#cause she would be vomiting her insides if it were an overdose

[lavender-bun]

No Air To Breathe

PAIRING | jj maybank x routledge!asthmatic!fem!reader

SUMMARY | Your asthma is acting up and not just a little bit...

WARNINGS | asthma attack, salbutamol overdose, vomiting, jj being a panicking golden retriever bf, angst with happy ending, my bad description of medical stuff (bare with me I tried my best 😭), not proofread cause I'm lazy 😶‍🌫️

A/N | totally did not write this because it happened to me a few days ago haha...yeah I'm better now tho no worries👌🏻

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The moment you woke up and made your way to the bathroom you knew your day wasn't going to be easy as you already felt out of breathe. You didn't thought much of it, grabbing your inhaler from the cabinet above the sink and taking a puff so you could go on with your day.

Some time later you started to feel how hard it was to do simple tasks, even just grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge without using your inhaler seemed impossible right now.

Laying in bed and listening to music you could still hear the others coming into the Chateau after their surf session. You got up and decided to join them in the living room, sitting down on the couch and taking another puff of your inhaler while JJ plopped beside you, instantly worried when he saw it in your hand.

"You alright, sugar?" He asked placing his hand on on your thigh, squeezing a little.

You nodded with a smile. "I'm fine, just feeling a little wheezy today."

JJ is not really convinced of your reassurance but nodded anyways, draping your legs over his lap and turning his attention back to the others who were bickering on who got the best wave.

Later in the evening you seemed to get even worse, your breathing now a lot shorter and your inhaler not really helping anymore. Slowly you started to worry and not only you did, JJ had been keeping an eye on you and to see how now any movement had you overwhelmed had him fidgeting a lot.

"Babe." He tried getting your attention and you lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with hooded eyes and your skin paler than usual. "Oh shit, you don't look good at all. I mean, you're still smoking hot but- you know what I mean!"

You chuckled and that was your mistake. You started to have a coughing fit, your breathing even worse now after it subsided.

You let your head fall back against JJ's shoulder, whining in distress and frustration, not understanding what's happening right now. JJ called out for John B, assuming your brother must know what to do, he always does.

A second later John B walked in with a can of beer in his hand. "What's up?"

"I don't know man. She- She can't really move without using this." JJ explained holding your inhaler up.

John B, already in big brother mode, walked over to you both holding your face with both hands, cursing under breath.

"Fuck- how many puffs did you take today kid?" He asked and you shrugged tiredly, not enjoying all those movements at all and your stomach doesn't like it either.

"Bucket..." You mumbled and John B rushed to get you one, just in time when your body wrenched forward to vomit.

"What's happening with her?" JJ asked, trying to keep his cool and holding your hair out of your face while you emptied your stomach.

"She overused her inhaler and now her circulation is fucked up." John B explained, calm as ever and putting the bucket down when you stopped puking. He grabbed his phone next and called for an ambulance, knowing things would get worse if he didn't act fast enough.

John B crouched in front of you, trying to get your attention again which was hard for you as everything seemed to exhaust you, even talking.

"You'll be okay. I called an ambulance, they'll be here soon, yeah?"

You just nodded, closing your eyes to get any type of rest but the boys have to keep you awake.

"Hey, stay with me baby. Just like that. Show me those pretty eyes." JJ smiled at you even when he's practically panicking on the inside and wishing he could just take away your suffering.

Meanwhile Pope, Kie, and Sarah caught up to what happened. All now scattered around the room and anxiously waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

Sure enough the paramedics walked inside the Chateau with Pope explaining what happened and in what state you're in.

JJ was holding you the whole time, comforting you and whispering affirmations in your ear. Just as you expected they have to take you to the hospital to give you proper medication and care there.

As soon as you got an IV drip and a oxygen mask JJ carefully got up with you in his arms, carrying you to the ambulance and gently placed you on the stretcher. He sat down beside you, holding your hand to let you know he's there while the paramedics moved around you.

In the hospital the pogues had to sit in the waiting room, angry that they could only wait for any doctor to tell them if you're fine or not. Even JJ couldn't go with you, only for the ride to the hospital and he almost punched the security guy that held him back from going to see how his girl is doing right now but John B eventually got him to sit down, talking some sense into him.

"Relax, dude. You're not helping her when you get arrested now. I know how this works. They keep her here for a few hours, give her medicine and oxygen, and when her oxygen saturation is better we can take her back home."

JJ nodded, taking his hat off and pulling at some strains of his hair. It kills him not being able to be with you in such a scary moment.

An hour later the doctor came into the waiting room and the pogues instantly sprung up, attacking the poor woman with all kinds of questions.

"Alright, let's calm down first." She told them, looking back at the clipboard in her hand. "So, she's going to be okay. She needs to take these antibiotics for the next ten days. Watch that she's drinking and eating enough because she'll still feel a little weak the next two or three days, so keep an eye on her."

The doctor handed John B the package of antibiotics and told them that they could go and see you now as you're stable again.

You smiled when you saw them rushing inside and to your bed, all of them just so relieved to have your normal self back.

JJ leaned down to give a quick peck to your lips, resting his forehead against yours for a moment.

"You scared the hell outta me..." He said and you reached up caress his cheek with your hand.

"I'm sorry." You pulled back from him. "I just- I thought it wouldn't end like that. I already saw the signs the second I woke up but..." You tried to explain your own stupidity but JJ cut you off.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain anything. You're fine now, that's what matters." He assured you.

"Can we go home now?" You asked and turned your head to your brother.

John B patted your head and nodded. "Sure kid, lemme just get a nurse real quick."

Finally back at the Chateau everyone decided a movie night would be the best to cheer you up and as always they were right, even when you're still not feeling all well you had the sleep that night, knowing your family was with you.

JJ held you the whole night, always on alert when you move just a single muscle, checking if you're alright and getting you everything you asked him for.

You really were blessed with this boy.

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Taglist

For everything:

@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

For JJ Maybank:

@tracymbcm @spideysimpossiblegirl

[killed-by-choice]

Marla Anne Cardamone, 18 (USA 1989)

Marla’s story is one of coercion and manipulation. She was a teenage mom bullied into an abortion she never wanted.

Marla found out she was pregnant after an assault. She was 18 years old and already had a toddler at home, so she planned to put the baby up for adoption.

But Marla was on Tegretol and Elavil for depression and there was a chance that the medicine she took could have caused a birth defect. A social worker at the hospital where Marla had her ultrasound started pressuring Marla to have an abortion that Marla didn’t want in the first place. The social worker insisted that Marla had damaged her baby because of medication she had taken. Statistics gave a 92% chance that the baby was fine, but Marla had a sonogram to be sure. After the sonogram, that social worker kept pressuring Marla to have an abortion in an act of ableist eugenics. Finally, Marla reluctantly gave in.

Marla was admitted to Magee Women’s Hospital for the abortion on August 15 in 1989 for the legal abortion she never wanted. Because of her medical history, the urea induction abortion method was contraindicated. Ignoring the risks to 18-year-old Marla’s health and safety, abortionist Michael W. Weinberger injected urea into Marla’s uterus.

The abortion caused generalized necrosis of Marla’s uterine wall, meaning that one of her organs was rotting inside of her. Weinberger also carelessly inserted laminaria sticks in a way that caused septicemia and massive cortical necrosis of the kidneys. Marla didn’t stand a chance.

That night, Marla displayed a variety of alarming symptoms including nausea, vomiting, urinary incontinence and dried blood on her teeth. Her pulse and temperature were severely elevated. By 6:30 AM charge nurse contacted a the first of several doctors to treat Marla, but nobody bothered to do lab cultures. Half an hour later, Marla was “increasingly disoriented and speaking inappropriately.” 15 minutes after that, she had incredibly low blood pressure (80/40), she was suffering from tachycardia (144 bpm), and she was “unresponsive, grunting loudly, and having seizures.” No intravenous antibiotics were administered until almost 3 hours later. Marla received her antibiotics at 10:00 AM, but she died from her massive infections and internal damage at 12:15 that day.

Marla’s mother had not been allowed to see her for most of her daughter’s last day alive. Neither of Marla’s parents were notified about her rapidly deteriorating condition. When Marla’s mother was finally let into the room where Marla died, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“There was my beautiful daughter so horribly disfigured that she was almost unrecognizable. A tube was still protruding from her mouth and I could see that her teeth and gums were covered with blood. Her eyes were half opened and the whites of her eyes were a dark yellow. Her face was swollen and discolored a deep purple. The left side of her face looked like she had suffered a stroke. All I wanted was to hold her. I managed to get an arm around her and kissed her good-bye.”

A lawsuit was filed for Marla’s excruciating and completely unnecessary death. The abortion “hospital” had not consulted qualified doctors, overdosed Marla on Pitocin, did not remove the corpse of Marla’s baby from inside her body, performed an unwanted and psychiatrically contraindicated abortion using a method that was physically contraindicated in the patient and did not notify Marla’s parents quickly when their daughter was dying.

Marla’s mother stated:

“I had to file a lawsuit to get any answers. Marla had died of septicemia–a massive infection from the abortion. I also learned that the social worker had never seen Marla’s sonogram or discussed the results with her. Marla never saw the words on the sonogram report that would have changed everything: No abnormalities detected. My daughter was pressured to have an abortion, and there had been no reason for it, no reason at all.

I’ve often wondered why pro-choice women’s groups have never expressed any sympathy or concern over Marla’s death. Why aren’t they demanding justice? Why aren’t they concerned that Marla was lied to about the condition of her baby and wasn’t shown the sonogram results? Why aren’t they concerned that proper treatment was delayed because Marla was misdiagnosed by a resident who was only two months out of medical school? Why are they so quiet?

I believe it’s because pro-choice groups don’t want women to read or hear about abortion injuries and deaths. Bad publicity hurts their cause. That’s why they prefer that Marla and her baby remain hidden statistics.”

Marla and her mother

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/97261244/marla-a-cardamone

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette January 14, 1997

Allegheny County Court of Common Pleas Case No. G.D. 91-14565

Marla’s autopsy photos (WARNING:GRAPHIC)

[harrison-abbott]

consciousness uplifted

Henry thought his girlfriend had cheated on him and so he took an overdose. He wasn’t quite sure how to ‘take an overdose’ because he’d only read about it in newspapers or heard that phrase in films. Henry couldn’t exactly look up on the internet how to do it. There were several supermarkets around his area. And he did know that you couldn’t buy more than a couple of packets of painkillers with each trip. So he went around the shops consecutively, buying ibuprofen and paracetamol and whatnot. Henry already had a litre bottle of vodka at home. He’d actually been doing pretty well with the not-drinking the last few months. And in his rediscovered sobriety he’d hoped that this girlfriend was the hopeful way forward. She was beautiful. She had such a light, natural sense of humour and her voice had this tinny underwater quality that seemed to tinkle through the density of the world … And for her to be with another man was too staggering for him to survive. … Swallowing the pills became, after the third packet, like swallowing ash. He dropped the pills in handfuls and then washed ‘em down with the vodka. But them he started gagging. He didn’t wish to throw up because he needed the pills in his system. [This was all in the evening, by the way, with a pretty twilight outside; Henry had turned his phone off and he was on his own in his flat and nobody had any clue what he was up to.] He was tanning the vodka straight. And was only a quarter way through the bottle, and the pills were tiresome. So he took a break and he went and watched cartoons whilst drinking the vodka. And he munched some peanuts as well. Why not? If it was his last night on the planet. … He knew all of the lines to the cartoon and it had a soporific multicoloured glory to it that he realised he would miss, after he was gone. But the funny dialogue was nothing to do with him and he’d never had much of a grasp of humour and that was one of the reasons why he was on his way to his exit. … But aside from that he wasn’t too gloomy. He felt airy and dreamlike and he watched TV screen flashes play on the carpet and it made him remember something in childhood he hadn’t recalled in twenty years. … The episode finished. Had to get back to those pills in the kitchen. And, since he’d taken a break for an hour or so, it was easier to tackle them, now, and he thrust them down his throat with gusto. Until he’d gotten to two paracetamol tablets left to finish. Henry shuddered and winced and there was another giant urge to vomit. But, he held that back. And ripped the final couple of pills in. And then he went through to his bedroom. He turned his laptop on and stuck on this classical music radio station from Venice that he often listened to. And lay on his bed. And the contours of the instruments danced around with their interweaving flowery shapes. Again – Henry wished he were capable of creating something as majestic as that. A symphony or string quartet; how on earth could somebody be capable of that? Such thoughts weren’t relevant anymore, as he drifted into low consciousness. And then his brain played all of these mini hallucinogenic stories and some of them were brilliant and others terrifying and when his consciousness uplifted he couldn’t remember the dreams – and those dreams were lost forever liked unread or burned books with no other copies … Henry slept. Finally. And whilst he was sleeping the organs within his torso suffered a bleeding caused by the mass of toxins inside. He passed away quite painlessly whilst this carnage enveloped internally. He’d succeeded.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

could you write something about maggie taking like. 4 more doses of her meds because she keeps forgetting that she already took some

anon is literally asking me to overdose Maggie lmao

TW: Emetophobia. Like- kinda vomiting? It’s not really throwing up, more like Maggie coughing up gross shit all over herself (how she gonna live that down)

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        Maggie’s ADD sometimes made her confused. Very confused. And with that confusion comes forgetfulness, and with that forgetfulness comes taking too much Adderall. But she hadn’t been paying attention when she swallowed down the fourth pill she had taken that hour.

Naturally, the effects of this were not good.

There was a noon show that day, so the ladies in waiting had to get ready quickly so they would get to the theater on time to warm up. Maggie was feeling fine up until the performance started and she got really funky cramps in her stomach. They made her shift from foot to foot, fidgeting in her spot to try and ease the uncomfortable feeling throbbing in her abdomen.

It didn’t help.

During one of the parts where the band doesn’t play, Maggie slips her hand down behind her guitar to hold her aching middle. She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, taking deep breaths in an attempt to soothe the sensation.

It still didn’t help.

Maggie began to not only get more fidgety, but also dizzy as the show dragged on. Things were starting to spin around slowly, colors and lights bleeding together like wet paint on a canvas. She tried to blink away the mishmash before her eyes, but it only got increasingly harder and harder to look at as time went on.

An eyesore was set out before her and she didn’t know what to do about it.

After intermission (which she spent pouring an entire water bottle on her face because she was really hot for some reason) she felt herself getting worse. The auditorium was whirling around her, but she was also starting to see things that weren’t there. Colorful figures all over the stage, shifting and and flickering and glitching out like the screen of an old TV. She blinked at them slowly, feeling the pain in her stomach subside into a warm, tingling sensation.

The figures glided weightlessly across the stage and Maggie turned her head to follow them everywhere they went. She was surprised she was even able to still play in her current state (her hands seemed to be the only things working properly).

Colors grew more gradient and sounds had more of an echo than they usually did. Bessie’s bass was vibrating in her skull, while she could feel the beat of Maria’s drums pulse in her bones. This feeling almost felt otherworldly. It was melting her brain, but was so enticing that she couldn’t snap herself out of it.

Euphoric. That’s almost how it felt.

The bass and drums in Get Down sent Maggie into a spiral so fast she began to feel a little nauseous. Cleves was a mere blur in her eyes when dancing around. The other queens were just masses of color that mashed together into one big mess. Watching them prance around made Maggie’s head start to hurt and she let out an unbidden whine from her weirdly dry throat. It was drowned out by all the noise, however.

Her senses became more alerted as time went on. Things got so bright and so loud and her costume didn’t feel right anymore. It was like a sensory overload, but without the shortness of breath.

Was she even breathing? Has she been breathing this whole time? She can’t remember...

A soft moan of discomfort escaped her lips and, this time, someone heard it.

Bessie looked over at the guitarist and was immediately filled with worry. The young musician’s face was leached of all color and her pupils were huge, like those of a cat seeing feet move under a blanket. She was staring blankly at the curtains, rigid in her spot while her hands white-knuckled her guitar. Bessie reached over and gently nudged her side.

  “You okay, kiddo?” She whispered, careful not to talk too loudly so she wouldn’t interrupt the current scene.

Maggie, very slowly, craned her head around and blinked at Bessie. She was staring at the bassist as if she were an alien from outer space, like they had never even met before. Then, she nodded slightly.

Bessie realizes she isn’t even looking at her, rather at something just behind her.

All You Wanna Do starts and Bessie is forced to turn her attention away. She caught sight of Maria, who was looking at Maggie with concerned eyes. She seemed to have noticed, too. They would need to talk to the young musician after the show.

Maggie could feel herself dissociating out of control. At this point, she didn’t even know what Katherine was saying or singing, and she could barely keep up with her movements with how blurry her vision has gotten. The song was too much, too.

One hand stopped strumming all together, rather just grabbing onto of the strings like they were the only thing keep her together. Without the guitar playing, an obvious shift in the music was created and some of the queens looked back in confusion. Stagehands and other backstage workers in the wings were just as clueless when one member of the band just stopped doing her job.

Maggie stood there for a few seconds as Katherine tried to continue like nothing was going on. Then, she swayed, staggered, and collapsed, hitting the ground with a loud THUD as her body body crashes down on top of her guitar.

Maria abandoned her instrument first. She practically leapt over her drums to get to the fallen girl, with Bessie and soon Joan close on her heels.

It’s taken them this long to realize that someone wearing all black under stage lights should not be shaking this badly.

The audience was an uproar of murmurs and gasps as the queens stared in shock. Anne and Jane darted over, quickly followed by the others. The curtains started to finally close, shielding the sight from the onlookers.

   “Maggie, Maggie,” Maria tried saying, cradling the girl’s body in her lap, “Kid, can you hear me?”

For a moment, Maggie’s eyes flutter open, but they’re upturned in the sockets, pupils still way too wide. Her entire body shudders violently in Maria’s arms, chest jerking unnaturally with each stifled, ragged breath she drew.

It was terrifying.

Bessie gently felt the girl’s cheeks and then forehead with the back of her hands, wincing at how hot the skin was.

   “She’s burning up.” She said.

   “Could it be heat exhaustion?” Aragon spoke up, “She is wearing all black.”

   “Small kid,” Cleves nodded, “Maybe couldn’t take the heat from the lights?”

At that, Katherine jumped up and ran offstage, quickly returning with a water bottle.

   “I knew these costumes were a mistake,” Joan spat. “I can’t wait to rain hellfire on the fucking costume desi-“

Her threat was cut off by a horrible choking-gag sound that could probably be heard throughout the entire theater.

Maria had been trying to get some water into Maggie’s system, which caused her to cough it back up all over herself. The young musician rolled to the side, wheezing and sputtering up the water and other fluids. When she collapsed over again, her mouth, chin, and chest were covered in saliva, drool, and foam created from bile that had managed to worm its way up she throat.

The good news was that she was at least awake.

   “Someone call 999!” Bessie yelled. She instantly turned her attention back to Maggie, who was whimpering and clawing at her stomach. Each breath she took came out as a gasp that wouldn’t be able to satisfy her lungs for long.

   “You’re going to be okay, darling,” The bassist murmured in the voice she used to calm Maggie down. “Just keep breathing.”

Joan moves closer and untangles the guitar weighing down on Maggie’s shivering body. She sets it aside and then places a comforting hand on the girl’s thigh, letting her know she was there.

Maggie’s glossy eyes went from Maria to Joan to Bessie and then back to Maria. She took in a strangled breath, only for more fluids to fill her mouth, so she locked her jaw to keep from making even more of a mess. Maria ended up having to stick three fingers into Maggie’s mouth to get her to open up so she wouldn’t choke. The drummer wasn’t phased at all by what she did, too concerned with the well being of Maggie to be grossed out by anything.

Maggie’s knees curled upwards a little when she coughs, splattering the liquids in her mouth all over her face and neck. Her eyes became wide and she took ragged, heavy breaths when her throat was mostly unclogged, but it wouldn’t stay like that for long. She looked up when a gentle hand glided through her hair.

  “Just like that,” Bessie said. “Breathe, darling. Breathe.”

Maggie did as instructed, leaning her head into the bassist’s touch.

“That’s a good girl,” Bessie cooed, “Very good.”

Joan moves again, this time to take one of Maggie’s hands. She squeezed comfortingly, and the young musician looks over at her with glassy baby deer eyes. It makes all of the ladies in waiting’s heart pinch.

Distant sirens from outside sounded like they were blasting right in Maggie’s ears. She keened in pain, kicking her legs down and digging her heels into the floor. She digs herself further against Maria’s stomach, panting wildly. Hands start to hold her down and she slaps her own around desperately for something to ground herself. She settles for Bessie’s sleeve and clung to that with a death grip. It was the only thing keeping her from losing it, other than Maria running her fingers through her hair. The touch was soothing and gave her a sense of comfort, despite the loud noises and pain in her stomach.

The paramedics bursting through the curtains was a complete blur. Maggie just remembered leaving Maria’s warmth and Joan’s touch and Bessie’s tender presence. All at once, she loses herself and burns out completely.

After that, nothing. She blacks out reaching and whining for her family.

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Tea Time #6

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

So these little Tea Times were written as little filler-memory chapters to place in between the main story line.

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Short and Sweet

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“Hey shorty have you finished signing off on these release forms?” Hange asked as she tapped into Levi’s office. Her question garnered crickets as he remained focused on his menial duties.

“Shortyyyy~?” She sang with a spring in her step as she entered and shut the large door. Levi paid as much attention to her as he did a fly perched upon his windowsill. He flipped over the last document and signed it.

“Captain short-stacks?” She prodded with an intricate skill at pressing his buttons.

“Fuck off shitty glasses.” He finally piped up aridly, his exhale ruffling the corners of his papers.

“I see you responded to the second one. I now endow you with this title-” Hange declared with a booming voice when a pen was thrown directly at her forehead. She barely caught it before impact and cackled at their childish antics.

“Oh come on, Levi. It’s a cute nickname for such a cutie patootie captain~” She cooed in an insanely sweet voice that made Levi feel like he was overdosing on rotten corn syrup.

“Coming from you, using me and cute in the same sentence is revolting. It would be a shame if I were to vomit on these documents.” He gagged in unamusement as he flicked his wrist which held the folder towards her. She gladly accepted it with a shit-eating grin.

“Well that wouldn’t hurt anyone other than yourself would it, shortkins?” She countered playfully. With the swiftness of a veteran scout, Hange poked Levi in the head with his pen and dodged out of range of any punches he could have thrown.

“Thanks Levi Shortyman, see you at breakfast!” She yelled over her shoulder as she skipped out of the room. Levi released his broiling irritation like a simmering kettle with a deep breath and attempted to rub the pet names out of his temple.  

After a strenuous day of training the new batch of cadets that ran from the crack of dawn to a little over an hour ago, you found yourself in the kitchen babysitting a kettle of hot water. Leaning against the counter, you rested your head in your hands as the gentle humming of the stove sang you a lullaby.

“There you are.” A low voice dragged you out of your temporary humid home. Turning your head, you lazily smiled at Levi and gave him a languid wave.

“Tired?” He asked rhetorically as he approached. You nodded once and picked your head up out of your palms.

“Who knew training 30 inexperienced teenagers would be this taxing.” You exhaled. He tutted his tongue and came to lean against the counter next to you, his lower back resting against the cool surface. He regarded you as what little vigor you had left drained out of your body and into the wiggling kettle. A part of him desired to uncross his arms, scoop up your deflated form, and let his shoulder support your sleeping head. Much to his frustration, not even your exchange of fresh confessions could not fully decimate his wall of, dare he admit, awkwardness.

Of course he was experienced in fleeting romances; physical indulgences that ended with snips of threads. But he was a virgin to this type of love. Every touch to you was precious and he felt himself overcalculating his motions.

“Now you know how tiresome it was to train your group of brats.” The jest within his tone warmed his otherwise impassed features.

“I guess everyone is a brat until they capture your heart, Levi.” You pouted slyly and gave his arm a weak poke.

“No one has but you, idiot.” The casual nature of his tone even surprised him with how fluidly it slipped out of his mouth. The strangeness of dewdrops on a newly bloomed petal curdled between the two of you. Thankfully the shrill whistling of the kettle overpowered any bumbling reply you could have generated.

“What kind are you making?” Levi cleared his throat as you doused the stove and moved the kettle off of the flame to cool.

“A batch of chamomile for Hange and I. English breakfast for Erwin and Mike-they still need the caffeine tonight-and of course earl gray for you.” You struggled to suppress a yawn as you recited the flavors. Levi felt his bones soften to jelly at your thoughtfulness.

“None of your special tea this evening.” He mused with disappointment in his tone. You admired the scrunch of his nose that you knew he was oblivious to.

“Nah, I ran out a few nights ago.” You hummed as you began laying out five cups on the counter.

“You didn’t grab the tea bags yet.” Levi stated. With a spry push-off, he strode over to one of the many cabinets that overhung the counter. You smiled in appreciation and turned back to the hot water.

A clanking followed by a dull thump brought your attention back to him. The scene unfolding next to you caused you to inhale sharply and inflate your cheeks with your impending laughter.

Tiptoes propelled him upward just short of firmly grasping the tea tins. Two out of the 3 tins had been acquired in the lower cabinets but the remaining one was perched on the highest one on the shelf. Levi bounced on his heels once in an attempt to stretch his spine longer but he gained only enough height to allow his fingers to brush the bottom of the wooden chamber.

You silently observed him struggle with guilty amusement. In candid moments like these he was just so… adorable . When he stretched again, the hem of his crisply ironed shirt rode up and the downy smooth skin of his hip peeked out. His raven locks bounced with his body and just barely shielded his deeply furrowed brow.

“Which one of those lanky ass trees put them up so high?” He grumbled under his breath.

You really tried to spare his dignity. You really did. But you couldn't keep away any longer as he wiggled upward.

As you padded over to the little ball of anger you comically frowned deeply to continue to quell your impending giggle. Honestly you couldn't blame him for not being able to reach. That cabinet was placed so annoyingly high that even you were only barely able to grasp its contents.

Levi immediately halted his movements when he noticed your presence at his side. His head swiveled sideways and met your gaze with a childish frustration.

Holy fuck don't laugh.

Your gentle nudge pushed Levi to the side with a stiffness in his form. He eyed you as nabbed the tea tin in a single hop.

“Shorty.” You teased with a fond smile that was devoid of anything but kitten-like affection. Leaning down, you pecked him on the lips just before your giggle broke free from its imprisonment. Then you snatched the tins and returned to your brewing station.

Levi remained camped out on the other side of the kitchen. He felt a bubbling warmth swarm his cheeks as his mind replayed your honeyed voice saying the nickname he could care less for.

But when you said it, so sweetly and lovely... walls he felt whipped.

"Aww-why does she not get sass for calling you shorty?" Hange whined from the doorway. Her sudden appearance only fueled your laughter as you placed the tea leaves in their respective cups and began showering them in a hot bath.

Levi scowled at the woman and brought a hand to rub his jawline, masquerading his rosy cheeks from her pointed view.

“Your fucking off time has not expired yet, Hange.” His warning was muffled as you handed your old squad leader her tea.

Levi learned an important lesson that day: he didn't mind being teased if it was by you.

Honorifics

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“I’ll make sure he reads through these, Armin.” You smiled sweetly at the boy and he nodded with a grin of his own. Levi’s eyes flitted from you to Armin in a wordless manifestation of ~is that all~ from his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” Armin saluted and politely slipped out of the door to Levi’s office. You sighed peacefully as silence fell between you two.

“I’ll admit there tends to be interesting plans that come out of that coconut hair.” Levi commented and placed the papers aside.

“Thank you for giving his ideas an extra look, Captain.” You said, masking your fledgling slyness with nonchalant innocence.

Levi suddenly felt like he was being waterboarded when that single word left your lips. His eyes narrowed as you rounded the corner of his desk and idly began flipping through Armin's plans.

"What did you just call me?" He pressed, feeling frozen as an alluring blend of bewilderment and desire swam through the ice of his surprise.

“What do you mean, sir?" You responded with a shrug. Your thumb preoccupied itself with the smoothness of the paper while your mind indulged itself in your fantasized musings.  

“That.” He emphasized his speech with a crispness of a seasoned officer.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, captain. Maybe you misheard me.” You continued with an added layer of heated sultriness. Levi's initial shock had dulled to a buzzing hum as the atmosphere between you switched from feigned innocence to dripping in lust.

You hadn’t addressed him with honorifics since you had been promoted to a squad leader. The double entendre and impish aura had his head swirling with an exhilarating dizziness of lust and vigor. Levi bit the inside of his cheek as he watched you discreetly press your thighs together, trying to keep yourself from seeming just as needy as he was beginning to feel.

And walls the way your eyelashes fluttered like a doe’s to the bashfulness of your posture was all so very- submissive. It excited Levi’s nerves and stirred his legs to twitch in anticipation of contact.

“Then why don’t you come over here and repeat yourself so I can hear you clearly.”

He pushed off the desk and swiveled in his chair to leave his lap exposed to you. You greeted his invitation with a smirk and painstakingly slowly made your way over to him. You grasped the arms of his chair and swung your legs over his, hovering over his lap for a moment to deprive him of his much desired contact. He almost let out a noise of frustration when you finally settled into him, smugly rocking your hips forward as you scooched into his chest.

“Can you hear me now, sir?” You cooed at the shell of his ear and gently nibbled on the soft flesh of his earlobe. He exhaled as your mouth moved southward.

Levi gulped. Your syrupy words and steamy breath began heating his insides from the nape of his neck. He felt himself twitch upward as your plush thighs once again rubbed against his straining erection.

A wave of satisfaction rushed through you when you felt how hard he was already. He wasn’t always very vocal in his desires as a lover. But with each passing day you became more intimate with what made him tick and could instantly tell he was beginning to enjoy this power play. He had been powerless over many things in his life, and in the most primal yet nurturing way, the thought of lording over you with pleasure drove him wild.

Levi felt like his body was screaming with this invigorating rush of arousal. It was a sensation you had given him countless times before. But the feeling of power that you were inflating into him blanketed him in a new rush of exhilaration that had butterflies flitting against his chest.

Quickly catching onto your plan to tease him, he was not going to let you get away with it. He was your captain , after all. He suddenly clasped your hips with a force that made you whimper. He adjusted you so that your hot core was pressed intoxicatingly close to the taught muscles of his thigh.

He regarded you, pupils dilated, as his hands forced you along the expanse of his thigh. Your hips instantly responded to his actions, rolling yourself against him as sparks began flying through you.

“Hmm. Is this what you wanted your captain to do?” Levi hummed lowly, bouncing his leg upward as he ground your hips harder onto him. Your lips detached from his neck as your head fell to his shoulder, the sweet friction making it hard to focus on anything else.

“I-dammit Levi I was the one who was supposed to seduce you.” You moaned breathily; a mixture of defeat and excitement as his movements further ignited your bundle of nerves.

“I’d say you were pretty successful.” Levi praised, leaning in to capture your wanton lips with his own. The kiss deepened to match the fervedity that glued you to one another. The sinfulness of the way your body gave into his guidance and the lingering awareness that the two of you had forgotten to lock the damn office door only fueled his rough touches.

“I still haven’t gotten an answer to my question, brat.” He reluctantly broke away, humming with a hungry gravel as he squeezed your ass with passionate intent.

When you didn’t answer, Levi tightened his hold and rocked his hip so fluidly that you felt like you were caught in a current of bliss. Both of you were drowning in the heavy petting; you relishing in the pleasurable friction that his muscular thigh brought your clothed core and him feeling your wetness through his trousers as he brought you teetering over the edge with just a flick of his leg and a roll of his hips.

Your plan had instantly backfired, and although you were the antithesis of complaining, it felt lewd to express your desires aloud. But by the way his eyes bore into yours, dripping with metallic lust and silently commanding you to tell him made you whimper and grind against him with even more desperation.

“Tell me.” Levi huskily instructed, immediately halting his flow and keeping you agonizingly still. Your legs were softly shaking at the loss of contact, hands balling the fabric at his shoulders.

Electric tendrils bounced freely in the space between you as you looked down at him, your chest heaving and panting.

Wordlessly your hand reached for his. Your intertwined palms moved up your torso, brushed over your breasts, and stopped at your neck. Levi felt your rapid pulse point under his thumb and his own heartbeat became erratic. His eyes widened at your bold move.

His grip lay loose, hesitant against the sensitive area. Hurting you, especially accidentally, was the last thing he wanted to do. As a child he saw how his mother was mistreated, cast aside and abused by hungry men. But the way your teeth toyed with your plush lips and your eagerness to retake your spot on his thigh caused blood to rush from his head down to his cock. You gave him a willing smirk. If you wanted him like this he would gladly give it to you.

“Make me cum.” Your voice oozed with silken demand while your neck craned to expose the smooth flesh to his palm.

And just like that, the electricity crackled.

Levi slammed you back down onto him and guided you at a heavenly pace while his other hand applied pressure to your neck. He almost came himself as he watched you unfold on the precipice of your ecstasy; writhing in pleasure under his control and using him to chase your orgasm beneath his grip.

You didn’t need to vocalize with words that you were close for Levi to know. The nectarous moans of his name and the erratic nature of your thrusts were sensory overload for him as he unbuttoned your pants.

In exchange for slowing his pace a bit, he slipped his free hand into your underwear. He reveled in your high-pitched gasp when his coarse fingertips made contact with your clit. The combined warmth and pressure from Levi's hands on opposite ends of your body catapulted you into your orgasm as you rutted against his thigh. Your vocal cords vibrated in sensuous moans against his constraint.

As you recovered from being perched on your high, he brushed his thumb lightly up your neck and let it rest along your cheek. He peered at you dazed in the afterglow of want and appreciation. Teasingly, he wiggled his fingers over your over-sensitive clit and chuckled in amusement when you squirmed in place. With a delicate sweep that would put a painter to shame, he drew his hand out of your pants. The velvety knot recoiled in your stomach when Levi brought his slick fingers to his lips and sighed in contentment.

Oh you were so ready to wipe that beautiful smirk off of his face and reclaim what you rightfully started.

Your arms drew along the expanse of his arms, sliding you down and out of his lap until your knees pressed onto the chilled wood floor. Levi’s eyes trailed yours as you slithered downward, argent orbs darkening when you palmed his straining crotch.

You wasted no time in unbuttoning his pants and releasing his cock from its confines. His eagar member was glossy with precum, revealing just how much you had riled him up. Your tongue started at the base, licking a hot streak languidly up his shaft and swirling your strokes when you reached the tip.

Levi released a heavy breath when your mouth took him fully. As your head bobbed along his length, not once did he drop his head back as the pleasure began to build. Through his panting, lip-toying, nostril flaring, and eventual groan of euphoria, the molten silver within his eyes occupied your gaze. You watched as his brow knitted and features contorted in rhapsody all while his commanding focus lay unwavered. The forge fire raging in them held your head to him and made you flush under their intensity as you swallowed and released him from your mouth.

“I wish I had called you captain earlier.” You winked up at him, a blissful half smile forming on his features.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He chuckled and leant you his hand to help you up off of the ground.

[ssa-daddyhotchner]

Undercover - Chapter 6

Chapter Selection

Everyone had the weekend off, we had just finished a case in New Hampshire. A man was killing couples in there cars. 

He was a spree killer we tracked him with the type of gun he used and the rounds. It was relatively easy. 

Hotch and I wanted to spend the weekend together so I could meet Jack. 

I woke up and rolled over. Aarons side of the bed was cold, I smelt bacon from the kitchen. The smell made my stomach grumble, I got up and walked down the hallway. 

I walked past Jack's room and his door was open; I peaked in and his bed was messed up. 

I heard faint laughter coming from the Living room. I turned the corner and saw Jack laying down on the couch watching cartoons. While Aaron was making breakfast. 

I walked up behind him and put my hands over his eyes. 

"Guess who", he laughed. "Mom?", I put my hands down and smacked his arm. He grins and chuckles' turning to me.

Jumping onto the counter he uses his knee to separate my legs standing between them. His hands on my hips, and my arms wrapped around his neck; "Morning princess."

"Morning", I nod my head towards Jack who hasn't noticed my presence yet. "He got here early this morning...maybe a few hours ago. 

I looked at the clock, "Its 8:30." 

"Hayley had an early morning, I don't know.....all I care about is spending my weekend with my two favorite people.

I raise my eyebrows at him, "I'm one of your favorite people?"

Aaron nods, "Well I guess your my favorite person too." He smiles and kisses me; breaking it to flip the bacon.

"Jack, I want you to meet someone." Jack glances and jogs over.

"Who are you", I jump off the counter and kneel down to his level. Aaron putting a hand on my shoulder. 

"Well....I'm your dads...", I look at Aaron and he nods letting me know I can tell him the truth. "I'm your dads girlfriend." 

Jack stares at Aaron with an unsure look, I stand back up. "So you make my dad happy?" 

"Yeah she does, and she's gonna be around more often so try not to be so hard on her okay." He pats Jack on the back, and he runs to his room. 

We quickly eat the food and I walk away going into the bedroom.

Getting into the shower letting the hot water relax my muscles. I hear Aaron walk to the bathroom and get in with me. I close my eyes letting the water wash over my face. 

He goes to wash my hair with his shampoo. "I'm not good at reading kids was that a good interaction?", He huffs. "It went well." 

"Didn't look like it to me." I wasn't good with kids, they had a tendency to not like me. "Y/n he's 4 it's gonna take a bit to get used to you that's all...okay", I hum in agreement.

Washing Aaron now, "So Mr. Hotchner what are we doing today." 

"Jack has to practice for his 'soccer' team, they don't keep score but I don't want him to be terrible." 

I chuckle knowing that even though he's on a team that just plays for the exercise, Aaron is still gonna push him. He's a great dad, I though to myself.

Finishing the shower we step out getting changed for our day, I walked over to Aaron; giving him a long and deep kiss then I pull away. 

As I was walking he grabbed my hand spinning me back to him. He pushed his lips to mine putting a hand in my hair. My hand running down his toned chest. 

We jump away form each other when we hear pattering on the floorboards coming towards to bedroom. 

Jack ran into the bedroom and jumped on Aaron. "Dad, I'm ready to go." 

"Ok buddy." We walked to the car and drove to the field. Jack talked the whole time about school, his favorite food, and tv. He asked me if I also caught bad guys; when I told yes his face lit up. 

It made me have the biggest smile on my face. Aaron noticed and smiled back putting a hand on my thigh. 

We arrive to the park and Jack grabs the soccer ball running straight to the field. As me and Aaron take our time we watch as Jack places the ball down before taking a running start; kicking it into the goal. 

We throw our hands up and cheer; Jack turning and flashing us a smile. 

Aaron grabs my hand and we jog over. Jack wanted to have a practice game; there were only three of us.

I was up against the Hotchner boys luckily for me I knew my way around the game, but they didn't need to know that. 

They kick the ball my way I spin around Aaron kicking the ball from between his legs launching it into the goal. 

He looked at me with surprise, "What... Agent Hotchner there are a lot of things you don't know about me." I laughed and tapped his chest walking past him. 

Jack ran towards me to congratulate me on the goal. I pick him up putting him on my shoulders cheering for myself. I set him down and we play another game. 

I kicked it towards them and they kicked it to the end of the field. I ran from behind them; I dove and kicked it into the goal...again.

Aaron walked over to me out of breath, "You're cheating." I had a smug grin on my face and I walked away from them to catch my breath. 

Aaron stepped away when he got a phone call, we had the weekend off we shouldn't be getting called in. He hung up the phone and walked over to us, "We need go now." I shot him a look. 

He put Jack in the car and went to me. "Reids in the hospital...", he lowered his voice so Jack couldn't hear. "He overdosed", he could read the emotions on my face when he reassured me. 

"They're trying to stabilize him, but we need to get over there." 

Team POV

Morgan, Garcia, and JJ wanted to check on Reid. It had now been a week since his mom passed. 

They were trying to check up on him but he wouldn't answer their calls. When they called the phone would go straight to voicemail.

It had been a few days since that last talked to him. They heard no movement inside the apartment; it was still. Morgan decided he was gonna pick the lock. 

They walked in to find the apartment was in good condition. No books everywhere, there were no dishes everywhere, the trash was taken out; but there was no sign of Spencer

Garcia walked into his bedroom and saw a foot by his door in the bathroom. When she walked closer she called out for Derek. 

Reid's skin was pale, he was cold, his lips were turning blue, pulse was weak, and he was barley breathing. 

As Garcia and Morgan took Spencer to the hospital JJ called everyone else to let them know what happened.

Y/N POV

We dropped Jack off with Hayley; Aaron and I rushed to hospital. We were met with the team outside of his room. 

The doctors had stabilized him but he just barley made it through. If Garcia didn't find him when she did he would've died. 

He was unconscious for the time being. All of us sitting in the waiting room; there was still no word on how he was doing so far. 

We only left the hospital to go get food or maybe some sleep. He was family to us and we were gonna get him through this. 

The doctors finally let us into his room, they informed us it still might be awhile till he wakes up.

Reid's mom was all he had. When she passed a piece of him died along with her. 

The team was in his room scattered around; when we heard something. 

Reid had opened his eyes, "Where am I." 

________________________

We all looked up at a confused Reid. He looked pinker but we was still pale. His lips were chapped, and he was sweating. 

His voice was small like he was embarrassed, "Y/n, can you get me a trash can." I nodded. When I came back I gave it to him.

He sat up and held the bucket for a moment; then he started vomiting. It had been around 4 days since his overdose. 

He was starting to withdrawal... again. We should have addressed his addiction the first time he started using then maybe he wouldn't be here. 

My head started to fill with what ifs. Reid looked at around the room and we all frowned at him. JJ walked over and sat next to him; holding his hand. 

"Spence... what happened", he avoided our eyes and looked down. He tensed up and pulled his hand away from JJ.

His voice was breaking, "I just wanted to fe- better, I didn't know I had taken so much. My vision blurred, and I hit the floor." 

"Spence you could've talked to us." He didn't say a word; he laid back down, closing his eyes and going to sleep. We took the hint and left but JJ stayed behind not leaving his side. 

Knowing that he was going to be fine physically helped a lot; mentally Reid was fucked up and all we could do was be there for him. 

Aaron and I were going to leave and go get Jack. When we got to Hayley's she wouldn't let him leave the house. 

"Aaron he's not a game that you can pass back and forth whenever you want, he's a child and I don't need him to feel overwhelmed." 

She shouted at him sparking an argument, I stayed in the car not wanting cause any other problems. Hayley didn't even know I existed and that was an argument for another time. 

She was furious at this point, there was a moment I thought she was gonna hit him; I would've gotten out the car but I left it alone. 

Aaron came back without Jack; he was clearly frustrated. As we were driving to his place, I saw him gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white. 

His gaze was dead set on the road ahead. I reached my hand out and put it on his. 

He broke his gaze and looked at me. "Baby it's going to be okay", his face rested and he dropped his hand into mine on the center console. His breathing slowed as he took deep breaths. 

I didn't blame him for being so upset; his coworker almost just died, and now he couldn't see his kid because of his bitch ex wife. When we pull into his driveway he turned off the car but didn't get out. 

He shifts towards me, "I'm sorry." 

"For what?", his face dropped slightly. "We were supposed to be with Jack. It was your first time meeting him and we had to leave. Now I can't get him back until next weekend." 

I held onto his hand and squeezed, "Aaron it's ok....for the time we did spend with him I'd say he enjoyed himself while he could. Especially when he made that goal." 

That got him to grin a bit, he chuckled and I did with him.

"Yeah that was pretty good wasn't it." 

"Somethings just happen that are out of our control. Best we can do is try harder next time." He looked at me. 

"Thank you", I shrugged my shoulders. "What can I say", He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Then we got out the car and went inside, closing the door behind us. "I'm ordering, what do you want." He sat on the couch; took a few breaths, "Pizza." I nodded and placed the order. 

Aaron was watching tv when I walked over; curling up with him. I sat next to him putting my head on his shoulder; he kissed the top on my head and grabbed my hand. I ended up falling asleep and when I woke up Aaron was gone. 

I walked into the kitchen and he was eating. "I didn't wanna wake you." He was still upset about the whole situation. 

I went up to him and tightly wrapped my arms around him. He nestled his head into the crook of my neck. I pulled away when I heard sniffling. 

I rested my hand on his neck and cupped his cheek. "Baby....", I said softly; he avoided looking in my eyes. 

I used the hand that was on his cheek and used my finger to lift his chin. When he finally did look at me his eyes were red and there were tears brimming. 

"Honey... what is it", he didn't have any words. He hugged me tightly without warning. I returned the hug; I wasn't gonna question him. 

I knew he wasn't in the mood to talk, Aaron wasn't one for getting emotional but with me he was so different. I understood to not push him, that he'd tell me in his own time. 

"Let's go to bed... okay", he nodded and walked to the bedroom. I put the food away and turned off the tv. 

When I walked into the bedroom he was laying on the bed curled up with some sweatpants. I took off my pants and put on a pair of shorts and laid down. 

I laid next to him; his head on my chest, my hands on his back and running my hand through his hair. His hands gripping my waist and thigh. 

He was still crying; I could feel the tears going down my stomach. "Shh... baby it's okay." 

He kissed above my heart and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too."

I felt him drift off but I stayed awake the words "I love you" repeating in my head. That was the first time we had said it and honestly I wasn't scared or mad, I was elated. 

He was the reason I wanted to get up in the morning. The man laying down with me brought me so much joy. 

I had a hard time trusting after what me ex had done but he made it so easy. Aaron would never hurt me like he did; with my whole heart I do love him. 

____________________

When I woke up Aaron was still holding on to me; breathing deeply. I felt fluttering on my chest. "Hey." I said and he hummed; he was awake. 

"I don't wanna push you but.....can you tell me what made you so upset last night." He huffed and sat up and was staring at the bed. 

"Everything." I had an unsure look on my face. "What do you mean everything." He took a breath, "First it's just work I have so much I need to do, it's so stressful. Second it's the overdose, I knew he had a problem and I should've addressed it when we was addicted the first time. 

You know try and help him but I didn't, I ignored it. I should've seen this coming. Especially when he said his mom wasn't doing well." 

He ran a hand through his hair. "Third is fucking Hayley", he started to raise his voice. "She goes and tells me that I can't see my own fucking son. She acts like I don't exist sometimes, like I don't need to have a relationship with him!" 

I wasn't surprised to see he had a lot bottled up. All I could say was, "I know." I put my hand on his. 

"Come on", he tugged on my hand; he brought us to the door and I stopped him. 

"Okay one, its like 40 degrees outside; you only have sweatpants on and I have shorts." He jogged and got a me pair of pajamas and a quarter zip, he put on a sweatshirt and we went on a walk. 

Holding on to my hand the entire time we walked into a park. There was a trail that went into the woods and we went down it. 

We arrived at a clearing; nothing but trees surrounded the area. There was a view of the city, it was 4 in the morning; nobody else was around and the light illuminated the sky. 

We didn't say much during the walk; just enjoying the others company. He sighed, "I needed this." 

"Needed what." He looked around at the trees and the view, "A breather, just be alone for a bit." 

"You're not alone." He threw his arms around me resting his head on my shoulder. 

"I mean alone from everyone else, there's no way I'd leave you behind." 

My heart fluttered; we sat down close to the edge. I sat in between his legs, my back to his chest. His arms around me keeping me warm. 

_________________________

@marie1115 @appleblossoms-posts @mac99martin @donttellanyoneireadfanfiction

[writtenonreceipts]

words words words the fanfic saga continues...should have another part up by this weekend.  Thanks for the wonderful comments and support for the first part, y’all have no idea how much it means!

TW: Angst, anxiety, depression, talk about death, drug references, alcohol references.  (I’d honestly say the drug and alcohol are pretty mild but I just want to be safe for ya)

They are the runaways. Before she manages to return home with her basement full of demons, Aelin meets Rowan.  Several times. Set within the events of THIS fic. Part three. Throne of Glass modern AU

# 

hello, good-bye (part 2)

It is a year after she meets him for the first time.

Technically it is their fourth meeting.  But the other three don’t count.  Not really.

The first time they met she’d just overdosed and was sitting in a hospital bed wondering what the best route of escape was.  Lysandra slept over her legs, drooling.  Aelin had no recollection of how she got in the hospital.  Nothing beyond the needle, the pills, the desperation.

The second time they met she vomited on his shoes.  They were damn nice ones too.  She offered no apology other than the fact it was his own damn fault she was going through withdrawal symptoms.  It was his own damn fault for being so annoying.  And why was he covered in cartoon stickers?

The third time they met they weren’t supposed to know names.  They weren’t supposed to know histories.  They weren’t supposed to be there together.  Even though they found themselves in the same uncomfortable chairs staring over the same stale coffee.  They were supposed to share stories of support and weakness.  Those meetings were always worthless in her opinion.

So this is really the first time they meet.

Aelin is sitting in a coffee shop sipping on her chocolate hazelnut blended double espresso with extra whipped cream when she sees him.

He’s impossible to miss really.  Tall and broad shouldered his physic is certainly glorious to behold.  Not to mention the tan skin that gleams with post-workout sweat.  His hair is silver and hangs to his shoulders, longer than when she first saw him. But that time doesn’t count, she reminds herself.

The little shop is full of the late afternoon crowd of caffeine seekers and rain avoiders.  And with the deluge going on outside, quite a few people have sought refuge.  Aelin wants to be annoyed, but she reminds herself that she is one of those rain avoiders.

And between watching the rain or watching the group of teenage girls giggle of text messages—Aelin decides on watching him as he orders.  She doesn’t know why.  It’s not like she’ll say anything to him.  Better to be as far from his as possible.  Because as much as she doesn’t want to—she really does remember him.  He is cold, harsh, broody.  She knows he has a past, but with the snippets she’s gotten. It’s a hard one.  Dark and cruel.  

He doesn’t notice her until his name is called.  Rowan. And he’s taking the first sip of the double espresso with caramel and vanilla.  She’d always thought he’d be the black coffee sort.  He’s turning to find a spare table and his eyes meet hers.

She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’s always loved his eyes.  From the day she woke up in that hospital bed those rich green eyes have haunted her.

Aelin fingers one of her many scars—the one on her right hand, over her knuckles—and she considers what it would be like to not feel so alone.  Because right there, even with barely three feet between them, another human being has never felt so far away.

Her fingers move to the inside of her wrist where the thinner scars reside.  So far away.

“This chair taken?” His voice is low and brisk.

Aelin looks up at him. She shrugs, not even bothering to blush or play coy or something else she might have done once. “No.”

It’s not like he’ll try and talk to her.  Anonymity is his life.  From the hospital where he works to the meetings he attends.  He has no ties to her.  It’s not like she wants any either.  She knows his condescending look.  Which really is hypocritical when you think about it.  If he’s an addict too, he can’t judge her.  Can he?

But she judges him. Because what else can she do?  She judges him for barely talking to her in the hospital.  At the meetings.  She judges him for the stupid sticker he gave her where he scrawled a meeting location and phone number.  She judges him for never really talking about what he’s gone through.  Because how can you change and get better when you don’t accept the past?

She’s a hypocrite too.

“What?” she asks realizing in her stupor he’s actually decided to talk to her.

“Your bag?” He repeats, a single eyebrow raised.

Aelin fumbles realizing her too big purse is sitting in the proffered chair.  She snatches it up and takes it into her lap.  Maybe that will help the way she shakes and the feeling of panic welling up inside her.  Why is she so focused on him with scenarios dancing in her mind of things that will never happen?  Things that are stupid.  Things that—

“I didn’t expect you to actually show up,” Rowan says.  

Aelin snaps her eyes to him as he drinks his coffee. “Excuse me?”

“To the meetings,” he replies.

“It’s none of your business,” she says, cold and sharp.  Her hackles are on the rise and already she’s debating her escape.

“No, I guess it’s not.”

“Why would you even care?” she asks.  They’ve sat in silence for too long and she doesn’t like it.  Even though she told herself there was no real reason to talk to him, she can’t help it.

He smirks. “I thought it was none of my business?”

She calls him a name and is slinging the strap of her purse over a shoulder.  

“Wait,” he says.  He holds up a placating hand but his face is unreadable. “Stay.”

Aelin glances outside where it’s started to rain.  She purses her lips and relaxes back into her seat.

“I’m Rowan,” he says finally. “Seeing as how we’ve never officially met.”

The wince is too hard to conceal or pass off as a shiver.  Aelin shrugs it off and doesn’t quite meet his gaze. “Aelin.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat which causes Aelin to look up.  His eyes are narrowed slightly as one finger runs along the lip of his cup.  He’s scrutinizing her.  It’s like she is an open book before him.  Everything there is to know is tattooed upon her skin.  So, Aelin meets his eyes and holds that intense stare.

“I guess I’m still trying to figure you out,” he says. “I thought I’d have it down already.”

“Because I’m so easy? So like all the other girls who’ve fallen apart in your hospital?” Aelin replies.  Maybe it’s a cheap shot but she doesn’t care.

He cocks his head to the side but says nothing.  So she says nothing either.

And they remain that way until the rain has subsided and Aelin is safe to run out to her car and leave him behind.

#

Tucked in the pages of her favorite book, Aelin finds the sticker.  

It’s of a cartoon daisy with a smiling face in the center and happy yellow petals dancing out. It’s a terrible sticker really. Why would anyone think it was a good idea to create something like that?  But she ignores the thought because all she can do is trace the words and numbers on the back of the sticker.

She never bothered to remove the backing.  Never bothered to put the sticker on her car or phone or anywhere else but in her favorite book.  She doesn’t really know why.

But now she’s feeling the crushing blow of having lost another job.  It’s not her fault.  Not really. She can’t afford regular gas. She’s basically living out of her car. The only skirt she owns has bleach stains.  And she’s still craving like it’s only been a day since her last hit.

Maybe it is her fault. Everything is after all.

But those numbers scribbled on the backing of the sticker are written so neatly, so carefully—it would be a shame not to put them to good use.

So she puts them into her phone and dials.  It’s a miracle she still has a phone anymore honestly.  Or a car.  Or her favorite book.

“Hello?”

His voice is clipped. Aelin can tell how tired he is in that one word and the way it’s a sigh barely escaping his lips.

A small noise hisses out of her throat.

“Aelin.”  It’s not a question.  In the background she hears keys jingle and a door close and feet pounding on stairs. “Where are you?”

That is a wonderful question.

Somehow, Aelin realizes, she’s made it to her car.  It’s sitting in the middle of the parking lot of the restaurant where she used to work. She knows that without the money she would have gotten from tips she won’t be able to buy gas.

Before she can force herself not to, Aelin is telling him where to find her.  She’s promising that she’ll stay right there.  She’s promising that she’ll stay on the line.  Even as the panic seizes her and she is desperate. She is desperate for anything, anything, that will calm her down.

He arrives just as she’s manages to calm herself down.

I’m fine.  It’s fine.  Just breath.  Deeper than that.  Hold the air in.  Slow. Slow.  I’m Fine.  I’m fine.

Aelin untangles her fingers from her seatbelt as he gets out of his car. As he walks over to her, she pulls her self out of the seat and leans against the car.

“You didn’t have to come,” she says quickly.  “It’s fine. I overreacted.”

She just hopes the tear streaks on her cheeks aren’t that noticeable.  

“Are you hungry?” He asks, completely dismissing her words.

Aelin stares at him.

“There’s a pizza place just down the road,” he continues.  Rowan nods to the restaurant behind her.  “I’m guessing that one will be on your blacklist for a while.”

Did he just try and make a joke?  Aelin stares more intently.

“Come on,” Rowan says.

This time it’s more of an order and Aelin obliges.  

When they’re seated at the pizza place with water and breadsticks in front of them, Aelin notices the watch on his wrist.  Hot pink with Dora the Explorer on the face.

“What the hell is that?” She makes a face and stares at the watch.

Rowan glances down and shrugs.  “A watch.”

“Smart ass.  Why the hell do you still have it?”

“I need to tell time when I’m on shift and can’t pull out my phone.”

“It’s pink.”

“It’s a watch.”

She stares at him.  He stares right back.

Who is this man? She wonders.  Who is this man that is so arrogant and cold and confidant?  Who is he, so calm and capable?

She hates him for it. Hates him that he seems to have moved on from his past.  Hates him that he is so put together and not a wreck like her.  I bet he doesn’t have panic attacks in his car.  I bet he isn’t wondering the best way to cash in on his sobriety.

“You made it through the full sixty day run,” Rowan says, “you told me to keep track.”

“That was months ago,” she replies.  She can’t help but to glare at him.  But to hate him.

“And?” he presses. “How has it been?”

Aelin saves herself from responding by taking a long sip of water.  She looks around the restaurant.  It’s pretty small, but a cute place.  It has wood paneling, checkboard tablecloth, and a jukebox in one corner.  A family of four sits in one corner.

“Fine,” Aelin says. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Why’d you call me?” he returns.

Aelin doesn’t want to answer.  If she answered she’d have to explain why she can’t call Lysandra.  Which would lead into not being back in Terrasen.  Which would lead into why she met him in that hospital so long ago.

“What made you move out to Wendlyn?” she asks instead.  “Terrasen has a better medical program.”

“Family,” he says. Though, it comes out more like a growl. “Why would you move out to Wendlyn?”

“Family.”  

Both answers are an admission.  Both answers are pained.  Both answers are lies.

#

She doesn’t know how it escalated from there.  Between slightly hating him and slightly admiring him—Aelin talks with him every few days.  Sometimes she goes a week or two.  But she’ll always check in.  He has become a friend of sorts to her.  Which is good.  Otherwise she’d be right back to where she starting at the beginning of their relationship.  

But it’s not a relationship. It’s hardly anything at all.

Her phone rings at some unholy hour one night.  Aelin doesn’t know why, but she answers it.

“Hello?” she scratches out.

She is met with his breathing.  Unsure of what to do, Aelin remains quiet.  Her phone presses into her ear with heavy force until she’s sure she’s going to break something.

“Rowan?”

He makes a strangled noise on the other side and she’s kicking off her blankets, dancing around her tiny room for her shoes.

“Rowan, I’m coming over,” she says.

“No.” The word is barely a whisper. “No.  I’m at the hospital.”

She waits.

“There was an accident. Pregnant woman hit by a drunk driver. She stoked out on the table right before me.  Just died. And the baby too.  But that man…he just walked away.  Cut on his head and some bruised ribs.  He gets to walk away.”

Aelin wraps her fingers around her blanket tight enough her hand starts to hurt.  He’s told her once about his high school sweetheart.  Rowan was going to marry her.  Not just because she was pregnant but because he believed she was his soulmate.  The one. The only.  The end.

She’d been hit by a drunk driver on her way home from his apartment.  

That had been his end too. Drowning was the way he’d been determined to go.  Drowning by alcohol.

“Rowan,” Aelin whispers. She wishes she was at his side. If only to hold his hand or catch his tears before they fell.

“Talk to me?” he begs.

She tells him about Lysandra.  Her best friend.  The reason she made it away from Arobyn and Clarisse alive.  Then she talks about Aedion.  A cousin she doesn’t even know if he’s still alive or not.  She doesn’t talk about Sam though.  Not now.  But she talks about another friend whom she loved.  Little Elide who first dreamed of running away.  Aelin doesn’t know what happened to her, but she does know that’s where the idea first came from.

Be free.  Run.  Live.

Simple words.  Simple ideas.  And she tells him everything.  Right up until the sun begins to rise.

“Thank-you,” he says when her voice finally gives out.

“Rowan?” she begins then pauses unsure of what she really wants to say.

“Yeah?”

Aelin wants to invite him over.  Wants to say he can always come.  Always call. He’s not alone.  He never has been.  But the words dry up in her throat unlike the tears that are slowly tracking down her cheeks.

“Good-bye,” she says instead.

“Good-bye.”

#

tags:

@ tottenhamboys20

[queenof-literature]

A Sick Wild Child - Chapter 5

Warning: Mentions of vomiting and panic attack. 

Wild remained tucked inside Twilight’s pelt all day. Twilight had moved out from under him when Wild was in a deep enough sleep to do so. Twilight hated to move him but that kid was a furnace at the moment and an overdose of body heat seemed to be the last thing he needed. Now all that could be seen of the spry boy were tufts of blond hair sticking out near the top of his bedroll.  

It was around lunchtime when some of the boys began to get restless. They usually wouldn’t stay at camp this long in the middle of the woods, but as Time had stated, Wild wasn’t fit to travel anywhere even if he was being carried by someone. He would hopefully be well enough to ride on someone’s back in the morning, but until then they were stuck.

It was Warriors’ turn to watch Wild. After his panic attack a couple of hours earlier he had completely passed out, so the job had become a lot more smooth. Warriors was content to just read a book Four and lent him and check Wild’s temperature and breathing once in a while. He wasn’t really getting that much better, but he wasn’t getting worse either. Legend’s medicine had helped his breathing steady out for the most part so he didn’t sound like a fish out of water anymore. He was still quivering and his muscles still appeared to be spasming, which would undoubtedly make him sore in the long run, but he at least appeared in a deep sleep for now.

“Hyrule is Wild really okay to be so curled up in those blankets?” Four asked, concerned that Wild’s fever would worsen.

“I think it’s okay. Whoever is on watch just has to keep checking his temperature. If it gets noticeably worse then we need to cool him down a bit.” Hyrule responded with ease. He was really growing into his role in the group, Time thought with pride. Hyrule was one hell of a fighter, but he also had the talent and spirit of a healer.

“Warriors, you’ve been checking his temperature, right?” Legend questioned with a single eyebrow raised. There was a slight teasing lilt to his voice. He knew Warriors had to take care of his men in battle before.

“‘Course I have. Who do you take me for?” Warriors rolled his eyes.

“It was a fair question Warriors.” Wind giggled, only to be met with a book flying straight at him.

“Hey! Don’t throw my books!” Four shouted as a thud and a squawk was heard in the background. Time rolled his eye. These boys were getting quite restless, which was perfectly fair. Time didn’t know what they would do if Wild wasn’t at least a little better tomorrow. It wasn’t just unpleasant to camp in one place for this long, it was dangerous. Moving along helped the black blooded monsters keep further from them. That was another reason he had someone watch over Wild. If a monster came by the camp and saw a sick member on the outskirts of camp, alone, well… it was nature. Pick off the weakest of the pack. No way in hell was Time going to let that happen.

It seemed all the chaos had roused Wild slightly from his sleep. Immediately the camp halted when Warriors heard a groan a couple of feet away from him.

“Hey buddy, how ya feeling?” Warriors asked with a smile.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Wild slurred out, eyes barely peeking out from Twilight’s pelt.

“Well you got yourself sick and took a pretty nasty fall, kiddo.” Warriors teased. Wild squinted his face in concentration for a second, like he heard Warriors but understood nothing of what was said to him, before muttering a small “m’kay”, and falling back asleep. The camp chuckled slightly at Wild’s acceptance.

“What are we gonna do if he’s not any better tomorrow?” Wind asked, apparently having the same thoughts Time did.

“We have to keep moving. It’s too dangerous to stay here for longer than tonight. If someone wouldn't mind carrying him for a while, we can at least move a little bit tomorrow.” Time had been planning it out in his head. He didn’t want to risk Wild’s health by moving him around too much, threatening his breathing once again. However he also didn’t want to put them all in danger by having them stay in this clearing for too long. Neither situation was ideal, but hopefully with Wild being carried he would be alright for a while.

Really the ideal situation at the moment would be being transported to Lon Lon Ranch. There Wild could be doted on by Malon for as long as he needed. Time smiled at the idea of Malon being a complete mother hen when one of their boys were sick. Wild would undoubtedly be as red as a tomato when he wasn’t delusional anymore. Malon would just coo that he didn’t need to be embarrassed and continue nursing him back to health. Hylia, he loved that woman. No matter how fierce she could be with that fire he fell in love with, she could also be the kindest being in any Hyrule, in any timeline. If one of the boys ever got sick on the ranch, Time was sure that no matter if it was the oldest or the youngest, Malon would certainly baby every one of their boys until they got better. Time wondered when he and Malon and stopped thinking of the boys as just boys and when they thought of them as their boys. Their family to protect. Maybe they never were just boys, maybe it was the first time they ended up at Lon Lon Ranch when he watched her fall in love with every single one of them, like a bear seeing her cub for the first time. Either way, Time could feel when they were going to switch. He didn’t know when, or where they would end up, but he could feel the time running out (ha). They were not switching Hyrules anytime soon, so they had to make the best out of what they had in the moment.

Multiple voices blended together, offering to carry Wild, including Wind, who was multiple inches shorter than the hero he was offering to carry. Time held back a smirk.

“We can take turns carrying him.” Twilight planned from beside Time. “But we can’t jostle him too much. He doesn’t have broken ribs anymore but we don’t want his breathing to go back to how it was when he first fell down a tree. We also don’t want him puking all the way through the forest.” Some light laughs ripped through the group. Time threw a hefty clap to Twilight’s shoulder, proud of him for taking charge.

“Twilight is right. Tomorrow we’ll switch off by the hour, oldest to youngest of those capable of carrying him without moving him too much.” Time finalized. He knew Wind wouldn’t be happy if the topic of him not carrying Wild came up, so he hoped they found a better place to sleep before they got to that point.

“How is he, Warriors?” Twilight asked the captain.

“Kid’s okay so far. His temperature hasn’t increased from what I can tell.” Warriors reported, resting a hand on Wild’s forehead to affirm his point. “Looks miserable though, he’s shivering like he’s buried in snow.” Warriors frowned in thought.

“I feel bad, but we can’t let him get too warm.” Hyrule warned.

“I know buddy. I just feel bad for the kid. He has to be freezing.” Warriors confirmed.

“Yeah, but once his fever passes a bit he can be buried under as many blankets as he wants.” Hyrule smiled optimistically.

��I think if you gave him the choice that would be every blanket we own.” Legend joked. He wasn’t wrong. Wild packed light, but when given the option, he felt the weight of heavy blankets to be comforting. It was odd considering how much he hated being restrained, but whatever brought him comfort they would try to achieve it.

The light atmosphere of the camp was interrupted when, without any warning, as if the universe had read every worry and bad thought Time had, a group of moblins crashed through the trees.

“Warriors, watch Wild!” Time yelled instantly, although he didn’t really need to. Warriors instantly leapt to his feet and unsheathed his sword above Wild. The moblins in Wild’s Hyrule were strong and towering, but also lanky. They would almost be cute if they weren’t currently attacking them with one member already down. Thankfully there were only three. Wind, Legend, and Hyrule attacked the one leading the attack. Sky and Four had rushed over to assist Warriors in protecting Wild against the second. Finally, Time and Twilight were working on the third.

The battle was going fine. No one seemed to be injured so far, everyone was expertly ducking under clubs and slashing at weak points. A yell from Warriors changed that. Time didn’t know how it happened, he doubted Warriors did either. One moment the second Moblin was being overpowered by the combination of Sky, Hyrule, and Warriors, the next, it was looming over the boy wrapped in his bedroll who was completely unaware of what was happening. It happened so fast and yet so painfully slow. The moblin wildly kicked its foot at the heap on the ground, sending Wild flying a good ten feet away, causing his right side to smash into a tree.

With a short and airy scream from Wild, Warriors only saw red. Slamming his shield into the back of the smug Moblin, he quickly hacked away until only a puff of black smoke remained, then nothing.

Without a second thought, everyone bolted over to Wild. Warriors got there first, sliding to Wild’s side and lifting the hem of his shirt. When Time got there, all he saw was horrifying shades of blacks, greens, and blues on the right side of Wild’s already bruised chest. There was also red seeping out of deep scrapes the bark cut into his skin.

If Wild’s breathing was bad when he first fell, it didn’t even compare to what it was now. He was coughing, hacking, gasping, and wheezing. Anything just to get air into his lungs. His hands were twitching and grabbing onto the grass below, and Time imagined if he could move properly he would be grasping at his throat.

“Wild I am so sorry he was just gone before I knew it. Wild, kiddo, can you hear me?” Warriors was keeping his voice as calm as possible but on the inside he was being crushed by guilt and concern.

Hyrule kneeled next to Wild’s shuddering form along with Twilight, while Warriors moved to be just above Wild's head.

“Twilight, can you see if you can calm him down at all? The shock he’s probably feeling isn’t helping him breathe.” Hyrule was already feeling Wild’s ribs as he spoke, which only increased Wild’s pain and his struggle to breathe.

“Please.” Wild gasped out in between coughing and hacking, “Stop”. Twilight leaned down and took one of Wild’s hands.

“Don’t worry Cub, it’ll stop soon. I’m sorry, but it’ll be okay. You’re okay, Just keep breathing. In and out.” As Twilight repeated similar phrases and placed Wild’s hand on his chest, Warriors had taken to playing with Wild’s hair to hopefully give him some form of comfort.  

“Four, we’re gonna need a potion. Please run and get one. Legend, if you have any more of that salve to spare, Wild will probably need it.” Time voiced. Legend and Four simply nodded and took off to their bags.

“What can I do, Time?” Wind asked in a flurry. Time felt a rush of affection for the boy’s eagerness to help his friend in any way possible.

“I don’t know yet. Ask Hyrule when he’s done checking out Wild's ribs.” Time put on a reassuring smile for Wind, which the boy returned.

Wild’s breathing had calmed down enough that Time wasn’t worried he would pass out anymore from hyperventilating. It seemed physical contact had helped his mind know the threat was gone for now. For now, were the words that troubled Time. He thought that they could go another night here, but if these monsters had tracked them, more were sure to come. His thoughts were interrupted by Legend and Four returning just in time for Hyrule to tell his findings.

“We’re lucky he doesn’t have a punctured lung.” Hyrule stated solemnly over Wild's wheezing and whimpers of pain. “He has broken ribs again, and they were already weak the first time. A potion should heal them enough that he won’t be in immediate danger, but they’ll be more fragile. The infection is already making his healing hard, breaking his ribs a second time in the same day is defiantly not good.” Hyrule finished, looking over at Warriors, who was guiltily spinning a strand of Wild’s hair on his finger. “It’s not your fault, Warriors. They had whatever the rest of the monsters do now. There’s no telling how much their speed and strength increased. It was just a bad situation. Without you he would have been hurt more, or worse.” Warriors simply nodded, but he felt a bit better at Hyrule’s words.

Twilight helped Wild drink the potion Four had brought, and Legend applied the salve to Wild’s chest. Fortunately, they didn’t have to worry about staining Wild’s tunic anymore with Sky’s old shirt on him, so Legend could put the salve on without having to lift Wild’s arms. After a few minutes, the cub’s breathing evened out well enough. It still wasn’t great, but he was at least getting air into his lungs.

“Alright gentleman.” Time got the attention of the rest of the group. “Even if it’s just a mile or two, we need to get out of here. More monsters are sure to come and they may be more powerful and more in numbers. Wild can rest a little while the rest of us pack up. Wind, watch Wild please, I’ll pack your things. Twilight, pack Wild’s bag and bedroll. We’re leaving. Now.”

[bi-bard]

You Aren’t Alone... I Promise- Malcolm Bright Imagine (Prodigal Son)

Title: You Aren’t Alone... I Promise

Pairing: Malcolm Bright X Reader (I tried to make this gender neutral)

Requested: Nope!

Word Count: 2,687

Warning(s): Kidnapping, death, mentions of previous murders, general dark subjects so please read with caution

Summary: Malcolm and (Y/n) were always close. (Y/n) had accepted every part of Malcolm, no questions asked. Most people would look at this as something amazing, right? But what if there was something more? What if there was something more to the situation than anyone knew?

Author’s Note: I have been tossing this idea around for so long! I am very excited to writ it but it’s going to be a little bit long so be prepared. 

-------------------------------------------------

“Hello,” I said in a cheery voice, closing the door slowly behind me. My mom walked around the corner and hugged me. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I managed to get ready early so I thought I’d stop by on my way to work,” I shrugged. 

“Would you like some coffee,” my mom asked, pointing at her coffee maker. “I just made a fresh pot.”

“That sounds great,” I nodded, walking to her fridge and grabbing out some coffee creamer. 

“Have you guys had any interesting cases lately,” she handed me a travel cup, its lid, and a spoon. I shrugged.

“We had a murder last week but nothing too extreme since then,” I replied. 

“Well, maybe you should head in so you don’t miss anything,” she stuck her tongue out at me. 

“I’m sure talking to you a little bit in the morning won’t make me mi-”

And then my phone started ringing. I groaned and looked at the caller ID. Gil was calling. 

“And that’s my queue to go,” I shrugged. My mom pulled me into a tight hug, wishing me good luck. 

I quickly answered my phone on my way out, struggling to push open the door with the travel cup and my bag. Gil quickly rambled off a few quick facts as I went jogging out of the apartment. 

**Time Skip**

Come at least pick-up a little dinner tonight, I smiled to myself as I read my mom’s text. 

She didn’t have to offer me food on a normal basis... I was an adult. She didn’t need to let me steal her coffee. She was always doing the most. Probably more than needed but I loved her more than anything for that. 

“I thought I was the only one who smiled at crime scenes,” my smile went from my phone to Malcolm, who was walking over. “How has your morning been?”

“Definitely better than others,” I shrugged, giving him a brief hug. “What about you?”

He raised his eyebrows for a second with a look. That had become a simple signal. Still didn’t get enough sleep, probably didn’t eat, and his mom probably stopped by. I hugged him again, kissing his cheek. 

“Okay, we have a crime scene to look at,” I said with a grin. He nodded and grabbed my hand, dragging me over to the scene, and then promptly dropped my hand.

The scene was in an alleyway. It was like the killer was making a show of it all. Who were they entertaining? No one besides themselves. It was disturbing to see or think about.

I was ready to vomit when I walked into the room. A girl was tied up by her wrists. She looked like she was covered in blood. Her hair was matted, her clothes had blood stains and tears in it. Malcolm’s hand briefly touched my back as my face morphed into a look of pure disgust.

“Alright, please fill us in,” I said, looking over to our little team.

“Chloe Morrow, 23, found tied up without her tongue,” I grimaced as Gil relayed the information. “Edrisa has more specifics.”

“Yes,” Edrisa popped her from behind the body. “So... as bloody as she looks... that wasn’t the cause of death.”

“How the hell is that not the cause of death,” J.T asked.

“Well, the cuts were made after the victim had died, something else killed her,” she shrugged. “I don’t quite know what it was but my money would be on an overdose if it wasn’t lack of food or water. She was definitely dead before most of the bigger marks were made.”

“That’s so demented,” I mumbled. “And then to display them in public. God.”

“What are these,” we all looked at Malcolm, who had since walked over and lifted the shirt of the victim. 

“Don’t know, it looks like a code but I don’t understand it,” Edrisa replied. 

I stepped a little closer, staring at the markings. They were written in pen...thick, black marker. The killer wanted to know that you could see the marks. My eyes widened as it clicked.

“I know what this is,” I said. Everyone gave me the look that they usually give Malcolm, absolutely confused and a little more shocked than they need to be. “It’s Pigpen cipher. I learned it from my... parents.”

“What does it say,” Malcolm asked. I held my hand out, asking for a pen and paper. I quickly jotted down the symbols and filled them in letter by letter. “So?”

“‘I’m home,’“ I answered. “That’s what it says. Why?”

“Edrisa, find the cause of death,” Gil started listing off responsibilities. “Dani and (Y/n), go see if we have files on any other killers that use messages like this.”

**Time Skip**

“Nothing,” I smacked the table. “We’ve been searching for hours and we’ve found fucking nothing!”

“Hey, hey,” Dani stood up from her seat. “We’ll figure this out.”

“I just want answers,” I groaned, grabbing a file and opening it. I read over the general details. “Holy shit.”

“Did you find something,” she asked. 

“Unsolved case, the photos are of pigpen cipher, and disturbing injuries,” I handed a few photos over to Dani. “It looks like that last case was almost 13 years ago.”

“Maybe the killer was on the run for a while and now feels like they can come back,” she suggested. 

“Or it’s a copycat,” I mumbled, praying that it was only a copycat and not the original killer because... of personal reasons. That’s when the team walked in.

“What did you find,” Malcolm asked, looking right over my shoulder. 

“Almost an exact match for our murder,” I answered. “Cipher, injuries, all of it.”

“What does the cipher say,” Gil leaned on the table. 

“It looks like quite a few have been translated,” I shrugged. I rambled off a few examples, “‘Faith, money, liar...’“

“They’re all messages, lessons,” Malcolm added. I nodded.

“This guy has a serious John Kramer complex,” I looked at the confused stares from Gil, J.T, and Dani. “Jigsaw? From the Saw movies? The torture-porn ones?”

“Ew,” J.T. mumbled. 

“He thinks he’s superior,” I continued explaining. “He thinks he’ll inspire people by completely mutilating others.”

“Disgusting,” J.T grimaced. I nodded.

“The Pigpen Killer,” Malcolm decided. We all looked at him. “What? I can’t give the serial killer a name?”

We all ignored his question as Gil started speaking.

“Alright, we comb through evidence, follow up on any leads they had,” Gil instructed. “We need a list of who to look into. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm playfully saluted before grabbing the file from my hands. 

**Time Skip**

“Try and get a little bit of sleep,” I mumbled, kissing Malcolm’s forehead as I went to walk out of the precinct.

“I’ll try,” he replied before fully kissing me. “Get home safe, please.”

“I will,” I promised. “Bye.”

“Goodbye,” he waved at me as I walked off.

I was on high alert the entire walk. I had rounded corners slowly, ready to fight if I needed to. I probably looked insane but I didn’t care. This was exactly what I needed to do. 

I thought that everything was perfect. I thought I was being safe... and I was. I thought I was going to be able to go home and relax.

I did get home.

I didn’t get to relax.

I walked in and was met with another person right inside. I was about to scream when a cloth was held over my mouth. I struggled against whoever had grabbed me until I felt a cloud form around my brain as my body went numb. I slowly stopped fighting as everything went black around me.

**Time Skip**

I slowly woke up, blinking and trying to clear my head. The entire night slowly came back to me as I looked around. I was still in my living room. My arms were secured behind me and my legs were tied. There was some kind of cloth tied in my mouth.

My breath picked up when I heard footsteps behind me. I wanted to yell or do something but I couldn’t. I only saw the person’s back as they walked to my table and grabbed a chair, placing it in front of me. 

He yanked his hood off. My eyes went wide. He pulled the cloth out of my mouth with a smirk. It wasn’t a copycat. Why couldn’t it be a copycat?

“Dad,” I asked in absolute shock. He chuckled before doing some weird, condescending version of jazz hands.

“Hi,” he said. “Did you like my little code? Did you tell your cop friends or did they figure it out?”

“Why are you here,” I asked. “Why did you come back?”

“Can I not visit my kid,” he replied. 

“You were on the run,” I continued. “You probably could have hidden away for the rest of your life. You didn’t need to come back to the city and start killing again.”

“I don’t want to hide,” my dad rolled his eyes. “And I won’t have to.”

“Why,” I mumbled.

“Because you’re going to confess,” he explained, standing up to grab a camera from my closet that typically had my paper towels and other cleaning supplies. My apartment was kind of tiny. “You’re going to confess on camera to the murders of my 13 victims... well... now 14. I go off, never looking over my shoulder again, and you get a cute fluffy prison cell where you might get to eventually see your little boyfriend.”

“If you hurt Malcolm, I swear-”

“I won’t touch him,” my dad rolled his eyes. “I will... however.... kill your mom if you refuse. Remember when she tried to turn me in?”

“You’re psychotic.”

“The police still have me as a suspect because of her,” he ignored me. “Now... she’s tied up in your bathroom. If you refuse, I make a message out of her. If you don’t refuse... it ends. You and your team will never have to deal with me again. Look at the facts. You confess... and I disappear. Deal?”

“How do I know I can believe you,” I asked. “You could just be lying so I’ll play by your rules.”

“Oh my god,” my dad moved and grabbed the back of my chair. 

He tilted it back slightly so he could drag me over to my bathroom door. He pushed the door open and there was my mom, tied in place, sobbing, clearly scared out of her mind... and I couldn’t help her. My eyes filled with tears.

“So, do we have a deal,” he repeated. I nodded. “Good... keep yourself together. The crying will give something away.”

He dragged me back to my previous spot and set up the camera. I bit my lip, staring at the floor. I was trying to figure out exactly what I was going to say... and then another thought came to mind.

Malcolm. He was pretty much the perfect profiler. He would know this was fake. Maybe he would know that I wasn’t actually guilty. He could be my hero.

“Ready,” my dad clapped his hands. I nodded slowly. “Okay... and...”

He just pointed to me when he hit record. 

“I guess that guilt gets to us all at some point,” I started. “I have fooled everyone since I was in my teens. I used the appearance of innocence to hide everything I did and create a conspiracy around my own father. I am what the police have named the Pigpen Killer. I’m sorry to my team and to everyone who trusted me. It’s time to move forward. It’s time to face the time for my actions. It’s over.”

The camera switched off and my dad clapped again. I jumped at the sound. 

“Good job,” he cheered. “All of that in the first take, I’m impressed.”

“Just let my mom and me go,” I hissed as he walked over to my computer. I watched him transfer the video. This was it. The day everything ended. 

“I can’t let you call the police after I leave,” he shrugged, finally moving away from the computer. “So we’re going to watch the news of your little video.”

“How are you going to make sure that you don’t get caught if they come here to get me,” I asked. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he shrugged, pulling a chair over to sit next to me after turning on the TV. 

I couldn’t see anything but I could hear it. My heart started beating faster and faster. This was going to be the end of it all... if Malcolm couldn’t help me. I needed Malcolm to help me.

**Time Skip**

I had started crying once the report started. Not only was the news going, but Ainsley was the one reporting. I could hear her voice crack as she spoke. My shoulders were shaking as I started sobbing. They all thought I was evil. Everyone.

I had gotten to the point where I had given up hope. I was going to jail, my dad was going to go free, and my mom was going to be left on her own.  It was over. I was done for.

“I should really be going,” my dad said, as if I wasn’t tied up. “It was nice seeing you, kiddo.”

I just glared at him as he walked around me. I turned my gaze to the ground as he started to untie me. Both of us froze when the door slammed open. 

A group of detectives walked in. A few grabbed my dad but I was focused on Malcolm, who had come speed-walking in after them. He was quick to untie my arms before starting on one leg while I started on the other one. 

I basically dove off of the chair and hugged him tightly. Malcolm rubbed my back, mumbling quietly in my ear. I moved back for a second. 

“My mom,” I said through my sobs. “She’s tied up in the bathroom.”

“Get her,” Malcolm nodded to Dani. 

The rest of the event was a blur. Malcolm had guided me outside. I watched my dad get pushed into the back of the cop car. Malcolm wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I leaned my head on his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” I finally mumbled, after standing next to him in silence for a long time. “I knew that you’d know I was lying.”

“You didn’t move your body at all,” Malcolm explained. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Thank you,” I repeated before kissing his cheek. “I... I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about my dad.”

“It’s alright,” he replied. “It’s just he was still running around and I didn’t want him to hurt you or Ainsley or Jessica or Dani or Gil or-”

“I understand,” Malcolm cupped the sides of my face as he cut me off. “I completely understand, I promise. From one kid with a psychotic dad to another, I understand.”

“Can I stay at your place tonight,” I asked. He nodded softly, kissing my forehead. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled, pulling me closer as he started leading me away from the scene.

That night, my name was cleared. With a smile, Ainsley reported that my confession was false and that the true killer has been arrested. My mom was taken care of and protected so she could have a peaceful night’s sleep. Everyone was safe... everyone was home.

The city blew up with the news. Some of them were honoring the victims. Some of them were saying that they knew I was innocent. The internet ran with it; screaming about the false confession from the comfort of their couches. 

Malcolm and I just went straight to his apartment. He sat on the couch with me, waiting for me to fall asleep... which I didn’t. We found this quiet peace where no one had to talk. No one had to be scared. It was the only thing I could ask for at that moment.

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Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-One

Sorry it's late, I ended up accidentally drugging myself when I got in from work last. I had a migraine and my mom gave me one her of Amitriptyline and I didn't realize it was going to knock me the fuck out for 12 fucking hours. I woke up earlier today and was so confused, work clothes still on, makeup still on, but my migraine went away so I guess it worked.

I told you guys a cut a part out (I'm saving it for another chapter) part of it was the preview for this chapter with the flashback of when Nikki came home after Viv and Duff were being nasty in his bed...anyway enjoy the chapter!

Words: 4k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, mentions of drug abuse

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"What?" I ask Fred, taking a few deep breaths and he raises his brows. 

"They just got here today, Viv, there's no way in hell that kid's biting the hand that's feeding him, over you, without there being a damn good reason." He states and I sigh, only causing him to nod his head. "That's what I thought. Does Sixx know?"

My eyes widen as I glare at him as if he's crazy. 

"Is Nikki acting like he knows?" I sarcastically say and Fred crosses his arms. "No." I add, deciding now is not the time for sarcasm. "No, Nikki doesn't know...I mean, we haven't been seeing each other, really. We've only hooked up one time." I try to reason.

"When?"

"When we went on break in September for a few days." I explain, fumbling with my fingers. 

"What, you got a hotel room or something?" He presses and I apparently give away what happened because his eyes are going to the size of saucers and he's raising his eyebrows. 

"Fred," I start.

"You fucked another man in Sixx's house?" He asks me in shock that I had the audacity to do such a thing. 

"He slept with Vanity in our house, so why not?" 

"Yes, because the way to put a fire out is to start a completely different fire!" He raises his voice. 

"Shh!" I put my hand over his mouth. "If anyone finds out about this, I'm done with, and so is Guns N' Roses." I hiss at him. 

"Highly doubt Duff's waking up after a night of plowing you like a field, thinking about his career, or else he wouldn't be sleeping with you in the first place." Fred says back quietly. "And you, what the fuck are you doing? Are you insane? If you get caught you're done for." 

"I know." 

"Then why're you letting it happen?" 

"I don't know, alright? I just…" I let out a breath and think for a moment. 

"Do you like, love him or something?"

"No, of course not." I insist. "Well, I love him, but not like in love with him." 

"Do you love Nikki?" 

"It doesn't matter if I do or not. We're over with once the tour is done." 

"You've both completely annihilated your vows, Vivian, I think it's safe to say you two have been over." He replies and I don't answer, ignoring that realization. 

I continued to ignore that realization until Nikki served me divorce papers once he got out of the hospital after he overdosed.

I try to hold back a laugh as Donna politely rejects Steven for the umpteenth time since he met her, and he pouts at me as she walks away.

“Viv, I’m going crazy.” He tells me. “I’m losing the charm, I think.”

“Oh, c’mon, Stevie, you aren’t losing the charm. Donna’s just a hard nut to crack because she and Emi have been put on a ‘don’t sleep with the opening band’ order.” I suggest and he maintains his let down facial expression. “And Emi and Mick are already a thing and catch hell for it, so Donna’s more than likely not wanting to be in the same predicament.”

“This is so unfair.” He crosses his arms.

“Just hook up with groupies.” I shrug.

“I’m trying but they’re all leftovers from what Tommy, Vince and Nikk--” He abruptly stops speaking and I raise my brows.

“What was that?” I ask him.

“Nothing…” He mumbles.

“I already thought Nikki was hooking up with groupies, but thank you for confirming it.”

“Well,” He starts, glancing around to make sure the coast is clear before he’s pointing out, “you’re hooking up with someone else, too, so does it matter?”

He’s got a valid point and I raise my brows, deciding I can’t argue with that.

“No.” I say quietly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

The guys are getting off stage soon enough, being brought back down from hyperventilation before starting in for tonight’s plans.

“Strip club.” Tommy and Vince say simultaneously.

“Stevie, you comin’ with?” Tommy offers  and Steven glances at me as if asking for permission although I honestly don’t care if he hangs out with them or not.

I’m just waiting for Duff to finish up his conversation with Axl and Izzy in their dressing room.

“Mick, you wanna come?” Tommy asks next, resulting in Mick glancing at Emi.

She shakes her head a little bit, barely noticeable. Barely.

Nikki lets out a shiteating laugh and I prepare for what’s about to happen.

“Nikki, lay off--”

“--Tommy, you shouldn’t have asked. You know Mick can’t take his mouth away from Emi’s teat long enough to make his own big boy decisions.” Vince and Tommy laugh at Nikki’s words, while Mick just lets out a heavy sigh and looks down at the ground not wanting to argue.

“Okay, Nikki, seriously, stop.” I state, glaring at him.

“Okay, Vivian, seriously, mind your own fucking business and stop being such a--”

“--Hey, everybody shut it.” Fred pops his head in, hearing an argument about to start. “Guns is riding back to the hotel with us, their ride has a flat.” He adds.

"Whoo!" Steven cheers, high-fiving Tommy.

I slip past Fred to see Axl and Duff waiting for us to get ready to go.

"Where's Slash?" I ask them, furrowing my brows a little. 

He's soon enough stumbling from the bathroom, wiping vomit from his mouth, causing me to wrinkle my nose as he mutters, "I'm right here." 

Slash was Nikki's trouble-buddy on the tour. They'd stay at the hotel bar until it closed nearly every night before hitting the town. Most of the time Tommy and Steven would tag along or split and go do something else of their own. 

Axl never really bonded with the guys as much as Izzy, Duff, Slash, and Stevie did, but everyone got along and considered each other good friends. 

Crazy how things would take a turn a couple years later.

We all wait patiently to file into the bus one by one and, of course, Vince and Tommy have girls with them while Nikki seems satisfied by just having a conversation with Slash and Izzy.

I catch myself looking for Tansy and Sparkie...until I remember they left to go score. 

All is well until Mick says something to Emi and she giggles like a school girl with a crush, and I can see Nikki's face getting red with anger as she's about to step ahead of Mick onto the bus. 

Nikki's plucking Slash's Jack bottle from his hand and pours the whiskey down Emi's jacket. 

She gasps, stopping in her tracks, horror on her face as she turns around to face him. 

"Nikki, what the hell is wrong with you?!" I demand. 

"Oops." Nikki slickly smirks, handing the now empty bottle back to Slash, who--like everyone else--is at a loss for words as Nikki cuts in line and gets on the bus before Emi can recover. 

I look at Duff, trying not to get overwhelmed with anger. 

He shrugs his jacket off, preparing to offer it to Emi so she doesn't have to wear her wet jacket. 

"Here, you can borrow mine." He tells her and she looks at him a second, tears in her eyes as Tommy, Vince, and their groupies walk around her to get inside. 

"Thanks." She mumbles, taking her wet jacket off and slipping on Duff's warm, dry one. 

"That wasn't cool." Steven mumbles about Nikki when we get on the bus, seeing him and Tommy laughing obnoxiously while Emi and Mick sit as far away as possible. 

I'm about to plop down beside Steven when I see Nikki whisper something to Tommy a couple seats ahead of us.

He smiles deviously at whatever Nikki just told him, before he's drinking a gulp of Jack and keeping it in his mouth, only to stand up, walk to the back seats, and spit it on Emi and Mick.

Nikki ruptures into sick laughter with Tommy, and I've had enough. 

I glance down at Steven's skull ring and take advantage of him not paying attention, to take it off of him, quickly. 

"Viv, what're you--"

I don't give him the time to finish his question before I've got the ring on, and I'm standing up as Tommy comes back by, punching him--his skin splitting where the heavy ring made contact.

I can tell he’s seeing red, I don’t help much when I sarcastically add, “oops.”

Everyone’s struggling to get as apart before he can slap me, Steven letting out a high-pitched scream when Tommy tries to bombard over him to get to me after Stevie pushes me on the other side of him.

Duff and Nikki get Tommy off of me and Steven, a trail of blood running down my friend’s cheek.

“Get her off my fucking bus!” Tommy demands at Fred once he comes back here to settle everyone off while Doc is behind the wheel.

“I wish someone would try to kick me off.” I threaten, knowing they wouldn’t get my ass off the bus without getting mauled first.

“Why the fuck can’t you take a fucking joke without being a fucking psychopath?!” Tommy asks me, yelling.

“You spitting a drink on them isn’t a fucking joke, just like Nikki pouring alcohol all over her isn’t a fucking joke!” I hiss back.

“If it bothered her, she would fucking speak up, Vivian, you’re not Jesus--stop trying to save everybody!” He sneers.

“She can’t speak up for herself because you assholes would try to fucking fire her!”

“And that’s none of your business if we did!”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up and calm do--”

“--I’m not calming down until you get that crazy bitch off this fucking bus.” Tommy interrupts Fred.

“Tommy, we’re not kicking her off the bus, now sit down!” Fred insists.

“You don’t have to kick me out, I’m gone.” I state, grabbing my purse, stepping over Steven’s legs to get in the aisle.

“Vivian, sit down!” Nikki orders me where he’s now standing, and I scoff in his face and shove past him.

“Vivian, please, don’t go anywhere.” Fred pleads, tired, and just wanting everyone to behave.

“I’d rather burn for an eternity than spend another minute on this bus with such sad, disgusting, strung out, drunk, bitter people!” I shout, walking to the door.

I hear several steps behind me, and I think it’s Nikki and Fred stomping after me, but I turn to see Axl, Izzy, Duff, and Steven following after me.

Slash is already passed out, oblivious to what’s been happening.

“K.” I say to Doc as he glances at me and sighs out. “Can you stop the bus and open this door?”

I thought we would get off that bus and walk to the hotel in peace, but turns out I left one fight and got into another one.

“You didn’t have to follow me, Axl, alright? I didn’t ask you to so there was no reason for you to come out here with me!” I tell him after he makes a comment about me getting them in trouble, possibly.

“No, I didn’t have to, but you’re my friend and I didn’t want you to be out here by yourself, even though you wouldn’t have to be if you would have just taken a breath and let it go instead of starting a fight, as usual!”

“We’re in Alabama, Axl! It’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped--nobody wants to fuck me down here because I’m not related to any of them!”

“Both of you are overreacting! Vivian, you shouldn’t have punched Tommy but I understand why you did! Axl, we’re not gonna get in trouble or kicked off the tour for making sure Nikki’s wife doesn’t get snatched up! Now, can we please go to the hotel so I can get ready and go out and get some chicks of my own because I’m tired of sloppy seconds!” Steven outbursts.

Me and Axl look at each other, knowing we’re arguing over something deeper than just him getting off the bus for me.

"Axl, this is not what it looks like, alright?” Duff camly says as we get covered up.

“Not what it looks like?! Do you think I’m fucking blind, Duff, what the fuck are you thinking?! Oh, wait, sorry, you’re not!” He explodes, his face bright red.

“Axl, can you please just let us explai--”

“--You shut up, Viv! I don’t wanna hear another damn thing from you because you just proved to me you could give a fuck about our band.” He points at me. “And what you--all of us--have busted our fucking balls for is about to be completely undone over some fucking pussy?! Are you fucking me right now?!” He says to Duff.

“It’s not just ‘some pussy’, Axl.” Duff states, getting defensive.

“I swear to fucking God, Duff, if you say ‘I love her’ I’m going to--”

“--I do love her.” Duff interrupts him, and Axl’s throwing one of his rings at the wall, causing it to hit a decorative painting, breaking the glass in the photo frame, causing me to jolt a little.

“Axl, c’mon, now it could be worse.” Izzy steps into the room, sitting down on the bed next to us, rubbing his forehead.

“Could be worse? These guys--her fucking husband, Nikki Sixx, yeah, you fucking remember him--are giving us a fucking shot on this tour. And the first fucking night in…” He trails off, at a loss for words, clenching his jaw and rubbing at his face.

“It wasn’t just tonight.” I start, waiting for Axl to look at me as Duff lets out a ragged breath, waiting for Axl to scream again. “It happened back in September, too.”

“You sound awfully proud of that, Viv, you really do. Cheating on Nikki--”

“--He cheated first, Axl. And then you all hid it from me.” I snap.

“I don’t care if you fucking cheat back, Vivian, but out of all the fucking people there is to get your revenge fuck in with, you choose somebody in our band--who’s friends with the band Nikki’s in. That’s what I don’t fucking like. But hey, if you wanna go down as the whore who wrecked Guns N’ Roses’ shot, then go ahead, but if we get kicked off this tour because of you, Nikki will be the least of your worries.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through, Axl, you don’t know the living hell I’ve been enduring for three years of my relationship, you don’t know.”

“That’s not my fault when you could’ve left him then. But you stayed and now you’re putting our necks at risk just so you can get your fucking rocks off.”

“He and I are getting divorced anyway so what the hell does it matter?”

“It’s my fucking band!” He insists. “It’s our fucking career, our fucking music, our fucking dream, all on the line over you! And if Nikki finds out, he’s not gonna be going through the technicalities of ‘well, we’re getting divorced anyway so it doesn’t matter’, he’s just gonna think of his wife getting screwed by one of his friends whose band he’s given a chance! That’s why it fucking matters!”

“Hey, this isn’t her fault, man, alright?!” Duff jumps in. “If you wanna blame someone, blame me, it’s my fault anyway! I’m the one who told her how I felt about her when she was vulnerable and shit happened!”

“Fine.” Axl says, exhaling.

“Sorry for fighting.” I mumble.

We finally get back to the hotel in an hour, managing to dodge seeing any of the guys, Fred, or Doc when we get in.

Once Duff and I are back in his room, he’s getting out of my shower while I'm aimlessly flipping through TV channels, trying to find something to watch. 

"Hey, Viv?" I hear him call and I put the remote down and step to him, leaning against the bathroom door, nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. 

"What's up?" I ask and he looks at me. 

"I forgot my hairbrush." He tells me and I smile a little before stepping to my suitcase to grab mine while he finishes drying off and pulls his boxer shorts on, stepping into the room. "Thanks." He says when I hand it to him and he roughly goes through the strands of his hair, making me cringe. 

"Don't be so mean to your hair, Duff, geez." I comment, taking the brush from him, sitting on the bed. "C'mere." I motion him over and he playfully rolls his eyes and sits in front of me while I stand on my knees at his back and gently brush through his bleached tresses. "You need to start using more conditioner." I tell him.

"That's what Stevie tells me when he sees me struggling with it." He informs me with a chuckle. 

When I'm done, I'm putting my brush back in my bag and getting into bed, under the covers. 

"I'm sorry if this is a let down but I'm too tired to finish what we started earlier." I admit to him as he gets into bed with me and shuts the light off. 

"Tell me about it." He replies, his hand gently playing with the red strands of my hair strewn across my pillow. "And it's not a let down. Just laying in the same bed as you is well over good enough." He assures me and I look at him, smiling. 

I scoot a little closer to him, my arm wrapping around his waist, my lips kissing at his for a brief second as his arm snakes around me. 

"Goodnight, Duff." I say quietly. 

"G'night, Viv." He tells me, and for the first time in months, I sleep through the night, completely. 

I sleep through the entire day, waking up to the feeling of lips kissing up my neck, Duff’s soft hair brushing against my skin and I hum.

“What time is it?” I ask him, stretching, smiling softly as he kisses at my cheek next.

“Five o’clock.” He replies, moving to get off of me, but I wrap my legs around his hips and stop him.

“What time do we have to leave here for the show?”

“It’s an off day, remember?” He reminds me and I raise a brow.

“Oh, it is. I forgot.” I admit.

“Well, you have been asleep the whole day, so.” He brushes some of my hair from my face.

“Wanna get some room service tonight?” I offer. 

"Me and the guys were gonna hangout tonight." He explains. "But Steven already said I needed to bring you." He adds. "So if you wanna come, you can."

"Okay." I nod, rubbing my lips together. "Have you seen Nikki today?"

"He and Tommy were by the pool with Tansy and Sparkie earlier." 

"Is Tommy's cheek okay?"

"It's bruised, but I don't think it'll scar where Steven's ring got him." 

"Ughh, I'm gonna have to apologize to him for that." I mumble, looking at the ceiling. "I just wish him and Nikki would just leave Emi and Mick alone. I mean, you can't help who you like, you know?" 

"Talk to Nikki and Tommy about it." Duff suggests. 

"They'll laugh in my face if I say, 'you can't help who you like'." I state. 

"...Yeah, maybe don't say anything." He agrees after thinking on it for a moment. 

"Yeah." I giggle, kissing his cheek. "Alright, you're free." I release my legs from his waist so he can get up. "I gotta shower and get ready and I'll meet you guys. Who's room do I need to go to?"

"Probably Stevie's." He tells me, getting up. 

"Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes." I reply, getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom. 

He stops me before I can close the bathroom door, about to kiss me. 

"Babe, my breath." I lean back to avoid embarrassment. 

"I don't care." He states, pressing his lips to mine chastely. "See you in a few." He says before walking out. 

Once I get a shower and get clothes on, skipping out on doing my hair and makeup because these guys saw me look like hell for weeks when Nikki and I took those couple months apart, before I head down to Steven's room. 

When I go to knock on the door, it's cracked open already, and I peek inside to see he and the guys are nowhere around. 

"Oh-kay." I mumble, stepping inside to see if there's any sign they'll be back, like room keys, or shoes, or jackets. 

Nothing. 

I turn on my heel and head to the door when something appealing catches my eye. 

A ziplock of brownies. 

My stomach growls, and I realize I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday morning. 

"Just one won't hurt anything." I say to myself. 

Fifteen minutes and five brownies later, I'm not even hungry for actual dinner. 

I put the bag back where I got it and head downstairs to see Steven, Axl, Izzy, Duff, Slash, Nikki and Tommy at the bar. 

I don't give Tommy or Nikki a second glance before sitting next to Steven and Duff. 

"You drinking?" Izzy asks me, amused I'm sitting at the "big boy" table. 

"No." I reply. 

"You want food?" Duff asks me.

"Nah, I'm full on brownies." I explain and Slash and Steven suddenly stop dead in their tracks, mid-drink, before looking down the bar at each other, and then to me. 

"On what?" Slash asks me, cautiously. 

"She said, 'brownies'." Axl tells him. 

"Oh...from where?" Steven asks me and I furrow my brows. 

"Your room, why?" 

"Oh, okay...um, hey, I think I forgot my rubbers in my room." Steven gets off the barstool. "Slash, you wanna come with me?" 

"Nah, man, I'm--" Steven's pulling him off the stool by the back of his jacket, the two of them walking quickly to the elevator. 

Me and Duff exchange glances and follow after them, Duff's hand keeping the elevator doors from closing at the last second. 

Steven looks pained when we step in with them, eyeing the two of them. 

"What's going on?" Duff asks them, casually, wanting to get to the bottom of it. 

"Nothing." Stevie denies, shaking his head a little. 

"Steven, be honest." I add and he shrugs. 

"Nothing's going on." He says, matter-of-fact.

"Stevie--"

I'm cut off when the doors open on our floor and Steven takes off to his room, getting the door unlocked, heading to the bag of brownies with Slash on his heels. 

"Steven, what's wrong?" I ask when me and Duff catch up. 

"Oh, no." He lets out, slightly panicked. "Oh, no, no. Not good. Oh, God. Oh, I'm gonna be sick." He runs his fingers through this blonde hair. 

"Steven, what is it?" Duff asks him next. 

"She ate, like, five!" Steven explains. 

"I can get you some more brownies, Steven, it's okay." I chuckle. 

Duff looks at the brownies, then and Slash and Steven, then back at the brownies, then at me, then back at the brownies…

"Were these…? Duff asks them, raising his brows. 

"Uh huh." Steven winces out and Duff's eyes widen. 

"A-And she ate five?" 

"Yeah." 

"How much was in them?" 

"Well...there was like ten in each brownie and she had five so--"

"--You gave her fifty milligrams of weed brownies?!" 

"Of what?!" I ask.

"I didn't give them to her, she ate them herself!" Steven points out. 

"Oh, no." I say aloud.

"Oh, no" was right.

[sanchezpoetry]

     So i’m writing a book. A novel type book based on my various poetry. I have several book ideas, but am currently focused on the 1st one. It is based on my short story as a prologe and uses my poem “Sage of Darkness” as the main theme. Every chapter has a part one and two. The first part taking place in real life as the main character which sets up part two that takes place as a dream that is based on a poem or prose piece I’ve written before. Here is an excerpt. Chapter 4 part 2 which is based on this. To be honest, it will be a very short book. But still, it’s an idea I have and I would like to finish. 

Chapter 4: Part 2

“The bullet in my head had writing on it”

    Era found herself in a run-down house. A house similar to where she lived as a child. She tried to turn away, but the house would move in front of her. She tried to take a step back, but the house would move closer to her, preventing any more distance. She quickly turned her back and sprinted in the opposite direction, but the house lunged at her and swallowed her in through the front door.  

    Era looked at the back end of the front door, realizing she was trapped. She turned and faced inside, looking into the hallways. Then side to side looking into the living room, seeing blood spattered carpet and furniture. To her other side, seeing the kitchen. A slight gasp of reminiscence as she looked at a bloody knife and handprints on the flood and cupboards.

    She then ran towards the hallways, reaching out for the doorknobs on each door she could see. She called out for the Sage. Frantically looking around in every room. Her heart rate to a life-threatening speed, palms sweating, head throbbing. Clumsily slipping as she ran from door to door.

   Era kept checking every room, but no matter how many rooms she checked, he wasn’t there. And every time she opened a door, something seemed to change. As if the house was deliberately keeping her from finding what she wanted. A house with an infinite amount of rooms, each with nothing in it, yet no two were similar.

    Tears began to from the corners of her eyes until she heard a door creak. She looked back and saw a brightly colored door amidst the constant blackness of the house. She felt a small spark of hope and she slowly walked towards this beacon of happiness. She slowly turned the doorknob and poked her head into the room. And she almost began to vomit.

    A body, lifeless and beginning to rot. The body of a little girl named Erebus in the corner of the room. One arm hugging her knees and the other drooped on the floor, her palm facing up. Era walked towards the little girl and saw the cause of her death. A trail of blood leading up to her wrists. And as Era looked closer at her wrists, she saw that the little girl had carved words into her skin where the blood was coming out of. Carvings that read, “Have faith”. She remembered when she had contemplated the reality that her younger self was in.

    Era slowly backed away and headed back towards the hallways of the hellish nightmare of a house. As she began to exit the room, she reached back to shut the door, but felt nothing. She turned around and the room was gone. Utterly terrified to look forward, she swallowed and turned around. And there was another door. Colored the same color as her door when she was a teenager. Reluctant to even move, let alone towards the door, the house hallways nudged her inside. And as she looked inside, she let out a light gasp as her pale colored hands covered her mouth.

    The overdosed body of a teenage girl named Erebus laying in the middle of the room. A bottle of prescription strength narcotics held tightly in her rigged hands that she had stolen from someone she knew. She walked towards her own teenage corpse and saw the labels of the bottle. But the labels didn’t state the name of the drug that killed her. Instead, it read, “Believe in yourself”. Era remembered when she was planning this as well.

    She paused for a second and turned around. Once again, slowly talking towards the hallway. She exited the room and saw another brightly colored room. Horrified, but knowing the house would force her in, she skittishly walked into the next room. And as she made her way inside, what she saw caused her to drop to her knees and vomit uncontrollably.

    Her own body. Hers. On the floor, with bits of her psyche splattered on the walls and floor. Blood amassed in a puddle right next to the exit wound on her temple. Her lifeless body still warm and limp from the freshness of the death, not yet overtaken by time and rigor mortis. After vomiting the last bit of water she had left in her pseudo stomach, she looked up. Wincing from the pain of the excreting next to nothing, she saw the smoking pistol in her corpses hand. And next to the barrel was a hot shell that encased the projectile. She crawled forward and saw that the bullet had writing on it that read, “Never give up”. And Era realized at that moment, that this was her plan not a few hours ago.  

[wickednerdery]

Title: Out of Time: High Time Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Stark!OC Rating: Mature Summary: “I intend to enjoy this realm to its fullest.” Notes: Continuing my strange little foray into cyberpunk with Loki on a futuristic Earth (after his escapes with the Tesseract in Endgame?). Bits of drug use, mainly, in this one!

Masterlist - Previously

While the brothers are eager to leave, Loki lingers, strolling along The Power Strip with great interest. It was chaotic, more so than the black market even, but thrillingly so. Music and sweet smelling smoke pours from various open doors, beings mingle and crush and drink together with a rowdiness that makes the god smile.

“We should lay low for awhile,” Cyro instructs, then continues. “I’ll go ahead, make sure it’s clear, then send the intel.”

“Nonsense, what in the nine realms for?” Loki dismisses, picking a club at random to enter.

Cyno gives a nod of acknowledgement to his brother, then follows the other. “Because we just jacked what, I’m guessing, are mutant ballerina’s from a major corp. You think they won’t come after them, after us, with everything they’ve got then you’re insane.”

“Possibly.” Loki chuckles, ordering a drink before leaving Cyno to cover it when his mind trick doesn’t work. He slips easily to a recently vacated table and shifts into a form more suited to the crowd of patrons. “But no matter. Now that I’m clear of your petty debt, I intend to enjoy this realm to its fullest.”

"By clubbing?”

“No,” Loki laughs him off. “No, I’m going to finish my drink and then seek out Ms. Stark.”

“She could still be in on this thing, you know?”

“I doubt that.” Anything is possible, of course, but Loki will happily play the odds on this one. “And, either way, now I’ve something for her. Something of interest.”

“Blackmail.”

“Information.”

The man sighs, rather giving up on his anarchist employer. “You keep causing static, they’re gonna pull your plug.”

“I welcome the attempt.” Because ‘they’, whoever they are, would lose. “Now have a drink and relax, for Norns’ sake.”

“No thanks.” Cyno wants out. Out of Loki’s presence, out of the bar, out of The Power Strip...He wants out of it all and into safety, if he can find it.

A dark laugh of amusement escapes the god’s lips as he drinks, eyes following his (former?) employee’s exit. He stays, watching those around him, before two Midgardian beings enter. While his interest starts as merely passing when he catches bits of conversation, and realizes it’s about Ms Stark, he keys in.

The walls pulsate, the floor rolls, as Hak helps Ana out into open air. She takes a deep breath, but only inhales lingering tainted smoke. There’s a rush, her stomach turns and knees give way before the officer catches her under the arms.

Hak digs into pocket, pulls out a spare mask. “Cover your face, I’ll give you a clarifying tab in the car.” It’ll clear her mind enough to function until the drugs leave her fully and she crashes out.

She slips the fabric over her nose and mouth, blocking enough smoke not to be re-upped. As they approach the unmarked car Ana sees someone in the crowd that both surprises and confuses her.

“Ana!” Orson calls out, his tone more amused than cross. “I’ve been looking all over for you, where have you been?”

“Where you found me,” Ana slurs her counter. “...Whoever you are...Not Orson.”

“Yes, well...” Orson’s chuckle is close-lipped before he carries on. “I think it’s time we get you back home.”

“I was just taking her,” Hak offers.

Orson’s eyes flick to the other without recognition, then back to Ana. “I can take her, you should return to your...usual tasks.”

Something about Ana’s Head of Security’s behavior is off, but Hak can’t pinpoint what, exactly, it is. “Okay...” He looks to Ana. “Let me know when you’re home.”

There’s a hum of a reply when she wavers from one into the other’s arms. She instantly realizes something is wrong; this is not Orson. “I...I’m gonna be sick!” She stumbles away, retches and vomits up red from Lace. She digs into pockets, finds her own clarifying tab, and sets it against her wrist to be absorbed. It’s for emergencies, overdoses, but she needs to be clearheaded enough to self-protect. At least until she’s sure this person isn’t an outright threat. Ana returns steadier, but the supposed Orson takes her arm nevertheless. “I’m fine.”

“Nonsense, Stark.” His grip tightens as she tries to pull away, he stares directly into her eyes. “Just let me help.”

Now she knows who it is, but says nothing except to concede, say goodbye to Hak. By the time they are exiting The Strip she’s reactivated her ID coding and discreetly begun charging her shock bracelet. “Where are we going, Loki?”

The facade of Orson fades with a laugh; Loki grins. “Your home, of course.”

“I’m not bringing you to my home.”

“Oh, but you should.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’ve important information for you, and I imagine yours is the safest place to share it.”

Ana looks the god over carefully, wary. “What kind of information?”

“The important kind,” he smirks back, unwilling to budge.

“Tony, get a secure car. return the bike”

Ana is passable as sober by the time they arrive, which makes the news all the more enraging. “Are you sure?” Osborn was a weaselly, money-grubbing, power-hungry, asshole not to be trusted...but this went beyond that. 

“What purpose do I have to lie?”

“You’re the god of lies.” And that was just the most obvious one. “Where are the girls now?”

“With their brother.”

“The Yak samurai?”

“Apparently.”

She nods, thinking, which is proving difficult in her comedown. “Do you...have any proof?”

“Besides the girls?”

“You don’t have the girls.”

“I could get them back.”

Her eyes lose focus a moment, she waivers, but when Loki moves towards her she puts up hand to stop him. “It’s fine, thank you.” She takes a deep breath, straightens. “You said you had help, from someone inside, what about him?”

“Cyro, I don’t know his last name, and his brother, Cyno, yes. I might be able to get Cyno, but I imagine the one you want will be less inclined to speak.”

“NDA?”

“What?”

“He signed an NDA, a Non-Disclosure Agreement?”

“Oh, I’ve no idea,” Loki dismisses. “But he’s not very fond of me.”

"Can’t imagine why after you blew up his cushy job for a major corporation.”

“Corrupt major corporation and I merely aided him in doing the right thing.”

“Right...” Ana smirks. “Well, thank you for the information. I’ll have my people look into it.”

“You don’t believe me.” He can sense it. 

“If I took you at face value, I’d be an idiot.”

“Fair enough.” He smirks, steps closer. 

“And I’m not sure why you’re even coming to me in the first place.”

“The goodness of my own heart?”

Ana snorts. “Don’t insult my intelligence.” He wants something, she’s just not sure what.

“Perhaps, if I can get the brothers to speak to you, that would be helpful?” Loki switches topics rather than risk being pressed for an answer.

“It would.” She’ll still have them and everything Loki’s claimed thus far vetted, but it will help to hear their version of the story. “Now, if you’ll excuse me -”

“Oh, but I would like to speak with you more.” He’s no intention of leaving now that he’s gotten in.

“I...” Dizziness and nausea takes hold in a final wave, then leaves her with the deep exhaustion of a crash. “...Just...” She lowers herself onto the couch. “Need to rest.” Her yawn is long, wide, and body slumps forward to rest her head on a throw pillow. “...Hold on...”

Loki watches with a mix of confusion and amusement as the woman falls fast asleep before him. “Well, that was rude.” He heads over, examines her slumbering form. “...But interesting...” The god crouches to meet her eye line, then reaches out to tuck a bit of blond hair behind her ear. “What an odd creature you are, Ms Stark.” 

Because it’s been so long...Hak is Hak Barton, descendant of Clint “Hawkeye” Barton - he’s police and human - “Tony” is her AI (like JARVIS and FRIDAY with the OG Tony Stark), and Orson is (when not actually Loki like in this piece) is Ana’s mutant head of security. All else you’ll just have to go back to prior pieces to figure it all out, lol! But, haha, yeah, Loki decided this was the best way to get closer to Ana...I honestly don’t think he felt he had anything else that might hold her attention long enough. So now the fox might be in the henhouse, as it were, given Ana just passed out with him still there, LOL!

Gifs made off ones I found on Google, then combined myself.

Still/Always playing with this one, feel free to share ideas/thoughts/suggestions/headcanons!! 😉

Tagging: @lady-crowned-with-stars​​​, @beccaliciooouuusss​​​​, @fuckthatfeeling​​​​, @v-2bucky​​​​, @ultrarebelheart​​​​, @tarithenurse​​​​ @latent-thoughts​​​​ @chibiyanai​​​​ @lukeevansandjdmobession​​​​ @sweetfictionalworld​​​​ @ladyfluff​​​​ @theangelsfightwithdevils​​​​ @holykryptonitekitten​​​​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​​​​ @michellearel1​​​​ @mousee555​​​​ @dangertoozmanykids101​​​ @toozmanykids​​​ @iwasbusybeingdead​​​ …If you wanna be added, just lemme know!!

[caddyheron]

The Detrimental Effect of Lemon Tea

This is for the wonderful @moan-jeutas , whose brand I am coming for with this LiW fic. Also @the-final-wife , this is the fic!

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Joan has been lying to the others for weeks about her caffeine consumption. These are the effects of when it gets too bad.

TW: Vomiting, brief mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation, panic attacks, and self-deprecation. 

Three was not enough today. In fact, three hadn’t been enough for a week – Joan had been having at least four daily. But four wasn’t enough today either. And so, as she brewed her black lemon tea in the kettle of the shared Ladies in Waiting dressing room, Joan added six caffeine tablets to her tea. Hopefully, it would be enough to last her, she thought, disregarding the two she had already had previously in the day. Joan hadn’t slept for just going on four days now – all her work was much too important.

The tea boiled quickly as she poured the water over the tablets. Joan dissolved the tablets before she put the tea bag in because they had to be dissolved before anyone else saw her do such things. Joan knew how awful it was to lie to everyone – how Bessie had smiled and complimented her on taking control of her caffeine intake made her heart hurt. The smiles shared whenever Joan walked on stage for warm-up holding her lemon scented travel mug made her feel… bad. She knew what she was doing was worse than her coffee.

Shaking her head to rid the thoughts, she quickly shoved the tea bag into the travel mug and began to stir it as Bessie walked in. Bessie was clutching her own mug and a box of Whittard Strawberry and Vanilla tea. It was her favourite type, even if it was shockingly expensive.

“Is the water still warm?” Bessie asked, setting down her own things, noticing the steaming hot tea in Joan’s hand.

Joan shrugged, taking a large gulp of her tea. It was too hot, but the last two caffeine pills had stopped working. “Probably, I just made mine.”

“I really must try your lemon tea one day,” Bessie smiled, hastily pouring her water into her mug as warm-up had just been announced.

Joan laughed; an anxious spike shot through her chest. What if she asked to try it today? “Ha, yeah! It’s cheaper than yours, anyway.”

Joan picked up her mug, taking another few large sips as her chest fluttered slightly. It was normal, this happened. Without much more words for fear of accidently disclosing to Bessie that she still had a caffeine problem, she began to make way to stage for the warm- up. It was a time she enjoyed, it always helped her to feel less lonely, everyone around her, singing and enjoying the stuff she was playing.

Warm-up always seemed to go so quickly. Joan always got so excited and into it, the caffeine just helping ever so slightly with that. She felt great, even if her stomach was turning a little and her chest wouldn’t stop fluttering, but still, she felt like she was on top of the world.

“You’re cheery today!” Jane smiled towards the pianist during the physical warm up, noticing the bright smile which had been plastered on her face the entire time.

Jane? Noticed her happiness? Joan beamed, practically unable to find the words to thank her. So instead, she smiled wide and kept with playing the upbeat tune on her piano, taking large gulps of her now lukewarm tea every so often.

After the warmup ended all too quickly, she rushed back to her dressing room with more energy than she had had in a long time, her worries about the others finding out about her caffeine problem still didn’t even attempt to cross her mind. In their shared dressing room, she took a seat and finished up her tea. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating, but she didn’t quite mind it yet.

She only truly began to mind when it was the five minute call and her hands were trembling so much she couldn’t get into her own costume. As she struggled, her chest was heavy while trying to catch a breath, panic was coursing through her body. Everyone else would be making way down to stage and she couldn’t even get in her costume! After at least the five minutes (if not more) she had just about managed to get into her costume, but it was significantly more uncomfortable and itchier than usual. Sighing, she hung her head low and walked to stage, the happiness waring off quickly.

The disappointed looks from everyone hurt. It was her own fault for being stupid and being late. Stupid. Disappointment. Unworthy. Thoughts rushed through her head as she took position behind her keyboard. All Joan wanted was the feeling of warmup again – all she got was a whirlwind of thoughts, a headache, and the beginning of a stomach-ache.

As the queens did their usual pre-show ritual, Joan sat with her head in her hands, trying to stop the spinning of the world. What was going on? How had she felt so well and great earlier? The first note Joan played into “Ex-wives” was the wrong note and it was quite obvious, receiving quick glares from the other Ladies. But she could barely muster enough will to care anymore; they were always disappointed in her – what was so new now?

All too suddenly, Joan felt a sharp, spiking pain through the right side of her head, and she quivered, closing her eyes tightly for a few seconds. Not a moment later, a cramp began to take grip of her stomach, twisting and turning it until she was nauseous and fighting the urge to clutch her stomach and gasp. Nevertheless, she ignored the feelings. It happened sometimes, she thought, her anxiety caused awful stomach cramps often like this. Joan didn’t associate it with the amount of caffeine pills she’d taken even if she had felt this way many a time due to caffeine overdosing.

It was getting hard to sit up right by Catherine of Aragon’s speech before “No-way”. The cramps refused to let up; it felt like someone was trying to crawl their way out of Joan’s stomach by tearing up her flesh inside out. She was gasping for breaths as nausea took its awful hold on her by the start of Catherine’s singing. But still, she kept playing because she couldn’t selfishly hurt the show like that – the show before herself, always.

Gasping for air while her stomach turned and her hands trembled playing the keys, Joan looked a complete state. Pallor was setting in and beads of sweat were running down her face which was set in a grimace. It hurt so much. It felt so awful. She felt so helpless. For as long as she could, Joan kept trying to play with as much vigour as she usually would, but she could only keep it up halfway through the song before the notes started to come out wrong and her eyes began to glaze over with tears of pain and upset.

Finally, by the end of “No-way”, Joan pushed herself from her keys and wrapped her arms around her stomach, pleading to herself that no one saw. Metallic tasting saliva was filling her mouth at an alarming rate and she was sure that if she didn’t get off stage within a matter of moments, she would vomit all over her keyboard. Joan couldn’t handle the shame and embarrassment of either.

Gripping anxiety kept her in place. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure she’d go into cardiac arrest, her hands were trembling involuntarily, so much so that they had started to go tingly at the fingertips, and her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool to the point that her eyes were having a hard time focusing.

She had to get off stage now or else she would throw up.

The start to the Anne Boleyn interlude would be a relatively enjoyable short piece which Joan got to play, but now, even the idea of a second more of music made her head ache. It had gone from shooting pain behind her right eye to the feeling of her entire head being constricted in a tight rubber band. Why was she feeling so plainly awful?

Without anymore hesitation, Joan got up on jelly-like legs. She had no one to inform as she was the person they went to whenever they had to inform someone that they had to leave stage. Like a stumbling lost puppy, Joan quickly clambered off stage, breath fast and heavy. The set of stairs down to the dressing room were now officially the worst thing ever invented, as Joan deemed them.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the stairs, she was close to collapsing into herself and vomiting right then and there – it would be so much easier than having to get to the bathroom which there was only one of.

“Joan?” a voice came – Lizzie, the stage manager.

“Huh?” she replied, her voice weak as the contents of her stomach tried to force their way out.

“Do we need to send Jamie on?” Lizzie asked, seeing at side glance Joan’s pallor and obvious illness.

Panicking from someone seeing her in the state she was, Joan shook her head, frantic. No of course Jamie didn’t need to go on, Joan totally hadn’t just come off stage ill! In retrospect, it was an incredibly stupid decision and caused a show stop which Joan knew she’d get berated about at a later stage.

Joan didn’t see nor hear Lizzie’s response as her stomach cramped violently again and she started to retch. It felt like forever by the time she had locked herself in the tiny stall of the bathroom at the theatre where she was finally free and alone. Usually that would be ideal, but her mind was racing and just about coming to terms with the fact she’d denied an alternate keys player to take her place. Stupid idiot.

However, she didn’t have much time to contemplate the damage which had been done as her body decided it was no longer possible to have just so much caffeine in its system anymore. Usually, whenever Joan threw up after taking too much caffeine, it calmed and settled her stomach a little at least. But this time, it set it to turmoil.

The next thirty minutes were a blur for Joan. It felt like every other moment she was clutching at her stomach and vomiting what was now nothing but bile which burnt her throat. No matter what, however, the cramping and nausea wouldn’t let up. Joan sat curled in on herself, dizzy and shaking, head to her knees wishing she could just end herself.

Once everyone else found her in the state, they’d surely want her off the musical. She had been lying to them for weeks and weeks and was never not being a disappointment or embarrassment; indeed, she wouldn’t be surprised if they never wanted to speak to her again.

Tears began to form in her eyes, spilling suddenly and in rapid succession, just furthering the constricting ache in her head. There was at least twenty minutes left of the show and, even whilst sobbing into her knees, Joan wondered if there was enough time to clean herself up and pretend like everything was fine. Even if it was inevitable, the idea of the people she cared about most hating made her want to claw at her arms and not stop.

However, her plans were quickly thwarted by the wave of nausea that left her re-gagging over the toilet and stomach aching from the sheer emptiness that was caused by her having thrown up so much. Joan was so dizzy… so shaky. All she wanted was to be held by Jane and told it was okay… mayhap on a comfortable sofa and a hot water bottle pressed to her stomach.

But that was never going to happen.

“She doesn’t love you, Joan. You will never take place of Katherine,” Joan spoke to herself, barely above a whisper as it hurt to speak. A shiver ran through her body at the fact Jane would never love her.

Before too long, she heard the familiar voices of the others coming off stage and so, Joan heaved herself off the bathroom floor. Her expression hadn’t changed from no less than a grimace and she was hunched over, sweat dripping from her forehead, and her pupils much more dilated than usual.

Walking out of the bathroom, breathing rapid, Joan accidentally found herself in the queens’ dressing room than her own. Her legs were close enough to giving up from the short walk that she had to find a place to sit down and if that was with the queens where she didn’t belong, she would anyway. Besides, Jane was there.

“Love, are you alright?” Jane asked, her head poking out of her jumper as she went to sit beside Joan, pulling her into a gentle hug.

Why was Jane doing this? She must have an ulterior motive? Joan began to think as she didn’t fully relax into the hug and shook her head. What reason did Jane have to talk with her when Kitty was in the room too.

“We all got so worried when you left. Aren’t you feeling well?” Jane asked again, tentatively reaching a hand to touch her forehead – warm.

“Don’t feel well,” Joan squeaked out, tears brimming her eyes. When did she ever become this important to Jane? Was she important or was this a ploy? Her chest tightened further at the idea that Jane might be doing this for her own benefit.

Before Jane had a chance to reply, an extremely displeasured looking Bessie stormed into the dressing room, shaking her head with a set face, holding a small, blue box. The box of Joan’s caffeine pills.

“Joan, what the hell? What the hell! What are these?” Bessie presented them as Joan’s heart sunk.

It wasn’t long before Maggie rushed in behind her, looking equally displeased. “The show stop? What was that?” she chimed in.

In that moment, Jane snaked her arm away from Joan, realising the thing in Bessie’s hand were the caffeine pills she’d promised she’d thrown away the day she promised she’d stop drinking coffee. How much had Joan been keeping from them?

Shaking her head, Jane stood up. “You overdosed on them, didn’t you?” she asked, kicking herself for missing the signs. The trembling, the dilated pupils, the sweating. All common sighs. She’d seen them all before, but this was the first time Jane had ever felt such disappointment in Joan. If only she had been honest and allowed them to help.

Joan had no words. She had no words to say for the tears falling down her face. All she managed to get out was a small, “I’m sorry”. How could she do this to her friends? She was an utter disappointment to them, they didn’t even need to say it for Joan to feel the disappointment ring off of them all.

Without a second word, Bessie and Maggie walked out whispering something about them not driving Joan home, so she only hoped someone would offer to take her home as she was far too weak and her nausea was on the rise again, so the idea of throwing up in a taxi was not appealing.

But no one offered. They all shot her bone-chilling disapproving glances as they walked out. She was cold, alone and with no where to go. And so, she waited. Surely someone would come back after stage door?

They didn’t.

Joan stayed in the queens’ dressing room overnight, shivering and vomiting every so often. She still felt just so ill. In the end, exhaustion finally took over her and so, she fell asleep on the hard wooden floor, just wishing someone cared enough about her to help her, to not look so annoyed at her all the time. She truly was a useless failure, wasn’t she?

[adonis-koo]

Three’s a crowd

| 12 |

Plot: (CEO AU) When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was suppose to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation…

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Jimin, Hoseok/Reader, Taehyung/Reader, Seokjin/Reader

Genre: Smut, angst, drama, angst with a happy ending

Word count: 8.1K

Previous | Next

Warning ⚠️ This fic touches on drug use, alcoholism and abuse. Please read with caution if any of these things are triggers for you 🖤

Gnawing against your lower lip you sighed, running a hand through your hair. You got it, Hoseok didn’t want you anywhere near him, and for good reason. But if this was all really connected, you might not have a choice but to confront Jungkook.

You put up a good front but deep down you still weren’t sure if you were ready to face him after that, but what choice did you have? So much was happening, so much you didn’t understand. You didn’t want to assume the worst but, what if it was? Someone else could be killed, you could be killed. 

Closing your eyes you gave another sigh before ultimately putting your phone away, while you wished all the answers would fall at your feet you knew that wasn’t going to happen. And until then, you were just going to have to continue your life. Standing at the foot of the shotty steps to the front porch brought you back to reality.

You hadn’t seen your father all week, would he have noticed? He never did send you a text, or had he destroyed his recent phone and wasn’t able too? Dread bubbled in your stomach as you forced your feet forward, he hadn’t overdosed had he? They would’ve called you, right? Right!?

Your footsteps fluttered quickly before fumbling with your key to open the door. You weren’t sure why you were so paranoid. Most people would’ve been happy to know such a deadbeat was gone from the world, but he was your dad! Sure he wasn’t the greatest but...God now wasn’t the time for a pity party.

Swinging the door open you instantly reeled from the foul stench inside, groaning you covered your nose as you glanced around. The place was totally trashed, except the difference between your apartment and this, was it always looked like this. Just a little worse since you missed going last week. 

That and the large pile of vomit your dad laid collapse in. Setting your bag down you tried to keep down a gag as you shut the door, this place clearly needed some sort of ventilation. You had instantly made way for the windows, opening them up for some much needed cool evening air. 

After that you had begun your evening of cleaning house. Starting with the living room and the mess your father had made. You weren’t about touch him but the least you could do was get rid of the smell around him. Then there was all the trash and empty beer cans you had picked up before dusting and vacuuming. You had expected your dad to wake up through all the noise but he was out cold. He must’ve drank a lot. 

Sighing you glanced down at his figure, feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness overtake you for a moment, all you wanted was a loving family growing up. How did you end up here?

Pressing your lips together before ultimately sighing once more, making your way to the kitchen to begin your work there. Why were you even doing this? You had so much on your plate that was worth a lot more to focus on at the moment then...this.

Why were you even here? Maybe Taehyung was right, maybe he was a lost cause. All you ever tried to do was help him back on his feet, and all he did was go running back towards his life. Maybe you should just go…? You were tired from such a draining day and honestly could use what few hours you could get rather than being a personal maid.

You paused from your position with the broom as you genuinely debating on going. That’s when you heard a rustle in the living. Confused you set the broom down as you peered out to see your dad, confused as you with squinted eyes waking up. Welp there went your chance to leave. Shaking your head while crossing your arms as you finally murmured, “I leave for a week and come back to a shit show. What happened this time?”

“Fuck you, disappear for a week and now you’re coming to see me out of what? Pity?” Your dad snarled back while rubbing his head his hangover clear as day making his voice groggy and the movement of his body slow. 

Your lips curled in disgust as you crossed your arms, “I’m not a fucking kid I don’t have to let you know when I’m not coming. All you do is take my money then kick me out anyways.” You turned on your heels as you resumed sweeping up the kitchen again. Anger simmering in your veins at his words, how dare he act like he actually cared that you were gone. Maybe Taehyung was right, maybe it was time to just call it quits.

You didn’t want to be the girl with a fucked up childhood and daddy issues attached but if that’s the image you had to live in, survive with. Then that’s just what you’d have to do. You practically lived on your own your whole life anyways, you didn’t need him. You didn’t need anyone.

You had paused again, knuckles tightly holding onto the wooden handle of the broom and your jaw was clenched more than you had even realized. Maybe it was the stress from the engagement, or maybe it was the words Jimin had used against you, the ones that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Or maybe it was because whatever Jungkook was involved in was beginning to affect you, whatever it was. You were ready to fucking snap.

“I am your father,” You took a deep sigh as you heard his voice boom from the other room, forcing your tense shoulders to relax as you rubbed your eyes, “And I like to think I have a damn good reason to ask where you disappeared to for a fucking week. No goodbye, no note, not even a simple fucking text?” 

You turned around to watch your father’s heavy steps stomp into the kitchen glowering at you, and for a moment, you realized what your mom had always meant when she said you took after your dad, that same clenched jaw and icy glare staring back at you.

Except your gaze was much more brittle than his, more dead as you decided to reply, “She’s engaged.” You watched his expression morphed into confusion slightly as you huffed, a small bitter smile tugging on your lips as you clarified, “Mom, she’s engaged. Her boyfriend took us on a trip for the week, that’s where I was.”

You watched his expression sullen just as you figured it would as he ran a hand through his hair before looking back at you with glaring daggers, “Oh so that’s the only reason you came?” He sneered out, voice firing back up in anger as he snapped, “To gloat that whore finally has a new idiot to suck dry of money?”

Setting the broom down you swallowed thickly, knuckles curling as you tried to keep yourself calm, he was purposely doing this to get a rise out of you. To give him a reason to throw you around, “Don’t come fucking crawling to me when she leaves you just like she did me.”

“Crawling to you for what?” You snarled out snapping your gaze to his, your face darkened and temper flaring, “You make it fucking sound like you actually took care of me when we both know that wasn’t the case. You were the one who wanted to know where I was, I just answered your question, I know it fucking kills you to leave me out of your problems, but can you not for once?”

“You ungrateful little bitch,” Your dad snapped out as you began to walk towards the backdoor, the air was too stiff and your blood was boiling with a thirst for blood that you knew would lead to no where but pain for yourself, he only followed you though as he continued to antagonize you, “You know if it fucking wasn’t for you I’d still have a wife, and now even she doesn’t want you. You’re so fucking worthless even-” Your father hadn’t been able to finish his sentence as you swung around, your curled fist connecting to his jaw in unbrittled anger.

The pain came swelling into your knuckles instantly and the force of the punch ripping your skin open as he was knocked back but not as nearly much as you had hoped, “What gives you the fucking right to say that to me? Huh!?” You snarled out, “I didn’t ask to be put on this goddamn planet just to drop out of school at fifteen, I didn’t fucking ask to be so desperate for goddamn money to get away from you that I work two jobs and only get three hours of sleep a day, I didn’t ask you to become some deadbeat, drug addict, shitty father okay!? I owe you jack shit. You wanna know why you lost your wife?”

You could hardly finish you sentence when your dad had stumbled over, grabbing you by the throat before slamming you against the wall, “Because you fucking drank all of our money away, you beat the shit out of her and then expected her to not do anything-”

“You shut the fuck up right now!”

“-You made my life fucking miserable,” Your voice was horse and strangled and your feet were brushing off the ground as your hands had wrapped around his wrist, “The only worthless person here is you, fuck you.” 

You were thrown to the ground making a violent throb in your ribs thrum and the blood dripping from your knuckles splattered against the ground beneath you but all you could focus on was the pair of shoes trudging towards you before lifting you up by the collar of your hoodie, “You’re right I should’ve just beat the shit out of you instead you ungrateful bitch. Get the fuck out of my house and don’t come back.” 

You could barely register the unbridling pain you felt against your face at the punch he threw your way causing you to fall back against the floor, your breaths shaky and your vision dotting as he walked out of the kitchen. You stayed on the floor with your arms supporting yourself halfway for another minute still registering the blow and the blood that dripped down your chin, the bust in your lip that had been healing reopened and you wouldn’t doubt you’d be sporting a nasty welt on your face after that.

But just as he said, you weren’t coming back. Not now, not ever. You weren’t sure what your breaking point was, or maybe it was the stress of everything, but at the moment. You were done with his shit. You forced yourself off the ground in determination despite your lightheadedness as you made your way out of the kitchen. 

Grabbing your bag by the door before walking outside, The sun was just beginning to set and the air had cooled. You could hear the almost feral dog of the neighbor snarling at you from the other side of the fenced front yard and distinctly you could hear shouting in the distant along with a car screech.

You were all too familiar with the uneasy ambiance of the rough neighborhood of your childhood. Wiping the blood from your chin as you stepped down the stairs you pulled the hoodie over your head, it usually did the trick from keeping people from bothering you.

Especially when you were dripping in blood. 

In fact, you looked like you fit in here perfectly here. Plentiful of sketchy people passed by you without so much of a bat of the eye as you shoved your hands into your pockets. Where would you go? You weren’t about to volunteer yourself to go back to Seung’s estate and your apartment was in shambles.

You supposed you could crash at Hoseok’s again, but you doubt you’d get any sleep with him ranting on how you shouldn’t be considering talking to Jungkook…Jungkook...you swallowed as you fidgeted with your phone in the pocket...You could always call him. He’d let you stay the night, right? No he wouldn’t, you told him to stay away and did you really want to spend the night at someone who murdered ruthlessly?

Your hand gripped your phone tighter before sighing, you were low on money but you could squeeze in a motel as long as you could bum lunch off of Taehyung, or was he still pissed at you for going with Jimin to dinner? You groaned as you sighed, running a hand through your hair, it was beginning to get dark out and you knew better than to stay out later than necessary if you didn’t want to find trouble.

“You’ve seen better days.”

And when one door closed, you supposed, another opened. You stopped dead in your tracks at the sight in front of you, Yoongi only leaned against the light post, cigarette in mouth as he inhaled the fumes before letting the smoke roll off his lips. 

But all you could think of was him passing the gun to Jungkook, the one he used to kill someone with. You swallowed thickly but kept your blank, if not intimidating expression, “I’ve never had a better day. What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you,” He replied casually making your expression hardened in an unasked explanation, this guy had been following you? For how long? “The kids orders, he’s been worried sick about you y’know. Looked like kicked puppy after you left the party.”

“Kicked puppy my ass! He fucking killed someone!” You shouted indignantly as you waved your arms about not giving two shits who could hear you, what was anyone gonna do in this beat up shitty neighborhood? “In fact, you helped him!’

Yoongi’s nose scrunched slightly as he flicked the butt of his cigarette, making the ash flutter to the ground as he replied, looking fairly nonpulsed by your outburst, “I didn’t do anything besides hand him the gun, he was the one who chose to shoot. It’s not the first time he’s done it and it won’t be the last, rule number one: don’t pissed Jeon off when he’s in a bad mood.”

He was acting like this wasn’t about life or death! Your lips parted in revolt as you curled away from him, “That doesn’t change the fact that he still killed someone. What the fuck are you guys involved in!? And why am I being dragged into it?”

That seemed to make Yoongi stir as he rose his brows, curious now as to how you knew that information before sighing, slumping against the pole again, “Can’t say, I just do Jungkook’s dirty work when he’s too busy, if you want answers you’re gonna have to face him...maybe not looking like that though,” He waved too your face while cringing, “You’d send him into cardiac arrest, he’s already paranoid about your safety.”

“Well this isn’t from whatever he’s paranoid about,” You huffed as you crossed your arms. Why was Yoongi talking like Jungkook actually cared about you? You knew each other for a week, you got each other off and that was that. He wasn’t actually serious about the romantic thing, was he? He was publicly engaged now, there was no way that could be the case.

And furthermore, you didn’t need his protection nor want it. In fact, you just about fucking had it with guys all around. They all sucked, no exception. 

“Yeah but that isn’t gonna make it any better,” Yoongi shrugged, finally flicking the finished cigarette to the ground before smudging it out with his shoe, leaning off the pole as he stepped closer to you, “He still won’t be happy. Come on, let’s go.”

He turned around walking towards the narrow alleyway as if you’d actually follow behind him on your own account. After a moment, he seemed to realize the problem of you not actually trusting him before turning around as he curved a brow, “What? You don’t want to be out after dark, I’m sure you’ve learned that by now. I’m not gonna strangle you in an alley or some shit, you need a place to stay, come on.”

“How the fuck do you even-” You cut yourself off, frustratedly huffing before following behind him into the sketchy, dark alleyway where few questionable people had leaned off against the walls on his phone while another was blowing smoke off his cigarette. They both gave a nod to Yoongi as if they knew him. You genuinely wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case.

It was a quiet walk and the alley way only darkened further making it more eerie but eventually Yoongi stopped at a dead end, or what looked to be had it not had a door against the decrepit brick wall. In all honest, it looked like a crack house.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Yoongi called over his shoulder as he opened the door making you wearily follow behind.

“You don’t actually live here, right?” You murmured as you stepped into the ratty, dirty living room, or what was supposed to be one, by the looks of it.

Yoongi finally paused, turning around to face you as he hummed, “And what if I do? It’s not like I ever have time to sleep anyways, come on Minho was hoping you’d stay for at least dinner.”

You felt odd more than anything as your face contorted into a cringe but allowed him to lead you into the dining area, everything was so dirty and the old circle table couldn’t have been sanitary. 

Minho was dancing around the stove while humming to the buzz of the radio setup on a stool as he began to drain out the noodles he had been cooking, whirling around in delight to see you, “Oh good, I thought for sure you were gonna tell the cops about the whole…” He gave his hand a wave, aiming a finger gun up to his head while pulling its imaginary trigger.

You only facepalmed, your heart rate still spiked despite his playfulness as you sighed, sure the thought had crossed your mind. But who would believe you when you were literally accusing a billionaire of murder, “My word against his? I may be a street rat but I’m not a dumb one.”

Minho had plucked his beer up from the counter as he cheered it towards you before taking a long gulp, “We’re all street rats in this house don’t worry, we’re the ones who actually make it somewhere in this life- not necessarily a good somewhere but...hey it gets dinner on the table.”

He had already fixed up a bowl of what looked to be gas station ramen in bowls for you all before setting them out on the table, gesturing you to sit down.

You frowned as you watched them both relax out, you supposed they didn’t have a reason to poison you…”You know,” Minho hummed, slurping on his noodles as he gave you a cheeky smile, “That’s what I like about you Y/n, even though Yoongs already told you we won't- that we can’t hurt you, you’re still on your toes. Never trust anyone.” 

Finally you took a seat as you glanced between them, a million thoughts racing in your mind, but the smell of ramen was invading your senses and you hadn’t even ate dinner yet, finally you plucked up the chopsticks before digging in with them, “What do you mean you can’t hurt me?”

You glanced up while slurping on your noodles, Yoongi only hummed as he leaned back in his seat, obviously not as talkative as his...partner? Room mate? Coworker? You weren’t sure what they were, Minho seemed to be more of the conversationalist out of the two and honestly? You could see why, Minho had a good nature and cheekiness about him that you’d never peg as an aid in murder, but you supposed that was the idea.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Minho answered before snorting out a laugh, “Jeon’s orders. I honestly can’t tell if he’s using you as a rebound or he just really is that whipped for you. Anyways he says jump we say how high, no questions asked.” 

You picked at your noodles as your expression hardened slightly, just what was Jungkook associated with if both Yoongi and Minho worked under him? You tried to recall your drunk conversation with him when you first met Yoongi, but his words were hazy in your head. Something about Yoongi doing dirty work? You were too drunk and too horny to bother questioning his words at the time, but having long since sobered up, it made you wonder just what did the word, dirty work mean? 

Was it really a murder you had witnessed? Had that man did something to deserve a punishment so extreme? Or was Jungkook really so temperamental to go as far as killing someone out of moodiness? You just couldn’t see someone with such a soft expression when addressing his mother, someone with a pretty bunny smile and dimple adorning his left cheek, honestly, just the idea was too difficult for you to believe. Even days after it happened, you were still reeling in denial. 

You wanted to believe there was a good reason Jungkook did it, but in the end, good reason or not, it didn’t change the fact that he still did it in the end. There was no coming back from murder, there was no washing off the blood that would forever stain his hands, was that his first kill? You doubted as much, given the cold look in his eyes when he pulled the trigger, the way his body didn’t even flinch at the sound of the gun going off, even the recoil or the body hitting the floor didn’t disturb the anger in his eyes. No, that was far from Jungkook’s first kill.

You swallowed thickly, your starved appetite sudden churned more into sickness with each passing thought of the event that had undoubtedly change your life from here on out. You didn’t want to accept it, but things weren’t going back to normal any time soon, and while you could still hope, you had little faith in reality you’d ever return back to regular life.

“Little late for him to be on a rebound,” Yoongi snorted, pushing up from his chair as he walked over to the fridge, pulling out a beer both for himself, and you assumed one for you as well, “It happened well over a year ago when they were both actually dating.”

Minho puckered his lips as he leaned back in his chair, looking as if this was something they discussed on a regular basis about their boss, his dark eyes following his friend as Yoongi sat back down, sliding the spare beer your way as Minho finally asked, “Then what do you think it is?”

“Fuck if I know,” Yoongi shrugged making Minho groan, “Probably freaking out he has to tie the knot to some prissy bitch who can’t keep her legs shut and now he’s trying to get his dick wet with every girl he can.”

Minho didn’t look sold on his words though as he glanced back over at you, taking in a big chunk of his noodles while slurping with a full mouth, “If that was the case he wouldn’t have given us the orders he did about Y/n,” he washed down his food with his beer before turning to you fully, “What do you think?”

As if you actually knew what the fuck was going on more then them, in fact, they probably had a lot more insight then you. Throwing up your hands you scoffed, “Like i’d know? Guy blew my back out for a week and now I’m suddenly an witness to murder, I almost got killed in a shoot out, Seokjin pulls out a fucking USB from my couch and tells me I need to go talk to him? You think I fucking know what’s going on?” You sputtered out animatedly as you waved your hands about, “Because I honest to god don’t.”

“Oh shit, that’s where he found that?” Minho raised his brows in surprise as he opened his mouth again, Yoongi suddenly punched his arm making him yelp as he rubbed the sore spot, shooting him a look.

“Remember orders dipshit,” Yoongi rolled his eyes before sighing, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jean pocket before looking towards you, “If you want to know anything going on, then you bet your ass you’re gonna have to talk to Jungkook, he doesn’t want you hearing from anyone that isn’t him. I can gossip with you all night long about his love life but his work ethic? Off limits.”

You sighed again, finally cracking open the beer as you swallowed down a large gulp, the warm buzz in your throat pleasant enough to make you relax as well as you could, “I figured as much, but I guess while we’re on the topic of his love life, what the fuck is up? What’s his deal with Jae?”

Minho looked like an ecstatic child at your words as he gave you a boyish smile, his fluffy chestnut brown hair falling below his brows as he leaned forward in his seat, “Jae royally fucked up with him, that’s what’s up. They used to be really together back last year, and Jungkook was whipped for her, he would have never cheated on her, just to disclaim but things change. He ended up finding her in her penthouse with Park Jimin between her legs so…”

“What!?” You shouted out your eyebrows shot up to your forehead at Minho’s almost crazed smile, as if he had been looking forward to telling you this juicy bit as he laughed. It even elicited a small smile from Yoongi as if it really was amusing.

“Jungkook had been suspecting her cheating for a month or so when he found them together,” Yoongi clarified, “But that was just a one time fling, or at least that’s Jimin said. Anyways Jae can’t keep her legs closed for long, which I don’t care about, it’s more about the fact that she can’t keep her legs closed when she’s in a relationship-  it’s just in bad taste to bait a guy into loving you when you don’t reciprocate and add insult to injury bang every guy in a five mile radius. Anyways Jimin and Jungkook have been pretty tense ever since. I’m sure you’re involvement probably hasn’t helped it.”

You sunk into your seat while playing with your chopsticks, you hadn’t realized just what you were getting yourself into when you allowed Jungkook to stay in your dressing room that morning, nor did you realize what their story was when you voluntarily let Jimin put you over his lap in the sauna. You just wanted a good fuck, but apparently, even that was too much to ask for anymore.

“Guess I should’ve kept my legs closed too huh.” You sighed before you resumed eating, slurping up the rest of your noodles. Had you realized where this trip was going to lead you, had you know the consequences of your actions, just what it really meant getting involved with either of them, you would’ve never said yes to that trip.

Not in a million years. But maybe this all happened for a reason? You weren’t much of a believer in a great plan for life, you weren’t much of a believer in anything at this point in your life. But at this point? You weren’t opposed to going on a little bit of faith. Anything, to help you endure this situation and try to understand why and how you had become involved.

“Not your fault,” Yoongi shrugged blowing smoke from his lips as he continued, “You just wanted a good fuck, but maybe chose your one night stand a little better next time…” 

You couldn’t fault him for that, you shrugged while taking another drink from the bottle, “I just have one question, is Jimin involved too?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi hummed taking the cigarette from his lips before stubbing it out in the ashtray, “His old man has too much of a kind heart for this line of work, and while I’m sure Jimin knows something is up, and it’s probably killing him to not be in on it, they’re just one cut too low for this shit.” 

It made you feel a little better, for as much of an asshole as Jimin was, at least he hadn’t lost a part of his humanity like Jungkook had, he didn’t have that blood staining his hands. And sure he wasn’t a good person, but he wasn’t a terrible person either. For as detached as he was, he still had a sliver of innocence left that Jungkook was void of.

You sighed once more, letting the conversation between Minho and Yoongi continue as you finished your noodles, occasionally glancing at both of them before back down at your empty bowl as you fiddled with the neck of the bottle you held.

It wasn’t until a med kit was slapped on the table in front of you that you jumped, glancing up at Yoongi you had pulled his chair closer to you, making you edge away from his figure that sat down, “You’re dads a piece of shit,” He hummed out, gesturing you closer, “Now let me see, you have blood all over your face.”

You glowered at him, even flinching slightly as he pushed the hoodie down before grabbing your face for closer inspection, he wasn’t wrong. You could smell the metallic scent of blood that had been dried up on your chin from the bust in your lip resplitting open, the bruise welting on your cheek was probably swollen and given how much you had been touching your face, the blood all over your hand from your knuckle wasn’t looking too much better.

Yoongi only pulled out an alcohol wipe before brushing over the blood on your chin, his eyes were expressionless as always but focused at the same time, “How do you know this is from my dad?”

It was easy to forget your odd relation to Yoongi and how he seemed to unnervingly know so much about you. You would have pegged it as his stalking on Jungkook’s orders, but this had started up before you were witness to their murder. Yoongi had to know you from outside of Jungkook. Yoongi only hummed again, “Why don’t you use that damn brain of yours for once?”

You parted your lips in offense but he only continued cleaning up the blood from your chin before pressing the pad against the bust making you whimper in pain.

The sting burned into your lip harsh enough to force your eyes into watering as Yoongi finally lifted the wipe away, only to reach out for your hand to examine your knuckle, the skin had definitely been ripped and most of your hand by now had been covered in dried blood while your knuckle still oozed the dark red substance.

“I do use my brain thank you very much! Maybe a little too often.”

“Obviously not enough,” Yoongi replied, “Think smartass, who use to give you lollipops every time you cried when the stray cat would hiss at you.”

“Twix is not a stray cat you fiend!” You gaped in even bigger offense before it hit you like a train, your lips sudden parted and your pupils blew out as Yoongi groaned, leaning back in his seat, “Suga!? What the fuck?” Your mind could hardly reel at just who was standing in front of you, “I thought I fucking had a fever dream and just made you up out of my head! Where the fuck did you go!?”

Yoongi only straightened before sighing, grabbing a new alcohol wipe before wiping down  the dried blood from your knuckle, “Shit happens Y/n, you know that just as well as me.” 

Yoongi...or Suga, had been a childhood friend of yours. 

But you were so young at the time you had nearly forgotten of his existence, in fact, you at one point had assumed maybe you just made him up in your head in an attempt to cope with the trauma.

He lived down the street and had found you crying on the sidewalk after one particularly bad fight between your parents that had you running from the house until you ended up tripping on the sidewalk, skinning your knee in the process. Yoongi at the time, was shorter than you by a few inches and all skin and bone, his now bleached hair had been a shiny midnight black that dusted over his eyes- that at one time weren’t so dead. 

With a lollipop in mouth he had handed you a spare in his pocket, you had looked at him undoubtedly like a lost puppy while sniffling but took it with no questions asked, ‘You look like you could use it more then me’ that was all he said before continuing on his way.

You had after that become unofficial friends with him, the next time you had saw him after that was when you were sitting on the sidewalk with chalk in hand, the lollipop you had been saving plopped in your mouth when his shoes came into view.

‘Are you here to give me sugar again?’ Your words had been muffled though, the lollipop causing a huge dent in your mouth making the word sugar come out sounding like ‘Suga’, much like your short lived friendship with him, that had become his nickname which he never bothered correcting. He didn’t tell you his real name, simply going by the one you provided. 

Your friendship with Yoongi couldn’t have lasted more than a month, but those days seemed better than most, the last time you saw him was when he had been struggling to climb the stairs of your front porch covered in blood. 

You were too young at the time to ever ask why, simply crying out for your mom to come and help you get your friend into the house. He could barely walk and had large lashes going down his back, sweat made his hair cling to his forehead and his face covered in bruises and welts. 

It was quiet in the room and Minho had long since left to rest in his room, leaving the table vacant outside of your harsh stares towards one another. You swallowed thickly, unable to truly wrap your head around this new information.

You couldn’t have been older than eight when you last saw him in such a torn, beaten up state, he had stayed the night at your house until your father had come home drunk and angry, your mother, panicked had ushered you both out the backdoor and told you to not go too far and wait awhile to come back.

Things were hazy after that memory, it had been well over ten years, surely this wasn’t a coincidence. You weren’t sure what to do until you finally swallowed one last time, “Show me.” 

His pupils widening was enough of an answer, but you refused to believe it was genuinely Suga, the scrawny street kid that had helped you hunt down your once feral cat Twix, the kid who had traded lollipops for cigarettes, the kid who had brightened your dull, dark days even if it was just by making you smile from a candy bar.

You felt a whirlwind of emotions inside you, half you didn’t even understand yourself while the other part of you was null and void, while Suga was a short but sweet memory, it had also been years, years of cold reality that turned you from an innocent child to a cold adult, and clearly he had been through the same. 

“You already know it’s me.” Yoongi’s glare cut out as he finally pressed down, maybe a little harsher than necessary on the open wounds of your knuckle making you choke out a whine in pain which caused him to ease is initial force.

You ripped your hand away from him though, your face as easily harsh as his as you snapped out, “I don’t fucking care show me! You can’t fucking tell me this is a coincidence that my lost childhood friend suddenly pops back into my life when all of this shit is going down- where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me when you saw me? Why did you ignore my question when I asked at the bar if we knew each other!? So yes! Sue me for wanting real fucking proof. Show. Me.” 

Yoongi glowered as he snapped back, “You’re such a fucking impatient brat you know that Y/n?” But he didn’t argue further like you anticipated he only turned away with his back facing you as he let the jacket drop from his shoulders before pulling the white shirt from over his head. 

He had hunched down dark and brooding, his athletic build was lean but muscle was still taunt beneath it’s skin. 

It wasn’t his lilith muscles that had been undoubtedly used over the years that your eyes had focused on though. Your lips had quivered before parting at the lash marks scarring his back. When you were a kid, you assumed he must’ve thrown a cat over his shoulders. But your innocence had yet to been plucked from you back then unlike now.

Those weren’t cat scratches, they were whip marks. 

Plenty of emotions had bubbled in your chest, fewer making their way inaudibly up to your throat leaving your parted lips soundless as you lifted a shaky hand. You could both feel and see him flinch under your gentle feathery brush over the lashes, some had faded, the more bloody ones you remembered had stayed seared into his skin, a permanent reminder of whatever he endured.

“Are you…?” Yoongi suddenly turned, surprise in his voice at the shaky sniffle that had erupted from your voice. Your face was an even sadder sight at the tremble of your lips and tears leaking from your watery eyes. You eyes held remorse but anger, long rooted bitterness ran through your veins.

“I fucking hate this world.” It was all you could manage out, your face twisting into righteous anger but the tears didn’t stop flowing down your face. You hated that people cruel enough existed to do this to him, you hated that people like your father existed, wallowing in nothing but their own misery, too blinded to see the damage they caused everyone else, the same people they birthed and swore to protect.

Maybe you were at a turning point in your life, you weren’t sure. But all you felt was anger and yet still, your vision was blurred. You were so angry you were crying, who in their right mind would whip a child? Beat an already broken woman? You had so many emotions running through your entire body, there was an immense pressure in your chest and your head was beginning to hurt at so many taxing emotions coursing through you.

You wholehearted hated this world.

Yoongi sighed, pulling his shirt back over his head to cover the taint of this world covering his skin, the turning point that undoubtedly changed his life. You never saw him again after that day, not until you were drunk with a billionaire while he stalked the alleyways with dead eyes.

Turning to face you his lips twitched, the expressionless face had for a second, almost cracked at the sight of the anger radiating from you, and yet all you could do was cry.

And out of everything Yoongi could’ve done, he did the least expected thing and wrapped an arm around you pulling you close, “I know.” 

Groaning you emitted a sigh, well aware of the store clerk giving you the side eye at your run down drained appearance, both of the cashiers had made small talk which only fizzled into background noise as you scanned over the well stocked energy drink section. You felt like garbage, your body felt like garbage and you were near brain dead emotionally speaking.

Times like these called for appropriate measures, your mind needed the buzz of caffeine and the rush of the overly sweetened drink. If you could have it your way you’d easily eat another pack of ramen to go with it.

But right now you had a little over fifteen minutes before your shift at the psych ward would start, this drink- a Fruit Punch Rockstar, would hopefully pull you through the next grueling six hours of your shift. 

Yawning you paid for your drink before walking down to the hospital’s mental institute wing before finally clocking in, the sweet punch flavor of your drink already putting some life back into your body as you stretched out grabbing your jumpsuit from the closet of the breakroom. 

You certainly had a lot on your mind too say the least but what else could you do except just go with it? It seemed like that was all you could do anymore.

Hoseok had clocked in not too long after you and thus your night of work began with your regular routine of clearing out the rooms, luckily bathroom rotation wasn’t on you and Hoseok this week, granted getting stuck with the third floor, wasn’t that much better, but...okay you were wrong it was worse when the patients had an...accident, and then proceeded to smear it all over the walls.

You were practically gagging with a cough as you snapped on the sanitary gloves and medical mask to help with the stench, this was such a thankless job. Meanwhile you had confided in Hoseok about your revelation with Yoongi as he continued scrubbing down the wall, “So you actually know this guy?”

“Briefly…” You sighed, dipping the mop back in the bucket- Hoseok told you it was overkill and unnecessary for the wall but you downright refused to get as close as him, your stomach may not have been weak but you still wanted to keep the ramen you had ate hours before down, “Feels like a lifetime ago, I mean we were kids back then...I don’t really know how to feel anymore, my life’s become such a shit show I guess I should’ve anticipated something like this happening…”

Hoseok only shook his head, the dark brown hair brushing just at his eyebrows shaking as he hummed in thought, “Well it’s unexpected i’ll say that much. But maybe he can shed light on what’s going on.”

“Already tried, him and the other guy are working under Jungkook- who...I guess gave them orders to protect me…? Or something like that, I don’t know. Anyways Yoongi told me Jungkook wants me to hear everything from him so….” You shrugged before going back to wiping up the wall, most of the feces had been cleaned and you and Hoseok had opened up the windows in the room to get some ventilation going, even the smell wasn’t as strong anymore.

“I still don’t like it,” Hoseok frowned, typical of him to keep his standing view but you knew it only came from rationality, he just didn’t want you to get hurt, both by the unknown which you were faced with or by the men you had become invested in without realizing it, “But you’re gonna ignore me anyways, aren’t you?”

You finally set down the mop back down in the cart as Hoseok finished up tidying the room, plucking your drink from the cart as you gave it a long chug, “While I wish I could just ignore this and let it disappear off the face of the planet, you and I both know I can’t. This seems serious, and you are right, this is beyond us but that’s the point. If I really am somehow tangled up in this, I have to do something.”

Hoseok finally sighed in defeat, both know you wouldn't listen, and that ultimately you were right, you had to at least know what was going on at this point. And all of your questions pointed to Jungkook, “Just be careful,” you both exited the room while pushing the cart, you had just finished your last stretch of the third floor and only had to clean the first before you’d call it a day. Heading towards the elevator Hoseok continued, “So when do you plan on talking to him?”

You shrugged as you gave it some thought, the idea had been plaguing the back of your mind, that was the real question, you had already told yourself this was what you were doing. But actually doing it, actually facing Jungkook after what had taken place, it wouldn’t be easy. 

“I don’t know, I still feel like I need time to process everything, but I don’t really know if I can afford to do that. Seokjin made it feel imperative that I talk to him as soon as possible...I just don’t know if I can face him yet…”

You sighed while pinching the bridge of your nose. You could just imagine those large doe eyes pleading at you, acting as if he hadn’t killed someone, as if he hadn’t killed many. You weren’t sure you could face that yet, you genuinely weren’t sure if you could face that moral dilemma of whether to forgive him or not. 

Hoseok sent a look of sympathy your way as he gave your shoulder a squeeze, “I’m sure you’ll know when the time is right.” The doors slid open to the first floor as you both walked out. Sighing you nodded silently as you plucked your can up, drinking the last of its contents as Hoseok knocked on the first door only to find it was still in use. The first floor was the most active and was going to be the hardest to clean with everyone constantly using the rooms, it was a pain in the ass but it was at the very least, doable.

You both continued your journey for a vacant room until you paused at the sound of a voice, that voice, “I don’t care what it takes, keep his room on high profile until we get him to speak, nobody goes in, nobody goes out, clear?” 

The half empty Rockstar in your hand was almost crushed by your grip as your eyes met with Jungkook, who for whatever god forsaken reason he was here, just ended his short, snippy phone call. Whatever irritation he held on his face had melted away though, at the sight of you. 

You both stood there for a little over five seconds, as if just as shocked to see the other before he quickly reacted as his eyes honed in on your rough appearance, “Y/n.”

“Oh my god.” You sighed, turning to face away from him as you ran a hand through your hair, what had you done in this life to deserve this treatment? All you wanted was just a few more days to come to terms with what had happened? Why couldn’t you be granted, at least that?

“Y/n please, I know you don’t want to see me but can we just talk for a moment?” Jungkook’s voice called out quickly coming closer and just as you anticipated his tone was near pleading.

Why did you have to run into him here? Of all places? What was he even doing here? He had no business in a psych ward. 

“She doesn’t wanna see you, buddy.” Hoseok had practically jumped to your defense making you turn back around to see him standing in front of Jungkook, close to the same height but that didn’t make Jungkook’s cold icy glare any less daunting.

“Stay out of this,” Jungkook’s voice came out commanding sending a chill down your spine, his tone was so foreign and demanding as he continued with a bite, “And let me see her.”

Hoseok’s glare, wasn’t all too pleasant either as he almost growled at such a pompous kid really getting you involved in his messy shit. Before your friend could retort anything he’d later regret you sighed grabbing his arm.

“Hoseok, it’s fine.” You frowned, as he sent a glare also your way, one more in warning for you to not push yourself into doing this. But what choice did you have? He was here right now, he wanted to talk, and who knew? Maybe this would be your only chance at getting him to just tell you the truth.

He huffed but stepped aside, “Don’t be too long.” 

And with one last withering glare towards Jungkook, who gladly returned it he went back to the cart. And there alone you stood in front of the tall figure of one of the world’s youngest billionaires and murderer, Jeon Jungkook.

Note: Hey loves! It’s so good to be back and thank you guys for being so patient with me! I just wanted to let you guys know that I will be posting again I just won’t be sticking to a rigid schedule so expect an update once every other week ish? Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed! Lots revealed this chapter....

Taglist: @sapphireprinces5 @jazzytfw @theslumberingcat @mrsfandomz @cainami @nininek12 @loveherpersona @expensive-bangtan-girl @yoongnysus @sugajinny @peachy-bhun @brokencrownqueen

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The Fallen, 13/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 13/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 13:

Maxence was standing in his underwear in the bathroom. He held his arms out, inside up, and waited. His brother was examining every inch of his skin – hands, fingers, arms, elbows, legs, toes – and checking his face – his eyes, inside his nostrils, inside his mouth. Th end of this exam consisted in him peeing in a plastic recipient Tegan was carefully sealing and dropping at the lab he was working with as a doctor. Every day, it was the same routine. A mandatory routine for him. He had gone through four detoxifications in two years so now, his family was taking all the necessary measures for him not to dive back a fifth time. It could be lethal to him. His liver and his brain had been badly damaged by years of drugs and alcohol intakes. He had been clean for six months now and the withdrawal and need for a new dose that could numb his pain for a little longer, but he was resisting, for the sake of his family. He was doing much better, every day, one day at a time. The first weeks after his last rehab journey he had lived at his mother’s under the close watch of his mother and brother. At night, he was tied to his bed, someone was sleeping on a camp bed beside his bed, the door was locked. They were taking turns to watch over him and get some rest. They were taking turns to take care of him when he was sick. On days, he was working as his mother’s assistant in the elementary school she was a teacher in. He was preparing the classroom on morning and cleaning it at the end of the day, after all kids were gone. He sometimes helped preparing the lessons and activities for the next day. It helped me to adopt a new routine and to be surrounded by ‘normal’ people again. He was reinserted in society as if he had never been gone. It was easy to forget he was ever gone. But not for Joanne, not for Tegan and certainly not for him. This routine had given him a proper pace of life and had enabled him to focus on a better lifestyle. This withdrawal never really left him but it was easier to be oblivious of it when you had something to keep yourself busy. He was offered a part time contract when he resumed his psychology studies. He was unsure of what he would do once he would get his certification. At least, he would have certifications. It was better than what he had six months ago. He had just come home from a late class and was starving. The medical exam used to irritate him so much before. Now, he was used to it. He showed when Tegan was done and dinner was ready when he came out of the bathroom with a large T-shirt and sweatpants on. They cleaned the kitchen together, Tegan helped him with his lessons and they went to sleep. They both were working the next day. This flat was new to the both of them. They had moved in last month. Since Maxence was stable, he was allowed to live by himself in his own flat but the decision was heavy and they were all worried that the solitude could drive him back to the dark side so Tegan had left his ridiculously small studio and they had taken this three rooms flat and were sharing the rent. Maxence had the larger room, though he never understood what was the point of this decision. Tegan should have had the bigger room in his opinion. His job required him to have a proper desk to work on and if the smaller bedroom could fit the desk and the bed, it didn’t leave much room for moving around, but Maxence hadn’t insisted, hadn’t fought. He took what he was given and worked with it. His mother and brother only wanted him to be fine again. They knew better than him. Tegan would never forget the day he had come to his mother’s and found his brother unconscious on the ground with vomit close by. He was doing an overdose and if he hadn’t been found in time – which was a question of minutes in this case – he would have died. His lips were blue, he wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t responsive. Tegan had had to push aside the fact that it was his brother dying under his hands and remember how to do his work properly. If he hadn’t intervened that day, Maxence would be dead. The man had no memory of this but Tegan would never forget. It would forever haunt his mind. He had been the one insisting on Maxence going to rehab when Joanne wanted to heal him at home. After a failed attempt, she had decided that rehab would be better for him. Even if it took four tries to have him cured. They were glad to have the old Maxence back. Gone were the non-sense about a bad wolf, a flying blue box and a mysterious imaginary woman called Rose he was continuously writing to. Joanne had kept all the letters, they were neatly gathered in a wooden box she was hiding in her room, away from Maxence’s curious hands and eyes. Being sober had made him forget it all about all these bullshits he was spewing when he was high and drunk. If they were asking him one single question, he would look sincerely confused as if it had been entirely deleted from his mind with the reasons of why he was drinking and drugging himself in the first place. He had had brain scans but no damaged had been detected. Nothing to explain his sudden memory loss of the last two years of his life. Without his struggle to remain clean and sober, he would have pondered the question. He was keeping on with his life, one step at a time, oblivious to the two years gap in his memory. Some people would go mad from not remembering such a long period of their life. They would try at all costs to get it back if it was possible. Not Maxence. He had disappeared for two years, had no memory of it and wasn’t looking for getting these memories back. Last time he had tried such a thing, it had ended up with drugs and alcohol and he refused to dive back for the sake of his family, and for his own sake. His health was fragile since he had messed up so much with his body and another deviation could actually kill him. After going through so much pain and ordeals, after fighting to get better, it would be a shame to abandon the battle. Especially when things were finally going well for him. He woke up once that night to the sound of discreet footsteps in the flat. He opened his eyes wide and pricked up his ears, his heart racing. His instincts kicked in and forced him silently out of bed with the first thing he could find by hand: his Gibson Les Paul that had seen better days. It was a wonder he hadn’t sold it when he was in need of money for drugs. Instead, he was selling himself. It only worked for a time. He was so glad to be out of these vicious circles he had fallen into. It wasn’t easy every day but life in itself was never an easy game to start with. You had to be prepared to face the good times as well as the bad times. Sometimes there were more bad times than good times. You had to take the blows until it got better and if it didn’t get better soon enough, you just gotta be strong. He had to be strong. He pushed the door open without a noise and sneaked out of his bedroom. His eyes got used to the darkness and scanned the surroundings. He was expecting to see some kind of burglars nosing around to find anything valuable, was ready to surprise them and knock them out before calling the police. He was almost excited by the adrenaline rushing through his mind and body at the idea of danger and justice. He was disappointed though to find out it was only Tegan who was getting ready to leave the flat and checking his bag. He nearly had a heart attack when Maxence switched on the lights ready to knock him out with his guitar. “Are you out of your mind?” The young doctor was keeping his voice low to avoid waking up the neighbours. It was a quiet district and a quiet neighbourhood. He wouldn’t be the one to break the rule. Neither was Maxence who put the guitar down on the table and placed a hand over his heart as if to soothe its maddening rate. “You’ve scared me, damn it! Thought there was a thief or somethin’.” “Yeah, sorry. Night emergency. I shouldn’t be long. Was gotta leave a note.” His Scottish accent that came from years of orphanage with a Scottish social worker – or even from his biological parents, whoever they might be – was stronger due to the fear Maxence had caused him. When he was facing intense emotions, Tegan was almost impossible to understand for anyone who hadn’t grown up with him. “’Kay. You called mom?” “Nope. You’re on your own about this. Big test for you.” Tegan tapped his shoulders, Maxence was dumbfounded. He was never left alone. Not once in the last six months had he been alone at home or at work. Annoying, but for his safety. It was the very first time he would be alone since he was out of his fourth detox. Quite scary and really big test. Once Tegan was gone, Maxence drunk a big glass of water and went back to bed with his phone. It took him a moment to fall back asleep. The concept of being alone in the flat was new and pretty frightening to him who was constantly fighting demons threatening to overwhelm him again. He woke up a second time that night. He had expected his second waking to be at the sound of his brother coming back home. Yet, despite the time that had passed between the last time he checked his alarm clock and now, Tegan wasn’t home. It was pain that woke him up. He felt a deep, jagged, burning pain in the fleshy part of his right forearm. It ceased for a second, then the pain hit again like a knife driven deep in his flesh and moving around to inflict as much pain as possible and create just as many manages. He switched the light on with a cry of pain and glanced at his arm. His eyes grew wide with horror and shock when he saw the blood covered his sheets and skin. Immediately he pressed a hand on the wounded arm and rushed to the bathroom. He rinsed the blood as the invisible knife was continuing his business until suddenly the pain was gone and three letters showed up in the middle of the blood: ‘RUN’. For a long moment, he stared confusedly at the three letters deeply carved in his skin as blood was still flowing out from the cuts. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding hard, his hands were shaking, he was breathless. He blinked, rubbed his eyes but the three letters were still there, still painful and bloody. ‘RUN’. He used to love running when he was younger but his bad habits had gotten the best of it and he had stopped doing sports. He should get back to it soon. It was important for him to keep in shape now that he had a healthier life. ‘RUN’. Why this word? Was it a reminder of a past he had forgotten? He could hear himself saying those words to someone. It was in a basement. Perhaps a dream. It looked too weird to be a real-life situation. ‘RUN’. How had those words appeared on his skin so suddenly? He was certain not to have done that to himself in his sleep. The letters just came out of nowhere. He gripped the edge of the sink when dizziness from the loss of blood hit. His left hand had a stronger grip than his right one. It was lacking of strength. The cuts were deep and needed to be taken care of. He would pass out if he couldn’t get a hold of a doctor. Thankfully, he had some knowledge in medicine thanks to Tegan and to his own studies. He cleaned the blood from his arm the best he could and wrapped it tight in a towel. Then, he ran to his bedroom and grabbed his phone. He called his mother first but she wasn’t answering. She was still asleep. He tried Tegan who was obviously not home but didn’t get any luckier. He was left to deal with this non-sense on his own. Great. First night alone and he had to go through something like this. What would his mother say? What would Tegan say? If he was telling them the truth, they would think he was crazy or high again and would never trust him ever again. Words just didn’t appear all of a sudden on someone’s skin. It wasn’t possible. If he was lying to them, if he said that he did that to himself, they would be sad and worried about his mental health. He didn’t have a therapist. They had thought it would be a bad idea considering his mad words. They would have had him locked away in the loony bin. The thought of it was terrifying him for some mysterious reason. He managed to gather his ID papers, his keys and phone in a bumbag he put on his shoulder. He left the flat quickly, locked the door, thought that if Tegan was coming home to find no one and bloody sheets he would freak out. He went down the first flight of stairs, tripped on the last step and ran into the wall nearly knocking himself out. How was he supposed to reach the closest hospital if he couldn’t even get out of his place without tripping?

To be continued...

The Fallen © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Four

Jets of fire shot out at Emily as if to defy her, to test her steeled resolve. Iron Emily held out the gauntlet in front her, understanding now that it was as much a part of her as she a part of it. With iron-clad fingers splayed, the power of the gauntlet—and her own—just deflected the destructive heat, causing it to blaze past her in every direction other than her body.

When the flames cleared, she stood in the basement of Rodney’s parents.

The place where she and her “gang” of metal-head friends used to hang out. They were passing around the bong as they used to—good ol’ “James Bong,” Iron Emily thought. The memories paired with seeing them all gathered here caused wistful feelings and a cocktail of nostalgia to rise from her belly region.

Chris sat on the old plastic lawn chair like he often did, cracking jokes at the others. Jimmy passed the bong to Emily, who sat in between him and Rodney on the long couch. Carlos lay sprawled out on the ratty old leather recliner chair they had found on the streets years ago. The five of them had had some good times. A lot of them were nothing more outrageous than hanging out in this basement and getting high while talking shit and pseudo-philosophy like a bunch of stoners are wont to do.

“Where are they now?” the demon behind her said. Stinky Jim’s words spilled into chortling.

As Iron Emily’s gaze swept over the group, the fabric of space and time bent and warped and launched her mind into future realities. Here, in the maze; now, during her awakening, all these realities bled together.

Chris worked as a graphics designer in a small indie game development team in Canada now. He sat in the office with his colleagues and they were taking a break in the conference room, playing Mario Kart together, cracking jokes like in the good old days. Chris was doing alright for himself, Emily thought. She felt happy for him. She considered calling him if she got out of here.

Wait? Getting out of here? Was any of this real?

Damn right, she thought again. Getting out of here with a vengeance.

The realities bent and warped again and her gaze traveled on, resting on Jimmy.

Oh, Jimmy. Driving a fast car. Got into street racing. Got Emily into driving fast cars. He would never shut up about mechanics. Turned into a real grease monkey, more and more as he grew older. Emily hadn’t heard from him in a while, and now—she understood why.

Problem was that his street racing enthusiasm got him into a pretty nasty accident. Lost his leg. Now lived from one disability check to the next, hobbling through life. Single, suffering from low income syndrome, miserable over being alone. Often whiled away nights alone, sitting in his wheelchair, thinking of the good ol’ days that Iron Emily looked upon now, of the old crew hanging out together.

Jimmy didn’t like his new friends too much. They all stopped spending time with him, wracked by guilt over his injury, uncomfortable at seeing him in the wheelchair, knowing he’d never be back in the game. He started working out, developed a pretty buff upper body—much to Iron Emily’s surprise. He spent many late nights clicking his way through websites, riding on hopes of finding the right woman through online dating. But it never really clicked with anybody, not even with the amputees and other disabled people he found on some alternate platforms.

Now he sat in his garage with the two muscle cars, waiting for a new glory day. But that day would not come. The pistol in his lap looked more enticing than anything else, sleek in its shape and shiny surface, sleek like the polished bodies of the cars nearby, polished to perfection. A bullet in the head seemed like the most attractive prospect to Jimmy, he just didn’t see the point anymore. His head swam in the numbing blend of booze and pain medication.

Ready to end it all. He picked up the gun and brought it to his mouth, then wrapped his lips around the muzzle.

Iron Emily couldn’t watch any longer. She broke through the morbid fascination of learning how Jimmy’s life had developed since they had last spoken, and now she had to act. Time froze right when Jimmy’s finger curled around the trigger. Without hesitation, she reached through space and time and rammed that gauntlet into the back of his head. Her thoughts sliced into his mind and she reached deeper and deeper, like sticking her arm all the way into a cesspool. And deep down, she found his heart. The heart of his soul, his will to go on.

She kindled it. Struck the fingers of her gauntlet together, creating sparks. Those sparks gathered, setting the withered husk of his will ablaze, starting a new fire there.

“Don’t do it,” she said. It reached Jimmy’s mind through the haze of realities, and translated into his own thoughts.

He stopped. Put the gun down.

“Well, would you look at that. Maybe you’re not a complete piece of shit after all,” Stinky Jim said. The smoke in his voice rasped along, carrying a tune of surprise.

“Call Emily. Call your friends. Get back in touch,” she said. Her thoughts traveled to Jimmy’s mind, encouraging him to hold on. “They need you. Even if they don’t realize it. They will, though. You will find happiness, somehow.”

Iron Emily needed Jimmy to live right now. Finding her way to the end of the maze, to Blue Flame Emily, and not turning back to wind up in that padded cell wearing a straitjacket—it all hinged on Jimmy living or dying. At least, that’s what she believed.

When she felt his thoughts drift towards calling them and resolving to put the gun away again, her gaze carried on. Skipped over her younger self on the couch in Rodney’s basement, and settled on Rodney himself, next.

Rodney, that fucking asshole. That lovable, fucking asshole. They all enjoyed metal, but Rodney was real about it. He wanted to be a metal-head through and through, not just listen to the music and party. Everybody always told him it was stupid because he would have to work his ass off to make a career out of it and they just never thought he had it in him.

Last Emily had seen of him, they were both still working McJobs. When she went to Berkeley, they went separate ways, but she knew he had at least stuck with making metal music, because she received an invitation to one of his gigs at the time, years later. Some crummy little flier with a note from Rodney. She distinctly remembered wanting to go, but she didn’t have any time to spare and always regretted it.

Now she saw his life flash by, like a series of camera flashes skipping through different stages of his life, breaking through barriers of time. A staccato of chopped, truncated memories, highlights that always stuck with Rodney—fueling his own personal fire as he pursued his dreams.

Snorting cocaine backstage, playing in some lousy band called the Tumorous Rhubarb Chow. Yelling his lungs out as he stood through the sunroof of a limo their manager had rented. Vomiting behind a Denny’s to the laughter of his newfound friends and band mates; the same kind of party animals as he was, together trashing a hotel room next.

Transforming from a young man in an amateur success band of idiots to a semi-popular nu metal rising star, he wound up in a band called the Nailboard. More cocaine. More booze. Rodney smoking weed on the balcony of an expensive hotel in New York as they were out there on tour. Missing the days in his basement with his old friends, but regretting nothing.

Now, the lead singer of the wildly successful industrial metal band The Bleak Days. On his request, they had returned to New Haven. High on his success, high on the adoration of his fans. Woman throwing panties at him on stage, him drinking in his growing fame and drinking gallons and gallons of booze. Staring at the bottoms of glasses. Getting the shakes when he wasn’t high on heroin.

Shooting up backstage, shooting up in dingy little toilet stalls, shooting up in hotel rooms. Shooting up. Getting the shakes and worrying he couldn’t succeed if he didn’t get high on the capital H to take off the edge. It put him in the zone, made him flawless. Made him invincible. The Bleak Days—this gig was the one. He was living his dream.

But if he stopped shooting up on heroin, it would all come tumbling down like a house of cards. He remembered how everybody had told him that he didn’t have any talent. It still haunted him. Even with all the success, thinking about the upcoming performance made him shake, made him nervous beyond belief. He feared he couldn’t function without the drugs.

Stinky Jim chuckled. “Yeah, shoot up. Let’s party, rocker-boy. Let’s dance,” said the demon.

Iron Emily wanted to cry, but her metal eyes shed no tears. She felt responsible. Hated herself more than grief could overcome the anger she felt—the rage against herself. How did it get this far? How could anybody let Rodney fall this low?

The needle neared the bend of Rodney’s arm, and time ground to a halt. Emily had to do something again. She dreaded the thought that this needle might be the last one. Any one of the needles could be the last one, but the reality of Rodney killing himself with this poison, whether it happened slowly and rotted him away, or it happened fast and stopped his heart as he overdosed now didn’t matter. That needle represented death, and Iron Emily wouldn’t stand by and let this happen any longer.

More comfortable with the gauntlet now, she rammed it through his skull, passing through it without resistance, like a hot knife cutting through butter. She reached inside his mind and searched his spirit for something. Anything.

He resisted harder than anybody else before. Some part of Kathryn wanted to wake up to the reality, even if only for a brief glimpse. Jimmy wanted to live, deep down. But Rodney had buried himself under layers of misconceptions, firmly believing he could not function without the drugs and that they had replaced all his friendships. He only saw the success ahead of him and hoped he might rekindle the joys of days gone by.

Worst of all, he dreaded rehab. He himself glimpsed through time, imagining a future in which his career died as he tried to go clean.

“You can do this,” Emily whispered through gritted teeth, straining to overcome his mental resistance. “You have to do this. If you have this strength, you have to use it. Use it right.”

Rodney shook his head and the needle shook in his hand. It shook from that trembling sense of withdrawal, but also his growing uncertainty. His arm throbbed where he had tied it with the rubber band and he wanted nothing more than the needle to pierce his flesh and impart him with that liquid bliss he craved so badly.

“Don’t listen to her, dip-shit. Chase the dream. Chase the dream, shit-head. Chase the dream,” Stinky Jim chanted, over and over again.

“You’re not in this alone,” Iron Emily said, her metal body set ablaze again. She channeled the fire, sending pulses of her own will through her entire essence and through the gauntlet and straight into Rodney’s being. “Get back in touch with your old friends. Stop it. Go on stage sober. Fuck it up—own it.”

Own it. Emily breathed, focused. Channeled more of her inner fire into Rodney.

“You can do this. You fuck it up, you try again. You are not this shit’s slave. It’ll be hard. Maybe you’ll drop out of this band. But look at all you’ve built. All you’ve become. You shoot up now, you might as well just blow your fucking brains out with a revolver. Or—you go clean, and maybe you fail, but then you rise again, from the ashes, like a fucking phoenix,” Emily implored.

“Oh,” Stinky Jim said. He paced behind Emily. Prowled like a hungry predator. “This is very interesting. You talking to Rodney or yourself there, little girl? You sure this is real?”

Padded cell again. Rocking back and forth. Iron Emily gritted her teeth harder. If she hadn’t been made of metal, her gums would have bled by now. She focused on the image of Rodney going into a rehab clinic—also bright, but filled with a faint glimmer of hope, spending time on the phone with her as he smoked a cigarette. Writing new songs in between therapy sessions.

Her fire reached the rotten husk, what his heart had withered away and transformed into. The slime sloughed off of it. Her fire, delivered through the grasping claws of the gauntlet, set the little speck left on fire. Just a spark. But just enough hope for him to make a difference.

Rodney stared at the needle. Then threw it at the nearest wall where the syringe shattered. This was it. His turning point.

Iron Emily laughed—it exploded out of her, celebrating her success, defying the odds. Happy that she had reached Rodney, but also smug at having defied the demon. Stinky Jim joined her in her laughter, though—also smug, certain that he could drag her into the padded cell and leave her there as a gibbering drooling mess.

Her gaze carried on and finally rested on Carlos. Sweet little Carlos. Her little bro.

Always hanging out by her side, smoking weed or drinking beer way past the point of either of them making any sense as they talked into the dead of the night. Taller than him and being able to hold her liquor better than her little lightweight buddy, he would often fall asleep before she did, though he never resented her for it. She sensed the friendship, tender feelings that grew into admiration.

He always had an uphill battle, working tough jobs for little pay and bouncing from one failed relationship to the next. She followed the course of his path whenever she could, sometimes showed up out of nowhere to give him a shoulder to cry on whenever things got rough for him.

Carlos did the same for her, especially after Julian’s death. He got in touch with her when he learned about it on the news.

They were more than just drinking buddies. The only friend from back then whom she stayed in touch with.

He had been working his way up. The places he was going, though—not so good. Not good for him at all. Carlos worked as a bouncer in a high-class establishment now, but more importantly, he also worked as a henchman for some of the goons involved in human trafficking and the pedophile ring that had undercut the city like a festering cancer.

It wasn’t like he wanted to be a crook. No, Carlos honestly wanted to do the right thing. He had stumbled into this, and confiding in Emily had led him to thinking he could make a difference. Inspired him. He wanted to take these fuckers down, help make it all come crashing down. That’s why he quietly bided his time, minded his own business, followed orders. Secretly informing Emily along the way; her secret contact on the inside.

Now he was about to gain the trust of his new “boss.” Carlos’ heart pounded because he was a nervous wreck, but did his best to show none of it. Channeled the iron will he had developed from religiously working out.

He waited in a dingy office with its spartan furnishings. This boss was likely the mysterious Miguel Renteria, a fixer for Pedro Robles—a bunch of names in the criminal underworld connected to the trafficking rings that Detective Tanner had told Emily about. Emily, in turn, warned Carlos about them. Told him not to get in so deep that he couldn’t get back out of things again.

But it looked like Carlos had gotten in so deep that there was no turning back from here.

A Hispanic man in a cheap suit—the “boss"—entered the office, flanked by two mountains of meat of bodyguards, and took a seat on a black leather chair behind the desk.

He produced a cigarette from a thin silver case and lit it, then puffed some smoke at Carlos, who blinked but kept his cool, putting on his usual badass act that had gotten him this far.

"You’re getting promoted, Carlito,” said the boss.

The man in the suit unlocked a drawer and placed a small case on the desk between them. Unhooked its safety latches, opened it up, and turned it around. This revealed a big chromed handgun to Carlos.

“You’re getting your own piece, your own crew. You’re moving up in the world, son. Moving fast, like lightning.”

Carlos just nodded, knowing better than to say anything.

“You just need to get rid of one man uptown. Some kid in the hospital. Just waltz in there, put two bullets in his brain while the rest of the crew keeps your back cleared, and you’re gonna keep moving up in the world. Gonna make it big time with us, soldier.”

The boss pushed the open gun case closer to Carlos.

“Hospital address is right in there with the piece. Burn it after reading,” said the boss. He took a long drag from the cigarette and blew out rings with a lopsided smirk on his face. “Have fun, but not too much.”

Carlos left immediately. Not in a hurry, not in a rush. His heart pounded so hard that it felt like it would stop and give out any second now. Second thoughts plagued his conscience.

He had never killed a man, never wanted to. Things had gotten so real all of a sudden, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His life leading up until this moment flashed before his eyes. He concluded that he might have to do this if he wanted to help Emily—he might have to do something terrible to help take this syndicate down.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said the demon. “But if you’re really that much of a bleedin’ heart, you might wanna let him do this. Think of all the people you could take down, all the misery you could prevent if lil’ Carlito over here gets in good with the top dogs and can leak the right information. Just one life to save the lives of many.”

Carlos had exited the ramshackle building and stood on the street, coming to terms with the thought of committing a murder. “If they want me to kill some ‘kid’ then that 'kid’ probably had it coming. Probably did something wrong to be on the wrong side of the bed with the syndicate,” he thought. Still, he stood on the sidewalk, taking one deep breath after another, contemplating what to do. Not one hundred percent certain if this was the right course of action.

Breathing, focusing. Breathing. Persuading himself.

Emily heard his thoughts clearer than anybody else’s perhaps because of their common history, tender affection, or personal connection. She wasted no time on pondering the reason behind it, and approached him.

“Don’t give me this greater good bullshit. I’m not having Carlos kill anybody, and I’m not going to let anybody kill whoever that kid is if I can prevent it. If I can read minds and change people’s thoughts, then I don’t need Carlos to risk his fucking life. I don’t need to work the way I used to, anymore. I can change the world. Fuck you for even suggesting otherwise, Stinky Jim,” Iron Emily said. Her voice shook with furious resolve.

The demon remained silent, stunned by this outburst and rebuke. She spared no time to relish this lack of reaction and pierced space and time again, ramming the gauntlet into Carlos’ mind.

Like Rodney, he, too resisted. His mind palace was strong, fortified by years of devout faith, of looking up to Emily and seeing what she had done to expose the trafficking ring—and wanting to do his part. In his mind palace, he prayed for guidance, but received none, only doubt over his quest. Their quest. He knelt in an imagined church, alone among the pews, untouched by a cruel world. He would seek forgiveness for any sins he committed in the quest for righteousness.

Thinking on her feet, Emily invaded that mind palace, that imaginary safe space. She assumed the form of Stinky Jim: a clawed, fanged, horned demon, wreathed in fire. Her monstrous appearance caused Mind-Carlos to shriek and she approached him, cackling and howling the same way Stinky Jim hounded her in the maze.

“Walk away from it all,” Stinky Emily commanded.

“I—I can’t,” Carlos stammered. “L-last guy who said 'no’ to Robles’ men was chained to a radiator and left to die like a dog.”

Stinky Emily’s hoofed feet cracked the floor of the imaginary church with each thundering step, and the angelic statues wept blood in her fiendish presence.

“You take a life, there’s no turning back, Carlito,” Stinky Emily growled, splaying her claws as she brought them up close to his face. “You take a life and you’ll come join me in—you know where.” She made an effort to laugh as hauntingly and devilishly as Stinky Jim always did when he taunted her. She pointed a claw downwards, suggesting a fast track into hell.

Carlos shook his head. Then did it again, with more fervor, steeling his resolve. None of this was real, he knew that. Just layers upon layers within his mind, a reflection of his internal struggle. He replied to the demon Emily mimicked, “And I can’t let Emily down. I can’t let any more people suffer!”

“Oh, but you are gonna do the smart thing—apologize to her, them, and God. Run away to another city, start a new life—or face the wrath of judgment for committing murder. Now’s your last chance,” she pointed at the confessionals to their side. “Confessing your sins in there and wiping your ass after reciting a 'Hail Mary’ a couple o’ times won’t make eternal damnation any bit easier.”

Her demonic laughter boomed out, underlining the threat, echoing through the high halls of the lonesome imaginary church.

“You can run away to another city, little man. Start a new life. Or face damnation. It’s your call.”

And Carlos answered. He fled. He fled from Stinky Emily, fled from his imaginary sanctuary. Iron Emily sighed in relief, knowing she had won this difficult tug of war in Carlos’ mind. She had appealed to all the good in his heart.

On the streets of New Haven, in the world they came from, Carlos looked up and down the road. Rounded a corner into an alleyway, approached the nearest dumpster. He hesitated one more moment, but then chucked the case containing the gun and the address into the dumpster.

He ran away. Ran and ran.

Someone or something behind Iron Emily sniffled while she observed Carlos’ change in heart, and his flight from the city. He was going to run to L.A. and then from there to the east coast. Emily’s heart sank, knowing she would never hear from Carlos again. It would be for the best.

She lost a friend by saving him, and perhaps saving the life of whoever he had been tasked with murdering.

“Live on, little bother,” she said, knowing her words would dissipate in the ether, never reaching anybody.

The honking sound of someone blowing their nose followed the sniffles. Iron Emily fumed, knowing it was Stinky Jim, feigning the act of tearing up.

“So touching. A real pile of Hallmark shlock,” the demon said in between pretend sobbing.

“Fuck off and pass me the popcorn,” Iron Emily said.

A huge hand covered in red scales held out half a bag of popcorn to her, pinching it between blackened claws, and she sighed at the sight of it.

Before she could grab it and eat some of the popcorn, fire from the maze engulfed everything again and burnt the other worlds away, pulling them back out of reach. Iron Emily returned to the winding pathways. She sensed, though, that the things the labyrinth kept showing her were not illusions.

This place represented the locus between her own mind and an intersection of worlds, a crossroads of realities. None of this was unreal, or imagined; all of it connected here. With that in mind and catching another glimpse of Blue Flame Emily proving that she had progressed yet farther through the maze, Iron Emily found yet more strength, picking up speed as she drudged forwards through the flames.

The demon following her through the maze remained silent. Iron Emily remembered how Tanner had tried to tell her something on the phone, but insisted he couldn’t speak. Her synapses fired like crazy, trying to point out connections where she still failed to recognize them. All the puzzle pieces had yet to fall into place, but the edges of the big picture started gaining clarity in her mind.

She held onto that as she marched forth. Blue Flame Emily awaited her at the center of the maze. A path unobstructed, unobscured by fire, opened up between them. Blue Flame Emily stood, suspended in animation, waiting patiently and nodding to her, encouraging her to continue. Iron Emily hesitated, sensing the trap this might represent.

The moment she seized the chance and marched directly towards Blue Flame Emily, the world exploded all around her. The hottest flames engulfed Iron Emily, so hot that they caused pain even to the metal body of Iron Emily. She screamed and kept moving, knowing that stopping now would only be giving up, allowing herself to melt down into molten steel and turn her into a puddle, lost forever inside this maze.

Rocking back and forth, drooling in the padded room.

Crossing through this burst of fire, she emerged not in front of Blue Flame Emily, but inside the bar she had been in just the night before.

Emily sat at the counter, speaking to the bartender, Brian. She told him of the real monsters of this world; the real flesh-and-blood horrors she knew. She had already started smoking in the bar, turning heads and garnering disapproving glances from the other patrons.

“They go home, they go shopping in a grocery store like you and me, they go to barbecue parties, they tuck their kids in at night, and they probably play poker or some shit. All the while they are quietly committing passionless murders; just cold calculated without any remorse. Enriching themselves with the suffering of the human beings they treat like fucking meat,” Emily told Brian the bartender, whose face had long fallen.

Iron Emily could practically recite her speech verbatim, mumbling along. Until Iron Emily could hear Brian’s thoughts. A faint whisper that she focused on, tuning out Emily’s ongoing tirade and turning it into the same kind of background noise that the other patrons in the bar must have perceived it as.

“Fuck, I had no fucking clue. I wish I could ask her for her number, but this is not the time. I mean, I can’t follow her home, either. I’m not some stalker; I don’t want her to get the wrong idea. But I think I am in love with this woman. She has to give me her number. I can’t even imagine everything she’s seen and everything she might have yet to go through, but I want to hold her and support her. Throughout all of it.”

Along the course of his thoughts, Iron Emily went from annoyed, over intrigued, all the way to pitying him. Speaking with him in the bar and squelching his attempts at small talk with a tirade of grim reality to shut him up had provoked such thoughts?

She sensed his growing despair. He knew they might not see each other again. Realistically, even though she only lived a few blocks away from that bar, odds were high that she’d never return there again, and New Haven was a big city. He’d probably end up finding his fears confirmed.

Iron Emily thought of Julian. Let a warm, sad smile creep over her face. She turned to finally risk taking another look at Stinky Jim, at the risk of letting him take more shape and gain more foothold in her mind. But the demon remained eerily absent, nowhere to be seen in this bar. She turned a full circle on her heels to make sure the demon was away.

Yesterday’s Emily’s voice dropped in volume, “Thanks, Bri. Good talk.” She patted the crumpled up dollar bills on the counter and was getting up to leave the bar, swaying drunkenly and explicitly provoking one of the other patrons who gawked at her during her exit.

Iron Emily stayed, continuing to listen in on Brian’s thoughts. He collected the empty whiskey glasses where Emily had been sitting and swept up the ashes from her cigarette. Clocks sped up, time flew. Eventually, he ushered everybody out of the bar, closed up shop. Clipped thoughts bubbled up, every now and then.

“It just ain’t right.”

“Nobody should have to suffer through any of those things. Those poor people.”

“I’m so useless. What have I done with my life?”

“I should have spoken up.”

“But she would have thought I’m a creep.”

“Fuck my life.”

Iron Emily could taste his despair born from unfulfilled pursuits of virtue, much like she had tasted Christine’s pride, or Jimmy’s impending suicide. Brian the bartender hadn’t hit rock bottom like Jimmy yet, but reaching that dark place was not far off for him. Iron Emily stopped from digging through his brain to learn his life story.

Maybe he could tell her himself.

While he wiped down the counters, Iron Emily stroked his cheek with the gauntlet. She fed the embers of his hope. Implanted him with the thought that they might meet again—might become more than mere acquaintances. Yesterday’s Emily had mentioned to him that she wasn’t driving, so she probably lived nearby—right?

The bell at the bar’s front door jingled. A man entered, dressed in a black three-piece-suit, with a snazzy-looking heavy white coat draped over his shoulders. Tall, imposing, scar drawing a line from his right cheekbone to his jaw. Eyes that pierced through souls, heavy with darkness, staring across the bar at Brian.

“Can I help you?” Brian said, drying his hands off on his apron.

The man in the white coat guided a thick cigar to his lips, revealing an expensive golden watch on his wrist. He took a drag from the cigar and puffed it out, then grinned at Brian. The way a demon would. The way a predator looks at his prey.

His presence paralyzed Iron Emily. She knew not why, but she had to know what this all meant.

“Sorry, we’re closed pal,” Brian said, leaning over the counter towards him.

“You sure are,” the man in the white coat said. Iron Emily’s heart split in half upon hearing his voice. The same voice on the other end of the phone. The one who sent her the suitcase. The bastard who had invaded her apartment and tried to kill her; the monster in human shape who had tried to capture her from the Estoria Pacific and send her off into slavery.

Mister Jones.

He removed his other hand from his pocket, revealing—nothing. Just an empty palm. Then, using that empty hand, he rapped the counter with his knuckles. Just once. Flat sound. On the surface, it had no power. But Mister Jones, the maze, Emily’s awakening—all these things hid tremendous power beneath their opaque surfaces.

That single knock on the counter did it.

Brian collapsed. His mind extinguished. Mister Jones watched as Brian fell to the ground, just a lifeless husk of his former self, a shell that once inhabited a person. Jones continued smoking his cigar, a sadistic grin written across his face. He looked back over his shoulder, as if he could see Iron Emily there, though he never quite looked in her direction.

Every wall of control that she had built up this night, every safety measure that the old homeless man had inspired in her to keep her rage bottled up—it all cracked. Fell apart. The fury welled up inside of her. Iron Emily turned red hot, glowing with anger and infernal fire.

Channeling all her wrath, she screamed through the void, “Jones!”

But he heard nothing. Iron Emily lunged at him, ready to plunge the gauntlet into the back of his head and rip his mind to shreds. The fires of the labyrinth flared up, distorting the apparition of the bar and turning it into ashes. Whisking her away yet again.

She stumbled into the center of the maze. Blue Flame Emily stood before her. The walls of the maze conjoined, forming a fiery circle around them. Encased, there was no turning back. The padded room, the Emily lost inside of her own mind, succumbing to the insanity—now a million miles away. Stinky Jim’s silence coupled with his absence spoke its own volumes, banished into the pits of her mind’s abyss, resting there with the mental weapons she brandished, alongside with her razor-sharp wrath.

Iron Emily’s determination had been forged in the hottest fires.

Blue Flame Emily, an apparition that reflected her own albeit comprised of ghostly blue flames, mirrored her when Iron Emily tilted her head to look at her.

Iron Emily held out her hand as she approached, and so did Blue Flame Emily.

Their palms touched. Soft, emanating not fire but warmth. Connected.

“It’s okay,” whispered Blue Flame Emily. “We’ll fix things.”

Iron Emily spoke the same words, simultaneously, registering the fact with delay. Their speech was as gentle as a feather falling down onto a soft carpeted floor. Like a single dewdrop plummeting into a still pond.

They interlocked fingers.

The raging force within Iron Emily met its opposite; countered by a force of calm and quiet will to match the power of her wrath. They mingled, circled, became one, like a red and a blue flame circling each other for eternity.

Her consciousness exploded into a new level of existence, like in the deepest thinkable meditation. Iron Emily, Blue Flame Emily, Young Emily, Stinky Emily, Yesterday’s Emily, Future Emily; all of the entities merged into one singular being. She stood at the center of the maze, triumphant, and drawing from the power of the Pandemonium itself. She absorbed the fire from all around her.

Emily’s third eye opened. The flames of the maze died down as her body absorbed their heat, but the lines from which the flames had once risen now glimmered with a much sharper clarity and contrast than ever before.

Emily had awakened.

Beyond a shadow of doubt, everything that had happened here was real. None of this had been mere imagination.

“When I make it home, I can fix it,” Emily said to herself. It billowed out of her like smoke, with a sense of belonging and calm like she had never experienced in her entire life.

A booming voice rose from the depths beneath the maze, and the world rumbled. The flames flickered. The world turned like a carousel—it shifted.

“Even controlled, wielding your rage like a knife is only half the battle,” spoke the voice. It carried the weight of eons, the wisdom of ancients. It fluctuated between the voice of the homeless man—the Wise Man—and a chthonic entity that encompassed part of the world Emily found herself stranded in now.

“Your rage is only a motivation. It gets you through the door. But the calm disposition and planning, that is what lets you win—win everything,” said Catechism. Emily knew this entity’s name without ever having heard it. Its being arose inside of her soul. “The mastery of your anger and dark forces is your path to survival. The mastery over your mind is a mastery over others, and it is your unique path to power. Your burden to shoulder.”

The world, still changing around her, revealed itself for what it truly was: a demon of titanic proportions, rendering even entities like Stinky Jim into tiny ants by comparison. The monolithic horns at the edge of the maze’s fiery island proved to only be the horns on a tremendous head, and a myriad of insect-like eyes upon it stared at Emily. She saw hundreds of reflections of herself in those eyes.

The maze and its fiery glowing lines were nothing but the hand print on the palm, and Emily now stood upon that palm, just an insect herself next to this chtonic being—Catechism of Pandemonium.

Instead of terror, calm filled Emily’s entire being. The thousand eyes of Catechism held the same tranquil as the homeless man, Wise Man, staring back at her. Hollow, black voids—but familiar. Waves of nostalgia washed over her, and she felt at home in that darkness.

Catechism rose to greater heights, only now standing fully as he rose from the sea of lava and torn souls where he had waited for Emily to awaken. Emily struggled to remain standing herself as she rode towards the skies on Catechism’s palm and the vista around her radically shifted, the violent motion making her sick to her stomach, and challenging her balance.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground, using the weight of her iron body and focusing on the gauntlet on her hand. She maintained her equilibrium until Catechism stopped his upward movement, and stood tall in the midst of a volcanic mountain range.

Together, they gazed over a wasteland of burning mountains and ominous pillars. Ancient structures littered the infernal landscape, both close and far. Remnants from different times, worlds, and entire realities; all gathered here and frozen in time.

A colossal statue stood on the horizon, distantly resembling Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker, although frozen in an expression of clutching his head with both hands and with a face sculpted into a mask of terror—frozen in an expression of relentless despair, rather than deep contemplation.

Here, screams of agony echoed over the wastes, riding on mists that carried embers from burning souls. Shadow-like husks inhabited the ruins of lost civilizations, clinging to the imagination of better days while trapped in the hell of their own minds. Wherever Emily looked, she beheld scenes of regret and crushing defeat.

Oddly, though, she felt calm here. Oddly, it reminded her of looking out over the skyline of Los Angeles by night, from the window in Julian’s bedroom.

Eventually, the most prominent structure on the horizon caught her attention: a tower of such grotesque size and proportions that it dwarfed all else in this forsaken wasteland. The tower took the shape of a giant, Gothic-looking gauntlet. A mottled dark gray sheen on it suggested its make to be of wrought iron, and the clouds surrounding it shed a color palette of blood and rust. Emily could practically smell the ashes and sulfur in the air everywhere, in the winds that reached her here, blowing across this otherworld.

“Welcome to Pandemonium, brave child,” spoke Catechism. His voice rumbled like thunder in the clouds, shaking the earth and the heavens of this world. “There is but one final test for you left here.”

—Submitted by Wratts