#i am terrible at continuing chain asks but i enjoyed doing this thank u

[vivitalks]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

HELLO! here are 5 songs i like to listen to, as per your request. these are songs that i'm liking listening to At The Moment, which is different from Just Generally, but i still highly recommend them:

Danny Phantom by Spencer Jordan - i saw him open for knox last year (this year?? maybe) and had never heard of him before but was immediately obsessed with his vibe. this song is so much fun.

Lie Lie Lie by Joshua Bassett - late to the lie lie lie party but this is just such a fun vindictive bop and i love how joshua bassett riffs on it

Thx 4 Nothin' by Meet Me @ The Altar - been listening to their new album since i'm seeing them open for champs in a few months and wow i am lovingggg it. this is one of my favorites but honestly the whole album rocks

Come On Colors by Sawyer - i!! love!! sawyer!! such a funky fun lil band and this tune is such a bright, aggressively optimistic battle cry for things to get better than they are, and it's awesome and it's delightful and i love it

I CAN'T HELP MYSELF by Kelsea Ballerini - got to listening to this album a couple months back when i was trying to listen to more kelsea, and this song came up enough times on shuffle afterwards that it really stuck. the lady writes a good fuckin bop

thaaaanks bestie honored to be a favorite follower of yours. i can't insert the salute emoji on desktop for whatever reason but imagine it here: xoxo

[kentos-filmcamera]

10 times, 1 occasion - Inumaki Toge

2. Gift

A/N: aaaaa i woke up to a lot of notifs, i’m so glad everyone is liking it so far! thank u sm for reading! just a quick clarification, I’m setting the reader as non binary; i will be using mostly they/them pronouns and sometimes she/her but i will avoid to do so. happy reading!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Megumi!” You called, waving to the underclass man. He offered you a tiny smile and a wave back. You let go of Toge’s hand to pull him into an embrace. “You’re taller! How much you’ve grown, my boy!” You’ve known him since forever, way before you met your fellow second years. And you always loved to pester him. 

“I’m the same exact way since you last saw me” He deadpanned as you pinched his cheeks, his voice as plain as you remembered it to be. You only laughed and ruffled his hair, earning a groan. 

“Where’s my hug?” You heard the voice of Gojo Satoru resonate through your ears for the first time in a while, and the most annoying phrase in existence was what he chose to say. 

You turned to look at him, unimpressed, your expression matching Fushiguro’s. You were met with his usual cheeky smile and raised brows. He extended his arms and did ‘grabby’ hands as children did. Oh my. This man was annoying; and to think you even considered you missed him in the first place. 

“Up your ass” You replied and moved his arms away from nearing your torso. He gasped dramatically and pouted like a wounded puppy. You only gave him a pat in his shoulder “Glad to see you’re...  Well, alive” 

“Don’t speak to Gojo-sensei like that!” You heard a foreign voice, the same one you heard from a far moments ago. You turn to look at the boy with the pink hair with a raised eyebrow. Something in your head clicked, as did your tongue. You pointed at him. 

“Sukuna’s vessel” You said. Even up in the mountains the hottest gossip was the kid that ate one of Sukuna’s fingers and actually withstanded to house the spirit inside him. It was the talk at the dinner table for weeks. Your sister was specifically interested in it one night, making her spill hot soup all over your lap when she was in charge of serving everyone that night. 

“Itadori Yuuji” He corrected. You stared at him up and down and gave a tiny smile and a nod. 

“And this is Nobara Kugisaki” Panda indicated to you, as you turned to face the ginger that looked at you with gleaming eyes. You waved shortly before introducing yourself to both. 

One of their faces lit up “You got attacked by a special cursed spirit last year right?” The boy you recognized as Itadori spoke. Your face blanked and drained of any color as you tensed. The only remedy you found was to nod, your jaw clenched shut as Inumaki reached in to rub his hand through your shoulders. It relaxed you, but you didn’t remember him being this touchy before. 

“Idiot! You don’t remind other people of their trauma!” Kugisaki hit him in the back of the head, noticing how your attitude shifted in seconds. 

“But! It was awesome! You were the first first year ever to expand a complete domain!” Itadori protested, but he slumped realizing how far you were. Your eyes looked as if they were in another galaxy, your mind taking them far as you spaced out. You hated doing it, but it came rather involuntarily when you were avoiding getting hurt. “You’re so skilled” 

“It wasn’t awesome. I—“ You sighed, and accepted the compliment, your mind returning back to the scene. “Thank you. I’ve been training since I saw my first curse” You gave a light thankful bow to him before turning to Toge “Walk me to my room?” 

“Sake” He nodded, and led you ahead. Panda passed onto you the duffle bag and gave Inumaki the remaining handbag as you two walked in silence towards the second year building. 

Your room was exactly as you left it, except for the made up bed. You remembered that morning clearly; you had always been an organized person, but when Maki pulled you out of your bed for what would be your last mission for a while, you didn’t have the time to fix it before leaving. As you looked around, you heard the sound of bags hitting the floor and the generic sound of typing on an electronic keyboard. Then your phone vibrated shortly on the pocket of your jacket. Taking it out, you read the new message. 

[ Inumaki Toge: i laid the bed after you left. i knew you wouldn’t like to find it all messy after all this time ] 

“Thank you” You spoke as a response. You stood in place, arms crossed and thought. Inumaki chuckled at your tongue poking out from the corner of your lips. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked to find the bed unmade after months” You smiled briefly at the warmth spreading through your chest, opened the windows and looked at your space. 

On the bed, your new uniform was laid down, awaiting your return. You asked for both the option of wearing pants and a skirt, depending on the type of mission, you settled with what seemed more comfortable. Your closet was empty, as you didn’t know for how much you were going to be away, except for a few pieces you stole from Maki’s closet. Everything Toge gave you, you took with you, and you wouldn’t take things from Yuta without his permission. You looked at the picture on your nightstand of the five of you, taken by Gojo as you exited a training session. You laughed with Panda as Maki, seemingly angry elbowed you in the ribs, Inumaki and Yuta enjoyed the moment quietly, both smiling. Fitted on the inside edge of that picture frame was a strip of pictures you took at a carnival, in a picture booth with Inumaki before exorcising a curse haunting the house of mirrors. One of the most difficult, terrifying missions you could have ever taken, in your first year nevertheless. But getting some Italian food sponsored by Gojo’s wallet at 2 AM on a Saturday was a great way to end the night. 

“Heh, look, you had spiky hair” You mentioned, taking the picture strip out of the frame and handing it over to the boy, who passed you another picture from your board by your desk in exchange. It was a selfie Gojo took with you and Maki, as he found you both sneaking in after getting piercings and tempura in Shibuya, taking Ijichi as hostage to drive you there. Remembering the event, you flipped down your septum, and checked for your five lobe piercings and your helix. Due to your family’s cursed technique, piercings were more than cliche, but on the ear, not on the nose. You opted for a septum for whenever you had to hide it. Your phone vibrated again. 

[ Inumaki Toge: i always liked that piercing on u. u look very cool ]

[ Inumaki Toge: you’ve always looked cool :)) ] 

“You flatter me too much, Toge, thank you” You turned away to hide the blush on your cheeks. Soon, you received a tap on your shoulder. You faced a flustered Inumaki with a dianty box in his hands. “Uh, you shouldn’t have, I—“ You were perplexed, trying to find the reason why he would give you a present. 

“Bonito Flakes” He insisted, shoving the gift into your hands and pointing to the door with his head. He wanted to give you some space, to read the letter and to change back into your uniform. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise” You gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before he rushed to leave the room. 

You prioritized changing into your uniform, deciding for the navy high rise wide pants with slits on their outer sides going from your mid-upper thigh to the bottom of the piece, made for better movement in battle. You buttoned up and tucked the navy jujutsu high jacket, of which you wore a shorter version, with a classic white collar from your button up peeking out from underneath. You scouted your bag for the tiny chain you hung from the eyelet of the collar, it was a family heirloom, a protection chain; if anyone touched it in battle, your cursed technique of choice would come into effect. Besides, it made you look more classy. 

You fixed the puffy long sleeves, the form and the material more breathable, flexible and comfortable for you. You reached out to your closet and fitted the white patent ankle boots, almost tripping while doing so. 

“I’m okay!” You shouted back, responding to a soft knock on the door. They were similar to Inumaki’s own shoes, but more stylish. In general, you were more stylish than him; or anyone else in both campuses. You finally fitted your black arm band, which had strapped in a box of needles, a rather thin rope and some thread. 

You sat in your bed and took the box between your hands, circling around your fingertips. You removed the decorative bow and cut through the sealing tape with your fingernails. In between the folds of tissue paper, you found a golden ring. Your lost ring. It looked different, but you could recognize that oval shaped emerald anywhere. You touched it several times to check if it was real or not. And it was. You rushed to find an explanation to this, prying the letter open with your fingernails. 

“Hi,

As I’m writing this, I’m not sure when you’re coming back. Or if you’re even doing so. Writing this letter gives me hope for your return, as so did getting you this welcome back gift. It’s the ring you took so much pride in owning. Oh, well, part of it. I remember how you got rushed to the infirmary, wailing, touching your damaged hand to see if you had your ring.  But you didn’t. I went back to the scene myself that same day, and the next, and the one after the other to find your missing jewel. When I found it, it looked terrible. It was dirty, bent, and the emerald had a crack in one of its corners. It took me some work, but I found someone that could restore it. It’s the original stone, and the original material but it had to be reshaped. I know you like signets, so I hope you can find appreciation in this one too. 

You looked once more at the piece and let out a teary chuckle. You had suffered so much the loss of that ring. It was a present from your grandmother, now deceased. You hated yourself incessantly for losing it. But now, it was back in your grip. You slipped it into your ring finger and before continuing your lecture, you fanned your under eyes to avoid ruining the hint of makeup you currently wore. 

If you’re reading this, I am so glad you’re back. I missed you, so so much. I’m glad to see you in good health. And I’m sorry everything happened the way it did. You didn’t do anything wrong. I know how you feel. Please trust me. Thank you once more for allowing me to speak to you through written words. You’re the only one I want to write to, anyways. I don’t have the patience for anyone else. Welcome back, cookie. 

I love you. 

Yours, Toge” 

[jenoptimist]

request:

Can you maybe write something with Jeno? 🥺🦋

✮ Pairing: jeno x reader (gender neutral)

✮ Genre: fantasy (magic) | fluff | royalty!au

✮ Additional info: temporary memory loss

✮ Word count: 5.4k

♡ Yakult says: [yakult stop including magic in your fics challenge] = ❌FAILED❌ like ?? why is that my default setting 💀💀💀 bUt anyways hope u enjoy this fic !! thanks for requesting ☺️💙

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Donghyuck burst through the door, all but sprinting towards Mark, you remained unphased as it was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a habit of his, one that was usually accompanied by the two of them greeting each other with that complicated handshake of theirs. You paid no mind as the sound of their hands slapping against one another echoed throughout the room, continuing to scribble your input here and there on the document that needed to be completed by tomorrow evening. The lack of exciting chatter was odd but overall unconcerning so you kept your head down and kept working, leaving the two of them to whisper to themselves.

“Dude you lost him?!” Mark exclaimed suddenly, the harsh sound of his chair being scraped back accompanying his loud voice. That had you dropping your pen as you raised your head, interested in the conversation that was beginning to unfold in front of you. Donghyuck was assigned to guard the prince for the day so to hear that he lost him didn’t bode well to say the least.

The royal guard winced as he sucked a breath through his teeth. “That makes the situation sound completely terrible! It’s not that I lost him,” he paused for a second, head slightly tilted to the side as he scratched at his red hair, “he just, y’know, disappeared from my line of sight?”

“Disappeared from– Dude!”

“I know! I’m sorry! Oh my gosh what do you think they’re going to do to me? If they fire me nobody is going to want to hire me ever again! I’m doomed!” Donghyuck spoke rapidly, pacing back and forth. “What am I going to do?”

“Look for him?” You suggested unhelpfully from where you sat, dropping your pen on the table so that you could lean on the back of your chair and cross your arms against your chest. Donghyuck stopped in his tracks in favor of shooting you a deadpan look, clearly unamused by the way his eyebrows were raised slightly. Mark shook his head encasing his forehead in his fingers.

“Oh wow y/n you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that? No wait, I did.” Donghyuck snarked, still staring at you unamusedly. “Of course I looked! I checked the library, his reading nook and even the kitchens! Jaemin was definitely suspicious of me and I had to come up with some lame excuse as to why the prince wasn’t glued to my side.” With that, he dropped onto the chair that Mark previously occupied and groaned loudly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Doyoung is going to kill me!” An exaggeration that statement might have been but everyone in the castle knew that Prince Jeno was the falconer’s favorite—regardless of the fact that he was a royal. Doyoung definitely would be both incredibly concerned and furious at the knowledge that the prince was missing.

Empathising with the panic he felt, you capped your pen and stood up. “We have no choice but to keep looking, c’mon it’ll be quicker with the three of us.” Donghyuck’s head snapped towards you, his eyes practically gleaming with hope and adoration, while Mark remained silent as stared at the ground in contemplation.

“I don’t think we’ll need to look that hard,” Mark said finally, after a couple of more minutes wearing a hole into the hardwood floor with that stare of his. “Have you tried asking Renjun and Chenle for special help?”

The practice of magic wasn’t abolished in this kingdom unlike in others however usage of it wasn’t actively encouraged, either. It was a safe space of sorts, so long as you retrieved a license that could only be granted by the monarchy. A magic license would only be given when an oath promising not to use magic for evil was recited. Renjun and Chenle were two of the best magic users around so Mark’s suggestion would surely bring the search for the prince to a speedy end.

“No, I thought I wouldn’t have to resort to it.” Donghyuck answered truthfully, gnawing at his already swollen bottom lip. Mark hummed in reply, as if he had already uncovered the answer but needed it to be confirmed.

“Alright then,” you said as you shrugged on your long, nude trench coat. “Let’s go visit them.”

Renjun and Chenle resided furthest from the castle, in between where the border of the kingdom met the forest. They lived in a stone cottage that had a cute little pond with koi fish at the front and a neat garden of various flowers and herbs on the side. You made a game of hopping on every other stepping stone that lead up to their house in a zigzag pattern while Mark and Donghyuck followed closely behind you, not even an arm’s length away.

The door opened before one of you could even knock. Chenle’s knowing smile greeted you, backing up to allow the three of you to enter. The four of you traded pleasantries as Chenle lead you to to the furthest room past the living room and kitchen. Renjun was already there, reading a book as he leaned on the wall where the window was allowing warm sunlight into the room. There were shelves that had jars containing several liquids of various colors—some even had objects and/or plants in them. In the centre of the room, there was heap of items on an uneven oak table in the middle of the room. How the objects didn’t fall off of the table was a mystery but you have never been one to question the way of the witches.

“How did you know we were coming to see you?” asked Donghyuck, who apparently didn’t share the sentiment as you. Renjun placed his book on the shelf so that he could help Chenle arrange the map, crystals and candle neatly on the table in a position that you were sure meant something significant.

“A witch never reveals their secret.” Chenle replied, glancing back to show a smile full of serenity. You exchanged looks with Donghyuck and Mark, shrugging at them before returning your gaze ahead of you.

“We need something of the prince,” Renjun said once he was satisfied with the placements of the crystals. He turned to face the three of you expectantly while Chenle moved the candle left and right, trying to centre it as he hummed a low tune to himself. The three of you must have made faces of despair or something similar because Renjun quickly added, “it doesn’t need to be his, exactly. It can be something that he gave you.”

Donghuck and Mark checked every single one of their pockets and then turned to you when they came up with nothing. The dainty silver chain around your neck felt as if it were extremely heavy at that moment, especially the ring that hung from it that laid warmly on your chest. It was a gift from Jeno on your birthday last year - he gave you the box with a shy smile, shifting from foot to foot as you opened it - and while you deeply treasured it, you treasured the man who gave it to you even more. With that in mind, your arms reached up to unclasp the necklace and held it tightly when you successfully removed it.

“I’ll get it back, right?” The hesitance in your voice was unwelcome but you had to be sure—what if they were going to burn it into ash using the candle? It wouldn’t be a point of concern had it been any other situation because you knew that the ring and chain were forged of precious material, but they had magic.

Renjun nodded, the corner his mouth quirked into a smile as if he could read your thoughts. You could feel the intense stares of your friends burning into the side of your head but you refused to look their way. Instead you focused on Renjun and Chenle in front of you, who made quick work of completing the necessary spell. When your necklace hovered on a certain area of the map, it was obvious that Jeno’s location was found. Chenle marked it by placing one of the crystals that was used to hold down the corners of the map which allowed Renjun to return your necklace. You immediately clasped it around your neck and hid it underneath your top.

“Thank you for your help.” Mark smiled after Jeno’s location was ingrained inside of your minds. He then fished through his pockets and handed them some money, quickly dropping it onto the table when the pair refused. At your side, Donghyuck was practically vibrating with the need to leave. You shared the feeling. Who knew how long the prince would be in that section of the forest for?

“That ring,” Donghyuck started once the three of you had started briskly making your way to the opposite direction of Chenle and Renjun’s cottage. There was a fusion of amusement and teasing in his tone and you already knew that you wouldn’t like where he was going to lead the conversation. “When did he give it to you? Did he finally get his act together propose?”

You and Mark answered at the same time.

“It was a birthday gift.”

“Get his act together? Dude, they aren’t even dating yet.”

You looked at Mark incredulously. ‘Yet?’ You wanted to ask but Donghyuck beat you to it, piping up before you could utter the word. “But you want him to propose, don’t you y/n?” He said it with a playful grin aimed at you and then laughed as he swooped around you, successfully dodging your attempt to shove him.

“Why would I date him?” You muttered as you pursed your lips, jamming your hands into the pockets of your trench coat. “Me and him,” you trailed off, frowning at the ground, “we aren’t like that.” You weren’t. Although being married to Jeno and spending the rest of your lives together wouldn’t necessarily be the end of the world in your book. There was no harm in dreaming, though.

“We aren’t like that.” Donghyuck mimicked, his voice annoyingly high pitched. Mark snorted. “Right, okay. Let’s pretend both of us believe you.”

You remained silent for a moment as you thought of the private, saccharine smiles that you and Jeno shared when the two of you were on opposite ends of a room, of how you could always spot him among a sea of people without fail, of how the two of you gravited towards each other and lastly, you thought of how he made your heart race and how you desperately hoped that you had the same effect on him, too.

“Alright, so maybe we are like that.” You admitted in defeat, your shoulders lifting to touch your ear lobes. “But–” You stopped yourself, tilting your head when you heard a gruff voice ahead of you which was loud enough to reach your current position.

“Keep searching. He’s gotta have more than that.”

The voice made your gut churn horribly. Without even the slightest bit of hesitation, you were running towards the direction of the voice. Selfish as it was, you hoped that he wasn’t speaking to Jeno. Of course your hope had been for nothing because when you approached them, Jeno was trapped by a woman holding both of his arms behind him while the man stood in front. Jeno looked physically unharmed, the clothes that he used when he wanted to pretend to be an ordinary person soiled with mud and rips. The woman noticed you immediately and jutted her chin in your direction. The man turned and folded his arms across his chest as his hard gaze landed on you. You were not going to be intimidated by his bulging muscles and towering height. You weren’t. Not when Jeno, your dearest friend and prince of the kingdom, was in danger.

You stood taller, arched a brow and mirrored his position. “Just what do you think you’re doing to my husband?”

And wait what. You didn’t know what you would have said but it certainly wasn’t that. By some miracle they didn’t notice your stance shift once the statement left your lips. Instead the man very pointedly stared at your left finger, where there was an obvious lack of a wedding ring. You sighed internally, the words were already said so you might as well go along with it. For the second time that day, you showed your necklace. You didn’t unclasp it, just untucked it from your top and showed them as proof.

“He isn’t wearing his ring.” The woman noted observantly, tightening her grip on Jeno clear by the way he groaned and clenched his jaw. You met his eyes as your brain scrambled for a logical answer. He shook his head at you, urgency written in his eyes, as if that would make you turn and leave.

“He’s a blacksmith.” Mark’s voice rang out, saving you from potentially making the situation worse than it already was. He used that authorative tone of his, the one that he rarely used, and you were completely thankful for how confident he sounded when he said the lie.

Donghyuck marched toward the man. “Leave our friend be and you can have that.” He gestured a hand to Mark who, without a doubt, probably had money or something considered valuable in his grasp.

Your gaze slid from Donghyuck to Jeno, whose eyes were focused on your firm. “You’ll be okay, I swear.” You mouthed. Despite his uncomfortable position, he managed a minute nod and a hint of a smile.

The was a tense energy as the woman and Mark stepped forward, her accomplice and Donghyuck eyes set on each other’s companions. You kept your gaze soley on Jeno, prepared to intervene if necessary—three, possibly four, against two would be feasible, there is power in numbers after all. When the exchange was over, the two fled which left Jeno stumbling onto the ground when the hold on him was released. You moved instinctively, approaching the prince just as he got pulled up by the combined effort of Donghyuck and Mark.

As Jeno brushed excess dirt off of him, Donghyuck tutted. “This is why you don’t go running off,” he started, you traded a look with Mark behind his back, knowing that the guard wouldn’t stop until he got everything he wanted to say off his chest. “Imagine what would have happened if we hadn’t found you in time! By the Gods. . .” while he continued to prattle on, his tone laced with both frustration and concern, you kept your eyes on Jeno, occasionally making silly faces with Mark. The prince would return your stare when Donghyuck’s eyes would stray away from him. Well acquainted with Donghyuck’s lectures, you knew that he was almost finished with the way that his toned and posture softened, the way there was increased pauses in his speech. Although Jeno looked thoroughly reprimanded, he didn’t look too upset. Rather he seemed entirely touched with the amount of care he found in Donghyuck. “But,” the red head finally sighed, clapping the prince’s right shoulder, “I can say with confidence that the three of us are glad you’re alright.”

Both Mark and you nodded with feeling. “The King and Queen would have had our heads, as well as the Crown Princess and Doyoung.” Mark added.

Briefly, you imagined Doyoung’s glare - he was rarely angry, more inclined to become irritated, but when he was it was scary - and shuddered, internally agreeing with Mark’s statement. The churning in your stomach returned when you caught the confused expression displayed on the prince’s face. Neither Donghyuck or Mark seemed to have noticed yet, occupied in their current conversation about how the four of you would sneak into the castle without being seen in hushed voices.

Jeno shuffled towards you and then stood barely an arm’s width away in front of you. Then, much to your suprise, he took his hand in yours. The warmth of his hand contrasted with yours although you knew that would change soon. In a few minutes your hands would become clammy with nerves. It was only simple hand holding and it shouldn’t have made your heart begin to beat faster, shouldn’t have made the unease slowly slip away, but the matter was out of your control. The two of you didn’t hold hands, ever. The closest thing that came to it was when your knuckles knocked against each other as you walked side by side on your nightly strolls. During those strolls you often thought about how easy it would be to take his hand in yours, just like he did a few moments ago, and swing your interlocked hands lightly in between your bodies.

“Why would the monarchy and, uh,”–your heart immediately dropped into your stomach, disliking the direction his question was headed–“Doyoung have your heads?” He lifted his eyes from the ground to meet yours, his head tilted. “Am I their personal blacksmith or something?” Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly as you looked at your interlocked hands and back to his eyes repeatedly. What did they do to him? They must have done something. Jeno wasn’t joking, not one bit; how could he be when he looked genuinely confused. He shook his head, the confusion melting into a much softer, sweeter expression. “Can we go home now,” he raised your interlocked hands to his lips and softly pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “Please?”

“Guys,” you said, alerting the others while you tried for a warm smile. “Guys!” You repeated louder when they continued to talk. “We need to Renjun and Chenle.” You told them seriously once you finally captured their attention. Their gazes darted down to your hands before they shot up and looked back and forth from you to Jeno. Without so much as a blink, their expressions morphed from bewilderment to amusement and then went back to bewilderment before settling onto concern, no doubt seeing the alarm in your expression. With a firm nod of their heads, they made their way to the two of you and then waited for you to start walking, eyeing the prince curiously as they did.

If Jeno was confused again, he said nothing. Instead he just continued to smile adoringly at you, his eyes folding into pretty crescents, and kept your hand in his as the four of you turned and headed to the direction of the small, stone cottage.

*

“It’s nothing but a cheap trick,” Renjun deducted while Chenle kept Jeno company on the other side of the room, sipping on some tea as they chatted away. “It should wear off in a couple of hours. If not, it’ll definitely be gone by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh thank the Gods.” Donghyuck mumbled under his breath. Mark sagged in relief.

“You really can’t whip up something that he can eat or drink to make him remember?” You inquired as you chewed on your bottom lip. Jeno still thought that the two of you were together—married to each other. It was entirely your fault but it wasn’t as if you had expected him to temporarily lose his memory when you blurted that out! If you could go back in time and change it, you would. You snuck a glance at him and before you could look away, he caught your eye and smiled as he nodded to whatever Chenle was saying.

“Unfortunately, no.” Renjun replied. “Even though it’s a cheap trick, memories are never something to be tampered with. So if we try to retore his memories, there’s a huge risk of him completely losing them or possibly, something even worse could happen to him. So with that in mind, it’s best to leave it be.” He smiled apologetically, rubbing the space between your shoulder blades in consolation. You managed a weak smile at him in return. “I’ll leave the three of you to plan then?” Mark gave him an affirmative and after another chorus of thanks, he joined Chenle and Jeno. The three of you huddled closely together, arms around each other’s shoulders with your heads ducked, so that you could think of a plan.

“Can’t we just tell the truth?” You whispered, “I’m sure if there’s a punishment, it won’t be that bad. Jeno is completely safe and you two are part of the Queen’s favorites.”

“No,” Donhyuck rebuffed, “even if he is safe and we’re her favorites, he’s still her son. I can’t see us getting away that easily.”

Mark sighed. “Hyuck is right, y/n. I think the best thing to do is to tell them that he’s decided to sleep in Jaemin’s or Jisung’s place. But he won’t be with them obviously, he’ll be with you. Hyuck and I can fill them in on what’s happening since they’re bound to find out anyway.”

Just as you were about to ask why it had to be you that he stayed with, the man of the hour spoke, startling the three of you out of your huddle. Jeno requested to go home again, looking at you imploringly with those puppy eyes of his. You quickly exchanged glances with Mark and Donghyuck, who were both silently pleading at you, before nodding at Jeno. The prince sought out your hand and you allowed him to keep hold of it as you strolled out of the cottage, Mark and Donghyuck hot on your heels.

“We’re lucky none of the citizens knows what he looks like,” you heard Mark say as Jeno relayed his conversation with Renjun and Chenle to you, “or else this would have been really bad.”

It was a short trip back to the city that consisted of nonstop chatter from Jeno. Donghyuck and Mark went along with you to your house, which was situated behind the lucious gardens of the palace. Fortunately, nobody had spotted the four of you. You could only imagine what sort of gossip would stir between the employees if they had seen the two of you holding hands. Donghyuck and Mark looked like your chaperones for Gods’ sake, especially with the way the trailed you at a distance.

“I can start on dinner while you shower and change,” you said after locking the door.

Jeno was looking around the room. It was a mess; the floor was unswept, there were sheets scattered around your coffee table and the cushions for your couch were squashed because you didn’t have time to fluff them this morning. There were also mugs in random places. You apologized for the mess but he waved you off, walking towards the kitchen where there was a short stack of books that laid on the small dining table. Jeno had brought those when he visited the previous night, raving about them to you and offered to read them together.

“It’s really cozy here,” Jeno commented before turning back to face you. “I love it.” The words were so sincere that you almost had to look away from him, unable to meet his eyes when you had yet to tell him the truth about the entire situation. Instead you smiled and directed him to your bedroom - where he thankfully had a drawer of spare clothes - and the bathroom so that he could freshen up while you cooked dinner.

Dinner mainly involved Jeno asking you questions which, fortunately, didn’t include your relationship. When the meal ended, the two of you continued to sit at the table but remained silent. It was clear that Jeno wanted to say something to you. He was fiddling with the cutlery, his stare directed at a spot on the table and you were content with sipping on your water while you waited for him to speak up.

“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?” He finally said quietly, his eyes slowly meeting yours. You almost choked on your water and you at him with wide eyes as he continued. “Whatever it is,” he said while he scanned your face, “we’ll be okay, won’t we? We will be and even. . . even if we won’t be, if I don’t go back to how I was”–he stared into your eyes, his tone incredibly sincere–“I promise I love you. And I promise that I’ll love you for the rest of our lives.”

Your breath caught in your throat while Jeno stared at you pleadingly, as if he couldn’t bear it if you were to leave him. That was when you knew you couldn’t leave him in the dark anymore. He thought he loved you and that you were married and you couldn’t continue allowing him to believe that lie. Not when he was looking at you like that.

“You’re the prince, not a blacksmith,” you stated in a rush, placing your cup onto the table, no longer able to contain the truth. “This morning Donghyuck was supposed to keep an eye on you because you like going out into the city to be surrounded by the citizens but you evaded his watch and your memory got tampered with by those two people and,” you paused to catch your breath. “We’re so lucky that the King and Queen haven’t allowed you to be seen by the public because if they had, those two could have done much more worse things to you.”

Jeno put down the cutlery and reached over to cover your hand in his own, trying to comfort you by rubbing circles onto your skin with his thumb. “I won’t do that again,” he swore. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” A hint of a smile crept up onto his face, as he added, “I’m so lucky to be married to you.”

“Jeno, we aren’t married.” You corrected as kindly as you could manage. Which was a feat considering that he looked so happy and you didn’t want to be the reason why he wasn’t. “You gave me that ring as a birthday present.”

“With the intention of getting married, right?”

“No, Jeno. We aren’t together at all.”

Jeno stopped moving his thumb but kept his hand over yours. His gentle smile turned into a frown. “Do my parents not approve of you? Am I in an arranged marriage? I’ll break it off and we can run away with each other or something, because even though I’ve lost my memory, I can’t be imagining that you love me, can I? I have a drawer of clothes and you have those hooks so that our toothbrushes hang next to each other. And these books aren’t the only ones in here that are mine, I saw some on the bedside table with my name on the spines and– and– I see how you look at me.” His eyes were terribly sad and lost as he asked, quietly, “we love each other, don’t we?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue, ready to be said. You were going to deny everything and inform him, gently, that you were strictly friends. Friends could love each other. Platonic love and soulmates existed! Except you couldn’t lie to him, again. Slowly, you slid your hand away from his and balled it into a tight fist on your lap.

“I can’t answer that right now,” you replied, your throat dry. “When your memory comes back, we can talk about this, okay?”

The silence that followed stretched on for what felt like eons. Eventually Jeno nodded but the silence remained, even as the two of you did the dishes and brushed your teeth. Jeno followed you like a shadow until you climbed into bed. He hovered at the door, his arms wound around his waist as he hunched over himself. When you gestured the space next to him, he slowly made his way over and slid under the covers. The two of you laid on your backs, a large space in the middle. You patted your hand around your mattress until your pinky met his. Jeno made no attempt to grab your hand in his although he didn’t retract his hand, either. Closing your eyes, you held his hand, slotted your fingers in between his and waited until sleep overcame you.

*

As your eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the brightness that filled the room, you became aware of how you were tucked under Jeno’s chin and how your arm was thrown around his waist. Your legs were tangled together and you needed to move before you drifted off to sleep again. It was difficult to remove yourself from him but somehow, you managed. After tiptoeing to the kitchen to grab a cup of water, you took a seat at the couch and looked at the pages you left on the coffee table so that you could pick one up and get to work.

“Morning,” Jeno greeted, his voice groggy. “What are you working on?” He asked as he took a seat beside you, placed his head on your shoulder and cuddled your arm.

“Some documents that needed to be finalized. I just need to edit some parts,” you answered as you tried not to concentrate on the warmth that he was radiating. It was tough but you handled it. “I’ll need to hand in it later. When are you planning to head back?”

“Kicking me out already?” Jeno asked before yawning. He rubbed his hair against your shoulder, “that hurts, y/n, we haven’t even talked about”–he let out another yawn–“last night.”

Knowing that it was futile to try to dislodge yourself from his hold, you stayed put. You worried at your bottom lip, unable to stop the nervousness that flooded your system. It was probably going to be a quick conversation. He was probably going to tell you that he hadn’t meant what he said last night and to forget all about it. Or maybe, hopefully, the two of you would finally address the feelings you had for each other because, and to use what he said last night, there was no way that you had imagined all those small moments that transpired between the two of you, was there?

“Alright,” you agreed, trying to think positively, “let’s talk about last night.”

Jeno removed himself from you. You adjusted your position so that you sat facing him with your legs pushed up against your chest, your arms wrapped around them securely. He seemed much more alert now, his eyes pinning you down with laser focus.

“We love each other, don’t we?” He asked, repeating his question from last night. Although he spoke with confidence, the insecurity buried in the depths of his eyes gave him away.

“Yes, Jeno,” you answered. “We’re friends, of course we love each other.” His mouth twisted unhappily, as if he ate something unpleasant, and was about to say something but you beat him to it. “But I think the two of us have wanted to be more than friends for a while now.” You said, a knot loosening in your chest once the words were out.

Jeno stretched his hand out towards your cheek and at his hesitance, you rested your cheek in the palm of his hand. “My parents approve of you and so does my sister. I’m not in an arranged marriage but if I was I’d break it off and run away with you.” You smiled into his palm and he mirrored it. “I’m so lucky to have you,” his eyes sparkled with adoration and he shifted closer to you, his hand still caressing your cheek. “I promise that I love you.”

You pressed your lips onto his warm palm. “I promise that I’ll love you for the rest of our lives.”

In response, Jeno tittered gleefully. His other hand came up to cup the other side of your face and then very gradually, he tilted his head and shut his eyes while he leaned in to kiss you. It was sweet and slow and felt as if the rest of the world had faded away. Jeno smiled into the kiss and when he pulled away, his eyes fluttering open, the smile remained on his face. His arms dropped back to his sides and the two of you engaged in prolonged eye contact before you broke it, throwing your head back to laugh and then launched yourself at him. Jeno caught you easily, laughing along with you as his right hand cupped the crown of your head, while his left arm wrapped around your waist.

“I know I’ve said it already,” Jeno whispered into your ear after pecking his lips softly on your temple, “but I’ll love you for the rest of our lives, too.” You kissed his neck in response, practically glowing with happiness.

[mai-sau]

“Please don’t hide from me.” for Russigon (also welcome to the server!)

THANK U FOR WAITING THIS LONG THIS TOOK A WHOLE FOREVER AND A HALF AFHUJKGHNWISGHNLK I had a lot of fun writing this one!! Thank you for prompting (and thank you for the welcome!!), and I hope you enjoy!

Prompt: “Please don’t hide from me.”

It had started out simple enough, really. Maedhros had been resting in Mithrim for a time; his wounds healed as best they would, his kingship passed over to Fingolfin as smoothly as it could, and he was back to attending to business as often as he should. Which is to say: at all hours of the day.

And life went on. It was laughably simple, how easily the days passed. Here, time did not eke out like a sluggish wound for the sheer malice of such a thing. Elves rushed by him in their daily duties, councils convened and dismissed, and the dawns came and went. And Maedhros oversaw these elves, participated in those councils, and welcomed the dawns in the shadow of nightmares.

It was simple enough, really.

Throughout it all, Fingon was a blessing. During the day, he offered both precious wells of laughter and quiet companionship. When he wasn’t off conducting his own duties, he would come find Maedhros in the library (as he often was in his free time, the fuzzy silence of wooden shelves and crisp pages a balm to his nerves) and they would pass hours leafing through tomes, chatting in hushed tones, or simply gazing out the arching windows to the city below. 

Maedhros liked staring into the lake most of all, content to watch the sunset gleam and glimmer across its surface. Maedhros thought he was quite adept at the art of staring and mind-wandering, after decades chained up on that accursed cliff, or left waiting for the next torture as his body smeared a stone cold floor ruddy red -

Well. It was simple enough.

And at nights, Fingon would hold him close through his bitter nightmares, whispering sweet assurances that he was safe, he was in Hithlum, he was cherished. Occasionally it was Maedhros who did the holding, his beloved awaking with a terrible shiver that would not cease until long after the sun warmed the skies. Those nights were far worse, in Maedhros’ opinion.

But they went on, and they kept living, and the days kept passing by. It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with a simple touch. An act of comfort even, which made Maedhros all the more sickened by his own foul reaction. In one of their councils, someone had mentioned the pressing need to discuss the captive elves of Angband, their mind turning, and what it meant for Hithlum’s defenses to have such lethal weapons hidden as friendly faces; under the table, Fingon reached out a hand to grasp Maedhros’ own. 

Why he did Maedhros could not entirely say, perhaps it was to ease any distress at the mention of captivity, perhaps it was to soften the blow of indirect suspicion. All he did know was that as soon as Fingon’s hand - the same hand that had stroked his shaking side on the back of Thorondor, had steadied his spoon when Maedhros was still early and frail in his healing, had flipped the worn pages of their books for the evening - closed around his own, Maedhros was repulsed. 

He tamped the feeling down as swiftly as possible, trying to ignore the prickle of panic that raced through his veins pulsing out from that one point of contact. Nonetheless, for all his effort he could not relax the sudden tension in his body. Fingon had surely felt it, hand in his own. He gave him a concerned glance before squeezing even tighter, likely assuming Maedhros’ distress sprung from the topic of conversation. Maedhros felt the vague urge to vomit.

Afterwards, he was furious with himself. How dare he be disgusted with Fingon’s touch? Fingon, who had done nothing at all to warrant such distress. 

Nothing, except - Maedhros considered, before banishing the thought with such grief and guilt that for the rest of the day he carried around the heavy burden of tears not allowed to fall. He would not allow them to. How dare he weep over such ungrateful self pity - there were far greater things -

But it kept happening: whether a squeezed hand at another council meeting, a gentle hand in his as they made their way to dinner, or even a soft hand laid over his own in the silence of the library, Maedhros felt the same rapid revulsion flood his senses. 

To make matters more confusing, he did not feel like this at every touch he received; perhaps he could have reasoned to himself it was only a shadow of the pain endured in Angband. But Maedhros realized with growing dismay that it was only Fingon’s touch, and only upon his hand.

You know, a treacherous, sad voice reminded him. You know why.

I do, Maedhros thought with no small amount of self loathing. And that is why I must do better.

Fingon, clever as he was, caught on quickly enough.

“Nelyo?” he asked, after another ruined attempt at comfort in the library. He had reached out his hand to rub his thumb across the back of Maedhros’, only for Maedhros to tense as taut as a bowstring once again. And once again, Fingon slowly drew his hand back, brow furrowing as he turned to face Maedhros fully.

“Yes?”

Fingon seemed hesitant, unsure. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. I’m here, aren’t I?” Maedhros tried to tease with a grin he knew was half-hearted at best.

“Yes, it’s just…” Fingon bit his lip, before something set in his eyes, and he continued on without hesitation. “Sometimes, you seem to recoil at my touch. Would you prefer I not, from now on? Touch you, that is. It’s alright if you do.”

“No!” Maedhros blurted. Immediately, he quieted his voice at Fingon’s widened eyes and the sound of his own harsh echo through the library - empty as it was - but the nervous twinge remained in his tone. “No, I adore your touch. Losing it - I could not bear such a thing.”

“But Maedhros,” Fingon said. “When I do, you tense so horribly and get the most strained look on your face. Please, I don’t wish to cause you harm or remind you of anything unpleasant.”

“You’re not,” Maedhros lied. “It’s just me. My body endured many… stresses, in Angband. These are just the shadows of the Enemy, nothing more.”

Fingon was silent for a moment. Eventually, he dropped his gaze to the table between them, its surface laden with books of all shapes and sizes that they had been exploring together. With a start, Maedhros saw his eyes begin to glisten, and he looked ashamed. 

“Are you sure,” Fingon said, voice thick. “That it is only the shadows of the Enemy you feel?”

“What do you mean?” Maedhros asked wearily, knowing damn well what he meant.

“Nelyo,” Fingon choked out. “You only hurt when I touch your hand.”

And with this, Fingon burst into tears. Flushed with an entirely new panic at the sight, Maedhros rushed to embrace him. Enveloped in his arms, voice low despite their solitude in the library at this time of the evening, Fingon cried tender apologies into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry Nelyo, I’m so sorry, if there were any other way, if I could have just broken those damn chains, I’m so sorry -”

Maedhros shushed him, though he felt his own throat grow tight. Guilt crept up his chest.  “Shh, love, you did everything you could. I would be dead if not for your wise decision. You saved me. You brought me home. I love you, and do not blame you one bit. It’s just my own body’s confusion - I am the one who should be sorry, to be so ungrateful -”

Fingon hiccuped and drew back. “Ungrateful?” He asked, incredulous. “Nelyo, I cut off your hand.”

“To save my life!” Maedhros cried. “If it weren’t for you, I would be dead. I begged you to kill me, and still you saved me.”

Fingon’s eyes softened. “Dearest, that doesn’t change the fact that you were hurt.”

“But I understand why,” Maedhros insisted, the frustration of these past weeks spilling out of him. “I understand why, and it was the kindest hurt given to me in those wretched mountains, so why do I only suffer their shadow in dreams, but my body can’t accept the one person who hurt me to help me?”

Wiping at his stinging eyes, Maedhros trembled. He felt wetness on his knuckles, rushing down his cheeks. “I don’t understand why!”

It was Fingon’s turn to reach out as if to embrace him, before his arms faltered midair. “Nelyo - I - can I hold you?”

“Yes,” Maedhros sobbed. “Just please don’t touch my hand I’m so sorry.”

“Of course,” Fingon murmured, and wrapped him tight in a hug. Slow as honey, he stroked Maedhros’ hair, letting his fingernails glide across his scalp and spine. How long they stayed like this Maedhros couldn’t tell, but after a while his tears began to dry and his body became his own again.

“My dear Nelyo,” Fingon said, long after he had quieted. He still ran his hand soothingly through his hair, down his back, and up again. “You are allowed to feel this way, as awful as I imagine it must be. I know you are loving, and grateful, and trying your best. I still hurt you, in a very permanent way at that, and it’s natural for your body to recognize it. It’s ok to be afraid.”

Maedhros breathed in deep, once, twice, like he would during heavy nights. He sighed against Fingon’s shoulder, clad in the smooth cerulean silks of his evening robes. There was a wet patch staining the silk. “This body can be such a bastard.”

“But it is your body, so I love it all the same.” Fingon assured. Slowly, Maedhros drew back, and saw a smile twitch at the corners of his lips. “As I love the bastard that inhabits it.” he teased.

Maedhros snorted. “As always, dearest, I regret to inform you of your dreadful taste.”

Fingon broke into a full grin. “Why, of course. And I regret to inform you that I simply do not care.” 

His face grew solemn again, and he reached a hand up to caress his cheek. Maedhros leaned into the touch. He let his eyes flutter shut. 

“I do love you, you know?” He heard Fingon’s quiet voice. “Love you as the kind, resilient ner you are. You are more than precious to me.”

Maedhros opened his eyes, locking his gaze with the dark eyes of his beloved. “I know. As I love the bravest ner I’ve ever met. So full of courage, to love so wholly.” Saying this, he kissed his palm.

Fingon smiled, radiant and warm. Rising from his seat at the table, he began to gather the books into organized piles. “Well then, it’s getting quite late. I’d say it’s about time for bed, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Maedhros said, and rose to tidy up their books with him. “Oh, can we take this one on gardening back to our room? There was a bit on lissuin I wanted to finish before I forget.” 

“Certainly,” Fingon said, and set it aside. “Nelyo?”

“Yes?”

“I know it doesn’t happen all the time, but… would it be okay if I asked, before I touched you? And if you ever would feel more comfortable if I did not touch you at all, you can always tell me, even if it’s just certain areas or - or -” Fingon paused in his book arrangements, grasping for words. “Just - please don’t hide from me, love. I want you to tell me. I want you to get what you need, even if it’s space.”

Maedhros felt his throat tighten again, though his heart was far brighter this time. “Of course,” he answered. “Thank you.”

The slow, content smile returned to Fingon’s face. Together, they finished organizing the books and gathered them up in their arms to return at the reshelving cart by the great entrance doors.

“There now,” Maedhros said, dropping the hefty tomes down on the cart. “That was simple enough, wasn’t it?”

[ohnoboho]

a little sugar, a little spice (pt. 1)

Oh hello again, dear readers! @misty-the-mysterious, this is for you, lovely! Based upon your fluff prompt “I didn’t agree to this much adorableness” from approximately five billion years ago. 

Summary: Logan, the optometrist, is awful at giving gifts. Most years, he doesn’t even try, but when he does, a trail of happenstance leads him to a bakery that will open his eyes like never before. You like bad puns, fluff, and cliches? Great, dig in, because they are all baked right in to this story. Get your fill(ing). Sorry, I’ll stop.

“Loooogan! No cookies today?! How the hell am I supposed to make it through the day without that sweet, sweet chocolate?” Roman draped himself lazily across his friend’s desk, knocking a pair of glasses onto the floor.

“Tsk, Roman!” Logan huffed, snatching the glasses up quickly and studying the lenses carefully. “The last thing you need is sugar. These are Mrs. Hubbard’s new glasses and you can be the one to explain to her what happened if they are scratched.” He glared down at the other man and swiped at the lenses with a cloth.

Roman peeled himself from the desk slowly and threw an arm across his eyes dramatically. “Oh, Mrs. Hubbard would absolutely understand once I explained my tragic collapse due to chocolate withdrawal.” Under his hand, he winked cheekily. “She’s a fellow cacao-lover.”

“Why would you even know that? How is that relevant?”

“Well, because, unlike you, Dr. Grump, many people actually enjoy some small talk as they have to sit and wait for you to do whatever it is you do back here. I know lots of things about your patients. Do you want to know who is getting divorced?”

“Jesus, Ro, no.” Logan couldn’t help but laugh a little as he gingerly placed the glasses and case back on his desk. He didn’t even have to look up to know the smug smile that Roman wore; it was a familiar feeling. A distant beeping cut into their conversation. “Isn’t that the phone ringing? You keep up this poor job performance and I’ll have to fire you.” The tone was serious, but the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away.

“You wouldn’t last a week without me, specs.” Roman shot back with a barking laugh as he slipped back through the door.

Logan pushed his glasses further up his nose with a scoff and returned to the stack of form piled up on his desk. Prescription forms, inventory forms, new patient forms, claim filing forms. Before, he all but cherished that time of day. After their dizzying lunchtime rush of patients, Logan could retreat back to the calm of his office and turn his mind off with paperwork. The slick glide of his pen, the mechanical repetition of signatures, the effortless organization. Now, the absent tapping of his pen filled the little room. He puzzled at how empty his desk looked without cookies. He let his head drop onto the stack of papers with a groan.

Three weeks prior, the chain reaction leading to the cookies had been set in place by a spring rain. Logan had traced it back often in his mind. It had been a morning like many others, but in the mental motion picture he played back again and again and again, he found those markers of change. Little pinpoints that would eventually lead him to those cookies.

It had rained that morning as Logan rode his bike to work. It often did that time of year. No different than any day, except the construction next door forced him to find a different place to park his bike. He found a suitable, covered bike rack across the street. Pinpoint one.

Roman barged into the office particularly boisterously that morning. Logan groaned quietly as he closed the drawer he had been filing away papers in. Fifteen minutes of quiet that morning, not too bad. His hand was already on the doorknob when an unfamiliar sound gave him pause. Roman was giggling. Not laughing or cackling like he normally did, but giggling. Logan frowned. From the other side of the door, Roman’s voice lilted and rang. There was talk of some kind of dinner plans at an exotic sounding restaurant with the mystery person on the phone. Roman said he was excited for the champagne with gold flakes the person would definitely be bringing him, since it was his birthday, and giggled once more. Pinpoint two.

Possible Gift Ideas for Roman De la Vega. Logan found himself staring down at the empty list again. Three patients had come and gone. Simple check-ups, which, unfortunately, gave his mind plenty of room to continue to agonize over this strange thought. He had never given Roman a birthday gift before. After all their years of knowing each other, they had just come to an understanding. Logan was terrible at giving gifts and even worse at receiving gifts. Casual birthday dinners and rounds of drinks had always been fine. So why was it suddenly not fine this year? Pinpoint three.

By the end of the day, the list was still empty and Logan had turned to Google to tell him what to get his own best friend for a birthday gift. He nearly hurled the monitor across the room when Roman popped his head through the door to say goodnight. They shared an awkward goodbye. When the door finally closed, Logan slumped down onto his desk with a frustrated groan. Graduating third in his class from Pacific U. apparently proved nothing about his intellect if he couldn’t figure out something as simple as the perfect gift for Roman. After angrily scrolling through blog post after blog post about gifting watches and sports memorabilia, he finally gave up and slunk out the front door. Pinpoint four.

This trail of pins all lead up to the faithful moment when Logan, struggling to unwrap the lock from his bike, looked up to curse whoever might be “up there” and suddenly noticed the shop in front of the bike rack. It was a bakery, warm and inviting as they usually are, with a large chalkboard sign in the window that had caught his eye. Delicate pastel flowers and smiling pastries curled around the edges encircling the beautiful, curling calligraphy of possibly the worst collection of puns Logan had ever seen. “Knead a loaf-ly gift for your sweetie pie? Crumb on in and check out our hot-crossed buns!” And that was the last pinpoint.

Small bronze bells above the door frame tinkled as Logan pushed the door open slowly. The air that was kicked up around his feet seemed to dance lazily about, heavily aromatic with some spice he couldn’t place. Logan remembered thinking the place was like a reverse TARDIS, so much smaller than it seemed on the outside, as he bumped into a table stacked tall with vibrant boxes of intricately painted chocolates. In every available space, there were mismatched pieces of furniture covered in baskets, boxes, and dishes displaying a dizzying array of goodies. Even more, lush plants of all shapes and sizes squeezed in corners and draped atop shelves. Logan found himself drifting in small circles, lost in the waves of colors, more colors than he had ever seen in once place. By all logic, it should have been overwhelming, but it was something else. Charming, maybe, or whimsical, he thought as he studied a row of glassy chocolate planets under a glass dome. They seems to catch and shimmer in the light as he tilted his head from side to side slowly.

“Umm… can I help you with anything?”

Logan rocketed up and scrambled to adjust his tie. One wayward elbow jostled a nearby shelf; a pit thudded down into his stomach as the flower pot at the top tipped dangerously towards the edge. Two pale, delicate hands shot forward to steady it, replacing it gently with a extra tender tap.

“I’m- I’m very sorry. This place is very crowded. Many objects in here. I shall have to keep a better eye on my elbows. I apologize.”  Logan stuttered awkwardly as he spoke, clutching the offending joint in one hand.

“It’s fine. There is a lot of junk in here.” The other man shrugged as he spoke, shifting his dark hoodie further up on his shoulders. His flat composure told Logan that kind of thing happened often. “So, do you, like, need anything?” He asked again.

“Oh, uh, I just noticed the sign in the window…”

“And you ‘kneaded’ a gift for your ‘sweetie pie’?”

Logan flushed brightly at the slightly mocking tone and the dark smirk of the other man. Stupid, he knew it was stupid, and now this man knew how stupid he was for being pulled in by a sign filled with puns. “I-I’ll just go.”

“No, no, geez, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I just have to look at that silly sign every day and I swear it’s stuck in my brain.” The man chuckled sheepishly, rubbing comically at his forehead like he was trying to scrub the bad puns out of his memory. 

Logan sighed in hesitant relief and chuckled too. “Yeah, that sign was...something. I just need a gift for a friend.”

“Sure, totally. Let me go get our baker. You’re lucky you caught him in, he’s a master at gifts. And awful puns.”

Logan nodded a silent thank you as he disappeared back behind the counter. The big glass case at the counter was bursting with the golden glow of pastries and Logan stepped closer to examine them as he waited. The goodies seemed to crowd up against the glass, vying for his attention as they glistened and shone. Rows of plump cream puffs, pillowy croissants, and glistening fruit tarts filled his vision in a sugary hurricane. His stomach seemed to whine as it reminded him of how empty it was. A few muffled footsteps on the other side of the case brought Logan back from his pastry daze. He straightened up slowly this time, making sure to move cautiously as he pushed his glasses farther up his nose. By the time the baker came out from around the corner, Logan had positioned himself, casually perusing a basket of what seemed to be handmade potholders.

“Hi, welcome in to For Goodness Bakes! I’m Patton. Virgil said we might need some help today?”

“Ah, yes, I’m Logan and I need a gahh…ift.” Logan could hear the gears of his brain falter and screech against each other as he glanced up. For a moment, he was sure he had somehow stumbled into a cartoon world as the man that stood in front of him surely wasn’t from the real world. From the unruly mess of silky curls to the tri-colored sweater tucked under his bright pink apron. The wide, charming grin and his impossibly smooth, tawny skin. The bakery seemed to be built around him, a perfect, cozy habitat. When Patton giggled at Logan’s stumbled words, it took a tremendous amount of willpower to stop himself from turning and sprinting out the front door.

“A gift? That’s great! Would you like some suggestions?” Patton smiled warmly, reaching up to flip a stubborn curl from his face. But before Logan could even answer, the baker gasped sharply.  “Oh, sugar sprinkles! Hold that thought!”

“I’ve already got the chocolate for the almond horns going, Pat.” Virgil called from around the corner, answering the request before Patton could even put it into words.

“God bless you, you fantastic, little shadow bunny!” Patton called back around the corner. His only response an unintelligible grumble. “I would definitely lose each and every one of my remaining marbles if I didn’t have that delightful cupcake.”

“Sorry, did he say almond horns?”

Patton nodded vigorously, curling bouncing. “Yes, I had a customer request them specially for her daughter birthday. It’s my first time making them, but they aren’t coming out quite right. I think I’m missing something.” The small frown that crinkled his lips made Logan’s pulse leap.

“Are you using marzipan or almond paste?”

“Almond paste.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, of course. I mean, nevermind, it’s unimportant. You probably don’t want to hear any of my feelings- I mean, advice.” Inside his mind, Logan pleaded with his mouth to just stop talking. That was a new thought.

“Oh, jam tarts, my grammaw always said ‘everybody got love and recipes and we should learn to share both of them more’!” Patton chuckled fondly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his apron and rocking back on his heels.

Logan barely managed to croak out his answer. “Rosewater.”

“What’s that you said?”

“Marzipan is traditionally made with rosewater, while almond paste isn’t. The rosewater will add another flavor to them, which could be what you think you are missing. My grandfather would make almond horns for holidays when I was a kid. I would consider them my favorite sweet, but not many places around here seem to make them.”

Patton clapped his hands together under his chin; his eyes dancing in a way that reminded Logan of a mad scientist or a crazed artist. “OH! FANTASTIC! Viiiiirge, remind me to go get rosewater from home in an hour!”

“I’m not Siri, Patton...”

“Please, compadre pal friendo?”

“Yeah, fine....”

“Thanks, puff pastry! Wow, and thank you. Logan. What fantastic timing you have wandering in here at just the right time to help me out of my little dilemma like some kind of baking fairy godfather!  I’ve got to do something for you… What could I do…. Wait! You needed help with something!”

“Yes, a gift for my friend.”

“Right, right, right, yes, yes, yes.” Patton tapped the frame of his glasses, old plastic lenses with a few small cracks in big wire frames, Logan couldn’t help but notice. “All right, what kinds of things does your friend like?”

Logan shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. The question he had been dreading. “Let’s see…” Tapping his phone awake, Logan studied the tiny list he had managed to scrape together. “He drinks far too much coffee, so that’s one thing.... He always says his favorite holiday is the day after Valentine’s days for some reason. I don’t really know if that counts. His favorite color is red possibly. And he sings. A lot. Is that helpful? I’m not sure how this all works.”

When he looked up from his phone, the baker was gone. Logan took surprised step backwards and looked around in confusion. A quiet tapping helped him spot Patton again. Standing up on his tiptoes, Logan could just see the top of the other’s head where he knelt on the other side of the glass case. His plump fingers rapped quickly against the surface as he glanced over the pastries inside. He seemed to be muttering rapidly to himself.

“So, is he extra?” Patton called up to him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Your friend? Is he fun, fab, fancy? Extravagant? A little dramatic maybe?”

Logan chuckled a little. “Yes, very much so.”

“Does he dress well?”

“Does that help you pick what kind of pastry he’d like?”

“Oh, absolutely, sugarcane! Is he fashionable? And is it like classically fashionable or more modern and trendy kind of fashionable?”

Logan tried to picture Roman in his mind. His face came through clearly, with his trademark smug grin and bright amber eyes, but when he tried to imagine an outfit, it was just a blur. Was that something people really noticed? He furrowed his brow. “He, um, wears blazers often, I suppose? And he went to that large fashion convention in New York one year, I think.” That was all he could manage.

“New York Fashion Week? He must be a bit of a trail-blazer then, eh?” Patton laughed to himself as he popped up from behind the case, his head barely clearing the top. “Okay, I’ve got some ideas bouncing around in the ole’ noggin for a gift. When do you need this gift by?” He leaned his arm on the top of the glass case and rested his chin on his wrist. His fingers left a smudge of flour across his nose. Logan pretended to intensely consider the calendar app on his phone.

“Is tomorrow too soon? I apologize for the short notice. I will pay any extra fees you need.”

Patton waved him off with a shake of his hand and a cheery wink. “No way, muffin, not for my baking fairy godfather. I’ll have it ready tomorrow morning for you, okie dokie?”

“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you for accommodating me.”

“Oh, cream puffs, it’s nothing. But now you’ve got to swiss roll on outta here, ami-dough, because I’ve got baking to do!”

“Wow.” Logan whispered, looking up at Patton with a mixture of awe and terror on his face. “That was truly, truly awful.”

The other man only gave a silly shrug in response and shooed him out.

As the door to the bakery swung shut behind him and Logan stood in the heavy night drizzle, he didn’t feel cold at all. In fact, he felt positively warm. As he rode home, he made a mental note to check his temperature when he got home. Logan mumbled to the buzzing streetlamps he hoped he hadn’t caught anything.

But, of course, Logan hadn’t known then that he was the one that was caught.

[vomiting-out-words]

Twilight Princess [Maybe to Be Continued?]

Session One - May 29th, 2018

Ordon Village, The Twilight, Faron Woods(Twilight), Forest Temple, Kakariko Village(Twilight), Death Mountain, Goron Mines, Lanayru Province (Twilight)

Information Trash -

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess is the thirteenth installment of the Zelda series. The game was originally going to be released on the GameCube in 2005 but ended up getting released the following year with the release of the Nintendo Wii in 2006; only the be released on the GameCube a month later. Ten years later; it was released in a high-definition version on the Nintendo Wii U, with the GameCube control style. Nearly nine million copies of the game were sold before Breath of the Wild had taken the title of best-selling title in a series in April 2018.

Session One - Session Two - Session Three - Session Four

Let’s Get Down to The Dirty -

Ever since the Christmas of 2010; when the Limited Edition Red Wii came out with Super Mario Bros., we also got it Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Since then; every year I seemed to spend a couple of days playing the game over again, and to see how long it takes for me to get through it. So, I am back at it again this year, and and I finally agree that I shall write a review for it because it seems like a good one to do the first review with. Not to mention it was the first Zelda game that I actually played from start to finish by myself.

So, I started the game up, since I was babysitting my younger sister who had injured herself over the weekend and couldn’t really go to school. It’s been awhile playing on the Wii because I’ve been playing like Stardew Valley and other things on the PS4 and computer so it was really weird to be swinging my arms around, but it was a good workout.

Twilight Princess takes place hundreds of years after Ocarina of Time; within an alternate timeline from The Wind Waker, which leads the game to be in the Child Timeline. But I am not even going to get into the Zelda timeline because that is a can of crap that I don’t want to even get into right now, but maybe later. You; the player, plays as the recurring protagonist; Link. A young Hylian male who is once again trying to save Hyrule from the threat of the mirror realm; the Twilight Realm. A very original idea, Nintendo, but it seems like you pretty much reused it for Link Between Worlds.

Like pretty much every other Zelda game; Link lives in a small village, with some very average life; and somehow knows how to wield a sword; among many other things; with or without and explanation on how he learned such things. Thank god it’s kind of assumed on how he learned it in this game. Ordon Village is as far south as you can get in Hyrule, and far enough away from Hyrule Castle that Link has never really been exposed to a whole lot of Hyrule. Not to mention he’s like the other able person to protect the village from dangers while working his day job as a rancher on a goat farm passed the mayor’s house. So, as the player; you get like 10-20 minutes into the game doing really boring shit; like herding goats, having to make children happy by spending your own money, then going off to save said children because apparently they don’t listen, but when do children ever do, before having to try and get your horse back from Link’s love interest; while during that scene of getting Epona back, that’s where all the shit goes wrong.  Literally; they pretty much put in a love interest for Link in every game, and the love interest is barely apart of the story and is never mentioned ever again. So, Nintendo is really trying for romance, but they are putting so much pointless crap that doesn’t need to be there. Which isn’t the shit that blows up in their face. 

So, Bulblins come brushing into Ordon Spring; knocking out both Ilia and Link, and somehow getting only four children of the village; Beth, Talo, Malo, and Colin. Though how Beth, Talo, and Malo got taken is literally unknown to the player considering it was only Link, Ilia, and Colin at the Ordon Spring with Epona. Anyways, Link gets dragged through a dark wall that splits the Ordon Province from the Faron Province; being brought into the Realm of Twilight, which should have made him into a spirit that literally has no idea what is going on, but surprise, surprise, the Triforce of Courage influences Link by transforming him into a “beast” wolf. Now, Ordon is perfectly fine thanks to the Ordon Province Light Spirit; Ordona. How that Light Spirit is stronger than all the others is beyond me even.

Skip to Link waking up chained up in a prison. He’s more surprised then freaked out about what has happened to him; which makes this boy pretty laid back, more so than most people, which is very odd because anyone in Link’s situation would be having a clear heart attack or something. A few moments pass and here comes an imp-like chick; Minda. Who literally taunts Link until finally setting him free, only to really make him her minion. With Midna’s instructions; he takes her to someone to explain to him what in the world is going on. While the player already knows where Link is, and who he is going to meet; until right before he gets to meet the person; Midna tells him that they’re at Hyrule Castle. Literally pulling something out of a Disney Guide, Link breaks into a tower and goes into a room at the top to meet no other than Zelda. While Nintendo spent so much time building up this very scene, it was very anticlimactic all around. Link and Midna ditch Hyrule Castle as soon as the cutscene is done and with Minda’s little ability, they are taken to Ordon Province, right at the Ordon Spring where Link finally gets to talk to Ordona; telling him what he needs to do now.

Midna instructs Link that they need a sword and shield first before they head off to the Faron Province; meaning Link heads back to Ordon Village; due to the fact that the player knows that there’s, in fact, a sword and shield there. While doing some sneaking around to get these things; Link finds out that the children have been kidnapped as well; along with Colin’s father; Rusl, being injured while going to look for the children. Pretty much getting the things, Link heads to the border of the Ordon Province and Faron Province and goes through the wall once again to be brought back to the Realm of Twilight, only to pretty much to almost get his head chopped off by Midna; who has no clue how to wield and sword and shield or at least the shield bit. Link should have died much earlier than this by now, but he’s the hero of course; and he can’t die because he’s got the Triforce of Courage, that he had no clue about until Zelda told him.

The player pretty much heads straight for the Faron Spring, where you see a cloud of glowing dust over the water before meeting the Light Spirit; Faron, who asks Link to go find the Tears of Light to restore the Spirit from this state. These Tears of Light are being held by- I am literally just going to call them fireflies, but just deadlier and huge assholes. Once that is finished, Link is brought back to Faron Spring and changed back into a human; but in the Green Tunic of the Hero; the typical Link uniform. Faron points you in the direction of where you need to find what you are looking for, which Link has no clue since Midna literally doesn’t give out that information just yet about what they are looking for.

Welcome to your first dungeon; the famous Forest Temple. Which is pretty much the actual tutorial of the game. Since before; that was all really grunt work, and nothing was really other than just running around doing tasks, which is the game has a lot of if you’re willing to spend like a day in enjoy area getting everything. Something that I never do when I play this every year. Pretty much, the entire task of this dungeon is to collect monkey’s, that the game makes you think are assholes; but Talo is just an animal racist. The dungeon holds two mini-boss’ and one main boss; all of which are super easy, seeing as this is the tutorial. The item that you get from this dungeon is from the first mini-boss which is the King of the Monkey’s, you see him when you first get to the temple, he smacks his ass at you. The Gale Boomerang is something that you do use pretty much throughout the entire game; and of course, plays a huge part of the dungeon. The second mini-boss is right before the boss key, and is a pushover compared to the battle before it; thanks to the Gale Boomerang. Finally, you go to the boss.

Diababa is some weird looking creature that is in poison water. The thing is just terrible. With the Gale Boomerang and help from the Monkey King, you beat the boss with the legendary three hits rule and that entire dungeon takes about fifteen minutes tops; maybe twenty if it’s your first time through it. You get your heart piece along with a Fused Shadows, a piece of it, considering it’s been broken up into four pieces, Midna has one of them on her head. You learn a little bit more of it; that with they hold an ancient power that could help them fight Zant; the King of Twilight that started this entire mess. But they are across Hyrule and they need to find them.

With Faron Woods done and dealt with, it is time to head to the Eldin, after Faron tells Link that he’ll find the people that he is looking for. So, with that, they head off and entire the Realm of Twilight once again. On their way, Link finds a broke wooden sword; his old wooden sword that he had given to Talo. Sniffing it gives Link the scent of the children leading them to Kakariko Village, where Link meets the Light Spirit; Eldin, who also needs Link to gather it’s lost Tears of Light. While on the hunt; Link comes across spirits and finds that it’s the children, but no Ilia. Who is not mentioned, literally, you seriously don’t hear anything about Ilia for a while, or does anyone make mention of her.

While the rest of the children are scared, the only person who really is calm is Colin; who tells the others that Link is coming to save them, he knows it. Link is obviously touched by this, because he’s right there listening, and it kind of motivates the player to continue of this task just because of the sake for Colin. Collect the light, and once back as Link, the children see him and come running, all so happy to see them. Renado; the shaman of the village, who has been taking care of the children with his daughter; Luda, fills Link in on what has been happening. The Gorons’ had a sudden change in behavior and that Death Mountain seems very different. Link attempts to head up to check it out, but gets knocked back down, when returning to the village, Link runs into Renado; who tells him that the mayor of Ordon Village; Bo, has challenged the Gorons’ before and won, earning their respect. But right before Link starts to head back to Ordon Village, Epona comes rushing down the road from the other way and Link is finally back together with his horse, making the trip back to Ordon much easier and quicker.

Link learns how to sumo fight, which is pretty cool to bring Japanese culture into the game, but it is a Japanese game, but that’s beside the point. Once after defeating the mayor during the second round, he deems you right to fight, while giving you a little gift of the Iron Boots, to keep Link on his feet. Return to Death Mountain and start the climb to the top. While there, the mountain is erupting like crazy, making it pretty hard to dodge falling rocks and keep from getting knocked down by Gorons’. Finally to the top, Link ends up getting challenged by Elder Gor Coron. Once through that fight, then you learn of what is going on. The Gorons’ have been keeping watch over the Fused Shadows piece for generations now, and with the mountain acting up, they went to investigate, which lead to the Goron Tribe Patriarch; Darbus to be cursed and go on a rampage, so they locked him up deep in the mines.

Now with access to the Goron Mines; the player heads down to the second dungeon of the entire game. Which is literally just fire and lava everywhere. How Gorons’ mine from this, is literally a mystery because there are millions of safety concerns that they don’t seem to be bothered about at all. With this boss key, you have to go and find the other Goron Elders that are all holding a piece of the key. Along the way, you use the Iron Boots, and obtain the Bow and Arrows with a mini-boss fight with this huge Goron that is protecting the item is of the previous hero. With both, the player spends the rest of the dungeon with those items collecting the key pieces from Gor Amoto, Gor Ebizo, and Gor Liggs. Finally with the key put back together you go down to fight Darbus, who has been transformed into the Twilit Igniter Fyrus. This boss has to be one of the easiest out of the entire game, considering it’s just making him fall and go whack his head. The Forest Temple boss was easy as well, just more time-consuming.

With that out of the way, pick up Bombs first before heading to the Lanayru Province. Trying to get to the spring is a bit of hassle considering the player has to jump off a bridge because there is a time limit before Link is burned alive thanks to asshole enemies. Jumping down towards Lake Hylia and realizing that there is practically no water, but thankfully landing into the water that is left is a god sent. Link kind of wanders around until finally figuring out how to get to the spring and start on collecting to Tears of Light for Lanayru. While this takes you to Castle Town because Link finds Ilia’s leg pouch and followed the scent back to a bar, where she is seen worrying over a Zora boy.

Quick backstory on this boy; he’s actually the Zora Prince, who was coming to the castle to tell Zelda about what has happened in Zora’s Domain since they were attacked by evil people as well. You meet this Prince’s mother after you help Eldin; telling you that her son is out there and if Link could please find him seeing as she was publicly killed in front of all the Zora’s.

Now, after that little moment, Link heads up to Zora’s Domain, where it is freezing for some reason. Going further up, and still not seeing at Zora’s, they reach the throne room where they look down to see that all the Zora’s are trapped in ice. Midna warps something from Death Mountain that had fallen on your way up there to deal with the Fused Shadows. Freeing the Zora’s just in time too, because they probably would have died. Noticing that there is a mark missing, before it magically pops up on the map back at the lake, getting back down there quickly thanks to the fast current of water after defrosting the Domain. Que boss music; literally to close off this segment of the game; you fight this huge, gross bug and finally finish collecting Tears of Light, that you never have to do again for the rest of the game.

Link learns about the Fused Shadows from Lanayru, stuff that Midna would never tell him due to mainly being ashamed of her past, of her tribe, but she doesn’t really mention it until much later in the game, but she does hint at it a little bit after each time finishing a dungeon.

With that done, Link has to head back to Kakariko Village to go sell his bombs to get water bombs or the player can figure out how to get more bomb bags, though personally you only really need two since, in the entire game, you really only need regular bombs and water bombs. Then return to Castle Town to reunite with Ilia… Who has no clue who you are and is very worried about the Zora boy; which brings Link to escort Telma; the bar owner, Ilia and the Zora Prince. This had to be one of the worst things to do besides collecting all the Tears of Light. I was more than glad that it was only once that I had to do this because you had to focus on some many things to do that it was overwhelming and you want to throw your controls at the tv. After that mess was dealt with, you get the Zora Armor as thanks.

With this, Link can finally head to the Lakebed Temple and get the final Fused Shadows.

But this was where I decided to end the first session considering was I just relaxed with just having those parts behind considering I knew that I was about to be in store for a lot more hurt when I picked the game back up again the next day, which doesn’t help with jerky controls, but then again, the batteries were dying in the Wii remote, so that was partly at fault.

[acsversace-news]

July 15, 1997. Andrew Cunanan slo-mos down the just-rained-on sidewalks of Miami Beach, accompanied by Ultravox's "Vienna." He passes people in friendly conversation; he passes a pair of beat cops. He comes upon Gianni Versace's mansion, the sun now shining, and as Midge Ure wails, "It means nothing to me / this means nothing to me," we see Cunanan draw on and murder Gianni again. Gianni's fingers twitch again. Cunanan looms into the sun and blocks it out to look down Starman-ishly on Gianni's body.

Later, Cunanan waits to cross the street, smugly watching cop cars scream past him before hustling over to the houseboat on the other side. Looking strangely apprehensive given everything else he's done with it, he grips the gun barrel and uses the butt to break the houseboat door's lock, then lets himself in and creeps towards the kitchen in the dark. More confident now that he's established nobody's there, he browses the cabinets, then helps himself to a bottle of champagne with an entitled puss on, typically dropping the detritus from the bottle neck onto the floor without a second thought. He switches the countertop TV on to enjoy Dan Rather's somber report on Gianni's death, then leaps over the back of a deep white couch to keep watching on the big TV in the living room (flanked, hilariously, by gold sphinxes). He hasn't quite settled in when the champagne, shaken up by its journey, self-pops on the table and scares the shit out of Cunanan.

He flops back on the couch, laughing at himself, but sits forward again when the broadcast shows side-by-side pictures of Gianni and the prime suspect in Gianni's murder -- himself (Criss, Photoshopped relatively poorly for this production onto one of the real photos often used in the wanted posters). "Oh my god," he murmurs, not stricken or fearful but almost surprised that it happened at all, much less because of him, then repeats, almost triumphantly, "Oh my god!" As the broadcast continues in VO, Cunanan climbs to the rooftop balcony of the houseboat, a curtain (I think) slung around his neck like a tuxedo scarf, drunk and turned on by his own infamy as he watches helicopters search the streets farther down the shore. He slumps into a lounge chair and swigs champers with a contented smile.

Tampa. Marilyn Miglin is packing her case before a broadcast when there's a heavy knock at her hotel room door. It's the FBI. "Is it that man?" she asks, then confirms that her children are safe before letting them inside. The agents explain that they believe Cunanan shot Gianni. Shaken, she sits down, wondering almost to herself, "When will this end?" Then she repeats it, more firmly, before proceeding to clock them for not catching Cunanan in the two months since he murdered her husband -- how many more people will die? how much more pain do they think she can take? what has Cunanan been up to all this time? "We don't know yet," the lead agent is obliged to admit, as well as that Cunanan "evaded capture" in Miami. Marilyn's are-you-fucking-kidding-me face

is particularly impressive work from Judith Light given that her fake lashes in this scene have their own congressman, post office, and vegan bakery.

The Republic Of Lashistan is decidedly unimpressed with the agent's suggestion that, given Tampa's proximity to Miami, she should leave Florida. (As am I; it's nearly 300 miles, and whatever else you might say about Cunanan's state of mind at this point, the idea that he would double back to kill a spouse, whom he would likely find at a television studio, is a non-starter.) A tear rolls down Marilyn's cheek, but she's like, incompetent says what? They want her to run, to hide "from him," but she's never missed a broadcast and she won't start today, so they can provide whatever security they want to: on with the show. On the set, Marilyn marches up to the display, chuckling forcedly about her ability to break sales records under pressure. Her co-host gently tells her she's sorry. "I need it to stop," Marilyn grits.

The next morning, Cunanan wakes up to a news broadcast describing him as a "male prostitute" serving "an affluent clientele." He puts on his glasses as the VO continues that he's articulate, well-dressed, armed and extremely dangerous, and the newest member of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List. He peers expressionlessly at the Wanted card on the TV screen, then pads into the owner's walk-in closet to shop for an outfit, settling on an all-yellow number as, in the next room, Marilyn's voice talks about Lee as "a man who exemplified courage, honor, and dignity." Cunanan doesn't seem to hear this as he looks in the mirror, smirking. "We had a fairytale marriage," Marilyn tells the press, faltering just slightly. "He was…my prince." I don't know why it's here that I find myself thinking about those lost two months between when Cunanan murdered Miglin, then William Reese, and when he fetched up outside La Palazzo Versace and killed Gianni. American Crime Story really hasn't dealt with them at all, unless you count the Ronnie interlude, which only seemed to last a day or two at the end, and it's not that I think the show should have tried to fill in that gap, or that anything particularly noteworthy happened, or might have. Perhaps the Orth book has more insight, although my sense is that nobody really knows what Cunanan got up to during that time. But ACS did a great job imagining Cunanan's time with David Madson after the killing of Jeff Trail, and Darren Criss and others have said that some episodes started out twice as long as what we see on broadcast…I don't know. If there's ever a director's cut of the season, I'll certainly watch it, whether or not it contains a theory or fantasia on the missing weeks.

Anyway: back to what is covered. Cunanan heads out in his sunny ensemble, complete with yellow ball cap, and reads the L.A. Times coverage of Gianni's murder while waiting for an unsuspecting driver to drop her keys into an easily heistable purse, which she does. He tails her to an outdoor café and lifts the bag easily, walking past a wanted poster with himself on it in the café window and helping himself to her Mercedes. He's listening to, and giggling delightedly at, radio coverage bemoaning the instinct to blame the murder of a prominent Italian on the Mafia when he's forced to stop for a police checkpoint. When it's clear the cops are taking more than a cursory glance at the cars ahead of him, Cunanan U-turns it on outta there, cursing. He's parked on a side street, perusing a map, when an older guy comes out from between two houses and says Cunanan looks lost. He is; does the older guy know any way off the island besides the causeways? They seem really crowded. Older Guy sighs that every road off the island has police checkpoints at the moment. Riiiight, right, Cunanan acts: "Andrew Cunanan. It's terrible, I hope they catch him." Bold move. Older Guy asks, "What's your name, young man?" Cunanan gives the Kurt DuMars alias, then bustles as casually as he can manage back into the front seat, thanking Older Guy for his help. Older Guy watches him go.

Cunanan, in a snit, parks the Benz under one of the causeways, pitches the keys into the water, and bellows in frustration.

Back in San Diego, Mary Ann Cunanan is hunched under a blanket she's draped over the TV, I guess to hide her smoking, although she doesn't seem to have cared about that before? In any case, the effect is of a twisted ritual of prayer, especially with the saints candles and crosses on the same table.

She's creepily stroking the TV screen when there's a knock on the door. It's the cops. She unfastens the chain slowly, then opens the door to clasp one officer's shoulder and ask, "Have you killed my son?"

Cunanan, limping back to the houseboat, comes across a wanted poster altered to show him with lipstick, and with lipstick and a blonde wig.

Back at the houseboat, he peels off his shirt and slings it over a chair, then guzzles a Coke and continues to marinate in the coverage of his misdeeds.

What's more American than Coca-Cola and gun violence. Sigh. He's admiring the wanted posters of himself he's apparently collected when the coverage changes to footage of Mary Ann getting taken out of her apartment under the same blanket as before. She deer-in-headlightses at the jostling news crews and photo flashes before she's eased into the back of a cruiser. Cunanan watches, taken aback.

At the Normandy, Detectives Lori and George roust Ronnie, accusing him of lying to them about knowing Cunanan -- he stayed there, and he and Ronnie were friends. Ronnie lies again that Cunanan told him his name was Kurt, and he only just now saw Cunanan on the news; he was totally just going to call them. Det. George is like, cute; you can come with us. As he's led out of his room, Ronnie grumps to Det. Lori, "We weren't friends."

In an interrogation room, Det. Lori continues to nope Ronnie's version of events, saying Cunanan had been hiding in Miami for two months. Ronnie snorts that he wasn't hiding, "he was partying," and Lori's like, great. Where? She lists a few gay clubs, and Ronnie snarks that ohhh, okay, "the only lez on the force" must have been looking for Cunanan. Lori pulls one of her patented "bye bitch" faces

as Ronnie sarcastically muses that the other cops, they didn't care so much about finding Cunanan when he'd only killed a handful of "no-name gays." Why might that be? George snaps that they have over 400 people looking for him, and Ronnie's like, yeah, now you do, now that he's offed a celebrity. There's a little more salty back-and-forth, with Ronnie not having Lori's bluff that he's an accessory to murder and George not having Ronnie's contention that they don't really care about catching Cunanan, before George asks if he never mentioned Versace. Ronnie takes a swig of coffee and says he did nothing but, then muses that "we all" talked about Versace, about what it must be like to be so rich and powerful "that it doesn't matter that you're gay." He adds that "you were disgusted by him long before he became disgusting," which is true, and a good line, but like the rest of this speech not super-credible despite Max Greenfield's estimable efforts. Ronnie goes on that George et al. would prefer "them" to stay in the shadows, "and most of us, we oblige." People like him just drift away…get sick, nobody cares…"but Andrew was vain." He wanted to be heard, wanted people to feel his pain, "wanted you to know about being born…a lie." Lori flinches a little, possibly at the clumsiness of this writing compared with the subtler work we've gotten the rest of the season, as Ronnie concludes that Andrew isn't hiding. "He's trying to be seen."

Well, metaphorically. Literally, he's trying to get out of town, but his next effort -- breaking onto a boat at the marina in the hopes of sneaking out of Miami by sea -- is stymied when a dock "neighbor," mistaking him for the owner, comes onboard looking for "Guillermo." He's in the head, gun cocked, as the neighbor comes below decks calling for Guillermo, and when she pushes on the door and it's pushed forcefully closed in response, she knows something's hinky and hurries away. He exhales, then grabs his gear and bails, hopping from bow to bow as he tries to get out of the marina.

Which he does manage to do, and by the time he returns to the houseboat, the neighbor is leading Dets. Lori and Luke to the boat he tried to take, as he sees through a pair of binoculars. No time to feel truly trapped yet, though, as he can hear Lizzie Coté delivering a statement on the bedroom TV. She's addressing herself directly to him and saying she knows he's not the "despicable" person portrayed in news reports. He sinks to his knees, staring plaintively at her, as she goes on that she knows who he really is and loves him, "unconditionally." The Cunanan she knows isn't a violent person. "I know that the most important thing to you in the world is what others think of you," she adds (emphasis hers); he still has a chance to show everyone else what she "and your godchildren" know. It's time to end this, "peacefully." We go to the ad break on Cunanan's furrowed brow.

When we return, it's another news show, this one about Jeff Trail and David Madson, the voice-over wondering a little too pruriently, "What did these two men do in their days on the road?" This is an understated dig at the salacious coverage, and investigative judgments, that a so-called gay serial killer received -- that, somehow, the possibility that anal intercourse occurred is the most important thing to suggest and the chief aggravating factor in the case -- and is completely in line with the tone of the reporting at that time. When I say that Ronnie's dialogue speaks the truth but lands with a thud, I'm contrasting it with material like this, which is used perfectly whether it's contemporaneous footage or a bone-dry recreation. The newsmag goes on to interview Madson Sr., who defends his son as a victim, not an accomplice, as Cunanan sits and listens, sweating. It doesn't take long before Cunanan can't hear anymore, and begins lunging at the various television sets to turn them off. He stops before switching off the last one, though, to look at a picture of David that's now onscreen.

As with the Lizzie presser, and with Mary Ann as she watched footage of him, it's as though they're there with him, speaking to him. It's the only companionship he can really manage, an idea of it, a picture of it that he can turn off. And when Madson Sr. says his son is a good man -- was a good man -- that's just what Cunanan does, kicking at the off switch to silence a version of life and manhood he can't access.

Later, he sits on the beach, alone, listening to the hectic sounds of nightlife on the boardwalk, before returning to the now-emptied fridge at the houseboat. He goes through the trash and makes sure he's gotten every last blob of yogurt from a discarded cup, then spots some dog food. The attempt fails, as he can't hold down a single spoonful before horking it back up, onto the wanted posters on the counter. He's scraping his tongue with a paper towel (which he then throws on the floor, where he's also left the upended garbage) when Marilyn Miglin's segment comes on the home-shopping channel he's got on. Marilyn tells a sweet story about the perfume she's hawking, about how she wanted to go back in time and give her mother one of the luxuries she couldn't afford, working so hard after Marilyn's father died and putting every penny towards their room and board. Cunanan pulls up a chair and stares at the screen, ensorcelled by Marilyn's tale of her wonderful dad and his early death, of her wishing she could go back in time and give her mother this thing she made…"as a way of saying how special you are."

Now Cunanan's at a pay phone, calling Modesto. A cousin brings Modesto the cordless; Modesto, an array of articles about his son on his desk, wonders how much he should charge for an interview "this time," and looks horrified to hear who's actually on the phone. The second he hears Modesto's voice, Cunanan starts bawling like a child.

Modesto reminds him that "men don't cry, remember?" Cunanan tries to ignore this, sobbing that he's in trouble; he needs Modesto to come get him. Modesto says without hesitation that he'll fly right over, and to hell with the charges still pending against him. Cunanan tells Modesto where he is in Miami. Modesto repeats that he's coming, and when he does, "I will find you. And I will hug you. And I will hold you in my arms, like I used to. And it will all be okay." Cunanan leans his head against the top of the pay phone wistfully, then asks, "You promise?" Of course Modesto promises! Cunanan is to pack some clothes and get ready to go as soon as Modesto arrives. The operator breaks in to ask for more money, and Cunanan, nodding, so eager to believe his salvation is nigh, burbles that he's out of time. Modesto says again that he'll be there soon.

Cunanan puts a cassette in and packs: clothes, books, a French passport. Not sure what the music is -- sounds like Gershwin; could be Debussy; let me know in the comments, as Shazam didn't come through for me here -- but whatever the case, Cunanan is dreamy and hopeful as he lies in bed, watching the water's reflection play with the fan on the ceiling, then as he puts his backpack and a stolen garment bag by the houseboat's front door the next morning, and settles in next to them to read.

That night. No Modesto. Cunanan checks the water; he checks the entrance; nothing. Coming back in the house, he hears Modesto -- giving a TV interview in which he first and foremost denies that his son is gay, then brags about Cunanan evading the cops, then claims they've discussed the rights to Cunanan's story and Modesto is acting as the broker for those rights. As he's blathering about the life-story title that Cunanan and Modesto agreed upon -- "A Name To Be Remembered By" -- Cunanan goes from pained to angry to just...dark.

That title is really bad, almost as bad as Modesto is a parent/person, and Cunanan shoots the living-room TV rather than listen to Modesto BSing that the charges keeping him out of the U.S. "are bogus," or any other of Modesto's horseshit that probably smells a lot like Cunanan's own, even to him. And while I'm up, man has Darren Criss killed it in this role.

July 22, the day of Gianni's funeral. Waiting uncomfortably in a salon, Donatella grouses to Antonio that Gianni should be alive, that "if everybody had done their job," he would be. Antonio takes a beat, then tells her he heard the shots, and he knew -- because his heart stopped. Donatella looks down, briefly shamed in her attempt to put Gianni's death on Antonio, as he goes on that he knows her heart is broken too, but she and Santo have each other. Antonio had Gianni, only Gianni. Donatella doesn't apologize or return the sentiment, just asks what he'll do now. Antonio sighs that he'll stay in Lake Como; as Donatella knows, Gianni set it up so Antonio could stay in "one of the houses," and he just wants to stay close to Gianni. Donatella frowns, but is clearly not quite unhappy to inform Antonio that Gianni no longer owns any of the houses -- he "spent too much money," so the company had to take control of all the properties. The board of Versace now governs them. Antonio regards her with a dull "this bitch" stare until she finally meets his eye again, pulls a "…what?" face, and tells him to go to Lake Como and recuperate for a while. "And after that?" Antonio grunts. She non-answers that today is the day to say goodbye, and then both of them will start a new life. This expert "now isn't the time"-ing is too much for Antonio, whose eyes fill with tears as he says he guesses that's it, then; Donatella can just throw him aside like a piece of trash. Ricky Martin loses control of the accent, regrettably, as he pleadingly says he loved Gianni, Gianni was his life, and suddenly he doesn't matter? Donatella's look is hard to read, but I suspect she's thinking, "Not 'suddenly' for me, no," as Antonio says he has no home, no rights, nothing. She comes back toward him, saying firmly that the houses and the finances are controlled by the board. "You have a say," he presses, but he's not getting shit. "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sorry for all of us!" She leaves the room in tears, not one of which is for Antonio.

The houseboat. Cunanan is kicking back with a can of dog food on the kitchen floor. Still the trash is scattered about. A huge roach scuttles across the floor, no doubt attracted to the sty-ish conditions currently prevailing, and Cunanan traps it under his drinking glass and picks it up to examine it as it sits on his palm under the glass. Little too pointed as survivor symbology goes, but Cunanan's soon enough distracted by footage of Gianni's memorial service, and all the glittery guests in their mourning attire. He hauls a huge projection system into the living room so he can watch it writ large (and because he shot the TV that was in there earlier). He projects it on the great-room wall above the doors, obliging him to look up at it, a supplicant, a worshipper, one of the congregation.

As Cunanan watches Princess Diana and Elton John dabbing at tears, Antonio numbly follows Donatella and the rest of the blood relatives into the family pew. The priest does not mention him along with the other family or loved ones, and snubs him after blessing the others in the pew; at the houseboat, as a boy soprano begins the 23rd Psalm and Antonio rises belatedly with the rest of thatcongregation, Cunanan crosses himself and kneels before the simulcast, singing along and weeping at the lines "yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death / I will fear no evil." Rain sprinkles the floral tributes outside Gianni's house, and the wanted posters of Cunanan tucked between the mailbox and its flag.

Cunanan buzzes his hair short, like a penitent, while elsewhere, a caretaker (I assume?) tells someone on the phone that he'll take care of it and writes down the houseboat's address. Not sure if he's responding to a complaint about the bugs or what, but he grabs some keys and a gun holster and heads out. Cunanan is napping next to a magazine with a Versace ad on the back when he hears the caretaker let himself in, the broken lock falling clean out of its housing. The caretaker creeps in gun-first, calling, "Is anybody here?" The only voices come from the TV, still on in the living room. "I am armed!" the caretaker calls. Cunanan appears in the hallway upstairs, also armed, and withdraws behind a wall, then fires a shot into the ceiling. The caretaker's not about sticking around, and tuck-and-rolls out of there.

Det. Luke is having a smoke when the police radio comes on with an "occupied burglary" call for all units. He and Det. Lori head over. SWAT gears up and moves out. Cunanan comes downstairs to hear a breaking-news update on "the siege at Indian Creek," which is a siege of…him. As the anchor describes the perimeter set up by the FBI and Miami police, Cunanan, coated in sweat, gawps at the screen.

After the commercial, more news reports. The cockroach, still under the drinking glass, is now dead. Cunanan sits primly on the couch in his underpants, watching the chopper shots of the houseboat from the outside, and the rattling of a close pass of a helicopter right overhead seems to make him only curious, not afraid -- but when the phone starts ringing, and the hostage negotiator outside gets on a bullhorn and tells him they only want to talk, he starts freaking out for real. The team leader outside, flanked by Dets. Luke and Lori, tells everyone to hold positions, as we see sniper set-ups, news vans behind the perimeter, and the houseboat and its fountain looking very small.

In the Philippines, Modesto crouches, childlike, in front of his TV as a newscaster notes that efforts to draw Cunanan out have failed. Cunanan locks himself in the bedroom, panting, and turns to see his younger self on the bed. If any recent narrative could hope to get away with this pasteurized processed trope food, it's ACS, but when you co-host a Beverly Hills, 90210 podcast, all you can think about is Dylan and his gooberama inner child at his father's funeral.

I know it's unfair to ACS, this reference, but you can see why it's tough for me to take this visual cliché seriously. It's nicely acted by both Darren Criss and Edouard Holdener -- with the TV calling Cunanan "a known gigolo; a man who loved the spotlight," Li'l Cunanan looks pleased with the attention, regardless of its origin; Grownanan is staring at his younger self with a mixture of confusion and fear, with perhaps a bit of relief mixed in -- but we certainly did get it without this provol-onsense. The broadcast talks about Cunanan's schoolmates voting him Most Likely To Be Remembered, and Grownanan beams at his boy self,

but when the broadcast returns to the police tape around the houseboat, Li'l Cunanan vanishes, and a light goes out in Cunanan. He's utterly alone; he doesn't even have himself. There's no there there.

Outside, it's decided that if Cunanan were going to come out, he would have. "Cut the power," the team leader says. The TV goes off inside, and the fans. The SWAT team sends a handful of smoke bombs in ahead of themselves, and breaks the door down. Cunanan scootches up to the headboard and sits in that prim way of his, officiously removing his glasses. He cocks the gun and puts it in his mouth, far back, his lips not an inch from the trigger. He's wearing no expression, but something makes him look over at himself in the mirrored sliding doors beside the bed. I took a screenshot of the moment, which is profoundly unsettling along a number of axes -- the deadness of the eyes, the way the barrel of the gun pushes his face out of shape, the visual nod to fellatio and the Möbius of self-loathing and despair then implied, in this case, at this time; the grotesqueness of this last thing Cunanan saw, which was himself -- but it felt wrong to use it. Not to mention that Cunanan in fact shot himself in the temple, but in any case, let's leave it at Cunanan finally killing himself while staring into the camera and the bang coinciding with a smash cut to Cunanan and Gianni's night at the opera, Cunanan saying in voice-over, "I'm so happy right now."

Gianni is taking his leave of Cunanan. He chucks him flirtily on the chin and starts to make his way down the stairs from the stage when Cunanan asks, "What if -- you had a dream your whole life that you were someone special? But no one believed it…not really." Gianni looks at him with compassion as Cunanan goes on about persuading people he'd do something great. Gianni tells him gently that it's not about the persuading people; it's about the doing of that great something. Cunanan should finish his novel. "Or something else!" Cunanan Manson-lampses. "Do you think I could be a designer?" Gianni's like, uhhhhh, so Cunanan adds that he knows "literally everything there is to know about fashion." Maybe he could assist Gianni, or be his protégé? Gianni isn't looking for that, but Cunanan feels that his being there, "like this, with you," is destiny. Can't Gianni feel it? When an answer isn't forthcoming, Cunanan tries to kiss him, and is put aside -- sweetly, as Gianni strokes Cunanan's cheekbone and says it's not that he isn't attractive; he's a "very interesting young man." But he wanted Cunanan to take inspiration, nourishment from the opera, and if they kiss, it's not about that anymore. Cunanan is still selling, offering dinner the next night, club-hopping…Gianni can't, he's too busy with work before he leaves town. "Another night. Another stage. Yes?" Cunanan is almost physically crushed by this courteous rejection as Gianni heads down into the orchestra pit, and the lights go out on Cunanan with a pointed thrunk.

Dets. Lori and Luke ID Cunanan's body. Luke asks if he's what Lori expected. "He's just a boy," she says. Cunanan's body is loaded into a medical examiner's van, and Lori watches sadly.

Marilyn Miglin is packing up from her broadcast when she's informed by the FBI agents that Cunanan has taken his own life. "Good," she says. "It's over." But it isn't, quite; her co-host comes upon her reading letters from viewers, letters about Lee and his acts of generosity towards them, paying their bills, career mentoring. Lee never told her "about any of it. Why…didn't he ever tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, because she doesn't want to think too closely on Lee's things not told, Marilyn says she answers all the letters, and tells the authors Lee is alive in their correspondence. She beams at a photo of him on her dressing-room vanity, adding that she's so very proud of him.

Lake Como. Santo stares out at the water, then goes in to tell Donatella the lawyers have come. Before the meeting, she has to confess to Santo that, the day Gianni died, he called her about a show she was putting together in Rome, and he had a lot of questions, and she got annoyed that he didn't trust her judgment -- so when he called back a half hour later, she didn't answer. She begins to ugly-cry. The Albinoni from the first episode of the season begins.

Antonio pours a bunch of pills onto a plate and looks at them sadly.

Bodyguards escort Donatella onto a balcony, an umbrella held over her, in slo-mo. At the edge of the balcony, she takes the umbrella without a word and heads towards a small mausoleum at the end of the property.

A metalworker brushes a brass nameplate, and polishes it with a cloth.

Antonio jams all the pills into his mouth and washes them down with wine, which we see from below, reflected in the mirrored tray holding the wineglass.

Donatella lights a candle before a photo of Gianni, under the box holding his cremains.

Antonio holds an item of Gianni's clothing to his face, then subsides into bed to wait for death.

The cemetery worker takes his bag of tools into a crypt and screws the nameplate -- which appears to belong to Cunanan -- onto the front of one of the marble cells.

A maid comes upon Antonio on the floor. "No, no no no," she gasps, shaking him and patting his face. He opens his eyes, and seems destroyed by having survived.

Donatella puts her hand flat on the box, as if to gather power from it. She looks into the etched mirror above the urn, whose design cuts her face into pieces and pulls it out of shape.

A close-up on the nameplate, which is indeed Cunanan's, pulls away, then down the long silent hall of the crypt. It keeps pulling further back, further back.

Dozens of others interred here, hundreds perhaps, behind featureless marble, with identical nameplates. Cunanan's gets smaller and smaller. The light at the end of the hallway gets further and further away. And then it's over, and then it's gone.

And so is American Crime Story's second season. It didn't work for everyone, but despite a couple of occasional quibbles, I liked it a great deal; I admire its ambition and I think that ambition is mostly realized. Fantastic performances all around, and a dimensioned meditation on what is born and what is made, on how much is destroyed when a destroyer is created.

Thanks so much for coming on this journey with me, and for supporting Previously.TV's Epic Old-School Recaps. I'll see you in the forums. Ciao, bellas.

[fanficimagery]

Anonymous said: Do u do monty imagines bc i rly need more of him + Anonymous said: Please give me more monty i cant get enough

Author's Note: Because some of you asked so nicely.. enjoy my attempt at Montgomery. Also, much thanks to @jayadoreee for creating 'Dating Montgromery Includes' headcanons that sparked the idea for this ;) One headcanon in particular had me laughing, but as I was listening to a couple of songs.. inspiration struck! So go listen to 'Gangsta' and 'Crazy in Love' to get a feel of the mood I was in when writing this XD

MONTY X READER

Montgomery de la Cruz. There was a lot to be said about this bad boy, a lot to dislike about him as well, but given that he's been your boyfriend for the last eight months.. well you mustn't find him all that terrible.

But that wasn't the case once upon a time. Once upon a time you sneered at his attempts to intimidate fellow students, told him to fuck off one too many times to count, and even shoved him off Alex once when they got into one of their monthly fist fights.

His cruelty lessened when he turned his sights on you and every time you went to tell him off, you found that your amusement would spike. He noticed it, too, if his attempts to get a rise out of you almost everyday were anything to go by. Every curse you spewed at him was then followed by a smile and roll of your eyes instead of a sneer, and you found that Monty had wormed his way beneath your skin without even realizing it until it was too late.

The first time he asked you out, you had laughed in his face and walked away. The second time, you thought it over and rejected him with a joke, but the third.. the third time was the charm.

There was something genuine about his request the third time he sought you out, about the way he willingly took the jabs from his jock friends without lashing out at them that made you decide to give him a chance. You then ended up giving him several chances after that since his anger used to get the best of him and you were constantly bickering about his bullying tendencies, but he soon cooled off and mellowed out much to your pleasure.

Because if it wasn't for Monty, you wouldn't have flourished and opened up in ways that you never expected you were capable of doing. That and you never would have realized just what kinks you had.

"Hey, babe, ready to go?" Monty leans tiredly against the bleachers after baseball practice- hat worn backwards, shirt soaked with sweat and duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. "It's hot."

"Yeah. Let me just pack up." 

You quickly shove your textbooks and spirals back into your book bag, standing up and hopping down the stairs. Monty waits for you at the bottom, automatically taking your hand into his as he walks you to his vehicle. He's not one for public affection unless it's in a joking, teasing manner in front of his friends, but you don't really care to be all over him in front of anyone anyway.

Once situated in his jeep though, you both lean over the space separating you and meet each other halfway. The kiss is slow and languid, his tongue slipping into your mouth to caress yours. His teeth catch your bottom lip then and he bites down with just enough pressure to make you groan as he pulls back. His darkened gaze holds nothing but promises for a fun time later, and you momentarily wonder how the hell this boy is ready to go after a grueling day under the sun.

"You're showering before anything happens," you say, voice already thick with want.

He smirks. "God bless mothers who nag their husbands enough until he gets off his ass and takes her to Vegas. You're spending the night with me tonight."

Your gut warms in anticipation and you clench your thighs to ease the sudden throbbing when his hand lands just above your knee and slowly inches towards your inner thigh. "Yes, sir," you airily breathe and then chuckle darkly when he groans in return.

The drive to your house is as fast as possible without tempting law enforcement to pull you guys over. You leave your bag in Monty's vehicle, knowing you'll need it tomorrow, and make quick work of rushing inside to pack an overnight bag and clothes for the following day. And then the last thing you do before leaving is change your current underthings for something more fresh and eye appealing.

You barely have time to shut the door to the jeep before Monty's peeling out, you laughing as he clenches his jaw and wraps his hands tight around the steering wheel to make sure you get to his house in one piece.

Since you're already familiar with the layout of Monty's house, you casually stroll about as he takes the stairs two at time to reach his personal bathroom. You laugh at his retreat, grabbing yourself a bottle of water from the fridge before making you're way up. Setting aside your belongings takes no time at all, so you make yourself comfortable by kicking off your shoes and putting on some music.

Monty soon returns, the only article of clothing he's wearing being a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. 'Gangsta' starts playing over the dock speakers, the beat of the song setting the mood right away and you gulp at the sight of water droplets traveling down his chest. 

He smirks as he saunters towards you and you hesitantly stand to meet him halfway. "I have plans for you tonight, sweetheart."

Your eyes widen as your heart starts to thump faster and Monty rests his hands on your shoulders. His hands slowly travel down your arms until he reaches your hips, his hands then wandering towards your back and down to your ass, still travelling lower until he grips the back of your thighs in hand and lifts you up. Immediately your hands clasp together at the back of his neck and he chuckles deeply as he walks you around to the side of his bed before kneeling on the mattress and dropping you in the middle.

"Am I going to like these plans?" You ask, voice nearly a murmur.

"Y/N, you're going to love 'em."

His lips crash hungrily against yours, one hand diving into the hair at the nape of your neck. As he grips and pulls as hard as he dares, you moan aloud and allow him the chance to lick inside your mouth. It's hungry, yet passionate at the same time and your toes curl in anticipation.

Maneuvering you around so your back is towards the headboard, he pushes you down until you’re flat on your back and continues his nipping kisses down the side of your neck. "I know how much you enjoy my formal ties coming into play," he says, "but I got something a little different this time around.”

And it's true. You didn't think you'd be into the whole being tied up during sex, but something about Monty doing the tying up really got you going. Even more when Monty let you tie him up.

You don't realize what he's talking about until you find your wrists pinned together above your head, your eyes widening in surprise when you hear the jingle of chains. "Shh. Relax," he murmurs, nipping your chin. "It's not handcuffs."

No, it's not handcuffs, but it is leather cuffs that are linked to thin chains that are hidden between the headboard and mattress. "Fuck me," you mutter, feeling even more turned on than you were just seconds ago.

"That's the plan."

Your wrists are soon bound and you hiss when pull on them, the cuffs biting into the delicate skin. Monty chuckles as he slowly starts to slide your shirt up, groaning when he reveals black lace and then leaving your shirt as a blindfold over your eyes. You start to squirm as he trails kisses over the tops of your breasts, then trails his tongue down the center of your abdomen before sucking a bruise just above the button of your jeans.

"Monty," you whine. "Stop teasing."

"As you wish."

The button of your jeans is popped open, the material roughly yanked down your legs before your knees are spread and the warmth of his mouth covers your throbbing center.

♪♫My freakness is on the loose and running all over you. Please take me to places that nobody, nobody knows. You got me hooked up on the feeling. You got me hanging from the ceiling. Got me up so high I'm barely breathing. So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me, don’t let me go♪♫

With only a few hours of sleep, you find yourself waking up later than you normally wake up and rush to get ready for school. Monty merely rolls over and continues sleeping as you shower, you then finding him dressed and as smug as can be when you re-enter his room to finish dressing.

"Stop staring at me," you whine. "And hurry up. You know I hate being late for school."

"You look well fucked," he muses. "No matter how much you brush your hair or apply concealer, you look like you had a long night."

"Mhm. Thank you for that. Now Jessica isn't going to shut up today and she's going to want all the details."

Monty laughs as you pull him out of the room, kicking his back pack towards him as you grab up yours. You're in such a rush to get to the school that you don't realize until it's too late that you forgot to do something important. While you remembered to cover the hickies surrounding your neck, you completely forgot about the other two obvious marks.

"Hey, Y/N," Jessica muses, tucked happily into Justin's side as they stop by your locker, "why are yours wrists so red?"

You freeze, mentally berating yourself for forgetting to cover those. You slam your locker shut only to find Jessica and Justin grinning knowingly, but merely roll your eyes in return. "Don't ask."