seemed to get worse as sunlight broke through the windows, heating the air inside. 

Nausea hit her like a train going at full speed, forcing her to step away from the car as the vile taste of vomit returned, stinging and burning the back of her mouth as tears gathered on the corners of her eyes. Under other circumstances she would have considered walking back home, safely cooked up in her mansion in under twenty minutes, but people were already eyeing her a mix of worry and fear that she didn’t want to face out in the streets, rot to have the police stop her and start asking questions about a business they did not have to know about. She would have to endure the smell, she thought, turning back to the car to see Ellen fighting the foul stench herself, turning windows down so that the breeze would help dissipate it as much as possible. Through the open door that Ellen was working on, cranking the window lever, Avis saw the dark outline of your body marked on the seats, puddles of still wet blood dripping down onto the car mats one by one, perfectly formed tear-shaped beads travelling through the curves on the leather, imprinting the maroon shades onto the stitches. They were ruined, completely and utterly unsalvageable, she thought, not even an inch safe from some sort of splatter or smear of the crimson liquid, but it would be no issue to get someone to replace them, not leaving behind a single trace of the horrible experience. Hell, she could get herself an entire new car if she desired it, but her brain was exhausted and could not make decisions of that sort at this moment in time, the only thing clear enough for her to acknowledge being her wish for Ellen to take her home, away from everyone and everything.

A couple of minutes later the blond turned the engine on as Avis settled herself on the passenger seat and exited the hospital’s parking lot. The smell was still there, forever clinging to every surface, but the wind that had picked up around the car as Ellen pressed the accelerator, snatched most of it and pushed it out of the cabin with brute force. An eery feeling crept up her spine, eyes moving almost of their own accord to the back only for Avis to be forced to look through the windshield, a battle between her better judgment and that side of her that could not move on from what had happened. It almost felt as if invisible hands were hovering over her throat ready to strangle her with a mix of guilt and regret, pushing the happiness that you would survive to the side as if it meant nothing, demons that she had not faced in what seemed an entire lifetime taunting her. The woman behind the wheel was a completely different story. Shock prevented her from feeling anything but worry, as if nothing else existed in the entire universe, her perfectly normal life shattered into an amorphous shape that she had no idea how to understand and handle, feeling as if she could not fully comprehend just how deep you and Avis were connected, and therefore how bad this entire situation truly was. It left her bewildered to say the least, but she would never have to live with the thought that she had killed a man, unlike the woman next to her. Both ladies were lost in their own little crumbling worlds by the time the doors of the Amberg residence became visible.

No old man was there to greet them as they drove past the wide-open metallic gates, just as they had left them when they had come to pick up the weapons. When had that been? Avis wasn’t wearing a watch, and she could not recall what time Jack’s had shown while they were at the hospital. Over the leather, the revolver slid from side to side in between them as Ellen parked the car on the side, the gun hitting her thigh as everything came to a halt, eyes glued to it as if it had been the first time she saw it, the shotgun she had cradled not that long ago lost in the ginger’s mind, just as much as her jacket. They could be lying on top of twigs and grass in the forest, or maybe they were somewhere in that sterile place you were trapped in, her brain didn’t seem to even be trying to remember. They were, in fact, on the mats right behind her, soaking up blood by the minute, hidden under a dark mist of death that followed her everywhere she went, a reminder, a constant danger that made the hairs on the back of her head rise. Pullin on the hand break, Ellen turned off the engine, leaving them both simply sitting there, eyes staring into the distance unsure of what to say or if they should do something at all. Nothing could ever change what had happened; the burning crosses, the threats, the blackmailing and your kidnapping, all resulting in you being in a hospital and a man dead over the rubble of his parents’ house. Not a single word they said would erase a single second, turn back time to that moment late the night before in which Avis had been in this exact position, sitting on the passenger’s seat of your Packard instead of her very own Cadillac.

-Avis. - her hands were still trembling as her eyes broke their gaze from the revolver, lifting her head slowly to look at the blond. Sympathy swam in her blue eyes, concern crashing into her irises in waves of cold water that didn’t quite reached the ginger. Slender fingers intertwined with her own. – Everything will be fine. Y/N is strong, she’s already survived the worst of it. I’m sure she’ll wake up soon.

-I know, it’s just… so hard to believe that it will actually happen. Am I becoming paranoid Ellen? I have this feeling that at any moment I could get a call and she’ll be gone.

-You are not paranoid, you are worried. We all are. This… all this has been bigger than what we anticipated. Far more horrible that we could have ever thought, it’s normal for you to feel that way. She was almost taken from you.

-She was so cold, Ellen. It was as if I was touching pure ice, as if my skin was burning every time I put my hands on her. I was so sure she would be gone before…

-Hey, don’t think that. She’s fine, she will recover, and everything will go back to how it was.

-Will it? I don’t think there could ever be a normal again. We can’t go back to acting as if none of this ever happened, because it did, and I know it has scarred you as much as me, don’t deny it, Ellen. Please.

-I won’t. – would it even matter if they went back in time? Actions would still be engraved in blood and fire in their brains, haunting them in every waking moment, chasing them in nightmares that they could never escape from, shredding their skin with their sharp claws, making their ears bleed with their cruel laughs. What difference would it make if at the end of the day everything would still be fresh in their heads? Avis’s eyes noticed the layer of grief that ghosted over her friend’s eyes, and instead of waiting to be comforted she did the comforting instead, squeezing the woman’s bony hand hoping she would understand. The unshed tears were all the answer she needed. - We are all still in shock, let’s just try to get through the day to the best extent we can. Do you want me to stay with you?

-No, it’s okay. Do you need me to stay with you?

-I’ll be okay on my own, don’t worry.

-Then I’ll get the driver to take you to the studio so you can pick up your car. Promise me you’ll phone me if you need me, okay?

-I should be the one saying that, since you often forget to ask for help.

-Maybe things will change from now on.

Ellen raised her eyebrows in surprise, a small cheeky smile on her thin lips that matched the hints of lifted corners on Avis’s own mouth, a comfortable silence falling in between them as they exited the car. She felt the sun on her skin this time, the warmth that caressed her body gently through the white fluffy clouds that floated in the bright blue sky above. It was a continuous back and forth; one minute she could not feel anything but sorrow, and the next, joy filled her so completely that it almost made her think she would explode. It was as if she was caught up in between two worlds and she had no clue which way to go, which door to choose from the thousands that were presented to her. An absolutely insane hurricane that toyed with her emotions constantly. It made her doubt whether you could actually recover when you had looked so small, so vulnerable and pale, but at the same time she knew she had to believe that with people like Dr. Friedman around you nothing bad would happen to you, and that soon enough she would have you in her arms, cuddling in bed, kissing every inch of your body until dawn came. A soft breeze pushed rogue curls off her face, the floral aroma of her garden overwhelming her senses, making the metallic perfume she wore vanish as if it didn’t exist.  She rummaged through her purse to get her keys, steps slow, exhausted as she made her way to the doors, Ellen following her to protect her sensitive skin from the sun under the covered porch, eyes blinking lazily.

-You be careful Ellen, okay? I wouldn’t survive if something happened to you as well.

-I’ll be extremely cautious and alert at all times, I promise.

-Even so, I’ll get security for you house tomorrow morning. Don’t fight it, just humour me, please.

-I wasn’t going to. I’ll feel much better if I have someone there to watch over me at night.

-If you got with Ernie, you would have extra protection. – the heavy oak doors creaked in its hinges as Avis pushed them open, keys dangling and rattling from their spot inside the keyhole, feeling the cool breeze that wayed through the entrance. The words had left her mouth even before she had been able to filter them, but by the surprised look on her friend’s face and the soft chuckle that escaped her lips they had been exactly what was needed, lifting part of the gloomy atmosphere off the air around them.

-Oh, Avis! I can’t believe you; you are still trying to push me into his arms? Honestly. – she accommodated herself on a chair next to the door, crossing her legs under her blue pencil skirt as if it was just another conversation over a glass of wine, but in that case her suit would not be ruined by stains that not even a dry cleaners would be able to remove. - For what is worth I have already had lunch with him a few times.

-But you weren’t the dessert he was hoping for, I’m sure.

-Oh, you! Things will happen if they are meant to, and that its all I’ll say on the matter.

The following silence was comfortable, happy even, just like it had been all those times they had chatted in the afternoons when neither of them wanted to go home to an empty house, when they had wished to gossip and laugh and simply feel young and foolish. The grey clouds still threatened to rain in the corners of their minds, but they didn’t feel as imminent as before, as if the harsh truths of reality could be put on hold for a while. It was a breath of fresh air for everyone if they were being honest. Before stepping inside her house Avis turned to Ellen, and as a goodbye she kissed her cheek in a quick peck, leaving a translucent mark of her red carmine on the blond’s skin, promising her that the driver would right there. Gertie was waiting by the kitchen’s hallway as her employer stepped into the house, letting the wood creak as the door closed behind her, but the woman didn’t say a word, unable to at the sight of her. She had been perfectly composed when she had left the house that morning, even when she had rushed to gather the guns not that long ago, the woman in front of her looked as if she had just come back from a battlefield. If Avis had noticed the look the maid was giving her, she didn’t bother to mention it, simply asked Gertie to tell the driver that Ellen was waiting outside and made her way to the staircase as the other woman scurried away, a million questions floating in her head. Alone at last she let the armour fall of her body completely, mentally echoing as they dropped onto the ground, the last traces of adrenaline sliding of her arms onto the carpeted floor under her feet.

Each step felt as if she was climbing up a steep mountain, lungs begging for rest as her legs burned from the exercise, but she could not stop, she needed to reach her bedroom as close the door, isolating her from the rest of the world. Her left hand followed the polished wood of the banister, dried scales of blood parting from her skin, stuck to the railing without her noticing, like sprinkles of a punishment you had not deserved.  She had never counted each stair, but it seemed to her as if she would never reach the landing of the first floor, as if with each step she took she was walking backwards and not forward, like a never-ending walk down a hall where there were no doors. It was simply extraordinary in every sense of the words how much every bone and muscle in her body fought against her mind, aching and screaming at her to stop, to sit down and let the world pass by her, but in under a minute she stood over the carpet of the desired floor, barely three feet from her bedroom door. She could hear people moving about downstairs, voices floating as words she could not make out, nor that she wished to, her mind was already rushing as it was, she was not going to add more noise to the growing orchestra. Her heels made no sound as she walked towards her sanctuary, the white door keeping her away from everyone and everything, completely alone and secluded, curtains drawn so only the minimum and necessary sunlight could get in.

As soon as the door clicked shut everything went quiet. There were no cars on the road, no birds chirping joyfully on the other side of her window, no neighbours lounging by their pools with music or guests, just a deep silence that drilled itself into her head. Even before she had let go of her purse her shoes were already off, dropping her height by about five inches, soles pressed against the floor releasing hours’ worth of pain into the air, a sigh of relief falling from her lips. In a vase by the window a bouquet of white roses rested, filling up the space with a gentle floral aroma that could hardly make it past the stench that clung to her body, every single piece she was wearing material for a campfire as they were ruined beyond repair. Throwing the purse on top of the pristine covers she made her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and with precise and practice movements she turned the faucets on top of her pearly white bathtub on. Water poured in angry rivulets, crashing against the porcelain and spreading like a transparent wave until the drain claimed it all, swallowing without mercy. She watched mesmerised for a minute or two, feeling the cold splatters land on her hands from where they rested over the curved rim, the sound loud but somehow soothing. It made her think of the waterfall you had shown her yesterday, with its crystal-clear waters sliding over smooth rocks as if they were nothing, not even an obstacle, free in its movement, choosing its own path without anyone to tell it that it could not. It had been perfect, simply beautiful; just like you.

Steam began to gather as the liquid warmed up, and after wetting two of her fingers to test the temperature Avis pushed the plug over the drain, letting the tub fill up. Normally she would pour oils, foams and other beauty products in that would leave her skin perfectly smooth and smelling like a sublime blend of flowers and sweet oils, but today she had no strength to do so, simply watched as the water spread over the porcelain before turning and heading towards the bathroom mirror. She looked horrendous, she thought. Her hairdo, for the most part, had not survived the day, waves of red and curls the shade of fire matted on top of her head, curls bouncing and cascading over her shoulder and on the back of her neck, a few messy strands framing her face. Even under the artificial light that came from the bulbs placed around the mirror she could make out perfectly every single speck of blood that had landed on her hair, some barely visible to her tired eyesight while others stood out in amorphous shapes that both contrasted and yet blended with her ginger shade. Her once immaculate make up was smeared, mascara gathered in black clumps under her eyes, innocent trails staining her cheeks from all the tears she had cried and yet could only remember vaguely, her rouge patchy over her pale skin, leaving areas with a fake pink tone as others remained as white as marble. Even her carmine was cracked on her lips, streaks cutting through the red shade like a knife that exposed the rosy mouth underneath. But as much as she hated looking all dishevelled like that it was the hundreds of tiny little burgundy splatters all over her face that drove her insane. She felt as if she had been marked by Death; everywhere she looked, every inch of skin her eyes landed on blood would meet her, drops of rubies that had cost more than she could afford to lose.

Her fingertips touched and traced a few of them, smearing the ones that had not yet dried, her own flesh feeling like it belonged to somebody else. As much as she tried to rub them off, they remained imprinted on her, refusing to part from her, and it drove her insane, forcing her fingers to practically scratch the skin off with her fingers until she felt a stinging sensation and realised, she was close to actually drawing her own blood with her nails. Both hands fell over the marble counter, gripping the edge as her body collapsed onto a stool, the vision she had of herself on the bathroom mirror now only reaching up to her bust, though she didn’t need to see the reflecting to know where your bloodied hands had landed on her body. Meeting her own eyes in the reflection she felt every single year she had lived, all the decades of hate, abandonment and humiliation mixing in an explosive cocktail that poisoned her body. Not a single day passed without her wondering why things had turned out the way they did. Why had her once perfect life crumble into a spiral of betrayals, sex and money that she had never asked for? Her plans had been burnt to ashes by an industry in which she now had all the power she desired and still she felt like that Jew that was rejected before she even opened her mouth all those years ago. When had she lost herself? Each question went unanswered, a tired sigh escaping from her parted lips as she lifted her hands and began to pull each pin from her hair, placing them gently on top of the counter, releasing the pressure of the hairdo as each curl fell in perfect waves over her shoulders creating a red mane of frizzy and angry strands.

Her pearl earrings followed. It was amazing how they remained unpolluted, not a single speck of dirt on them maintaining that pristine white look on them as her hands placed to rest on the side, as far away from the sink should they accidentally get hit and fall down a pipe. It was obvious that the next step was to undress but she felt as if she could not stand, as if her legs could give out at any moment and she would end up crumpled on the floor like used tissues, and so she remained seated for a minute or two longer than she should, looking at the falling water that was filling up the huge tub with each passing second, tiny little bubbles coating the surface before popping. She had asked for this bathtub to be made to very specific measurements, hoping that one day she and Ace would share it, soak in it as they talked about absolute nonsense but that moment had never arrived, the size of it making her feel so small each time she stepped inside it, as if she was floating in the middle of an ocean with no boats around to save her should she give up on swimming. She had clung to the idea of using it with him and just with him that she had refused to take any of the gas station boys into her bathroom, not even Ernie, but after she met you the idea of sharing a glass of wine and a conversation only with her husband began to shift, and the image of you instead, filled her mind. And yet she had not had the courage to bathe with you as she dreamed of every night. There could have been so many opportunities lost, so many feelings left unsaid, kisses never received, promises broken, if the doctors had not been able to save you, and that clawed at her heart.

She had been so close to losing you that she was having the worst of times comprehending how you had survived, how you were alive in the hospital when you had been so cold under her touch, her words barely reaching your ears as with each breath you lost a little more of that spark that kept you going. Death was a cruel player of this game, throwing the dice and taking its prize without caring who it was and who they would be abandoning in an empty house, but then again, how could someone without a heart feel any remorse at leaving sorrow and grief wherever it went? Its skeletal hands had had such a strong grip on you that Avis would have never been able to release you, not if she had tried with every fibre of her being, letting her very own soul rot in an attempt to rip you from its sharp claws, but thankfully she had not had to. Her thoughts were scattered in her mind as fog began to build on the edges of the mirror and knowing that the longer she postponed stepping into the water the bigger the chance was of the tub overflowing and her body completely collapsing on her, she pushed herself into a standing position. Her fingers worked slowly on the buttons of her blouse, feeling the sating sliding down her arms until it rested on her hips, caught under the waistline of her skirt until she pulled it out and let it fall on the ground around her feet. The blood had seeped through the thin material and had felt big red splodges on the skin of her arms, like stamps that marked were your body had touched hers.

Her hands traced the shape of her white corselette, ruined just as much as any other of the clothes she was wearing, the crimson liquid having dyed the delicate lace around the boning, the shape of your hand perfectly embedded on the garment, almost down to the creases on your palm, fingers around her waist that she had not seen before. You had been holding onto her, but you had not been afraid of dying, you had made your peace with that, but afraid of leaving her without being able to say one last I love you. Tears welled up in her eyes and this time she made no attempt to stop them; no one could see her here, alone just like she had wanted, staring at all the cracks she had so desperately tried to cover every year of her life. She felt like a porcelain doll that was one single hit away from shattering. With trembling hands and a slightly blurry vision she unzipped the skirt, joining the blouse on the floor. She had not noticed how heavy the garment had got since she had put it on this morning, the fabric having acted as a sponge that had soaked up every gallon of blood your body had released without permission, the black colour hiding the gruesome truth it carried in between each thread and stitch. There was no pressure on her hips pushing her down anymore, only her underwear and her ripped stockings. She placed one foot on the stool and proceeded to unclasp the garter, rolling the once nude silk down her thigh, but something small and sharp that dangled from a hole around her knee caught her attention, and with her thumb and her index finger she picked it up and brought close to her face.

The next instant her hand released the item in horror as her body stepped back, hitting a glass cabinet and making several bottles topple and fall on the shelves. Her body shook, as more tears rolled down her cheeks, smearing the mascara further, her hands shooting out to hold onto the cabinet to keep herself upright even though her back was sliding over the smooth glass towards the ground. It had been so small that she could have easily kept on undressing without seeing it, that pointy and porous piece of what looked like a deep red piece of plaster, but she knew better, she knew what it truly was. She had been carrying a piece of Lon’s body with her all this time, from that hellish house all the way to her very own home, a bone fragment that even in the distance that separated them over the bathroom floor still held beads of dried blood in between its pores. God, she had truly killed a man. There was part of a human being in her home, of a person that she had not hesitated to murder; she hadn’t even blinked when she had done it, in cold blood. In her head she had repeated on a loop until even her mental voice had turned hoarse that it had to bed done, that if she hadn’t pulled the trigger, he would have killed you and would have probably ended up doing the same to her, but she could not process it. It was a if her brain had suddenly turned into a fortress that wouldn’t allow that information to pass, and it brought a distressed cry out of her throat that she tried to cover up with her mouth.

It wasn’t a matter of what people might think of her; it was a matter of she thought of herself. It was something irreversible, something that she had extremely clear in her mind about you, how if you died there was no coming back, no replacement in a drawer unlike with scripts, but there had only been one Lon as well. Was she a monster now? A criminal? A murderer? Both her hands flew to her face, covering it as she cried and sobbed, everything falling on top of her at the same time like a building collapsing, and this time there was no adrenaline to mask it and no Jack to save her from facing it all, just her and the wind whirl of emotions that she could not control. Every breath was sharp, loud and with a certain wheezing sound to it, mixing with her sobs like a sonata being played in the wrong key but she could not stop. This wasn’t her, the woman she had created after all those decades of hatred and loss, she was a completely different Avis who had no idea how to face the world anymore, who didn’t know her own strengths and weaknesses. She was a stranger in her own skin. A bitter, metallic taste reached her tongue from between her parted lips, and in utter horror she removed her hands from her face to see that the once dry blood was dripping down her arms, thin crimson rivers that branched out over her pale skin as if you had been in her arms only a few seconds ago. This was your very own life coating her skin, not his, you were the innocent one who hadn’t deserved to be beaten to the edge, hanging onto to life by a single thread that he had been far too close to cutting.

Why couldn’t she understand her own actions?! She needed her brain to accept it all before she went insane. Even though the crimson liquid held no heat except for the one that seeped from her body to the atmosphere around her, it felt to her as if it was burning her flesh down to the bone, and in a rushed and clumsy manner she crawled towards the sink and stood up. The faucet ran cold water for a moment, but she did not care, she scrubbed desperately every single inch of flesh she could, watching how the crystal-clear liquid drained in a deep red shade, the stream never lightening, never stopping, her hands still as dark as before. Her eyes met themselves in the mirror, puffy, oak irises dim of every spark they had possessed merely hours ago, following the burgundy outline her own fingers had left over her cheeks, as if she had slapped herself with her blood covered hands. The sink could not do it, she thought; it wasn’t enough. She practically ripped the stockings of her body and unhooked the corselette with as much speed as her trembling hands would allow, hurried breaths matching the silents tears that were still falling. Naked over the tiled floors she caught a glimpse of her body reflecting on the cabinet behind her and the mirror on her side, picking up on every spot of her body that had remained pristine as if they hadn’t been there with her when everything had unfolded, untouched. If she was still Avis, if the eyes that looked back at her still belonged to her why did she feel so broken? Maybe she had been that way all along and had only been able to see it now, when there was no armour to protect her, no walls to keep her true self hidden away.

Your blood ran over her body like snakes, dripping from her fingertips just as it had done back in the hospital, drops that one by one crashed onto the ground, as if hours hadn’t already passed, and as she looked away from her reflection she didn’t hesitate to step into the hot water that swirled inside the tub, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles as she sat over the porcelain, the faucet still running. It was as if she was covered in a strange emulsion that, as soon as her body submerged itself, seemed to peel of her skin like strings. They had a life of their own, curving in strange forms and creating tight ringlets and beads that did not melt into the water until several seconds after they had been floating around, turning the white around her into a light pink that slowly darkened as the seconds clicked. All those odd shapes diluted like they were nothing, like they hadn’t belonged to anyone, as if they hadn’t had a purpose, and Avis could only watch this morbid display as if she wasn’t the one involved, the producer and yet the product of this horror film she had not agreed to be part of. The parallels were there, the hypocrisy embedded in her mind, but no matter how hard she tried to not compare your situations to Lon’s her treacherous and vindictive mind was working against her, forcing her to see two different images one right next to the other as if she was standing in the room, bloodied water dripping onto the dirty ground as it slid of her body.

On the left was you, lying over exposed cement with black and blue bruises painted on your body, broken limbs showing sharp edges of bone, bleeding through your ears, the corners of your eyes, every scratch and injury separating you from her as your delicate frame turned nearly into a corpse before her eyes. Everything around you was dark, windows taped up, not even the candle she had seen in your cage lighting up the room, just cold and shadows. On the right was Lon, with a shattered leg that glistened gruesomely under fading rays of sunshine, gurgling and choking as his chest fought against the open wound that could never be repaired, heart shredded by a bullet, lungs collapsing in a pool of his own blood, a murderer that had met his match. The only difference she could see was that you had been almost killed by him while he had been killed by her, the ghost of the shotgun heavy in her hands as they floated under the hot water. What was the distinction between her and him that wouldn’t label Avis as a murderer like him? From a shelf next to the tub she picked up a dark blue sponge and dipped it in the bath before proceeding to rub the skin of her arms with it, the strength she was using far harsher than what she would usually do but there was something in the back of her mind telling her that she needed to remove every speck of blood that covered her body. She scrubbed, scratched and turned her skin from pink to red in an attempt to vanish it all, moving onto her chest and torso in a panic state as she saw that some of it seemed to be stuck on her, that no amount of pressure and hard work could remove it. She was brutal, leaving her flesh raw, a very thin line separating her skin from being intact to a bleeding mess, and yet she carried on, frantic in her need to free herself from everything, but to no avail.

Invisible hands pressed themselves onto her flesh, bruising her shoulders, the soft skin of her neck, her collarbones and sternum, leaving the imprint of wine-coloured palms on the sides of her breasts that matched the fading outline of yours that had seeped from her blouse down to her taunt abdomen, nails scratching without noticing. They were everywhere, like a thousand demons that wished to rip her skin off until only bones were left floating in the bath, and with sponge in hand she seemed to be aiding them. Soap soon followed, that special blend she had had made so she would always smell of cashmere and champagne, but the aroma was the least of her concerns, the white bubbles forming on the sponge soon tainted pink with each stroke over her thighs and shins, hissing painfully as her cuts got cleaned. They wouldn’t leave a mark of course, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind every movement halted. Would yours? She had traced the stitches and bandages, and she had seen with her very own eyes every wound on your precious skin, but she had never even thought of whether they would remain forever embedded on you, a constant reminder for both her and you. Would she hate them whenever she saw them? Would your eyes close every time you stepped into the shower and refuse to look at yourself in the mirror? From her spot kneeling inside the tub, she could see her translucent reflection on the glass cabinet, in between fallen bottles of oils and foams, seeing for the first time her true self meeting her back. Her face was free of makeup, pale and pristine, her neck smooth without a single speck left, the ends of her hair and the strands that framed her face wet, sticking to her skin.

This is what you saw, the real her she hadn’t met since she had been a child, a side of her she had been scared of for decades but that you had adored with every fibre of your being, kissing it, cherishing it. It was as if she was seeing herself through your eyes, admiring things that were not only physical but emotional, and she wasn’t hating it. If you had seen all her flaws and cracks and still loved her, why would she hate your scars? They would be silent stories of survival embroidered onto your flesh, like rose golden threads that told a tale only a few privileged people could read, and every moment you spent in her arms she would whisper in your ear that they could never hold you back, that they could only push you further into the life you deserved. Slowly the puzzle was rearranging itself on a steady table at last.  Her hands let go of the sponge, watching in the reflection the way the moving water made it float around the surface, fingers wrapped around the rim as splatters of both reddish and crystal-clear liquid fell drop by drop around the tub. Her breaths were hurried, and her muscles ached like never before, but all panic and fight had vanished from her; she just felt so tired, so exhausted, leaving her to soak in filthy water for a minute or two as she looked at herself in the glass. There was a bruise on her right collarbone that she traced gently with her left had fingers, feeling the tenderness on her skin the butt of the shotgun had caused. This injury would fade along with the others, but yours would stay for all eternity. Unplugging the drain, she watched in silence the small swirl that formed as the water travelled down the pipe, exposing her naked form to the foggy bathroom air, the warmth of her body contrasting with the cold atmosphere even if in truth the room was filled with steam and heat.

White bubbled clung to the sides of the tub as the water level decreased, sliding down her body from underneath her breasts to her waist and beyond until the only thing left was foam stuck to her skin and to the porcelain bottom. She didn’t want to think anymore, she just wanted to push everything to the back of her mind and reach the end of the day. If she thought about everything one more time, she would be stuck in the same loops she had been all day and she just couldn’t handle it. She needed her mind to shut up and leave her be. She had turned the faucet off at some point, though she could not recall when, and to a certain extent it felt kind of dumb to turn it on again, the sponge underneath the stream of brand-new clean water, washing the left-over residue on the blue strands. Her movements were lazy, slow as with a sigh she pushed the plug back over the drain and let it fill up again, but this time she rested against the back and rim of it, feeling the warmth coated her body as the level rose, foam forming on the edges from the soap she had not gotten rid of, but it didn’t matter to her, it would soon fade as well. A bottle of bath salts caught her attention through her half-closed eyelids, the purple shade of lavender rocks making the corners of her mouth twitch in what could have been a smile. They had been a gift from you for Valentine’s Day, along with some lotions, flowers and chocolates, everything in a basket she had put away in her closet among her purses. They had hardly been expensive, and Avis knew she could have traded them for better things or even regifted them to Ellen or Miss Stinton, but they had come from you, and that bright smile you had just for her had prevented her from even entertaining the thought. These things were yours, she could never part with them, she could never sell them or give them away, no matter how much they cost or if they didn’t fit with her lavish lifestyle, they were simply yours. It was hardly an excuse, but it was the truth. She had kept every single gift you had ever given her, from flowers that laid pressed in between pages of books Ace would never read, to a metallic box of chocolates she used now to store pictures of you, bows you had forgot at her place, even a lock of you golden hair that you had cut in front of her so you would always be with her.

She had in her possession dozens of little things that had belonged to you, or still did, like the nightgown she kept under her pillow just in case you stayed with her at night, and every moment she didn’t spend with you she spent it with your things, knowing that come the morning your face would greet her again with a smile, and your lips would kiss hers as if it was the most normal things in the universe. With perfectionated practice Avis turned the faucet off with her foot once the water reached her neck, the rest of her body submerged under a thin layer of foam randomly spaced over the crystal surface. Steam swirled around her like white smoke, but it didn’t choke her, it simply floated about the room, lulling her slowly to a world in which you were there with her. She had plans for the two of you, trips, dinners, picnics, dances… She wanted to show you off like you deserved, to dress you in the most beautiful gowns and twirl you around the dance floor without a care in the world, breathing in your perfume, caressing your skin with her hands and her lips. She wanted to make love to you. She wanted Ace to be you, to call you her wife and take you with her to every luncheon and every meeting, hand in hand, have midnight conversations and laughing fits that left her breathless under the moonlight with you in her arms. She had almost lost all that the dreams that could be and the ones that society would never allow but now that she knew you would be alright, as hard as it still was to process it, there was no reason for her not to do them.

She was a grown woman who had defeated all the odds, who had fought with herself to get to where she was now. She was not going to step back and let life pass her by again, even if it meant living with the consequences of her actions. At the end of the day his death had brought on your survival. Avis took a big gulp of air and submerged herself completely under the foamy waters, red locks floating around her face as every sound in the universe dimmed, eyes closed, letting herself fall as if she was floating in a never-ending ocean. She could feel the currents brushing her naked body, legs and arms moving from side to side to keep herself upright in the bottomless waters, silence in her mind, deep in her throat and ears, no waves crashing above her head, just her body and her. It was so peaceful like this, where nothing could get to her, nothing could disturb her very needed break from reality, blue all around her form, her fiery curls swaying in a rhythm that caressed her cheeks and the back of her neck like tender kisses. She could feel the gentle flow of blood in her veins, her heart pumping steadily, her lungs holding onto the oxygen provided like a mother holds her child, close to her chest whispering promises of a wonderful future filled with love and happiness. She could give that to you, she could be beside you until her very last day returning all the love you had given her, all the passion and joy you had brough to her life. It felt like an eternity as she floated in that vast ocean, free, but her lungs soon began to constrict and the need for air overtook everything else, but her body did not disturb the gentleness of the moment and broke the surface with the utmost care, water sliding over her eyelids and nose, kissing her rosy lips as they dripped off of her from her eyelashes, oak irises opening to meet the same scenery.

She was in the same place but everything around her had changed. The atmosphere felt different, lighter perhaps, as if a pair of hands had been covering her eyes and had at last been removed, allowing her to see everything clearly again. Her life had shifted from that safe spot where she had resided for decades into a place where she was in charge, not having to ask anyone about what she was allowed to do or not, what things were appropriate or worth taking risks for. Meg was a risk she was glad she took; you were a risk she had been waiting to take for her entire existence, everything she stood for now was a risk, and she very much wanted to continue like this, no steps back. She had suffered terribly, but she was no true innocent, she had caused pain as well, and as she sat on the bathtub hugging her legs close to her chest, hair cascading down her back like molten lava, she realised that things had to change with Ace if she wanted to move forward form this point. They had been so locked up on throwing dirt and pushing each other to the ground that they had forgotten why they had got together in the first place, what was truly important. Claire had been caught in the crossfire, and no one had been there to take care of her. True that Avis had been putting on the effort to fix things with her, to create a bond, and understanding, but Ace had to as well; it wasn’t in the hopes that they would become the happy family she had dreamt of, but because the three of them deserved to at least become friends even if love could never truly happen. Ace had made it very clear that he was not interested in her like that, and she had you, the most perfect angel sent to the land of sinners to show her that love was real and not a legend or a prize for the lucky ones.

It had to happen like this because she was Avis Amberg and yet she was not, not until she was ready to become who she was meant to be. Time would tell when that moment would arrive, but for the time being she could simply bask in the joy of knowing that you were alive and would recover. The sponge floated up to her, colliding gently with her knees and breaking her concentration on her reflection on the glass cabinet. Every movement as she washed was mechanical, methodical and usual as she opened her shampoo and lathered her hair in the tender smell of orange blossoms, foam all over her scalp as she scratched the skin hoping to remove what little blood might be left, feeling it running down her back as she picked up the showerhead to remove it. There was no need for her to stand and wash her body yet again, but she did it anyway, although this time her hands were kind to her skin and refused to use more pressure than what was necessary to cover her flesh in cashmere bubbles. She had been cruel to herself far too many times today, she could afford to be kind for a change. Hot water fell over her face and body, rivers of diamonds sliding over her skin, taking with them every bit of soap they could find and releasing the image of smooth and almost perfect frame, travelling over her freckled shoulder, in between her breasts that rose and fell with each slow breath, beads of water falling off her pink nipples and crashing in quiet plops around her knees, each stream molded to her body down to every wrinkle and stretch mark.

Her hands pushed the wet hair off her face before squeezing the excess off, head lulled back as her eyes closed briefly, the sound of water returning to water filling up the bathroom as steam gathered around her, before bending to unplug the tub and let it drain for the last time. Her slightly wrinkled fingers grabbed her salmon-coloured bathrobe as her legs stepped out onto the tiled floor, cool under her hot skin, leaving small puddles with each step she took towards the sink, arms going through each sleeve, the soft fabric clinging to her curves as she loosely tied it around her waist. It left the valley between her breasts exposed along with part of her upper abdomen, but she did not mind, using her right hand to wipe the fog from the mirror before sitting back on the stool. It was a completely different sight to the one that had welcomed her the moment she had stepped into the bathroom, but it was a better one as well, no more blood in sight, no smeared makeup, just her, completely bare, meeting her reflection. Dark spots appeared on the back of her robe and around her legs from the water that was gliding down her body and dripping from the wavy ends of her ginger hair. From a hanger on the left side of the room she picked up a small white towel and gently tapped her face dry before scrunching and shaking her locks into a light dampness, proceeding with a short version of her skincare as she threw it onto the hamper to her right. Lotions, oils, serums, almost a dozen bottles rested around the sink, but she didn’t feel like doing every single step, too tired to even entertain the thought, so she simply grabbed the daytime lotion and tapped a few beads onto her skin, massaging it as the white cream got spread and absorbed.

It made her glow under the artificial lights. Coming to stand she towered over the ruined clothes, observing them in disgust, lip curling slightly before she headed towards the door and unlocked it, steaming colliding with the chilly breeze inside her bedroom in spirals that faded into nothing. She would burn those clothes that same night. She would throw them in a paper bag and watch as the flames consumed them until there was not a single thread of fabric left. After all it wasn’t as if she didn’t have clothes to wear and underwear to spare, she was not even going to try to save them. She was not going to face the memories of today over and over again every time she opened her closet or when the idea of wearing them crossed her mind, but most of all she was not going to subject you or anyone around her to the sight of them ever again. Her steps were sure but fatigued as she crossed the room towards her vanity, curtains perfectly still as they fought against the sunlight that was begging to be let in, palms swaying to the warm breeze outside as Avis sat herself on her ivory-coloured padded chair. There were small items scattered all over the white wood, from a box of hairpins to small bottles of perfume, but her hand did not reach for any of them, it picked up her silver brush, her initials engraved in the back surrounded by tulips, and began to run it over her damp hair, watching in the reflection the way her fiery locks gently draped over her shoulders, lazily beginning to curl. It was a soothing motion, like tender fingers that caressed and massaged her scalp with each stroke, and as her movements began to slow down, she felt the headache that had been threatening to form and possibly render her useless for the rest of the day was being pushed away, dissolving around her temples and behind her eyes.

Under normal circumstances she would start applying makeup as soon as she rolled up her hair; layers of foundation, rouge and mascara that shaped the stern and superior persona she had always been. But for some reason she did not wish to hide away behind all that right now. It wasn’t that she did not enjoy dolling herself up, she was the first to spend hours trying new sets and products and adored to see the beauty they accentuated on her red lips and deep outlined eyes, but it felt right now like an excuse to build those retched walls around herself again, a fortress that her tired hands could not erect. Satisfied with how her hair looked after a few minutes she left the brush on top of the wood, next to the box where her pearl earrings belonged, sighing deeply at the stiffness on her shoulders. The doctor had told her to wait until evening arrived to go back to the hospital, but she didn’t think she could find it in herself to simply sit around for hours, much less try to get some rest when she knew for a fact your unconscious face with all those horrendous tubes around you would appreciate behind her closed eyelids. It felt as if you were in the room with her, like an intangible presence that her eyes frantically looked for and never found, and yet her brain was telling her that it was real. Like a ghost that whispered words in her ear that she could not understand. She could feel you in every corner of the room, in every stitch of her clothes, under the covers of her bed, floating around the curtains that kept her world hidden from reality. You were in the very foundations of her home and in every drop of water that she had been submerged in, filling in the peaceful silence, but it was all an illusion.

A shiver ran down her spine, beads of water still clinging to her skin making her shake slightly, so in an effort to make time pass quicker she stood up and returned to the bathroom to moisturise. Her Elizabeth Arden body lotion rested right next to her Helena Rubenstein face cream, the pristine white and golden bottle clashing with the deep green jar, a harmonious battle that blended like the Heavens on her body. The door was left ajar this time as Avis untied the robe and let it fall over her blood-stained clothes, the soft fabric sliding over her flesh like melted butter until she stood naked over the tiles once more. Her hands were perfectly rehearsed as she picked up decent amounts of the cream and began to gently massage it over her arms and shoulders, following the pattern of collarbones, sternum and breasts. She was extra careful around her bruised skin, deep blues and purples beginning to form under a dark layer of what could only be considered black, the chipped nail varnish following the fading edges until she could not tell when the redness of the injury ended and the pale tones of her skin began. The thoughts began to unravel on the edges of her mind, memories sliding to the front like venomous snakes that wished to poison her and make her crumble back to the ground but she did not allow it, pushed them back to the darkness and depths of her brain with all her might and continued applying the lotion on her abdomen and as far as she could reach on her back. With one leg perched on the stool, toes pressed against the hard glass, her hands run up and down her shin and calf, fingers carefully observing the scratches as they rubbed the flesh, inching over her knee towards her thigh, smooth skin molding to the motions provided to help absorb the cream.

If you had been in the room with her your hands would have done it for her, the pads of your fingers massaging every inch of her, touching her tenderly until her body melted against yours, kisses following ever trail your palms had travelled originally to make sure she was perfectly tended to, completely and utterly loved. There would be time for that, she thought as she perched her other leg, enough time for her to show you just how much you meant to her and how much she loved you. She would take you to secluded spots so you could look up at the stars together, sharing kisses hidden by the veil of night, she would take walks with you down parks and boulevards, your arm interlaced with hers as the two of you laughed and talked not sparing anyone a glance as your eyes would be completely glued to each other. She had so many plans, so many things she wanted to do with you that she had been doubtful and worried would be frowned upon, but not anymore. She had been playing a game with rules given by someone else, it was about dammed time she made the calls instead. Her hands finished applying the lotion over her thigh, body glowing gently as her skin absorbed the cream. She stepped down from the stool after a moment to wipe her hands clean on a towel and grab her ocean blue satin robe from where it hung behind the bathroom door. It felt incredibly soft on her smooth body as she put it on, lace on the cuffs of her sleeves and the entire hemline of the garment that dressed her body in gentle blue tones. Her body was as much on display as before, her breasts practically spilling out of it as the slit showed of her legs with each step she took as she made her way back into the bedroom. Her hands itched to do something, but her brain was at a complete loss as to what. As she began to pace over the carpeted floor she saw her purse from the corner of her eye, an idea striking her as she bent over the mattress, her nipples barely covered by the blue satin, and picked up her silver cigarette case and golden lighter. With practice easy she placed one in between her rosy lips and made her way towards the window, pushing ethe curtains to the sides and opening the glass enough so that the soft warmth of the day could slide inside the room and snatch both the coolness that seeped form the walls as well as the tobacco infused fumes. 

The first puff tasted marvellous to her, the rich and bitter aroma hitting her tongue and nose, working wonders on calming whatever nerves were still a bit frayed, smoke travelling down her throat and into her lungs in an intoxicating blend of nicotine and a hint of mint that she was unsure where it came from. It got released out of her mouth and nostrils in lazy grey swirls that slipped into the air outside ethe room, diluting amongst oxygen until there was nothing left. Only the leftover state in her mouth. The world had indeed kept spinning without any of them following. Palm trees moved from side to side at angles that only made the leaves dance under the bright golden sun beams, the sky as blue as ever, not a cloud in sight, not a bird slicing through it, simply unblemished above everyone’s heads. There was the muffled sound of cars driving around, of birds chirping and bees buzzing around the flowers of her garden, blooming in a variety of colours that hours ago would have seemed black and grey. Everything was still as beautiful as ever, but Avis knew better, Ellen knew better. No amount of petals falling over her emerald grass could make you wake up any faster or heal in the course of barely a night, and as she took another drag of her cigarette her eyes drifted to the clock on her nightstand, a unique piece made in gold and sapphires that matched the perfection of Swiss watches. It read four in the afternoon. Had it really been so long? She could have sworn that the last time she had glanced at the clock, back in her office, it had read eleven. How had so many hours passed when it felt to Avis as if it had barely been five minutes? The entire day seemed to have passed in a blur around her, everyone and everything rushing, leaving her memories of the events looking like a film that was being played at a much higher rate of frames per minute than usual. Right on cue her stomach growled, reminding her that she had been going around with just a cup of coffee and some scotch in her system, not a single bite of food ingested in all those hours, just nicotine, caffeine and alcohol; the golden trio, she thought with tired and bitter amusement.

-Ma’am? – she had not heard the gentle knock on the door it seemed, as Gertie’s voice floated up to her while the woman remained in the hallway, only her head poking through the crack she had opened. Ginger girls bounced as Avis turned her head, a puff of smoke escaping from her parted lips. – Is everything alright? – the poor woman must have been scared out of her wits, she thought, watching her enter the house in such a state, but as much as she wanted to explain everything to her, she did not want to subject her to such horrors. At least she could spare one innocent person from suffering.

-Yes. Everything’s fine now. I apologize if I seemed… erratic or if I frightened you when I came in.

-No need, ma’am. I simply wished to know if you were alright or if I need to call the doctor.

-I am perfectly fine, as you can see, but I do appreciate you checking on me. You are good woman, Gertie.

-I’m simply doing my job, but thank you, Mrs. Amberg. – a soft blush crept up her cheeks, something Avis was not used to seeing and she wondered if she had been as kind to her as she had been to Avis. She was well aware that there had been many times she had to clean up after a fight between her and Ace, glasses and vases shattered on the floor, pictures knocked to the ground in fury, but had she ever told her just how thankful she was for not leaving? The woman had become a pilar of stability in Avis’s life, and she hardly thought she could do without her at this point in her existence. Perhaps she could send her on a long and very well-deserved holiday to some exotic place as a way of repaying her. - Is there anything I can do for you?

-Actually, there is. Could you phone Oscar Russel, down at the Packard dealership, and ask him if he knows of anyone who can change the seats in my Cadillac for brand-new ones? Someone who won’t ask questions.

-Of course, ma’am. Same colour and material?

-Yes, Gertie. And could you fix me something to eat? You don’t have to go overboard with the meal, just something quick and simple that won’t dirty the kitchen too much. I don’t want you to have to tidy it up again.

-Do not worry about that Mrs. Amberg. Do slices of turkey with some gravy and grilled asparagus sound appetizing, ma’am?

-Very much.

-Then I will have them ready for you in a moment and will call Mr. Russell later this afternoon. Anything else ma’am? A drink perhaps?

-No, thank you, Gertie. That will be all.

The door clicked close, leaving Avis alone once again, the cigarette dropping ashes onto the ground even if part of them were carried outside by sudden gusts of wind. Some day she would explain everything to Gertie and put the woman out of her misery, but it would not be today. She watched the sun for a brief moment, already moving west as dusk approached, the once bright white light that bathed the world turning slowly into soft golden rays with hints of orange, but not quite yet. There were still a few hours left of sunlight, the world not ready to meet the night and all the shadows that came along with it. Another drag left the cigarette between her fingers practically burnt to the very edge of the butt, and with no desire to light another she exhaled the smoke through her mouth before tapping it out on the stray that was on her nightstand. The slight tinges of tobacco clung to her robe as she made her way to her drawers to pick out a set of underwear, satins, silks and lace meeting her as she pulled the one on the top right open. There were purple brassieres, white corselettes, black bodices… in truth, anything and everything money could by at a store, but she made no attempt to find something sexy the way she had been doing since she met you, she searched for comfort and practicality, and in the end, she found her trusty dark corselette. It was a bit worn out around the straps, and some of the lace could do with a few extra stitches, but she had had it for years and it suited her body, and her currents needs better than anything else.

It came as a set, of course, so it had a matching pair of panties that she grabbed as she returned to the bathroom, though this time she didn’t even bother to close the door. She wasn’t as careless with her blue robe as she had been with her salmon one, still resting on the floor, and hung it behind the door just as it had been before, making quick work of putting on her undergarments, adjusting the hooks and her breasts so everything would sit exactly as it was supposed to, the top of her bosom spilling from under cups of simple but exquisite embroidery. Barefooted she walked to her closet and threw the doors wide open, suits, dresses and mink coats meeting her eyes but alas there was desire for such extravagance today. No rich colours and expensive fabrics would dress her body, and she was adamant about following that rule. Her fingers brushed over silk blouses and tweed skirts, some of the garments not having been worn in years, but for some reason she hadn’t parted with them, and they now laid inside her wardrobe gathering dust and as possible victims to moths should they ever get inside her closet. Chanel and Dior were most definitely out of the question, not to mention Versace, all dresses that she could wear to a dinner or a party, but not to spend a night in hospital with you, but then her eyes picked up on a bag hidden in the back. She had forgotten about it. Grabbing the hanger, she took the bag out of the wardrobe and laid it flat on top of the covers before carefully unzipping it. Inside was a simple dark forest green gown with short mutton sleeves that didn’t carry too much of a puff around the shoulder, a skirt that reached her knees, maybe an inch underneath them, and a decorative cinched waist with elastics hidden in the back. It was practical, a garment she had never worn because she hadn’t been sure what sort of event would require for a gown as simple and classic as this, a dress that spoke of privacy and propriety to a level that had never felt right to Avis but that right now she considered the correct call.

It was of no concern to her if it was made out of the softest velvet, it would probably keep her warm once the temperature outside the hospital dropped and a cool breeze began to seep into your room, so without giving her brain a chance to back down she searched for the zipper, which had conveniently been placed on the side instead of the back,  and stepped right into it. It was outstanding how designers could take one single look at her and get her measurements perfect down to the last decimal. It clung to her in all the right spots, showing of her waist while at the same time leaving certain parts of her body to the imagination, only the slightest hint of a cleavage peeking from behind the soft neckline. You would have loved it, she thought as her hands travelled over the fabric, imagining for a second that they were yours, arms wrapping around her waist as your head rested on her shoulder telling her how beautiful she looked. It made her lips break out in a genuine smile that only her eyes saw reflected on the mirror as she hugged herself as if her palms could feel the skin of your arms around her body. Standing barefooted over the carpet she looked over to the other side of her bed, the one Ace would usually occupy but that had been empty for a while now, counting the days you had spent on it and gathering in her mind the numbers, wondering if your shampoo or your perfume could still be lingering on what used to be her husband’s pillow. Like a magnet she headed towards it, needing to know and at the same time afraid that only his aftershave would hit her nostrils, shaky hands picking it up and placing it close to her chest. A tear threated to fall as she caught a gentle but lingering whiff of your berry perfume under Ace’s sandalwood aroma, and for once it did not feel as if it didn’t belong there with yours.

Perhaps many more things had changed inside of her than she had anticipated. Walking to her side of the bed she sat carefully on top of the covers still cradling the pillow in her arms, wishing to keep as much of you with her as she could until you healed enough to come home. Had she just thought of her house as yours as well, as the only place she ever wanted you to live in? It felt selfish but how could she not wish to keep you with her when she had been so close to losing you? Minutes passed without warning as she remained seated, unmoving, lost in thoughts that she would forget as soon as she woke up from her dissociative episode but that for the time being she could immerse herself in. You had mentioned once how you would have loved to live in a house with a big garden, flowers everywhere for your tender hands to care for as spring came, picking up oranges and peaches in the heat of August that you would place carefully in the skirt of your dress or in a basket, the unforgiving heat gliding over your skin as if you were unaffected by it, smiling up to her form her spot by the pool, or maybe she would get her hands dirty and pick them with you. There was an entire world of possibilities before her that she had never seen before, and each idea and plan was better than the one that had come before it, but all of them shared one common factor. Your happiness. Gertie’s voice floated up to the room and although it did not pass the closed bedroom door Avis understood that her meal was waiting for her, snapping her out of her moment and forcing her to let go of the pillow and finish up getting dressed. Her black heels were sprawled out on the floor, abandoned, probably as stained and ruined as everything else, and as with everything else, she was not even going to try to fix them. Opening another set of doors, dozens of pairs of shoes greeted her in every colour possible, in lines and cuts that not many people had the privilege of even seeing in magazines, but she already knew which ones she was going to wear.

Her hands reached for a beautiful pair of green heels, pumps, if her mind did not betray her, that matched her gown. But there was still something missing, a touch to make it all come together, a detail that would wrap it up and make look like one of the outfits Avis would usually wear but without all the unnecessary splendour. Rummaging through her jewellery box nothing seemed to stand out to her, her stomach rumbling reminding her that her food was getting cold downstairs, and she had to hurry, but there just wasn’t a thing in it that wasn’t either too expensive or simply too much. The thought of forgetting all about it crossed her mind for a moment, but she discarded it the same instant it came up in her mind and headed to her nightstand where she knew for a fact, she had a few pieces she knew she had to put away but never remembered. Underneath handkerchiefs and several pairs of gloves she found a golden locket. It wasn’t anything Ace had gifted her, much less something producers or actors had placed on the table for a good part or a good price for a movie, this was a token you had given her just because. There had been no fancy dinners or flowers awaiting her, just you with the locket after a hard day at the studio. This was it, the cherry on top of the ice cream that she had been looking for, the dried petals of a daisy inside it, the first flowers Avis had given to you back in January, almost right after New Year’s. You had meticulously pressed them and aired them so they would never rot, eternal inside their golden case that Avis was now fastening around her neck, the jewel sitting perfectly over her collarbones and stopping right at the top of her cleavage.

The sight that welcomed her in the mirror was far from what she was used to, but she could not say that she did not like this homely, comfortable look, not when all that mattered was getting herself back to the hospital as soon as possible. There was no chance in Hell she was going to leave you to wake up alone. With one last brush of her hands over the green velvet she picked up her purse and the cigarette case and headed out of the bedroom, but just as she was about to step through the threshold she stopped. Was this what she truly wanted? Could she handle all the things she had changed? In an hour Avis had turned her entire world upside down, had transformed herself into something she had never been before, but she hadn’t sat down to consider if it was what she needed. Maybe she was not as ready as she thought to push away the Avis Amberg she had grown accustomed to. That woman wasn’t bad, she was simply cold, distant. She had been hurt far too many times. She had known where her place was and what role she played, and she had been bloody brilliant every time it had been her turn, but there had been things she had hated about herself that she never wanted to live again. So, maybe instead of becoming someone completely different she could consider other options, like… adapting? Evolving to fit with the woman she was now without giving up all the good things that she had been back then. The best of both worlds with flaws and faults that you would see and help her modify to become the woman everyone deserved, including herself. Something had been missing, and she knew exactly what it was. Walking inside the room again she approached her vanity and from the first drawer on the left she picked up her signature Victory red lipstick and with meticulous fingers applied it, looking up to see those same chocolate eyes she was used to but with a sparkle of something new shining behind her irises. Now she was ready.

Her steps were confident, strong, as she walked out into the landing and down the stairs, meeting Gertie by the dining room as the woman told her that her lunch was waiting for her inside. It did not go unnoticed the gentle smile that graced the maid’s lips as she walked back to the kitchen, and it sure made Avis feel good. But she forced the sensation to subside, as if she had no right to feel that much joy when you were not there with her to share it. The meal was excellent, of course, and to her starving system it tasted as if angels had cooked it, each bite a wonderful mix of herbs and saltiness that covered the bitter taste the cigarette had left behind. Just as her hand lifted the glass in front of her to take a sip of water the doors opened, signalling that the driver had returned and Ellen was probably on her way home by now, so without missing a beat Avis called for him. His semblance had not changed from this morning, serious, competent in everything that he did, but as she turned to him with her head held high, she saw something in his eyes that told her he had put the pieces together, and was pretty sure he knew what had happened, or almost everything. It hit her like a bucket of cold water, and it made her realise just how easy it was for someone to find out about what had happened and begin to talk, half a dozen people’s lives destroyed with one quick blow. She knew he would not talk, he had been with the Ambergs almost as much as Gertie and he had never shared a single thing about what went on with her family in or out of their home, so she knew she could trust him, but that didn’t mean that strangers could not get wind of something, just one small detail and cause for everything to be exposed. Suddenly all the confidence that had filled her up popped like a balloon and the gravity of the situation weighted her down once again, making the almost fading aches return. With a quiet voice she asked him to get the car ready again as she required to be driven to the hospital and she could not use her own vehicle, to which he nodded in understanding and left. No questions were asked, no looks of disappointment or disgust were thrown her way, but she felt so small all of a sudden, as if she had been in a self-centred bubble and it had been popped by all the thorns she was walking on top of now.

Why did every happy moment have to be destroyed? Her feelings were not directed against you, they weren’t even against herself, but they were there, and they were pulling her back to square one, all the way to the very beginning as if she had made no progress at all, and she was just too dammed tired to walk that same road all over again. The food that was left on the plate didn’t look appetizing anymore, and she was not about to sit there and rot until a reasonable time for her to leave arrived. She would rip her hair off in anxiety, her head would explode. With a quick gulp she downed the rest of the water and left the glass on the table before standing up and making her way towards the entrance to grab her coat and tell Gertie that she wasn’t sure if she’d be home tonight and to not touch the clothes that were in her room, that she would handle that herself when she returned. The woman nodded even if Avis was already walking out the door, watching with worry how the confident aura had vanished in barely a few minutes. The sun was shining as bright as ever, but to Avis the blue sky was covered in thick grey clouds that threatened her with a storm, matching the uncertainty she felt regarding what she would do when she set foot in the hospital and people began to pry into affairs that did not concern them. She did not have Dick nor Henry to help her out. The driver opened the back seat door for her and let her accommodate herself before sitting behind the wheel and turning the engine on, Avis feeling the vibrations of the motor under her feet. With her eyes glued to the window and her elbow resting on the door as her hand propped up her head, every thought and question she had successfully pushed away returned, and not having the answers to any of them unnerved her more than words could express.

She trusted Dick, of course she did, but people could be cruel, and she was well aware that Henry would sell his own mother if it benefited him in some way, but would he really spread rumours or even tell the press about everything if he could earn some sort of profit? She wanted to say that she trusted him blindingly and she was sure he would never even consider it, but the truth was that she couldn’t. He had been willing to let you die all for a film, for an object that could be done again in a few months, and she was not going to forget about that fact easily or soon. She could cover up her traces as best she could, and protect Ellen, Dick and the boys so their lives would not be ruined, but she would keep an eye on Henry for as long as she saw fit, until she could say with all the conviction in the world that he would not betray them. At the end of the day everything came down to money and power and Avis currently possessed both to such levels that she knew she could run the world if she wanted to, but that it also came with far too many enemies to count. The ride to the hospital was done in complete silence, not even her breaths could be heard, but her thoughts were screaming inside the cabin. The car came to a full stop inside the hospital’s parking lot, under the blazing sun and the dark clouds.

-Mrs. Amberg.

-Please, don’t… don’t say it. I know you want to ask but…

-I ain’t going to ask and I ain’t going tell, ma’am.

-Really? – she met his eyes through the rearview mirror, honesty and loyalty shining on them as if they were the banners he carried with him every day of his life.

-Yes. You have been through enough; I won’t add more miseries to your plate. I’ve seen what they can do and I’m not the sort of person that hurts others just because they can, and I can prove it. I took Ms. Kincaid to the studio and drove behind her to make sure she got home alright, so I will wait here for you until you are ready for me to drive you back to your house.

-You… you didn’t have to do that, but I’m thankful you looked out for her. Though I couldn’t ask you to stay and wait for me. It might be hours before I’m ready to leave.

-You ain’t asking ma’am, I’m offering. You go and see your young miss and I’ll be waiting here to take you home. 

She was surrounded by wonderful people and had never seen it until now. A nod would have to suffice as she wasn’t sure her voice wouldn’t crack as she thanked him, a lump forming in her throat, and quickly stepped out with her purse in one hand and her coat in the other. It was as if she hadn’t set foot inside the building in weeks and yet she hadn’t left at all, pushing the doors open until the coolness of the white walls and antiseptic breezes embraced her once again. That was probably one of the smells she would never forget, your blood on her body being the first. Each hallway looked exactly the same, but she knew perfectly well where she was going, finding that the floors had been cleaned after they had left but witnessing the palms of her hands still marking the wall as if she had been clawing at the tiles to escape and perhaps, she had been. Everything she had felt in this room had been raw and out of control, like a dam that had let centuries worth of water flow down the valley, ripping and killing everything the furious stream found in its path, only Death left behind, and she had not wished to face it. But in the end, there had been no other choice but to do so, or at least the part that her mind and body could handle at the moment. She ripped her eyes from the macabre painting and carried on walking, nodding her head politely at the nurses and doctors that greeted her but never stopping to talk with them, your room barely a few feet away from her.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob unsure if she should go in or wait a bit longer, but with each second that she let pass she felt her need to see you grow exponentially and with quiet movements she stepped inside. Everything was still the same, your body on the bed, the ventilator breathing for you, even the horrible blankets that covered your battered frame, but when she got closer, she saw that your cheeks had regained some colour, and your skin didn’t look as pale as before. For some reason she wasn’t going to try to understand, it made her heart leap in her chest. You were even still carrying the mark her lipstick had left on your forehead, making her smile as she picked up the black armchair that rested in the corner and placed it beside your bed. She didn’t know and it was a secret you might carry to your grave, but the instant she had stepped into the room your frazzled and still partially unconscious mind had felt her, from that unmistakable aura that she carried with her and she was completely unaware of to the aromas that floated from her skin to your nostrils, perfumes that comforted and calmed your nerves. Even if your body did not respond to what your mind was trying to say to it you could feel her, hear her, and smell her, wishing and praying that somehow she would touch you and make it all real so that you would believe that this was not just a cruel hallucination you was living. She did not disappoint, and with a tender and caring touch she took your hand in hers and interlaced her fingers with yours as she whispered sweet nothings against your skin, her lips ghosting over it.

If she knew just how much this meant to you, if you could tell her, words would never stop falling from your lips, enfolding her for all eternity, because she had the chance to leave you, to let you die, and she had gone through the Heavens and every single circle of Hell to find you. She had come in like your knight in shining armour and had defeated the dragon that had almost claimed your life and there could never be a gesture as loving and as a powerful as searching for her love all the way to the middle of nowhere knowing that her life would be at risk, but she had not cared. Nothing could ever compare to this, to the scattered memories of her angelic face telling you through tears and pained words that everything would be alright, that you would be fine. Avis’s eyes were glued to your hand, feeling the heat that seeped from your body to hers along with the touch of your palm with all its lines and wrinkles matching hers. Unaware of the effect she had on you, she let her mind drift, her eyelids becoming heavy in exhaustion but with the safety of knowing that you were really there with her, and no one would ever take you away. She had dreamt so many times of taking you back to your home, to that land of crashing waves and orange blossoms that you so loved and carried with you deep in your heart, desiring to see those endless fields of yellow that blended into green in Spring, and to explore every corner of the place that had raised you into the woman you were now. She could almost see it now, the gentle rivers with reeds swaying to the lazy currents as butterflies flew, decorating the skies like swinging petals that played lazy games of catch and chase with the flowers that surrounded them. And there so many. Roses, poppies, lavenders and morning glories, all scattered through deep green and olive trees that provided shade for the small gentle bird, and in between all that beauty and magic, you, standing on the riverbend with your hands stretched out for her to hold onto.

And she would take them. Everywhere you went, she would follow, every mountain you climbed she would do so as well, and she would do it all because she loved you. God, she loved you more than she loved herself, more than actions could ever show and more than words could ever tell. Every night you would appear in her dreams, sweet and caring and always with a smile on your face, saving her from problems that would soon fade into the ether as your hands held onto hers and your lips brushed over hers, washing all her worries away. No storm could ever roar in the sky when she was with you because you were a rain of cherry blossom petals in Springtime, the sound of waves and the cooling waters of a soothing sea in Summer, every brown leaf that fell to the ground in Autumn and each unique snowflake in Winter. The essence of the universe and the first element to ever exist, and she would never believe just how she had been the lucky gal to make you fall in love with her as she fell for you. She could almost feel the way your fingers squeezed her own as you pulled her closer. No, wait, that hadn’t been a product of her imagination, she was sure of it.

Her eyes shot open, woken up from her slumber with a start that had her heart hammering against her ribs, her gaze watching your intertwined hands. Your tips moved as the pressure suddenly increased. Yes! Your fingers were indeed squeezing hers! The chair scraped the floor slightly as Avis stood on slightly shaky legs, joy and panic flowing through her veins, but even in that frazzled state of mind she never let go of your hand. You were fighting against the odds, walking through the darkness to get to her because she was there, real and you needed to see for yourself if she was fine. Just as her head turned to look at your face, searching for any other sign that you were coming back to her, your eyelids fluttered for an instant. You were right there, on the edge of the abyss waiting for something that you weren’t sure what it was to take that leap of faith and jump, to gather her in your arms and whisper to the tear-stained face you had last seen that she had been right, and you were alright. Avis was quiet for a moment until your eyelids fluttered again, and without even realising it that raspy, velvety voice of hers dropped the push you needed to jump as she pleaded you to wake up. Her angelic face had been the last thing your eyes had seen; it would be the first as well. Like a miracle your eyes opened.

[skyfallscotland]

Quicksilver, by Callie Hart 🦋

She is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm.

Ohh boy. Personally I think she is none of those things, but that's me getting ahead of myself. God, I feel so anxious posting a book reaction after the Onyx Storm Debacle, but here we are, with a book I didn't love...again.

So...I started this one with a running commentary again (Throne of Glass style) but I couldn't quite commit. We will however approach it chronologically, because that's an easier way to show my thoughts as they evolved.

Would I recommend this book? No. And I’ll tell you why, but there are spoilers ahead so be aware of that.

Friends...I did not enjoy this one and I'm starting to feel like a crazy person. Is this just a massive reading slump? Or am I weird? Because everyone seems to think these books are the best thing since sliced bread and I've not liked a single one of them 😭

My first impressions? Saeris is so cliché. Like oh we're starving and can barely survive, you can see my ribs, but actually I can scale a giant wall and fight all these fully trained guards and win...ok, sure. It's giving 00's YA vibes but alright, I'm rolling with it.

I had no understanding of what it was I was doing, but if this was a world-ending gift, then good. Fuck this city and fuck this world. My family was already doomed, and what did I care for anyone else?

Bit dramatic, but whatever, I'll still ride with you. Who am I to judge? I did write Remi.

“I wear pants. Shirts. Things I can move easily in. So I can run, and climb, and—” Kill people.

"So cliché." I mutter to myself as I put the book down. Then pick it up again. Then put it down again and use the audiobook instead.

At some point, Layne would accept that I just didn't eat that much, and she'd stop loading up my plate with so much food. She'd slip an apple into her pocket for me or something.

*Deep breaths* Saeris would absolutely fit in on mid 2000's tumblr. Babe, this is such a weird flex to include when you’ve already made it very clear she was a starving orphan, ok?

We also met the infamous Carrion—more on that later—and her brother...who sucks. No two ways about it. I hated him immediately. Are there any decent book-brothers out there? Or just...no? I thought from the way he was acting he was going to be fourteen but no, he's like TWENTY, what the fuck 😭

So anyway, hooray! We've fallen through a portal to a new world and that's the stage set—then we meet Kingfisher. Oh man. Kingfisher.

Firstly:

This is a kingfisher. I just want y’all to know that. I know it’s not his ‘real’ name but it’s still what she’s crying out in rapture ok, a choice was made and it wasn’t a good one.

Anyway, surprise surprise, he's an asshole, but here’s the rub: he doesn't seem redemptive.

My jaw was screaming, I was clenching my teeth so hard. “Fuck—you—” “There you go again. Hungry, needy little bitch in heat, begging to be fucked…” he taunted. “Let. Go!”

I’m ok with enemies to lovers, but there has to be a hint at least that the ‘bad guy’ can be a decent person. There has to be something that hooks me about him—his entire personality can’t just be ‘asshole’, and above all, despite the fact he doesn’t like the FMC (even loathes her for all I care) he has to at least have some basic respect for her, otherwise I’m not down. That’s just my personal take, you don’t have to agree, but it makes me uncomfortable otherwise.

“I don't hate your kind. I'm just disappointed by how breakable you are. If I held you down and fucked you the way I'm imagining fucking you right now, I doubt that you’d survive it.”

Like that? That’s not cute or arousing in any way.

“That your body is betraying you in other ways. That I can smell you, Little Osha, and I'm thinking about drinking the sweet nectar you're making for me straight from the fucking cup.”

I do also think the smut was just not for me in this book, as a general rule, I did find it very cringe. Case in point ^

A FUNNY INTERLUDE:

—a look of rye amusement on his irritatingly handsome face.

LMAO this was meant to be wry, I assume? There were a few instances like this throughout the book, as well as typos and missing punctuation. Which, we’re all human, I get it, but it kind of annoys me a little when this was picked up for trad pub, pulled from KU (I bought it—twice!) and has since gotten a million dollar Netflix deal. Please, if we’re going to be doing that, the publishing house needs to edit the damn book. Honestly? I think it could have done with 200-300 less pages. A developmental edit was needed, let alone a final edit.

Anyway. Onwards.

So they make a blood pact, in which she agrees to basically do whatever the fuck he says, which is...tired. I'm tired. The book is tired. We're all a little tired here.

Kingfisher held out his hand and pulled me to my feet, making a derisive sound when he saw the cut I'd inflicted upon myself. “Baby.”

It’s just...this utter derision he has for her, his supposed (spoiler alert!) fated mate, that just gives me the ick.

Then there's this:

Kingfisher stunned me to silence when he dropped to his knees and started picking up the shards of broken cup. “It's all right, Archer. Hush, it's all right.”

Ok, this here is the first indication we get that he can be a decent person, and it’s not with her, it’s with some random character we’ve just met. Do I grow to like Archer? Sure, but right now I don’t know him from Adam, all this scene tells me is that Fisher is capable of respect and kindness, just not with Saeris. Be so for fucking real right now, that does not make you want to root for them. If this were your bestie you’d be screaming for them to run. This is the crux of it all. We had to get like 300 pages into this book for there to be a single hint of redemption in him and to me that's bad technique.

Clearly everyone else disagrees since they're out there praising it, but I've nearly DNF'd so many times by now, because you're 👏 not 👏 giving 👏 me 👏 crumbs. Please, give the reader something! It's all well and good for people to be out here going "well he's like that for a reason" (spoiler alert: the reason sucks, it's just the cliché 'I wanted to push her away for her own safety) but his reasoning means shit if people lose interest and don't get far enough to find out what it even is.

Note: by 'people' I mean the rest of the internet, not anyone here specifically, but since a few of you have said the same, just know that's a generalisation and I still love you! But I fear my point stands, his change of heart/any indication of kindness comes too late in the game for it to be an effective character arc (more on this later!!)

Anywho—

I shouldn't have moaned. I definitely shouldn't have told him that I wanted him. For the love of all the gods in all the heavens, why had I said that? I was going to throw up.

Same babe. Why did you? Why do you?

I couldn't believe we'd finally arrived here.

Me either!! 56% of the way in! We've basically done absolutely nothing but wander around and talk about how hot and mean he is for 300 pages but finally you're...doing things...with him 😬

Every part of me wanted to scramble from the bed and bolt for the door, but I knew that would be folly. Just like a hell cat, Fisher would give chase.

So terrified every part of you wants to bolt for the door...charming. Very hot. Love that for you.

“I could probably use a sho—” “Do not fucking dare finish that sentence,” he snarled. “I don't want a mouthful of soap and perfume. I want to taste you.”

Shower. She was going to say shower.

Another note, because I'm incapable of not shouting this from the rooftops when the occasion arises—vaginas are self-cleaning, there should be no soap or perfume going in there! You would have tasted her anyway you dumbass. You'd think he'd know that, given he's supposedly been in more of them than your local gynaecologist.

“And we can’t lie.”

*deep breaths* since WHEN? And that only makes it worse??

I'd imagined the words. Fabricated them out of thin air and somehow played them aloud in my own head in his voice.

Oh, hey Violet, how did you get here?

So anyway, then we enter the final conflict? Confrontation? Where she needs to go and save her newfound mate from under the mountain the bad guy's place! (oh and there's vampires, did I mention that before? No? Well there is now).

Anyway, turns out Rhysand Kingfisher was trapped there for 110 years with big bad Malcolm, who it's implied sexually assaulted him during that time, but we never address that. Why? Well this is romantasy and we only have six-hundred pages, why would we? Just throw traumatic experiences in there for the sake of it, why not?

Anyway—

“That's right. Fifty-five. He spent the next eight years trying to find the coin once he reached the center, didn't you, my love?”

I'm?????

55+8=63... what happened to the other 47 years? Guys? I'm????

Whatever, who cares about math! We're on the escape until—WOAH.

“It can't see or hear you. It tracks movement.”

Don't panic, don't panic, we all know how to defeat the middengard wyrm whatever that thing is! And we do. But not really, because everything in this maze regenerates, just like romantasy plotlines.

More fighting, more evil villain monologuing, etc.

THEN Saeris has to go and find a coin to break the blood oath Kingfisher made with big-bad, even though big-bad said he broke it himself five minutes ago during his evil monologue in order to make Fishie confess to...things.

“I release you from your oath to us, Kingfisher, Bane of Gillethrye. Now, go on. Tell your friends all about the deal you struck with us all those years ago.”

But no matter, we're off to find a coin and no worries, we've got that down! Of course in the process Feyre Saeris dies and gets brought back to life again as an all powerful fae/vampire queen hybrid. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT?

Not me, even I couldn't have predicted that double-doozy. Probably this guy though:

Zareth. God of Chaos.

Which? NO. Nope. No. Too late. FAR too late in the game for this. I'm out.

The way we went through so many boring pages of nothingness to this in the last 20% is truly something.

OK! SIDE CHARACTERS:

Danya was a complete and total waste of everyone's time, she existed only to be the bitchy, elitist mean girl side character who was mean to poor Saeris and occassionally made her jealous. This one-dimensional treatment of female characters grinds my gears. Even Everlayne, Kingfisher's sister was entirely useless, making Saeris the special female unicorn. Pretty sure this book fails the Bechdel test.

Ren was nice, I liked him, poor long-suffering man that he was.

Lorreth. Man, y'all can't shut up about Carrion and you're really sleeping on Lorreth. This man saved me from DNF'ing, he was fantastic. Put some respect on his name! 10/10 no notes. The guy you'd actually want to get with if this book were real.

He'd still looked dumbstruck as he headed off in the direction of his tent, cradling Avisiéth like a baby in his arms.

Carrion. CARRION. Ok straight up...is that really a word we want to be using as a name? Really? Is it relevant? Like did we do that on purpose because he somehow reflects roadkill? I figured we'd find out, but NOPE 💀

Who fucking knows at this point though whether it is his name. I doubt it, given Kingfisher's name is apparently not Kingfisher either. Personally though I still think that should have been addressed in the book. It's over 200k words, you can tell us why certain nicknames exist.

The thief held up his hands. “You're right. I apologize. I'm just a little on edge right now. I'm not my best self.”

Hilarious, there to cause trouble most of the time, 10/10, almost no notes.

“Are you going to tell me about my parents, or are you going to start undressing each other? Because I can leave. I don't have to, but I can,” Carrion said.

Except the part where he turns out to be a thousand-year-old fae too and a secret, mystery, vampire-killing-prince dude or whatever, there's a note about that and how it's kinda unnecessary to drop in the final 5%. Was it foreshadowed? Not effectively, no. Also Carrion Daianthus? Roadkill, crows, and...pink flowers? Yeah. That's him. That's the one 💀

Onyx. Token wild animal taken in as pet/familiar trope. She can have this one. He's cute.

Elroy. Dude's definitely going to become important again. How much do we wanna bet he's Fisher's dad? Anyone?

Anyway, this was wildly chaotic and I don't really feel bad about it because so was this book. It started out well in the first 5-10%. It was a slog to read between the 10% mark and 60%. Honestly, it only got better once they'd fucked for the first time, which was because Kingfisher's character did a 180 overnight with a big fat handwavey motion, like our FMC's magic coochie cured him of his violent tendencies. Like not to be crude, but I'm not sure there's any other way of putting it.

I think it's just not a great book, which I also think is a shame because the world is interesting, I loved the parts of alchemy we got (which weren't enough, imo) and the swords, the magic, the portals, the quicksilver, etc. I think it had so much potential and that's ultimately why it also bothers me so much as well. It feels squandered through a lack of refinement and editing.

Will I read the next one? Maybe. I'll let someone else take the hit first and see if it's any better paced this.

This has gone on long enough lmao, so I'll just leave you with one last quote that I think really sums up this book so, so much:

“Not that. The brother part,” she said in a loud whisper. “That’s not common knowledge?” “Well, yes. And no. It's just not spoken about. And it's very, very complicated.”

Yeah...

[mythals-whore]

Some thoughts on fandom engagement

Post got long but TL;DR engagement is low, Never Ever Stop Creating! fandom is community and everyone needs to participate

extended thoughts and personal anecdote under the cut:

For writers:

I have turned off Kudos emails from ao3. I found myself checking my email and feeling discouraged when I didn't get them. So i turned the emails off so I wouldn't know I wasn't getting them. Even now when I go to my dashboard, I specifically do not look at the bottom of the work to see those numbers.

This is not me telling you to do the same thing. It is easier said than done, and I understand that. But that's what I had to do to have a good time.

Because for a little while, posting made it less fun. I felt like people didn't like it. I was being overly critical of myself, couldn't write more than three sentences without feeling like I was garbage and my work was garbage and I should just quit. I would post a chapter and then immediately want to take the whole thing down. But then I realized...

I have about four half-finished projects in my WIP folder. I have written like 500,000 words that no one has ever read. Because I had fun doing it! Because I enjoy writing!!

And the point of this isn't to say writers shouldn't want or expect engagement. That is not at all what I'm saying!

What I am saying is that if you enjoy writing and you find that posting your work is making you feel unmotivated, discouraged, and you're not having fun anymore it is okay to take it down. It’s okay to make your work private for a while. It's okay to turn off Kudos emails or even comments. Whatever you need to do to make it fun again, do that. If you enjoy creating, please do not let the lack of engagement stop you!

It's been really helpful for me to find a community of creators! Without the support of @thedissonantverses @flowersforthemachines and @basedonconjecture I may have deleted my work months ago!

And that said, if you want someone to read your work, there are so many people (including and especially me) who would love to read and promote you! Participate in WIP Wednesday and Writing Weekend! Promote your own work!! Promote other creators' work! This is how we build community!

For readers:

If you love fanfic, and fanart and fandom in general engage with it. The urge to take down your work is real! And not unique to me! If writers don't get kudos or comments or replies on tumblr, they will delete their work. If there's a fic you find, and you enjoy it but you don't engage with it do not be surprised if you log on one day and it isn't there anymore. Or if it gets orphaned. Or if they simply stop updating it.

Fandom is meant to be a community. The whole purpose of it is to enjoy the things you enjoy with other people. If you're consuming free work (be that fanfic, fan art or something else) and you're not liking or reblogging or commenting then those people will stop sharing it.

And my personal take, while we're here: I do not get it.

I do not understand why there are people out there who do not jump at the chance to directly engage with authors and artists who make things that you enjoy. You can tell them personally how much you like their work! You can ask them questions! You can send them your unhinged ramblings on The Character.

And before anyone comes to my replies and says: I never know what to say ))):

Here is a non-comprehensive list of 10 slightly unhinged things that I've actually commented on fics (some edited for brevity)

I am chewing on glass.

bye i’m putting my fist through the wall 😭

These two are consuming my every waking thought

That ruined me i fear. I have passed away

THIS IS LITERATURE. absolutely tore my heart out.

You are sick in the head my friend

Im gonna sip on this sentence a while.🤌🏻

how could you do this to them? writing about this in my burn book brb

A) You absolutely cooked here B) how fucking dare you?

 kicking my feet and giggling!!!!!

And this isn't just for ao3/fanfic writers. Fanartists deserve love too! Artists love feedback!! The more unhinged the better!! Tell us we're evil! Quote our work back to us! Tell us you're smashing through walls like the Kool-aid man! Tell us that our work is making you scream and cry and blush!

No one is expecting you to leave several long paragraphs with an actual annotated review (not that that wouldn't also be welcome). Comment! Engage! Community is the whole point!

This also goes for finding Tumblr mutuals, by the way. If you want to make friends with people on here engage with their content! Like their posts! Reply to them! Send asks and messages!

Stop being afraid to enjoy things! That is like...all we are doing here.

[vandme12]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠? - 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

This will be long-planned series. I love Diabolik lovers and now Killer Chat

This series will contain

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Obsession, Manipulation, Death, Dark Themes

SUMMARY :

In the future, you fucking are.

Fuck—what did you do? Who did you murder? Who did you hurt, who did you kill? People surprise you, don’t they? All soft edges and perfect faces, but inside? A rotting mess—like the guts spilled out when you cut too deep. And shit’s well—shit there. Black hearts. Black souls. Rotten teeth behind pretty lips.

The devil got his due.

Guess you like your girls best when they’re dead—

Brains blasted open, a Jackson Pollock on the wall. That’s your taste, isn’t it? A little blood with your sugar.

People surprise you. Every last one of them loved you. Loved you as you are—ugly, awful, too much, too sharp. What did you do?

In the future, you fucking are.

Fuck—what did you do? Who did you slice open, tear apart, leave gasping? Who did you kill? People surprise you, don’t they? All sugar on the surface, but inside—oh, inside, they’re crawling. Rot-black hearts and maggot thoughts. Shit’s shit, and it’s everywhere.

1. The devil got his due.

2. Guess you like your girls best when they’re dead— Brains on the floor, blood in their hair. Pretty things are prettier when they’re ruined, right?

3. When their heads get blown open— Art in the aftermath. Mess in the marrow. A little tragedy for your collection.

4. People will surprise you. They loved you, didn’t they? Every last one of them. Loved you as you are—sharp, mean, a little god playing with his food.

What did you do?

You must be proud, Tragedist. Peeling a story apart like skin—digging your hands inside, pulling the guts free. Twisting the entrails into something that looks like meaning. Something that looks like yours.

Does it feel good?

Nah—feels better. Feels godly.

So, congrats. Really. What a beautiful little slaughterhouse you’ve built.

Hell is empty. And the devils?

They’re all you, darling.

(goreboy called you.)

“Why’d you do it?”

Static hums in his throat like a wound that won’t close, teeth bared—smiling, because of course he’s smiling. Of course. But the edges are too sharp, too real, voice slipping through the cracks like something rotten.

“You wanted them alive? Alive? Alivealivealive? That’s cute—hey, wanna write me in next? Come on, author. You’re the one with the pen—ain’t this your fantasy? Killed ‘em good, right? Had to. Had to. Had to.”

He giggles like a knife scraping bone.

“I’m your little maggot, baby—crawl, crawl, crawling right where you want me. So why’re you acting surprised?”

(They’re calling. All of them. And they want answers.)

The screen flickers—no, it twitches, glitching like something breathing, wet and wrong. Your inbox swells. Message after message. Missed calls. Missed, missed, missed. But they never really miss, do they?

goreboy is typing…

"Writer."

The word leaks through like blood through a cracked tooth.

"You killed them."

Static gnaws the edges of the call. You can almost feel his grin, split-wide and twitching, something feral tucked beneath the velvet purr.

"What, thought you could bury your toys without us noticing? Cute. Real cute." He laughs—no, he cracks, the sound sharp enough to flay. “BRING THEM BACK. BRING THEM BACK. BRING THEM BACK—”

Another call. Another voice.

V is calling.

It’s colder. Precision in the quiet, the kind that slinks down your spine like fingers dragging through marrow.

"You’re playing god." No judgment. No heat. Just the weight of a verdict already passed. "And gods should fear the things they make."

A pause. Static breathes between you.

"Fix this."

The chat explodes—

MISAKI:

YO WRITER—WTF!? U CAN’T JUST KILL PEOPLE WITHOUT ASKING!!!

MISAKI:

NOT COOL!! NOT COOL!!! DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND DECENT COMPANY!?!??

MISAKI:

…also like. bring ‘em back. Please??? 🥺👉👈

And then—sugar-dipped venom:

Angel is typing…

"You’re selfish." Sweet as a mouthful of broken glass.

"They were ours to ruin, not yours. You think you can end this? No, no, honey—"

The next message drips through, slow. Intimate.

"We’re inside your head now."

And from the shadows—one more voice. A whisper in the crawlspace of your heart, soft and rotting.

goreboy:

Writer.

They’re not dead until I say so.

And we’re not done.

What are they to you?

Misaki is the itch you can’t scratch. Neon burn in the back of your throat, tastes like sugar and gunpowder. Pretends to be a punchline, but the knives slip through the gaps—cute, if you don’t mind bleeding out. Broke as hell. Anxious as hell. Laughs in the face of danger (then panics about it later). Probably thinks aliens would love them. Wants out, but where’s the fun in leaving when the world’s this messy? If you’re lucky, they’ll let you buy them a milkshake. If you’re not—well. Good luck with that.

Misaki.

Angel is poison in a crystal glass. Soft-spoken in that way that makes you lean closer—too close—right before she twists the knife. Femme fatale with a body count, sweetheart. Collects secrets like love letters, and she’s been reading yours. Wants to see you beg, wants to see you break, but most of all? She wants to win. Would kiss you just to taste how desperate you are. Probably already has. Don’t worry—she won’t kill you. Not unless it’s fun.

Angel.

V is judgment carved in stone. Black-and-white in a world that bleeds red. Thinks he’s the answer, the reckoning, the last thing bad people see before the lights go out. Maybe he is. A ghost story told in whispers and gunmetal. The law wasn’t enough—so now he is. Empathy buried under a steel spine. If you ask, he’ll say he doesn’t feel regret. If you listen close enough, you’ll hear the lie.

V.

Ronin is rot, plain and simple. Smiles like he’s never done a good thing in his life (he hasn’t). Wants the world in pieces, wants you in pieces, wants everything and will rip it apart just to feel something. Makes a joke out of everything because if it’s funny, it can’t hurt—right? Hates authority, loves attention. Would set a church on fire just to watch the light show. And the worst part? You’d watch with him.

Ronin.

They’re calling for you. All of them. Loud enough to wake the dead.

How did you destroy them?

Angel dies beautiful. Always would’ve—she planned it that way. Heart-shaped lips, heart-shaped hole in her chest, confession live-streamed like a love letter. Heartsick Angel, she says, voice honey-thick, dripping sweet for the camera. Always was, always will be. Justice chews her up and spits her out, but she smiles for the kill shot. Poetic, isn’t it? The femme fatale falling for herself in the end. She’d call it symmetry. You’d call it a waste.

Angel.

V dies quiet. No blaze of glory—just handcuffs too tight and a name that isn’t his. The Butcher, they call him, like the word fits. Like the blood belongs to him and not the devil in the dark. Truth never mattered to them. Never mattered to him either, but irony? Now that’s a bitch. Stone-faced as they take him away, but you know better. You know it gnaws at him—being the wrong monster, being caught. But maybe it’s easier this way. Someone had to pay the price.

V.

Misaki dies messy. Of course they do. Too bright, too loud, a firework gone wrong. Thought they had time—thought they’d be the one to get out. They never did have good luck. Bullet in the brain mid-mission, body hitting the floor with the joke half-told. Would’ve laughed at the irony if they weren’t so dead. No alien abduction. No happy ending. Just blood on cold concrete and a half-eaten cup noodle at home.

Misaki.

Ronin dies pretty. He makes sure of it. Carves the scene like a love poem, drips blood like wine. He’s laughing when he makes you do it—laughing when you hesitate. C’mon, he says, soft and sweet, like a dare. Like a prayer. Wants you to ruin him. Wants you to mean it. And you do. When you kiss him, he tastes like copper and cherry cola. When you kill him, he looks like something holy.

Ronin.

They loved you. Maybe they still do. Maybe they never did. But they're gone now—ashes in your mouth, ghosts in your bones.

And all you’ve got left is the question: Was it worth it?

Maybe.

Maybe in another universe, Angel never presses "Go Live." She keeps her secrets, keeps her life. Flirts with death but never marries it. Maybe she dances in red silk instead of bleeding it, teasing you with half-truths and sugar-coated lies. Maybe her hands are warm when she cups your face, and you never have to wonder if she'll die for the drama.

Maybe V never takes the fall. Maybe he’s still out there, hunting in the dark, making the world a little quieter—one guilty scream at a time. Maybe you find him on a rooftop, blood-splattered and exhausted, and he lets you touch the mask. Lets you see what no one else does. Maybe he believes in justice—but this time, not at his own expense.

Maybe Misaki lives. Kicks the bullet’s ass and comes home laughing. Talks about aliens like they saw one—maybe they did. Maybe they drag you to a jazz club after a job, wearing something loud and ridiculous, and hold your hand like they mean it. Maybe they’re still scared, still anxious, still them—but alive. Always alive.

And Ronin? Oh, Ronin.

Maybe he doesn’t make you do it. Maybe he lets you keep him—like that was ever possible. Maybe he curls up in your bed like sin with a smile, making promises he’ll never keep. Maybe he still flirts with death but never asks you to pull the trigger. Maybe, in that universe, he wants you more than the fall. More than the ending.

Maybe they’re all waiting. In some other place, some other story. If you can write them dead—can’t you write them back?

The devils are still shouting, you know. Still screaming your name.

So, what’s it gonna be, writer?

You cry.

Cry like it’ll bring them back. Cry like the dead care. Cry until your throat aches and your chest cracks open, raw and hollow. But no one’s listening. Not really. Not anymore.

You killed them—don’t you remember? With your words. Your hands. Your heart.

And still, you cry.

Cry because Angel’s voice is gone—no more teasing, no more honey-dripped danger. Cry because V let the world swallow him whole, and you didn’t stop it. Cry because Misaki should’ve lived—should’ve laughed, should’ve stayed—but they didn’t. And Ronin… oh, you cry for him the most. Because he made you love him enough to do it. And you did.

You cry because they loved you. Maybe they still do.

Maybe.

A dream, maybe. If dreams tasted like blood. If they clung to your skin like phantom hands, too cold, too real.

You tell yourself that—whisper it against the ache in your throat. Just a dream. Just your mind playing tricks. Just shadows curling where they shouldn’t.

But dreams don’t leave fingerprints, do they? Dreams don’t stain. Dreams don’t echo when you’re awake, calling you back.

If it’s a dream, you should be able to wake up.

You ran from Reality To chase after your fantasy of a cute, kind, idealistic version of this world, Who said whatever you wanted to hear..?

To Ronin

My devil, my ruin, my exquisite catastrophe— I could carve your name into the marrow of my bones, and it still wouldn’t be deep enough to satisfy this hunger. To love you is to understand madness, to walk the edge of a blade and smile as the blood trickles down. You consume, and I am already swallowed whole.

You, who dance on the edge of oblivion, who wears cruelty like a lover’s embrace—tell me, will you let me be the hands that hold your throat, the fire that burns at your heels? I don’t want to save you. I want to stand beside you in the wreckage and laugh at the flames.

If you tear me apart, at least I will die as yours.

To V

You hold the world at arm’s length, but I would cup your face in my hands if you let me. Every word from you is measured, every silence weighted, and yet—I hear you. You, who judge, who punish, who carry the weight of a thousand condemned souls upon your back—do you ever wonder what it would feel like to rest?

If I stand too close, will you call it weakness? If I offer warmth, will you see it as distraction? I do not wish to make you stumble, only to walk beside you.

You are not untouchable, no matter how hard you try to be. And if the world dares not reach for you, then I will.

To Angel

You are beautiful in the way glass is—something to be admired, something that cuts if handled too carelessly. There is light in you, but it is the kind that casts shadows, the kind that lingers in the eyes of those who adore you. I wonder if you know just how breathtaking you are when you smile, even when it’s only for the sake of others.

If love were enough, would you finally feel whole? If I gave you all of mine, would it settle the ache in your chest?

I would never ask you to be anything other than what you are. I only ask that when you stand in the light, you remember you are more than just a reflection.

To Misaki

You are a melody I can’t stop humming, a fleeting spark that lingers long after the firework has faded. You laugh as if the weight of the world isn’t pressing against your ribs, as if you aren’t carrying ghosts behind your smile. And yet, even when your hands shake, even when the words don’t come easily—you are still here.

If I hold out my hand, will you take it? If I promise that you don’t have to be alone, will you believe me?

You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care. If you ever need a place to land, I will be here.

“Do you blame yourself?”

“What?”

“Well it’s quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a kind of... guilt.”

“What situation?”

“The accident.”

You ran from Reality To chase after your fantasy of a cute, kind, idealistic version of this world, Who said whatever you wanted to hear..?

[nick-writes-stuff]

Devotion

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x injured!gn!reader

summary: After the glass stepping stones, there's only you, Thanos, and Nam-gyu left in the games. Tensions are high, and you are trying to stay alive with a serious injury. Luckily, Thanos is there to help you. (aka, a rewrite of the ending of the first season but with team thanos) ~ 2.7k words

warnings: canon-typical violence, reader is injured, talk of reader dying, mentions of drug use

a/n: i wanted to make this longer and include more lead up, but i have a different idea brewing that would overlap with it, so i figured it would be its own fic. i love writing with thanos, and i have another idea for him, and that will be the next one. i'm so excited about it. hope you enjoy!

You felt your ears ringing after the explosion of the glass bridges. You couldn't really think straight at the moment. You were still reeling over the fact you just witnessed Nam-gyu shoving Min-su into the last tile and to his subsequent death. He just killed your friend. A man who you thought was also his friend. But lately, you were questioning how much Nam-gyu actually cared about any of you. He did that with no hesitation. You hardly recognized him anymore.

The three of you were escorted through the complex stairwells in silence. Thanos and you were quiet due to shock, but Nam-gyu was silent because he didn't feel the need to defend his actions.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the dorms that you felt the dull ache radiating from your side. It throbbed with every step you took. The adrenaline was leaving your system, and as it did, the pain only grew. You didn't even try to see what was wrong yet. You didn't want to draw attention to it in front of the others.

The dorms were almost entirely empty, save for three beds against each of the walls other than the one with the main door.

“Dude, what the fuck were you thinking?” Thanos yelled, getting into Nam-gyu's face.

Nam-gyu shoved him back. “What? Did you want to die?” He yelled with just as much venom.

“There could have been another way.” Thanos insisted. It was weird to hear Thanos trying to save other people's lives in the games. During the first few games, he had been so willing to throw others into harm's way for his own gain.

But he changed a lot. Maybe it was partially because the lump sum he was going to receive was enough to cover his debt and then some. But he changed a lot because of you too. You made him feel a way he hadn't in a long time. With you, he found a genuine connection. A real friend. Maybe when you get out of here, he could find a chance for something more.

Nam-gyu scoffed at him. “The only other way was joining the rest of them at the bottom. We were going to run out of time.” He said. Thanos started to walk off to the other side of the room. Nam-gyu rolled his eyes. “You're welcome for saving your life, by the way!” He snapped.

Thanos whipped around, readying himself to confront him. “Are you fucking serious?”

You finally spoke up. “Can you two just stop?” You shouted, your voice cracking into a sob. That shut them up for a moment as they turned to you. Thanos's eyes were full of concern and Nam-gyu's hate. You were just overwhelmed. You just watched your friend die, your other two friends were in a screaming match, and you were beginning to feel the effect of your injury.

Before anyone else could speak, someone's voice rang out in the room. “Attention Players.”

You all turned to see a square guard alongside a few circle guards. Three of them were holding out a black box with a red ribbon. They were designed to look just like the coffins that eliminated players were thrown into. You didn't show how disgusted that made you.

“We would like to congratulate you for completing the penultimate game. We have new outfits for you to celebrate the occasion. Please change into them while we prepare for your dinner.” He said.

You exchanged glances with Thanos while Nam-gyu stepped forward to grab his outfit and head toward the bathrooms.

“We should probably take turns changing in the women's bathroom while the other keeps watch.” You suggested. You were nervous about Nam-gyu trying to harm either of you.

Thanos made a face. “You want me to go into the girls bathroom?” He asked, exaggerating his concern at the prospect.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, stop acting like a 12-year-old. It's just a room.” You said. Your tone was joking, but there was a sharpness that he hadn't expected. You made your way into the hall.

Thanos went in to change first. He figured it would be best to go first while Nam-gyu was also changing. That way he would likely take your place by the time Nam-gyu was leaving.

Nothing could have prepared you for seeing what was causing the pain in your stomach. A significant shard of glass was protruding from your abdomen. It wasn't bleeding that badly, but it had started to stain your sweatpants. You gasped at the sight, both out of pain and shock.

You didn't dare to move the glass. You knew it was likely stopping the bleeding somewhat. Luckily, they were having you change into black suits, so any bleeding would likely go unseen by the others. You changed as quickly as you could. You packed your old t-shirt around the glass and tied the drawstring of the sweatpants around your waist. You hoped it would maintain some pressure. You tried hard to muffle any sounds of pain that you made. You couldn't let them know about this. While you trusted Thanos, you were just too scared to let Nam-gyu know about it.

You left the bathroom without drawing attention to your injury. Thanos was waiting for you, and you tried to be discreet as you admired how he looked in a suit. How did you mess up this badly? This was no place to catch feelings.

You didn't know what you expected to walk back into, but an elaborate dinner table wasn't it. It was a luxury like none you all had ever seen before. There were three place settings at three tables arranged in a large triangle.

You'd never had a more tense meal than this. Nam-gyu was silent, but his glare toward you spoke volumes. You weren't even hungry. Your injury was too painful for you to even have an appetite. You ate what you could force down, knowing you hadn't eaten anything substantial in days.

You watched the guards come to clear the tables while you still sat there. Then you realized they left the steak knives sitting in front of each of you. Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Your breathing quickened, trying not to hyperventilate as you realized the amount of danger you were in.

You looked over to Thanos, locking eyes with him. You tried to mask your fear, but any facade you had was shattered when you saw the smirk on Nam-gyu's face as he picked up the knife. You grabbed your own knife with shaking hands and moved back to the bed closest to you.

You didn't want to take your eyes off of him, scared he would take any opportunity to kill you. Because he definitely would. You knew he didn't like you. He hated you. You changed Thanos. You made him soft. You took his eyes off the prize money. You made him think about leaving the drugs and the fame behind, and Nam-gyu despised you for it.

You saw through him. Nam-gyu only saw Thanos as a paycheck and a drug supplier. That's all. So when you got close to Thanos, you were threatening Nam-gyu's future. You were ruining his investment. He needed to get rid of you at all costs.

You don't know how long you sat on the bed in silence. Your back was against the headboard. You pulled your knees toward your chest. The hand opposite to your wound was pushing against your makeshift bandage to keep some pressure on it. Your other hand was gripping the steak knife tight enough that your knuckles were white. You squeezed the knife as a way to make sure you stayed awake. You couldn't risk falling asleep. You stared ahead of you, watching the man across from you intently.

You hadn't noticed that Thanos had made his way toward you since he had been in the bed out of your line of sight. “Hey, Y/N?” He said softly.

You flinched, moving away from him and holding the knife toward him momentarily. His eyes widened, and he put his hands up instinctively. “It's just me. Chill out.” He said, keeping his usual demeanor despite how odd it would seem to others. He knew he probably just startled you, but there was also a deep-seated fear that you actually thought he would hurt you.

You took a deep breath, ignoring the burning pain in your abdomen from the action. “Sorry.” You murmured, letting your grip on the knife relax. As a sign of good faith, he took his knife out of his pocket and dropped it at the foot of the bed. You looked over at him before doing the same.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asked. You shook your head, moving to the side so he could sit next to you. Luckily he wasn't on the same side as your wound, so you didn't have to worry about him noticing it.

He sat beside you, fidgeting with the button on his suit jacket. After sitting in silence for a moment, you spoke. “I think he's gonna kill me.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes on Nam-gyu from across the room.

Thanos laughed, but you could hear the anger behind it. “I'd like to see him try.” He said. You didn't react positively to his attempt to lighten the mood.

You continued. “Right now we would have a majority to leave. If he gets rid of one of us, the game has to continue. He hates my guts, so it'll probably be me.” You said, voice hardly above a whisper.

He nudged you with his elbow, getting you to look up at him. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.” He said. The sincerity before his words would normally give you butterflies, but now there was just a bitter irony knowing that you were already badly injured.

He sighed, staring at the man who he once considered a friend. “Honestly, I should just go and kill him now. That fucker deserves it.” He said, lowering his volume as he reached for the knife.

You grabbed his wrist before he could grab it. He looked over to you, trying to ignore the sparks he felt where you touched him. “Don't.” You said with a shake of your head. “Don't stoop to his level. You'll be no worse than him.”

He didn't think he cared about the moral justification, but he couldn't get himself to go against your plea. He leaned back again with a sigh.

You both sat in silence. You were starting to not feel well. You felt a bit queasy and lightheaded. But you just felt this overwhelming sense of dread. How were you going to continue the game? If you had to wait until tomorrow, who knows how much blood you would lose. Would you even be able to play most of the games?

You finally spoke again, keeping your voice low. “If I don't make it out of here-”

“Don't say that.” He interrupted, looking down at you with a stern gaze.

You shook your head. “No, just listen to me. I-”

“We're making it out of here together, okay? There's no need to talk like that.” He said.

You just looked up at him, trying to stop the tears from forming. “You don't understand, I-”

He rolled his eyes. “What else is there to understand? It's not going to happen.” He tried not to be short-tempered with you. He wasn't annoyed or angry with you. He was just scared. So scared at the prospect of losing you that he didn't want to even acknowledge the fact it could happen. You dying was out of the question entirely. Even if he had to die in your place.

You whimpered slightly as you took your hand off the wound on your side, showing him the crimson in the dim light. You couldn't form any words at the moment. What would you even say?

You could see the faintest hint of fear flicker across his face. “How? When, but-” He stammered, voice louder than he intended.

You shushed him harshly, looking back over to Nam-gyu who perked up at the noise. You turned back to Thanos. “He can't know.” You mouthed.

He seemed to disagree with you, but ultimately nodded in defeat. He knew it too. Nam-gyu would definitely take you out if he knew you were weak. “What happened?” He asked, keeping his voice at a whisper.

You placed your hand back into the wound with a grimace before speaking. “It's a shard of glass. From when the tiles exploded.” You whispered.

He looked shocked. “You mean it's still in there?” He asked in disbelief. The idea of it made him so uncomfortable.

You nodded. “It's keeping me alive right now. If I took it out, I would probably bleed out by morning.” Your voice trembled as you started to cry. The idea of talking about your own death was harrowing. You had done everything right here, but you were so close to dying like the rest. This wasn't supposed to happen. You won that game. Winners don't get hurt.

He noticed your anxiety spiking and wrapped his arm around you, hand gripping your forearm gently. “It's gonna be okay. All we have to do is make it through the night. Tomorrow we'll give them hell until they let us vote.” He said.

You shook your head. “I don't think there's gonna be another vote. They don't want this to end peacefully. They want a show.” You said, trying to keep your voice calm but your panic was showing through.

He shushed you softly, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, okay? For right now, you should get some rest.” He said.

You shook your head. “But what if he-”

“I'll keep watch. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear on my entire rap career.” He said, clearly playing up his bravado to make you laugh. Which you did laugh weakly.

He was entirely serious, though. He didn't think he even wanted to continue playing the part anymore. He was really only doing it for attention. He did have a passion for writing raps, but the whole stage act of Thanos and all the drugs were just to get people to like him. It worked for a time, but it was never fulfilling in the long-term because it wasn't real. They didn't really give a shit about him.

With you, though, it was different. He didn't have to fake anything when he was around you. He could drop the facade and be himself again. He didn't need to be something he wasn't. And the feeling of being accepted for himself was so addictive.

You looked up at him. “Can you talk about something? Anything really. I just need to calm down a bit.” You asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed for asking at all.

That flustered him more than he let on. People usually found him anything but calming, and the fact you felt so comfortable around him made him feel things he hadn't in a long time.

He started telling you about the place where he grew up. He glossed over the bad parts, focusing on telling you the places he would want to take you. He would take you to the diner that was the area's traditional first date location since it was nice but decently priced. There was the bar where he won his first rap battle. You could even go to meet his mother if you wanted. Surely she'd be happy he found someone like you. He finally wouldn't feel ashamed to visit her.

He eventually noticed your breathing had deepened, drifting off into sleep by his side. He watched you for a while, mesmerized by the fact that someone could trust him so much. He wanted to commit this to memory in case something would happen to you. He didn't want to accept that you could die, but he also wanted to make sure he would be able to have something if these godforsaken games took you away from him.

He kept himself awake by thinking up rap lyrics in his mind. About the situation, about his hatred of Nam-gyu, but mostly about you. How hard he fell for you. How beautiful he thought your smile was. How you brought back a piece of him he hadn't noticed was missing. Every rhyme was a display of his devotion to you. He was going to do right by you. He failed so many other people, but he refused to fail you. You both were making it out of here no matter what.

[noirsdoll]

hum..hii, im kinda shy to ask about it but huh hear me out about Daisuke non-con bestfriend!reader after she acted like a brat with him when he had a really bad day..i imagined more of an on earth/college au but if you prefer writing on a tulpar au im totally okay with it!! I just love daisuke sm and im tired of everyone writing him like a subby twink..💔 have a good day mwah :3

REAL!! death to twink!daisuke like being naive ≠ twink, naive just means he's a dumbass. I think abt how jimmy influences him in the game a lot… also a college au is so fun to think about omg this is so long

cw/tags: noncon, mentioned abuse and drugging (not by daisuke), incel!daisuke and perv!daisuke, daisuke is a porn addict, accidental creampie, college au, daisuke is jimmy-pilled, vivziepop levels of swearing LMAO

Daisuke isn’t a bad guy.

In fact, he’s the shoulder to cry on, the ray of sunshine, and the hopeless but very enthusiastic tutor. That’s his reputation on campus— the nice guy that you can come to with anything, who’s always ready and willing to strike up a conversation.

You’re his closest friend, the first person that bothered to look his way on this sprawling campus. He’s stuck to you like an unfortunate parasite and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re both inseparable.

Daisuke and you are sitting on the grass outside one of the faculty buildings during the one break you both share. He’s staring up at the partly cloudy sky, letting the cold spring air run flush against his skin.

“Did you hear what happened at the big party last night?” You ask, too eager to wait for a response before you continue, “that Jimmy guy, like, roofied some poor girl.”

He glances at you, confused. “Jimmy? Nah, he’s not like that.”

“What, you know him?”

Daisuke talks to the older years fairly often. Jimmy’s one of the cooler ones— meaning he has a motorcycle and he let Daisuke take it for a spin once. So at least the guy’s not all bad. A nine on the Daisuke Friend Scale. You’re the ten, of course.

He just shrugs. “We’ve talked once or twice, yeah. But there’s no way he— are you sure?”

Your expression falters. “Uh, yeah, he did. There’s bruises and everything.”

“Some girls like that sort of thing.” Jimmy explained it all to him— the right way to choke, how to leave bruises that stung but faded quick, not to mention to always go for girls with uncovered drinks because it showed their open body language.

You frown and change the subject, but Daisuke’s still dwelling on it. Asking Jimmy about it later proves that he’s even better at shifting gears— he just dangles his keys in front of Daisuke’s eyes and suddenly Daisuke’s more than content to stop pressing.

There’s no way you’re telling the truth. A guy like Jimmy doesn’t need to do all that to fuck a girl. She must’ve just gotten more than she bargained for. 

Sure, Daisuke’s never actually done it before, it being sex, but he’s watched more than enough porn to figure it out. Girls in porn always seem to look like they enjoy it, they moan and cream and squirt as they get their asses and faces slapped red. 

Daisuke would probably get more play if he wasn’t such a nice guy. Jimmy has that bad boy persona going for him, Daisuke just gets friendzoned. Knowingly or not, he starts to learn from Jimmy.

That’s what he’s thinking about while at this party. He’s been unable to peel himself away from all the people that want to talk to him, it’s a miracle that he breaks out of the crowd long enough to get to you. You’re hugging the wall, no one to talk to but him. You don’t make friends very easily and Daisuke’s more than willing to fill in the gaps.

You offer a smile, a half-full solo cup dangling from one hand. Daisuke has to pause when you lock eyes. That dress makes you look like sin, he has to pick up his jaw from where he dropped it. Sure you’re both just friends, but Jimmy said that girls become friends with guys because they like them— and you seem to like him enough.

His pick-up lines and plans of attack all fade away the closer he gets to you, until all that’s rattling around in his head is the thought of you. What you’re wearing under that dress, what position is your favourite— normal things to be thinking about your best friend.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, tugging on his collar.

Daisuke watches your shoulders settle, the anxiety sweeped away. “Thought you’d never ask,” you grin, downing the rest of the drink and taking his hand.

Instead of guiding you back to his extremely unsexy Jeep, he takes you deeper into the house, away from the mass of milling party-goers and towards an empty bedroom.

“Uh, Daisuke, where are we going?” You chuckle nervously.

He glances over at you. “Just getting some privacy.”

“Okay.” You say, not much else on your mind as you take a seat on the bed together.

You flop down against the mattress, laying sideways along the bed. You must not notice how your dress is riding up and Daisuke doesn’t have the heart to comment on it. Are you like those porn girls? Are you?

Your hand moves into his field of view as you tug your dress down and sit up. Fuck, you caught him. You lean closer, enough to pillow your cheek on his shoulder. “...Daisuke? What’s up with you? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

“Ah, I dunno. Guess I’ve just got a lot on my plate.” 

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?”

He looks at you, his eyes dragging down, down, all the way to your tits. Daisuke glances back up. “I uh, like you.”

You blink at him, the silence feels deafening. Daisuke’s brain catches up with his words and he starts to panic. Floundering, he leans in and kisses you.

Your hands brace on his chest and you make a confused noise. He just crowds you against the mattress, feeling his dick growing unbearably hard. He pulls back, blood pounding in his ears. Holy shit. He can’t believe he just did that.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking at him. “I don’t think I like you like that, Daisuke. I like us as friends, you know?”

Yeah, he knows. He was hoping something would change. His hand slides up your calf to your knee, pushing your legs apart to allow him between them. “Just once? Can we… just once?”

“What? No, Daisuke, I just said—”

“I deserve it.”

“Excuse me?” Your chest rises and falls heavier. You’re scared.

What would Jimmy say? What would he do? How does Daisuke course correct? “You’re just so beautiful. I want to touch you.” Shit, he sounds like a fucking creep.

You sit up on your elbows, moving to get up. “You’re drunk or something. Let me get you some water.”

He needs to take control of this situation. Daisuke plants his arms on either side of you, one hand lifting to cup your pussy through your underwear. You freeze, looking up at him. “I won’t hurt you. Just let me–”

“I am not letting you have shit! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You try to weasel away from him, but he still tugs your underwear down in the struggle of flailing legs.

This is his chance. He’s already fucked up the friendship, what’s the worst thing that can happen next? Your underwear has a little wet spot in the center. Maybe you do want him— you just can’t admit it.

Daisuke can’t help himself, pressing his body to yours, his hand slipping through your pussy lips as you wriggle and squirm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, sliding down his pants and pressing his cock into you.

You grit your teeth. “God, Daisuke, what the fuck?” You’re crying, looking up at him with your eyes full of betrayal.

But he’s in his own world now. “You’re so pretty. So pretty. Needed to put my dick in you– fuck—,” he gasps, his hips pressing flush to yours. 

It’s so much better than how he could have ever imagined pussy ever feeling. How do those guys in porn not bust immediately? You’re wet and warm, squeezing him tight in the midst of your panic.

“Daisuke, please,” you beg, voice shaking with each thrust into you. In a different context— the one Daisuke’s imagining— it would have turned him on. You want him. You’ve always wanted him.

If he was ever listening over the course of your friendship, he’s definitely not now. He buries his face in your shoulder, moaning airy praises as he fucks into you like a dog. Shallow, abrupt thrusts as he tries and fails to get used to the stimulation.

Lucky for you, it hardly lasts more than a couple of minutes before his dick slides out of you, cum-covered. He watches the added realization wash over your face.

“Daisuke, fuck, please tell me you didn’t—” You scramble back, the creampie leaking out of you and staining the sheets. All the evidence you need of what he’s done to you.

He tries to get closer. “I’m sorry, shit, I— What can I do—?” 

“Don't come near me," you spit and Daisuke knows the friendship is well past over.

He’ll still dream about you, fuck his fist to you. You can’t stop him from doing that.

[jjslvt]

my thoughts on this character. pls tell me someone understands lol (long af like a fanfic. sry 😭 i went on a rant for him bruh)

(TW: topics about drug addiction, mental health issues)

a little scared to post this… ngl lmao

i haven’t seen a post on this yet but i haven’t dug deep into tags at all and am sorta new ish so! others have probs talked about this? i struggle finding stuff. searching is my weak point lol.

anyways — when i watched obx, the character that suffered the most was undoubtedly jj maybank (fight me). and i can write a novel analyzing it (like many of us can). esp since he is the character, i and others can relate to. but this won’t be about him.

there’s another character that suffered also… it was so overlooked and it’s complicated af. because jj is a good ish person overall and this character… is questionable because he does make serious mistakes. he harms the pogues. he commits crimes that i cannot excuse… but i think he deserves a chance at redemption?

rafe cameron.

something that is highly overlooked is rafe’s childhood neglect and drug addiction. pls hear me out a lil? 🙂‍↕️

i hated him so damn much seasons one thru three. so this is coming from someone who thought would never change the stance on that. rafe and ward drove me up the wall! ask my dad cos i was yelling at the tv stressed af when those two were doing shit. but season four had me start to slowly see something else. that he had some humanity still? the hug between him & sarah actually hit me…

i’m an open minded person. i’m open to rethinking things and i have. it’s not just cos i like drew starkey now. i am becoming a fan of him as well. & yeah, he’s another obx hottie. i get it but i have really thought hard about this.

back to the point, rafe actually needed help.

why is this never thought of?

a child is showing signs… and not a single person did anything. granted, what can i expect from the parents of obx? ward had a favorite which was sarah. obviously (also wheezie? hello? another one to be neglected by everyone?). which starts rafe’s desperate need for validation and approval especially from his father.

that is a very difficult thing to work around. desperation causes for a lot of shit to happen and it does take a toll on you. combined with a child who already had a problem early on… then gets into drugs later in life.

rafe could have been helped early but no shit was given. just ignored the kid’s needs. kids need guidance. what the hell can a ten year old child understand about that? sometimes, i think… what would have happened to rafe if he wasn’t neglected? for some reason, i feel like he would be a good person… i feel like he just never got the chance??

lemme get to drug addiction- & unless you know what a drug addiction is like, don’t talk. don’t judge. don’t even try me because sadly, i can relate to rafe here a little… 🫠 something i didn’t think would happen but fuck, i can. i’ve been through it.

i think drugs amplified whatever mental health issue he might have had since childhood. i feel like it does play a big role in why he did bad things. drugs are no fucking joke… the effects are damaging. it mentally and physically wrecks your body, the more you do. in some cases, many won’t even realize they have an addiction. the tolerance you develop and the way it hooks you is strong. society judges this… i find it sad. we should help people. some people get to a point where they think there is no way out and drugs will help! btw, my experience… my doctor caused it, i didn’t originally seek it. (yeah, got a fucked up past story there when i really got fucked over by people but i won that battle).

next, it is very hard to train your brain… it gets harder the older you get. so child rafe having possible neglected mental health issues going into adulthood? yikes! it’s really not as easy to fix as you might think! i learned from past (forced) therapy, REWIRING YOUR BRAIN is extremely difficult, especially for people like this!!

i feel like… he had cries for help and nobody listened. so, he went down a dark path unfortunately. it was wrong af. i do know that.

when ward left… he started changing, slowly. i noticed that. his father’s influence held a strong hold on him. our parents and how they raise us do shape us in ways.

this is one recent edit that killed me. cos i understand.

i know he’s old enough to know right from wrong, etc. but when your brain is… in a place like this? i just… as fucked as it is, it’s hard. he should have gotten help is all i’m saying overall! and he committed literal crimes, he should get reprimanded, of course i think that! but can he reform? should he be given a chance? honestly, i say yes. if he really means it and put work into… he’s got a lot to make up for and i know what he did (murder) shouldn’t really be forgiven but… idk 😭 would it have happened if he wasn’t neglected, used drugs, etc? that question lingers too much on my mind which makes me think all this…

am i rafe apologist, am i crazy?

[srldesigns6277]

Why is it that whenever I wish to scream, I am at work?