#ch: laurie

[missingcarrion]

carrion // ch14 muddied waters

masterlist

taglist @tapioca-milktea1978 @neapolitantoebeans

notes drug use lmao

kofi

-

“Are the nightmares still plaguing you?” She isn’t a doctor, or a psychologist, but Laurie does her best to read up on mental health and reading psychology books – Laz was sure he told her that wasn’t necessary, but she’s since bought five more books. He’s not sure what she intends on proving here, if she intends on proving how broken his mind and body are, or if she intends to merely help him, but he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to be more of a  burden than he’s been for the last decade.

            He cocks his head to the side and shifts, pushing himself into the edge of the couch. He doesn’t like these conversations, but then, if they don’t talk, it’ll all come back to him the moment he goes to bed.

            “You know they do,” he replies bitterly, “some nights they aren’t as bad as they normally are, but it’s the same one every time. Running, running, then bleeding out. Then dead. And then I wake up. Same old, same old.”

            Laurie sighs, “Laz, we’re going to have to do something about this eventually. You don’t sleep well; you don’t eat well. A lot has changed with you since you woke up, we need to do something about this before it gets too bad.”

            Lazarus doesn’t meet her gaze – shame coats his body like a thick blanket, painting his pointed ears red. Shame, guilt. The feeling of being useless at the hands of his own body. His own issues are wearing her down, wearing her kindness thin.

            “I… I’ve tried everything, you know that…. I don’t,” he pauses for a second, brows furrowed, “maybe I… I should think about… moving out. I don’t… I don’t want to be too much for you and Ellie.”

            “I – I don’t know about that, Laz, that’s not really a solution. You’re just…. Prolonged the inevitable. Your body needs to eat and sleep, you’ll shut down and maybe even die if you don’t get this checked out.” She scrunches her face up in uncertainty. “Please, at least see that street doctor, okay? The one that patches you up? He may be able to help.”

            “Do you think it’d help?” He looks at her, brows furrowed. He’s unsure. He didn’t even like Vik – not like he wasn’t a good doctor, but any doctor working in a shady back alley room is probably not one you want to receive psychological help from. But… he can’t really afford not to try. “I… I could give it a shot.”

            “Just try, Laz. It’s all we can ask of you.” She smiles softly and she grabs his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to get better.”

            I don’t know about that, he thinks, and the thought is so bitter, so laden with poison, he’s not sure where it came from. He doesn’t want to languish in this suffering any longer, and yet he’s scared his own mind wants him dead.

—

            Vik stares at Lazarus, with furrowed brows. He leans back in his chair, legs crossed, and his synthetic eyes analytical and watching. He’s half technology, half flesh, but it’s hard to tell where flesh ends, and metal begins. He’s one of the best street doctors in all of Akosey, much less the subcity of Terosi. How Lazarus ended up in his care to begin with, was astounding.

            “Looking good, Az,” Vik muses, and eyes him up and down, “how’s the breathing? Airways clear? And the scars, how are they? Are they starting to fade? You should’ve come in for a checkup sooner, we need to keep up with your healing.”

            “I… I’m fine, all of that’s fine,” he shakes his head, tensing. He doesn’t like this topic of conversation; he doesn’t want to think about how much his life has been ruined. “Laurie made me come here. Something’s wrong with my mind.”

            “Any person could see that,” he replies, his tone cold and calculative and he sits upright, as if measuring the levels of Lazarus’s mental damage, “what you’ve endured has a name: torture. We’ve repaired your body, but your mind? Oh, Az, your mind must be filled with so many little holes. Not even the doctor could fix you.”

            He winces, his reaction so visceral he can almost taste the copper of his blood, a phantom taste, a memory from a time he wants to move past. “I don’t know who you mean.”

            “Please, you can lie to Laurie, and to the people who walk into that lovely little diner of hers, but you cannot lie to me. I know your face, I held your decaying, bullet ridden flesh in my hands, and I pieced you back together,” Vik stands, his eyes narrowed, “I know you. You can hide all you want, but you cannot hide here.”

            Lazarus narrows his eyes, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turn white. The handle of his cane creaks under his grip, wrath and fear bubbles and boils under the surface of his skin like a thousand needles. “Then why not tell them. They’re hunting me even now. Why not tell them that I’m here and get it over with?”

            “If I wanted to turn you in, I’d have sent your dead body to the Institute with a neat little bow,” he snorts loudly, “you’re a person, Az, one worthy of far more respect than you think you deserve.”

            Lazarus’s jaw tenses and he grits his teeth, gaze glued to something else in the room. His body is tensed, and he clicks his tongue, “I’m not deserving of anything, Vik. I’m just Lazarus. Lazarus with an addled brain that wants him dead.”

            “Your mind is a fickle thing, isn’t it? It harms you to protect you from the trauma, imprisons you to shield you from it all. And yet, either way, you hurt,” Vik rests his chin against his palm, humming thoughtfully, “how badly do you hurt, Az?”

            He falters, a question he’s not given much thought to. He doesn’t eat well, doesn’t sleep well, and yet not once had he stopped and thought about how… badly it all hurt. How much it hurt. How much it still hurts.

            “I – I don’t know….” He murmurs, his body sagging in his chair, “I don’t know.”

            Vik hums, “think, Az, think about what was done to you, what you suffer through now, how does it hurt?”

            He swallows hard, “the pain of dying didn’t feel…. It hurt, but I felt so numb, so… empty. This… it’s like reliving that night over and over again, like I’m being muzzled and shot at over and over again. Every loud noise, every loud bang, my body thinks I’m getting shot again and the pain, it… it comes back. Every time. I – I don’t even go out anymore, I don’t like how… terrifying the outside is. How easy it would be for them to find me, or the exterminations.”

            There’s a thoughtful hum and then Vik is leaning back, “have you tried drugs?”

            Lazarus chokes and he coughs, “what?”

            “It’s not a permanent fix, but they have made synthetic drugs you can take to sort of rewire your brain, it’ll…. Relax you. Significantly, at first, and you might not want to do it in view of Ellie or Laurie for that matter. When your body gets used to it, you’ll be able to function properly.” Vik stands, and rummages through one of his medical cabinets. It’s a bit jarring, at first, and then he pulls out something akin to an inhaler, with a mask that covers your nose and mouth and a vial of presumably the drug. “They call it Songbird, why, who the fuck knows.”

            Lazarus eyes the contraption, warily, and for a brief moment it reminds him of the muzzle. As if sensing his apprehension, Vik sets it on the table between them, leaving the decision to him.

            “What does it feel like?” He asks, timidly. He picks up the mask, his thumb gently across the surface.

            “It feels good, if that’s what you want to know. It’ll make you feel weightless, almost, blissful. Like some poetic bullshit about floating in the clouds or whatever. It’s advised to think of something that made you happy as you take it, it’s an inhalant type drug.” Vik is nonchalant about it, and he rolls the vial of liquid against the table. “The mask’ll turn it into a gas for you, it’s pretty cut in dry. Would you like to try it here?”

            The mask sits on the table, and in the silence it feels so loud. His nerves turn into needles, pricking and stabbing at his flesh all over his body. He trusts Vik – not like he doesn’t have a choice considering this man had, at one point, held his guts in his hands. The least he could do is trust him enough to get absolutely hammered and not do anything fucked up.

            “You’d… let me just… do that here?” He asks, quietly, lips pursed in thought. “Just…. Get high? You’d just watch me get high?”

            “You’re not going to get hurt, promise, I’ve got a room in the back you can lay in and I’ll call Laurie letting her know what’s going on,” Vik offers, shrugging, “you don’t have to try it tonight, either. It’s just an option.”

            “I’ll try it.”

            “Hm, alright, follow me then.”

            Lazarus ignores the way his body begins to freak out, the way each step feels like knives in his flesh. His body feels hot and cold all at the same time, but he tries to ignore the heavy thumping of his heart that he hears in his ears. His all inhuman heart that this doctor had given him to save his life. A metal heart for a man who died.

            The room in the back looks more like Vik’s bedroom, with the couch having pillows and two blankets on it – did he really just sleep here? Doesn’t he live upstairs?

            Vik quickly fixes up the couch and gestures for him to sit. He holds the mask and the vial, “alright, pay attention, this is how you use the mask. See this part here? You put the vial in there upside down until it clicks into place, then you put it against your mouth and nose and breathe in, remove the mask, and exhale. Smoke will come out, don’t freak.”

Lazarus stares at him oddly, he’s not new to the idea of drugs. He knows how they work, this will just be… different because now he’s actively doing the drugs.

“Got it,” he nods, and takes the mask from Vik, “thanks… for this, for all of this.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Az. It’s disgusting.” He snorts, “I’ll be cleaning up the clinic, you can call me if you need me, alright?”

He nods slowly, and when he’s alone he stares at the contraption with mild intrigue. It could either make him feel better, if at least for a moment, or… it could make him worse. But maybe if he thinks of good things, like Vik had said, it might work.

Slowly, he raises it to his mouth and inhales slowly. He feels the drug enter his system – like a thousand tiny tendrils, reaching out to consume every piece of him. His body shudders and at first he wants to cough, but then the feeling dissipates.

His eyes flutter shut and he drops the mask into his lap, his body sagging against the couch. It feels…. So nice. Like someone has just lifted everything off his shoulders. He could… sleep like this….

[daphnerux]

@laurie-vexen​

“Ah, Laurie. There you are,” Daphne said in an exasperated voice. She realized that her tone was a little less calm than was preferable, so she worked very hard at calming her heart rate. Clasping her own hands together, she willed herself into composure like the capable captain that she was. “Could you spare a bit of time? This request is nothing bad, but I’m hoping to get your feedback on how you are adjusting to your new position. Is that amenable? Or should I schedule this for a later date?”

[clinquaant]

101 PLOT BUNNIES / Dear Prudence, a Theodore Laurence Fanfiction

PRUDENCE POIRIER WAS ACCUSTOMED TO HIDING IN THE SHADOWS. With her father fighting in the Civil War, she and her mother occupied themselves with finding work so that, when the time came, their family could buy a proper home upon the patriarch’s return.

While scouring the streets of Boston, Prudence and her mother, Mabel, ran into James Laurence, a man who occupied a house larger than he could ever need with only himself and his grandson. After Mabel detailed her prowess as a housekeeper and her daughter’s green thumb for the neglected greenhouse he spoke of, Mr. Laurence gladly accepted the help with the condition that the two women would take up two of his empty rooms, in an attempt to liven up the house into a home once again.

Mabel was grateful that she had come across a genuine man such as Mr. Laurence, rather than being stuck in an unideal situation. Prudence, upon hearing Mr. Laurence’s mention of a family full of daughters that lived across the road, was ecstatic at the prospect of making new friends. What took her most by surprise, though, was the friendliness of Mr. Laurence’s aforementioned grandson.

Listening to her mother’s words of caution, Prudence kept her distance from the boy who seemed to have too-good of intentions. Until, letters with the salutation “Dear Prudence” began welcoming her in the greenhouse most mornings, written in what could only be his impeccable, product-of-being-privately-tutored handwriting.

Mabel instructed Prudence to be respectful, and how disrespectful would it be if she didn’t write to him back?

[ofprosecution]

@lauriemorganthal || Laurie & Cynthia || New Year's Eve

"Well hello stranger," Seeing a familiar face would always put Cynthia at ease she when she spotted Laurie she walked over to him. "Fancy a dance?"

[histxries]

closed starter for @anxhoredheart

location: chambers of laurent bourbon.

~~

Elisabet hadn't put a single book down since recieving the stack of books from Laurie outside of her chamber door. She now had a small shelf of books, borrowed from the princess of Italy and gifted from the lord of France...her heart swelled. This is what she had pictured life working in a palace was. She'd finished her second book when she got the announcement for the celebration, and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully the royal family would rest easy knowing that they were not targeted; they had experienced so much of it already.

Elisabet held the book close to her chest, biting her lip. She looked at the stack of romance books on the shelf and wondered to herself if she could be like the heroines of those books-bold and able to be romantic. Amara had said she could be set up if she became a lady in waiting, but Elisabet hadn't even thought about that job offer yet, nor discussed it with the Danish family, so it wasn't even a question yet. She would have to take matters into her own hands if she wanted to find someone without a station like that.

Changing into a better dress, a simple cream dress with no stains, she braided her hair back and smoothed it, looking into the glass of the window. She could do this. Surely this gift had to mean something, right? The books were so nice, and he had them sent just for her, even with a personalized letter...it had to mean something.

The governess made her way to the chambers after asking for the way, taking a breath and knocking on the door. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she rocked gently on her heels.

[impishtubist]

I have a delicious ask in my inbox from @renaultphile about Alec, but in the meantime, I'm pulling some favorite lines from Ch. 5-8 for the fandom reread. Ch. 6-8 are my favorite (aside from Ch. 12-13, of course 😏). My boy is back!!!!

"is it a queer book" babe you are so valid for this

oooooooooooooooooooooh! I love when Laurie gets bitchy!!!

Ralph being like "I slept with women for two years just to make sure I'm gay, and yeah, I'm extremely homosexual" is iconic.

Babygirl, Ralph knows you're not a woman as;ldkjfajdfjadsf

Laurie!!!! Control your obsession with this man!!! (I am just kidding please wax poetic about him as much as you want).

[missingcarrion]

carrion // ch15 neon lights

masterlist

taglist: @neapolitantoebeans @tapioca-milktea1978

-

            Lazarus walks through the entertainment district. He’s not exactly sure what brings him here, other than the fact that he doesn’t want to go home just yet. It’s been five weeks since he had first tried Songbird, and it had changed a lot of things. He had slept peacefully for the first time in a long time, even if it had been dreamless slumber. Anything was an improvement over the near constant nightmares.

            Vik suggested he get out more – experience life outside his bedroom walls. He had sent him a list of bars and clubs to go to, ideally to find someone to ‘connect’ with, outside of Laurie. Lazarus adores Laurie, he appreciates everything she’s done for him, and there’s not a single way he can repay her. But the relationship…. He mourns the relationship he wishes he had. He yearns for something more, something he won’t have from her. He can’t have from her.

            Deep down, he feels a level of betrayal, like he’s committing some crime at the idea of loving her. But is it really love? Is it really love when all she’s done is give, and all he’s done, is take? If he kissed her, would it be wrong? Could he love her? Would it be so wrong to love another when your heart is so cold and empty?

            He shouldn’t love her, and he won’t. Love is not a word made for him anymore, it’s not a feeling he even recognizes anymore. He thought he had it once, and then was left to die. He had risked it all for a plan he didn’t even want to partake in, and yet… he was the one who paid the price.

            The bar isn’t quiet when he walks in, but it isn’t loud either. It’s a comfortable amount of noise, and he hesitantly approaches the bar and sits on one of the stools. It takes him much longer than necessary before he’s relaxed enough to stop staring holes into the drink menu. He orders the first drink that doesn’t sound nauseating.

            He’s sitting alone, happily, until he sees someone sit directly next to him. They clear their voice, and Lazarus can smell his cologne. He isn’t sure how to explain it but it smells like berries and darkness.

            “You’re supposed to be dead.” The man says, his voice raspy and low. He just waves his hand, and the bartender is at every beck and call. “Dead men are supposed to remain dead, interestingly enough.”

            “I don’t think I got that memo,” Laz snorts, and he runs his finger over the surface of the glass, “who are you?”

            “Depends, who are you? Who are you really?” The man laughs, and it’s a good laugh, deep and raspy. “Who do you think I am?”

            “Some creep guy who wants to get laid in a bar? Who else am I supposed to think you are?” Lazarus looks at him then, and he feels as if he should recognize the man. He’s got faint smile crinkles around his eyes, and creases by his nose and under his eyes. He’s an older gentleman, with dark brown hair that has faint lines of grey on the sides. His eyes are the color of a storm, and they’re as unforgiving as the sea.

            The man laughs again and he takes a sip of his amber colored drink, “You’d know me as Leviticus One.”

            There’s a brief moment of realization that crashes into Lazarus almost immediately. Leviticus. The Leviticus. Laz had heard of men like him, men whose generational wealth had stretched eons into the past, from legendary houses that stood through the test of time. His sigil had two serpents, one poised to strike while the other head lies in wait, preparing to strike when you least expect it. House Nightwraith is one of the only remaining lines of power left that’s disconnected from the Institute, the rest had been dissolved and the Institute had eaten them alive. But not him, and it was for a reason.

“Oh, shit,” Laz mutters, “what’s a rich guy like you doing here? Isn’t Terosi a bit… lower class for you?”

“I could ask the same of you, Doctor,” he says, and his tone is conspiratorial.

“Why does everyone seem to know who I was?” He hisses, looking away. He’d tried so hard to bury that part of him, to kill whatever was left.

“Vicarious needed access to the mechanical heart he transplanted in you,” Leviticus drawls, head tilted to the side, “but no, I would know your face anywhere, boy. You are the revolution, the whisper in the darkness. And I come with a proposition.”

“You didn’t have to use his full name like that, no one calls him Vicarious.” Lazarus downs his drink, and then Leviticus waves for another to be brought over. “What could a rich, trust fund guy want from me?”

“A lot of things,” he shrugs, “you’re somewhat of an asset. I’d like to hire you onto my team.”

“Team for what? I’m not some slut for hire, if the cane didn’t tell you.”

“You’d be surprised what you can do with a cane, Lazarus. But I have no need for such services. I want you to help me destroy the Institute.” Leviticus speaks so calmly about something so….. dangerous that it has Lazarus choking on his drink.

“What.”

“I will not repeat myself, Lazarus.”

“The answer is no, followed up by: are you fucking stupid?”

Leviticus sighs as if he’s heard this a million times and has no desire to hear it again. “Oh, sweet boy, you’ll come to learn that I’m not like you. I don’t let feelings affect my plans. Your plan was flawed from the very start – you never fully believed it would work. You let feelings get in the way.”

“I – How do you know that?” He furrows his brows, staring at the man.

“I know everything there is to know about the Institute, even matters concerning it’s downfall. I am a businessman and it is my job to know.” Leviticus is careful with his words, “you managed something many have died just thinking about, and you managed to take the Institute’s most prized asset. Their AI. They’ve since capitalized on a lower quality model, but nothing will replace what you stole from them.”

“I didn’t steal him. He left willingly. It was his idea,” Lazarus furrows his brows, scoffing, “I didn’t even want to leave. I was happy.”

“Do you think the caged bird returns to it’s jailer when it is afraid?” He clears his throat and pulls a card out of his chest pocket. “Think about it. You could be a great asset in taking the Institute down. For good.”

“And what do you get out of it? A new seat of power once they dissipate? If they dissipate. You’re talking about bringing down something that controls everything, is everything. It’ll never happen.” Lazarus stands, eyeing him incredulously. “The caged bird can’t fly anywhere if it's dead.”

Leviticus smiles, then, and it’s a terrifying smile. It’s soft and gentle and yet, like the surface of the ocean, something sinister lurks beneath. “You were dead, too, Lazarus. Now, we must see if you can fly.”

Lazarus watches him leave with a bewildered expression. One half of him wants to know just how the fuck he knows as much as he does, while the other part of him is curious about the business card. It’s metal, and has Leviticus One carved into the surface, black and gold. But on the back is a location, a club that he sponsors, and it feels like some sick joke that the name of the club had been something he wanted to name his own club – when he had those sorts of ambitions, that is.

‘Delirium’ is carved into black metal, inked with gold. It feels like its laughing at him. The world feels like it’s laughing at him.

—

Lazarus lies to Laurie. He lies to her like it comes second nature to him, like it’s right. He knows it isn’t and yet, when he comes home, he lies to her face. She asks where he’s been, and he only goes as far to tell her he had gone to the bar (under Vik’s suggestion) but he doesn’t tell her what happened there – about Leviticus. The proposition hangs heavy in the back of his mind and he thinks about it like he might actually go.

Ellie catches him zoning out in the living room, and she nudges his foot with his cane. “Your face looks dumb right now.”

“So does yours,” he snorts, “something up?”

She pauses and cocks her head to the side. She shrugs and sits next to him. “You left and didn’t take me with you.”

“You wouldn’t have liked where I went. It isn’t for kids,” he sighs, brows furrowing, “we can’t always do things together, you know.”

“Why? Because you aren’t married to my mom? That can change, can’t it?” Ellie stares at him, her brows furrowed but the look in her eyes tells him something else is going on.

“Your mother is a wonderful woman, Ellie, but,” he pauses and sighs, “I think you and your mother deserve more than what I have to offer. I’m… a mess, a very big mess. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask so much more of you.”

Her lips curl into a pout and she leans her head on his shoulder, “I think you and my mom should be together. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

“What… what’s going on, Ellie? What’s gotten into you?” He asks, tone gentle and reassuring. He gives her hand a light squeeze.

“One of my friends… their dad started dating some new lady and she hates her. I don’t… I don’t want that to happen,” she whispers, “I like you. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want a new dad, I have you.”

Lazarus tenses at that. It had never been in his handbook to be a dad to anyone, whether biologically or by happenstance. He wasn’t made for it – he wasn’t even a good son, the greatest shame he had been the moment he had decided to change his body. His father never looked at him again, and his mother? There had been a heart-shattering look in her eyes before he left for good. He doesn’t know how to be a good anything. He was bad at being a scientist, a doctor, a boyfriend, and a person. To be a dad?

“Tell you want, kiddo,” he sighs, slowly, like he’s unsure of the steps to take, “I will talk with your mom about everything, okay? But I promise you I won’t go anywhere.”

It’s not a surefire solution, but it seems to leave Ellie satisfied with the makeshift solution. He isn’t entirely sure what he intends to discuss with Laurie, though. ‘Oh, hey, your daughter wants us to get married so I can be her dad’ doesn’t really seem to make as much sense as he thinks Ellie is expecting. But a promise is a promise, he supposes.

When Ellie finally decides to leave for her room, to end the night, he seeks Laurie out in the dimness of her apartment.

“Laz? What are…. What are you doing here?” She opens her bedroom door, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her fists. Had she been sleeping? Now he can’t help but feel guilty for bothering her like this – yet another thing he feels a burden for.

“Were you sleeping? I’m sorry, I just… I think we should talk, about… about Ellie. And us, I guess?” He scratches the back of his neck, lips pursed.

Her face scrunches and she invites him into her room, “yeah, yeah of course, what’s up? Is everything okay?”

Lazarus fidgets and he sighs, “she wants me to be her dad, and I don’t… she wants us to get together so she won’t lose me.”

“O – Oh.” Laurie pauses, almost surprised, and she clears her throat awkwardly. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Fuck if I know,” he throws his hands up, “this isn’t exactly something I’ve thought about. I told her I’d talk to you.”

Laurie eyes him and sighs, running a hand through her hair. “She should know marriage doesn’t have to happen for her to consider you her dad…”

“I think it’s more so she wants to ensure I won’t leave her.” He says, brows furrowed. “We don’t have to find a solution to this now, but.. she’s clearly concerned about something. Apparently one of her friends is going through something and it’s making her scared.”

Laurie purses her lips, “you care a lot about her, I… I could not ask for a better person to be there for her. We should just… see how this plays out, I’ll talk with her and we can figure this out. She… you know how she is. All she’s ever known is you.”

“I know,” his heart feels so heavy hearing her speak about them, and Leviticus’s words echo in the back of his mind. Liar. He wants nothing more than to fit this perfect role, to be the person they both need him to be. “I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault he died, you know that, you were practically comatose. There was nothing you ever could’ve done to change what happened,” she sighs, and reaches for his hand, giving it a light squeeze, “what matters is that you’re here, present for her, for yourself, even. The future is more important anyway.”

“You have a very good way of viewing things,” he sighs softly, lips pursed into a thin line, “I should go back to my room, it’s getting late. I’ve taken enough of your time.”

Laurie doesn’t stop him when he leaves and wanders back to his room. He doesn’t sleep easy that night, too busy thinking about Leviticus and his words. He had run from complications, and now he’s here, faced with a thousand more complications.

[histxries]

Elisabet leaned on Laurie's arm, barely registering what he'd said until he stated that he would take her back to the chambers. "Th..thank you," she murmured, holding onto his arm. "I would appreciate that. I'm not sure how much help I could be, but I know that I should at least be near by in case they need me..."

She'd never felt more useless. How could she possibly help the family at this time? She'd been with them for months, but she didn't know part of the family well, and most of her time was spent with the princess. All she would do is sit in the main chambers of the king and be by if they needed her.

She followed the lord to the royal chambers, wincing when she heard clamoring and yelling as she passed the king's chambers. She made it to Queen Dagmar's chambers. She squeezed Laurie's arm gently. "Thank you again, Florian. I hope...we can see each other again under better circumstances." She smiled weakly, then took the linens and opened the door, glancing back again before slipping in and closing the door behind her.

miss-falk

Elisabet chuckled in surprise, looking at Laurie. “Me hold your station above your head? I should be asking you not to hold mine. You’re the lord, I’m but a nanny.” She shook her head. “All of us could use something to occupy our minds right now, could we not? With all the chaos around, idle minds breed despair.” She bit her lip, holding the linens close. “So what has you about the halls at this time of-”

The rush of maids past her slowed just enough to stare at her as they went by, whispers hushing, but not fast enough-the princess who had been murdered was announced to the family-Clara. Her family’s princess. Elisabet froze, dropping the linens as the maids passed, their whispers picking back up, not far enough out of ear shot. She hadn’t known Clara well-most of her interactions were with Queen Dagmar and the baby’s visitors-but when she had seen Princess Clara, she was kind to Elisabet and never looked down upon her. Not to mention, a loss to the royal family was a stab to them all.

“Those Danish royals have already lost so many members, haven’t they…”

Elisabet felt tears prickle in her eyes. “Clara,” she whispered, sniffling. “The family will be devastated.”

ˏˋ°���*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

     Not unaccustomed to the bustle of service hallways, Laurie wasn’t surprised by the maids clamoring by, but felt a shiver rush his spine as he heard a whisper slip. a name, a tear falling down a cheek, and a sick feeling in his stomach, all at once. “Oh mon Dieu... Miss Falk, are- are you alright?” Laurie knelt, eyes remaining on the governess in case she began to faint, and gathered the linens quickly before they had a chance to settle too long in the dust. 

   Concerned, Laurie put a hand to her arm, available to steady her if she were to feel weak, linens tucked under the other arm. His nonchalant expression had faded, now. “I am so sorry for this loss, and I will be sure to pay my regards. France, of course, will-” Laurie hesitated, realizing his secret almost was let loose, in his promise of offering France’s aide if they were to need anything as they recovered from the loss; but a humble Lord would not have that power. “I think everyone here has grown so familiar, after everything, the princess will be a loss to us all.. but perhaps, the fire we needed to progress.”      Of course, that discussion wasn’t appropriate for a grieving nanny, and Laurie sighed. “Allow me to get you to the Queen & her royal baby quickly, then. I am sure you are missed, and your support is invaluable right now.” 

[carniferous]

hi dil beloved <3 i'm here to get a tiny bite out of ur brain <3 and be insane over ur writing once again <333

idk how vague u want the concepts to be so . jegulus sick fic??? or drunk shenanigans?? i'll take literally anything

laurieee laurie my love!! okay this ask made me remember something: when i was first drafting ibhfts, i had this vague idea that james would get sick at one point during the fic? it was going to be towards the end but i ended up scrapping this idea because it wouldn't really fit with how the plot has developed so far. but really the MAIN reason i wanted to include it so badly is bc i loveeee sickfics (like. i love them so much) so i decided to use this opportunity to write out a little scene that could've been in that version of ibhfts

just fyi this scene will NOT be in ibhfts but it does contain mild spoilers for ch 13 and potentially events that will happen in future chapters. this one is also completely unedited btw !!

It really does serve James right for laughing at him. He hadn’t even cast an Impervious before trekking about in the rain without a care, and then he’d had the gall to laugh in Regulus’s face, to clutch at Regulus’s hands as they toweled off his hair, say What are you so worried about? I don’t get sick! Regulus tries not to feel smug about it as James sniffles and shivers under the covers—and then, perhaps deservedly, James’s bleary, pitiful expression every time he opens his eyes makes it difficult to feel smug about anything.

“You’re such a baby,” he murmurs, practically croons as he strokes the back of his finger against James’s feverish face. “Seriously, who gets sick from being out in the rain? You’re supposed to be a Quidditch player.”

James groans hoarsely, “You’re being mean. Here I am suffering, and you’re being mean to me. What if I died? What then?” 

“You just have a cold, for Merlin’s sake,” he replies, grinning, a strange glee rising up in him at James’s prone and vulnerable state. At how pitiful he is.

“How do you know? You’re not a Healer.”

“Your mother’s a Healer, you idiot, and she says you have a cold.”

“I’m dying,” James whines.

“Baby,” says Regulus, and he means it as a taunt, but it comes out strange and tinged with too much affection. James’s eyes open, his gaze heavy-lidded, curious. Regulus feels heat pool in his spine. 

He shoots to his feet, cheeks warming. “Are you thirsty? I’ll get you some water.”

Somehow, James’s silence as he leaves makes him feel even more unsteady. He has to force his hands to stop shaking long enough for him to pour the water.

When he returns upstairs, James has fallen asleep. His eyelashes flutter as the door opens, his hand curls gently in the sheets. As quietly as possible, Regulus sets the glass down on his bedside table and leaves. 

The day passes like that, strangely quiet without James’s usual energy filling the house. Sirius doesn’t come downstairs, which is simultaneously a blessing and something that sends anxiety skittering across his skin. Regulus keeps searching for him in his periphery. He can’t help it. Back at home, Sirius had the unsettling habit of materializing in doorways, hallways, anywhere to startle Regulus. Sirius’s loud boisterousness was mostly show; he could move as silently as a mouse when he wanted to. As silently as their mother.

It doesn’t matter, though. In the end, it’s Regulus who ends up finding Sirius. 

He’s carrying a bowl of soup on a tray when he opens the door to James’s room. Sirius sits at his bedside. He glances over his shoulder at Regulus, surveys him impassively.

“He’s asleep,” Sirius says.  

Regulus feels his grip tighten reflexively on the tray. He swallows, forces himself to set it down on the nightstand. 

“I’ll leave it here for him.” A pause, then, “He slept the whole day?”

Sirius hums an affirmative, leaning over to rest his chin in the palm of his hand. He stares up at Regulus with a quizzical, probing look in his eyes.

Suddenly, Regulus is tired of it. The way that Sirius has been since he returned, neutral and observant—watchful gaze keeping track of Regulus’s every movement, every expression, as though looking to catch him in something. Silently judging Regulus for the space he takes up in Godric’s Hollow.

If you didn’t want me to live here, Regulus thinks, you shouldn’t have let me.

“You’re worried about him,” Sirius says slowly, with great finality. 

“It’s a cold,” says Regulus. “I’d be stupid to be worried.”

Sirius arches a brow. Regulus feels himself flush. 

“He was saying your name in his sleep. James,” as though he could’ve been talking about anyone else. 

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. His mind races for a response. 

That’s what’s been irritating him. Sirius is too fucking perceptive. He knows Regulus too well. He knows James even better. And there’s nothing he hates more than being kept in the dark.

“He kept asking where you were going. He seemed upset.”

“What’s your point?”

“He dreamt of you, Regulus,” Sirius says, still with that slow and impassive finality, circling around some realization that he wants Regulus to confirm.

Well, bully for him. Regulus makes a show of rolling his eyes: “A fever dream. Again, your point?”

“I was gone for a while,” Sirius muses, almost to himself. But when his eyes flick upwards, they’re needle-sharp. “Not that long, though.”

“Are you enjoying being needlessly cryptic, or are you eventually going to say what you mean?”

“Something happened between you two,” he says. “Didn’t it?”

Another eye-roll. This is a practiced thing, indifference towards Sirius and his endless suspicions. Regulus was twelve years old when he realized that the more he cared what Sirius thought of him, the more Sirius could hurt him. He was twelve years old when he learned that Sirius would hurt him, given the opportunity.

“Lots of things happened. Like you said,” Regulus meets his gaze, “You were gone a long time.”

Sirius grins. It’s not a nice grin. If James were awake to see it, Regulus thinks he’d be shocked at such an expression on his best friend’s face.

Regulus says, eyes narrowed, “Besides, you asked him to take care of me. Didn’t you?”

The grin falls away. “Well, fuck. I didn’t think he’d tell you that.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” says Regulus. “Next time you ask one of your friends to babysit me, try to show a bit more discretion.”

“Piss off,” says Sirius, looking genuinely a bit abashed. “As if I was wrong to be worried.”

“Why? Because I’d ruin your darling reputation by being so horrible to the Potters?”

Sirius blinks at him, long and slow. “Because you’d just run away from home after our mother crucio’d you, you git.”

“Oh.” Regulus falls silent. His gaze falls on James’s sleeping face, still flush with fever, a sheen of sweat on his brow. 

He doesn’t know what shows in his expression, but when he looks back up, Sirius is staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Merlin,” he says.

“What?”

“You—”

“Reg?” A slurred voice, heavy with sleep, and Regulus turns immediately. James cracks his eyes open, and a grin spreads over his face. “Hi, Reg. Where’d you go?”

“I—” Regulus darts a half-panicked glance towards Sirius. “I was just letting you sleep.”

“I couldn’t find you.”

Sirius clears his throat loudly. James blinks, and some awareness seems to come back to him.

“Padfoot,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“Hey, Prongs,” Sirius says, full of warmth. “When’re you getting out of this bed, huh?”

“Not soon enough. How long were you sitting there?”

His smile turns blithe, “A while. I’m starving, though, gonna grab something to eat. Rest up, okay?”

James nods as Sirius gets up and leaves, sending Regulus a long, searching look on his way out. Regulus can’t help the breath he releases when the door clicks shut.

“He suspects,” says Regulus.

“Who, Sirius?” James tilts his head to the side, unconcerned, and pushes himself into a sitting position. “Probably.”

“I wish you’d sound more worried about that.”

James hums noncommittally. “Is that soup?”

“James,” Regulus sighs, but he still takes the tray and places it carefully in James’s lap. 

James spoons the soup into his mouth thoughtfully, “He’ll have to find out eventually, you know.”

“You and I share different opinions on that.”

“Yeah, and your opinion makes no sense. How would we keep it from him? Logistically, how would that work?”

“I’ve kept bigger things from Sirius.”

“I haven’t.”

A pause. Regulus looks down at his lap, at his hands laid over one another, murmurs, “I know, James.”

James sets down the spoon. Wordlessly, he reaches over and brushes his thumb down the side of Regulus’s face, a soothing gesture. Regulus leans into the touch, drops his cheek into James’s waiting palm. Lets the solid warmth of it seep into his skin. 

“I just don’t see the point,” James says softly. “The longer we keep it from him, the harder it will be to eventually tell him.”

“It’ll always be hard to tell him, no matter what.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’ll think I’m trying to take you from him.”

James looks at him incredulously, guilelessly, “But you’re not.”

Regulus’s mouth twitches, and he turns his face into James’s palm to hide his tiny smile. He presses a kiss there—once, then twice. He thinks of being  eleven and watching Sirius walk away from him with an arm slung around James’s shoulders. Of being thirteen and knowing desire, real desire, for the first time: at the sight of James laughing at a joke Sirius was telling him.

“No,” he whispers, and he presses his face deeper into the skin of James’s open hand. “Of course I’m not.”

[itsjaywalkers]

hiiii laurie <33 academic weapon !?!?! seems fun can i hear about it??

hi royal <333 IT'S MY BARTYLILY STORY and my fic for the marauders with palestine project!! it's an academic rivals au, nsfw, barty encouraging lily's fall from grace while simultaneously trying not to fall in love with her etc

it's gonna be posted this month!! and it's the story i'm focusing on the most rn hehe <3 it's gonna have around 4 chs?? and a dual pov with both barty and lily!! and let me tell u . i'm having the time of my life with it .

i don't wanna give too much away especially when it's gonna be out fairly soon BUT . u can have this snippy of barty and reg being one of the best dynamics in this fic

“Oh, save it, Barty. As if you’re not a lot worse than me. At least I actively try to act like a normal person sometimes.” “You have at least one mental breakdown in the car a day.”  “Yeah. Like a normal person,” Regulus insists, and Barty finds himself frowning slightly. Does Regulus genuinely believe this is ordinary behaviour? Really? “It’s not even your car,” Barty reminds him with both eyebrows arched.  That seems to make Regulus pause, who chews on the inside of his cheek while he tilts his head, considering for a few seconds. “Like a normal poor person,” he concedes with a tiny nod, and Barty snorts so loud he feels the stare of some of the people sitting in the table right next to theirs.  “Reg, c’mon, you’re not actually poor. I’m not even sure you know what being poor means.”  “Yes, I am! I used to be rich and then I got disinherited, that’s literally the definition of poor.” “Well, yeah, if it weren’t for the fact that your brother took you in and he has a pretty decent job.”  Regulus wrinkles his nose. “He’s literally a mechanic.”  “Yeah, but a good one,” Barty reminds him, even if it pains him. The only reason he’s complimenting Sirius Black is because the man himself isn’t present and no one would believe Regulus if he dared to tell. “Like, that shop is basically his, dude.” “Don’t call me dude,” Regulus huffs, mouth curling. “And no, it isn’t. He has a boss, who actually owns that shop, and whose family has owned said shop for generations—” “That’s why I said basically!”

[marzipanandminutiae]

Mind you I've never read LW but i kinda enjoyed the 2019 movie, why did you hate it? (Maybe i just wanna put Timothee Ch on a leash) feel free to go off 🌷

So, the costumes sucked from a historical perspective. Which would be less Objectively Bad and more Just Not My Thing...if the designers hadn't gone ON AND ON AT LENGTH about how ~Authentic~ they tried to make everything.

Didn't claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy: meh, whatever

DID claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy, AND won an Oscar for it: urge to kill rising

the hair design was particularly egregious, with the designer at one point saying they chose [checks notes] insane flyaways and half-up hair on adult women (who would have worn their hair entirely pinned up, for practical reasons and as a cultural marker of adulthood) because that seemed "more authentic than coiffures"

MORE AUTHENTIC

THAN THE WAY ACTUAL WOMEN BACK THEN

WORE THEIR ACTUAL HAIR

AS DEMONSTRATED IN PHOTOGRAPHS- EVEN CANDIDS -AND PORTRAITS

"blee bloo they didn't have hairspray!!!" THEY HAD POMADE. HAVING YOUR HAIR VERY SMOOTH WAS THE STYLE IN THE 1860S, EVEN FOR POOR WOMEN, AND MASSIVE FLYAWAYS ARE HUGELY IMPRACTICAL, AND NOT ALL FIXATIVES ARE HAIRSPRAY YOU ABSOLUTE-

[Marzi.exe has encountered a problem. please hold]

apart from the hair, there were fit issues and at least one case of Trying To Copy the 1994 Movie, But Worse (Amy's black and white dress in Paris).

1994. the pattern is soutache, a kind of applied trim done with flat cord that was very popular throughout the mid-late 19th century

2019. You cannot tell me the choice to have her in a white dress with black floral patterning, in effectively the exact same scene, was a coincidence.

also I'm pretty sure there was one shot with an actress visibly wearing Uggs. (EDIT- thankfully I am informed that this is a set photo and the Uggs were not visible in the finished film. i had forgotten this. good to know! leaving the pic there because STUPID HAIR and HATLESSNESS)

also the Pretty Pastel Princess Dresses (with overly fluffy attempts at bertha collars) and Matching Long Gloves (wrist gloves were popular for evening back then, and they were almost always white) in the Concord ball scene.

is it a Civil War-era ball, or is it a parade of "southern belles" at Cypress Gardens in 1995? leaning towards the latter.

once again, the choice to put Meg in pink for the ball instead of her book-described blue dress is something 1994 did first, and did better IMO

also Meg's 2015 Coachella wedding look, the fact that none of these girls from a poor family seemed to wear each other's old clothes ever, and the lazy choice to dress Jo in half-menswear instead of actually looking into menswear-inspired women's clothing in the era (which was a Thing!). but more than just the costumes pissed me off

they just...didn't seem to understand the era, or want to, or care? it was a bunch of little things that served to make it all more #relatable to modern audiences but ultimately undermined the setting:

Marmee telling a random young man she's never properly met to call her Marmee, because "everyone does." her DAUGHTERS call her that. her ACTUAL CHILDREN. who the hell else would? it's not a derivative of her name; it's a variant of Mama. Laurie can graduate to Marmee when he's an actual family friend

Jo wearing some of Laurie's clothing because "she stole it when they were hanging out in his room," according to an interview. um, NO NO AND NO, they are teenagers and that would distinctly not fly on several levels even in her progressive family. I might actually buy this if it were like "he gave them some clothes for an amateur theatrical and she kept them;" the actual Alcott sisters had a costume trunk for their plays, which is still on display at their house. but these writers clearly think a teenage boy and girl could be in his bedroom together unsupervised, for long periods of time, habitually, in 1860-whatever. which is absolutely incorrect

Jo saying "okay" in refusing Laurie's proposal. this is so tiny, I know, but while that term did already exist, it was a joke phrase only. this would be like saying "lol" while turning down your best friend's proposal today. once again, it's an example of Relatability mattering more than actually understanding the world these characters lived in

there are more, but I've blocked them out. I just really, really hated it on many levels

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity Ch 18

Michael Myers x ftm reader

Read on ao3

Laurie picks up on the last ring sounding out of breath.

You frown towards the phone. “You good?”

“Yeah, I just had to run up the stairs to reach the phone.” She breathes out. “So, you want to talk about yesterday?”

It’s less of a question and more of an expectancy with a verbal cringe.

“Mhm” you grimace, remembering. “Was he always like that? Because I can’t imagine you wanted to work with someone so…”

You blank on the descriptor. Perky. Flirtatious. Touchy.

“-Pushy.”

You can hear Laurie’s twitch over the phone “Ugh, He wasn’t like that when we met. He actually sounded smart, like an investigative reporter, ya know?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d send him over if he was creepy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He came over while I was decorating outside a couple days ago and said you sent him, for like, an interview and stuff.” You gently remind her.

“I didn’t do that.” Her tone was grim, but your brain quickly rationalizes it for you.

“Well, it’s not like he couldn’tve just found the house on his own after talking to you, so it’s not that bad.” It wasn’t great either, but it’s easy to accept.

There’s a pause before Laurie responds.

“Hmm, maybe, but I still don’t like how he treats this like a game.”

You open your mouth to reply but she cuts you off in a fury.

“-use you as bait? Is he crazy?-”

“-Yeah, I didn’t like that very much. I mean, how does he expect me to-” you interject but then look around and speak softer like someone might hear. “Get a picture with his mask off?”

“Exactly. The shape wouldn’t take its mask off if it was on fire.” She sounded annoyed and angry, so you’re glad she couldn’t see the reaction on your face.

You draw a blank on what you were going to say next as the weight of her words hit you. The image of Michael’s face under the mask floats into your mind followed by a seeping guilt. The heat of attraction and shame burns across your cheeks as you spit something out to keep the conversation flowing.

“Do you- do you think we could pull it off?”, before you even finish your sentence you’re shaking your head and clarifying yourself with a stutter. “I mean, like physically take it- the mask- off, but I guess it could be the same thing if we could get away with it at all? anyway…”.

“Geez, you need to take a breath. But…I know how you feel. How scary the idea of seeing him again is after what he’s done to you.” Her jesting tone softening with empathy.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” The resoluteness of her statement is jarring, and you agree almost too quickly.

“I know. I mean- I trust you and I could always get a taser, so…” you end with an awkward laugh.

You already know that you aren’t in any danger. Or at least much danger.

Laurie makes a disapproving noise at your confidence but doesn’t say anything further. You suspect that she wants to quip about a taser not working against the shape, but holding back so as not to scare you. Thinking back, if he can stop a bat with his bare hands and survive gunshot wounds, you don’t think a taser would stop him either.

You have to excuse yourself to get ready for work later, but with a promise to get together at some point. Just the two of you, no Jed.

Your hands pull at your hair. It sucks to have to deceive Laurie, but now it feels like betraying Michael. Talk about a rock and a hard place.

He wouldn’t take his mask off if he was on fire. But he took it off for you.

Your shift ends after the library closes, but you put the books you borrowed in your bag to return through the book drop. Michael’s room is a mess and you find the one you gave him underneath the blankets where he sleeps, luckily not too worse for wear.

He isn’t home, so you don’t know how he’d react to you touching his things, but a small fantasy plays in the back of your head as you step out the door to work.

You can’t help it- living together is intimate and every so often your mind will wander to that tight black t-shirt and soft pink lips. And your hands will wander when you hear Michael’s soft groans under the shower spray…

The nippy weather is enough of an excuse to shield your flushed face with your hands by the time you arrive for work.

***

A steady stream of shoppers keeps you and Quentin pinned to the registers while Dwight makes the rounds and maintains stock. By the looks of it, Halloween is still on, considering nearly every customer has snagged one of the bulk candy packs from the sale section.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a child run towards the candy aisle.

“Oh-hey no running!-'' your words don’t land. You, Quentin, and the child’s parent watch as the child runs gracelessly into the M&M's display. The child hits the ground first, followed by the crash of cardboard and chocolate 3 long seconds later. After the kid notices everyone watching, they begin to cry.

Dwight, appearing at the other end of the aisle, simply sighs and heads toward the broom closet.

Finishing the last transaction at your checkout and flipping your light off, you nod to Quentin-the two of you have an almost nonverbal understanding at this point- and start performing first aid on the cardboard M&M man.

Dwight returns with a broom and dustpan and scoops a split bag of loose candy into it, before stacking up the intact ones to pile onto a spare shelf.

As you work, Dwight looks in your direction once before making some conversation.

“Oh, by the way, you left early from the cookout…”, he states rather neutrally.

You sweat, it had just seemed like time enough had passed that it wouldn’t be brought up.

“yeah, sorry about that, I was a little nervous to drive home after it got dark. I got lost a couple times trying to find the place.” you’re glad he isn’t looking you in the eyes. Had he seen?

“No wait, sorry, I mean-”, he apologizes in return, “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad, I was going to ask cuz you missed it, David wants to throw a halloween party. Do you want to come?” Dwight stands and wipes his hands on his kakis.

You chuckle in relief, thinking of David, “you didn’t seem like the halloween type, but I’d love to. Where and when?” Laurie’s plan flashes in your mind after you reply, so you quickly tack on that you can’t make it on the 31st.

“I’m not! I had to have David promise not to jump out at me.” he looks exasperated. “Same place, on the 30th. Don’t worry, I have to work until six on Halloween, so I’m not going out either.”

He promises to tell you the time for it when he figures it out himself, and you head back up to the registers.

You stop, confused for a moment, when you see that there isn’t anyone up there. More specifically, Quentin isn’t at the register, but there’s only one person who seems to be waiting.

“Sorry about that, I hope we didn’t keep you wait-”

Brown curls, square glasses, beanie, smug looking face.

“Hmm~ hey (Y/n), fancy meeting you here.” Jed looks at you like you were exactly what he was waiting for.

“Yeah, hi…”, you log into the register to look anywhere but him, “I didn’t know you lived in the area.”

“Oh you know, I just had to pick up some stuff to get ready for the holiday, that’s all.” You look at his items. Bulk assorted candy, duct tape, trash bags, bleach. You swallow thickly.

“Now that I have you, is there any chance you’ve had a change of heart? I know you probably think you’re safe, but you never know what could happen.” He leans on the counter with his forearms and looks up at you with a pout as you finish the transaction. “I’m here to help you, (Y/n), but you act like you have some huge secret you’re keeping.”

You’re thankful that another customer enters your line and you don’t have much room for more than a ‘see you later’.

You finish your shift with a cold anxiety in the pit of your stomach and don’t look at Quentin whenever he returns.

*** Hugging your jacket close and looking behind you often, home doesn’t run up to greet you as fast as it should. Crossing the threshold suddenly drops the exhaustion of the day on your shoulders and you trudge up the stairs, wanting out of your work clothes an hour ago.

It takes a second to register in your brain, the sight of your bedroom door wide open with Michael in the middle of the room. Caught red handed (though, not literally) with his hands in your underwear drawer.

[toxicanonymity]

Rock Bottom Ch 5: Taste of God

3.5k words | Corey x Allyson (thinks about y/n & Michael), Corey x Michael (x2),

Corey is no longer in control of his actions, blinded by an incapacitating lust that overpowers his will to live.   He grabs the bulge in Michael's jumpsuit with his bloody hand, and his other hand begins to unzip it.  Corey is so hungry for Michael's cock he doesn't even stop to free his own from his pants.  As he lowers Michael's zipper, the large, calloused hands around his throat relax a little but don't fall away. 

Rock Bottom Index - All Chapters

Check out the art by @cordelium here 💙💙💙

please don't repost their work without permission. commission info

I really got into Corey's POV as you could tell from my recent surge of Michael thirst-posting lol. NSFW

Corey gets on his motorcycle and takes one last look at the entrance to the sewer.  That really happened.  They killed Doug Mulaney together, then they stood together against the wall, Michael's knife at Corey's throat, raging erections pressed so hard up against each other.  The feeling of Michael's hard length against him lingers, and there's a new hope swirling in his soul.  He rides to Allyson and Laurie’s house, exhilarated, reliving it all.  He keeps seeing Michael coming right at him,  stabbing Mulaney on his chest.  Michael, jacked full of dark energy, engorged by the kill.  

Corey has a completely different life than he did just days before.  Michael found him at the edge of darkness, grabbed him by the throat and said, "let's go!"  Corey has been in free fall since then, enjoying every seedy minute of it.  

As Corey gets closer to Allyson and Laurie's house, he has intrusive thoughts about the web he's weaving.  He really doesn't want to introspect - it's such a buzzkill.  But the old Corey is still hanging on somewhere inside him and loves to brood.   His feelings are a tangled mess of joy and gloom.  Lust and bloodthirst.  And in the heat of each moment, he's okay with it. But in the back of his mind as the high fades just a little, the possibilities spin like a mobile above a crib. He wants to sleep with Allyson and rub it in Laurie's face.  He wants to feel Michael inside him. He wants to be Michael inside of (Y/N).  He wants to fuck (Y/N) until she cries.  Why should he have to choose?  

He wants it all, but of course it's not that simple.  Most of the time, he’s graphically sure about what he wants from Michael, but there are moments where he wonders what could possibly come next.  He thinks about the things (Y/N) has said about Michael and wonders.  Really, how could she possibly know?  The fact that (Y/N) is supposedly off limits only makes him want her more.  He wants to find out.  And then there are the moments where he thinks Michael would be enough - that Michael could own him. 

His thoughts turn to Allyson as he parks his motorcycle outside her house.  He feels hope for who she could become - who they could become together.   And if he's honest with himself, he wants to take her from Laurie.  His core is pulled in so many directions.  He imagines himself in the Donnie Darko wormhole with multiple paths coming out of his core. 

Anxiety takes over.  By the time Corey knocks on the door, he's in tears.  Allyson's face says he must look like a wreck.  He's even more banged up than the last time she saw him.  “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says.  Her eyes blaze with desire.  She lets him in.

Corey’s inner turmoil fades away the moment their hands meet. 

***

Allyson unbuttons Corey's shirt on the way up the stairs, opens the door to her bedroom, then pulls Corey by his jacket onto her bed and he takes off the jacket and button-up.  She kisses him hungrily, pulls him into her with her legs, and as soon as she feels his hardness through his jeans, she unbuckles his belt.  There’s an urgency about her that Corey can relate to. He wonders if it’s contagious. 

Corey  kisses Allyson’s soft lips and pulls her tank top over her head, then she pulls his undershirt off.   He palms her breasts as they grind into each other desperately.  Allyson’s pale cheeks flush red as she frantically unbuttons and unzips him and her small hand grabs his package.   At the touch of her hand, Corey can only think of Michael, and his sense of urgency returns.  

In Corey's mind, Michael chokes Corey, stabs Mulaney, pins Corey against the wall, slices his jaw. . . 

Allyson gropes Corey needily.   Her tongue thrusts into his mouth as he unbuttons her jeans and she kicks out of them.  She looks so beautiful when she’s needy for him.  Her eyes are wild.  Her lips are red like a pin-up.   Corey pins her to the bed and sucks at her neck.  The hardness in his briefs meet the warmth of her panties.    

He grinds his arousal into her and thinks of his cock against Michael.  Allyson frees his stiff member from his briefs.  He shoves a massive hand into her panties and is greeted with the wettest warmth.  He needs to taste her.  He backs up as he pulls the garment  down slowly, kissing her stomach, and aims head downward, but Allyson yanks him back up.  She wants him inside her.   

Corey thinks of Michael inside (Y/N) and his cock hardens even more.

“I need you,” she says as she pulls him up by the underarms.  He kisses her ribcage before he obliges.  Once he’s close enough,  she grabs his swollen package again.  She closes her eyes as she massages it and spreads her legs, bringing it close enough that her pinky grazes her wetness as she moves the skin of his shaft.  Corey lays his cock down against her pubic bone first, then she moves it to her entrance and he hears her loud and clear.  With one thrust, he  plunges into Allyson.  She gasps at the stretch of his girth. 

He has intrusive thoughts about killing Allyson's ex, Mulaney, with Michael.  

Corey’s cock swells even thicker.  Allyson feels it and her lips part with a small sigh.  He thrusts into her, and she pulls his body into hers.  She wants it all, and he doesn’t hold back.   He plunges into her with all the power and passion that’s pent up in his core, and he does it again, and again.  She melts and moans and mewls, and he only pushes harder.    

Corey lasts longer than he has in days.  Allyson comes, whining his name, fingering his hair. Clenching around his cock again and again, moaning obscenely –  he hopes Laurie can hear – until her whole body relaxes under him and she looks at him, her eyelids heavy with love or lust.  Corey tells her he’s close, and Allyson slides out from under him, releasing his cock.  She pushes him down on his back.  She puts her hair up with a ribbon from her wrist, and promptly replaces her warmth with her pretty little head between his legs.  Her ponytail starts to come loose as she sucks his cock with gusto. 

As Corey gets ready to come, his mind is just Michael stabbing - his knife into Mulaney, his cock into (Y/N).  

His ass clenches and the tension releases all at once with a pulsing deep in his ass and an eruption – no, several — of cum into Allyson’s mouth.  She looks up at him with doe eyes as she swallows, her eyes watery. 

Corey looks at Allyson and sees an angel.  One he doesn’t deserve, but one that can fall – or, preferably,  is already falling.  He snuggles up behind her and puts his arm over her.  She takes his hand in hers and traces the wound.  Corey thinks about the way the doctor spoke to her and his veins run cold.  

***

As Corey drifts off, he falls off a bridge and into a dark river as warm as it is violent.  He has no desire to swim to shore.  He's swimming lazily, almost floating, with the current.  It carries him from fuck to kill to fuck with flashes of the last few days. 

Then, he dreams of Halloween 2019.  The opulent front door is open.  Corey is searching desperately for Jeremy and worrying more and more about Michael Myers as he steps into the attic.  Jeremy’s nowhere in sight, but Corey’s mother, Joan, is there.  The door slams behind him.  

"Corey, there's my baby. You want some custard?" Joan unbuttons her sweater and takes his head in both hands.  As she tries to pull his head closer, Corey's muscular neck stiffens in disgust.  

Out of nowhere, the huge, silver knife from the kitchen gleams behind Joan and her face contorts as it penetrates her back.  Joan begins to fall into Corey, then the mask comes into focus behind her.  Michael Myers catches Joan by the hair and yanks her head back toward him.  The knife slices Joan's neck, and as blood splatters onto Corey’s glasses, a wave of relief showers him, too.   Michael lets Joan’s body fall to the floor in a heap and steps over it.  Michael and Corey stand still and Corey gazes through his blood splattered glasses into the warm dark holes of the mask for what feels like forever until he forgets all about Joan. 

Michael lets the knife fall to the ground and outstretches his arms.   Corey steps forward, hesitantly, into Michael’s broad chest, then relaxes as the large arms engulf him, and Corey feels the strong embrace of a man for the first time in his adult life.   The arms tighten around Corey and his core tingles.  As soon as Corey’s cock begins to stiffen, the arms tighten more and he can't breathe.  He begins wriggling and thrashing, and Michael abruptly lets go, but then Corey feels cold and desperate for his arms.  Michael grabs Corey by the throat and slams him into the attic door, and Corey's arousal swells stronger.  

Corey reaches for the mask.  His fingers tremble as they  lift the bottom edge of the off-white rubber, then Michael’s large hand grabs the mask by the face and removes it. Michael’s  face and hair looks exactly like the mask.  His skin is chiseled but leathered.  The should-be whites of his eyes are a glistening black.  Michael stands perfectly still and breathes heavily as Corey reaches for the zipper of Michael’s jumpsuit. 

As he begins to pull Michael's zipper, Corey finds himself nude.  Michael turns him around and violently shoves him against the door face-first and Corey’s breath hitches.   Michael breathes loudly in Corey's ear and Corey feels a stiff, pulsing heat meet the small of his back then drag wetly down and up his crack.  Corey's lungs are floating in his chest and pleasure shoots from his shaft, through his balls, to his ass, and pulses. He’s rock hard.  

Michael's cock wedges head-up between Corey's cheeks, grinds against him, then slides down, finds his hole, and forces its way inside.  Corey shudders as he's impaled and feels every bit as full and alive as he knew he would.  Michael thrusts again and hits Corey’s most sensitive spot, the one no one has ever touched before, not even himself, the one that throbs at the thought of Michael who continues to bury his length in Corey again and again, banging him hard against the attic door until the door begins to weaken as Corey erupts in his sleep.    

The attic door disintegrates and Corey falls over the bannister.  As he tumbles through the air nude, he looks up at the attic door.  “Michael,” he tries to call out, but the shape in the attic door is Corey himself holding the mask. 

Corey wakes up just before he hits the floor.  His briefs are damp and he’s grateful he never fully discarded them. Allyson is stirring.  

Allyson rolls over toward him and speaks.  "Did you. . ."

Heat washes over his face. 

"Did you say 'Michael'?"

“It was a nightmare,” he tells her.  

She kisses him and falls back to sleep, but Corey doesn’t.   He slides out of bed and gets dressed.  He doesn’t wake her up, but he leaves a sweet note: “Great night.  See you later <3”

When he goes downstairs, he smiles smugly at Laurie on his way out the door. “Nice seeing you again, Laurie.”  

-

When Allyson’s clinic is about to close, Corey rides his motorcycle there and parks out of view with his scarecrow mask in tow.  He watches as Dr. Mathis gets into his Porsche with Deb from the Halloween party, then follows them to the doctor’s house. 

Corey creeps around the doctor's property and into the courtyard.  He grabs a drycleaning bag from the garbage and waits.  When the doctor goes inside, humming obnoxiously, Corey grabs a corkscrew from the faux romantic set-up by the fire pit and hides on the other side of the sliding door waiting for him to come back out.  As the doctor reemerges and starts crossing the courtyard, Corey sneaks up from behind and covers the doctor's head in a drycleaning bag.  

The doctor grabs at the bag and gasps for air and Corey tightens the bag around him with one large hand, coming down to his knees as the Doctor weakens and his considerable weight falls against Corey.  Corey then holds the corkscrew between his thick fingers and stabs him in the neck through the plastic.  The doctor's chest rises and falls as he tries desperately to breathe.  As he squirms and thrashes his head, blood smears around inside the bag.  Dr. Mathis finally stops struggling.  

-

A sliding door opens and Deb sticks her head out. "Dr. Mathis.?! " She steps forward and sees Corey in his scarecrow mask holding Dr. Mathis in the dry cleaning bag full of blood.  As Deb panics to get back inside, Corey drops the doctor and races to  the sliding door.  She slams his injured hand in the door several times before managing to close and lock it and grab the phone to call 911.  She recognizes Corey's mask from the Halloween party, and no one could mistake his strong, husky figure and curly hair.  Deb looks at Corey like he's the psycho she always thought.  The look wounds and enrages Corey. 

Corey sees something.  Yes, behind Deb, Michael Myers lurks in the shadows.  Corey's heart swells and his whole body feels warm and light. He bangs on the glass for Michael to let him in.  Michael lumbers toward Deb and snatches her by the throat, not missing a single beat in his heavy stride toward the wall.  As Michael slams Deb up against the large, abstract painting, Corey lifts up his mask and watches intently, unraveling his bandage, giving up on healing, letting the blood flow out, letting all of Michael flow in.  He wants to absorb as much as he can from Michael.  An incapacitating need floods Corey's body and thickens his cock as he watches his master effortlessly lift Deb by the throat.  He holds her against the wall, her feet off the ground. 

Michael stabs Deb in the chest with an enormous knife, pinning her through the art to the wall.  Her feet dangle from the ground.  Corey doubles over in arousal and presses his huge bloody hand to the glass, gazing lustily at Michael.  Corey is utterly his, soaking up Michael’s warm, thick, dark energy.  Michael slowly turns his head to return Corey's gaze.   The intimacy and intensity of the moment between them sends Corey to another level.  His chest heaves and he palms himself with his free hand.  Michael holds the gaze for a moment then admires his work on the wall before abruptly walking through the kitchen and exiting into the courtyard.  

***

Corey needs him so bad he can hardly breathe, but Michael is walking away.  Corey can't let him leave.  "No!," He yells   Corey hobbles, tripping over himself, scrambling to reach Michael while he's still in the courtyard.  He manages to catch up and cut Michael off.  Michael swiftly grabs Corey by the throat, slams him up against the outside of the house, and pins him to the wall with his thigh, adding his second hand around Corey’s neck.  "YES," Corey croaks, and locks eyes with the dark holes of the mask.  His arousal throbs into Michael's thigh and he can feel the hard shape of Michael's length against him once again. 

Corey is no longer in control of his actions, blinded by an incapacitating lust that overpowers his will to live.   He grabs the bulge in Michael's jumpsuit with his bloody hand and his other hand begins to unzip it.  Corey is so hungry for Michael's cock he doesn't even stop to free his own from his pants.  As he lowers Michael's zipper, the large, calloused hands around his throat relax a little but don't fall away. 

With Michael’s jumpsuit open, rays of light might as well burst from between his legs. It’s Corey’s first time seeing what Michael’s packing up close.  Corey's massive hands wrap around the stiff, veiny shaft.  Pre-cum beads at the monstrous tip and Corey salivates.  He looks back and forth between the mask’s eye holes, his brows furrowed, silently asking, begging for his cock.  Michael lets Corey's head slip through his fingers as Corey begins to fall to his knees.  

Corey admires the monster cock head-on just briefly before wrapping his mouth around the head desperately, like it might slip away.  He thinks to himself, so this is what God tastes like.  He unhinges his jaw and curls his lips over his teeth. He slurps the cock into his mouth, sucking hard enough to pull his head down on the shaft.  The girth barely fits in his mouth, and the length certainly doesn’t.  It requires his hands.  Corey sucks from the back of his throat and his eyes water.  He slowly drags the O of his mouth up and down trying to fit a little more of Michael down his throat each time.  The head nudges past his tonsils.  He unseals his mouth briefly to collect some drool as lube for his hands to stroke the rest that doesn't fit. He even dares to cradle Michael's balls for a moment.   

Michael, initially frozen, cradles Corey's head, nestling his large fingers in Corey's locks, causing the scarecrow mask to fall off the top of his head.  The gesture of acceptance has Corey feeling high as a kite.  He looks up with his dark, watery eyes and the mask looks down at him.  He can hardly believe this is happening.  Michael Audrey Myers is gazing down at Corey, cradling his head as he sucks him off.  Corey feels chosen.   

He wants to please Michael better than anyone else possibly could.  He lacks experience and relies largely on instinct, but it seems to come naturally.  He uses his tongue and the pressure of his teeth through his lips and sucks with his throat, creating a vacuum around the shaft.  Michael is tall.  Corey sits up higher on his knees to try more of a downward angle.  Michael moans softly and looks upward as his abdomen flexes against Corey's forehead.  The tears in Corey‘s eyes threaten to overtake his waterline already.  Corey's throat bobs as he continues sucking and stroking, then feels a twitch in his mouth, followed by a pang in his taint and that special place.  

Michael's hands begin to move Corey's head, shoving his length down his throat.  Corey gags and he likes it.  He’s grateful for every thrust, every inch. His mouth is stretched so wide the corners hurt.  And he's drooling.  His eyes prickle and tears run down his cheeks.  Then, Michael’s cock pulses and Corey’s mouth pulses with it.  

Michael places one hand against the wall and his other hand engulfs the crown of Corey's head, forcing him down on his cock as he erupts in Corey's throat. The pulsations are so strong, bursting every two seconds, the swell of his cock filing Corey’s mouth as cum trickles down his throat.  Corey struggles to keep his mouth sealed, not wanting to waste a single drop of Michael's seed.  He swallows with every pump.  

When Michael is finished, he takes his hands off the wall and Corey's hair. Corey lets go of this cock with a kiss and looks up again, desperate for Michael's approval.  But, Michael doesn't look back.  He merely zips up his jumpsuit and continues walking the same direction he was going, like nothing happened.  Corey is left on his knees, painfully hard, alone, and rejected.  And yet, he’s also brimming with joy that Michael is inside him, in a way.  Such a vital part of Michael is inside him, and he can feel it in every part of his being. 

-

Corey uses his sweater to wipe drool off his mouth and massages his jaw.   Then, he unbuckles his jeans.  He closes his eyes and his large hand strokes his throbbing, aching member, still feeling the ghost of Michael against his body and in his mouth.  He's startled by the sound of faint footsteps and opens his eyes to red and blue flashing lights illuminating the fog over the fence toward the street. 

The lights go dark, and the footsteps grow clearer. Corey puts his dick away, crouches low to the ground, and scurries into the shadows, past the sliding door, against the outside wall of the house.  He's squatting down next to the glass, still in need of relief, but he tries hard to focus. As he looks for somewhere to hide, static sounds from a walkie talkie.  

"Haddonfield Sheriff's Office,"  (Y/N)'s voice announces.  A bright light approaches.  

_______________________________________

Continue with Chapter 6

_______________________________________

[histxries]

closed starter for @anxhoredheart - lotte & laurie

Lotte could have asked-but she trusted no one, including her employer. She obviously could not ask the queen, so the easiest way to find out any information on what would happen to her if the queen should fall pregnant was to search the crown prince's quarters.

They had assumed she would not, and that it would have not taken this long to kill her, but the summit had gotten in the way, and it was frustrating Lotte. Should the queen become with child, her condition could mean the end of Lotte's employment-and if the crown prince thought she would let slip anything of his plan, maybe her life.

She had expected to be here alone, so hearing footfalls in the next room was a shock to her system. Lotte reached for the thin knife kept under her full skirt, sliding it into her sleeve as she opened the door. She already had an excuse to be in there, and was good at saving face to anyone-except maybe the dauphin of France. "Monsieur le dauphin. I did not expect to see you here. May I inquire as to why you are in Prince Luca's chambers?"

[theabdlstruggle]

Daily References…

Here are some daily Christian references I use for those who are interested. I like to listen to certain pastors preach on the radio; I like to listen to Christian music (on my radio dial: mainstream and worship) and my favorite is Christian Hard Rock music; I like to listen to the Bible (easier for me to spend time in it when I don’t have time to read, busy life little time…); I like to listen to books (mostly Christian books which apply to daily living, but again, busy life…); and my favorite is listening to Billy Graham! I don’t think there is a man alive today who can rival the conviction the late great Billy Graham brought to the table, just by talking about the Bible. I would say a close second would be the late Dr. J Vernon McGee. Now he could grab your attention with that southern draw he had and teach the Bible like no other I have heard (my opinion of course). I don’t use ALL of them EVERY DAY, but I do use ALL of these randomly on any given day. I will list some examples of each down below.

PASTORS/EVANGELISTS

Billy Graham - You Tube and some serious XM radios (ch. 460)

Dr. J Vernon McGee- Through the Bible (ttb.org), various radio stations (a quick search will give you multiple places to listen).

Greg Laurie - You Tube and Harvest Church (Harvest.org)

Jack Hibbs - You Tube (Real Life with Jack Hibbs) and Calvary Chapel Chino Hills (Calvarycch.org)

RADIO STATIONs

stations - There are multiple on most FM Radio dials

CHRISTIAN HARD ROCK BANDS - all of the following can be found on YouTube with a quick search for Christian Hard Rock Music.

Skillet

Thousand Foot Krutch

Project 86

Spoken

Disciple

Demon Hunter

The Letter Black

Fireflight

Fly Leaf

Lacey Strum

Red

We As Human

Pillar

Seventh Day Slumber

Decyfer Down

BIBLE APP

I use the Bible App called “Holy Bible”. The app has multiple versions (King James, NIV, New Living Translation, etc…) and it is a simple cartoon looking picture of a Bible and says “holy Bible“ on the face of the app.

BOOKS - books I have read/listened to. Some a long time ago, others more recently.

The 5 Love languages - by Gary Chapman

The Pursuit of Holiness - by Jerry Bridges

My Utmost for His Highest - by Oswald Chambers

Revelation - A Book of promises - by Greg Laurie

The Screwtape Letters - by C.S. Lewis (I recently listen to this book on YouTube with John Cleese as the narrator it was pretty good). There are many more from these authors. All worth reading/listening to.

One more I forgot to mention:

Focus on the Family - this is a podcast/radio cast available on many different apps, YouTube, and their website. As the name implies, they mostly focus on family issues however, if you want to see/hear REAL PEOPLE with REAL STRUGGLES, then I highly recommend you check them out.

I thought this might help for those of you who are interested. So, with that…

May the Lord God be with you and give you strength.

[histxries]

"Oh, I would love to read some!" She smiled and sat forward. "I envy the creativity."

"I...don't know what I would think of. I've never truly thought of anyone having romantic feelings for me. I know that sounds vain, like something one says to gain favor, but it's hard to think of yourself as worthy when you're covered in dirt and baby spit." She chuckled softly, holding the warm mug. "I suppose if I had to think of qualities, I would want them to be kind, honest, loving...respectful of me, which sounds like something that should be basic, but where I grew up wasn't exactly commonplace," she explained with a weak smile. "I don't expect them to be happy all the time, that's an impossible ask, but as long as they're willing to share their sorrows and happiness with me. Good looking is a plus," she offered, blushing and winking playfully. "Wants children...goodness, all that sounds like an impossible list, like I should rather wish upon a star to get it."

miss-falk

“I suppose…I like to read, and doodle, but I’m not very good at that. So I’d say I like to sit outside in the sun and read. I like feeling the prickles of sun rays on my face, and just close my eyes and feel the warmth on my skin. It’s soothing.” At his second question, she blushed a little. “I do not. I’ve never been with anyone, romantically.” Was that too forward? He’d asked, but she could have just stopped at no. It was already out of her mouth, so she couldn’t exactly take it back. She just cleared her throat and took a longer sip of her tea than she’d anticipated, than swallowed. This is what happens when your only conversations are with children.

“She is,” Elisabet chuckled. “Babies aren’t scary, I promise. There are little tips and tricks for helping them. If the baby is teething and won’t stop being fussy, a clean finger or clean cloth soaked in chamomile tea will help soothe the gums. If your baby won’t sleep, repetitive rocking motions while humming will calm their minds. Once you learn, it’s not very hard. I would..like to have children of my own one day,” she admitted softly, leaning forward and watching the princess sleep. “Taking care of other people’s children is fine, but I would love to take care of my own too.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷      

   “Oh, you like to read?” Laurie brightened, finding common ground. “I write,” He added, to explain his interest. Not the adventure novels, full of pirates & kidnapping & thrill & death, but something of a lighter nature, of poems & songs & small stories centered around a single idea, a single hero. There was much to be said for the simple things of life, Laurie believed, and the best beauty found in the most ordinary of places. That was what he tried to capture when he wrote - ideas, feelings. “You will have to recommend an author for me. There is much to learn about a person based on their reading interests. ‘Tis almost like sharing a piece of your soul, or your innermost thoughts.”      Laurie noticed the blush. “I see…” his reply came softly, feeling bad if he had embarrassed her. “Well, another benefit to a respite from work, I suppose. Companionship - I mean, adult companionship.” 

   Hearing her speak made Laurie smile, and though he knew children were surely expected of him in the not-so-distant future, he couldn’t imagine seeing himself in a fatherly position. “You must do quite well with them, with that sort of knowledge. Any child in your care is a fortunate baby, indeed,” He commended her, glancing back to the governess from the child. The words were said truthfully. “I ought to write your words down for my own use someday, with my own children. There shall be many of those, I imagine-” Often there was, when it came to the Bourbon lineage, but Elisabet wouldn’t know that. “God willing, of course.” Her desire was written plainly on her face. Laurie wondered what that must be like - to be surrounded by what you love, but not to claim it for your own. “What sort of qualities do you admire in a partner, then? Perhaps I can put in a good word with my neighbors, make an introduction or two.”    After all, weren’t they all here to find gain, one way or another, at this summit? It clearly wasn’t designed for any true agreement of peace; instead, it was a massive trade deal. Surely there was something to gain for the staff, too - and why should they be left out? Laurie felt they should find suitable futures, just as the nobles could. “I have never played cupid before. It could be fun, if you pardon my bold words.”