#fuck. I feel so stupid!!!!!!!! why am I so bad with money why didn’t I get taught about saving in ways that made since to my adhd high

[pepprs]

mission failed we’ll get em next time 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[milo-is-rambling]

I feel like an idiot. Who was going to tell me when you’re setting a long term savings goal with a thing to buy at the end as a reward you’re supposed to have the savings goal be price of thing you’re getting plus savings not just save until you get enough money to get the thing you want and then immediately be completely zero dollars broke again

[theautisticwriter]

Love Letters: Yandere! Helluva Boss characters X G/N Reader

Characters- Blitzø, Moxxie, Millie, Loona, Stolas, Asmodeus, Fizzarolli

Show- Helluva Boss

Genre- romantic, yandere

Summary- Mini love letters from your not so secret stalkers admirers!

Warnings- swearing, pet names, yandere themes, mentions of planned kidnapping, stalking, delusional characters, unwanted attention

Word count- 1.5K

Extra notes- I have a Hazbin Hotel version of this uploaded as well!

key: f/l = first letter of your name, y/n = your name, n/n = your nickname

———————————————————

By this point you know who it is y/n, I’m the only person COOL enough to send u romantic as fuck letters like the old people do

Sorry for eating the food u made last night, when i was raiding ur fridge it looked so fucking good (and it was, who knew u could cook :P). i left u a pony as a replacement, u can’t eat it but it’ll make u think of me ;) and that pony cost me a FUCK ton of money, collectors addition and shit. i know, bad fucking ass right??

the stupid shitty loud alarm u installed didn’t work when i came in, ud be much safer with me and loony. that’s the plan anyways babe, u have NO idea the fucking creeps that live down here, they’re all fucking animals and ur…not, a fucking asshole i guess.

i drew you smth (it’s the thing stuck on the back of the envelope with the glitter glu)

^glue

it’s me and u holding hands, like other couples do. we’re better than those corny fuckers tho, hence the crowns on our heads.

ignoring my texts, BLOCKING ME (still upset about this BY THE WAY) and then ignoring my very nice letters is kinda a dick move f/l, but it’s whatevs. everything is almost ready for ur move in. i cleaned up n everything :D

from the only bitch worth ur time,

blitzø

<3 (ignore that, moxxie threw a gun at me and my hand slipped, might fire him)

———————————————————

Hiya sweet cheeks!!!

It’s Mills here, just checking in! Via letter! Ain’t that just the fanciest little thing? Mox said it’s the best way to show thought and care to someone, so here’s all my thoughts and care, just for you!

How’ve you been? Good I hope, I’ve been just peachy thanks for asking! My Ma and Pa are super excited to meet ya one day, they’ve even started planning the wedding! Now I told them to slow their horses down, and not the overwhelm ya, we’ll get to that don’t you worry darlin.

Im just so excited to write this letter for you! Ain’t it so romantic?? I’m practically squealing in delight at the thought of you opening this and swoonin’, that’s what you’re doing, right?

Now i’m writing this on my break, and my boss really needs me back in the game! I got employ of the month! Most amount of kills, with the best and bloodiest results baby!

Until next time sweetheart,

Your Mills! ♡

———————————————————

Hi y/n,

It’s Moxxie here, I was a little nervous to send this letter to you, but I always try to follow my heart, and my heart was telling me to communicate with you in the most romantic way I know how due to our current circumstances of being so far away. It’s hard, for the both of us i’m sure, but we’ll be okay y/n.

As much as I don’t get along with my father, he has been helpful with my preparations for your arrival. It’s a big deal, moving in together. I’m sure your anxious, I am too, but in the best way possible. Love is pure, and can make somebody feel whole, it’s a wonderful feeling. I never want that to be taken away from me, and you are the source of all my love. That’s why we need to be together, being only half a demon isn’t good for the soul.

We can do lots of fun things together as well, like go to the opera, or to musicals, or I can show you my shooting skills. My boss says that I have a pretty good shot, which is the biggest compliment he’s ever given me. And we can do things you like too, marriage is equal of course. Obviously, this will all happen later done the line, you’ll need time to adjust, and I understand that. I understand you.

I’m running out of room on my page, but I will write to you again tomorrow. Please respond? Just once, y/n? It’d be nice, to hold something from you since I can’t hold you yet.

All my love,

Your Moxxie <3

———————————————————

Uh, hi?

Wait, you don’t put ‘uh’ in letters do you? Or put wait whilst you think, fuck shit fuck

Sorry, I’m new to this. Normally I just send a text to people but, your phone is off at the moment I think? Or you lost it? Or you blocked me?

Either way, I’ll send you these stupid letter things until it’s back on. So, uh, what are you up to? Blitz has been up my ass about meeting you, heads up, when I come get you and bring you to our room he’s gonna go all psycho dad mode and integrate you, but he’ll back off after a while. He’s a dick sure, but he does want me to be happy. And your, likeable or whatever, so i’m sure you’ll get along.

Once you get comfortable at home with me, Blitz said you could work with me at I.M.P. You’ll be like the co-secretary or something. You won’t be put in danger, I won’t let that happen, you’ll just get to sit with me. We can watch things together, if you wanted.

I guess i’ll see you soon, how do you end these?

See you,

Love from,

Regards?

Bye y/n,

Loona.

———————————————————

My dearest y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well. I yearn for your presence here, besides me. It’s quite lonely without you, I will admit my dear. It would be oh so wonderful if you could write back. I understand you may be preoccupied with your current activities, but I can’t help myself from desiring a response. I know, it’s selfish of me to expect you to reply to my letters when you’ll be here with me shortly, but I can’t keep my thoughts at bay at the moment.

Your face is a constant in my mind, night and day, asleep and awake, your voice in my mind calms me when I need it most, your smile brightens the bleariest of moments and so on. You can imagine the difficulties I’m facing with no response from you, but that’s alright. If you can’t write back to me dear, I won’t pressure you. Your time is precious, and we will have all the time in hell quite soon. Isn’t that exciting?

I can give you the life you deserve n/n, any luxuries or mundanities you wish for will be handed to you on a silver platter. Or a golden one, if that’s more to your liking? We can properly discuss the specifics once we are together. How thrilling, the though of you and I together at last.

We truly are written in the stars!

Yours until the end of the sky and then some,

Stolas.

———————————————————

Hey there baby,

It’s been a while, huh? I’m sorry if you feel neglected babe, it’s so hard keeping in contact with you when you’re so far away hun. Wouldn’t it be so much better if you were here with me? Sure I’ve got a lot of meetings, being a sin and all, but I’d be at your beck and call n/n, you could even be my new excuse to leave those awful “business” discussions. They barely talk business with me, it’s just complete bullshit babe.

I know the lust ring can be intimidating, we have quite the reputation, but I assure you, love is not a foreign concept to me. Romance is one of my most favourite things! Though that’s a secret, let’s keep that between us, yeah? That side of me is reserved for you n/n.

It’s so boring over here without you, I feel like i’m just lounging around and last time I checked, I was the lust sin, not the sloth sin. We’d have so much fun together babe! Can’t you picture it? Even if you can’t yet, I can wait. Having you near me will be enough, you are enough just as you are.

Sincerely yours,

Asmodeus (Ozzie) xoxo

———————————————————

Heya cutie!

Letters are a lot harder to write than I thought they’d be y’know? I’ve rewritten this like 16 times already, sheesh. It just feels so awkward, I can’t see your reaction to my words which means I can’t fix any mistakes I’ve made :(. I’m sure I haven’t made any though! Right? This letters going really well so far and is definitely wooing you, right, y/n?

Hah, I’m asking questions as if you can reply right away. Silly old me, I don’t know what i’m worrying about! We’re meant to be together. I know it’s super sappy, but we’re like soulmates. Soulmates are bound to be together! That’s why I’m bringing you home soon, I can’t wait! I’ve got sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo many awesome tricks to show you!

And, the best news, I quit my job!! ༘⋆-ˋˏ ༘⋆-ˋˏ This means, we will have a LOT more time with each other, and you don’t have to worry about Mammon being possessive over me, because fuck him! I’m my own clown! Or, well, your clown.

I can’t wait to see you! This is going to be great for us, I pinky promise :P

Love from,

Fizzarolli !!!! ༘⋆!!,-!ˋˏ!!!

———————————————————

[zweiginator]

hear me out. you and patrick are best friends, but you both secretly want more. you decide to go out on a date with someone to try to get over him, but it gets the best of patrick and he bribes the dude not to show up or something and confessions and smut ENSUE hehehehe

like he grew up so rich that he’s a little detached from money and wealth and all that.. so when he knows you’re going out with the captain of the stanford lacrosse team (which he thinks is an incredibly stupid sport)—he meets up with the guy. feigns interest in his game and tells him its in his best interest not to show up to the date he has planned with you tonight.

he looks flabbergasted at how much cash patrick hands him. $2k like it’s a twenty dollar bill.

“why should i take this from you?” of course he’s planning to. he honestly just wants to get his dick wet, and $2k is a lot of beer and weed.

“you don’t have to.” patrick gets in his face, close enough to make the boy visibly uncomfortable. patrick is taller than him by a few inches. he grabs his collar. “i’m just saying it’s in your best, interest that’s all.”

he grabs the cash and quickly walks away, muttering about how much of a freak patrick is.

patrick laughs.

you call patrick an hour after the date was supposed to start. you had waited at the sushi restaurant for the full sixty minutes. texted him a couple times. he never responded; in fact he blocked you.

“pat,” you’re sniffling. not because you really like this guy, but because he left you abandoned like a dumb little puppy. played with your time and your feelings.

this is the part patrick feels shitty about.

“what’s wrong hon?”

“he stood me up—i don’t get why this keeps happening. am i that awful to be around? i did my makeup and everything-“

“shh. you’re not awful to be around these guys are fucking pricks. i’ll beat up every last one of them.”

in reality, he had told your past few love interests he would beat them to a pulp if they showed up on the date. confused, they each took their cash and agreed.

but you are obviously really upset by this. maybe one is forgivable, but four is excessive. four had tainted your self-confidence.

patrick comes to your house with flowers.

“you didn’t have to—oh pat.” you sniffle and hug him, standing on your tippy toes. you’re in the prettiest little sundress. god, patrick wouldn’t take any amount of money to leave you behind.

“sit down. i need to confess something to you. don’t be mad please.”

“did you get caught driving high again?”

patrick laughs. “no, no. i’m better than that now. i—how do i say this.”

“you’re making me nervous.” you cut the ends off the flowers, putting them in a vase. you notice it’s a dozen red roses, interesting choice.

“i—i’ve been telling your past few dates to, like, not show up.”

“what the fuck do you mean?” you slam the scissors down. “how?”

“i have been bribing them. and—threatening them. like, an insinuation there is a threat.”

“patrick what the fuck why?”

you’re livid. he had pretended for months to be confused, had come to your house late at night to comfort you—all because of something he orchestrated?

but you see that look he’s giving you. his green eyes huge with worry and sorrow. he rarely has that look.

patrick swallows. “i don’t want you to go on dates with them. i want you to be with someone who really appreciates you.”

“how am i supposed to know if they appreciate me or not when my dates are all fucking sabotaged?”

“well maybe i wanted to come over and comfort you and watch movies and eat ice cream. maybe those have been our dates for the last few months.”

you know patrick is bad at sharing his feelings but jesus christ.

you lift his chin up; his back is against the counter as you stand in front of him.

“maybe.” you whisper, lips close to his. “you can just ask me out in the normal way.”

patrick slips one of your straps down your shoulders, heart beating. he never thought this far ahead. “we’ve been on a few dates already. i feel like it only makes sense that we fuck.”

patrick fucks you against the counter, your legs spread as he stands between them, pushing his cock into your weeping cunt. god, you wish he would’ve just confessed this earlier. he rubs his cock against you and revels in how you moan for him, clenching around nothing. as he pounds into you, his hands roaming up your body to squeeze and play with your tits, he kisses your neck, whispers in your ear.

“doesn’t fucking matter if those guys showed up i would’ve beat their asses—“ he thrusts deeper. “would’ve slashed their fucking tires—“ he pulls out, listens to you whine for him. and then he fucks back into you. “would’ve sabotaged it anyway. paid them each $2k not to fucking touch you. would’ve drained my bank account for this fucking pussy.”

[emmaiooo]

you're weak.

958 words

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

6:43 PM.

“we’re still on tonight right?”

      “sorry. can’t.”

“why???”

“hello…?”

you huffed at the message, why is he not responding? it's not like he has some teen boy shit to do. opening your phone once again, you dialed geto. “yo it’s geto, leave a message after the beep.” you sighed, “you guys didn’t abandon me right..?” you whispered after the beep, then hung up and laid on your bed. 

NEXT DAY - 7:56 AM.

“morning guys!” you smiled happily at the duo, bringing your hand up to give gojo a high-five, like you always do. “oh uh, not right now y/n, we have class.” gojo shuffled away from your presence. you froze. “o-okay.” you gave him a weak smile, and turned around to walk to your class. as you walked away, you saw from the corner of your eye that geto was whispering something to gojo. damn, where is shoko?

4:12 PM

“here.” shoko handed you a drink as you were sitting on the stairs of jujutsu high. you looked up, shoko had a cig in her mouth as you grabbed the sparkling soda from her hand. “thanks.” you mumbled. you both sat there in silence, waiting for someone to say something. “seems like they’re ignoring you.” shoko said, finally breaking the silence. “where were you shoko?” you asked, opening the soda can. “had a bunch of tests for medical school, passed with flying marks.” shoko smiled as she made a peace sign next to her face. “hah, really? you definitely cheated.” you giggled, letting out a breathy laugh. “i’m…going to go to medical school now, so i’ll be absent more.” shoko said, taking a breath from her cig. “oh…okay.” you said quietly, looking down. shit. now what are you going to do? you wished you were in a normal highschool, with a normal amount of kids, so there's not only just four people in your grade. you don’t even have anyone to hang out with now, no one to talk to. even the first years shunned you. haibara said he had bad feelings from you, and nanami is just not talkative and listens to haibara. utahime didn’t like you either, and mei mei is only interested in getting money, which you had none of. stupid fucking curse. your cursed technique always scared people, you had sharp fangs and always had a pale look on you. you looked like you were cosplaying as a vampire to normal human beings. everyone hated you because you were scary to look at. 

FEW MONTHS LATER - 11:30 AM - THREE SECOND YEAR STUDENTS SENT TO TAKE CARE OF A SPECIAL GRADE CURSE; ONE SEVERELY INJURED.

“you’re so fucking stupid! can’t even do one thing right when we asked you to! this doesn’t make sense at all, you are a special grade sorcerer!” gojo yelled at you, you have never seen him this mad before. “sa-” you said, before getting cut off by gojo. “don’t call me satoru. it’s gojo to you.” he spat out, looking at you without his glasses, which had long been gone since the fight with the curse. “g-gojo, we still managed to kill the curse, and shoko can use rct on geto!” you tried reasoning with satoru. indeed, it was your fault that you made a small mistake on the mission, but gojo couldn’t be blaming the whole thing on you right? geto can survive this, the doctor’s said it too. you don’t get why gojo is so upset about this whole ordeal. gojo groaned loudly, “y/n this is why you can’t do shit. i’m going to talk to yaga about not having any missions with you anymore, you can go on missions by yourself. you’re a special grade anyway.” gojo rolled his eyes as he started to walk back into geto’s room. you sat there, letting all the words sink in. just one more year, one more year with them and you can finally leave. 

2 MONTHS LATER - 9:23 PM

“y/n! are you okay? where does it hurt?” shoko ran to you, “you’re so stupid, why did you go alone on this mission?” shoko was panicking, already trying to heal you after you called her when you were on the brink of death. “uhm…i…” your eyes were blurry, looking around and spotted two males. you could see the anger in gojo’s eyes and the horror in geto’s face. “did you exorcise the curse?” geto asked calmly. shit..you forgot geto needed the curse to eat. “no..” you looked away from him. “oh my god y/n!” gojo groaned and put his hand on his head. “the best thing you could’ve done for us was to trap the curse and wait for us to get here! but now we lost a special grade for geto to absorb.” gojo was clearly irritated. “b-but the curse could’ve killed me! how could you say that?” you cried, thinking about how unreasonable gojo could be. “you’re a special grade and still can’t seem to carry out a simple task, you’re weak.” gojo said with venom, making your heart hurt. “she did her best gojo.” shoko tried to reason with him, still healing your wounds, “and that was good enough.” 

the next day, your wounds were all healed, and your mind was clear. 

“y/n, you sure about moving to kyoto?” - geto

        “yea.”

“alright, we’ll miss you.” 

like hell they would, you thought to yourself. they wouldn’t understand no matter how much you explained to them your feelings. especially gojo, he was born as the strongest, the whole world power balanced after he was born. you could never compare to someone like him. 

get stronger.

the words rang through your head. 

get stronger. 

and you will. 

(honestly this did not turn out the way i wanted it, might get a rework.)

[esha-isboogara]

lyrical lies

i am a fuckinf degenerate and i’d like to apologize for how disgusting i have become.this is the longest thing i’ve written in a while..i’ve gone off the deep end if it isn’t clear🤭

here is more rick stuff not one person asked for find it here and here and here and here and here and here

✰let’s be honest rick is his own warning, smut , afab reader, age gap!!, calling him god, a bit of manhandling, a bit of dacro (?), shitty porn trips turned full blown story

“he doesn’t bite..just go ask him”. summer whispered, nudging you towards the garage door.

you shook your head in muted panic. you’d seen how angry her grandpa could get over small things and the last thing you were going to do was set him off over a stupid question.

“why don’t you do it summer ? this was your idea, plus he’s your grandfather”. you shot back.

she looked just as scared as you were. “he’ll totally yell at me if i go in there. he can’t be mad at you, you’re a guest”.

“yeah but what if he does ? i don’t want to get on his bad side”.

summer took hold of your shoulders. “y/n. the quicker we get this done the quicker we can get away from my grandpa and do something more fun”.

the garage door opened suddenly caused you both to jump back in shock.

there he stood , an annoyed look on his face. “i’m right in the middle of something very fucking important- is there a reason the two of you are bickering right in front of my god damn door”?

his piecing gaze was enough to make you want to cry. “i..we need help on a science project mr. sanchez sir”. you managed to say fighting back the urge to turn around and leave.

he cocked his head in amusement, his demeanor softening a bit. it was clear you had played right into his ego for better or for worse.

“that’s it ? why didn’t you just say that come in come in”.

you followed him into the garage the papers clenched in your hands.

“not you summer, you - you forbidden from entering. i know you went through my shit two days ago”. rick said, slamming the door in her face.

if only that had actually been the reason. he couldn’t wait to have sweet,innocent little y/n alone. every since she’d bonded with summer over some college tour bullshit he was obsessed. he needed you and needed you bad, as embarrassing as that was.

“what can i help you with sweetheart”? his voice as sweet as saccharine.

you fidgeted with the papers once more. “well i have this project based around quantum physics and since you’re the smartest person i know i figured you’d be the best person to ask mr. sanchez”.

he couldn’t help but smile at that. he WAS a fucking genius and hearing it out loud always made him puff up in pride.

and she has manners too. this was not going to easy. it’s not that he cared about his granddaughters feelings - quite the opposite. but if summer were to find out how he really saw her friend she’d stop bringing you over. and that would just make things a million times harder for him.

“you’re not wrong, i am the smartest person you’ll probably ever meet. and lucky for you i have something that’ll give your professor a run for their money”.

as he rifled through us cabnets filled to the brim with countless inventions he piped up “and sweetheart”?

you felt yourself melting into his trap. “yes sir”?

“you’re a grown fucking woman right ? you can call me rick”.

—————————————————————————

you were like putty in his hands at this point and he’d be lying if he wasn’t loving every second of this. and it only took 30 minutes. maybe you weren’t as innocent as you acted but he wasn’t complaining.

not when you sat atop his lap so pretty asking- no begging him to please you.

“p-please mr. sanchez” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding yourself against his leg. “i want you to touch me , use me please, please mr. sanchez”.

oh god how could he say no to those sweet noises. he’d take you apart right fucking there if he could but alas his family was home and they did not need to catch wind of the things he was doing. he messed with the idea of erasing their memories in his head for a while but figured it would be way too much work in the long run.

“fuuuck. i’ll give you everything you want and more but you have to promise me you’ll shut up. i would hate for your best friend to walk in and see what a slutty mess you’ve become”.

you nodded your head vigorously, happy to finally get some kind of satisfaction. as terrifying as rick was you’d be lying if you said the way he towered over you with such control didn’t turn you on.

“you’re so obedient- smart girl. do me a favor will ya ? get up and lift up that skirt for me , let me see what i’m workin with here”.

you did as you were told, climbing off his lap and giving him a slow twirl.

“good girllll”.

he clenched his hand into a fist. holy shit you were a fine piece of ass. he couldn’t wait to make you his. fuck what summer thought he was going to fuck you so good you’d come back for more.

“fuckk you’re a pretty thing huh ? it’s a wonder you haven’t already been claimed, guess it’s a good thing you came here cause i plan on doin just that”. with those words he was was hovering above you pressing your face down on the metal surface of his work table.

“you look even b-better like this holy shit” he admired from his standing position.

“fu-fuck mr. sanch- rick”. you corrected yourself mid sentence. drool was already starting to pool beside your mouth but you barely noticed with how hot and bothered you were growing.

“mmm that’s a good girl”. he flipped your skirt up. and pulled your panties down to your knees ignoring your small please for him to be gentle.

he smiled- a shit eating grin looking at how soaked your sex was. “you poor thing- i’ve d-denied you much too long haven’t i ? left this perfect pussy empty for weeks? how did you ever survive”?

usually he engaged in a little foreplay only because his partners were so dead set on it. but he was far too eager to do any of that bullshit right now. he’d been waiting for this.

without so much as a warning he thrust himself inside you, a scream leaving your lips.

his hand flew to your mouth covering it word word word

“shhh shh shhh. i know how much you love my cock but you have to stay quiet. got it y/n”?

he removed his palm for a moment to hear you answer.

you don’t answer though. you’re a babbling drooling mess already. the feeling of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls felt like heaven.

“you’re my god rick - please decide what to do with me and treat me like your slave. you control all my actions i’m nothing but your stupid worldly servant to fill with seed when you please”.

he was a bit taken aback as that comment seemed to come out of nowhere. when it sank in it gave him even more of a reason to keep you to himself.

if he wasn’t carful he’d be giving beth a new little sibling. but oh fuck- she looked and sounded so perfect begging for him.

“fuck yeah i am your god ! i’m a god among men and you’re my mortal pet i can use as i please”.

the whine that escaped her throat was almost pornagraphic. it was hard to keep your composure under the circumstances.

“good pet”.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 36💎Finale

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Note: I am leaning towards a sequel but I do believe this is a good finale as it is what I had in mind as an ending all along.

Masterlist

**italics mean flashback

💎

Lloyd enters you slowly, hands on your hips as he lets out a long groan, emphatic, drawn out until he’s bottomed out. You shake and swipe away your tears. That’s it. That’s the breaking point. He’s finally found the line.

He jerks his hips meanly and your soles slip on the concrete. He keeps you upright, his hands squeezing you as he slides back and thrusts again. You let out a low noise, something pathetic as he pushes a hand up your spine. He grabs a handful of hair and yanks your head up.

“Look at him, honey,” he snarls, “look at that pathetic worm you called a husband.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and sniffle. You can’t. You can’t look at him again. Not like this.

“I said look at him. I know you’re not fucking looking so open your eyes, sweetheart,” he bends over you, his other hand coming up under your chin as he clutches your head, “open!”

You flick your lashes up and another tear escapes. His grip aches in your jaw as he bucks harshly and you see Colin’s eye sparkling in the socket, a stream flowing down his cheek. You mouth an apology as you wrap your fingers around Lloyd’s arm. He nuzzles your neck, hot breath pluming against you.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he purrs, “fuck you feel good around me.” He pokes his finger up and pulls on your lower lip, “and you know why? Because you’re fucking mine. Because you belong.” He growls as his hand squeezes tighter and you whimper, “To. Me.”

He stands you up straight with him, rocking into you from behind as he walks you forward clumsily. He stops you only inches from Colin as he wheezes, shaking his head weakly as he watches. He shudders as Lloyd’s hand creeps down to delve along your cunt. He finds your clit and rolls it beneath his fingertips.

Your thighs quiver as you lower your gaze, staring at the blood spattered across the concrete. Mrs. Hansen. That’s all you ever had to be. It didn’t have to be like this. You had a chance to walk away. You chose this. Lloyd was honest and you could only languish in your denial.

“See that, boy,” Lloyd rasps as his belt clinks loudly with his motion and smacks against your thigh, “see how she shakes for me. Bet you never made her cum like this.”

He rubs you as he bends his knees, jolting up into you over and over. You clasp onto his arm, your other hand on his hip as your toes slide on with each lurch. Your lip trembles as your vision blurs with humiliation.

“S-s-s–” The stuttering brings your eyes back to Colin’s face as he struggles to form words. He slurs and coughs as he chokes on blood and spit, “sorry.”

Lloyd ruts into you hard, grunting as he brushes a hand up under your shirt, groping you. He snickers as he uses you, fucking you so you shift closer and closer. Colin’s head lolls back and his throat bobs as he swallows painfully.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he croaks, “I… was stupid.” His chest rises and falls heavily. He lets his head hang to the side, “you win, jackass. You win.”

“Oh, I fucking know,” Lloyd shoves you forward and you cry out, catching yourself on Colin’s lap, hands gripping his thighs, “I’m not done celebrating.”

Lloyd pounds into you relentlessly as your tears fall onto your knuckles and the denim against your palms. You clamp your lips shut and gulp down another deluge. You want it to be over. He’s made his point, you get it.

You will never get away from this man. Never. Your fate was written in stone that day at the jeweler.

💎

You sit quietly in the passenger seat, leaning on the door as you watch the sprawling night through the window. The noise of Pantera fills the compartment as the heater blows from the vent. You don’t feel the warmth as your fingers tingle numbly from the chill of the warehouse. You suppress a chatter in your teeth and rub your dry lips.

“He’ll survive,” Lloyd says, “and I think he learned his lesson.”

You crawl forward, leggings still caught around your ankles. Lloyd takes out the gun from under his jacket and you shield yourself at the end of the barrel as you come between him and Colin. You touch the metal with your palm.

You press your knuckles to your mouth and shake your head. You close your eyes as the scene colours your mind. You don’t want to think of it but it’s all you can see.

Lloyd standing over Colin as he cuts the duct tape from around him. He rips him out of the chair and lets him fall to the concrete. You exclaim as the bloody man’s head barely keeps from cracking on the pavement.

“Please–”

You dab your eyes before another wave can rise. You’re done crying. It’s over. No more Colin, no more fighting, just Lloyd. Just his way. There is no other.

“You still love him?” He accuses, pressing the barrel firmly to your hand.

“No. He broke my heart,” it isn’t a lie, “no. But I can’t watch him die. If you do that, you’ll have to kill me too.”

He stares and his jaw ticks. His gaze wanders over to Colin, a man you squandered so many years on, and he sighs. The gun shifts and aims around you. You clap your hands together and get to your knees.

You grab the front of his pants and hang off of him, “Lloyd. I promise you. I’m over him. I’ll be Mrs. Hansen.” You quaver as you reach up to tug at his open coat, “Please. Do this for me, Mr. Hansen.”

You sit back against the seat and cross your arms, staring out at the specks of glowing lights that waves across the city. Like stars across an urban tapestry. You nod. What else can you say that hasn’t been torn from you already?

“If I leave him alive, how can I trust you won’t run back to him? After all I’ve given you, you were going to throw it all out for him?”

“No, no, not for him,” you plead, “I have no one else, Lloyd. No one.” You shake your head and whimper, “only you.”

His brows lower and you watch him. His arm goes rigid and you hold your breath, steeling yourself for the shot. For your final mistake to blow up in your face. He drops his hand and huffs. He brings his hand up to pet your head, pulling you against his thigh.

“You’re damn right. Only me. Get up, honey. We’ll let the pigs find him and clean him up.”

The music fades as he turns the knob and you hook one leg over the other. He steers away from the city towards the hills, towards his home, towards your prison. He reaches over and caresses your sleeves with the back of his fingers as his other hand hangs off the wheel.

“What do ya think about venue? I’m pretty open. A church works for me but I’m not much on God. Or elope? We could go back to the island?” His hand trails down to yours, opening as he waits patiently. You set your palm against his and focus on the road, “Vegas? I love gambling.”

“I don’t…” care. No. No. “It all sounds nice.”

“Nice? Baby, this is Lloyd fucking Hansen, you’re talking to. He doesn’t do anything less than perfect.”

You look over at him, his cheek dimpling in smug amusement. He twines his fingers through yours as he slowly turns the wheel on its axis, following the wide curve. You squeeze his hand, fighting the scream burning in your lungs. 

This man is insane. This man is repulsive. This man is inescapable. This man is what you're stuck with. 

You wet your lips and swallow.

“I’ve never been to Vegas,” you confess.

“You read my mind, Mrs. Hansen,” he lifts your hand and kisses it, “quick and easy, just like your huh.

You could laugh at how you ended up almost exactly as you began. Settling.

[angelinaheartshapedbox]

morbid attraction

Ethan Landry x reader

AU where Stu Macher has an illegitimate child. During Scream 6.

summary: Y/n is a freshman at Blackmore University. They're currently pursuing a bachelor's degree in forensic science to become an autopsy technician. To further their research, and to make money, they pick up shifts as a mortuary assistant. Y/n must come to terms with the trauma of gruesome murders of their hometown, copes with the memories of their ex girlfriend Amber Freeman, and with the fact that their father was a homicidal maniac. Running doesn't get them far from their past as it chases after them into New York City. But maybe there's light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe, just maybe, the light is Ethan Landry.

!!WARNINGS!! graphic descriptions of gore and violence, PTSD, and dealing with trauma. Major content warnings will be placed before each chapter.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Voicemail (3)

The Franchise

Wordcount: 1.5k

Content warnings: none.

I sat at the cafe table across from Ethan. I was quietly eating my lunch. When I looked up Ethan was just staring at me. His eyebrows were knitted together and he pursed his lips tight.

“Everything okay?” I asked him.

“I should be asking you that,” he answered, “I’m worried about you.”

I laughed, shaking my head, “I really am fine, E.”

He looked at me like he didn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t. I was so not fine. I was horrified. The thought of someone in that stupid mask coming for me made my stomach churn. I felt ill thinking about feeling another knife pierced through my skin. I looked back at Ethan, feeling scared for him now too.

“You should leave.”

“What?”

I sighed, “I don’t want you to get hurt, or worse. I think you should leave. Stop being around us. Try to get the fuck out.” I told him, almost begging.

Ethan narrowed his brows and shook his head, “I’m not going anywhere. You guys are my friends, I’m not leaving you for dead.”

I let out a breathy laugh. I almost cried looking at him. I looked down at the floor.

“Please, don’t do this, Ethan. Don’t be the hero.”

Ethan reached across the table and put his hand over mine, “Don’t do this, Y/n. You don’t need to be tough all by yourself. Let me help you.”

I pulled my hand away from his.

“We should go. Mindy wants to meet up.”

Ethan just nodded and got up from his seat.

My phone rang. It vibrated on the table, face down. I made eye contact with Ethan. He flipped the phone over for me. It was my mother.

“Shit.” I thought. I still hadn’t told her. She’s probably flipping out.

“Hi, Mom,” I said into the phone.

“Y/n? Oh, my God. Are you okay?” my mother spoke frantically, “I just heard about what’s happening, why didn’t you call?”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I was busy talking to the police all night after the attack and then-”

“Attacked?!”

“I’m okay, Mom. I have it under control. They’re really close to catching him” I felt bad lying to my mom, but it was for her own good.

I heard her sigh, “Call me tonight. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I love you.”

I left the cafe, leaving Ethan behind. I meet Mindy in the courtyard where everyone is sitting together. Ethan runs up next to me and we walk over to our friends. Mindy spots us and points us out to the group.

“Perfect! Let’s get started, take a seat” Mindy orders us.

Ethan takes a seat next to Tara, but I stay standing behind the bench.

Mindy starts clapping to get our attention, “Okay, nerds, listen up! As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not catching the killers last time.” Everyone gives her weird looks and she sighs, “It’s fine. Okay,” she adjusts her top, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika raises her hand, “Um, what’s a requel?”

“You’re beautiful, sweetie. Let’s hold questions to the end” Mindy tells her.

Sam cuts in, “Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro. Stab 2 took place in college.”

“I would call it the original Stab. Not Stab 1” I say with a smile.

I’m ignored by the group.

“So we think that the killer is trying to copy the movies?” Chad asks.

“That is one possibility,” Mindy replies, “Heroes now in college: Check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and/or bodycount:” she points at Quinn, Anika and Ethan, “Check, check, and check.”

Ethan scrunches his face, “I don’t like this.”

“But it can’t just be about Stab 2” Mindy declares, ignoring Ethan. I pat his shoulder.

“Why not?” Tara asks.

Mindy continues, “It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we’re not in a sequel because nobody just makes sequels anymore.” Nobody says anything and Mindy gets excited, “We’re in-”

“A franchise” I cut her off.

She stares at me deadpan, “Must you always be the star?”

I smirk, “Can’t help it with a face like this.” I wink and she rolls her eyes.

“There are certain rules to a continuing franchise!” she restarts her rant.

“I had a feeling,” Sam mutters.

Mindy states the rules.

“Rule one: Everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count.”

“Funsies” I intersect.

“Longer chase, shoot-outs, beheadings. You gotta top what came before to keep the people coming back!”

“Beheadings?” Chad questioned, writing in his notebook.

“Beheadings” Mindy doubled down.

I chuckle and do a slicing motion over my neck with my thumb. Ethan and Chad give me a disturbed expression.

“Rule two: Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations.” She takes a pause, “If the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities…”

Ethan’s eyes go wide and he looks at the floor.

“You can bet the opposite will be true here. And rule three:”

She scans our faces, holding out for suspense.

“No one is safe. Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point. Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia.”

“So, Kirby and Gale?” I inquired.

“Not looking too good for them” Mindy answers. “Oh, and that’s not even the worst part!”

Chad looks at Ethan, “This is the part where she tells us the worst part.”

“The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic installments designed to boost IP. Which means main characters,” her eyes travel from me to Tara to Sam, "are completely expandable now, too.”

Mindy lists a bunch of characters that died in their own franchises to continue the story.

“That means it’s not just the friend group. Any of us could go at any time, especially Sam, Y/n, and Tara.” The expression on her face is more hurt now.

Everyone is quiet for a minute. Me, Sam, and Tara look at each other.

“Wait, any of us?” Ethan asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah” Mindy nods.

He looks concerned, “Am- am I in the friend group?”

“Yeah” Mindy and I said together.

“Am I like one of the targets?”

I groan, “Oh, my God, Ethan!”

Ethan stares off into nothing and then asks, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

I put my hands on his shoulders, “Oh, no, honey,” I whisper in his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, “The virgins don’t die.

“That was… a weird overshare” Mindy replies, “But it brings us to our current suspects: Ethan. The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

Ethan stammers, “Okay, wait why am I on the suspect list? Because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate.”

“Yes,” I replied flatly.

“Roommate lotteries can be juked. You could’ve fixed it to get next to us!” Mindy clarifies.

Ethan rolls his eyes with attitude. I laugh and ruffle his hair.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” I ask him, deepen my voice.

He waves me away from his face, “Not funny.”

Mindy moves on, Quinn. The slutty roommate. A horror movie,” she kisses her fingers, “classic.”

“Sex positive but… thank you?” Quinn says, confused.

“Mm-hmm. And how did you come to live with Tara and our deadly duo?” Mindy interrogates her.

“Do not call us a deadly duo, that sounds like we’re dangerous” Sam tells her. She looks at me for back up. I shrug in response.

“Uh, I answered their ad online” Quinn answers.

Mindy puts her hand up, “Okay, say no more. You’ve already implicated yourself enough!”

“It was an anonymous ad, Mindy” Tara states, “And you know we vetted her. Plus her dad is a cop.”

“And that makes it more likely that she’s the killer, because having a cop dad is a great cover. Do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Quinn looks at us concerned, “Is she always like this?”

“And finally, Anika.” Anika blows a kiss and Mindy blows one back, “Never trust the love interest.”

Sam starts to stand up, “Okay! So, we have our rules and we have our suspects.”

“But wait,” Ethan interrupts her, “What about you guys?”

“I mean, I think it’s pretty safe to rule out the five of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro” Mindy states.

Chad points his pencil at her, “Agreed.”

“Totally” I add.

Quinn speaks now, “Um, not agreed. What if all the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?”

“Yeah, or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more,” Ethan says.

I look at him, disappointed in his words. I take my hand off of his shoulder and cross my arms.

He continues, “I mean, let’s be honest here, some of the theories online about Sam are-”

“Don’t you fucking dare” Tara warns.

“What the fuck, dude?” I exclaim. I get pissed and walk away. I can hear my name being called, but I just keep walking.

previous next

masterlist

[dreamwatch]

For the wrapped meme: 11 & Steddie, if you please!

Thank you for the prompt, I really needed this to get my brain working.

You know until your ask I didn't realise I hadn't even specified a fandom! Stranger Things, people! (in case anyone else wants to send me a prompt)

---

#11 - Refugee by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers

Steve is vibrating with anger.

They’re sitting in Eddie’s van in the parking lot outside Bradley’s Big Buy. Eddie’s looking in the rear view mirror wiping someone else’s spit off the side of his face with some grubby napkin he found in the glove box. He’s acting like he’s wiping some girls lipstick off his cheek. 

“Stop staring at me.”

Steve turns away, looks out the passenger window to see the prick from the store packing his groceries. The temptation to run over there and kick the shit out of him is so intense he ends up staring at his hands instead. He’s not sure why he suddenly feels like the bad guy in all of this.

“I feel like a drive, how about you, Steve?” Eddie’s voice is clipped, his tone all pinched and stiff. Steve just nods, there’s no point saying anything right now, he’ll get shot down and it will start a fight and he’s not in the fucking mood.

They drive for close to an hour, Steve taking surreptitious glances at Eddie from time to time. Over the hour he watches as Eddie’s shoulders relax, the tension in his arms loosens. Watches the transformation from an angry alley cat back to Eddie.

It’s not fair, but he learned a while ago nothing in Hawkins is fair. But what annoys him, what really incenses him, is how Eddie reacts to these bastards. He doesn’t fight back. He just grins, throws up those stupid horns, sticks his tongue out. He pokes the bear, and he looks like he’s enjoying it too, unless you really know him. Then you see the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way he stiffens slightly. The way he hunkers down for hours afterwards while he works through whatever the fuck is going on in his head. Which Steve can’t help might be faster and easier if Eddie would just talk to him. Or anyone. Just fucking talk.

The van slows and pulls off the road, stopping at the edge of a cornfield. Eddie shuts off the engine, killing the music. Steve sneaks a glance, watches as Eddie tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. The engine tick tick ticks, the birds caw. An occasional car whooshes by. Eddie and Steve just sit.

A warm breeze flows through the windows, and Eddie pushes stray hairs off his face. He caught colour on his cheeks over the summer, the scar on his left one no longer looking so stark against his skin. Eddie took great delight in showing that off to the townsfolk of Hawkins. Sometimes Steve just wants to scream at him.

“I know you don’t get it,” Eddie says on a sigh, finally cutting through the last of the tension in the van.

“Yeah, I don’t. Sorry.”

“I don’t need you fighting my battles. I can do that myself.”

Steve shakes his head, “Didn’t see you putting up much of a fight.”

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?”

Eddie pats himself down, and Steve knows he’s looking for cigarettes. He also knows he doesn’t have any. He only has gas in the van because Steve gives him the money for it. No one will give him a job, Wayne gets less hours at the plant, and they all know why that is. So he gives Eddie gas money because he drives Steve around even though Steve has a perfectly nice car, and they both know what this really is. Just another thing they don’t talk about.

Steve lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag before passing it to Eddie. 

“I don’t know how you put up with it, that’s all.”

“And what else am I supposed to do, exactly?” Eddie takes a drag, and ashes the cigarette out the window. Doesn’t hand it back to Steve. He wasn’t expecting him to. “You can’t fight everyone, Steve.” And he draws his name out, in that way that makes Steve want to slap him. Like he’s being mocked. Like this is school, and he’s the mean boy. 

“Then— Then leave.” Don’t leave. 

Eddie rounds on him, eyes blazing. “Why should I fucking leave?”

“You always wanted to go, you said—”

“On my terms. My terms! Not because some hick cunt wants me gone. This is my fucking home, Wayne’s home. My family and friends are here. I nearly died for this place, Steve! I have more fucking right to be here than them.” He runs out of steam, stabs the cigarette into the ashtray likes its ablaze. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

The sun creeps lower in the sky, and the light hits Eddie’s hair and it’s like a halo. He gets these moments, when he’s still, when he’s sleeping, when he thinks he’s not being watched, and his face relaxes and he looks like a boy. Just a kid. It’s not fair. 

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, sucks in a lungful of sticky summer air, and then turns the key in the ignition. Music roars, and Steve jumps, it gets him every time. Eddie huffs, a ghost of a laugh, and reaches over to punch him lightly on the thigh. 

“Come on, let’s go home.”

The van turns in the road, heads back towards Hawkins, and despite the afternoon of worry and anger, all Steve feels right now is relief.

[oceanbug]

when worlds collide

smau non!idol ningning x reader

13.5 bathroom meetings.

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Turning off her phone, Jimin sighed in defeat. She knows everyone’s not avoiding her on purpose, but it kind of felt that way. She wasn’t going to have a nice dinner outside, but she didn’t want to lock herself inside on a nice Wednesday night. So she decided on the next best thing.

Let’s trespass on school grounds after hours.

Normal people wouldn’t think to do this, but Jimin was different. She wanted to do nothing more than rebel against her goodie-two-shoes image, so she committed crimes on the low. Not actual illegal ones, just minor crimes like ‘trespassing’ at a school she pays to live in.

Let’s see where to break into first! I could walk into the chemistry lab and mix all of the labels. Yeah, that’s evil enough; let’s do it.

Like I said, they weren’t illegal crimes. Just inconveniences that Jimin thought were ‘evil.’ She didn’t have much experience being a bad kid, so this is as good as she’s going to get.

Before Jimin could step foot into the lab, the sound of crying could be heard in the science department bathrooms. Who could be here at this hour? She knocked softly so as not to startle the clearly distressed individual.

“Get the fuck away; can’t you see it’s occupied?" That voice was distinct. There was none like it. Ningning was in the bathroom, and she was crying?

“….Ning? It’s Jimin, are you okay?”

“I said get AWAY.” Jimin didn’t flinch; she was used to this. She went to high school with Ning, so she wasn’t afraid of her. At the moment, she was just concerned as to why someone as tough as Ningning could be crying alone in a bathroom. Jimin sat down outside the bathroom, back against the metal steel door.

“Hey, If you want to talk, we can. I know you probably don’t want to tell a random stranger about your issues; that’s fine with me. But you know I’m good with a secret. You can talk to me.”

Jimin felt her back slightly fall as the door creaked open.

“I’m not telling you because we’re friends, but I am telling you because I have no one else I can trust.” Ningning’s words sounded rude as usual, but her sorrowful tone from crying was heard. It made Jimin’s heart ping; no one deserved to feel how Ningning felt at this moment.

“The stupid gossip site posted. Your little friend and my ex-bitch are besties now. What the fuck, man. What did I do to deserve this? I’m the one who got cheated on. So why does everyone feel bad for Giselle?” She began tearing up even more. Jimin had been bewildered by the fact that Y/N was hanging out with Giselle. Why had she lied to her? They had mentioned it was a friend Jimin didn’t know, but that clearly wasn’t the case. Nonetheless, she’d focus on that later. All Jimin’s attention is on Ningning now.

“No way is Ning Yi Zhuo letting two freaks get the better of her.”

Sorry Y/n.

“The same Ning Yi Zhuo who got our finals canceled by rigging the lottery so that our principal won? The same Ningning who passes every school year with a 4.0 GPA yet doesn’t show up to any class? There's no way you’re going to let two people hurt you like this. That stupid school blog stinks anyway; they don’t even get the full story of things! I’m sure Y/N meant no harm in what she did. Trust me, I know her. She’d never hurt you on purpose.”

The room was silent, all that could be heard were the crickets, and the cool wind breeze. Jimin meant every word. She trusted Y/n. Sure she lied about who she was meeting up with, but it was surely for a good reason. That's something you're certain of. Ningning looked away as if she were deep in thought. She quickly dried away her tears and stood up.

“Whatever, I can do way better than those two freaks. I can literally buy their houses and still have money left over to splurge. Later loser.” There she was, ‘Rich Bitch’ Ningning. Before she fully stepped foot out the door, she turned back.

“Thanks, Jimin.” Then she walked away.

And so there goes Jimin’s Wednesday night. Maybe she’ll continue her ‘evil’ activities another day. For now, she’ll get some food and head home. Still, she can’t shake the feeling that the conversation will be important later. She’d probably never cross paths with Ningning again, so why does she feel like this?

•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•

masterlist ~ next

(Synopsis) Y/N had never been the type to take life for granted. You grew up with the mindset that if you wanted something, you had to work for it; So getting paired up with the university’s “Rich Bitch” Ning Yi Zhuo for your midterm was the last thing you wanted. Are you willing to step into the world of fame for an A+?

taglist (open): @azraism ; @kimsgayness ; @sewiouslyz ; @winieter ; @llluvbluy ; @i06kkura ; @everydayiloveyves ; @edamboon

[winstonhenderson]

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟖.

𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓐 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓭 𝓐𝓷𝔂𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮

𝙎𝘼𝘾𝙍𝙄𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎

George’s Notes

We were in India. Another place. Far from home. Enjoying meditation. Having fun. 

This was my passion! In 1966. I brought the sitar and Julia loved it! Or John. Whatever. She used it in her “Norwegian Wood”. I always liked to talk about Ravi to them whenever I got the chance and all of them knew how much I liked Indian culture. So this getaway to our “ideological savior” seemed like a great way to relax ourselves. And for me, a great way to attract the writing pair’s attention! They always put Ringo and me down, even when they don’t necessarily mean it.

But the most important thing to me is that we all cleared our heads. Ritch left first. I felt sad, he and I hang out a lot, so the fact of him leaving first hit hard. Also, I understood why he did, he had bad allergies and the food here was upsetting for him. 

The two that were left gave me a hard time, each in their own way. They talked to each other from time to time. Haven’t seen them talk normally for a while. Paul would be prissy and make stupid comments, while John was unbearlably fucking around with the idea of the religion. Paul was a bit too conservative for this so he left next. He tried out all the things this place had to offer, and I must say, maybe he explored this place the best. Linda was fine too… She is a nice gal. Like Cynthia, who I had the biggest crush on for a very long time. She fit in fine, and only seemed to care about two things; relaxing and John. John decided to stay however long I wanted to stay. Of course, we are quite similar, she was starry eyed too. Pattie and I had a lot of fun together, just hanging about and talking about the most basic stuff. It became a lot quieter since Paul left. John made some jokes but her-or his-or goddamn it, I’ve known this for six years and still can’t get it right! John’s attention was elsewhere. 

What I didn’t expect was that Cynthia and Pattie became close and started to hang out on their own leaving us two behind. This was the chance to sell to John my idea for songs. Although, John looked more spaced out than usual. Offhanded comments here and there. Something about the sun, or nature, or the feel of the wind. John got poetic fast. And now, John and I are sitting here, on the beach. “Geo, do you really believe this small guru?”, oh… This is serious. It’s not really John when it’s serious.

“Yes, why?”

“Hum.”, she took a biscuit.

“Julia, why do you say that?”

“I think he is doing some fraudulent activities. Paul found something while he was scavenging.”

“And you still trust Paul?”, oh no, she is mad. Or no… Dissapointed.

She chuckled.

“Geo, he is still my songwriting partner. And here you are.”

She handed me the paper. It had a complete description of some customers' orders and the amount they charge. There was the order and then a tipping mechanism where they took 50% from people.

“I felt like Maharishi was a good little guru. Always setting up people. Making you bite.”, what the fuck are you saying Lennon!

“Me? We all bit it!”

“You bit it first.”

“Lord, Jules… Could be fake for all I know, or could be I dunno repurposed.”

“George. I’m not exaggerating aaaaand I’m not letting you spend any more money on this SCUM.”

“I know how to handle money! Sometimes better than you! Always better than John!”

“You don’t involve John in this! This is about you!”, Julia.

“Jules, I am not that fifteen year old anymore! I’m twenty five! I can make the right decisions on my own!”

Julia was distraught. But I told her the truth!

“Look, I know you are responsible, sometimes even more responsible than I am, but you are naive! You think everything can be resolved-”

“OF COURSE IT CAN! Julia, you could’ve made it known at any moment that you are a woman and it wouldn’t matter! We are on the toppermost of the poppermost Jules! You wanted to be there, remember!”, think woman, think!

Julia got angry, but not Julia angry but John angry, which was much scarier.

“We are there because people presume we are all men! And you never know what problems would arise should I do that! What if I put myself in danger? No, you in danger! I still don’t know why we’re on top. I know people dislike some of our music and want to see us fail! Half of the time I think our music is pure shite that won’t last a fucking day after if we hadn’t had such good marketing!”

“You must really hate yourself, Julia, if this trip couldn’t get you out of your mindset.”

“Georgie. Was it ever a secret?”, Jules laughed.

That woman drives me insane. I… This whole trip, the reason John was spaced out was because Julia was monitoring what I do! Lord, John or Jules always kept tabs on me! And I wonder how sometimes I could be lucky that Brian didn’t find out something or that Paul didn’t shout at me. Julia had my back! 

“Jules! You should let me fight for myself! Goddamn it! Fuck you! I… Can’t stand you sometimes. I can’t stand that you…”

Push me and want me to write more, sing more, play more? Then as John put me down and snuff out my confidence.

“I cannot let you fuck yourself up because of some unimprotant man and his cult! I can’t let anyone scream at you because of something stupid that happened. George, I do that for Ritch also, though Ritch doesn’t get into sticky situations that much.”

“Stop helping me in the worst possible way. I have to face the consequences! I have to see it for myself.”

“But what if you never figure it out?”, Julia hugged me, “What if you continue believing in your delusion and it costs you everything?”

“JULIA, that is the thing I’M TRYING TO TELL YOU!”, I hugged her.

“What?”

“You have to stop! Paul gave up on you. He married Linda, because he couldn’t marry you! You destroy yourself with drugs. You drift away more often.”

She was speechless.

“You hurt Cynthia, Ritch and I as John because of the stress and misuse of drugs! You are not yourself anymore.”

“You can’t say that you don’t use drugs too…”

“I don’t use them as much as you do. Our mommy’s death broke us. It broke you two the most.”

“Shut up, George.”

And here is John.

“John is becoming his own thing and I don’t think you can even see when you are the one or the-”

“JOHN ISN’T A REAL PERSON!”, he covered his mouth.

“He isn’t a person, he is just a device, an idea!”, he flailed his hands around.

“I can do everything and I don’t need your stupid advice. I came here to tell you and try to get you out of this cult, not to be lectured by some pussy.”

I sighed.

“George, I am going. Enjoy the view. I cannot anymore. I don’t even see properly without me glasses, so what did I even see in this place? Don’t think I didn’t get hopeful when I got here! I did. I was hopeful I would relax. I didn’t. I was scared half of the time someone would fuck up and with any interaction with Paul and other half of the time I was questioning this place. I am restless, and suppose I will be, for the rest of my life.”

“John, I told you what I meant. I am direct. Unlike you, just like Julia. I cannot watch you suffer any longer! I can’t watch people around me suffer! Just think about it! Just think!”

“I feel. I have to feel it’s right.”, John looked at me with teary eyes. Never seen Julia cry as John.

“Alright… I didn’t want to make you cry… Now it looks weird because you are still in that John getup of yours.”

Julia laughed.

“Getup, haha! Geo, you are getting more creative by the day.”

Julia lit up.

“Okay, if you want me to relax so much, I have an idea, juuuust look away for a… Couple of minutes.”

“Oh no, I have encouraged Julia Victoria Lennon to do something.”

She smiled and I turned away. I heard the sound of clothes moving around. Then bandages being taken down. Maybe even a hair tie being let down.

“Turn around!”

Oh, now it’s just Julia.

“Ta-da! Now I can relax.”, she spread herself on the sand.

“Wait- Don’t relax too much! I want to tell you about my songs!”

“Alright, Geo, what do you have in mind?”

I told her every minute detail about the songs I wrote. She listened to me! Yay! And she even approved some! And gave me some tips and tricks to work on my songs. It was really such a nice session of writing. I missed when she would give me some song attention instead of treating me like a little kid who can barely write and play.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!”, Julia scratched my head, “Baby George!”

“Augh, I thought you said you’ll stop calling me that!”

“Well, John said that, I didn’t.”

“You can’t get away with this!”

She calmed down.

“But seriously, continue working on this, it will sound better and better. Maybe I could get Paul to approve it-”

“No, I’ll show it to him just like I’ve shown you! Don’t do anything Lennon, I beg of ya!”

“I won’t then.”, she wistfully smiled.

You could sense the feeling of satisfaction coming from her.

“Maybe you aren’t so fragile and small like you were Georgie. But enough about that, I’m going for a swim!”

“Not without me!”

We jumped into the ocean and played around. Julia loved to swim, she was fast on foot, and she was a fast swimmer. She swam almost half a kilometer away in just 12 minutes. How does she do that with our clunky clothes? I followed her but I didn't like the chance of getting an ache and I went back to the shore. I was happy for her. This is the first time she looked naturally relaxed during this entire trip! She swam back after 20 minutes.

“I wonder how you can swim so far and not get scared? Or any aches?”

“I got aches. I just ignore them and paddle my way back, simple as that!”

“You are so weird sometimes!”, I chuckled, “And capable!”

“Um, that’s my job as your leader, dummy!”, she knocked my head.

I laughed.

“I wish I could relax like this everyday!”

“Well, that isn’t happening. But, I have a mystery to debunk, and that is Maharishi’s history. I’ll have fun.”

“You are still on about what Paul said? How about you stop thinking about him and just think about hm…”

“No, I’m doing more as a fuck you to cultists then because of Paul. I’m angry at Paul. I’m miserable because of him.”

“Glad you understand basic human emotions.”

She giggled.

“Okay, Harrison. Tell ya if I find more evidence, but knowing these kinds of trickster buggers, you won't be waiting much!”

The sun was setting and we were gazing at the view. Until I heard some movement in the trees.

“Where did we end up? Are you sure both of them are here! Oh, look, there is George!”, Pattie! Darling!

“Come here! Missed you so much!”, I hugged her.

“Where’s John?”, Cynthia wondered. 

Oh my Lord, where is Julia?

“Um, I dunno, he was just here with me.”

I searched with my eyes and found Julia hiding behind a rock all panic ridden.

“Why are there bandages on the floor?”, Pattie asked.

Cynthia realized what had happened.

“Just some trash we encountered, how awfully dirty the tourists here must be!”

“I’ll then find a rubbish bin suitable for them.”, Cynthia, thank you for taking care of John. I’m glad Julia chose to be with you and pretend than anyone else.

Julia looked at me. Her look was basically telling me: “What do we do? Should I go out or not? No, tell them to leave! Give Cynthia a sign to make them leave. I don’t want anyone else finding out.”

I scoffed.

“Where did you scoff at.”, Pattie said, “At that rock!”

Julia came out with her hands crossed.

Cyn was shocked but relieved to see her. She was waiting for what Julia would do.

“OH, it’s John, see Cyn we found him! Though I must say you look more frail than usual.”

“What can I say? This sun eats ya!”

We chuckled.

“And I had to see what Cyn’s relief looked like. Never expected such a big reaction from ya.”

“How can I not react that way when I love you so much!”, she ran towards Julia and hugged her as hard as possible, “I was already thinking I had to call the search party to search all over!”

“Don’t worry Cyn, I can handle a little labyrinth!”

“I don’t think so!”

“Alriiight.”, Julia sighed, smiling.

“Glad we are all here then! Let’s all go back together to our houses!”, Pattie was happy.

“Nah, I’d like to stay here a bit longer with Cyn.”, Julia disappointed me yet again.

“Oh- Oh, well have fun!”, Pattie waved them goodbye and I took her hand.

I sent another look to Julia. It meant “When are you going to stop lying!”

I figured Cyn helped Julia get bandaged up, because it was going to be dinner time soon. The rest of the day went normally. And the rest of the vacation was great, though it was cut short because of John’s investigation! He found out that Maharishi is a fraud, and really a fraud! So I dug deeper, and found the same, with more evidence! We united the evidence and presented it to the man, who said we were exaggerating and not understanding what it said!

“Look, you can’t deny your eyes and there are two of us claiming this against you! You lied to me!”, I began, “You lied to me that money wasn’t that important!”

“Well, I didn’t say that it was not necessary, you got to make a living!”

“By scamming others, not such a little good guru afterall! With this kind of behavior, I would’ve thought you would also pay flying carpet lessons!”

Maharishi chuckled.

“You know, this proves you’ll be absolutely the same as before if you leave. You, Lennon, have something to hide. Always look like that. You think you are clever, but you are not. You are empty, surrounded by enlightening remarks. But what is their purpose, you don’t know. For you, George Harrison, you will still be that insecure and childish egoist I met. Direct and naive; curious too. No wonder you dragged the whole group of you to-”

John was angry.

“You are not going to talk that way about us UNLESS I say what I think about you first! You are a snide, privacy breaking, yellow bellied, ass licking, greedy son of a bitch who likes to think he is so high and mighty! So it is just right to take away people’s hard earned cash like that!”

“The Beatles are basically the same thing!”

“We make good music.”, John replied.

“And we make good points? Explain the difference, Lennon, explain it! Oh, and haven’t seen this much emotion from you during your whole stay, I’m glad-”

“Because I didn’t get mad!”

“I’ll answer instead. We follow the regulations. We are not some other outside organization. We aren’t money grubbing. Maybe our producers are. And I know we will fix that when we find some inconsistencies.”, I jumped in to help.

“Maybe we are materialistic, but we aren’t putting other people in DEBT you whore! I checked multiple times.”, John continued.

“To check isn’t in character for John Lennon.”, Maharishi chuckled.

“It is if I think so. I don’t con people.”, John answered feeling confused on why Maharishi would say that. Then the guru scammer smiled.

“I’ll figure you out, Lennon. You have something to hide.”

John chuckled, “To hide is to survive? Isn’t that the principle of not getting caught in your scam?”

Maharishi got serious.

“You are feeling guilty of your scamming and blaming others, meanwhile I don’t have anything to declare.”, John stated with confidence.

“I know a deviant when I see them.”

“Oh, and now it’s John’s fault I have turned against you, isn’t it!”, I figured it out, “Trying to blame him for my complaint!”

Maharishi looked at me with some kind of disgust.

“Of course. Of course, we are leaving now. This instant.”, I got mad.

“Don’t go mad Georgie, this mister right here can use it against ya. You have to be relaxed and fulfilled, like he said. That’s how you get happiness, right?”, John joked.

I chuckled and calmed down.

“Yer right.”

“Well, mister, we loved the island and all, but you're a fraud and we have to go!”, John waved him goodbye and I followed. Maharishi pulled me back.

“Mr. Harrison, don’t listen to him!”, he told me, “He is a deviant, a snake, presenting himself as he isn’t!”

“And why would I not? He is one the lads! And you are the snake here.”

“No, no, that’s not a “lad” as you say, not a traditional lad, that’s a hijra.”

“A what now?”

“A… neither male nor female.”

I looked at him blankly. So he figured out the twin tale?

“You cannot trust someone who doesn’t know what they are. And this person, this “John Lennon” as they call itself, is absolutely not trustworthy. Always joking around, always monitoring you, always making inappropriate and underhanded comments. You want freedom and expression right?”

Lord, this slimy motherfucker.

“John is still one of my best friends and pals. You can’t make me stay here any longer. You just made me more angry and volatile. And you accuse John of such heinous acts with no evidence to support it.”

I began walking away towards John, who was packing with Cynthia and Pattie.

“Oh, I understand now. You know of Lennon’s decadency even before I even tell you! Both of you are flawed, go then! I don’t need a place for rude and deviant people like you!”

“Oh, where’s the “we welcome everyone to our family!” or “we are happy to accept any LOST soul”.”, John argued.

Maharishi smiled and walked up to John. He said something to him that made him shiver. Still John behaved cocky and said,

“Oh, I promise I’ll do that. For the chance to piss you off, I’ll continue doing that for as long as I want to!”

We boarded the boat. I looked at John perplexed. 

“What happened for us to go earlier?”, Pattie wondered.

“John, what did you do?”, Cyn asked.

“Absolutely nothing that deserved that kind of send off! Accusing me of deviancy just because George and I handed in some damning evidence that Maharishi scams people!”

“That’s… Fun.”, Cynthia sighed, “Well, at least we’re in one piece and haven’t been held up by that con artist in any other way.”

“You are so smart, Cyn.”, John chuckled, “Yer right as ever.”

John proceeded to kiss her. Before that he gave her a small, not really noticeable sign. He always warned Cyn before kissing her. But I never really noticed Cyn tensing up before the act.

I kissed Pattie as well and whispered in her ear:

“I’m glad this hellish discussion is over and you have absolutely nothing to do with it!”

“I’m glad you’re okay, George.”

Pattie looked at Cynthia and John, “Let’s go inside, it’s getting a bit chilly in here.”

“Wait for us two inside then, I have to talk to John about this shit in private.”

The wives giggled.

“Alright then, George, we’ll be inside. If you need any advice or a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find us!”

“Pattie, sometimes you could be so funny!”, my sweet Pattie.

“And not always? The insolence of this young man! We are going inside, pronto!”, Cynthia pulled Pattie with her.

John rolled his eyes while chuckling.

“No wonder Cyn is my best female friend.”

“Well, a wife is a best friend too.”, I joked.

There was a small pause. We looked at the ocean and the waves splashing in the sun. 

“John, what did that son of a bitch tell you?”

“There is something called a hijra in Indian or Southeastern culture. It is a person in drag, a person who identifies as the opposite gender… He told me that he figured out I was in drag. He told me I can’t keep it together and remain normal if I ever was. He told me I corrupted you… He told me I will drag the entire band into ruin. And even if I told everyone the truth that I would make everything the Beatles did worthless and meaningless.”

“What a freak!”, I couldn’t believe it. Maharishi was today very awful towards us, especially towards John. Was he always a bit more awful to women? Now that I think about it, he didn’t talk that much with our wives. He focused on us four. What a scammer.

“I know that, but it does send shivers down my spine, y’know.”

“I’m just happy we had fun and we’re going home, Jules.”, ahh, fuck this man.

“Yeah, I’m happy too. Let’s go inside, Geo.”

“Yeah. Thanks for looking out for me… But please don’t do it as much anymore, Julia.”

“I’ll try not to. And… Perhaps, baby George is right about some things.”

I think some things are going to change in the Beatles and I hope for the better. The most important thing is that I have proven that I’m not a child anymore - I’m an adult who speaks his mind and deserves to be listened to. Perhaps, they will put more songs on the next album… Can’t wait to work with Ritch again…

Rest of Sacrifame

[ver33stappen]

Afar || M. verstappen

Summary: Max has been so busy with f1 it seems he’s forgotten about the girl at home waiting for him

Genre: angst

Warnings: max being a dickhead, no happy ending

Max X fem! Reader

It was nights like this, the nights I’d sit in the dark on the couch watching tv, waiting for max to come home. I’d sit in pity, god I didn’t even know where he was anymore.

Tonight was our Third anniversary, I feel so stupid for even trying. I looked around at the dinner I had made for us, the candles, the effort into making the house look nice.

Now I was here 2:26 am, no sign of max, no calls, no texts. I was sitting, Mascara running down my face, crying in the dress I had been saving my money to buy especially for tonight.

But it was all for nothing. Everything was for nothing. I was on my second glass of red wine when I heard the door open to see a tipsy max walk through the door.

“Y/n?” God I hated that, he stopped using pet names, he doesn’t even know me anymore.

“Max, I’ve been waiting for 6 fucking hours” I pointed a finger at the candle lit dinner

“Why? You never told me we had a date night? Don’t fucking blame this on me” he accused and I just laughed

“Really max? It’s our anniversary” I looked at his blank face, he couldn’t think of a reply

“Where were you max?” Tears were now welling up in the eyes as I gave him a stare

“I was out” he muttered, I rolled my eyes and gave a huff, I could see the guilt washing over on his face. He was about to answer but I’ve had enough.

“Max I can’t do this anymore, do you even love me anymore?” I questioned, all the rage coming up

“Of course I do! I love you I promise” he was trying to defend himself but someone who loves me wouldn’t stand me up, someone who loves me would care for me.

“No you don’t, you’re always at work max, I only ever get to see you on 2 days of the weeks and you spend those partying or something!” The tears were now streaming down

“You can’t tell me what to fucking to with my life y/n” he was angry

“You don’t Call Me ‘Baby’, or ‘Schatz’ anymore, also I’m not telling you what to do I just wish you’d acknowledge me” I whispered

“You’re so dramatic” he rolled his eyes and laughed at me

“You’re not the man I fell in love with” he looked pale, he had nothing to say

“I can’t do this, us, we aren’t meant to be together” I walked past him. He grabbed my arm.

“Y/n, baby, no, we can get through this, it’s just a small fight, I’m sorry I’m sorry”

“Just fucking leave me alone” I whispered, walking out the door to leave him drowning in his sorrows.

“Y/n please stop we can try again” he shouted as I hopped in the cab I ordered around 5 minutes before our fight.

“Goodbye max” the cab driver stayed silent, understanding what was happening.

🕊️ (time skip) 🕊️

“It’s okay y/n” I sat in the arms of my bestfriend Isabelle

“Was i the problem?” I questioned rhetorically to myself

“No y/n, he was a dickhead, you’re fine and amazing, now I have ice cream so do you wanna watch tv?” She passed me a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and we ordered takeout.

Max POV

how could I let someone that I love so much just walk out the door. I let the love of my life go. How could I be so fucking stupid.

I was left in our shared home. Her perfume was still lurking around the place. The onyx shadows mimicking her as if she was still here but the house was silent, empty.

It’s like a piece of my heart was ripped out. The feeling inside me was hollow. Felt like I had nothing left. The one thing that helped me, cared for me, celebrated with me, got me through my downfalls.

I miss her already, i miss her laugh and her smile. I want her back. I want her back so so bad. I would give anything for just one last kiss. I regret it

I Moped down to the floor, vodka in hand. Tonight was something I didn’t want to ever remember.

🕊️ (time skip) 🕊️ (1 month later)

Y/N POV

It was race weekend, and as much as I hate to admit it, I need to see him. I want to see him, so every Friday Saturday and Sunday I spend watching him, my love.

I spend my hours watching him from afar.

[h-harleybaby]

Wrestler Eric Cartman (aged up obvi) Pt. 9

I’VE BEEN PLAYING STICK OF TRUTH ALL DAY

LIKE SINCE 9:51 AM TIL 6:51 PM I DUNNO HOW THE TIMING COULD BE THAT PERFECT???

But yeah it was 7:32 when I started writing this so yeah

• When the team goes out to eat dinner after an important tournament he’ll push people out the way to get to you. Doesn’t have to tho because those little pricks don’t appreciate you for the most part (this totally isn’t because at my last tournament my team made me feel weird and unappreciated and like I didn’t fit in when everyone argued over who would sit next to me because no one wanted to)

• If the team sleeps at a hotel for the tournament he gets pissed off that the coaches won’t let any boys and girls sleep in the same room. It makes a lot of sense but he wants to sleep with you >:(

• Probably pays your roommate (with the money y’all got from making the team pay for snacks) to switch rooms with him after the coaches do bed checks so he can be with you

• He ignores the fact that there’s a whole other bed in the room and sleeps with you. “That bed isn’t comfortable and yours is, lemme sleep with you >:(“

• Forgot where y’all were in the morning and was very confused 💀

• Was also very mad at you for ruining his beauty sleep because you insisted on waking up at 4:00 to shower. “We go to the lobby for breakfast at 6:00 and leave at 6:30 what’s the point in that?!”

• Definitely tried to keep you in bed but you slid out from his grasp. He was not happy about that, especially because you fell on the floor when you did that

• “Dude why are you out??? Ew you look gross go back to your room.” -a wrestler after you accidentally locked yourself out of the hotel room

• That specific wrestler tried coming out of his room later and yelled at you for the same thing and that you were stupid enough to accidentally lock yourself out (totally didn’t happen to me while wearing pjs)

• Cartman “accidentally” punched the wrestler because as he said, the guy startled him while he was warming up at the tournament. “I thought I was gonna be attacked! What’d you want me to do??? Just get hurt and forfeit all my matches?”

• Anyways back on the going out for dinner thing

• Y’all had to wait outside in the cold Colorado weather for an hour because the restaurant was super busy. It was a bad day to wear your normal shorts, wasn’t it?

• Everyone was getting on each others backs and slapping each other around (chicken fighting???) and you really wanted to but none of the wrestlers wanted to with you. It’s fine, you gotta record this stuff anyways, right?

• Cartman went a step further than everyone and put you on his shoulders :)

• Y’all were so tall and you beat everyone >:)

• For the most part you and him chilled on a bench tho. Probably with your legs on him because you were cold as fuck

• Eric tried making you wear his sweatpants because he was wearing his singlet under it anyways but you kept saying how y’all would probably go inside the restaurant in a few minutes. 30 minutes later, how’s that going for you?

• Overall, y’all had a fun time despite your team being pricks and enjoyed your time together without parents <3333

Literally almost everything was based off my last tournament

They don’t treat me nicely but I won’t say anything 🥲

Pt. 5 , Pt. 6 , Pt. 7 , Pt. 8

[dweetwise]

[Riconti] Ashes to Ashes

Once in a blue moon, I apparently have to write pure angst. For those not familiar with archives lore, Wallace is from Ace's tome "Go for Broke". Rated T | ❗ Major character death ❗ | 3.7k words | ao3 link

It’s a cold spring day.

The sky is gray and the ground is damp, covered in leaves that have rotted from orange to brown over the winter. A few ravens perched in a nearby tree and a car horn sounding somewhere far away are the only signs of life.

The casket next to the empty grave only radiates death.

Wallace swallows thickly and straightens the shirt he didn’t have time to iron this morning. The graveyard is windy and he’s already freezing, but if there’s anything he owes the bastard it’s to be there for him this one last time.

Like he wasn’t on the night he died.

Cold stings in Wallace’s suddenly wet eyes and he blinks the feeling away. He looks at the priest to try to figure out what they’re waiting for, but she just stands there and silently watches the only guest apart from Wallace who bothered to show up.

Wallace has never seen him before today. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a full black tux, the color so dark it makes his already pale skin appear a sickly white. A black dress shirt with a black tux is probably against some kind of dress code but apparently this guy really wants to pretend to be mourning.

Wallace doesn’t even own a tux. He’s wearing a simple green jacket and patterned yellow shirt with denim blue jeans.

Because Ace loved color. Red was his favorite color but Wallace couldn’t do red, not after the gunshots and sirens and running up to the motel room only to see the slumped body and splatters along the wall and red, red, red—

Wallace clenches his trembling fists until his nails dig into his palms. He fucking told Ace that those people were bad business but Ace didn’t care, laughing it off with a flippant, “I’ve cheated death more times than you can count, buddy. Have you forgotten how lucky I am?”

Now Wallace won’t even get the chance to say, “I told you so”. He doesn’t understand why Ace was so reckless, how he’d somehow gotten the idea that he was immortal.

Wallace relaxes his fists and looks back at the other man. It’s just the two of them: Wallace tried to get a hold of Ace’s remaining relatives in Argentina but couldn't find any. He always suspected that neither Ace nor Visconti were his real names, but that’s what Wallace knew him as and he refused to dig further. Ace would have told him if he wanted him to know.

But fake names or not, their friendship was real. Wallace didn’t always think so, but then Ace showed up one day from god-knows-where, after seven years of complete radio silence, laughing and slapping Wallace’s back and asking, “Miss me?” with that stupid, cocky smirk of his.

Wallace’s chest felt full then, like something he didn’t even know was missing was slotting back into place. He didn’t care that the bastard disappeared without a word or that he took even dumber and more careless risks than before. He was just glad to have him back.

Ace claimed he’d been in Europe working a con all those years. He was just as shady as usual, not saying much because Wallace didn’t ask. But based on the spring in his step and the grin he got whenever his phone buzzed, Wallace knew he’d found something more than just a quick buck in Europe. That chick had to be real special for Ace to stick around that long and even attempt long-distance after he returned to the States.

Or that’s what Wallace thought, but there's no mystery lady standing by his grave now. She clearly didn’t give a shit about Ace: she was probably the one who put those reckless thoughts in his head in the first place, demanding he earn more money to fund a life of luxury for her. Wallace doesn't know anything about her but he still hates her.

He looks at the blond again. He’s standing ramrod straight with his chin up like rich folks so often do. He has to be a lawyer or something, because Wallace was told there was someone to arrange the funeral and take care of Ace’s assets. Or the lack thereof.

The lawyer’s face is stone cold and without any emotion. Another asshole who’s probably happy Ace died just so he could get money out of it; Wallace knows the sort. At least this one had the decency to show up to the funeral.

“What’re we waitin’ for?” Wallace asks.

“The others,” the man says in an accent Wallace can’t place. It catches him off guard: not your typical west coast lawyer, then.

“There’s no one else comin’,” Wallace says through gritted teeth, because he doesn’t want to spell out that Ace didn’t have friends.

The man finally turns to face him for the first time since they got here. His expression is just as neutral as before, but his eyes are…wrong, somehow. His gaze flirts all over the place and he almost looks lost, completely at odds with the rest of his carefully presented persona. Like a crack in the facade.

“Just a few more minutes,” the man says.

“Alright,” Wallace agrees.

The stranger turns back to stare unblinking at the casket and, not having anything else to do, Wallace keeps looking at him to try to figure him out. The tux is tailored to a T and his watch looks expensive, making Wallace’s mind immediately jump to how much he could pawn it for. Bad habit.

Wallace frowns as he notices the man’s hands are scarred and blemished. He looks so perfectly put-together otherwise but his hands are in piss-poor shape, with bitten nails and picked cuticles and scabs that have barely healed. Wallace spots gloves peeking out from his pocket and realizes he probably usually covers them. But not for this, for some reason.

The guy must be cold in nothing but the tux, but he still insists on waiting. For what?

Wallace opens his mouth to ask again, when he hears it.

Car doors slamming and the gradually growing sound of voices and footsteps on gravel. And not just those of one or two people.

Wallace turns to look. Through the nearest cemetery gates, what has to be a group of nearly thirty people are making their way over. Young and old, men and women and boys and girls, chatting, laughing and some already wiping away tears. They’re dressed in both formal and casual clothes mostly in black, but also in earth tones and pastels and neons. Most of them are carrying flowers—more flowers than Wallace has ever seen at once.

Wallace blinks. Are they here for Ace? All of them?

A few of them push their way to the front of the group. A black woman in an evening gown and a blond girl in jeans and a sweater hurry past Wallace and to the other man.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder. “Felix,” she says, voice gentler than her fancy exterior would suggest.

The girl comes to stand in front of the man—Felix—and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wallace expects him to nod or at most mumble an unenthusiastic, “I’m fine.” Instead, the rich, obnoxious dick who Wallace hated nearly on sight simply…breaks.

Wallace watches as his face twists in agony and he hunches in on himself, his body wracked with ugly sobs that sound so unfitting for a man of his caliber. The women pull him tight and he clings to them desperately. It doesn’t even seem like he’s faking the tears. Maybe his arrogance was just an act.

The girl is crying now too, her hands trembling where she’s holding onto him. Her eyeliner is already running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. The other woman doesn’t cry, but she squeezes the man’s shoulder and murmurs quiet reassurance.

More of the group hurry over to flock around the grieving trio, all worried faces and silent tears and, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while the blond guy just keeps crying. Wallace can barely see him through the crowd; it’s like they’re shielding him from the world and Wallace’s prying eyes alike. Wallace doesn’t think a man like him needs protecting, but he still looks away out of politeness.

The rest of the group gather around the casket. They murmur and whisper amongst each other, some offering comforting words and touches to the ones who start sniffling.

Who the hell are these people, appearing out of nowhere to cry by Ace’s grave?

“Hey, you must be Wallace,” comes a voice from behind him.

Wallace turns to find a nerdy white guy standing in front of him. He looks young and has old-fashioned glasses and an ill-fitting suit, but he stands straight and looks Wallace right in the eye, with an air of quiet confidence that catches Wallace off guard.

“Y-yeah,” Wallace stutters. Clearly, he could use some of that same confidence.

The man gives a little smile and holds out his hand. “Dwight Fairfield. It’s good to finally meet you.”

Wallace accepts the handshake and asks, “You’ve heard about me?”

Dwight huffs, like something is funny. “More than you can imagine.”

—

With all of them there, the priest starts the ceremony. It’s short and simple and Wallace is thankful, because the only deity Ace ever believed in was lady Fortuna.

Dwight gives a eulogy. Wallace doesn’t understand most of it and by the looks of it neither does the priest, but he doesn’t need to know what trials mean or why some campfire is important to get the gist of it. This is the seven years of Ace’s life Wallace knows nothing about: these are the people he met and the life he led. So many people from all over the world—France, China, Brazil, Japan—and they all came here for Ace.

Wallace is glad Felix made him wait for them.

A black girl in a floral dress arranges the flowers on the casket. There’s so many different kinds and she quietly explains what they all mean, and Wallace chokes on a sob when she tells Ace’s casket, “And Snowdrops for good luck, because I want you to have that even when yours ran out.”

A redhead with glasses places incense by the gravestone. Wallace only then notices it says Ace Visconti, and he doesn’t know what strings someone had to pull to engrave it with Ace’s chosen name and not his legal one, but he’s grateful for it.

The incense smells like warmth and fire, comforting and so different from the cold and wet around them.

Felix wordlessly slides down to his knees beside the casket and nobody seems surprised by this other than Wallace. The expensive tux will probably be ruined by mud but Felix doesn’t appear to care: like he’s happy to lower himself to Ace’s level even if it means everyone else is now looking down on them. He places his hand—scars and calluses and all—on the smooth wooden surface of the casket and sits there for several minutes, murmuring words in a language Wallace doesn’t understand.

When Felix rises, Dwight asks Wallace if he wants to say something. Wallace shakes his head: he’s not good at speeches and he didn’t bring anything fancy to leave on Ace’s grave. 

The alligator tooth he won all those years ago presses into his chest under his shirt, but Ace would be pissed if he left it on the grave. He’d say something like, “I’m already dead, what the hell do you think I’m gonna do with a gator tooth necklace? Win a ghost beauty pageant?”

Or maybe Wallace just wants something of Ace’s to hold onto.

At the priest’s encouragement, some of the men in the group help lower the casket into the grave. Wallace assumed they’d have to let the church staff do it since it was just him and Felix, but now there’s also a big bearded man and a guy with face tattoos and a loud Brit and a quiet Hispanic man who help them put Ace into the ground.

A blonde woman plays guitar and sings. The song is melancholy and her voice sounds familiar, accompanied by sniffles from several people in the group. The priest gives a few parting words after to close the ceremony.

And then they shovel.

Silence hangs heavy in the air. Just as Wallace hopes this will be quick so he can go drown his sorrows in booze, the Brit points his shovel down at the casket and says, “Just layin’ there while we do all the work, eh? Lazy wanker.”

Several people laugh, and then others join in to tell stories and share memories of Ace and Wallace does too, even if he still doesn’t know what a trial is. He tells them about his and Ace’s big win in Seattle and one of the girls, the redhead with braids, snorts and asks, “Was that the time Ace stole a uniform and pretended to be a dealer so you guys could scam the casino?”

Wallace stutters and they all look at him expectantly. Some of the kids are grinning and even Felix is smiling, though his eyes are still red from crying.

Wallace finds himself chuckling and giving them the unfiltered version of the story, now knowing they can handle the not-so-legal parts of it. His audience listens raptly and some even chime in with details Wallace didn’t know about that day—or just typical exaggerations Ace would have added to the story. He doesn’t bother correcting them.

The priest shortly leaves—probably not thrilled about them bonding over gambling and stealing—but the whole group stays to wait for them to finish shoveling. 

Even after they’re done, nobody makes a move to leave; on the contrary, they all settle into a big circle on the ground, carelessly dirtying their nice dresses and suits. Felix takes a seat next to the grave and the black woman sits down on his other side, with the rest already having fallen into place like it’s a practiced effort. Like everyone has their own place.

Wallace hesitates. He thought they were done here, but the others urge him to join them, pointing at the other side of the filled grave. Wallace does as told and realizes the grave acts like an empty spot, like Ace is still part of the group.

Before Wallace can get too sentimental, a man with a prosthetic arm thumps a big cooler in the middle of the circle and beers and sodas begin exchanging hands. An Indian woman starts dealing playing cards and several bets are made among the group before the game even starts. The singer whips out her guitar again and starts strumming an upbeat melody.

“Is this allowed?” Wallace asks even as his chest warms. “It’s a graveyard. Isn’t this against the rules or somethin’?” 

An older black man shrugs. “Loitering isn’t grounds for arrest and I think Felix is more than capable of paying a fine if someone calls the police.”

Wallace only then notices a badge peeking out from his shirt pocket. He’s a cop: Ace somehow befriended a cop, and now he’s here, honoring Ace’s memory with an illegal party like the rest of them.

“Here,” Dwight says, handing Wallace a beer.

Wallace doesn’t ask if they should be drinking and celebrating at a time like this. He just uncaps his beer and raises it along with the others once they toast and the Brit booms, “To Ace!”

Because a party is exactly what Ace would have wanted.

—

They stay there for hours; laughing, playing, drinking and telling stories. Wallace actually makes an effort to get to know this strange group, though he still doesn’t catch all of their names.

Once the sun starts setting, the Korean woman complains about the cold even though she’s wearing a fur jacket. Jane fishes out a pair of keys from her pantsuit and says they have more blankets and snacks in the car, prompting the Brazilian siblings to jump up and volunteer to retrieve them.

On the other side of the circle, the boy with dark bags under his eyes has nodded off against Cheryl’s shoulder. Meg and Jake argue over whether to start a fire now that it’s getting dark, with Meg saying it’s not the same without a real campfire and Jake claiming they’ll end up burning down the whole graveyard. Adam manages to resolve the argument by retrieving a large lantern from the car, lighting up the area with a warm yellow.

Despite everyone’s best efforts to celebrate life and not mourn death, Wallace feels the heavy shroud of grief hanging over all of them. There’s a moment of hesitation whenever a card game ends and someone has to deal the players in again, strange gaps in conversation like they all expect Ace to fill the silence, and bright eyes glazing over in sadness whenever someone looks at his grave.

But there’s also joy and camaraderie. The wind is cold and the ground they’re sitting on is dull and brown, but Wallace can finally see a few flower buds sprouting through the rotten leaves. The group has lost one of their own but they choose to remember the good and not the bad; it’s probably a kindness Ace doesn’t deserve, but Wallace’s throat still feels tight with emotion from the respect being shown.

When the next card game ends, the Chinese girl starts cursing vividly, glaring at the grave and accusing Ace of cheating. Wallace laughs, because if Ace could, he would. Even from beyond the grave.

Some of the guys gather around newly appeared bottles of vodka for a drinking contest and the Japanese woman promptly gets up to join them. Her name must be Yui, because that’s what nearly everyone starts chanting.

Yui wins, drinking the much larger men under the table with what seems like barely any effort. There’s cheers and whoops from around the circle before the singer—Kate—encourages everyone to sing a campfire song together.

Wallace doesn’t know the song so he looks around, only to notice Felix quietly fiddling with something in his hands. It’s a ring: a particularly worn and gray and ugly ring, probably made of simple steel and not even silver. Why would someone like him even have a cheap knock-off like that?

Felix’s bitten nails trail over the inside of the ring and catch on an engraving and Wallace nearly swallows his tongue. He realizes he’s seen that ring many times before: Ace throwing it in the air and catching it; Ace fiddling with it in his pocket when he was impatient; Ace wearing it on his ring finger whenever a con needed him to pretend to be married; Ace having it engraved with some corny Latin phrase because it was supposedly another of his good luck charms.

When Ace returned from Europe, he claimed to have lost the ring, and Wallace should have smelled his bullshit right then and there. Ace wasn’t sentimental about a lot of things but his lucky charms were always the exception. Wallace had helped Ace throw a motel room upside down in search of a rabbit’s foot, listened to years’ worth of complaints after he won the gator tooth from him in a bet, and painstakingly superglued an old poker chip back together after it got run over by a car and Ace just sat on the sidewalk cradling the broken pieces like he was holding an injured animal.

Wallace should have known better than to think Ace would have just lost the ring.

Felix abruptly stills and Wallace realizes he’s been caught staring. Their eyes meet and Felix curls his hand around the ring, holding it tightly against his chest.

A lot of things suddenly make sense and Wallace feels stupid for not realizing it before. Felix isn’t even wearing the ring, but he doesn't have to: marriage isn’t meant for people like Ace and Wallace, and just Felix having something so important of Ace’s and being this protective of it says more than enough.

Wallace considers pulling out the alligator tooth to rest over his shirt instead of hiding it underneath, but he doesn’t want to give off the wrong impression. Ace was like a brother to him and he’s not sure what exactly he was to Felix—friend, lover, partner, kindred spirit?—but the specifics probably don’t even matter. Whatever they were, Ace was happy with Felix.

Wallace settles on a meaningful nod to Felix, giving his approval even if it wasn’t asked for. He then quickly turns back to observe the group’s singing, but can’t help smiling to himself: looks like Ace’s special European someone made it here after all.

“I’m gonna do a handstand!” someone drunkenly announces as soon as the singing stops.

“You only have one hand, jackass!” Nea pipes up.

“Does anyone want to dance?” one of the siblings asks, swaying a little on her feet.

“What, on Ace’s grave?” Zarina asks, arching an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that glad to be rid of him.”

Laughter erupts from the group once again. A few people roll their eyes at the alcohol-fueled antics but nobody protests or shushes the progressively louder voices; not even when someone suggests a handstand contest that will most likely end in a visit to the ER.

Wallace braves another glance at Felix but he’s just smiling again. Most people probably wouldn’t welcome this kind of behavior at the funeral of someone they loved, but Felix knew Ace—all of these people did, maybe even better than Wallace. And they stuck by Ace’s side for seven years and made this horrible day into a celebration he would be proud of.

Seven years. That’s all the time it took for Ace to somehow become a man Wallace barely recognizes anymore. He did what Wallace never thought either of them capable of, what he’d have bet his entire life savings on never happening.

Ace found a family.

Wallace bows his head and chuckles, addressing the empty space on his right. “Twenty-five years of friendship and you still keep surprisin’ me.”

He thinks that, somewhere, Ace is smiling.

[kelyon]

Courtship 16: Trousseau

To prepare for her new life, Mr. Gold's fiancee updates her wardrobe.

Read on AO3

The Wednesday before her wedding, Miss French sat, ramrod straight, in a booth at Granny’s Diner. Ice slowly melted into the dregs of her iced tea. 

She was alone.

Ruby the waitress sidled up to the table, her face a cautious cringe. 

“Are you still waiting for them?”

Digging her nails into her palms, Miss French looked at the clock above the diner counter. 12:17. They wouldn’t be that late, not both of them. Not unless something really bad had happened.

Her eyes shifted to her hands, her engagement ring. Well, maybe something really bad had happened, at least from their perspective.

Her stomach rumbled, but she couldn’t stay here. Mr. Gold’s fiancee couldn’t sit alone at Granny’s and eat a hamburger like some schlub on a lunch break. Sitting here waiting for them had already been more than enough public humiliation. 

They’d had lunch together every Wednesday since graduation and they didn’t even bother to tell her? Not even a phone call? 

Fuck them.

“No,” Miss French said firmly. She reached into her purse and set a fifty on the table. “No, I should be on my way. Apologies for wasting the space, Miss Lucas.”

Ruby gaped, first at the cash and then at Miss French. The waitress’ awe was cold comfort, but at least Mr. Gold’s money impressed some people. Miss French put on her coat and strutted through the restaurant like a model on a catwalk.

Behind her, she heard Ruby squeak out, “Come again!”

Miss French rolled her eyes and left.

****  

She hadn’t been in Mara’s store since the grand opening a year or so ago. Poor little Lacey French never had a reason to look at lingerie. Even if the florist’s daughter had money to burn, who was she going to wear fancy underwear for? Hunter? He was a Philistine, a child.  The confections sold at Sugar’n’Spice would have been wasted on him. Like so many other things, Miss French’s desire for satin and lace had lain dormant for most of her life, unknown even to herself. She’d been waiting for Mr. Gold to come along and wake her up. 

She burst through the double doors, letting a blast of freezing wind blow through the tiny storefront. It was a cramped space, though some might call it “cozy” or “boutique.” The air was thick with the smell of fake roses oozing from a candle burning by the cash register. The area near the door was discreetly filled up with nighties and robes. Pink and red polyester teased at what other delights might be found deeper within. There weren’t any other customers.

“You know,” Miss French said loudly, “for someone who’s trying to make a living off of making women feel sexy, you sure are quick to judge consenting adults.”

Mara Trudine looked up from a table where she’d been arranging thongs printed with hearts.

“Oh,” she said dully. Her typical easy smile and knowing eyes were nowhere to be found. She looked like she’d eaten a bucket of concrete. “Hi.”

“Did I get the day wrong?” Miss French made her voice bright and fake. “It is Wednesday, isn’t it? Am I so stupid I lost track of the days of the week?”

Miss Trudine sighed. “So Janine stayed home too?”

“I don’t know where she is--I haven’t seen her!” She smiled. “See, I was sitting alone at Granny’s waiting to have lunch with my best friends when I realized I’d be having a lot more fun if I was buying lingerie!”

Spinning on her cobalt stilettos, Miss French turned away and started picking clothes off the racks. She grabbed everything, not caring about style or color, and definitely not looking at the prices.

“You see,” Miss French went on in the same cheerful tone, “Mr. Gold is very particular about what underthings I’m wearing.” She stopped, giggled. “Or not wearing.”

 “Listen, I get that you’re mad at me, but--”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Miss French stared at the shopgirl. She smiled so hard her face hurt. “What do you matter?”

At first, the girl looked more surprised than offended--the shock of being slapped in the face before the pain could set in. Then her features hardened. Her freckled brow furrowed.

“Well, screw you too,” she said. “If that’s how you feel, why are you even here?”

“To spend money!” Miss French giggled. “Mr. Gold insists that I wear the best lingerie, and, well--” She made an exaggerated look around the modest store. “At least this is the best in Storybrooke.”

Miss Trudine wasn’t having any of this. “I think you should leave.” 

“Do you really?” Miss French pulled a stack of fifty dollar bills out of her purse. “Because Mr. Gold wants me to spend all of this today. And he’ll probably give me more tomorrow.”

Jaw clenched, the little entrepreneur looked down at the money on the table. Miss French knew the calculations going on in her business-track brain: How much money that was, how many bills it could pay, how many other customers it would take to add up to the same sum, how long it would take a specialty store in a podunk town to get that many customers. It all added up to the same result. 

She sighed in defeat. “What are you looking for?”

“What do you have in white?” she asked. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m getting married on Saturday.”

Miss Trudine opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she pointed to a corner. “Bridal section is over there.”

Beaming, the future Mrs. Gold snatched up the cash and pranced over to a rack of white tulle. Her skirt today was flouncy. Frilly fabric bounced against her thighs as she walked, a constant reminder of who she was and why she was doing this.

Her first instinct was to grab everything in her size, throw money at Mara, and run home to try things on. But was that really how Mrs. Gold would act? Would Mrs. Gold be in a hurry for anyone other than her husband? Would Mrs. Gold bother to do things in the privacy of her own home when she could put someone in their place by doing it in front of them? 

Of course not.

Leisurely, she skimmed through the bra and panty sets. She ran her fingers over silky polyester and scratchy lace. When something caught her eye, she held it up against her body, as though that would tell her anything. She carried the hangers on one fingertip like they weighed nothing. Mrs. Gold would wear underwear like this every day, every day Mr. Gold allowed her to wear anything at all.

“Is there a fitting room?” she asked when she had taken everything she wanted off of one rack.

“Over there,” Miss Trudine pointed to a drape-covered archway. Her mouth worked as she decided how much customer service she wanted to offer the person who had once been her best friend. “Let me know if you need anything in a different size.”

“Oh, I will!” Miss French threatened. 

****

She was pickier than she needed to be, wasting time trying on everything, asking for different sizes and colors. The shopgirl spent the afternoon running back and forth across the store with new items for her to try. Nothing went untested. Corsets and stockings and nighties--everything that was pretty or scandalous or tempting.

“Oh, Mr. Gold is going to love this one,” Miss French squealed. 

It might have been made just for him. The fabric--see-through and skimpy as it was--was a rich, luscious burgundy. All the clasps and fittings were gold. It was relatively traditional, classy as these things went. A plunging bra and barely-there panties, and a garter belt that clung to her waist deliciously. The whole thing was both sexy and elegant, like an old-fashioned pinup. Nothing tawdry or cheap, just beauty.

The woman in the mirror looked poised and confident. There was no gap between who she wanted to be and who she was, and she knew it. In this outfit, she was worthy of being Mrs. Gold.

“Do you have stockings that can match this color?” she called out to the shopgirl.

“If I don’t have any in stock, I can probably order some,” she said from the other side of the curtain that functioned as a door. “What color is it?”

Giddy with triumph, Miss French threw open the curtain. She spread her arms and struck a pose. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

For a second, Mara’s smile went genuine. “Oh yeah, that is such a great set. I’ve been--oh my God.”

She was so serious that for a second Lacey thought something terrible had happened. Mara’s face had gone white behind her freckles and her eyes didn’t move. She was staring at her. 

Staring at her arm.

“Oh!” Reflexively, Miss French giggled and rubbed the spot where Mr. Gold’s bruise still lingered. It had been a few days, so it wasn’t warm anymore. The raised pink had settled down into a mottled purple. It was still a perfect rectangle, still the shape of the ruler he had used to punish her.

“What happened?” Mara whispered. “And tell me the truth. Don’t give me some bullcrap about slipping on ice or something.”  

Taking a deep breath, Miss French dragged her fingers over from the bruise. It still hurt when she pressed it. The pain steadied her.

“Your suspicions are correct,” she said lightly. “Mr. Gold did this.”

“I’m calling Sheriff Graham.”

“Don’t!” She grabbed her friend by the arm before she could leave the changing room. “It wasn’t a crime. I wanted him to do it.”

“Then I’m calling Dr. Hopper. You’re sick in the head!”

“No, I’m not!” Miss French shouted. “What a stupid thing to say! You think the way a person gets their kicks is enough to make them psychotic? What, are you gonna get me committed for having fun?”

Miss Trudine’s brown eyes blazed with righteous fury. “He is hurting you. You’ve been dating him for what--a week?--and he’s getting you to marry him. He is turning you against your friends and family. This is bad, Lace!”

“It’s my friends and family who are turning me against them. Mr. Gold has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you even allowed to call him by his first name? Do you even know it?”

Miss French scoffed. “That doesn’t matter. He could be named Barbara for all I care, it doesn’t change how I feel!”

“How do you feel?” The shopgirl didn’t let up. “Do you feel safe? Do you think you can say no to him? Lacey, do you even love him?”

“There is more to life than lo-o-ove,” she sneered. She walked over to the pile of hangers and fabric and grabbed a handful of lingerie. She shook it under Miss Trudine’s nose. “You love this shit. You love your business, but you’re going to go broke trying to make it work. You can’t charge a week’s worth of groceries for a single pair of underwear!”

“This isn’t about my career. This is about--”

“Mr. Gold is going to tear these off my body with his teeth.” Miss French snarled. “Because that’s what we think about what you love. Then I’m going to come in here and buy more and you’re gonna stay in business. Because it isn’t love that makes the world go round, it is money. And if you ever say another word about my choices, you will never see any of my money again.”

The girl’s gaze was steady, but her eyes were tearing. “I’m your friend, Lacey. I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” Miss French snapped. “I should have figured that out a long time ago. Mr. Gold is the only one who can give me what I want.”

“Since when do you care so much about stuff?” Miss Trudine whispered in disbelief.

“Since I’ve finally been able to get any.” Miss French went back to the mirror. She admired her body, and the way the outfit flattered her. Mr. Gold would definitely enjoy ripping it to shreds. And his enjoyment, his pleasure, his approval--that mattered more than anything in the world. “Besides, stuff is just the beginning.”

****

Back in her room above the flower shop, the future Mrs. Gold started packing. The clothes she had accumulated since she’d started dating Mr. Gold had already filled up her childhood dresser. There were more clothes she hadn’t worn yet, still neatly folded in the paper shopping bags from Modern Fashions. Emptying her drawers, she filled up the bags with everything she wanted to take with her. She would move into Mr. Gold’s house after the honeymoon. The only thing that wasn’t brand-new was the purple sequined dress she had worn on their first date.   

Everything she wanted for the honeymoon was in a little leather suitcase Mr. Gold had loaned her. She didn’t have a lot of clothes to pack for that, and what she did have was too skimpy to take up much room.

She tossed the rest into plastic garbage bags. Her faded underwear and stretched-out sports bras were useless. Cotton socks went the way of her dirt-stained sneakers and worn-out loafers. T-shirts with too many holes to wear in public used to be repurposed into pajama shirts--she didn’t need those anymore. Rags. None of this was good enough for Mrs. Gold. 

There were some things that weren’t total trash. Some of these jeans and t-shirts would have lasted Lacey French another year or more. The slacks and blouses were nice enough, if entirely unsuitable for Mr. Gold’s stupid slut. There was a part of her that couldn’t completely discard these things. Even if she didn’t want them in her life anymore, they weren’t worthless.

She picked up the gray cable-knit sweater that had once belonged to her cousin Andrew. She’d worn it in front of Mr. Gold and he hadn’t liked it. She wouldn’t be able to wear the sweater as his wife, but there was no way she could just pitch  it.

There was an answer. She didn’t like it, but it was the right thing to do. With a heavy sigh, Miss French opened up a clean garbage bag and started a new category of clothes.

****

The next morning, she hefted three trash bags over to the only yellow house in Old Town, the only house Mr. Gold didn’t own. The plastic sign for Janine’s business desperately proclaimed Hair Today! The name had always annoyed Lacey and wasn’t any more endearing to Miss French.

Without knocking, she opened the unlocked door.

“Hello?” she called, unsure of who would answer.

The TV was on in the living room, providing the only light in the empty space. The curtains were drawn, so everything was dim and gloomy. In the middle of February, the artificial Christmas tree was still in the corner, undecorated and unlit. 

The Woolvertons always waited until Christmas Eve to put up their ornaments--letting the kids stay up as late as they needed to for the job to be done. The car crash had happened in the time between putting the tree up and decorating it. Now the bare tree loomed over their living space like the shadow of death itself. 

“Aunt Terri?” Lacey’s voice quavered. 

“She’s asleep.” Janine leaned against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, cradling a mug of coffee. “Or at least she’s in bed. She spends most of her time in bed until Chloe gets home from school.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to talk to her? Maybe apologize for whatever you did at the graveyard?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Miss French said coolly. “And I wanted to see you. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be up here or in the basement.”

Janine shrugged. “I don’t have any appointments today and the phone number is the same for the business and the house.”

“Oh that’s dumb,” she blurted. 

Mom had always been insistent on separating Game of Thorns business from their home life. The store had a separate phone line, and even an answering machine so they wouldn’t feel like they had to be on call after hours. Family time was family time, was what she always said. 

Janine didn’t respond to her criticism. She shifted her weight, so she was standing up straight. “You want to talk to me?”

“Yeah.” She picked up one of the garbage bags by the strained plastic handle. “I’ve got some clothes I thought you might want.”

Her cousin’s face had no expression. “Because you have a brand-new wardrobe.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

“Courtesy of Storybrooke’s most bloodthirsty loan shark.”

Miss French pressed her lips into a thin line. “He never asks you people for blood, just money.”

The hairdresser scoffed. “‘Us people’? Like you’re so different from us peasants.”

“Well, I am the only girl he asked to marry him.”  

“Cuz you’re the only one who would say yes. I don’t know if that means you’re crazy or brainwashed or--”

“Stupid?” Miss French bared her teeth. She took a step forward. “Do you think I don’t know who he is? Do you think I don’t know what he wants? Do you think I don’t want to give it to him?”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Miss Woolverton’s blue eyes were all ice. “I think you don’t understand what kind of choice you’re making. And I think if you just waited--”

“Waited for what?” She sighed. “Wait for things to get better? For the business to turn around? For us to finally get ahead a little? I’ve been waiting my whole life for that shit. I thought getting good grades was working towards a future, but that’s just more broken promises. Janine, you know that. You’re here in it with me. You thought your future was gonna be different too. Don’t you want to escape? Don’t you want to win? For once?”

Janine shook her head. Her free hand rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “This isn’t the way to do it, Lacey.”

“I know what you think,” she swallowed. “I wish I could make you understand.”

“I do understand.” Janine took a step closer.  “You’re right, I do want to escape. I want to live in a world where the bad things never happened, where we could believe in even the possibility of a happy ending. But just because we don’t live in that world doesn’t mean you have to abandon every principle we were raised with.”

“What did principles ever get us?” Miss French muttered.   

“Being good isn’t about getting things. You do what’s right because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Virtue is its own reward?” She scoffed. “So far I’ve found vice to be much more satisfying.”

Her cousin sighed and looked down into her coffee.

“Anyway, I’ll just leave the stuff here,” Lacey gestured to the bags. “Been a while since we had a clothes swap.”

“I don’t want them,” Miss Woolverton said softly. 

“Oh come on, there’s decent stuff in here. You always liked that white sweater I wore to--”

“Stop.” Her voice was firmer now, her face sadder. In the harsh lights and murky shadows, she almost looked like Mom. “I don’t want your garbage, Lacey.”

“It’s not--”

“It is to you,” she said. “You’re going off to a fancy new life. You think you don’t need these clothes anymore, and maybe you don’t. But you can’t just throw stuff at me and think it’s the same as sharing.”

“I offered to share my new life with you. Honestly, the offer’s still on the table. We can go to Modern Fashions and I’ll buy you a bridesmaid’s dress right now.”

The heaviest sigh yet. “Oh, Lacey,” she said. “Just because Gold can buy you, it doesn’t mean you can buy us.”

“I’m not--”

“Yes, you are. You remember that book we read in middle school? The Witch of Blackbird Pond? There’s a difference between giving generous gifts and just tossing things away because of pride, because you have so much stuff it doesn’t matter.” 

“The family in that book were literal Puritans.”

Miss Woolverton looked at her with insufferable patience. “There’s a better way to win in life,” she said. “Yes, times have been tough lately. They’ve been terrible.” She blinked a couple of times, pushing back tears. “But nothing good is going to come from you marrying Gold.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “And you’re wrong anyway. Good stuff has already come from me being with Mr. Gold.”

She shook her head. “I hope I am wrong. I hope you can be happy with him. I hope he’ll be good to you, good for you. Maybe you’ll bring out the best in him, instead of him bringing out the worst in you.”

Miss French rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in changing Mr. Gold.”

“Of course not,” the hairdresser said. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. That’s your whole problem.”

[frecklystars]

I had the whole day planned and ifcsnt even do any of it. I wasted so much money and time oprrparing for today and I feel abdolutrly nothing. I haven’t slept any hours nn 2 days my ptsd is so bad I cnsnt relax I can’t eat I can’t function. I was gonna see a movie and customize my dolls and go out to eat and I was going to bake a cake and ihave heart shapedd cookies I made edible paper icing with their photos. I bihgjt flowers I had everything resdyci soent so much money and I don’t feel anything. I’ve been so suicidal the last few days and my panic attacks are so fucking bad and I’ve spent the last year and a half facing the most fucking devastating bullshit being stalkedyou wihkd not believe how bad it has been.wThis was so stupid. I was stupid to think I could feel anything for.a f/o anniversary again.

It’s not just the anniversary it’s everything. I don’t feel anything for tbem j can’t get better. I barely queued anything for my anniversary and they’re my most important f/os I just feel so hopeless. I miss tf so bad. I’m never going to get that back. I don’t feel anything for my f/os this past like 2 or 3 months I’ve felt nothing. My anniversaries used to be such a big deal to me it used to be something I look forward to and stay alive for and then someone ruined self shipping for me someone took away my safety and my comfort and my most special f:/o I ever had anndd I’m triggered.by so many things every single day. It’s so stupid o can’t go one day without flashbacks anymore I have nightmares all the time I’m never ever sleeping enough. it’s so hard every day for over a year now and I’m so tired. Today was suppose to be important and I feel nothing. I wanted to postpone my anniversary to next weekbc I feel so fucking bad but I can’t because I already bought the ingredients for the desserts and they’re going to expire by tomorrow and the icing photos are fading and so I was going to try to bake them today w but it’s coming out ugly and wrong and I was going to go out to eat and see a movie and bring my Barbie and Ken dolls with me but it’s so pointless. I had like 20 things planned I can’t do any of them. I can’t heal. If I feel nothing for my f/os who are supposed to be my mains then I am not capable of healing. I can’t self ship like I used to. I wanted to feel good today and I am at my lowest. I want to die so bad every day this past week my suicidal thoughts have been so loud. I’m so. tired of fighting I can’t keep doing it I’m not strong enough to do this everyday . It is also one year anniversary of the 4 times I tried to kill myself . I’m gonna do it ingknna try one more time and evenif it doesn’t work I’m gonna hope I bleed out before my dad comes home. I know why I failed lastt year and I can get it rihht when I try this just one more tkme . I’m sorry I didn’t write goodbye letters to anybidy