#her elbows are all over the place so no wonder her pot is uneven as fuck

[stellewriites]

watching the invitation and i have to giggle when she’s doing her ceramics

[chilling-seavey]

Amoureux (c.s./d.s.) - Chapter Six

A/N Author’s notes are the hardest part of posting but this chapter is hecka sweet I want these vibes

Balls and galas weren’t unusual for Royal Families meaning one was definitely due after two weeks of no parties. Since there was no formal need for celebration, Daniel and Anna were permitted to attend as well, the young girl eager to show off her new pastel pink ballgown and small pearl necklace to anyone who would look at her. The young princess was so charismatic that none of the guests minded her youthful rambling. 

Louisa stood on Christian’s arm as usual, offering simple responses when she was asked a question but kept herself quiet as she was always raised to. The couple they were sharing a conversation with was older and the woman kept staring almost distastefully at Louisa, making the young girl shift nervously under her narrowed eyes. Christian set a hand on hers that was set in the crook of his elbow to help settle her as he spoke to the man, unaware of the uncomfortable stance of his bride to be.

The woman was relentless, brown eyes raking down Louisa’s blue satin gown and her curled strawberry blonde hair as if she was nothing more than a commoner. She was just waiting for her to misstep to call out the future non-English Queen on how she wasn’t fit for the position. Louisa wished to be anywhere else but there at that moment.

Someone snuck up behind her, Daniel taking place on her left, sending the older woman a glare. The woman pursed her lips and turned back to her husband and Christian’s conversation, knowing better than to get on the bad side of any of the primary members of the British Royal Family. Louisa glanced over at Daniel as he stood close to her, his hands behind his back.

“Behind you.” he whispered casually, pretending to be interested in the conversation.

Louisa furrowed her eyebrows for a moment before sliding her left hand behind her and he passed her a small pastry, sticky from sitting in his palm so long but she bit back a smile and popped it quickly in her mouth.

“Want out of this?” Daniel asked softly.

“Desperately.” Louisa mumbled through a fake smile to the couple.

“Pardon me.” Daniel spoke loudly. “Dear brother, I hate to intrude but I was wondering if I could snag your lady here for only a moment.”

Christian had to work hard to smother his angry glare at his younger brother for interrupting his conversation, “I suppose.”

“Much obliged, dear brother.” Daniel took Louisa’s arm, tossing a, “Enjoy your night” to the guests as he pulled her away.

“I was ready to face my death in that same spot.” Louisa chuckled as he pulled her through the crowd.

“I could tell. Good thing you have me to save you from fatal boredom.” Daniel smirked at her.

He stopped suddenly, spotting his mother and her friends standing next to the dessert table. She caught her son’s surprised expression and glared warningly at him.

“Ok. Abort! Abort! New plan.” Daniel said quickly as he led Louisa in the opposite direction from his mother and they emerged out of the stuffy ballroom into the atrium.

Louisa kept her gloved hand in his arm as he led her farther down the hallway, the two pairs of shoes clicking quickly over the wood floors as the rest of the palace was in silence.

“Where are you taking me?” Louisa asked, her free hand holding the front of her dress up a little so she could walk more comfortably behind the long fabric.

“Mother is refusing to let me have any desserts…to not take them from guests…so we’re going to find some ourselves.” Daniel explained, pulling her into the dining room and closed the door behind them.

“Where on Earth are we gong to find desserts?” Louisa whispered, following him down the length of the dining room towards the back door.

“The kitchen, of course. I told you, I know all the secret places.” Daniel sent her a wink before pushing the door open to peek inside. He looked back to her and waved her inside.

They tiptoed quietly into the kitchen, the remaining chefs at the far end of the kitchen making extra finger food for the ball. Daniel and Louisa walked crouched behind the large islands of the palace kitchen, under rows of iron pots and wooden chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. Daniel grabbed her arm and pulled her down quickly to duck behind one of the counters, pressing his finger to her lips. Louisa held her hand to her mouth to smother her nervous and excited laughter, watching him slowly stand back up to peek over the edge before ducking back down again.

“The head chef hates when I’m in here.” Daniel whispered, a mischievous smile spreading over his face. “I swear he’s going to kill me if he catches us.”

“Daniel!” Louisa gaped.

“Don’t worry. He’s all talk. He knows Father would have him fired if he lays a finger on me.” Daniel peeked over the edge of the counter again before grabbing her arm and leading her around the counter when it was safe to do so. The extra desserts were already plated on dishes of gold and silver, lined up on one of the islands, ready to be brought into the ballroom when they were needed. Daniel slunk up behind it, eyes focused on the chefs now only a few metres away. He moved carefully, slowly lifting a plate from the counter and held it out to Louisa. She hesitated a moment but took it from him and he scanned the spread for what he wanted. He must have taken too long because suddenly there was a shout from across the room as they were spotted.

“Run!” Daniel shouted, snatching one more dish as he jumped around the corner of the counter and took off at a sprint. Louisa shrieked as she ran after him, her ballgown billowing in the wind as she tried to keep up with him.

“I warned you, Daniel! Your father won’t be pleased!” one of the men shouted after them, waving a spoon in the air as he tried to smack Daniel on his way past. The young boy dodged him easily, laughing as he reached the door.

“Thanks, Corbyn!” Daniel called over his shoulder as he rushed Louisa back into the hallway, and they ran off through the empty hallways of the palace.

She followed him upstairs, carefully trying not to spill any of the pastries from the platter she carried in her gloved hands. Daniel was filled with energy that she could hardly match, and he yanked her into a door off the second-floor hallway and slammed it behind them, their breathless laughter filling the wood paneled room. He shushed her quickly through a smile and pressed his ear to the door to make sure they weren’t being followed.

“Oh my gosh!” Daniel laughed breathlessly when they were safe.

“That was ridiculous!” Louisa giggled, setting the platter on the table in the round cornered sunroom of the library.

“Did you see his face!” Daniel snorted, eating a pastry as he set his platter down beside hers and fell into one of the chairs. “Oh my God, that was priceless.”

Louisa sat herself down across from him, watching as he loosened his tie and left it to drape around his neck and he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt before reaching for another dessert.

“I couldn’t grab any truffles in my haste.” Daniel tisked at himself, kicking his feet up on the edge of the table as he ate another small pastry. “I just needed six extra seconds.”

“I think we pulled off an amazing heist.” Louisa chuckled, taking her own dessert to eat, her curls starting to fall uneven after their race across the palace and she tucked the loose strands behind her ear.

“Indeed.” Daniel nodded through a mouthful.

They sat in silence a moment, just snacking on their stolen treats together. Louisa glanced around the library, the tall walls were filled with packed bookcases and peaked windows, the fireplace in the center of the long room carved with beautiful engravings and stretched to the ceiling. The room was dark except for the moonlight coming in through the large paned windows and sent soft streaks over the table they were sat at.

“This is so much better than talking about boring politics with old men, you reckon?” Daniel smirked across the table, breaking their silence.

“Extremely.” Louisa agreed. “I do not even know who any of those people are.”

“Only the best of the British aristocracy. Almost as stuck up and pretentious as my family but not quite. They would kill to be us…to take us down with whatever information they can get their hands on…although they would never admit it outright.”

“Is that why that woman was eyeing me like she was?” Louisa asked.

“Probably. Waiting for you to scratch your cheek or something equally unladylike so she could go tattle to her tea guzzling friends about how our family is destroying the future of England.”

Louisa laughed loudly, holding her hand in front of her face in light embarrassment at her own outburst. Daniel laughed along with her.

The young French girl put on her best post British accent, “The youngest son is absolutely preposterous. We are so thankful we have his boring older brother to lead our country to another generation of literary genius.”

Daniel nearly fell off his chair with laughter, smacking his hand to his stomach for a moment before straightening up himself, a pastry still tucked between his thumb and forefinger as he joined into her antics, “What a disappointment it must be to have such a savage for a son. He is talentless and uneducated, and nothing compared to King Christian Seavey…all hail! God Save the King!”

“God Save the King!” Louisa held out another pastry and Daniel gently hit their desserts together in a mock toast and they ate them together.

A momentary silence fell as they snacked.

“You don’t feel guilty about poking fun at your future husband?” Daniel asked, wiping his hands on his black slacks, leaving powdery fingerprints in his wake.

Louisa shrugged through a smile, “We’re just having a laugh. What he does not know won’t hurt him.”

“Wish you were sent to marry me instead of that old man.” Daniel scoffed lightly, reaching for another dessert.

“The universe would probably implode if we were together. Too much freedom, the country wouldn’t know what to do with itself.” Louisa giggled.

“First, we would banish anyone named Christian.” Daniel held up one finger as he counted their imaginary goals. He glanced over at Louisa with a playful smile, the moonlight making his blue eyes sparkle from across the table.

“How terrible of you.” Louisa laughed, shaking her head.

[artificialqueens]

Lemon's Misadventures in Dating, Chapter 7  (Lemon x Life) - Mermelada

A/N: And she’s back, back, back again! I hope you all enjoy this one! Friendly reminder to drink in moderation and socially distance <3 tw for drugs and alcohol in this one, as always, I love all the feedback I’ve been getting! Thank you all, big kisses!

Saturday rolled around quicker than Lemon had expected, and she had a dilemma: Jan had a fancy dinner with her boyfriend’s parents; Jackie was still studying in New York; and Brooke Lynn was performing in Giselle every night for the next ten days. But she was so keen to go to Scarlett’s party - and not be stood alone like an awkward, well, lemon - that she had done something that was probably very, very silly. 

“So let me get this straight, you want me, a girl you hooked up with once on Tinder, to come with you to a party you were invited to by another girl from Tinder, and help you get laid?”

When she put it like that, it did actually seem very weird. “Well, not necessarily the last part, but yeah, it’s just a party, right? It’ll be fun!”

Kyne sipped her fruity cocktail, brow furrowed, not letting Lemon see any of her current thought process. The blonde’s eyes darted around the bar, smoothing her yellow skater dress along her thighs, as she thought of Plan E should the brunette say no. But on the plus side, she contemplated, trying to convince herself that her plan wasn’t completely doomed to failure, she did agree to come and meet me at short notice. And we’ve been chatting pretty regularly, so we can totally be friends, right? Her inner monologue was cut short when Kyne finally spoke up. 

“And there’ll be booze and lesbians, you say?”

“Yes, Kyne, I can guarantee you will be surrounded by booze and lesbians.”

The click of her high heels echoed through the bar as she jumped off her stool, grabbing her coat. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

***

Walking arm in arm as they navigated an unknown neighbourhood, the pair were able to laugh and chat like regular friends. Clearly having learned from her previous missteps, Kyne even appeared to be taking an interest in Lemon, asking about her life - she was even excited to find out about Lemon’s new job.

“Okay, okay, one thing I have actually been dying to know… is Lemon REALLY your name?? Like do your parents love fruit or something?”

Lemon turned and deadpanned her answer. “Yeah, I have a brother called Lime.”

She could see the cogs turning inside Kyne’s brain as her mouth rounded in a confused “oh”, but she could only keep her serious façade in place for a few seconds before she snorted into an easy grin.

“You bitch! You really had me thinking you were part of some fruit cult! So what’s your real name then?”

“Do you promise not to laugh?” pouted Lemon, shifting her eyes to the girl beside her.

“I promise nothing, but I’ll try my best.”

“Luisa.”

“That’s really pretty! Why would I laugh at that? But even bigger question now, where the fuck did Lemon come from?!” Kyne all but screamed as they turned the corner onto Scarlett’s street, the pair looking at every door to find the correct apartment block. Their plastic bag of recently-purchased alcohol and snacks (and a red velvet cupcake for Scarlett, it was her birthday, after all) swayed between them as they zig-zagged down the pavement, trying not to trip over the uneven surface in their heels. Lemon was so focussed on finding number 143 that she almost forgot to answer, until she felt Kyne’s elbow on her bicep.

“Oh, I don’t even know, I guess I loved yellow as a kid? Plus I’ve always been sour as hell.”

Looking up, they caught a glimpse of a girl with light-blue hair hanging out of a window, smoking, who noticed Lemon and Kyne approach the front door immediately. She tilted her head to the side and shouted loudly, seemingly at nobody. “Sissy! Whores at the door for you!”

Looking between each other, both panicking that they’d made a huge mistake, the girls stood on the front step, trying to ignore the glare of the girl above them.

“I’m scared, she’s mean,” mouthed Kyne, causing Lemon to reach out and hold the younger girl’s hand, also as an attempt to calm her own racing pulse. Before they could do anything else, the intercom crackled and buzzed, the door shifting slightly as it unlocked. Biting her lip, Lemon led the brunette inside, never letting go of her hand. The smell of weed radiated around the stairwell, the dull thud of a dancey bassline penetrating the concrete walls. Slowly, they climbed the stairs up to the third floor.

“Do you smoke?” Lemon asked, dying to break the silence and put the younger girl - but mainly herself - at ease.

“Sometimes”, she hesitated, tucking a strand of her wavy chestnut-coloured hair behind her ear. “You?”

“Sometimes.”

They eventually reached the source of the music, where a girl Lemon recognised as Scarlett stood at the open door, already clearly hammered.

“Oh my god, you must be Lemon!!!” she screamed, immediately engulfing her into a tight hug. She was a good couple of inches shorter than Lemon, but she was very, very strong. Scarlett smelled of a combination of weed and flowery perfume, and Lemon couldn’t help but notice how her tattooed biceps flexed as she gripped her. “You are even more beautiful in person, oh fuck, sorry, thank you so much for coming!” Finally letting go, she placed her hands on Kyne’s shoulders, staring deeply into her eyes like she was reading a sign. “Is this your friend? She’s gorgeous too, it’s not fucking fair!”

As if a switch had been flipped, Kyne was suddenly oozing fearless confidence, her demeanor reminiscent of the first time Lemon had met her. “Hi, yes, I’m Kyne, and I fucked her first.”

Lemon’s jaw hit the floor as Kyne smirked, before being enveloped in Scarlett’s arms. The birthday girl laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard, her hands wrapped tightly around the Filipina’s waist. “Oh my god! You are so funny, I love you! Welcome, welcome!” Taking a step to the side, Lemon produced the cupcake in its paper container from their shopping bag. 

“Happy Birthday, girl!”

Scarlett’s eyes suddenly became glassy, and she put an arm around each of the other girls as her bottom lip trembled. “Ladies… this is the nicest thing anyone has done for me today, you are both angels!” Lemon tried to hold the small cake aloft to avoid squashing it any more, meanwhile Kyne appeared to be biting her lip in a vain attempt to not laugh. Scarlett, however, showed no signs of stopping her emotional tirade. “My own girlfriend didn’t get me a cake! I mean she baked some edibles for tonight, but it’s just not the same, y’know? This really means something, so thank you so much.”

A cough at the door interrupted the moment, and from the corner of her eye, Lemon saw the blue-haired girl from the window earlier, quickly realising that she recognised her from her heart tattoo under her eye. Ilona.

“Sorry to interrupt, babies, but we should take this inside. Scar, our neighbours don’t need to hear this again.” She spoke curtly, and despite the smile plastered on her face, it was obvious to everyone how she was really feeling. She was mad.

As Lemon and Kyne detangled themselves, edging towards the entrance, Scarlett spoke up again, sounding much less merry than before.

“Oh I’m sorry, sissy! Fuck my feelings, eh? Come on, ladies, let’s go party!” And with that, the remaining three girls could only watch the short blonde hair of the birthday girl bounce through the front door, leaving them in an awkward stalemate. Luckily, Kyne spoke up first, addressing the burning question that Lemon wasn’t brave enough to mention.

“So are you two, like, a thing?”

Ilona’s face had completely changed, her vulnerability now evident through her knitted eyebrows. She sighed heavily, ushering the others inside. “Yep, one wonderful year of this,” she muttered as she gesticulated wildly into the air, closing the door behind her and all but stomping down the dimly lit hallway. “Leave your shoes and jackets here, smoke out the window, and don’t have sex on my bed.” 

This was definitely a bonding moment for Lemon and Kyne, the two giggling quietly at each other as they slid off their shoes, leaving them in the messy pile which had been erected by the door. Lemon felt Kyne’s warm hand brush against hers, so she took the hint and interlaced their fingers again. They smirked at each other, knowing that tonight would be interesting, no matter what happened. As they heard Scarlett’s strained voice shouting at her girlfriend from the room at the end of the hall, they padded along the wooden flooring, ready to see where the night took them.

***

“Hey! Kyne! Watch this!”

With slightly dilated brown eyes and a vacant smile focussing on her, Lemon slid her legs along the carpet, straight into the splits. She posed, grinning, with a ‘ta-da!’

“Wooooo! Go Lemon!! She’s a dance teacher, people!” screeched Kyne over the music, running over to Lemon with a bottle of Fireball. Both girls took a generous swig, laughing as the brunette took the blonde by the hands and attempted to drag her across the floor, legs still splayed. The party, so far, had indeed been interesting. Scarlett had disappeared shortly after they had arrived, so Ilona had joined them on the couch with a bottle of expensive-looking vodka and a plate of pot brownies. Lemon and Kyne had half-heartedly listened as she cried about nothing they knew anything about; then Kyne had cried about how she had started to develop feelings for her roommate, but how she was too scared to ever say anything; which left Lemon sat in the middle with her arms around them both, stroking their hair, waiting for their temporary downer to end. As quickly as it had started, they had both perked up again, and pulled Lemon onto the makeshift dancefloor, the alcohol in her system making her brave enough to pull out all her tricks. The blonde couldn’t help but notice that the unlikely pair were getting on rather well, Ilona’s hand never far away from any exposed part of Kyne. As she stood upright again, shaking off the strain in her groin muscles, she stood and hazily watched as both girls slid into the hallway, taking the bottle of orange alcohol with them. As Lemon pondered her next move, a voice from above knocked her out of her daze, with strong arms guiding her toward the kitchen. For the second time that night, Lemon couldn’t help but feel she recognised the dark-skinned woman. She wore her hair in two long boxer braids which swung down her back, her plum lips turned up in a smile.

“Come play with me, we’re doing gin pong!”

Lemon let the woman’s velvet voice encompass her, when her brain finally connected the dots.

“Tynomi?!”

The woman in the denim playsuit looked startled as she looked Lemon up and down, before having her own moment of realisation. “Ah, lesbian Tinder? Nice to meet you…?”

“Lemon! I’m Lemon!”

“Lemon, it’s a pleasure! I’m afraid I haven’t found you yet, otherwise I’d know you better by now.” She winked as she sashayed through the beaded curtain which separated the kitchen from the living room, Lemon following her like a puppy would its mother. She readily took the plastic cup Tynomi offered her, filling it with a potent-looking mixture of rum and ginger beer. “I don’t spend as much time in Toronto as I’d like, sadly, which means so many lovely ladies fly under my radar.”

Trying to hide her wince as she sipped the strong drink, she leaned towards Tynomi, who was busy preparing a drink for herself with at least six different types of alcohol in it. “That’s a shame, do you live out of town?”

“No, no, I live two blocks away actually! But I’m a flight attendant, so it’s hard to keep something serious going, you know?” She raised her glass to toast with Lemon, both women holding eye contact as they sipped. Before Lemon had the chance to ask any of the hundreds of questions running through her mind, Tynomi had already turned to the long table with cups set up at both ends, grabbing hold of a ping-pong ball. “Anyway, shall I start?”

***

Lemon had lost all concept of time and space by the time Scarlett reappeared, her pixie cut looking ruffled as if she’d just rolled out of bed - which, to be fair, she probably had - jumping around the kitchen excitedly, attempting to drum up support for going to a club. Looking around the packed room, there was no sign anywhere of Kyne or Ilona, and after three attempts she managed to unlock her phone to see if the younger girl had messaged. Thankfully, she had.

[22:04] Leeeeeedmon im ginna sleeo here tonight with alina hopw u get bsck ssfe txtx me luv u bye xxzzxxxxxxzx

Despite not fully understanding what she was attempting to read, she decided that Kyne was fine. Why not go out with Scarlett? She found the blonde back in the kitchen, chatting to Tynomi, when she wrapped her arms around them both. “Let’s go out out! You’re both, like, so cool, I wanna dance!” And in a blur, Lemon found herself being whisked into the back seat a taxi between the other two girls, singing along to Alanis Morisette at the top of her lungs.

How the bouncers at the front door decided they were fit enough to be let in, Lemon will never know. But here she was, jostling through the crowds, ready to order some more drinks with money she didn’t necessarily have, but she didn’t care right now. Tynomi and Scarlett had decided to stay outside for a cigarette break, but she had assured them that she was absolutely fine. Completely fine. She heard a sudden thud, and as she bent down to search for her dropped phone on the dark floor, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Lemon?”

“OH MY GOD! RITA!!!!!!!” Grabbing the slippery device and clumsily skipping towards the area where Rita was standing with another woman - whose giant boobs were the only things Lemon could actually focus on - she threw herself head first into the Québécoise, not noticing the death stare she was receiving from the ashy blonde beside her.

“Who are you here with, mon chou? Are you okay?”

“We were at a party! I’m not sure where they’ve all gone, but oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here! I’m so drunk! Let’s go dance!”

Rita and her companion exchanged a worried glance, and both helped Lemon balance as she wobbled between them. “Lemon, this is my friend from work, Jimbo. Jimbo, this is my friend, Lemon.”

Despite the alcohol coursing through her system, Lemon still picked up on the way Rita’s mouth ever so slightly twisted into a smile as she looked over at her friend, or the way she maintained wide eye contact with her afterwards, wordlessly begging the drunk girl not to embarrass her or do anything stupid. She put everything together and realised that this was the woman Rita liked. But as she twisted in her seat to shake the other doctor’s hand, she was once again interrupted by a voice from behind her.

“Rita? Is that you?”

Tynomi approached the group, somehow still walking like a runway model, with her arms open wide. Rita immediately found herself enveloped in Tynomi’s embrace, the dark-skinned woman planting kisses on both of her cheeks. She held tightly onto Rita’s upper arms, looking each other deeply in the eye, leaving Lemon and Jimbo to feel like they were spying on an intimate moment. “Rita, you look amazing! How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, the same really! How are you? It’s great to see you again!”

The tension hung thickly in the air as Rita and Tynomi chatted, not even Scarlett’s alcohol-fuelled attempts at speaking French could dissipate it. And as Lemon squinted her eyes to the tall girl beside her, a stiff arm around her waist still holding her upright, she noticed the angry scowl now painted on her face while she watched the others. Lemon may be completely and utterly wasted, but she knew that look well - she wasn’t lying when she said she was always bitter - and felt obliged to do something. After all, Rita had just helped her get a job.

“Jimbo, wanna come smoke outside with me?”

The blonde glared at her for a second, before letting go and walking straight towards the door, leaving Lemon to trot after her. She found her again standing against the front wall of the building, arms folded, lips still pouted like a child who didn’t get their way. 

“You like her, don’t you?”

Jimbo slid her back down the wall until she was crouching, allowing Lemon to sit beside her, no doubt getting her yellow dress covered in dirt and who knows what else. Jimbo groaned as she threw her head into her hands. “I can’t help it. It’s Rita, you know, she’s wonderful. But she goes for people like you and those girls inside, not some ugly, big-titted whore like me. I’m such an idiot, bad Jimbo!”

All too familiar with this narrative and in no mood to let the party mood be dampened, Lemon grabbed both of Jimbo’s hands, rubbing them softly with her thumbs, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears falling from the other woman’s eyes. “Hey, no you’re not! You’re amazing! Rita definitely likes you too!”

But unfortunately, that only made her cry even more. “You don’t even know me! Why are you being nice to me? Who even are you?” Lemon continued holding her hands, shuffling closer so they could share body heat in the cool autumn air. Normally, when she was sober, she was pretty terrible at dealing with emotional people, but now she was feeling like a qualified therapist. How could it possibly go wrong?

“Look,” she began, moving her arm to around Jimbo’s shoulders, the other blonde leaning into the touch as she sobbed into Lemon’s chest. “I don’t know Rita as well as you obviously do, but I do know a lot of deep shit about her, right?” Stroking the long, blonde hair in front of her, she thought of how to best articulate her plan. “By the way, do you speak French?”

“I mean, enough to understand when she talks to herself in the office when she thinks no one else is there? Oh fuck that sounds so creepy, she hates me!” Jimbo was shaking with tears now, leaving black mascara marks on the front of Lemon’s dress. But that was a problem for future Lemon.

“Well, she turned me down a few days ago. Apparently I’m not her type. She said she liked someone else, from work, who speaks French with her, who makes her tea and compliments her lipstick, and makes her laugh every day with her silly impressions. Does that sound like anyone you know?” Lemon stopped touching Jimbo’s hair, allowing the voluptuous woman to look up at her, still crying hysterically. For a moment, Lemon almost panicked that she had horribly misread the situation and was speaking to the wrong person entirely.

“I… make…. her… tea…” she managed to stutter through jumpy breaths. Now it was her turn to grab hold of Lemon, squashing her head into her large breasts, Lemon making a mental note to ask later if they were real or not. “She… she always wears amazing lipstick, and I always tell her so,” she hiccuped, wiping her tears on the top of Lemon’s head. “She always laughs when I do my Joan Rivers…” Sitting up, she looked at Lemon in shock, finally appearing to have stopped crying. “Does Rita like me?! You’re lying!”

Lemon repositioned herself again, sliding her legs out in front of her, back to sitting beside Jimbo on the ground. “I’m dead serious, that’s what she told me!” She couldn’t get another word in before she was once again being dragged into a vice-like hug by the older woman.

“Oh my god, I am so fucking glad that work drinks got so messy tonight! Oh my god, what do I do now? Help me, yellow lady!!” Lemon managed to pry herself away, taking a deep breath to make up for all the breathing she’d missed out on.

“What do you mean, you dummy, just tell her!”

“I can’t just tell her! When has that ever worked?!”

“I told one of my friends once and we ended up dating for three years, so I…” Lemon’s words caught at the back of her throat, why did she have to say that? Of all the stupid things her drunk brain could think of, of course it had to be Juice. There was no point in fighting it, she just had to get her emotions out, even if she was a very ugly crier. “I… I loved her so much, Jimbo, why did it have to end?” Her trembling lower lip soon transformed into a loud sob, leaving Jimbo to hold her tight again and clumsily run her hand along her arm.

“Don’t cry, darling, she sounds like a total fucking bitch. Forget about her!”

“She wasn’t though! Why did I break up with her? Oh god, what have I done?” 

“No no no no no, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry again!”

And so the pair stayed sitting on the dirty concrete at the front of the bar, holding each other and crying for what could have been hours, not noticing any effects of the cold air or damp pavement against their bare arms and legs. They didn’t speak another full sentence to each other, communicating only through grunts and high-pitched wails, much to the amusement and confusion of the other customers milling around outside. Eventually, they felt the presence of somebody else squatting in front of them, the liquorice scent of Rita’s perfume and the grounding feeling of a hand on each of their knees bringing them back into the real world.

“Ohhhh là là, I am not nearly drunk enough for this. Let’s go back inside, ladies, Aunty Scarlett has just bought 100 Jägerbombs and we only have an hour to finish them all.”

[fuzzypastels]

My Strange Knight // Prince! Jimin X Reader // Royalty au

~The Beginning~

°•☆•°▪°•☆~The crown prince of the land requires a new knight after the odd disappearance of his previous one. The king and queen have resorted to finding one in their nation. There he stood, the crown prince's knight in shining armour. However, something seems off about this new knight. Something very very strange. The prince just can't seem to put a finger on it~°•☆•°▪°•☆

Crossposted to Wattpad

This is a repost because i have decided to combine the first 2 chapters together🤗💗💖💖💗💕💖💕💕

tags: @nctvisionary (my motivator 🤧💗💘💖💗💕) @monstax-bangtan @trishavolution21 @trashconic @chimcy​

My stomach grumbled. Hunger gnawing at its walls. I stared at the stale loaf of bread in my hand. It costed a fortune to buy it from the baker dressed in rags. I had never known a person so vile in my life. Who charges a beggar more than a regular citizen with the excuse that we were beggars because we were lazy? What a heartless bastard. I would rather eat dirt than ever set foot in that sickening bakery again. However, my dad is ill and he can't live on dirt so I have to thicken my skin and take the humiliation.

My father used to be a knight in the olden days. He was courageous, strong and much healthier obviously. However, after the great war with the opposing kingdom, he lost a leg, three fingers and his mind. He was never the same. His nightmares taunted him in his wake and slumber. He resigned from being a knight via a letter because he was ashamed that they would find out about his condition. He was ashamed and disappointed that he could no longer perform his duties and responsibility to the royal family. Especially the prince who he had loved as his younger brother.

Before the war, he used to guard the prince and they formed a tight bond with each other. Listening to his stories made me jealous because I'm confident that he cared more for the prince than he did his own family. But could I blame him? He did spend more time with them than me. The prince searched for him everywhere but he did not want to be sympathised or seen in his state. As if he wasn't already tormented enough by his nightmares, his beloved wife, my mother died while giving birth to me. He took care of me since I was a child despite his night horrors and insomnia. He used to do odd jobs and run errands every day to keep us alive.

My train of thoughts derailed when I heard an eruption of raspy coughs. I slowly opened the door flinching as the icy breeze stung my face. I began grating the bread with my dagger which gleamed beneath the stark moonlight. The only thing that still looks brand new despite its age. I scraped it into a pot leaving most of it for the days to come. I filled the pot with water and placed it on top of the fire. This weird soup was our only sustenance. We try to make it last a whole month. Scraping away the spots of green fuzz that began to appear. I hated the texture. It felt like bland, warm sludge sliding down your throat but it does its job of keeping us full. I should be thankful for having food at all.

I sighed as I made my way to my father whose face was streaked with dirt. I took the washcloth next to him and dipped it in water before dabbing it on his face gently. His skin felt worn beneath my skin. I looked at the wisps of white on his head, matted and limp. It pains me to see him like this so frail and ill. Not like the eccentric man who taught me how to fence while balancing on uneven ground when I was just seven years old. Smiling softly, I gently fed him the bread soup. I know that by now all sense of optimism and hope should've left me but I was never raised that way and besides, miracles do happen, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood at the balcony of his large chamber clad in a warm purple velvet robe with a gold sash around his waist. The sky draped over the land like a dark duvet sequinned with tiny stars which twinkled softly. His smooth complexion glowed beneath the pale moonlight. He leaned his elbow on the sturdy wooden ledge of his balcony, hand, cupping his face. He puffed his cheeks and exhaled softly, observing the small white clouds as it dissolved into the atmosphere.

The empire formed by his forefathers lays vast and small before him. Small freckles of light were speckled haphazardly, a telltale sign of the people who were still strangers to the land of dreams. Being born with a golden crown atop your head wasn't easy, as pretentious as it sounds. It was pretty...demanding. It was a lot of pressure being the crown prince. Business conferences, barely any childhood and the constant wondering of whether you were truly good enough to rule benevolently. He pinched his forehead in an attempt to ease the tension pushing against his skull.

Being so high up felt so...lonely. He longed to be a villager whose childhood consisted of running around with a group of boisterous friends entangled in the ropes of tight camaraderie. Picking fresh wild berries straight of the bushes and relishing it amidst lively chattering. Dark and sticky berry juice dribbling down their mildly scabbed skins from climbing up the tree in the first place. Maybe in his teenage years, he'll fall for the village sweetheart. The one with eyes that twinkled and lips as pink as rose petals. Then he'll ask for her hand in marriage and he'll work hard on the farm to provide for their family. A simple life with simpler responsibilities and requirements. His heart ached with longing. Is it possible to miss something that you've never had?

He barely had any outside of business interactions and his daily disguised ventures with Jungkook, his substitute knight, to the market could only do so much. Sure, he had people whom he considered friends in the castle but they were paid to be there so entertaining his presence was an unspoken requirement of their job resume. As bleak as all of that sounded, he felt a strange sense of hope. It was almost as if things were going to change in a direction he would never have expected. He did not want to hold on to this change of heart but miracles do happen, right? He groaned. It was either his lack of sleep or the strangeness of that night getting to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In between the twinkling stars, a bright ray hurtled across the inky night sky. A shooting star.

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (2/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one. 

Rating will be explicit in later chapters. This chapter 4k words. (ao3)

(Chapter 1)

________________________________

Chapter 2

The cardboard tray of chicken enchiladas was barely visible through the dirty microwave door, spinning slowly as it defrosted. Patrick Brewer stood and watched the little digital numbers counting down. When the microwave dinged, he used some paper towels as an oven mitt to pull his lunch out, picking up his refilled water bottle in the other hand to take both back to his office.

“You could eat your lunch here, you know. You don’t have to go hide in your office.”

He looked over at Eleanor, one of the salespeople at Rollins Electrical Supply, where he’d been employed as the small company’s business manager for the last two months. “I’m not hiding; I just like to work while I eat.”

“Well, I don’t think all those spreadsheets are good for your digestion,” she said with a smile, elbow on the table with her fork hovering over her salad.

Patrick shrugged and sat across from her at the small break room table. “I don’t usually see you in here at lunch time.”

“Yeah, I’m usually out on sales calls in the middle of the day, but we’ve got that training at one o’clock.”

He rolled his eyes. “Super useful for us desk jockeys to undergo extensive training on electrical safety, huh?”

“I know my life is frequently in danger from… see, I can’t even come up with an example of something that would be funny.”

“Don’t you sell this stuff for a living?” Patrick asked with a smirk. Eleanor was nice and clever; he hadn’t really made a work friend since coming back to his home town and taking this job. Maybe she could be his work friend.

“So, Linda was telling me you got married recently?” she asked around a mouthful of baby spinach.

Patrick tried not to cringe. Apparently Linda, their administrative assistant, was a gossip. “Uh… yeah. Three months ago.” He looked down at his left hand and winced. He’d forgotten to put on his wedding ring again. He hoped Rachel wouldn’t notice it sitting on his bedside table.

“Wow, really recently. And then you guys moved here to Oak Grove?”

“Oh… not exactly. Rachel and I grew up here, but I had moved away for a few months. I came back when we got married.” He took a bite of his mediocre frozen entree. It was too hot, and he burned his tongue.

“Gotcha. Were you away at school or something?”

Eleanor was clearly one of those people who loved asking questions about your life until she dug down to something uncomfortable. With Patrick she didn’t have to dig that deep.

“No, I’d just…” He sighed — how to explain the temporary insanity that had taken him to Schitt’s Creek? “I thought I needed to make a big change in my life,” he blurted out quickly. “I quit my job and broke up with Rachel and moved to this random town to work for a guy, Ray, who… it doesn’t matter. It was all a big mistake.”

“Wow, so you and Rachel got back together and then immediately got married? That’s ballsy.”

Was that what it was? he thought. “We’ve been together off and on since we were teenagers. She… she knows how to shake some sense back into me when I need it.” He’d certainly needed it when Rachel showed up in Schitt’s Creek, rescuing him from the lonely life he’d fallen into. Renting a single room in Ray’s house in a town where there hadn’t really enough financial planning business to cobble together a full-time job, where his only friend was the sullen woman who worked at the motel, and their only activity had been going to a seedy bar on the outskirts of town to drink beers and mope about their sad lives.

That reminded him, he really should text Stevie and see how she was doing.

Eleanor seemed to finally get the hint that quizzing Patrick about his relationship with his wife might be too much of a minefield for a work acquaintance to navigate. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Patrick got to the middle part of his frozen entree and found that it was too cold. He powered through eating it anyway.

“So are you married?” he asked in an attempt at polite interest.

“Yep. We’ve got two boys, four and six.”

Patrick asked her for pictures, figuring that would effectively occupy the rest of lunch. It did. He paged through the pictures on her phone and cooed appropriately at the cute kids until it was time to grab a cup of coffee — a potion to prevent sleeping during the corporate safety training session.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, Patrick letting himself sink into the soothing monotony of working on the budget for the following year’s capital expenditures. When his phone buzzed, he was surprised to see that it was already half past five.

The text was from Rachel. Don’t forget we’re having dinner with your parents tonight.

He had forgotten, but he didn’t mind so long as his mother had finished giving them grief about rushing off for a quickie courthouse wedding and denying her the joy of seeing them get married ‘properly.’

Before he drove the short distance home in the darkness of the January evening, Patrick plugged his phone into the auxiliary jack, loading up a news podcast to listen to on the drive. He’d been listening to podcasts a lot lately, as if he had to be feeding content into his brain during any idle moment. He tried not to think about why.

The apartment was quiet when he walked in; Rachel was picking up some bread rolls and a bottle of wine to bring over to his parents’ house on her way home from work, she’d said. A stack of boxes that he still hadn’t managed to unpack stood in one corner of the living room, shaming him. He went into the kitchen to wash the breakfast dishes that were in the sink, along with a pot that had been left to soak the night before.

When the apartment door opened, Patrick felt his shoulders tense.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Rachel called.

“Yeah, give me just a sec,” Patrick called back, flipping the now-clean pot upside down and setting it aside to dry. Wiping off his hands, he emerged and gave his wife a small smile. “All set.”

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he pulled it out and glanced down.

[Stevie] hey. whatcha doing?

Patrick put the phone back in his pocket without responding. “You want me to drive?” he asked Rachel.

The trip to Clint and Marcy’s house was ten minutes. Everything in Patrick’s world was within a five mile radius — his apartment, his job, his parents’ house, the stores he shopped at, the bar drank at. No wonder he’d thought escaping to a new place would solve his problems. It hadn’t.

His phone buzzed again as they pulled into the driveway, tires crunching over uneven pavement where he’d tripped and skinned his knees when he was eight.

[Stevie] i’m about to go to the bar alone and i need u to convince me not to go home with a loser

Patrick texted her back: Don’t go home with a loser.

“Who ya texting?” Rachel asked.

Patrick put his phone away and stepped out of the car, grabbing the bread and wine from the back seat. “Just somebody from work,” he said, the lie coming without forethought. It wasn’t that he had any feelings for Stevie; Stevie had only ever been a friend. But he figured Rachel might be suspicious of the female friend he’d made during the last time they were broken up.

He looked at his phone again as he followed Rachel up the driveway.

[Stevie] very helpful 🙄

[Patrick] You’re better than this, Stevie.

[Stevie] that’s debatable

“Come on in, kids,” his Dad said as he opened the door, giving an exaggerated shudder as the winter wind accompanied them into the house. “Brrr, it’s a cold one!”

His mom joined them in the foyer, taking the wine and bread rolls with a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for having us for dinner. It’s always nice to not have to cook,” he said as he pulled off his gloves and scarf and winter coat. Shoving the gloves into a coat pocket, he hung everything on a peg.

“Of course, we love having you here,” Marcy said.

“Maybe we should make it a weekly thing,” Rachel suggested, following Marcy to the kitchen. Patrick shoved his hands deep in his pockets and shot his father a tight smile.

“So, son,” Clint said, clapping Patrick on the back as they followed the women. “How’s married life?”

Patrick tensed, then hoped that his father hadn’t felt the tension in the hand that was still resting on his shoulder. “It’s fine. Good.” What was he supposed to say within earshot of his new wife, anyway? It’s a lot like before we were married, Dad. I feel tired and sad most of the time. I’m relieved every time Rachel leaves the house and anxious when she comes home. I stay up late watching TV to avoid going to bed with her. The thought of this being the rest of my life makes me want to… He choked that thought off before he could finish it.

Rachel fell naturally into helping his mother in the kitchen while Patrick stood by and watched. It wasn’t that he and Rachel cleaved to those kinds of regressive gender roles with meal preparation in their own apartment, but Patrick felt wrong-footed and awkward with his parents these days. He had for a while now. Rachel and Marcy chatted happily; they’d always gotten along well, those two. It was yet another reason that he’d gotten back together with Rachel each time — he knew it was what his parents wanted.

He checked his phone, but Stevie hadn’t texted again.

Schitt’s Creek had felt like his salvation when he first arrived, Ray Butani a gift from the heavens who offered him a room to rent and a job within a few minutes of his interview. Often in those early days, as Patrick had walked past the shuttered general store to get lunch at the cafe, he’d have a feeling deep in his bones that something wonderful was right around the corner for him. Sometimes it had felt so immediate that he’d stop and turn around quickly, expecting to see… he was never sure. He’d scrutinize what passed for the downtown, wondering why he felt like he’d just walked into a room and had forgotten what he was there for. Eventually that feeling of possibility faded and loneliness had crept in to replace it. When Rachel had arrived in town after a few months and asked him to take her back, he’d told himself it was for the best.

“Patrick’s going to New York in a few weeks,” Rachel volunteered as they all sat down to eat.

“Oh, really?” His father looked over to him, impressed. “What for?”

“It’s New Jersey, actually. And it’s just so that I can take a seminar on U.S. tax law. Rollins wants to do more business outside of Canada and I need to learn more about it, that’s all.”

“You’ll need your passport,” his mother said.

Patrick chuckled. Once a mother, always a mother. “I know, Mom.”

It took until halfway through dinner before his mother mentioned the wedding.

“I was thinking,” Marcy continued, putting down her fork. “I know you’ve rejected the idea of having another ceremony so that the family can be there, but what would you think about just a reception? A party, so that everyone can celebrate your marriage? Would that be okay?”

Patrick felt his stomach turn over. “It would cost a lot of money, Mom,” he said, looking down at his plate and not at Rachel.

“We can help with the cost, sweetheart, and I’m sure Rachel’s parents would say the same.” She reached over and took his hand. “We just want to do something nice that would allow us to celebrate your happiness.”

His happiness. His eyes flicked briefly to Rachel, who was watching him for his reaction. “I don’t know. We’ll talk about it.” Another glance at Rachel — she had averted her gaze and was staring down at her plate.

“Oh, do you remember Mrs. Temple down at the library?” Marcy asked. “She asked me today if it was a shotgun wedding, can you believe it?”

Patrick scowled at her. “In other words, she wanted to know if I had to marry Rachel because she’s pregnant? That’s what she wanted to know?”

Rachel snorted.

“I’m sure she was only kidding,” Clint said, an uncomfortable smile on his face.

“Just tell anyone who asks that it was because Patrick had to get the wedding over with quickly before he inevitably talked himself out of it again,” Rachel said.

“Rach—”

“What? I’m joking,” she said, taking a large swig of her wine. “Lighten up, Patrick.”

Several seconds of excruciating silence passed before Marcy cleared her throat. “Did you end up joining the hockey team, sweetheart? You’d mentioned you were thinking about it.”

Patrick shook his head. He used to play with a local adult league, but he would have had to try to join a team late this year, and even the thought of the whole process had exhausted him. “Not this year. But I’ll do baseball this summer.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice,” his mother said.

“We’re loving that new blender you got us for Christmas,” Rachel said.

“Rach is trying to become a smoothie person,” Patrick said.

“I can be a smoothie person,” Rachel said with a laugh, and Patrick breathed a sigh of relief.

The awkwardness past, they carried dinner over the finish line with similarly banal small talk. Patrick managed to maintain an upbeat facade until they were back in the car.

“I think I’m gonna meet Dennis for a beer down at Cooper’s after I drop you at home,” he said as he backed out of the driveway. “He texted me a little bit ago.” Actually, Patrick had texted his cousin from the bathroom before they left his parents’ house.

“Oh,” Rachel said, staring out the passenger window. “Okay.”

They were most of the way home before she spoke again. “Listen, we don’t need to do that reception thing your mom was talking about.”

“We can if you want to,” Patrick replied.

“No, because I know you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine with it.”

Rachel laughed bitterly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hands twisting in her lap. “I don’t know why I thought getting married would make things better. It’s only made things worse, hasn’t it?”

Patrick’s stomach dropped, and he reached for something to say. “I don’t… What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring, Patrick?”

He stretched out his fingers on the steering wheel. “I just forgot to put it back on this morning, that’s all. I swear.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

“Look, I won’t go to the bar. I’ll come in and we can talk—”

“I don’t really want to talk.” Rachel’s voice quavered. “I’d rather be alone right now.”

Patrick pulled up in front of the house. “I thought things between us were okay.”

“I don’t think you know what ‘okay’ is supposed to be like. And maybe I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like either, but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like this. I think I’m supposed to very occasionally feel like my husband loves me and desires me.”

“Rachel, I do love you.”

“And I don’t know if you know what that means.” She jerked her seat belt off and pulled open the car door.

“Rach—”

“Patrick, don’t. Just… we can talk tomorrow, okay?” She slammed the car door and ran into the building before he could say anything else.

Driving to the bar in a daze, Patrick tried to raise and counter all the things that could potentially have set Rachel off. The fact that he wasn’t wearing his ring, that had truly just been forgetfulness. His reluctance to have a reception to celebrate their wedding, that was because of the cost. His general unhappiness these days, that was just the winter doldrums. The fact that he could count the number of times they’d had sex in the last several weeks on one hand? He was just tired and stressed because of his new job.

The bar was busy, even for a Friday night, the music and raised voices of animated, drunk conversations hitting him like a wall of sound as he pushed through the heavy oak door. He spotted Dennis at the bar, and Patrick waved and made his way over.

“Hey,” Dennis said, gesturing vaguely with his beer bottle as Patrick pulled off his coat. “I would have ordered you something, but they have a lot of new, confusing microbrews here now and it paralyzed me.”

Patrick clapped his cousin on the back as he sat down on an adjacent stool and fumbled to find the coat hook under the bar without looking. “No problem.” He raised a finger to signal the bartender, a heavily tattooed woman with an asymmetrical haircut who Patrick was pretty sure had gone to his high school. She nodded to indicate she’d seen him as her hands moved quickly to pour bourbon into several glasses.

“Is everything okay?” Dennis asked. “It’s usually me dragging you out to the bar, not the other way around.”

Patrick took a breath, uncertain how much of his problems he should spill, but he was saved by the arrival of the bartender.

“Hey, Ash,” Dennis said.

“Hey,” she said before turning to Patrick. “What can I get you?”

“A shot of Bulleit and whatever you have on draft that’s not too hoppy, please.”

The bartender nodded. “Gotcha, just a minute.”

Dennis had an eyebrow arched. “Do we have a goal in mind tonight to get shit-faced? Because if so, I need to level up.”

“It’s been a long week,” Patrick said, eyes following the bartender. “You know, I could have sworn when she was in high school, her name was Katie. Or Kristen? Something with a K.”

“It was Kaitlyn, but now it’s Ash, and they use they/them pronouns now,” Dennis said.

“Oh,” Patrick said, uncertain what his reaction to that information should be. What he felt for just a brief second was a surge of… jealousy? Uncertain of where that could possibly be coming from, he did his best to ignore it.

“So is it the new job that’s driving you to drink?” Dennis asked.

“No, the job is fine. How’s teaching?” Patrick’s cousin taught math at the local high school.

“Is it summer yet?” Dennis asked with a manic laugh. “My kids this year are a handful.”

Ash brought Patrick’s drinks over, and as they set them down, Dennis gestured to their forearm, where a woman’s face was tattooed on their pale skin. Or, half of a face, at any rate. The other half was a skeletal horror. “I don’t remember seeing that tattoo before,” he commented.

Ash looked down at it and smiled. “It’s fairly new. Hela, the Norse goddess of death.”

“I don’t remember Cate Blanchett looking like that in the last Thor movie,” Patrick said, taking a sip of his beer.

Ash rolled their eyes. “Yeah, because I’m not talking about a superhero movie, I’m talking about actual Norse mythology,” they said as they walked away to go deal with another customer.

“So, how’s Rachel?” Dennis asked.

Patrick shrugged, tossing back the bourbon and following it with a long drag from his beer.

Dennis was watching him carefully. “That good, huh?”

“Pretty sure she already regrets getting married.”

“No way. Rachel adores you, there’s no way she regrets marrying you.” Dennis picked up a coaster and rolled it back and forth along the bar. “Unless she’s picking up on some regret on your part.”

Patrick swallowed more beer, impatient for the alcohol to dull the sharp edges of his emotions. “I’ve loved Rachel since I was a kid, why would I have regrets?”

Dennis opened his mouth and then hesitated for several seconds before speaking. “You do know that loving someone the way you love a best friend, or a sister, that’s not the same thing as being in love with them, right? Like, I’m sure some people build marriages on that kind of… I don’t know, companionship, and if you’re both approaching it that way, fine, but it’s not what most marriages are based on.”

“I don’t love her like a sister, Dennis. Pretty sure I wouldn’t fuck my sister,” Patrick said with a strained laugh.

“Okay, fair enough, but tell me honestly: is Rachel truly the love of your life? And don’t answer me with how long you’ve been a couple. Tell me that when you’re away from her, you miss her like there’s a gaping hole in your chest. Tell me that the thought of your future together makes you so happy, you can hardly contain it. Tell me that sometimes you can’t wait to tear her clothes off.”

The bartender was handing a check to the woman sitting a couple of stools down as he said all this, and Patrick could see Ash register at least some of Dennis’ speech. His cousin was now waiting for him to respond, but he had no idea how to. All of that stuff sounded like the way people said they felt in movies. It didn’t sound like real life.

“You know, at one point I thought you were gay,” Dennis said.

Patrick reared back on his stool. “What? When did you think that?”

“During high school. You had that friend on the baseball team… I don’t remember his name. The tall guy.”

Patrick didn’t want to admit that he knew immediately who Dennis was talking about. “Eric.”

“You guys spent a lot of time hanging out, and the way you looked at him…” Dennis shrugged. “Just kind of looked like you were in love with him.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Patrick said. He could feel himself flushing. It suddenly felt very hot in the bar, and he felt the urge to flee — to run outside into the night and put his face in the nearest snow bank.

“Okay,” Dennis said simply.

“Seriously, I wasn’t,” Patrick said, unsure why he was still talking when Dennis had seemed willing to drop it. “I was dating Rachel then anyway; I wasn’t into my best friend.”

“I said okay.”

“I’m going to be a total asshole and butt in,” Ash said, and Patrick looked up in surprise, wondering how long they had been standing there. “But have you considered the idea that you might be asexual? Or aromantic? Or both?”

“Kinda putting your tip at risk here, aren’t you?” Patrick asked.

Ash shrugged. “I know, I’m breaking the bartender code; don’t offer your opinion unless it’s asked for. Sorry.” They crossed their arms over their vintage Roxy Music t-shirt and didn’t look particularly sorry.

“I’m not asexual,” Patrick said, although he knew he didn��t have as much of a libido as most people seemed to. “I like sex just fine.”

Ash arched a well-sculpted eyebrow. “Convincing.”

“Okay, can we change the subject, please?” Patrick asked, taking another large drink from his beer glass.

“Sorry, man.” Dennis at least had the decency to look regretful. “Look, you know I’m always here for you, right? Whatever you need.”

Patrick knew he should have been comforted by that, but it was hard to feel comforted by his cousin’s offer when he had no idea what he needed. He stared down into his almost-empty beer glass, looking for the answer.

Chapter 3

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Angel of Music Chapter 1

Lucille

             She awoke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, the bed cold and the room dark. Her hand reached out to her right, only to feel the cold emptiness of her missing partner. Her eyes lazily glided toward the digital clock on her fiancé’s nightstand, which read six thirty. With a sigh she sat up and stretched, running her hands through her nearly-white, curly hair. She began to hum a quiet tune as she swung her legs over the mattress and slipped her feet into the fuzzy, pink slippers that sat beside her bed, perfectly lined up so that when she woke up all she had to do was step into them.

           The blinds let in tiny blue slivers of light through the gaps, and Lucille peeked through them to see if her beloved was sitting outside, looking at the lake behind their home. She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw that he wasn’t.

           Lucille didn’t believe herself to be a good housewife, like Roger’s sister or even her own mother. Lucille often slept in later than him, she couldn’t cook, nor did she know how to work an iron. However, she loved him, and she supposed that was all that mattered. She opened his closet and set out his white, button-down shirt along with a black tie, before looking on the floor for his work shoes, which she couldn’t seem to find. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before circling around and looking under the bed. She let out a deep sigh when she realized that they probably weren’t in the bedroom, which meant that she had forgotten to bring them in from the living room.

           She stood, straightening out her white nightgown and huffing at the amount of dirt on her elbows. She really was a bad housewife.

           Roger stepped into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his brown hair darker with water and soaking wet. Little droplets of water traced down his neck and chest and Lucille couldn’t help but think about how she would have to clean up the water later before it ruined the wooden floors. He looked at her with a small, innocent smile that made her heart melt.

           “You’re up early.” He said to her while moving toward the bed. She put up her index finger as a way to say wait a minute while she moved toward the drawers and pulled out his underwear and slacks. She smiled at him lovingly while placing the items of clothing on the bed.

           “Do you really think you’re putting on that nice, white shirt with your hair soaked like that? It’ll be see through by the time you’re out the door.” She joked, prompting a small laugh from him. He grabbed onto his underwear and pulled them up his legs before handing her his towel.

           “Then clean me up, my love.” He said teasingly. She threw the towel back at his chest in a playful way.

           “Do it yourself, stud. We both know that you won’t make it to work if I do that for you.” She told him before walking off. He watched as she left, but before she got to the door he spoke.

           “Where are you going?”

           “I’m putting on a pot of coffee. Why?” Roger placed the towel atop his head, rubbing furiously and sprinkling water atop their grey sheets. Lucille, in that moment, could have sworn she was going to snap due to how reckless he was, but she knew that he was better than where she was in the past.

           “I already got it.” And there it was. The reason for her staying with him, despite how obliviously sloppy he was. In all honesty, Roger was like the human equivalent of a puppy dog. He meant well, and he loves you unconditionally, even if he destroys everything in his path.

           She smiled at him.

           “Just get ready, baby.” She told him before feeling the anxiety that she was forgetting something wash over her.

           “Are you buying lunch today?” She asked. Roger nodded as he buttoned up his shirt. Lucille simply gave a thumbs up as she began to walk down the hall.

           She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a mug that was left out on the counter, and she felt a wave of disappointment and mortification wash over her. All she could think about was how she was failing at being a housewife before they got married, and she was left wondering what would happen to them once they did. Part of her was afraid he’d leave her, and the other part was worried that she’d leave him, though it wouldn’t entirely be her choice.

           She began pouring the bitter, black liquid into her mug when she felt Roger’s arms snake around her waist.

           “Am I a bad housewife?” She asked, somewhat jokingly to hide her self-consciousness. She felt Roger’s head shift on her shoulder and felt his breath tickle her neck.

           “Yes…” He trailed off, feeling her slump in his arms.

           “But it isn’t entirely your fault.” She felt her heart drop. Suddenly she felt like she was going to vomit.

           “Then who’s fault is it, Roger?” She asked, a certain dangerousness in her voice. She felt Roger’s hands leave her hips as he turned her around, his brown eyes gleaming with, what she interpreted as, pity.

           “Not yours.” He said in a tone that told her to stop asking. His hand found hers and he squeezed it reassuringly. They didn’t say another word to one another until he left, and even then she didn’t speak to him.

           Lucille felt as if her poor choices in the past had finally caught up to her. She was finally getting to control her own life, yet as time went on she felt more and more out of control of herself and her life. No matter how many times people tell her it wasn’t her fault, no matter how many times they try to reassure her, she’ll always feel guilt.

           Her hand came up to grasp at the ring around her neck, and she smiled, despite the tears that fell down her cheeks.

 2

 Roger came home to Lucille, sitting on the couch, waiting for him. She was dressed up, with her hair pulled back and her makeup done. She wore the pearls that she had gotten from him on their one-year anniversary, and the white dress with black lace on the end that she had gotten from her mother that Christmas. She made sure to look perfect for him after cleaning the house all day and cooking. Although, the cake she tried to make didn’t seem to come out right, she knew that she couldn’t go wrong with a TV dinner.

He took one look at her before throwing his briefcase to the side and smashing his lips to hers, smearing her lipstick slightly. Her eyes were wide and her hands were up between them in shock. She wasn’t sure why she was fighting it, but she knew that something didn’t feel right about this. She worked hard that day because of the way he was acting toward her, not because she wanted sex.

She pushed him away gently, smiling awkwardly at him while he stared in confusion.

“I made dinner.” She watched as his face fell.

“It’s a TV dinner. All I had to do is microwave it.” She admitted, bringing the smile back to his face. He kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen, where the microwavable meals were sitting on the table. Lucille couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Is my cooking really that bad?” She asked, astonished.

“Yes.” Roger answered as he sat down at the table. Lucille sat in the chair across from him with forks and napkins in hand. She placed his fork and napkin in front of him before doing the same for herself, and awkwardly watched as he dug in. Her hand went back to the necklace again, clasping around the ring that hung from it.

“Roger, I have a question.” She spoke up finally, yet this brought her no relief. She wasn’t even sure whether she wanted to bring this up, but now she had to say something, even if she decided not to go through with asking. He looked up from his meal, his innocent eyes melting her heart again. He swallowed before speaking.

“Yes, my love?” Lucille took in a sharp breath, finding it hard to put the words together. She knew what she wanted to say, what she needed to bring up, but she was afraid. She was afraid that if she were to mention it then he’d return; then she’d betray herself and go back to him.

“Have I been… acting strange?” She finally asked. The room suddenly fell silent. Roger stared at her, his brown eyes wide with shock. Lucille looked down at her untouched dinner, feeling as if she were going to puke at any moment. She heard the clank of metal against their wooden table and knew that he had put down his fork. His hand reached across the table to grab hers, and once her cold hand was in his grasp he began to stroke it with his thumb.

“I didn’t want to alarm you…” That was when she snapped. She stood up, the chair falling backward and banging on the wooden floors, tears falling from her face, smearing her makeup down her cheeks as she completely let go. Her fists were balled and she felt her long nails digging into her palms.

“Didn’t want to alarm me?” She asked, her voice chillingly calm for someone who looked as enraged as Lucille.

“Didn’t want to alarm me?” She shouted, repeating the same sentence over again. Her hands flew up to her hair, her fingers raking through her platinum locks as she began to panic.

“What have I been doing?” She asked, her voice uneven and scared. Roger shook his head.

“Y-you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that big of a deal… I just figured you were-”

“Roger!” She shouted, completely hysterical by that point. Her breathing was uneven as she sobbed.

“Please tell me that you didn’t give her your name. Tell me that you put her back where she belongs so she can’t hurt you.” She demanded. Roger looked down, and suddenly she felt her whole world shatter. She couldn’t remember a damn thing he was talking about, but she knew what had happened.

“Sometimes I’d wake up and you were next to me, but sat up…” Roger began, looking down in shame and fear. Lucille couldn’t seem to wrap her head around his thought process, she was too hysterical to try. He was in danger now and she knew it, they both were. She walked over to him, and although he didn’t cower she could tell that he was uncomfortable. She knelt down, placing a kiss on his lips before slumping into his chest.

“Roger…” She wept. He held her close.

“Other times you’d be in here, next to the phone.” He said, knowing that he was dooming himself. Lucille looked up, her face even more alarmed.

“But when you… she… was in here I knew not to try anything.” Lucille nodded, her hand clasping around his tightly.

“I know, Rog, and I’m proud of you for trying.” She began to sob again. He cradled her head next to his chest, holding her there securely, thus giving her the security she thought she had when she met him.

“But we don’t know if she…”

“We do, Rog, it’s too late. We gotta get outta here.” Lucille whimpered. All Roger could do was hold her, and that’s what he did. She loved him because he was sweet, because when he found out about what had happened to her he didn’t turn away. Most importantly, however, she loved him because she believed he could protect her from both herself and the man from her past.

However, Lucille knew this wouldn’t last.

[iwannafuckyexiu]

A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO YOUR DEATH  006

BROUGHT TO YOU BY IZUKU WITH A SHOUJO HEART " a-ah, y-y-y/n-kun! yamete kudasai~ "

Y/N's body quakes and quakes as the bus drives along the uneven road to their destination but he just stays still, sight trained to a certain direction.

"What are you looking at?" Denki slants his head as he swats his hand in front of Y/N's face, pupils broadened with interest in Y/N's thoughts.

"You," Y/N jests, his head snaps to Denki's direction, looking at him with an impish allure tiptoeing across his lips. The mustard boy benumbs at the sudden limpness paralysed his heart with that smile.

Bursting out in a guffaw at Denki's sudden freeze screen, Y/N swipes a hand dismissively, he tells him, "Nah, just wondering why my heart is going doki doki right now." He vibrates his torso to motion his heart movement.

"Is it because of me?" Denki nudges Y/N's side with his elbow, pitching him a smooth ass wink, he rests an arm on one of Y/N's shoulder as he squirms his eyebrows at him playfully.

"Oh my god, how did you know!" Y/N marvels at him in an exaggerated tone, hand violating Denki's poor thigh violently with loud slaps, the toothy and vibrant grin on his profile contrasting his actions.

"Ah, ah ahahah!-stop stop stop stop stop!" Denki pledges for mercy from Y/N, his digits grips onto Y/N's wrist and pins it to the cushioned bus seat to put an end to the painful beating on his milky white (now red) thighs.

Rubbing his already reddened skin to soothe the throb (he suspects that Y/N often spanks people with those hands), Denki proceeds to ask Y/N about the 'doki doki' sensation, "Anyways, Is it a weird feeling like something might go wrong?" He lets his head fall to the back of the seat as he speaks to the boy beside him.

"Dude, don't put up a flag," Y/N gasps and tucks his hand over his mouth, he soberly says to Denki, his hand grazing over Denki's shoulder, "You'll definitely jinx yourself, trust me."

"Well damn."

"You're damn right."

Swivelling back to face his front, Y/N rummages around his costume pockets for his earphones and phone, promptly ending the conversation.

"What game is that?" Uraraka to his right juts her head out and questions him, her toffee doe pupils embedded to the phone screen, glaring in inquisitiveness.

"PUBG, Japanese server," Y/N answers her in a flat tone, view not once abandoning the screen one bit whilst he controls the player in the game to snipe another person quite some distance away from crouching between the tall grass.

"Can I try after this round?" Uraraka asks, her doll-like eyes glinting with purity and stars, making it hard for people to reject her demands - but Y/N isn't looking at her, so that is no use.

Nevertheless, Y/N accepts, "Sure."

Y/N lends Uraraka the phone in his hand after he gets killed in the previous round, "Here, you know how to play right?"

"Yep!"

Uraraka struggles a little at first but soon gets the hang of the controls of the game and completely dominates the battlefield. By the end of five matches, Y/N jowl slacks gapingly as his hand loafs against his forehead, the other hand cleaving onto his phone, somewhat wavering.

"Wha-how?" Y/N's eyes bulge at the fourth top one interface, the corner of his lips twitching when he twists to Uraraka all of a sudden, "Uraraka-chan, please add me!" enveloping Uraraka's remarkable digits in one enraptured motion, implores Y/N eagerly.

"Ahhahahah, I'm actually not that good ..." Uraraka scratches her neck, she laughs in a coy fashion as she nibbles on the inside of her cheeks, "But I'll add you when I download the game," she appends, stringing a hand up to keep Y/N from getting upset, her lips wrest upsloping in an ear-to-ear smile.

、、、

The pro hero Thirteen speaks to the class with his prepared speech, prating on about how any quirk can kill and that they should learn to use their quirks not to hurt but to save other people, their powers are absolutely not to be used with the intent to hurt the innocent. Y/N indulges in his blank trance through all that, too bored out to listen.

"What's that?" Izuku murmurs to himself, glancing in the direction where a purple swirl hole just emerged from, his brows knitted conjointly and a frown warping his features.

"Probably the nether portal," Y/N overhears the boy's shushed mumbles and responds with a joke, which Izuku tilts his head at in perplexion.

"?????"

"The simulation perhaps?" suggesting a proper answer, Y/N studies the violet void elaborately, the jesting grin by his lips gradually dying down.

"Are you sure ...?" Izuku questions hesitatingly as he eyes the ominous colour and swirls with wary. The vision seems to compel a churning sensation in his stomach, the feeling isn't like anxiety, it spreads more towards something like ... dread.

"Nah, I think it may be ..." Y/N's hoarse voice tapers off whilst even more of those swirl holes take shape beside the first one, like some gateway for the dead.

"It may be ...?" a whisper courses out of Izuku lips as his droopy eyes amplifying at the people that scaled out of the voids, and his jowl slackens at the dreadful sight.

"Don't move, these are real villains!" Aizawa hollers as he realises what the thing is, activating his defence and quirk into the drive, he backs off the students and himself.

"Yep, that."

A villain steps out from tens and hundreds of others that are still swarming out of the portals, he conducts a speech towards the heroes on how All Might has been distracted by the other villains and that he can't save them now blah blah blah.

Pfft, doesn't he know the golden rule of not talking too much if you're a villain? Y/N mocks the villain internally, an amused hue cast over his irises as he focuses at the villain with the crook of his lips twisted upwards.

"Shit," Y/N damns under his breath as he props up his hands against the jagged ground, standing upright on his feet, he examines his surroundings with tapered eyes, "well at least I'm at a high place."

Hunkering down to a lower slope, he delves out several mini knives. As he shuts a single eye to aim, he draws back the hand gripping onto a knife and darts it directly towards the head of a female villain in close proximity of the bottom of the hill. Straight after one shot, he propels forth another few knives at the other villains nearby, most hits striking the headshot.

He relocates himself downwards to the hillfoot and more to the left, lugging out a dagger for defence. There seems to be only one villain in the area, as Y/N ventures around searching for his classmates in heed of any sudden attacks, his vision stretched across the terrain sees no other villain until ten minutes later when he finally spots a figure of a somewhat villain-looking guy.

Y/N prances towards the villain's back that is facing him and hooks an arm around their neck. Reinforcing his latch on the villain's neck, he continues to do so until the body in his arms falters unconscious.

As he discerns another villain from afar coming at him, Y/N readies himself with his needles and projects all at the villain one by one, levelling at the villain's arteries and veins at his limbs to render him out of action.

Albeit the villain in front of the boy is down, he doesn't see the one coming from behind. Y/N's ear apprehends the stout stomps of footsteps behind him but by the time he reacts, a ripping spasm surges through his left shoulder.

Y/N yelps out in torment, blindly stabbing his dagger backwards, he twists the blade that has penetrated the villain's body. And he swivels to his back in one swift motion, a side of his shoulder slumping from the keen claws of the villains that did a surprise attack on him. He grunts in agony, clamping his teeth as he lets go of his dagger and charges it at the single wrist of the villain rapidly.

Taloned wrist now immobilised, the villain attempts to use brute force and launches himself at Y/N. The latter laps at his dry lips as he compresses the wound on his shoulder with one hand, hissing at the sting when he does. And he leaps into the air to only land on the reckless villain's head with a harsh kick.

The villain lurches a bit from the strong kick but manages to seize Y/N's ankle with his left hand, he wrenches his ankle to the side by force, earning a swathed groan and vigorous struggles from the teen.

The villain then swings him to the side with strength, about to release his clasp on Y/N's twisted ankle when Y/N, in turn, clutches onto his right shoulder in one swift movement and chops the back of his nape.

The villain remains standing for a moment, worrying Y/N but then he plummets to the floor with a heavy thump, hand around Y/N sprained ankle limping. Y/N boots the villain's sides several more times to make sure they've passed out, he tears a patch of the villain's costume off to wrap it around his injured shoulder after inspecting that there are no villains close to him, ceasing the slight blood flow.

He flops onto the ground, one leg extended out in front and the other bent. Whilst Y/N hoists a hand up to swab at the sweat on his forehead, he pants with his lips apart heavily, his sight seeming to sway for some reason.

After what appears to be some while later, Y/N finally rises to his feet from the dusty earth, he lurches his way towards the central plaza where they first were with his aching shoulder constantly acting on him.

As Y/N approaches the centre, he conceals himself behind a pile of bushes to study the situation before raiding out. His breath hitches when he snatches a glimpse of a familiar pot of turquoise hair, Y/N hunches his head down swiftly as the madman's crimson iris skims over the region where he is.

Fuck, that was close, he lays a hand on his beating chest that halted for a moment just before. The ground seems to lurch under him as he slightly bends atop the bush, lacking the strength to keep his eyes ajar.

Time flows along without Y/N's realisation whilst he watches the two sides battle it out in the central plaza, by the time the villains retreated and the class begin gathering together, Momo finds Y/N lounging his back on the shrubs just some distance from the centre.

"L/N-san, L/N-san," calls Momo as she angles down and taps Y/N's shoulder twice in a gentler manner.

"Huh?-Oh hey, Momo," Y/N peeks a crack on one eye sluggardly and wafts a hand at Momo's approximate direction to greet her, ascending up to his feet rather leisurely. "Are we going back to the bus now?" he asks whilst he sweeps the dirt off his rear. A nod is given as a response from Momo.

、、、

"Aye, Izuku!" Y/N screeches across the sidewalk with his chin tilted upwards, he sprints over to Izuku in haste and springs up then drapes a hefty arm on the broccoli's back (in which Izuku kind of stammers at and almost trips).

"Ah, hi Y/N," stabilising himself for a bit, Izuku turns his head towards Y/N and hails to me, an inelastic smile on his features.

"So you know what happened today? I ...[leaving out three thousand +++ words]"

Y/N lays his arm on Izuku's shoulder reliantly, he rambles on about the happenings of the day with a languid mood, accidentally bumping his head with Izuku from time to time.

The latter would occasionally give out a comment or two and retell his experience during the invasion when Y/N comes out with a question to him all of a sudden.

They walk through rows of stores, structures, facilities while they communicate about their experiences during the day, and before they know it, they arrive under where Izuku's apartment lies.

"Oh, is this where your apartment is?" scanning the stairwell to Izuku's apartment, Y/N questions out of nowhere.

The apartments conveniently loll on top a row of stores and restaurants, the windows of the rooms on the floors above the shops lit up, most likely Izuku's neighbours.

"Ahah ... yeah."

"I better memorise the address so I can come sleepover or hang out sometime," Y/N convulses into light laughter as he banters with Izuku, smacking the broccoli head's shoulder.

"U-Uh, Y/N?"

Y/N hums in a questioning tone, his face turns to Izuku whilst the latter sheepishly scratches the back of his neck and asks, "Don't you have to go to your part-time?"

"Oh yeah," Y/N fishes out his phone from his pocket, his slim finger presses on the power button as he takes a look at the time. "It's at five thirty but how do you know?" his eyes avert back to Izuku, a rare unfocused look on his face that softens his features and takes Izuku by whim.

"O-h, I've uhm overheard you speaking to someone else about having part-time jobs almost every day after school," Izuku truthfully spills to Y/N, his digits fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and his bottom lips chewed between his teeth, his head dangles down almost automatically. When he sees Y/N's expression contort in the corner of his eyes, he adds, "Sorry ... if you think it's invading your privacy ..."

"It's okay," Y/N flicks his hands to gesture it's fine and adds jokingly with a short giggle, "didn't know you cared that much about me."

"Haha, hah ..."

"Anyways, I'll be going to not be late to my shift," Y/N grips onto his slumping bag strap with one hand and pivots to the direction of the traffic light on his heel, he gazes at Izuku with his face sided.

Nodding his head, Izuku straightens his back up and he holds a hand up to wave farewell at the h/c boy, "Oh okay, bye Y-" He's interjected by Y/N who comes to a standstill under a lamp post in front of a closing store, Y/N glances back at Izuku with a grin that doesn't say anything good.

"Wait come over here a bit."

Y/N flicks his finger to gesture for Izuku to stride closer, the guise on his face befogged to the dull bronze glow from the lamp post aside illuminating only a part of his chiselled jaw.

"??"

Izuku blinks with a puzzled sheen glossing his eyes but still does as Y/N says and shifts towards the latter, cautiously remaining a respectful distance from him.

"Closer." Y/N's smile pitches, an impartial look carves over his face.

Five inches, Izuku's throat rolls in what he can't tell is embarrassment or anticipation as their distance closes in.

"And closer."

Three inches, he counts.

Izuku can't help but flush up at the proximity between them, the tip of his ears glowing a vibrant tint of red. He averts his eyes to the two mingled silhouettes distended along the sidewalk and overlay the lavender bushes beside, vaguely dubious.

Izuku hastily turns his vision away again, his already bloodied features louring into a more vivid shade at the thought that just arose.

"Uh-Uh, I think this might be too-" Izuku interjects his own sentence whilst Y/N's face latches in on him, his eyes widen in stupefaction.

"MUA! "

A clink resounds from Y/N as he briefly plants his lips on the tip of Izuku's nose before pacing back to admire the view of Izuku's bright red cheeks, brazen and cheeky grin varnishing over his features whilst he lets out faint snickers.

"Y-Y-Y-Y-Y/N??" by the time Izuku lets out a sound and calls for Y/N, he can only see the back of Y/N who's hastening along the sidewalk, some gap away already.

Hearing Izuku's stammering voice, Y/N slows down his footsteps, he holds a waving hand up and yells, "I'll see you tomorrow, bye~"

After Y/N left, Izuku makes his way up the stairway to his apartment, his footsteps dense and heavy, his mind running blank the entire time. He doesn't go in when he reaches his apartment door, he stands still outside, taking deep breaths to lulls his heartbeat down as he binds a hand through his locks.

The apartment door creaks open, a head peeks out from the crack, "Izuku?"

"Y-eah, mom?"

"Come in, what are you doing outside still?"

"Ahahah ... the wind felt ... nice and I wanted to feel it more hahaha ..." Flapping his hand to pretend to fan himself, Izuku rigidly laughs whilst maintaining awkward eye contact with his mother, which earns him a queer glance from her.

"Okay ...?" as his mother steps aside to let Izuku in the house, she trails off in a questioning tone. "Was your friend downstairs, I saw a boy in Yuuei uniform too? He looks like a nice person," Izuku's mother sends a casual question at him as she locks the front door before trotting over to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner for the day.

"Ahahah ... yeah, he's a pretty outgoing a nice person to almost everyone ..." Izuku mutters in a low tone timorously to his mother, slender fingers unbinding his knotted laces and hauling off his sneakers.

Izuku prances to his bedroom as soon as his shoes were placed on the shoe rack properly and seal the door locked to avoid someone walking in on him. He dives straight onto his bed and harrows his head into a pillow, muffling his uncharacteristic screech from being heard by his mother.

"MMMMMPFHHHFHF."

Till now Izuku can still sense the touch of warmth on his nose tip as if the boy's lips are still there.

Flipping over to his back, his chest heaves up and down laboriously from the robust thrashing of his heart against his rib. Bashful pupils gazing at the splits and cracks of the chalky ceiling above, he cradles his sultry cheeks between his hands, "Too much, hah ... hah ..."

"This is ... hhhh ... too ... bad for my heart."

TO NOTE

tbh when i read through izuku's dialogue, my yellow mind was like 'ohoho' sounds like something from an izuku bottom fic hahahah

and about the ending of this book, i think i'm gonna definitely make an ending where it's basically a poly relationship, and maybe an ending for each of the characters.

buuuuut feel free to recommend some characters to involve in the harem or comment on what ending you'd like, etc.

NOT PROPERLY PROOFREAD

[nadiineross]

note: this was gonna be for day 4 but i didnt get it in time so i guess it sucks to suck

Chloe’s hometown was once again in the strange transitional state between summer and fall where the sun still burned brightly in the day but the night air was just a touch above too cold. At sunset, the entirety of town breathed a sigh of relief like how one would upon entering an air-conditioned room after slaving about under the smothering heat all day. 

What they got was a pleasantly cool evening, fewer bugs, and the sounds of muted chatter. Townspeople took out their plates and chairs, sitting on their porches and yards to enjoy the reprieve. 

The Frazer-Ross household was one of the few who hadn’t taken to the outdoors, though their lovely semi-transparent curtains did present themselves to the town through open windows. 

The sliding door leading to the backyard was left open, living room lights swelling past the glittering curtains onto the grass. 

Inside, Nadine was placing dishes into the table, carefully straightening out the forks and spoons, and folding a napkin delicately to tuck under a plate. Chloe’s phone was plugged into the speakers, the volume turned low so that Nadine could barely make out the words of the song.

“Chloe,” she called and frowned, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the kitchen. 

“Yes, love?” came through the open doorway. 

“Louder, please.” 

Chloe complied. Billy Joel’s crooning drifted through the walls, around corners, and out into the backyard too. Nadine began to hum along to the music, enjoying the peaceful ambience. 

Suddenly, the fairy lights extended over their backyard flickered on. They glowed a soft orange, hung in uneven rows. Those that were in need of a change blinked on and off. Chloe had set it all up herself half a year ago after she had sent Nadine off with an absurdly long grocery list and surprised her with a picnic blanket under it later in the night. 

They were both well past forty, been with each other over a decade, and the way they acted with each other, the sweetness of it, sometimes still surprised even Nadine. It wasn’t to say they’d gone soft because she doubted she’d ever know how to do that. They were just in the habit of making each other smile. 

As if on cue, the music turned up even more and Nadine’s grin widened. 

The table was as neat as it was ever gonna be, so she left it alone, reaching up to undo her hastily scraped updo and pushing the loose curls away from her face. 

Perhaps it was the ambience setting the mood, perhaps this was just the kind of person she’d grown to be—she slipped her eyes closed and began to sing softly. When a warm presence hovered behind her, she broke off, eyes blinking open to see the soft glow of their fairy lights. Behind her, Chloe picked up where she left off. She wound one arm around Nadine’s middle and swept Nadine’s hair off one shoulder so she could slot her chin in. 

The whole thing was terribly cheesy; even alone, Nadine would have been mortified by the thought of doing this if she were ten years younger. 

Slowly, she relaxed into Chloe’s embrace and started again in a hum, eyes closed. Chloe pressed a grin to her neck, a kiss, and sang louder. Neither of them would ever be good enough to go for a professional singing career, but Nadine thought that they sounded pleasant enough for a pair of thieves. At least, not ear-shatteringly terrible. 

Chloe’s body lulled Nadine’s into a sway and led her away from the table in an effort to avoid potential toe-stubbings. Emboldened, Nadine joined in for the last line. 

Chloe exhaled softly. It could’ve been a huffed laugh or a simple expression of happiness, Nadine couldn’t tell. 

The next song, something acoustic, played after the saxophone faded out. They slowed to a stop. Smiling, Nadine turned her head, eyes downcast to watch Chloe push her head against her neck, and brushed the corner of her lips against Chloe’s temple. Contented, Chloe hummed tunelessly against the heat of her skin. 

Before she pulled away, she stooped impossibly closer and gave the meat of Nadine’s neck a playful tug with her teeth. It was jarring, that and the sudden absence of Chloe flush against her. 

Nadine hissed, swivelling around to give her an admonishing glare. 

Chloe simply smiled over her shoulder, halfway to the kitchen door already. Then, although it was said like a flippant line, she said sincerely: “Wait one second please.”

Huffing, she waited. 

Mid-word, the song changed to something she didn’t recognise. It was faster than the other two but not overly so, and the voice was low and smooth. The volume jacked up suddenly and Chloe came skidding out a beat later. 

Nadine couldn’t stop the wide grin at the mere sight of Chloe’s giddiness, dropping the huffy attitude in favour of opening her stance so Chloe could barrel into her. She swung around Nadine’s middle, picking her up into the air for a spin. 

“Come on,” Chloe said, glee making her almost giggly. She would be appalled if Nadine voiced this so she didn’t. “Dance with me.” 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Nadine found herself laughing along. Chloe set her down on the other side of the table and drew her by her the hand into their backyard. Their feet were bare against the grass and dirt, and Nadine knew she’d have to shower again just to get the muck out between her toes but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Chloe was, after all, beaming like she’d won the lottery or landed a heart-dropping leap, and what else was Nadine to do except indulge her. 

Chloe smoothed her hands over the top of Nadine’s airy blouse and then back up to her shoulders. Without further prompting, Nadine snaked her arms around Chloe’s middle and settled them at the small of her back. 

Washed in orange, they danced and stared at each other and tried not to crack up when their eyes met. 

Nadine felt faintly like a lovestruck teenager enjoying a domestic moment with her high school sweetheart. She wondered then, briefly, what young Chloe would’ve been like and in quick succession, thanked God for blessing her with an adult one. She doubts her former self would enjoy the company of a bratty teenage Chloe, the uppity kid she was, always seeking her father’s approval. 

The song changed again, to something classical this time. Chloe immediately adopted a stern face and, rather dramatically, stepped away to bow. 

“You queued this to do this specifically, didn’t you,” Nadine said as she took Chloe’s hand anyway and let herself be swept into a wide waltz. 

“Absolutely,” she replied, readily. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Chloe laughed and smiled, charmingly. “You bring it out of me.” 

“You too,” Nadine said, softer. 

They bumped into a flower pot, but neither of them was particularly stringent about garden maintenance and Nadine led them off to the other end of their backyard. 

“What else do I bring out of you?” Chloe asked, coyly. 

Before Nadine could reply, Chloe spun her with some flair and yanked her closer. Using the momentum, Chloe backed them up the single step into their home and fell into the couch a short stumble away. Nadine’s laugh dissipated into a short huff as she landed on top of Chloe, propping herself on her elbows so she didn’t crush her wife completely. Chloe watched her, carefully, eyes gleaming in the light, and pushed a palm up to cover Nadine’s cheek. A smile teased at her lips. 

They were quiet for a moment, the sound of violins filling in the calm. 

Finally, Nadine dipped her head down for a languid, tongueless kiss. When she backed up, Chloe followed her for a moment until she relaxed back into the cushion. Nadine hovered only an inch away, eyes crinkled with her grin. 

“Hi.” 

Chloe rubbed a thumb against her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Did you have fun?” she asked, indulging. 

“I did.” Chloe nodded, nose brushing against Nadine’s as she did. “Did you?” 

“Ja,” she said with a laugh. Nadine kissed her again, sighing through her nose when Chloe returned it with enthusiasm. 

The music had returned to their Billy Joel playlist in the time spent making out and whispering silly things to each other. 

Eventually, Nadine let up, hoisting Chloe to her feet by the single arm she’d wound around her back. Chloe lay her hands on Nadine’s collar bones and aimed sloppily for her cheek, getting her jaw instead. She patted Nadine’s cheek before she stepped away with a laugh. 

“God,” Chloe exhaled, “I’m in love with you.” 

Nadine blinked, smiled, then went a bit red. This wasn’t exactly news to her, seeing as they were married and all, but they weren’t the type to be so candid with their affection. Usually, they were a show-don’t-tell kind of couple, and it suited them just fine. 

“Thanks, wife, I’d hope so,” Nadine said, lieu of replying in kind. 

Chloe pouted. “Come on, I’ve been so romantic all night.” 

Huffing a laugh, Nadine steered her to the kitchen and gave a gentle shove. Inside, the dishes Chloe had been preparing were waiting in steaming plates on the counter. A bottle of wine stood uncorked. 

Before Nadine could make for the plates, Chloe shot out to grab her wrist and hauled her closer. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Chloe said, deathly serious, and then nestled her head in the crook of Nadine’s neck, sighing into the hollow at the base of her throat. 

Nadine pressed her head into Chloe’s temple and failed spectacularly in suppressing her grin. “I married you, dickhead.” 

Chloe nodded against her. “That, you did.”

A beat later, Nadine brushed her lips against Chloe’s forehead, murmured a quiet “love you,” and untangled herself from their impromptu hug.

They made quick work of setting the table and dug in. 

Out of nowhere, Chloe poked Nadine’s calf with her toe and waited for her to glance up. 

“It’s good.”

“What’s good?” 

“That you love me. That I love you.” 

“Are you on something?” Nadine raised her eyebrows and bounced a fork in her hand. “What’s gotten into you? You alright?”

Chloe scoffed. “Wow. Meet a girl in a war zone and woo her so thoroughly, she goes and forgets all about the rocky start.”

Nadine stared at her for a drawn-out second.

Chloe raised her eyebrows.

She speared some food onto her fork, attempting for nonchalant. “We don’t celebrate this anniversary.” 

“Yes, we do,” Chloe insisted. “We do the decades.” 

“The dec—?” 

Nadine stopped short. Her fork hovered in the air until she slowly put it down. 

Ten whole years, she’d known and grown to love this infuriatingly gorgeous, cunningly intelligent woman. Chloe smiled as she watched realisation dawn on Nadine. She looked ethereal, grinning like she’d won the lottery and outlined by a faint orange glow from their fairy lights.

Nadine was overcome by the urge to hold Chloe again and, never one to shy away from going after what she wanted, she put down her fork and stood. 

Chloe made a sound of protest. “Oi, I made us this and you’d better eat it.” 

“Half of this is microwaved leftovers that I cooked,” Nadine pointed out. 

“Yes, and I microwaved it,” Chloe started, but then stopped when Nadine dragged her chair back and settled into her lap. “Oh.”

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You were always a sweet talker.” 

Nadine forwent a response, pulling Chloe closer by the back of her neck. They stayed together for several long seconds before parting. Her eyes were a stormy grey, her swollen lower lip squeezed between a row of white teeth. 

“Happy anniversary,” Chloe murmured, arching up to lick into Nadine’s mouth.

Breathless and grinning wildly, Nadine cupped Chloe’s neck in both palms to keep her from straying. Not that she had any intention of doing so. 

Against her lips, Nadine returned the sentiment, “Happy anniversary.” 

[shellalana]

Routine

A Month of Fanfiction Challenge Day 19: Domestic Bliss

Stage One

As much trouble as it had been to finally get him to be a part of this team she’d been trying to put together, she had no qualms about him going on his own. He came to her beck and call when an important mission needed his gun, but otherwise, he kept to himself. His gratitude for her saving him was enough, though he could stand to be a bit more... approachable. All work and no play... was what made him what he was. But she hated molds and stiff lines, and he could do with some bending. And bend he did when she discovered one of his little secrets on coming back early from her mission. He tried not to look surprised at her arrival, but she could tell from the squared-back shoulders and the wooden spoon still dripping sauce onto the floor that she’d caught him unaware. “Oh my god, this smells delicious!” She threw down her bag, shed her coat, and hurried over to the pot of stewing ingredients. She would have dunked her finger in, save for the large purple arm that blocked her path. “It’s not ready,” he growled down at the short Commander, and adjusted the too-narrow apron. He was going to have to get a bigger one with his next paycheck. “What do you mean it’s not-” Reyna’s eyes widened on discovering what she’d really walked into. Her assumption was that he’d ordered something already made and thrown it on the stove to heat it up - definitely more cooking skill than she was capable of - but the fresh stains across the white apron, the assorted sliced ingredients still on the chopping block, and a sink full of various utensils told her- “You made this yourself?!” Whiskey growled even more and turned away to pay attention to his bubbling sauce. As much as he enjoyed shattering people’s expectations, he hated being gawked at.

Stage Two

Tink. Tink. Tink. Reyna buried her head under her pillow, but to no avail. The constant messing around with that giant mech at odd hours of the night was getting on her nerves. Approaching the small Aviant about it would likely put him on edge, and the last thing she needed was his incessant stream of apologies. Why couldn’t he just go to bed like a normal person? ... not that she did either... She shrugged on her bedsheets as a makeshift bathrobe, and dragged slippered feet across the chilly metal floors towards the bay. It was the only area of the ship big enough for Toby to work on Berg, but all that empty space made it easier for the sound to travel. She was going to have to hunt for a pair of noise-cancelling headphones the next time she got a break. She drew the edges of the sheet closer to stave off the chill as she rounded the corner, and spied the Aviant spotted in grease and a large wrench in one flipper. The bright light from his headlamp danced across the uneven surface of his mech as he worked, fiddling here and there in getting his large mechanical wonder up to snuff. The thing rattled like crazy out in the field, to the point that Reyna feared it would all fall apart if she wasn’t careful. “Then we gotta take a look at your thrusters... patch up that hole... and deal with that delay in your arc mine...” She listened to him continue to rattle off all the things that needed fixing, and saw the fondness in the way he handled his mech. It wasn’t that much different from her relationship with the Favour: it came them both alive and safe, did their jobs despite being veritable pieces of crap, and in constant need of care to keep going. With a sigh, Reyna blew a strand of hair from her forehead and headed to the kitchen. Might as well pour herself some caffe and get to work until the little mechanic was done.

Stage Three

“Hey hey hey hey!” Sweat beaded on the back of Reyna’s neck as she watched the varimorph unknowingly flinging herself towards a cliff. Her manic smile said nothing of the fate that was about to befall her, as pink-black fire erupted from her hands and feet, roasting apart the varelsi before her. A simple overshield wasn’t going to do the trick from a fall this high. “I got her!” Shayne sprinted past her, and Aurox even faster still, as he leapt towards Orendi and snagged her out of mid-air. Large, heavy claws managed to catch her delicately enough as she was reeled back in, but the guayota wasn’t stupid enough to maintain a hold on her for very long. Once over solid ground, he recoiled and took his place hovering of Shayne, not wanting to experience Orendi’s anger firsthand. “I’M NOT A PINATA,” she yelled, bristling from her position on the ground on all six hands and feet. She hated it when her plans were ruined, and she’d had a good one going too. “Orendi, you were gonna fall off that cliff,” Shayne tried to explain, arms crossed over their chest in annoyed confusion. Their attempt to explain the situation, however, was met with a snarling varimorph leaping at their throat. Purple light bathed them and Reyna in time as she interposed herself and caught the gangly spiderchild in the crook of her elbow. “What’ve I said about attacking your teammates?” Reyna wasn’t having any of this nonsense, and smothered the varimorph in a bear hug, arms and legs and all. Orendi knew better than to attack the one person that had saved her, but it would take her burning herself out before she would be relatively calm again. Teenagers. Why’d they have to be teenagers...?

Stage Four

“MAKE MINE AS BIG AS A HOUSE!” “Can I get one shaped like a skull?” “Who ate my leg of lamb?” “... my branzino... they’re burning...” Reyna could navigate the kitchen and mess with her eyes closed at this point, and did so gracefully with a mug of caffe in her hand. The regular breakfast routine with her Rogues hadn’t changed much over the years: Whiskey at the stove, flipping pancakes like an expert (and even getting creative with some of them); Orendi and Shayne at the table, the former’s plate already overflowing with a waiting river of syrup for the pancakes that would come, and the latter texting away on their holodevice to... whoever; Toby, regretfully, had to sit in a high chair just to see over the table, and was flailing frantically to redirect the clone’s attention towards his own breakfast of cooking fish; the latest to their crew, on the rare occasion he was visible, had his head buried in the fridge, seeking out his prize meals that never stayed around long. It was likely Orendi was to blame for stealing them, but for being an assassin, he still hadn’t caught her in the act. “They’re not burning. You’re supposed to cook them like this.” Whiskey dug a fork into one and flipped it over; it practically crumbled apart into the pan, which drew a smile out of him. “Morning...” she muffled around the bite of fresh pancake she’d stolen off the stack. “Morning, Reyna.” “Hey, boss.” “REYNA REYNA.” “... my suckling pig is gone too...”

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Angel of Music

Chapter 1

Lucille

She awoke in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, the bed cold and the room dark. Her hand reached out to her right, only to feel the cold emptiness of her missing partner. Her eyes lazily glided toward the digital clock on her fiancé’s nightstand, which read six thirty. With a sigh she sat up and stretched, running her hands through her nearly-white, curly hair. She began to hum a quiet tune as she swung her legs over the mattress and slipped her feet into the fuzzy, pink slippers that sat beside her bed, perfectly lined up so that when she woke up all she had to do was step into them.

The blinds let in tiny blue slivers of light through the gaps, and Lucille peeked through them to see if her beloved was sitting outside, looking at the lake behind their home. She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw that he wasn’t.

Lucille didn’t believe herself to be a good housewife, like Roger’s sister or even her own mother. Lucille often slept in later than him, she couldn’t cook, nor did she know how to work an iron. However, she loved him, and she supposed that was all that mattered. She opened his closet and set out his white, button-down shirt along with a black tie, before looking on the floor for his work shoes, which she couldn’t seem to find. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before circling around and looking under the bed. She let out a deep sigh when she realized that they probably weren’t in the bedroom, which meant that she had forgotten to bring them in from the living room.

She stood, straightening out her white nightgown and huffing at the amount of dirt on her elbows. She really was a bad housewife.

Roger stepped into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his brown hair darker with water and soaking wet. Little droplets of water traced down his neck and chest and Lucille couldn’t help but think about how she would have to clean up the water later before it ruined the wooden floors. He looked at her with a small, innocent smile that made her heart melt.

“You’re up early.” He said to her while moving toward the bed. She put up her index finger as a way to say wait a minute while she moved toward the drawers and pulled out his underwear and slacks. She smiled at him lovingly while placing the items of clothing on the bed.

“Do you really think you’re putting on that nice, white shirt with your hair soaked like that? It’ll be see through by the time you’re out the door.” She joked, prompting a small laugh from him. He grabbed onto his underwear and pulled them up his legs before handing her his towel.

“Then clean me up, my love.” He said teasingly. She threw the towel back at his chest in a playful way.

“Do it yourself, stud. We both know that you won’t make it to work if I do that for you.” She told him before walking off. He watched as she left, but before she got to the door he spoke.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m putting on a pot of coffee. Why?” Roger placed the towel atop his head, rubbing furiously and sprinkling water atop their grey sheets. Lucille, in that moment, could have sworn she was going to snap due to how reckless he was, but she knew that he was better than where she was in the past.

“I already got it.” And there it was. The reason for her staying with him, despite how obliviously sloppy he was. In all honesty, Roger was like the human equivalent of a puppy dog. He meant well, and he loves you unconditionally, even if he destroys everything in his path.

She smiled at him.

“Just get ready, baby.” She told him before feeling the anxiety that she was forgetting something wash over her.

“Are you buying lunch today?” She asked. Roger nodded as he buttoned up his shirt. Lucille simply gave a thumbs up as she began to walk down the hall.

She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a mug that was left out on the counter, and she felt a wave of disappointment and mortification wash over her. All she could think about was how she was failing at being a housewife before they got married, and she was left wondering what would happen to them once they did. Part of her was afraid he’d leave her, and the other part was worried that she’d leave him, though it wouldn’t entirely be her choice.

She began pouring the bitter, black liquid into her mug when she felt Roger’s arms snake around her waist.

“Am I a bad housewife?” She asked, somewhat jokingly to hide her self-consciousness. She felt Roger’s head shift on her shoulder and felt his breath tickle her neck.

“Yes…” He trailed off, feeling her slump in his arms.

“But it isn’t entirely your fault.” She felt her heart drop. Suddenly she felt like she was going to vomit.

“Then who’s fault is it, Roger?” She asked, a certain dangerousness in her voice. She felt Roger’s hands leave her hips as he turned her around, his brown eyes gleaming with, what she interpreted as, pity.

“Not yours.” He said in a tone that told her to stop asking. His hand found hers and he squeezed it reassuringly. They didn’t say another word to one another until he left, and even then she didn’t speak to him.

Lucille felt as if her poor choices in the past had finally caught up to her. She was finally getting to control her own life, yet as time went on she felt more and more out of control of herself and her life. No matter how many times people tell her it wasn’t her fault, no matter how many times they try to reassure her, she’ll always feel guilt.

Her hand came up to grasp at the ring around her neck, and she smiled, despite the tears that fell down her cheeks.

2

Roger came home to Lucille, sitting on the couch, waiting for him. She was dressed up, with her hair pulled back and her makeup done. She wore the pearls that she had gotten from him on their one-year anniversary, and the white dress with black lace on the end that she had gotten from her mother that Christmas. She made sure to look perfect for him after cleaning the house all day and cooking. Although, the cake she tried to make didn’t seem to come out right, she knew that she couldn’t go wrong with a TV dinner.

He took one look at her before throwing his briefcase to the side and smashing his lips to hers, smearing her lipstick slightly. Her eyes were wide and her hands were up between them in shock. She wasn’t sure why she was fighting it, but she knew that something didn’t feel right about this. She worked hard that day because of the way he was acting toward her, not because she wanted sex.

She pushed him away gently, smiling awkwardly at him while he stared in confusion.

“I made dinner.” She watched as his face fell.

“It’s a TV dinner. All I had to do is microwave it.” She admitted, bringing the smile back to his face. He kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen, where the microwavable meals were sitting on the table. Lucille couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Is my cooking really that bad?” She asked, astonished.

“Yes.” Roger answered as he sat down at the table. Lucille sat in the chair across from him with forks and napkins in hand. She placed his fork and napkin in front of him before doing the same for herself, and awkwardly watched as he dug in. Her hand went back to the necklace again, clasping around the ring that hung from it.

“Roger, I have a question.” She spoke up finally, yet this brought her no relief. She wasn’t even sure whether she wanted to bring this up, but now she had to say something, even if she decided not to go through with asking. He looked up from his meal, his innocent eyes melting her heart again. He swallowed before speaking.

“Yes, my love?” Lucille took in a sharp breath, finding it hard to put the words together. She knew what she wanted to say, what she needed to bring up, but she was afraid. She was afraid that if she were to mention it then he’d return; then she’d betray herself and go back to him.

“Have I been… acting strange?” She finally asked. The room suddenly fell silent. Roger stared at her, his brown eyes wide with shock. Lucille looked down at her untouched dinner, feeling as if she were going to puke at any moment. She heard the clank of metal against their wooden table and knew that he had put down his fork. His hand reached across the table to grab hers, and once her cold hand was in his grasp he began to stroke it with his thumb.

“I didn’t want to alarm you…” That was when she snapped. She stood up, the chair falling backward and banging on the wooden floors, tears falling from her face, smearing her makeup down her cheeks as she completely let go. Her fists were balled and she felt her long nails digging into her palms.

“Didn’t want to alarm me?” She asked, her voice chillingly calm for someone who looked as enraged as Lucille.

“Didn’t want to alarm me?” She shouted, repeating the same sentence over again. Her hands flew up to her hair, her fingers raking through her platinum locks as she began to panic.

“What have I been doing?” She asked, her voice uneven and scared. Roger shook his head.

“Y-you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that big of a deal… I just figured you were-”

“Roger!” She shouted, completely hysterical by that point. Her breathing was uneven as she sobbed.

“Please tell me that you didn’t give her your name. Tell me that you put her back where she belongs so she can’t hurt you.” She demanded. Roger looked down, and suddenly she felt her whole world shatter. She couldn’t remember a damn thing he was talking about, but she knew what had happened.

“Sometimes I’d wake up and you were next to me, but sat up…” Roger began, looking down in shame and fear. Lucille couldn’t seem to wrap her head around his thought process, she was too hysterical to try. He was in danger now and she knew it, they both were. She walked over to him, and although he didn’t cower she could tell that he was uncomfortable. She knelt down, placing a kiss on his lips before slumping into his chest.

“Roger…” She wept. He held her close.

“Other times you’d be in here, next to the phone.” He said, knowing that he was dooming himself. Lucille looked up, her face even more alarmed.

“But when you… she… was in here I knew not to try anything.” Lucille nodded, her hand clasping around his tightly.

“I know, Rog, and I’m proud of you for trying.” She began to sob again. He cradled her head next to his chest, holding her there securely, thus giving her the security she thought she had when she met him.

“But we don’t know if she…”

“We do, Rog, it’s too late. We gotta get outta here.” Lucille whimpered. All Roger could do was hold her, and that’s what he did. She loved him because he was sweet, because when he found out about what had happened to her he didn’t turn away. Most importantly, however, she loved him because she believed he could protect her from both herself and the man from her past.

However, Lucille knew this wouldn’t last.