#i forgot. they were there. got so caught up......

[maskedbyghost]

i love fics where simon is obsessed with the reader, but the ones where reader is the stalker? chef's kiss. so let me set the scene for you babes:

when you first saw him, it felt like the world stopped for a moment—like every boring day you spent trudging through the monotony of life suddenly made sense. simon riley was something else, larger than life, and somehow more magnetic than anyone had the right to be. you knew you’d never be the same the moment you locked eyes with him in the briefing room that first day.

your transfer to the task force was fate. it had to be. how else could you explain the perfect alignment of events that led you to him? captain price barely got through his introductions before you’d cataloged every scar visible above simon’s mask, taken mental notes of his broad frame, and wondered just how his voice might sound murmuring your name in the dark.

you found yourself naturally gravitating to him—the way a moth is drawn to a flame. and maybe you flew a little too close too fast, but you didn’t care. when he stood silent in the corner, your feet took you to him. during training drills, your gaze zeroed in on his every movement, memorizing his efficiency and strength. at the mess hall? you were never more than a table away. oh, and when some other soldier—jessica—got a little too cozy with him? well, let’s just say the entire task force knew that no one casually chatted up ghost without your looming presence in the vicinity. you might’ve accidentally spilled your coffee all over jessica’s lap the day she dared to pat his arm. oops.

at first, simon didn’t say much about it. not when you conveniently bumped into him outside the barracks after every mission, nor when you “forgot” your hoodie in his locker room, just to see if he’d notice. his quiet smirk here and there was the only tell—almost like he knew exactly what you were doing and found it charming.

but when he finally cornered you one night in the base’s dimly lit halls, his voice low as he pinned you with that gaze, your heart all but exploded in your chest.

“why’d you scare off half the team today?” your mouth opened, words forming in your head but caught on the tip of your tongue. was he angry? maybe you’d gone too far—but then simon leaned in closer, crowding your space. the warmth of his breath against your ear made you freeze.

“not complaining,” he murmured, “just wondering how long you’re gonna make me wait before you make it obvious.”

your lips parted to question him, but his fingers gently trailed up your arm, anchoring your spinning mind to him.

“i see you,” he continued. “you don’t think i notice how you follow me around like some little shadow? hmm?” he didn’t sound annoyed—far from it, actually. there was something downright pleased about his words.

the realization nearly took your breath away. he liked it. he wanted you close.

“no one else gets to,” you blurted out, owning that possessiveness with every fiber of your being. “not them, not anyone. only me.”

you braced for a reprimand, but instead, simon’s mask shifted just enough for you to catch the tiniest upward curl of his lips. a smile. genuine, real, and meant only for you.

“good.” his voice rumbled with approval, sending a warm shiver down your spine. “you’re the only one i want close, anyway.”

and from that night on, every time your possessiveness made itself known—an icy glare at another woman, an intentional interruption of a conversation he didn’t want to have—simon only smiled.

you might’ve been obsessed, but the truth was simple: so was he. and everyone else? they didn’t matter. you were his, just as much as he was yours.

exactly as it should be.

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

@daydreamerwoah

[wintersera]

heatstroke || omega!winter x alpha!reader

notes: i’m back after a long ass time HIII saw these pics and i had to cook something up really quick… like lord, PLEASE LORD TAKE THE WHEEL

cw: omegaverse, g!p reader, alpha reader, omega minjeong, breeding kink, biting. one mention of weed

wc: 2.9k

it’s the third day in a row where minjeong invited you over to her house in the countryside. blades of grass rustling in the late afternoon breeze while the sun still beamed brightly in the cloudless sky.

you sat outside the house, sitting on the cool wooden porch as you stared out into the distance, contemplating the last minute choice of staying over at your friends house.

this week's forecast showed a constant 35 degrees celsius and above— 95 fahrenheit and above if you’re american, across the board. the humidity didn’t help either. it felt suffocating to even move around given that the humidity felt like it had raised the temperature up way more than it should have.

you would hate it less if there were ac, but since you were staying over in her small traditional house, you had no other choice than to deal with the excruciating sun rays beaming down on your exposed skin.

sat in a simple thin tank top and short shorts, you lift up the fabric of your top, flapping it around to generate some sort of cool breeze.

as sweat dripped down your face, minjeong appeared behind you, also dripping with salty sweat down from her forehead all the way to her chin “here” she tossed you a cold beer without much care. she knew you’d catch it anyway.

“didn’t you say your fridge broke down?” the cold metal pressed against your nape felt blissful in these times. you rubbed the can all over your body before it unfortunately warmed up from both your body temperature and because of how you were sitting out in the blistering sun.

“i ran over to the vending machine down the street” minjeong sat fairly far away from you on the porch. not because she didn’t like being near you, but because somehow you were quite literally a walking heater “there was a whole line of people” the girl chuckled, popping open the can she got for herself “almost all the drinks ran out, it was crazy y/n. you should’ve seen the old lady scolding this guy for buying, like, ten drinks”

the burn of the alcohol slid down your throat. it almost sort of tasted sweet in a way, but still, it was beer, and beer was annoyingly bitter on your taste buds “i’d honestly do the same if i was there” though it was downright disgusting, the slight coldness made you chug the entire can in one go “why are you wearing that big ass long sleeved shirt, minjeong?”

“i told you~” the shorter girl whined “the electricians won’t be coming soon, so it fucked up the neighbourhood and no one has working outlets anymore”

“you don’t have any spare clothes laying around then? might as well take it off”

“yeah, no i don’t…and no, y/n. i’m not taking it off” she retorted back with an attitude “oh crap, i almost forgot to give you this” minjeong laid down to reach her bag, conveniently having stored a few ice packs in there, and took out two pre packaged ice cream cones. one strawberry, and one plain vanilla.

“yours is definitely vanilla, right?” knowing her tastes, your hand instinctively reached out for the strawberry flavoured ice cream cone. due to the heat, the cream had leaked a little bit out from the wrapper, but i guess that was to be expected anyway.

minjeong nodded, her back still against the now warm wood of the porch, unwrapping the ice cream and taking a few kitten licks.

the both of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the birds fly around whilst the cicadas buzzed loudly in the background.

“ah—“ minjeong’s little squeak caught your attention briefly, then you were back to watching the birds fly around in the sky. a few pigeons and crows flying by, nothing too out of the ordinary.

“nooo~ i’m all sticky now” you take a glance once more, then your attention returned back to the blue sky, spacing out all over again, but before you could even utter anything snarky about minjeong dropping her ice cream on herself, your head whipped around to do a double take. melted ice cream stained her last clean shirt she had, with no other choice she had to deal with the sticky fabric or just take the whole thing off.

for a second, your eyes caught a spot dribbling down her fingers and onto her wrists. her plump lips parted open for her tongue to dart out. cheeks reddened at the sight of her licking the melted… white cream…

“you know you could—“

“i’m not taking it off. it’s too embarrassing” she definitely could, after all it wouldn’t bother you all too much. you’ve seen people naked. it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“eh… too lazy to move” whilst sprawled out on the floor, her hand pulled up her shirt a little more “ahh~ that feels so much better” toned midriff exposed to the golden sun rays, the reflective light bouncing off her smooth and silky skin.

“whatever floats your boat, i guess” actually, maybe this was bothering you a little more than you had anticipated.

besides the outrageous heat, there was another issue you had that was on your mind.

although you were long term friends with minjeong, probably since you met her in highschool, you had always told her, and the people around you, that you were a full fledged beta. nothing more, nothing less.

god knows how she would react if she had found out you were a pure blooded alpha.

speaking of… you began to feel a little strange “mmm… something smells nice” images of minjeong flashed in your mind. her exposed milky thighs, that oversized shirt she pulled up to show her huggable waist and tummy, melted ice cream on the corner of her lips, and how she was so vulnerable sprawled out across the floor.

shit. oh shit… she looked way too good. so good that you could easily pick her up and do whatever you want with that petite and fragile body of hers.

before you knew it, your cock started to strain against your shorts. uncomfortable, you shifted as you sat in a less revealing manner, taking the ice cream to your lips to calm the heat rushing to your face.

now is not the time for an unexpected rut. fuck. “i’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick” it took a lot of mental strength to avoid gazing at minjeong… a lot of mental strength considering you were covering up your horrendously hard dick as you rushed past her.

“where… where is it—“ usually you had a couple rut suppressants laying around in your pockets, if not, then your bags. and if it wasn't in either, you’d run to the local pharmacy to buy a fresh set of both suppressants and scent blockers. but unlucky you had to be in the middle of the fuckass countryside with a pharmacy that sells neither.

minjeong’s scent was getting stronger, heavier. a pinch of spiced apples wafted into the bathroom unexpectedly. intoxicating. it wasn’t like she was in heat, that’s if your scent didn’t occupy her nostrils by now.

to distract your mind from plunging further into the pit of no return, or rather fantasising about plunging into minjeong’s soft thighs to bury your face right into her pussy, a cold splash of water to your face would do the trick. hopefully.

the faucet was pretty much shut tight, and living in the city for pretty much your whole entire life, you would rather stay hot and bothered— both ways, than to go out and douse yourself with cold water from the hose.

defeated, you walk with your imaginary tail between your legs, eyes averted from minjeong as you sit somewhere else in her house. preferably the furthest room away from where she was laying down.

minjeong, however, followed behind you “do you smell something weird? it smells like cedarwood and a little bit of tobacco” you froze in place for a second. maybe you should straight up tell her the truth. better off than losing your composure and submitting to your instincts in front of her.

she sat close to you despite the suffocating heat. being this close in proximity… her scent was stronger than ever. your cock throbbed in your shorts as she inspected you with curious eyes, her concentrated face wrangling in more indecent thoughts as the seconds flew by “must be someone smoking a blunt out there…” you gulped nervously.

what an obvious lie you told. she rolled her eyes at you, lightly hitting you across the shoulder with a small, amused laugh “we’re in south fucking korea, y/n. i doubt someone is openly smoking weed out in the streets” which was true god damn it.

heart drumming loudly in your chest, your eyes zeroing in on minjeong’s body, every shred of composure seemed to crumble once she checked your temperature with her shockingly cold hands “don’t…” you huff, grabbing her wrists gently “i’m okay”

“you don’t seem okay. you’re showing signs of heatstroke” to be honest, that might be the case as well, but you doubt it was heatstroke given the fact that you were obviously flustered and hot by her sudden approach “crap, and almost everything in this house is broken— y/n, come here”

“mmm…” without any access to cold water, and the cold drinks already gone alongside the ice cream, you had no choice but to suffer in silence. that is until minjeong pulled on the ends of your top. again, that rich spiced apple scent…

“take it off, it’ll be cooler for you” seeing her tiny hands on your top, sliding it off gently with her glossy eyes carefully wandering all over you shattered your last wall of composure.

you rolled minjeong over the futon mattress, her puppy dog eyes staring holes into your face “y-your scent. it’s just way too strong, minjeong” without further ado, you dived into minjeong’s neck, breathing in her delicious scent as you nudged your covered bulge against her clothed pussy.

“i knew it” a soft moan escaped from her lips, the friction between the two of you becoming hotter and hotter with each grind of your hips “you’re way too obvious”

“shut up…” the sliding door was still open to the outside, it would be risky to carry on what you were doing, especially knowing how your scent was particularly stronger in comparison to other alphas. but really, who cares? “is this even okay with you?” albeit concerned, your teeth still grazed her neck gently, kissing and sucking her skin in a way to not so permanently mark her up.

“why else do you think— mmm… that i’ve been inviting you around so often. just… hurry up. you’re triggering my heat” her words alone made you ecstatic. to be fair, you were pent up lately. you continued to rut into her, holding up her thighs as your bulge was threatening to burst through your shorts. in due time, slick began to drip from her hole, dampening both your shorts and her panties.

“can i let loose?” you were already sliding off her panties, following the removal of yours straight after. minjeong’s legs spread wide open for you, her pretty pink folds slathered with her slick, and her puffy clit that looked so sensitive to touch. she stared right into your eyes and gave you a nod of approval.

you manage to push yourself all the way inside of her tight pussy, molding her walls to accommodate the size of your girthy cock. minjeong wrapped her arms around your neck, her nails digging deep and breaking the skin on your back, only making you push as deep as you can in return. her wetness made your entry much easier than you had thought. she just looked way too tiny to take your entire length. this girl was just full of surprises.

sooner or later you would give into your biological urges, and so would minjeong. you could feel it now actually. the primal desire to breed her until she would bear your pups, the need to mark her, to make her yours. you could feel your rationality being thrown out the window, replaced by pure animalistic lust “je..jesus christ, so fucking thick…”

minjeong tried to gather what was left of her scattered thoughts into coherent sentences, but the way your cock filled her up rendered her speechless. you hadn’t moved at all, and yet she was digging her claws into your back as if you were slamming your hips into her.

“i haven’t even moved yet” you chuckled, moving your hips slowly to test the waters. her warmth coated your entire length, feeling as you were melting by simply being inside of her.

testing the waters was not enough for you, you craved for more. a rougher and faster pace would suffice, but you didn’t know if minjeong could handle you that well. after all, the two of you never fucked before.

no, it really wasn’t enough. you had to fuck her hard whether or not she was prepared “gonna… go rough” hands on each side of her waist, using her body, you pushed and pulled her onto your cock. you met with each thrust, burying your tip further and further inside with as much vigour as humanly possible.

buried between the crook of her neck, your lips feverishly pecked at her skin once again, savouring the salty taste of her sweat on the tip of your tongue all while inhaling her addictively sweet and rich scent. all for you to keep for yourself.

on the other hand, minjeong was fairly inexperienced. her thighs began to slowly close, but with your strong grip, you kept them wide open for you to easily slide in and out of her pussy “mi…njeong” you call out to her as you push down on her tummy, locking eyes with the teary eyed girl “g-get on top of me”

you leaned back onto the futon mattress, straightening minjeong’s back as she straddles your lap. the position you were in made it possible to go as deep as minjeong wanted to go, but that didn’t mean she was in control.

“s’too… too big” strings of slick dripped down her thigh, pooling onto your pelvis. you paid no mind to the mess, rather, you encouraged it even further by toying with her overly sensitive clit “f-fu..ck— oh my god, y/n”

every moan urged you to play with her more. not one, but two fingers rubbed circles against her clit, collecting her slick time to time before going back in to do the same motions. it was a win-win situation. each circular motion caused her to clamp down hard on your cock.

but still, it wasn’t enough for either of you.

changing position for possibly the last time, minjeong laid flat on her stomach, as you pound her pussy from behind. with each thrust, the sounds of your hips smacking into her ass sounded throughout the room, and possibly bleeded out onto the empty streets of the village, disrupting the neighbourhood with your moaning and groaning, and minjeong’s cries of pleasure too.

poor minjeong couldn’t speak properly. words she wanted to moan, came out as garbled nonsense, cries and whines too as your relentless rhythm fucked her until she couldn’t even think properly anymore.

at this point, the room was steaming. the scent of you and her mingling with the sweat formed from the intensive heat outside, and the heat generated between the both of you. to say the least, the room reeked of sex.

messy and rough sex.

seconds into kissing her nape, you could feel the tightening of minjeong’s cunt restrict the movement of your thrust, making it a lot more difficult to catch your high, yet somehow the grip brought you closer towards the limit.

now, you could see minjeong clawing into her mattress, scratching the fabric that held all the foam together. her breath became jagged, grunting and groaning harshly till her voice became hoarse with how much she was calling out your name.

“god… i’m gonna— fuck, y/n i’m cumming, i’m gonna cum” claws ripping the linen fabric of the mattress, minjeong lets out a high pitched whimper, her body convulsing as you thrust relentlessly into her.

quickly, your sharp canines sank into her nape by instinct as she came, lessening the pain for marking and replacing it with searing hot pleasure.

still, with you still raring to go, you kept on going until you couldn’t last much longer either. your grip of minjeong’s ass as you pounded harshly into her overstimulated pussy was the final straw. your knot swelled eventually, locking the two of you in place as thick strings of semen poured into her, filling her up to the brim.

laid on top of minjeong, your breath slows, and so does hers “s-sorry… i didn’t mean to claim you” you say, yet your actions speak otherwise, inhaling in her scent to calm yourself down from the intensive orgasm “it’s kind of your fault though. teasing me with that ice cream and that shirt”

“to be honest, i just wanted to see how far you’d stick with that whole beta persona” minjeong huffed into the pillow, stroking your arm as your knot began to lessen, semen now oozing out from her hole “so worth it actually…”

“yeah, but now you’re gonna bear my pups now…” you huff into her neck.

“so worth it” now that your knot began to shrink in size, minjeong turned around, gazing longingly into your eyes with a look you’ve never seen from her before “that just means that you’re gonna be stuck with me forever now, right?” she smirked, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“mmm, yeah i like that thought”

[4linos]

when love shows up late.

seo changbin x gn!reader

synopsis: you feel neglected as the night goes by as you wait for changbin. his surprise appearance provides comfort as he apologizes sincerely and admits he misunderstood your initial plans.

wc: 928

[part 2/8 holiday series 🎄]

The snow was falling softly outside, casting a sparkling white sheen on the streets, and the aroma of pine from the Christmas tree filled your living room. You had spent hours planning for tonight, your first Christmas Eve with Changbin. The table was set with candles, the lights on the tree twinkled, and you'd even played his favorite Christmas music. But as the hours passed, your excitement faded into confusion, and then sadness. You made plans to spend Christmas Eve together.

Or you thought you did.

It was late, the food had gone cold, and your phone stayed silent. There were no calls, no messages, and absolutely no sign of him.

You tried to argue with yourself. Maybe he got caught with his family or work. Maybe something urgent came up. But the thought that he had just forgotten about you gnawed at your heart. It wasn't like him to forget, but the stillness seemed to be an explanation in itself. Finally, unable to handle the agony in your chest any longer, you sent him a hesitant text:

Hey..I thought we were spending Christmas Eve together? I hope everything’s okay.

The message went unanswered. You stared at your phone for what seemed like hours, a knot rising in your throat as tears threatened to spill out. All you wanted was to spend this special night with him, but now you felt like the only one who cared. By the time the clock struck ten, your hopes were almost completely vanished. You turned off the lights on the tree, blew out the candles, and cuddled up on the couch, clutching a blanket over you to keep the chill of loneliness out.

Then, just as you were about to close your eyes and give in to the exhaustion of the night, there was a knock at the door.

You sat up, your heart leaping in your chest despite yourself.

It couldn’t be him… could it?

Wiping at your face quickly, you shuffled to the door, opening it with shaky hands.

There he was, Changbin, standing in the softly falling snow, his breath visible in the cold air. He looked nervous, almost sheepish, but his eyes softened the moment they met yours. In one hand, he held a bag filled with your favorite snacks, and in the other, a small wrapped gift.

“I thought we were meeting here later…” he said, his voice quiet and filled with regret. “I’m so sorry if I made you feel forgotten. I swear, I didn’t mean to mess this up.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and lingering hurt washing over you. “You didn’t call, Changbin. I thought… I thought you forgot about me.”

His eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. "No. "Never," he murmured, moving closer. "I thought you'd be with your family first, and we'd meet here later. I had everything ready, but when I saw your texts, I realized I screwed up." He held the bag up in his hand. "I even got all your favorite snacks to surprise you, but I didn't realize you were waiting for me this whole time." You stared at him, torn between wanting to stay angry and feeling warm inside from his obvious sincerity. His gaze was earnest, full of apology, and his usual confident demeanor had been replaced with a vulnerability that made it impossible to stay upset.

“I was waiting,” you said softly, tears threatening again. “I wanted tonight to be special, and when you didn’t show up, I thought… maybe it wasn’t as important to you.”

Changbin's face fell, and he stepped closer, holding you in his strong arms. The warmth of his embrace broke the last of your resolve, and you melted against him, letting the tears to flow freely. "It is important to me," he said softly into your hair, his voice full of emotion. "You are important to me." I'm really sorry for making you feel this way. I never want you to think you don't matter to me.”

You clung to to him, the strain in your chest melting away as his words wrapped around your heart like a blanket. "I just..." You muttered, "I felt so alone."

“I know,” he said, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “I promise, I’ll do better. Next time, let’s double-check the plans, okay? I don’t want to spend another second without you.”

You nodded, a small smile forming through your tears. "Okay." He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. "Merry Christmas," he whispered softly, holding out a present in his hand. "I know I messed up, but I hope this makes up for it a little."

You opened the gift to reveal a beautiful necklace with a little star charm. "I saw this and thought of you," he explained. "You are my star, you know. Even when I make mistakes, you are always there to guide me back.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you slipped the necklace on, feeling its weight settle against your chest like a symbol of his love. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steady now. “And Merry Christmas, Changbin.”

He smiled and pulled you back into his arms. "Let's make the rest of tonight perfect," he murmured, his voice warm and determined.

And as you sat together on the couch, sharing snacks and laughter under the glow of the Christmas lights, you realized that sometimes, love wasn’t about getting everything right the first time. It was about learning, growing, and never letting each other feel alone, especially on Christmas.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

[taglist: @lixies-favorite-cookie..]

[multific]

My Venus

Dmitri Kravinoff x Reader

Burlesque!AU 

Summary: He was drawn to you.

From the moment his eyes locked with yours.

He knew he had to have you.

You loved to tease men.

It was what you were paid to do.

You had a show, quite popular, they called you Venus Sherry. 

You worked in a bar as a burlesque performer.

Many people, men and women enjoyed your show to the fullest.

At the beginning of each, you would come out of a beautiful shell. Your routine was specifically designed to entertain all. 

But it seemed like you had caught the eye of a young man more than anyone else's in the bar.

Not much younger than you, he always sat at the VIP table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. 

Or could it be that he caught your eye? 

For the last few months, he has been coming to see your shows. He never missed one. 

"Frank? What's the name of the man at the VIP table?" the bouncer looked at you and shrugged his shoulders.

"Some Russian guy. I forgot his name... It was something with the letter D."

Mr D. You decided to call him.

He never gave you the vibes of other guests. They came to enjoy the show, some turned out to be full creeps but not him. He was mesmerized.

His eyes were filled with passion and admiration.

You liked that.

It wasn't only lust.

It was something new.

Something different.

Something exciting.

And it got more and more exciting as the days passed.

Each show you pretended there was no one else, only him and you.

You danced for him. You teased him.

And you smiled at him. 

You never smiled like that at anyone else.

"Frank?" you asked as your door opened.

"Mr D wants to see you." Frank said as you got up from your chair.

You were fully dressed, ready for your show but you had better things to do now.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you approached his desk, he quickly stood up to greet you.

He was short. 

Not like that mattered, but he was handsome, which did matter.

"Ms Venus Sherry, my name is Dmitri Kravinoff. It is a pleasure to meet you, I have been a huge fan of your... work." You handed your hand to him to shake but he kissed the back of it instead. "Please, take a seat."

And you did.

"So, Dmitri, nice to put a name to the face I have been seeing so often."

"May I know the real name of My Venus?"

You smiled at his request but you ended up telling him your name.

There was just something about him.

You needed to know more.

---

Dmitri Kravinoff is possibly the man of your dreams and desires.

He sent you flowers after all of your shows.

Red roses.

To show his love for you.

And you danced for him. 

You feared he only liked you because of Venus. You feared he believed in your illusion too much.

But he didn't.

His eyes said it all.

His eyes looked beyond the costumes and make up.

And so, it didn't take you long to quit your career as Venus Sherry. 

"I will take care of you. I promise." he whispered and he didn't lie. 

Dimitri asked you to move in with him and quit your job. You could see the jealousy in his eyes. 

He only wanted you for him.

"Others get Venus, but you have me as a woman, as Y/N." you told him.

You weren't sure if it was good to fall in love so quickly. But it was so easy to love him.

Not his name, not his business and not his money. But him, Dmitri.

You could tell he did everything to win you over with his money but in the end, it was he who captured your heart. 

You stood out on his balcony, looking over London with a cup of tea in your hands. It was morning, people were going to work as you watched them.

The arms that wrapped around you made you jump and almost spill your tea. 

"You scared me."

"What are you doing up so early?" he whispered into your neck.

"Couldn't sleep." 

"Didn't I tire you out enough?" you smiled at him as he turned you to face him.

"You did. I just have too many thoughts."

"You and your clever mind, My Love. I told you to let them all go."

"I know. And I will." his hand was placed on your cheek before it moved to your temple, he closed his fist as if collecting your thoughts and threw them away. 

"I love you so much." he said to you with a beautiful smile.

"I love you too Dimi."

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @mel-vaz

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS/

[childrenofcain-if]

THE PLAGIARISM DISCOURSE

this is the final thing i’m going to say before i put a cap on this whole fiasco.

first of all, i should’ve come up with the citations sooner. i jumped the gun because the person in question accused me of plagiarizing “children of cain” and, since it is a story that is dear to me and that i worked very hard on, i immediately got defensive.

i think you can see that i was fixated on that a lot and got too protective over their integrity that i kept pushing the acknowledgement in the back of my priorities. that wasn’t nice of me to do at all.

now that i’ve had time to take a breather and clear my head, i want to apologize for being a smartass and not owning up to what i did wrong sooner. authors, big or small, should be given credit even if it’s a quote or a whole story. i got so caught up in defending my original work that i forgot to recognise the irony in the situation.

another reason why i got so heated up with this person was because of the whole “did you forget your meds again” comment, which is something that came off as demeaning and downright ableist. perhaps they didn’t mean it that way, but when i recently came to know that people have a whole ass discord server where they constantly are assholes to you, it didn’t exactly made me very happy to respond in the first place.

right now, i just want to get everything cleared up:

the image reference from the WLB chapter will be updated accordingly.

i have cited the chapter in the C scenario for TRB quote.

it’s probably too little too late, but i don’t think running away from this is gonna solve any of my problems, nor does it absolve me of my responsibilities as a fellow creator. either way, i want to just settle this here once and for all.

if you think i plagiarized anything else, i’ll be happy to clear it up. all i ask for you in the meantime is to reserve your judgement until you hear my explanation about them. i’m also sorry for being a jackass to a lot of people who were, rightfully, asking me to be civil because the conversation kept spiralling with more and more vitriol.

but i will reiterate, i haven’t, nor will i ever, plagiarize anything in ‘children of cain’. and this is a stance i’m not budging from.

that’s it for this conversation, thank you for reading.

[archivequinn]

MADNESS (Eddie Munson x American Horror Story: Asylum)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

Summary: Three years after his disappearance, Eddie Munson is arrested for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney and others, but the truth is very different. Unable to convince anyone that Vecna exists and that he is innocent, he is locked up in an asylum. But the only way out is to prove to his psychiatrist that he is not insane. If he fails to convince the psychiatrist, he will be executed as a murderer. He must hurry to do so, because Vecna has returned to finish the bloody unfinished business and take revenge.

As Eddie fights for his life, how far can his psyhiatrist go to save him when she finds out he is innocent? Perhaps the only reason his psychiatrist wants to save him is not because of Eddie's innocence, but because they have developed feelings for each other over time. In the midst of all this confusion, a series of secret experiments on patients in the mental hospital and a series of dark secrets make everything more difficult.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Mentions of execution, Execution, Death, Mental Health Issues, Asylum, Mental Hospital, Horror, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror, Thriller, Claustrophobia, Prison, Doctor/Patient, Serial Killers, Hospitals, Pain, Depression, Violence, Blood and Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, death of a family member, Nudity, Smut, Sex, Slow Burn, Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, TraumaPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Disorders, Smoking.

Before you read:)

This fan fiction is inspired by American Horror Story: Asylum. It contains a lot of horror and thriller content. Since the story takes place in a mental hospital, there may be various triggers. Please check the tags first as there is a lot of violence, sexuality and depression contents. This story is for adults, so close the page if you are a minor.

Please let me know if there are any tags I forgot to add. ao3 link

John and Violet were sitting across from each other in the cafeteria. Violet stirred her tasteless food with a spoon, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall. She was waiting for the evening shift to begin; it was twenty minutes to five. She was waiting for Brendon's shift to start so she could find out how and where Eddie was.

John noticed the worry on Violet’s face and spoke up. "So, this Max Mayfield you’re talking about, she’s the one who reported Eddie, right?"

Violet sighed. "She did and didn’t. They suspect Vecna used her as a puppet," she said.

Amid the chaos of the last few days, Violet had told John everything: the information in Eddie’s file, what Steve and the others had said… It wasn’t easy to process, but John was experienced because he used to be a cop and quickly grasped the situation.

"Which means the only people who can get you out of here are Steve and the others," John said. "Do they even know Max is here?"

Violet shrugged. "I don’t know," she said thoughtfully. "But why would they bring her to the same mental hospital as the guy who ‘almost killed’ her and ‘put her in a coma’?" She made air quotes, sarcastically emphasizing the points Eddie was accused of.

John smirked slightly. "We need to find a way to reach that Steve guy," he said.

Violet nodded in agreement. "How did Eddie reach him? Could we do it the same way?"

John shook his head negatively. "We snuck into the manager’s office and made a call. It was pure luck. And we got caught that time too—you saw what they did to Eddie. We can’t take that risk again," he said.

"Can’t Brendon make a call?" Violet asked.

John took a deep breath and shrugged. "Since we escaped, they’ve tightened security. They even look at the staff’s calls. So, that’s not really an option," he said.

Just then, the cafeteria door opened, and Brendon entered, carrying a metal tray with bandages, scissors, and other medical supplies. Violet stood up excitedly. Brendon approached and began to gently remove the bandage from her head.

"Eddie’s in a cell," Brendon said in a low voice. "He’s okay but very worried about you."

Hearing this, Violet’s anxiety eased a little, but she still wanted to see Eddie. "Can I see him? Will you take me to him?" she asked.

Brendon shook his head. "You’re no longer a doctor here, Violet. To get in there, you’d have to get yourself into trouble or something. And even then, I doubt they’d let you two be in the same cell," he said.

John raised both hands in mock surrender, letting out a small laugh. "Looks like it’s up to me again," he said in a joking tone.

Violet was about to give him a puzzled look when she noticed Dr Oliver and Wilson coming through the door. Oliver was feverishly explaining something to the manager. Violet turned her attention to them to listen to their conversation.

Oliver's voice was serious. “Mr. Wilson, the condition of these patients is truly appalling. They need care. How do you expect them to get better when they live in zero hygiene and cannot feel comfortable?”

Wilson responded with a nonchalant attitude “I already have too few staff and too many patients. As if that wasn't enough, you came all the way from Michigan. Be grateful if you can find a seat for yourself. Let me run my hospital and you go about your business.’’

Violet couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the exchange. Oliver’s naive determination felt familiar to her. It was like experiencing déjà vu. However, she knew it wouldn’t take long for him to learn how terrible this place truly was.

John winked at her and leaned slightly closer, whispering, "Wilson’s here. It’s time."

John’s angry outburst had caught the attention of the other patients in the cafeteria. Pointing his index finger at Violet in a threatening manner, his voice grew louder.

"Are you calling me an arsonist?!" he shouted. The wave of anger in John’s voice echoed in the room as Brendon glanced at Violet and signaled her to get up. Violet hesitated for only a moment before rising to her feet. It didn’t take her long to get into character and step toward John.

"Aren’t you? We’re back here because of you, you idiot! If you had driven properly, we’d be free now!" Violet retorted, unable to hold back her anger. "Where’d you get your license? A butcher shop? Oh wait, probably from a stove maker, since you’re so good with fire." She mimicked a lighter with her hands, mocking him.

John, furious at Violet’s sarcastic remarks, stormed toward her, closing the gap between them. Now, they were standing almost nose to nose. "At least I’m not stuck as a patient in the hospital I came to as a doctor, you lunatic!" he yelled, then suddenly leaned closer to her face and said in a low tone, "Hit me." He was trying to turn the situation to his advantage while everyone was watching.

Violet hesitated, staring at him as if she hadn’t fully understood his words. She noticed Wilson and Dr. Oliver watching the commotion from the other side of the cafeteria. Responding to John’s demand, she clenched her fist and delivered a sharp punch. At that moment, Brendon stepped in to separate them, but John wasn’t idle either. He threw kicks at Violet, intentionally missing. Violet struck a bit harder, ensuring it looked realistic.

Dr Oliver panicked and rushed over. "Please calm down; we can resolve this through conversation," he pleaded, trying to ease the tension. 

But Wilson had run out of patience. Pointing at Violet and John, he barked at Brendon, "Take them to the cells in the basement so they can cool off."

Violet barely restrained herself from smiling. Internally, she was quite pleased for having roughed up John a bit. Brendon nodded like a soldier receiving orders and grabbed both of them by the collars, escorting them out of the cafeteria. Violet could hear Oliver protesting behind Wilson, complaining about the ’’this method of punishment is barbaric and contrary to human rights’’ but she only rolled her eyes.

They began walking toward an unknown part of the hospital. The stairs seemed endless; Violet couldn’t help but think, "We’re descending all the way to hell." At last, at the bottom of the stairs, Brendon released their collars. Violet and John walked ahead now, with Brendon quietly accompanying them.

John turned to Violet with a faint smirk. "For someone so small, you sure hit hard," he said.

Violet laughed. "And for someone with all those muscles, you scream like a little girl," she shot back. John rolled his eyes but allowed a small smile to escape.

"My whole body hurts from the crash," John added. "I’ll get my rematch when I’m in better shape."

Brendon chuckled at their exchange. "You were like this when we were kids too. Always had an excuse when you lost," he said.

Violet looked at Brendon in surprise. "When you were kids? How long have you been police partners anyway?" she asked. John gave her the same surprised look.

"Partners?" he said, pursing his lips. "We’re brothers."

Violet took a step back in astonishment, studying them both carefully. "But I saw... both of you in the news article. In police uniforms," she said.

Brendon smiled. "Can’t brothers do the same job?" he replied. Violet suddenly felt like everything clicked into place. Brendon’s willingness to take such great risks made sense now; he wasn’t just here for a friend—he was here to save his brother.

Brendon stopped in front of a heavy iron door. "We’re here," he announced. Violet now focused on the scene before her. The corridor was lined with dark, narrow cells, each resembling a prison block. Behind the bars, there was only a single, uncomfortable-looking bed in each cell. The stench was so overpowering that Violet almost longed for the smell of the cafeteria upstairs.

From one of the cells, there was a stir. Violet spotted a familiar face and rushed to the bars. It was Eddie. Violet reached her hands through the bars, and Eddie’s hands clasped around hers. He had a few scratches on his face but seemed to have fared relatively well after the crash.

Brendon opened a cell for Violet and guided her inside. John was placed in the cell opposite hers. "You have a therapy session in an hour," Brendon said, pointing at Violet.

"Who’s my doctor?" she asked with a frown.

"Oliver Owsen," Brendon replied.

Violet thought for a moment and added, "Tell him to come and get me from here. I want him to see what this place is like."

Brendon nodded. As he moved to leave, Violet called out once more, "Brendon, is there a chance I could change my cellmate?"

"I’ll see what I can do," Brendon said, disappearing quickly down the corridor.

The echo of Brendon's retreating footsteps faded into the cold corridor walls. When Violet turned around, she noticed the familiar goofy grin on Eddie's face. Their hands met again through the bars, Eddie's warm palms grounding Violet's scattered emotions.

Eddie asked curiously, "How did you end up here?"

The answer came from John in the next cell. Waving his finger with a mildly warning tone, he said, "Careful with this girl, man. If you hurt her, she might kick you so hard you'll never have kids."

Eddie laughed at the comment, his grin widening. Reaching through the bars, he gently stroked Violet's hair, then pulled her closer, inhaling the scent of her hair. His lips still nestled there, he spoke teasingly, "What’s this about a cellmate situation? What did I miss now? This damned hospital can’t go a day without drama."

Violet responded with a laugh, collapsing onto the so-called "bed," an uncomfortable excuse for furniture. Eddie, meanwhile, sat on the floor of his cell, but his hand never left Violet's through the bars.

"They’ve evacuated the Michigan hospital here," Violet explained, detailing the situation. "New patients and staff have arrived. Temporarily, at least."

Eddie winked and muttered with a mischievous grin, "Here’s hoping I get a cute chick as a cellmate."

Violet swatted his hand playfully, then turned curiously to John. "We saw Eddie’s name there. We didn’t even check the one next to it. Got so caught up in my mess, we forgot."

John frowned slightly, puzzled. "Fred something. I don’t remember the last name."

Eddie nudged Violet's hand. "Your mess? What’s happened to you?"

This was the hardest part for Violet. Eddie was unaware of what Steve and the others had told her. He didn’t know that Max had woken up and reported him to the police. Violet hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Eddie, listen carefully to what I’m about to say. You know how I told you I knew you were innocent..." Violet’s voice wavered slightly. Eddie’s brown eyes looked at her with patience and curiosity. Finally, she admitted, "Max woke up."

Eddie’s eyes lit up with excitement. "Are you serious? That’s amazing news!"

Violet glanced at John for help, but he was nervously chewing his nails. Sighing, she turned back to Eddie.

The expression on his face shifted, sensing something was wrong. Violet closed her eyes and summoned her courage to reveal the truth she had been hiding.

"...And now I don’t know why she’s here, but she’s going to be staying in my room."

Those words made Eddie grip her hand tighter. His voice trembled, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Violet... you can’t stay with her... I won’t let you..."

Violet averted her gaze from Eddie's misty eyes. But John’s muffled voice startled her. Pressing his hands and head against the bars, John muttered, "What do we even have left at this point?"

A gloomy silence filled around. Violet responded quietly, "We stole the file that proved what Dr. Arthur did, but they got it back. They’ve probably destroyed it by now."

Eddie let out a heavy sigh, adding, "The only person who could prove my innocence woke up, and now she’s Vecna’s puppet. I’ve got a one-way ticket to the electric chair."

John barked out a harsh laugh. "And anyone who could help us escape thinks we’re dead. We can’t make calls, and we can’t ask Brendon to because we’re being listened to."

In the midst of this dark atmosphere, an idea sparked in Violet’s mind. A smile crept across her lips. "If we can’t talk... we’ll write."

Eddie and John looked at each other, then at Violet. But just as the idea began to take shape, the sound of approaching footsteps made Violet motion for them to be silent. The newcomers were Brendon and Oliver. The sight of the prison-like cells seemed to horrify Oliver, who looked visibly shaken.

Violet thought mockingly, You think it’s bad? You should see WARD C, doctor.

Oliver introduced himself nervously, his voice trembling. ''Violet George, I’m your doctor, Oliver Owsen."

Oliver’s extended hand reached through the bars to shake Violet’s. However, his eyes were carefully examining Eddie from head to toe. Eddie, silent behind the bars, observed Oliver while Violet didn’t let go of Eddie’s hand.

Oliver, “I’m here to get you out of here.”

Violet, “I’ll only leave if my friends come with me.”

Oliver glanced first at Eddie, then at John. His expression revealed that he understood how difficult Violet’s demand was.

Oliver “I’m afraid your friends are not my patients. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do that.”

Violet shrugged, responding with a nonchalant tone, “Then I’m not going.”

A hint of embarrassment spread across Oliver’s face. He looked like someone trying to do his job but caught in the middle of a chaotic situation. Violet didn’t doubt Oliver’s sincerity; however, she knew he wouldn’t be able to see the bigger picture of what was happening within this system. She could explain everything to him right now, but the risk was too great. She decided to start her plan from a simpler angle.

Violet nodded toward Eddie. “You see that man standing there, right?”

Oliver nodded affirmatively.

Violet, “You’ve heard about the murders in Hawkins, haven’t you? Well, he’s the one responsible for them.”

A noticeable fear flickered in Oliver’s eyes. Eddie, seated on his bed with his head in his hands, seemed oblivious to what Violet was saying.

Violet “Now, do you know who my roommate is?” whispered.

This time, Oliver shook his head no.

“It’s Max Mayfield, the girl he almost killed. Now think about it: Does this hospital really care about its rules? I think you need to transfer this patient immediately. Otherwise, Eddie Munson might finish what he started and kill Max. And wouldn’t that also put my life in danger? After all, I’m sharing a room with Max. And you’re my doctor. You’re responsible for me.”

The sound of Oliver swallowing filled the corridor. Behind them, John silently made a gesture of awe, as if to say, Wow. He hadn’t expected Violet to come up with such a plan.

Eddie, his face expressionless, stepped toward the bars. Even though Oliver was outside, he instinctively took a step back. Eddie began speaking in a mocking tone, “If I see that redhead again, tell her I’ll rip her head off this time. I’ve got one more sacrifice to offer the Devil.”

Oliver swallowed again. Then, turning to Brendon, he motioned with his head to unlock the doors. As Brendon unlocked Violet’s cell, he gave her a look of admiration mixed with astonishment.

Violet struggled to hold back her laughter. Madness had its charm sometimes. Whatever you did, no one questioned you. After all, you were insane.

When they emerged from the basement cells and reached the upper floors, Violet took a deep breath. Eddie approached her quietly from behind and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be waiting for you in the common room.”

Violet left the common room, smiling, to follow Oliver. She didn’t know much about this new doctor, but that didn’t matter—for now, all she needed was the pen she had to get from Oliver. When they entered his office, she slumped into a chair, crossing her arms over her stomach and one leg over the other. She planned to leave after answering the routine questions.

Oliver sat at his desk, reviewing a file. His brows were furrowed, as if he were puzzled. After glancing at Violet a few times, he finally asked, “Do you know what day it is today, Mrs George?”

“You can call me Violet,” she replied with a faint smile. “It’s Wednesday.”

Oliver nodded, smiling. “Alright, Violet. Do you know why you’re here?”

Violet tried not to roll her eyes at the routine question. She was here because the crimes pinned on Eddie and the creature Vecna chasing her had led to this point. Of course, she couldn’t explain everything, but she could have a bit of fun.

“The creature Vecna, who made sure all the crimes were pinned on Eddie, started chasing me. So, I was escaping from the hospital to get away from it. Oh, and at the same time, I was going to expose the aliens from the experiments that asshole Dr Arthur conducted on people to the entire world.”

The look of shock on Oliver’s face was almost comical. He glanced back at the file and scribbled something with his pen.

“Given your scores and professional background, I find it very surprising you’re saying such things,” he said in a serious tone. “I thought you might be here because of a misunderstanding. Are you serious?”

Violet answered with a laugh. “Of course I’m not serious.” The relief on Oliver’s face was fleeting.

Violet stifled her laughter as she continued. “I mean, I admit I exaggerated with the aliens. Zombies would’ve been more accurate.”

Oliver froze for a moment before slowly tucking his pen into the outer breast pocket of his doctor’s coat. “I think I’ve tired you enough for today... I have other patients to see,” he said, closing the file. His voice carried a hint of disappointment; his inexperience was obvious.

Violet stood up and was about to leave when a nurse entered the room. “Mr. Owsen, your next patient, Fred Kirk, is waiting at the door.”

Fred Kirk... That name sounded familiar to her. Violet’s mind worked quickly. She took a few steps closer to Oliver and suddenly asked, “Can I give you a hug? Thank you for listening to me.”

Oliver stared at her, unsure of what to say, and Violet hugged him tightly, swiftly snatching the pen with a quick movement of her hand. Then she left the room.

She returned to the common room at a brisk pace. John and Eddie were chatting on the couches. Violet quickly jumped between them. Eddie turned to her and asked curiously.

“Hey, what was the plan? How are we going to reach Steve?”

“If we can’t call him, we’ll write. We’ll send him a letter. Brendon can deliver it, right?” Violet said, determination shining in her eyes.

John nodded in agreement. “But how are we supposed to write? In case you haven’t noticed, even the forks and knives are plastic. You can’t find anything that could be used as a weapon. Not even a pen.”

Violet pulled the pen from her pocket and smiled triumphantly. Eddie looked at her in awe and asked, “Where did you find that?”

Shrugging, Violet replied with a sly expression, “I guess I had to suck up to my doctor a little.”

John raised the question, “What about paper?” 

Eddie laughed and said, “We can write on toilet paper.” Just then, John pulled out a napkin from his pocket and held it out. Violet and Eddie stared at him blankly.

“What? My nose runs. I carry tissues,” John said defensively.

Eddie squinted at him mischievously. “I hope it’s just for your nose,” he said.

Violet rolled her eyes. “Come on, guys, we need to figure out what to write.”

John suggested the simplest message, as if he’d come up with something groundbreaking, “We’re not dead, we’re alive, get us out of here.”

Eddie shook his head, lightly hitting John on the head. “Why don’t we include Arthur’s entire plan too, while we’re at it? Are you crazy? How did you ever work as a cop? What if they read the letter? If they catch us, it’ll be at least three hundred volts for us this time.”

Eddie took the pen and napkin and started writing something. Then he handed it over with a grin. Violet read it aloud curiously, “The Shire is burning, Mordor is burning. But a hobbit never gives up.”

John turned to Eddie with a serious expression. “Mine made more sense. What is this supposed to mean?”

Eddie just rolled his eyes. “You just give it to Brendon, and he’ll send it to Dustin Henderson. That kid’s a genius. He’ll know it’s from me.”

As John tucked the letter into his pocket, Violet’s attention shifted to the new patients in the common room. She hadn’t seen Max yet. Doctor Oliver was now speaking with his new patient. Violet whispered, “Why does the name Fred Kirk sound so familiar?”

John had no hesitation explaining. “Fred Kirk? You mean the Brooklyn Axeman?”

Violet turned to him in fear. “What?”

John shrugged. “It was one of the cases I worked on before they locked me up here. The guy’s a serial killer. He murders his victims with an ax. Last I heard, he was caught and institutionalized. Why do you ask? You probably saw it on the news. It was a big deal.”

Violet pointed to the blond man and asked, nearly trembling, “Please tell me that’s not him.”

John and Eddie both looked in the direction she indicated. John tilted his head and calmly said, “Alright... I won’t tell you.” 

Eddie sighed and added, “Just what we needed, a serial killer. Fantastic.”

Violet took a deep breath and voiced an even darker realization, “Eddie, I’m not sure but I think he’s going to be your cellmate.”

Violet entered the common room in the morning, and Eddie noticed her immediately. He quickly walked over to her and hugged her tightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking into her eyes with concern. Violet nodded in affirmation, then answered in a weary voice, “Are you okay?”

Eddie shrugged. “My roommate broke someone’s nose on the first day, so he’ll be stuck in a cell for a few days. So yeah, I was alone yesterday. What about you? Did you see Max?”

Violet shook her head. “No, I was alone too,” she said.

When Violet noticed John smoking a cigarette on the couch behind Eddie, she frowned. “Where did he even get that cigarette?” she asked. Eddie rolled his eyes and gave her a look that said, Don’t even ask.

“Brendon came by before you arrived,” Eddie said, changing the subject. “He sent the letter yesterday by the fastest mail service. It probably reached them last night.”

“What letter?” a voice asked suddenly, making them both turn in the same direction at the same time.

Hearing a shaky, hurt voice, they both froze for a moment. A red-haired girl with tear-filled eyes and trembling hands was looking at them, embarrassed but scared. Violet guessed she couldn’t be more than 18 or 19 years old. The shock on Eddie’s face was unmistakable. “Max?” Eddie said, his voice filled with uncertainty. Max immediately ran toward him, throwing her arms around him and sobbing uncontrollably.

Eddie stood still for a few seconds, then finally hugged her back. Violet watched them in astonishment. Eddie pulled away slightly, holding Max by her shoulders, and bent down so that their faces were level. “Is it really you?” he asked. Max nodded while wiping her tears.

“When I woke up here, I opened my eyes. I don’t know what’s going on. What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Are we... dead?” Max asked, her voice trembling. Eddie glanced at Violet; they were both thinking the same thing. Could Vecna have used Max to lure them here and then disappeared? Or was this some sort of trap? They had to tread carefully until they figured it out.

Max turned to Eddie and asked, “Why are they still keeping you here? Why am I here? If I’ve woken up, can’t we prove you’re innocent now?”

Violet shrugged but said nothing. If Max found out she had played a role in Eddie being locked up here, she might just have a heart attack on the spot, Violet thought to herself.

Deep down, Violet was sure Max was genuinely herself. Looking at her, she didn’t sense the dark, ominous presence she had felt when confronting Vecna. That intense fear she had once experienced wasn’t there when she looked into Max’s eyes now.

Max wasn’t done with her questions. “And what’s this letter about?”

Before Violet could respond, John cut in, gesturing toward Eddie and Violet with his cigarette.

“These two idiots—everyone thinks they’re dead. But as you can see, they’re right here, alive and kicking. See?” John said, nudging Eddie with his foot. Eddie lightly smacked John’s leg in return, grumbling irritably.

Max continued anxiously, “Did you send it to guys? I hope they don’t make the mistake of calling here. If they do, the people here will know you’ve been communicating with them.”

Eddie smiled faintly and shrugged. “I don’t think they’d do something that dumb. I mean, these guys saved the world. More than once.”

Just then, a nurse approached Violet. “Dr. Oliver Owsen is expecting you,” he said in a formal tone.

Violet sighed, standing up, and began walking toward the doctor seated at a nearby table. “Another day of pretending to be crazy,” she thought to herself. This charade, in a way, was starting to amuse her.

She had even managed to scare the doctor about Eddie. She now realized how much fun Eddie had been having with her in their therapy sessions before Eddie's innocence was exposed.The man was afraid of everything.

Here, people could do anything—spit on the floor, behave disgustingly, or even walk around naked—and no one cared. Because you were ‘crazy,’ and that made everything acceptable. Violet pulled a chair and sat across from the doctor, her eyes still on Eddie in the background.

Oliver coughed lightly to draw attention. Violet turned her gaze away from Eddie to him, then sank back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest. The seriousness on his face made it clear that this wasn’t going to be an ordinary conversation.

“Violet, I need to ask you something,” Oliver said in a low but determined voice.

Violet tilted her head back and took a deep breath. “Are you going to ask me what day it is today?” she asked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

“No,” Oliver replied, ignoring her reaction. “I want to ask you something about a patient.”

This unexpected response piqued Violet’s interest. She raised her head curiously and looked at Oliver’s face attentively. “Have you ever heard of a patient named Ginny Jones here? Or seen her?” he asked.

After a brief pause, Violet shook her head to indicate no. “Why are you asking?” she replied, somewhat cautiously.

“There’s a reason I came here. I’m not here by coincidence. I’m looking for someone,” Oliver said, his voice carrying a stronger emphasis.

Violet sighed, lifting her hands in a gesture of indifference, and yawned. “Everyone’s looking for someone, buddy. That’s life,” she replied, with little interest.

“Violet, I’m asking you to be yourself for a few seconds,” Oliver said impatiently. “It’s obvious that this isn’t you. I can see how intelligent you are. I’ll pretend to believe your crazy stories again, I promise. But right now, I need your help. I went to the corridor of Ward C that you mentioned yesterday. All the rooms had been cleared out. Someone had taken everything there in a hurry.”

At these words, Violet raised her eyebrows and began listening to Oliver more attentively. She was now certain that he was really here looking for someone. The concern in his voice made it clear how important that person was to him.

“I wish I could help you,” Violet said, with a slight hint of regret, “but I’ve never even heard of the person you’re talking about while working here.”

Oliver fell silent for a moment, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “Tell me about this Dr. Arthur,” he said finally. “And his experiments.”

Violet fell into deep thought at this point. She knew one of the biggest shortcomings here was belief. No one would believe you if you said you saw a ghost, had a murderer chasing you, or claimed that you weren’t actually insane. But if someone did believe you, it either meant they had also lost their mind or they truly knew something.

She was certain that Oliver wasn’t a madman. The fire of vengeance in his eyes showed that he was capable of truly doing something about it.

John turned to Eddie, his expression curious as he broke the silence. "What’s wrong, man?" he asked, his voice low.

Eddie tilted his head toward Oliver and Violet, his jaw tightening slightly as he watched the two of them deep in conversation. "Him," Eddie said, nodding toward Oliver. "His existence is enough."

John raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"There doesn’t need to be a reason. There’s just something... off about him," Eddie replied, a hint of irritation in his tone. "I can feel it."

John shrugged, his casual demeanor unbothered. "He’s just doing his job," he pointed out.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "There’s something weird about him. I can sense it."

Before John could respond, a staff member entered the room. John quickly tossed his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it hastily, his hand fanning away the lingering smoke. 

Eddie stretched out on the couch, arms folded behind his head, while Max sat nearby, her gaze darting nervously around the room.

"You’ll get used to it in a few days, Max," Eddie said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

Max rolled her eyes. "I’m not crazy, Eddie."

Eddie let out a sharp laugh. "But I am. The sooner you accept it, the easier it gets."

John nudged Eddie’s leg with his hand, an insistent poke that drew Eddie’s attention.

"What now?" Eddie snapped, feigning exasperation. "Can’t you leave me alone for two minutes? You’re exhausting."

The playful remark hung in the air as Eddie’s gaze wandered to the ceiling, his eyes tracing the outlines of the religious motifs painted above.

John cleared his throat. "Uh, Eddie?"

"Hmm?" Eddie muttered without looking at him.

"Those friends you always talk about—Steve and, uh, what’s-his-name..."

Eddie turned his head, his brow furrowing. "Yeah, what about them?"

"You said they weren’t dumb enough to call here," John said, his voice cautious.

Eddie sat up straight, his posture suddenly alert. 

His gaze followed John’s, locking onto the sight of Steve standing in the hallway, wearing a blue patient outfit, his curious eyes peering into the room. Beside him was Jonathan.

Rubbing his eyes as if to ensure he wasn’t dreaming, Eddie glanced at Max, who looked back at him with equal disbelief.

"Yeah," Eddie muttered, his voice dripping with irritation. "I was wrong. They’re even dumber than I thought."

Eddie stormed toward Steve, whose grin stretched so wide it showcased every one of his teeth. Steve nudged Jonathan with his elbow, who also broke into a smile upon seeing Eddie.

Their expressions faltered, though, as Eddie’s face grew darker the closer he got. Without hesitation, Eddie smacked each of them on the back of the head.

"What are you idiots doing here?" Eddie demanded, his tone sharp. "Steve, did you forget where the hairdresser’s is? And you, Jonathan? I thought you were the smart one!"

Steve raised a finger to his lips, motioning for Eddie to lower his voice. "You might want to yell a little louder," Steve quipped. "That mustached lady over there didn’t hear you."

Across the room, a woman seated alone at a table playing with domino tiles raised her hand. "I heard you, sweetheart," she called out.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh despite himself, though the irritation lingered on Steve’s face.

Steve leaned in slightly, his voice more subdued. "Hopper got us in. We’re here to help you."

John, now chewing on a gum, glanced between Eddie and his friends, his expression unimpressed. "Great. Did  this Hopper guy also mention there’s no way out once you’re in here?"

Jonathan and Steve exchanged uneasy glances, but Eddie’s frustration boiled over. His teeth clenched as he grabbed both of them by the arms and dragged them to a corner.

"Vecna’s in Max, huh?" Eddie hissed. "That’s what you told Violet?"

Steve hesitated, his expression grim. "I don’t think so anymore," he admitted. "Actually, part of why we’re here is because of that. Vecna’s weak right now. Even if he picks a new victim, he doesn’t have the strength to take their life. So he’s waiting—for the weakest moment, the most miserable time."

"Dustin said the best place for that would be..." Jonathan started.

"An asylum," Steve finished for him.

Eddie raised his hand like a student seeking permission to speak. "Hold on a second. Are you telling me Vecna could possess anyone here?"

Steve nodded solemnly, confirming Eddie’s worst fear.

Steve’s voice carried a determined and calm confidence. "The more of us there are here, the safer we’ll be," he said. "We have to back each other up. They’re going to release Max today. She’s going to change the statement she gave about you. Once you’re out, we’ll get out too."

A shadow crossed Eddie’s face, his gaze trembling with worry. "What about Violet?" he asked, his voice slightly rising. "And John?"

Jonathan gently placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his eyes carrying a soothing expression. "One thing at a time, Eddie" he said softly. "Let’s get you out first."

Eddie turned his head and gestured toward Max, who was sitting in the corner of the room. His gaze revealed a deep concern. "Don’t you think we should check if Vecna is inside her before we send her out of here?" he asked, his words hanging in the air like an echo.

Steve frowned, pausing for a moment as if in thought, then spoke as though he had figured it out. "Vecna hates heat," he said.

Jonathan nodded in agreement, his expression hinting at an answer to Eddie’s worry. "When he got into Will, he ran away from the fire in fear," he added. "We have a chance."

Steve’s gaze wandered around the room as he continued with a bit more hesitation. "But where are we going to find fire in here?"

A faint smile appeared on Eddie’s face. His eyes shifted to John, who was lighting a cigarette across the room. "I know," he said.

taglist: @arabellagreenleaf @cokepowder55 @nessa3nessa @25bohemianmoons @nicholaschavezslut69 @multyfangirl @t-folklore13

[blooddrinkingbartender]

"We'll just have to remind her that she wasn't to blame until it sticks in that case," Antonio said, before nodding, "I will hope so. And you did brilliantly yourself, quickly thinking with your own abilities and using the cuff. It was good to work with you as well. I will say though, it was mostly her. Her mindset and thoughts were still there beneath the mind control. My method was just guiding her back to them, and having the reassurance of knowing her found family is here to look after her."

Okay, and a bit of actual mental manipulation to get her to come close enough to get the cuff on her and make her feel too tired to fight, but it was for a good reason.

"Heh, may, may that scar forever be, be a tribute to, to the time you, you lived and, and that you're gonna keep living. And, and I'm fine, he, he just got my, my shirt," Russell said, "N-nothing more."

Bill made a move to go and fetch the requested juice from the kitchen, but Russell subtly shook his head. Travis was watching the front door for the time being, just to be safe.

"I'll, I'll do it," Russell then said, "Go, and, and get some rest. You've, you've done enough."

But then it was Travis' turn to yell in alarm when the ghost woman made her appearance. Antonio's tail briefly puffed up and his ears shot straight up. But then Travis once again put a hand to his chest and then took a deep breath.

"You forgot to tell me about the ghost lady, Custard," Travis said.

"No, she, she was one of the first people I, I mentioned," Russell said, as he moved into the kitchen to go and get the drink, "You want anything, Lucien?"

"Oh, my bad. I must have forgotten because of absolutely everything else I was taking in," Travis said, before nodding at Veronica, "Nice to meet you though. Sorry for the shouting. I'm new to all of this."

Bill would have usually protested other people doing things when he was meant to be the host, but it seemed he no longer had the energy to do so. He made his way back to where he was, slumping against the wall.

"I hope we will see each other again soon," Leofric said to Josh and Mark. Bill gave them a small wave of his own, "Under better circumstances."

"I apologise," Leofric said to Veronica. Despite not being able to properly see her, he still recognised the new presence by her smell and her voice, "I was caught unaware myself and subjected to one of the few things that can hurt me. It will take time to recover fully, but I can assure you this is temporary. That said, if you are feeling well enough to act, then I appreciate you allowing me to rest for a moment. Feel free to look through my bag for anything that might be of help."

Hopefully that moment would not become too many. He was sure Veronica would ask him for help if she needed it, so he took that moment to sit on the floor, his eyes closed and his back to the wall.

Antonio glanced over to the kitchen and then looked at Lucien.

"I'll offer Russell a hand. I may not be able to heal people, but I can at least help get refreshments together," Antonio said, as he then went to join Russell, who had found some apple juice and was pouring it into a glass. "You look like you could do with a sit down yourself."

Bill had shut his eyes briefly. At least in an effort to relieve his own feelings of sickness, but what surprised him was the feeling of wet on his cheeks. Red drips had started to slide down his face. They shot open, and his gaze shot around as he looked for a place to go and hide until he get the fact he had started crying out of control before anyone noticed.

"William?" Leofric's voice got his attention. Of course he could smell it, and of course he didn't realise what it was, given that he still couldn't see, "Are you bleeding? Were you hiding it?"

"No, no, no, I'm, I'm..." Bill's voice quivered and he couldn't but trail off as he put a couple of hands to face his face then. His shoulders shook and a quiet sob escaped from beneath his palms.

"Neither do I. Unfortunately, she most likely will." Lucien replied, before looking over, "You did an impressive job. I'd dare say Rook's recovery will be speedier entirely thanks to your efforts. It was a pleasure to assist you."

Yes, it was nice to finally have his own sidekick.

"Perhaps it's a downside to his own abilities." he then added, "I've been wondering why he left my shop in such a hurry. I hope the scar I left on his hand never fades and I'm glad he didn't leave you with any either, Russell."

They would recover from this too and perhaps finally gain the upper hand on that toxic moron.

Erica nodded, "Okay." She went right ahead to place Rook on the couch, then worked to remove her helmet and place it nearby. "I'd like some fruit juice if you got it. I'll get Rook out of this thing first, though. We should check that she isn't hurt."

She doubted that was the case, but she felt confirming that would have helped the general mood.

Erica's ears perked up, as the faintest scent of wildflowers caught her attention and she jumped up to greet Veronica. "Hello!"

The ghost lady barely had time to appear before she was hugged by a purring elf. Veronica gently patted her head while she looked around. "I see you all more or less got away. That's a relief."

"That guy messed with Rook's marks! He made her attack Bill." Erica explained, pulling back.

Veronica immediately set off to check Rook's condition. "...Boys."

Mark and Josh hurried over.

"Go help Edmund. The ship crushed on Liberty Island while we were missing."

"Got it. Keep us posted!" Mark said, before hurrying after Josh. Rook's sword was left by the door, as that was clearly the most reasonable place for it to be.

"You don't look too well yourself, Leofric." Veronica added calmly. She felt she didn't need to say more on the matter. Leofric was most likely perfectly aware of his own conditions.

Lucien figured that was a good time to remove the cuff from Rook's wrist, feeling it might interfere with Veronica's magic as well. He quickly stuffed it in his pocket, then took a moment to pull himself together while the room around him stopped spinning.

[vinylfoxbooks]

25 Days of Jegumas | Day 1 | Day 20 December 21 - Mistletoe Kiss | @noblehouseofgay | wc: 786

“What’s that, mummy?” Luna asks, pointing at the little plant that one of the characters in the movie is hanging up. The camera focuses on it for a while. 

Lily smiles at the little girl, “It’s called mistletoe. There’s a thing that really big kids and adults do where when two people walk under it at the same time, they have to kiss.”

“Kiss? But isn’t that something only mummies and daddies do?” 

James laughs gently, ruffling Luna’s hair, “No, it’s not. Sometimes friends can kiss, sometimes people can kiss and then never kiss again, sometimes they find the only person they’ll kiss for the rest of their lives, and that’s what your mums and me and Reg have.”

“So anyone can kiss.”

“As long as they both clearly want to, of course they can.” James smiles.

Pandora nods, “And kisses can be anywhere you want it to be, like…” she leans down at kisses her daughter’s forehead, “the head or…” she turns to where Harry is curled up in Lily’s side and pecks his forehead, “the forehead or…” she pulls Regulus, who’s legs she’s leaning against, down to her so she can kiss his cheek, “the cheek or…” she grabs next at James’ hand, bringing it to kiss their knuckles, “the hand or even…” finally, she pulls Lily in for a brief kiss, “The lips. As long as you both want to.” 

“Have you kissed under the miss-toe?” Harry asks, furrowing his brows when he can’t quite figure out how to pronounce the word. 

James nods, “We have.”

It’s one of James’ favourite memories of Regulus, something that happened before they even got together -- though it did play a hand in their relationship just a month and a half later. During a Christmas party that the Potters were having and that James had convicned Sirius to convince Regulus to attend, there had been mistletoe put around a couple different areas of the house. Leading into the ktichen, leading to the stairwell, hanging off the doorway of one of the less busy hallways. There was even one out on the porch in the backyard. 

James had helped their parents put it up and didn’t really care to get caught under any of the sprigs, so they had been carefully avoiding them. Regulus had done the same. But it was in a minor lapse of judgement where James found Regulus outside, just the two of them since there was some sort of event happening inside, and they had gotten so distracted talking to him becaue Regulus was actually talking back and it was the best thing James had ever experienced in their life. Yeah, they had exchanged a couple cards for holidays but there wasn’t anything between them, and they almost never talked. 

But here they were, standing outside alone and talking and laughing and Regulus looked so fucking good in the light from the moon and the Christmas lights strung around the patio. And then Regulus was looking up and his eyes were widening, making James snap their gaze up aswell, knowing just what they were going to find. 

Almost immediately, while still refusing to look away from the mistletoe hung perfectly between them, they laughed, “Well, look at that… I forgot that was out here.” Then they looked down to see the shorter, “We don’t- no one is out here to pressure us into kissing or anything, we don’t have to do it if we don’t want-” but they were cut off by Regulus surging forward, fisting the collar of their shirt, and pulling them into him. James went easily, arms going to wrap around his waist immediately.

When they finally pulled away, Regulus just sneered at James, “You need to learn to shut the fuck up sometimes, James.” Then he turned on his heels and headed back inside, leaving a very confused James behind in the cold. James later learned that Regulus walked away because he freaked himself out and thought that he had messed. Apparently he had gone to hide away in an upstairs bathroom for twenty minutes before Sirius found him. 

But James isn’t going to go into those details with their son or step-daughter, so they just leave it at that and let the kids turn to ask Lily and Pandora if they’ve ever kissed under the mistletoe before pressing them for more information on the tradition. Regulus’ hand finds James’, as though he was going through the same memory that they just were -- and it’s likely that he was, what with the fond look they find on his face when they turn to him. James squeezes his hand and focuses back on what Pandora is saying to the two kids.

Day 22

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 24

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Baker And The Monk.

Notes: Looking back, I'm surprised how big this story got. Wasn't my intention lol.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  24/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The others were still asleep in the morning when you had gone downstairs in the inn to drink some soup and enjoy a peaceful quiet moment alone before having to face the Monk again. Where to go from here? What with Percival, did he still have parents or was the boy on his own? There were a lot of things to think about and it was hard to come to a solid decision or plan. Your peaceful moment alone was interrupted when a man approached the table you were sitting at.

“I noticed you are sitting alone, care for some company to talk to?” He seemed rather friendly.

You were in doubt. “I fear I will not be very talkative.”

He did not give up just yet. “I’m quite the opposite, if you wish to offer a listening ear I might entertain you?”

It was starting to intrigue you. “What would you speak of?”

The man was an open book. “My successes and failures as a baker.”

“Fine.” You decided. “Take a seat. Start with the failures.”

He chuckled and took the chair opposite of you. This baker, whom was named Charles, was a friendly fella that loved to chat with anyone who would listen. Hearing how the life of another was so different compared to yours was refreshing. There was no talk of paladins or the war. It was just a baker speaking of his occupation with an enthusiasm not many still had. For just a moment, you forgot about your own situation and let yourself be carried into the story of another. That lasted until you saw the man look at something behind you, the Monk had came down the stairs and his attire was drawing attention. His attention however was solely on you, and how quickly you were to get to your feet and hurry over to him.

“Your surcoat!” you quietly scolded. “Do you want everyone to know we are hiding in this inn?!”

As you pulled at his arm to lead him back up the stairs, the innkeeper caught your eye and beckoned you over. With a small heart you went over to her.

She was drying off a tankard. “I was under the impression that you didn’t want anyone to notice he was here.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right, I’ll talk to him.”

“He’ll bring trouble in those clothes.” She nodded in his direction.

The Monk was watching the conversation, still waiting for you by the stairs. You were aware it was pulling attention to him. “It’s not our intention to-”

She put the linen towel down. “Follow me through the kitchen. I may have something in my quarters, he looks the size of my late husband.”

That was an offer you did not reject, you made eye-contact with the Monk and tilted your head to call him over. He understood the silent request and crossed the large room to where you were waiting.

“The innkeeper may have some less holy clothes for you.” you told him.

Before he could react to the jest, the innkeeper spoke up.

“The name is ‘Amelia’.” She proceeded to lead you through the kitchen of the inn, another door was opened and led into her large quarters. Amelia went to the large wardrobe and opened it’s doors. “Pick out a couple of clothes. Come back to the inn when you’re done.”

You thanked her as she walked past, she murmured something about how her late husband wouldn’t need them anymore. Her generosity was surprising, perhaps she had not always been as fortunate as she was now. The Monk had not set one foot in the direction of the wardrobe.

“Go on. See if you can find something in there for you.” you encouraged.

Slowly he walked to the wardrobe, and tentatively touched a shirt. “It was not my intention to cause you trouble. I had not considered that my clothes would be so noticed here.”

You strolled around the room somewhat impatiently. “A monk in an inn will always draw attention.”

He hummed in agreement. “I had not even noticed.”

That was strange to hear considering how perceptive he could be. “That isn’t like you, often you were the first to notice something out of the ordinary.”

The truth escaped him when he picked up a light grey shirt that interested him. “When I woke and saw that you were no longer in the room with us, my only concern was finding you.” The weight of his confession hit a second later, he almost looked in your direction but stopped himself just in time. A black leather jerkin caught his eye next and he took it from under the stack of clothes on top of it.

“You thought I had run off again.” you stated what was so obvious now.

He swallowed hard and shook some dust from the jerkin. “Yes.”

“I would.” You crossed your arms over your chest, finally daring to face him. “But you did not arrive here alone, there is a child up in that room who needs someone to look after him. Where are his parents?”

The Monk told you what the boy had mentioned to him. “They’re gone.”

It wrangled at your heart to hear it. “What now?”

Not even he seemed to know what to do, it wasn’t like he had experience with raising and looking after children, because even though Percival acted mature for his age he was still just a boy under that hardened character.

He walked towards the bed in the room and put down his choice of clothing, then began to take off his cloak. “He picked up a sword to fight the Trinity Guard, to save me. I will do all that is in my power to ensure he will be safe.”

“How?” It slipped out.

His hands slowed down on their task, his voice got quieter. “I had hoped to not be the only one watching over Percival’s well-being. He could use someone gentle of heart.”

It clicked right away what he was suggesting. “Using a child as leverage to keep me with you?” You scoffed and turned to head towards the door.

He caught you by the arm to stop you. “What must I do for you to forgive me?”

You pulled yourself free from his hold. “Stop trying to stop me every time I want to get away from you, that would be a good start! If you let me be free, I might be more inclined to seek out your company.”

It was something he would need to learn, to let what he was so protective over run free in this world full of dangers he had hoped to shield you from.

His hand moved along your arm until it could take hold of your hand. “It does not have it’s roots in trying to have control over you. I-…” A long pause fell. “I felt the loss of you for a day and it was worse than any punishment forced upon me. Hate me, scream at me, harm me… I surrender to your will. But I beg you, stay.”

You were hoping he could not feel how your body was trembling in response to his plea. “Lancelot, I don’t know if I can after what happened.”

He knew why you were so cautious towards him. “I needed no order from Father to wish for your trust. I meant what I said to you once, you are important to me.”

“Because I was the key to achieving Father Carden’s praise and love for you.” It came out bitter.

“No.”

“No?”

He stepped away. It wasn’t until he continued to dress down that you noticed how much his hands were shaking. “Your presence brings me solace.”

You crossed your arms again, hugging yourself for some comfort. “I hope this is not some elaborate plan to regain my trust and take me back to the paladins.”

He almost looked over his shoulder to you. “Do you think so low of me?”

Your eyes turned cold. “Why do you think that is?”

He swallowed his tongue.

You sighed. “But I trust Percival to be truthful.”

Not him… of course not.

You hated how you couldn’t help but look when he bared his torso and let the ruined clothes drop to the floor. “Your wounds look better than they did last night.”

It was as if he had already forgotten them when he looked down at his healing injuries. “I owe it to your kindness. I doubt you had ointment at hand to use.”

So he knew you must have went out and searched for herbs to make the ointment. It told him you still must have felt a form of attachment towards him. “You’re lucky I know how to make one.”

He slipped the shirt on and inspected its fit. “Indeed.”

To distract yourself, you strolled around the room a little. “Just so you know, I will be referring to you by your actual name in this place. It is best we do not draw attention to ourselves. I hope others here did not figure out already that you are a monk, it would starts rumors and rumors can spread to the paladins and lead them here.”

He had not a single objection to that. “That is alright.”

Suddenly he winced, a pained sound escaped him when he had tried to put the jerkin on.

You approached him right away. “Let me help.”

Again, he had not a single objection when you began to close the leather belts of the jerkin. When you gave a stronger tug on one of them, a chuckle fell out of him. “Is this an attempt to murder me?”

You rolled your eyes at the jest. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

The smile remained on his lips. He almost seemed to enjoy the slightly rougher handling.

“What happens now? Will Father Carden not wish for you to return?” you asked.

He was not sure what to expect. “I do not know. But returning will not be possible, news will have spread of my heritage by now.”

You finished closing the last belt and took a small step back. “And if they were to want you back…?”

He shook his head. “With broken faith? And after what I did? The only reason they would want me back is to kill me.” His eyes locked on your face. “Besides that reason, I know that if I were to return to them you would never forgive me.”

It was a correct assumption. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He gave a nod. “It goes without saying that we should stay out of the sights of paladins. And I will try to see if I can find us a place that will be safer than here.”

Easier said than done. “Won’t be simple. We have not much more than horses and the weapons you carry.”

“We have coin.” He said oh so matter-of-factually, as if you knew what he was speaking of.

“What?” you blurted out.

He was confused for a second. “I-… I always have a pouch of coin with me as I travel. One never knows when it is needed.” Upon seeing your expression change, he asked, “Were you concerned there was none to survive on?”

Him having coin did not mean it would help you too. “Well, it’s your coin. Not mine.”

A frown creased his forehead. Realization hit. “Do you truly think that I would not share what I have with you? What is mine, is yours. You are my wife.”

You took a step away and handed him back his cloak. “Our marriage is nothing but an arrangement that has benefited everyone but myself.”

He held the cloak in his hand, feeling frozen in time and place. “Then it is time I prove what benefits this arrangement will provide for you.”

It had you mildly intrigued, but you didn’t dare to show it. “Put your cloak back on. I hope Percival is still upstairs in the room.”

He did as asked. “He was still asleep when I came to find you.”

You headed for the door to the kitchen, him speaking your name made you stop. He came closer again, stopping right in front of your nose. He intended to take hold of your hand but you moved it back a little and it made him abandon the idea.

He spoke in a quiet manner, “If it would put your mind at rest, I will go and fetch the coin from Goliath’s saddlebag and put it in your possession?”

You blinked. “Maybe you should fetch that pouch from the saddlebag before someone else does?”

His expression changed instantly, as if he had not even thought about the possibility of someone stealing it. “I-… One moment.”

Lancelot walked out of the room, through the kitchen and the inn, to outside. After everything, it was not strange for it to be forgotten or overlooked. It was also somewhat amusing to see him hurry out of the inn because of it. You on the other hand went back up the stairs up to your room after thanking Amelia and asking her for two bowls of broth. When you went inside, you found Percival starting to wake up. The scent of the broth was enough to wake him up fully.

“Good morning.” You handed him a bowl.

Percival mumbled the same in reply and went towards the bed. You cleared your throat to get his attention and he saw you point at the table. With a small sigh, he took place at the table to eat his broth. Just as he sat down, Lancelot entered the room and he went straight over to you. A pouch was put into your hand before you could even think to protest it.

Percival eyed you curiously. “What’s that?”

He told the boy the truth, “Coin.”

Percival’s eyes fell on the pouch again, slightly widened and very interested.

Lancelot noticed it right away. “She has a satchel to carry it in.”

The idea he fed was clearly aimed at you, but you were still a bit taken aback by the weight of the pouch that he had put into your hand. Never had Aldith or Cassian let you carry this much coin on you, they were quick to take it if they knew you had some savings. And for it to just be put into your hands now like it was nothing…

Even the boy had noticed the strange familiarity between you and him. “Are you friends?”

Your attention snapped to Percival, who was looking between you and Lancelot like he was trying to figure it out. Lancelot did not answer, he was looking at you to see what you would say. The last thing you wanted to do was alarm the boy by telling him that the friendship between you and Lancelot had come to a sour end not long ago, Percival barely knew the two of you and it would make more uncomfortable questions arise.

“We are.” you said, and noticed how relieved Lancelot looked.

“How?” Percival looked at Lancelot. “You killed the Fey, then how come you’re friends with her?”

Again he looked at you for an answer, but this time you gave him a look back that let him know that this was his answer to give. Lancelot struggled to explain it. “Father made an exception for her.”

The boy fired another question, “Why?”

He kept looking at you for help in this. “Because she is Ash Folk, as I am.”

“He only let Ash Folk live?” Percival frowned.

“The broth is getting cold. Eat Percival.” You turned to Lancelot. “The other bowl is yours.”

Lancelot was quick to ask, “Have you eaten?”

You gave a nod. “I had soup before you came down to the inn.”

Only then did he take the offer of the broth and took place opposite of Percival. You stashed the pouch of coins into your satchel.

You sat down on the bed for a moment, then let yourself fall back onto the mattress to look up at the ceiling. “You could use some more of that medicine I have given you, Lancelot. Charles told me that the market in this village is available for wares here everyday.”

His spoon stilled midway to his mouth. “ ‘Charles’?”

“The baker I was talking to before you came down the stairs.” you informed.

He continued to eat. “You wish to visit this market then?”

Your eyes closed. “I think it is necessary, that medicine will dull the pain for now, but when it wears off…”

“It would indeed be wise to be prepared.” He agreed to the idea. “Shall we go after this meal?”

Percival gave a ‘yes’ with his mouth stuffed full, earning a scolding look from the Ash Man.

“That’s fine.” you stretched your arms behind your head, enjoying the soft bed. Humming contentedly. A slight cold chill crept over the skin of your waist where it was exposed by your clothes that had moved up a little, it was not bothersome.

“Don’t you like the broth?” Percival suddenly asked.

You turned your head to look at the table and saw how Lancelot turned his head towards the boy. Percival was looking at him curiously, and perhaps hopeful that he would get the other bowl of broth for himself. Lancelot cleared his throat, and took a spoonful of the broth in his mouth in response to that. You smiled at the hint of disappointment in Percival’s expression and made a mental note to make certain the boy would have a proper set of meals every day as long as you could provide him with such.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The walk to the market was rather odd, you had to keep a focused eye on Percival who showed a tendency to wander off alone. Lancelot did not seem all too comfortable among the busy crowd, he was constantly looking around himself.

“Try to be calm.” you told him. “You’ll hurt your neck if you keep turning it so much.”

He picked up on the jesting tone. “How can you be so calm?”

You stopped at a stall with small curiosities. “I’ve spend days living among the enemy. It’s nothing new.”

It was a small lie. Being among a crowd was causing you distress but you did not want to draw attention, so you pretended all was well.

Lancelot noticed Percival had taken an interest in a stall a little further away and caught the boy by the vest before he could disappear in the crowd. “Remain in my sight.”

“It’s not my fault if your eyes are bad.” Percival bluntly said.

He took on a more firmer tone. “Stay.”

Percival rolled his eyes and came to stand a little closer to you, looking down at all the small bits and trinkets on the stall. Visiting a market was something you had not done in quite some time and it was the first time you weren’t doing it alone.

“I can see a stall further up ahead that is selling medicine.” Lancelot informed you.

He leaded the way to the stall, a friendly old lady was selling some basic necessities for those who dabbled in medicine. There was a certain set of herbs that you needed to make more of that ointment you had made but the seller had no stock of it. Another trip into the forest for them would be warranted. Fortunately she did have a few vials of medicine for when Lancelot’s fever and pain would return. When it was time to pay, for the first time you found out just how much there was actually in the pouch of coins. The small gasp from you made the others look.

Lancelot came closer, noticing your startled reaction to the contents of the pouch, by doing so he blocked the view others could have on it. “May I?”

Was he truly asking if he could use his own coin to pay for the medicine? It was such a ludicrous thing. “Of course.”

He took two small coins out and handed them to the seller whilst putting the pouch back into the safety of your satchel, then put the vials into it as well. Your attention was pulled away from him when Percival lightly tugged at your sleeve.

“Can we get a sweetroll?” The boy asked so very carefully.

Out of reflex you looked at Lancelot for an answer, before reminding yourself that he had said that the coin was yours just as much as it was his. “I believe we can?”

A sweetroll, after how brave the child had been to step into the Trinity Guard fight with him? It was the very least he could give in return.

Lancelot noted the doubt and put your mind at ease. “Yes.” He relied on his nose to find what the boy was asking for. “Over there.”

For you it was still hard to distinct all the scents, especially in a place so filled with all sorts of kinds.

Lancelot gave Percival an encouraging nudge against the back once at the stall that sold the sweetrolls. “They are fresh.” Then he looked at you with a knowing look. “Can you tell?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“No?” he asked curiously.

There was no ill intent behind his question, you could tell. This was just him being curious how well your sense of smell was now.

Percival pointed at a sweetroll, one that looked a little larger than the others of course. “I want that one.”

Lancelot hoped to improve Percival’s manners and corrected his way of asking for something. " ‘May I have that one?’ "

Percival did not pick up on what was being gently taught to him. “I saw it first.”

You turned your head, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I meant-” Lancelot sighed, but he did not want to make this more confusing. He would speak to the boy about this later. “Alright.”

Percival became far more cheery when he could eat his sweetroll on the way back to the inn. On your way there, the path got more crowded with people, and after having been alone so often the crowd felt overwhelming. Seeing a threat coming felt impossible like this. People were almost walking against or into you constantly, the many voices flooded your ears, you began to lose sight on where you were and where you were going. Your heart was beating too fast, there was not enough air getting into your lungs. What on earth was happening…

“Are you alright?” Percival suddenly asked.

No. No, you were not. “I…”

Just before someone else could walk into you, Lancelot placed himself close to you, using his form as a barrier against the crowd. “What is wrong? You look unwell.”

It felt embarrassing to say it. “There’s too many people.”

Lancelot looked around him for a moment and spotted a smaller and less crowded path. “We’ll take that path instead. Come.”

You barely registered that he had placed a hand on your back to guide you along. The second you were out of the crowd, you leaned against a wall to recover.

Percival looked so very worried. “Are you sick?”

“No. I’m not used to being around so many people so closely anymore.” You hoped he wouldn’t ask why that was. “I can’t even see if there’s paladins around.”

Lancelot spoke. “Do not worry. I will notice them.”

He saw the look in your eyes change, it twisted a dagger into his gut. You did not trust that he would warn you if he saw paladins…

The boy touched your arm to comfort you. “It’s alright.”

No one expected for Percival to offer you the last bit of the sweetroll, it instantly made you feel a bit better.

“No, thank you.” you refused the sweet offer. “Did that sweetroll make you so sweet, or were you always like this?”

Percival’s face flushed a little, especially when he saw the slight grin on Lancelot’s face who saw it happen.

Lancelot came closer, supporting you by the arm to see if you were stable enough to walk. “Are you certain you do not wish for something to eat or drink?”

You pried his fingers loose from your arm. “I’ll be alright. Let’s get back to the inn before we run into paladins.”

The Ash Man kept a sharp eye on you whilst the three of you walked back to the inn. Percival and him picked out the lesser crowded paths and at some point you ended up on a narrow cobblestone street. Houses were build left and right in a long line and at the end of that street was a blacksmith working at his forge.

Lancelot came to a halt. “Do you mind stopping here for a moment?”

Of course he would be curious to see what sort of weapons this village had to offer. “Go ahead.”

He gave a grateful tilt of the head and approached the blacksmith, you and Percival followed suit.

“Good day.” The blacksmith gave a greeting nod and halted his work, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Good day.” Lancelot greeted just as polite. “Do you have wares for sale?”

“I do.” The blacksmith pointed at the house beside the forge. “My daughter keeps charge of the shop. Feel welcome.”

Whilst walking the short distance to the shop, you discreetly handed Lancelot the pouch. “In case you need it.”

He tucked it under his sword belt, in those few seconds Percival had already walked into the shop and reminded you both that this child would walk right through fire if there was something he wanted on the other side. Lancelot followed him inside immediately and grabbed hold on the back of the boy’s jacket. One look at the boy and Percival knew that Lancelot was serious about staying in sight.

A woman who looked your age was cleaning one of the many swords inside the store, she halted her task right away when she saw Lancelot. “Hello, is there something you seek? We have many weapons a man such as yourself would love to have.”

You noticed how it took her a little too long to even notice you were in the store too, not that she seemed to care, her eyes were glued to Lancelot from the second he had stepped inside. It irked you, a feeling you suppressed, this woman had done you no wrong.

“A sword.” he answered her.

She gestured for him to follow and leaded him to a wall with swords on display. “See something you like?”

Oh, it could not be more obvious that she was not talking about the swords then. Even Percival noted an undertone in her voice and looked up at her questioningly. The Ash Man said nothing, his gaze waved over the wall of swords and then he picked one off of the wall. He created some distance and spun the sword in his hand a few times.

“No.” he said, dissatisfied. The sword was placed back and another was put to the test, and another… and another…

You were watching the picky twit, starting to feel embarrassed for how he turned down sword after sword. “What exactly are you looking for?”

He smiled at the slightly annoyed tone. “Balance.”

“Balance?” Percival parroted. “It’s a sword. You just have to hit someone with it.”

He inspected the crossguard of the sword whilst explaining it to the boy. “A sword must have a good balance to control it well. It must be strong, not just the blade but the pommel and crossguard as well. A blade alone will not offer much aid in a sword fight without a strong pommel.”

The blacksmith’s daughter approached him now that he was just looking at the details of the pommel. “Spoken as a true swordsman. You are in need of a new sword then?”

She placed her hand on his lower arm, he looked at her hand right away. The sight of it bothered you, it shouldn’t have, not after all that had happened.

“No.” He finally read her intentions from her face. “It is for her.”

You saw him gesture your way and stared back at him in surprise. A sword, for you? Truly?

“Oh… I see… of course.” she stammered and stepped back.

When he beckoned for you to come closer, you became very aware of the sets of eyes on you. It felt a little awkward to approach him.

Upon seeing the reluctance, he approached you himself. He stood at your side and placed the sword into your hands, with your state from earlier in mind he behaved as gentle as he knew he could be. “See? Perfectly balanced steel. The right length for you to wield, a strong crossguard that can be used as a weapon in itself.”

The enthusiasm with which he spoke was infectious, if someone knew what sort of sword was good it had to be him. And with the way he was touching your arm and hands, you struggled to fully focus on the details of the sword he was explaining about.

He stood half against you. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Yes.” It flopped out, as if air decided to flee your lungs before the rest of your body could.

He looked at the shopkeeper. “We’ll take the sword.”

“Very well.” She sounded a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in the other matters that she had wanted to offer.

He made an observation. “She needs a belt and sheath for it.”

“Of course.” She went to a hook on the wall that held multiple sorts of belts and helped you pick one out, then she attached the sheath to it.

Lancelot approved of the ensemble and was seemingly wondering if there could be more added to the belt that would be useful. “A small pouch for it?”

That sure sounded handy to store small things in. “I’d love that.”

With a polite gesture of his hand, he told the shopkeeper to add it to the ensemble. Then there you stood, with a proper weapon belt and a sword at your hip, the joy it brought was refreshing.

“Will that be all?” The shopkeeper asked.

Percival piped up, “I want a knife.”

“No.” Lancelot denied that request.

The boy fired back. “Mine was stolen! By the people you lived with.”

The way the child glared at him and gave him a warning look… It was a blessing that he had not referred to them as paladins.

Lancelot looked at you for advice. Was it proper to give the young boy a knife?

You mistook the look he gave. “If the sword is too costly for Percival to get a knife, I will manage without a sword.”

He sighed and looked towards the shopkeeper. “Do you have something appropriate for one of his age to use?”

“My ‘age’ ?” Percival glared at him. “What’s that got to do with it?”

You snorted a laugh, curious how Lancelot was going to talk himself out of this one. And apparently he considered it wise to not answer Percival’s bait for a battle. Thankfully the shopkeeper sensed the mood of the boy shifting in the wrong direction and quickly handed a knife to Lancelot.

He inspected the knife before giving it to Percival. “Good?”

The boy got very cheery instantly again, and with a wide grin he nodded up to him. The sword and knife were paid for and the shopkeeper bid you all a good evening. Indeed evening had arrived over the land, there were far less people on the streets now. With a sword that you could rest your hand on, you felt more at ease. Had this been Lancelot’s intention, for you to feel less threatened by the crowd? It worked.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Before entering the inn, the three of you stopped by the horses. They were indeed being fed and taken care of, the innkeeper was one of the better ones out there it seemed.

“I miss Bear.” you said quietly whilst brushing the coat of the horse, that you had stolen from the paladins, with some straw. Lancelot was beside you, tending to Goliath’s coat.

Percival had heard it too. “Who’s ‘Bear’?”

“My own horse.” you told him. “This is the one I stole from the paladins. He’s sweet too, but he’s not Bear.”

The boy pouted a bit. “Where is Bear?”

You sighed. “Still at the paladin camp, I think.”

“He will be alright.” Lancelot reassured. “A good horse is always valuable, they will treat him well.”

You hoped he was right about that. “I hope so.”

After tending to the horses, you headed into the inn. The scent of warm potatoes and vegetables hanged inside the place, it was a warm welcome to your nostrils.

“I’m hungry.” Percival said the second you walked into the inn.

“I will ask the innkeeper for meals. Do we eat in the room?” you asked them.

“Yes.” Lancelot was quick to reply. The visit to the market had been enough risks for the day.

He did not have the heart to remind the boy that he had eaten a sweetroll not long ago, considering one of the ways to win the war against the Fey had been to burn their mills to cause famine amongst them.

As you walked towards the bar, he took Percival up to the room. Amelia was already looking at you, awaiting the interaction whilst she brushed a stray lock of her curly black hair behind her ear.

“That is a fine looking sword.” She nodded down at the sword resting at your hip. “Went to the market then?”

The wish for small talk was shared. “Yes. I needed more medicine for my friend.”

Her eyes narrowed for a blink. “That man you are with is your ‘friend’?”

Friend… it was the only way you could describe him that wouldn’t draw attention.

You worried what her reaction meant. “Yes…”

“I thought he was your lover.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And the boy?”

Rumors could be born so easily… at least Amelia was not afraid to ask for the truth. “Percival’s parents died, he only has us now.”

She hummed and filled some plates with the stew she had prepared for those at the inn. Her voice was just loud enough for you to hear. “Not many know what the Weeping Monk looks like, the people speak of him as if he is a ghost. Those who have not seen his face, or heard the stories, will not recognize him. But I have heard the stories. So tell me, should I be concerned?”

Your hands got clammy. She knew… she knew… “He is not a ghost, nor a monster. He will do you no harm.”

At least you hoped that was true, and that this was not some elaborate plan of his to get your trust back and return you to Father Carden.

She stared you down for a second, then gave a nod and placed the plates in front of your nose. “Be careful. Someone like him must have dangerous enemies, do not find yourself in the midst of it.”

If only she knew that you were already standing in the midst of it all. You took the plates to carefully carry them up the stairs. “Thank you for the meals.”

“You’re welcome. And once your ‘friend’-” she truly enunciated the word, “-feels better, do ask him if he could be so kind to move some of the lumber from behind the inn inside for the fireplace. There is no rush, but I would appreciate the help.”

It was a small favor to ask for in return for the hospitality she had shown. “I will ask. And he is truly just a friend, that is already complicated enough as it is.”

Her voice got a little louder, as if she meant to embarrass you in a playful way, “Perhaps it is complicated because he keeps imagining all the sins he would commit if he were to get you into bed.”

It caused your cheeks to burn. You tried to hush her. “What?! No! Of course not! He’s not like that-”

She arched a brow after you said the last part. “He’s not?”

Doubt was dripping off her tone and her expression, it only got you more flustered. She was such an open personality, unafraid to voice her thoughts and opinions and you found yourself at their mercy.

“He’s not.” you said firmly. Aware that your expression did not match the confidence of your voice.

A cheeky laugh escaped her. “Alright, don’t get so nervous. Who would I be to judge you for seeking some comfort in the arms of a monk?”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, carrying the plates in hand to carry them up the stairs. “You should write a book with that kind of imagination, Amelia.”

A laugh rippled through her chest and the sound followed you up the stairs, it wasn’t until you were in the room and had closed the door that you finally stopped hearing it. You placed the plates of stew down on the table. Percival was at the table not a blink of an eye later, Lancelot was more patient in his approach. He did not sit down yet when he saw you ignore the meal to attach your dagger to your new belt as well.

You finally noticed once you were done with the task. “Go on, sit. You don’t have to wait for me, you need your meals to get healthy again.”

“So do you.” he said whilst taking seat beside Percival.

You took the remaining plate of stew to eat on the bed. “How are your wounds? Is that ointment still working?”

“It is wearing off I believe.” He took a bite. “The vials will bring some relief.”

Those vials were good for fever, but you were not sure how well it would work against dirt getting into the wounds. “But you need ointment to protect you from infections, and it helps to quicken the process of healing. I’ll go search for what I need after the meal.”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow is better.”

You frowned. “But-”

He would not hear it. “There is no need to scour the woods for me at night. I will not perish within hours. You should concern yourself over your own health more, have your own bruises even healed yet?”

“ Fine, I’ll go tomorrow.” you agreed to it. “And they’re almost gone.”

“How did you get bruises?” Percival asked with his mouth full.

“Paladins.” You spared the boy of the darker truth, drank the last of the broth that was left of the stew and put the plate down on the bed.

Lancelot scolded the boy for the lack of manners. “Do not talk with a full mouth.”

“Why?” Percival asked with his mouth still full.

“It is not proper.”

“Why?”

Lancelot sighed when the boy kept speaking whilst he chewed. “I can see right into your mouth. It ruins the appetite.”

Percival rolled his eyes and finally swallowed the food down. “Then don’t look.”

Those two conversing was so entertaining to watch. Lancelot trying to help the boy learn some manners, whilst the boy reacted to it as if Lancelot was exaggerating. The patience he had with the child was admirable. You watched their entire interaction, and Percival proved quite talented at trying to change the topic when it was most convenient for him.

An unexpected question of the boy derailed their entire conversation. “That man that talked to you before you fought those masked paladins, why did he ask if I could smell the Fey? Can you smell who is Fey?”

Lancelot had finished his plate not long after Percival had, and confirmed what the boy believed to be true. “Ash Folk have a strong sense of smell. Fey kind gives of a different sort of scent than Manblood.”

The boy looked somewhat confused. “Different how?”

He leaned back into the chair. “Imagine it as a cloak hanging over them at all times, a fresh scent much like young grass. It is different for all Fey, but it always smells similar to what one can find in the woods.”

You had never been able to put the scent into words, but his description made complete sense. “It prickles the nose.”

His attention turned to you. “Yes.”

“But not in a bad way.” you assured Percival. “I can’t pick up on scents as good as he can, but his description fits.”

Lancelot was glad to hear that you experienced it in a similar way. “I can ignore most scents, it would overwhelm my senses too greatly otherwise. But I will always notice the Fey scent.”

“Because you used it to find us?” Percival was starting to piece the puzzle together again.

Lancelot gave a small nod, aware how even the boy must have realized how terrible it was that a Fey had used his abilities against his own kind.

It lead Percival to chase the truth. “Why were you with them? If you’re Fey, why did you fight against us?”

You didn’t want this to end in trouble. “Percival-”

“It’s alright.” Lancelot said to you. “He has a right to know.”

You rose from the bed and approached Percival, leaning onto the back of the chair with your arm as Lancelot began his story. He told the boy how he ended up in the hands of Father Carden, what was expected of him and why. Percival had not been so quiet in quite some time, often a look of confusion set in his eyes to which Lancelot explained a little more.

“Do you really think we’re damned?” The boy asked.

Lancelot got quieter. “I do not know what to believe anymore.”

Percival looked down for a second, chewing his lip. “But you won’t hurt the Fey anymore?”

That was at least one thing he was certain of. “No. Not unless it is to defend us from danger.”

To the boy it was an agreeable condition. Percival still had some questions that were a little less hard to answer, mostly about how monks lived and how they prayed. You did notice that Lancelot was careful not to mention how they used the scourge on themselves. The memory of the wounds he had inflicted upon himself the last time he had done so was etched into your mind, you doubted those were not still hurting him even just sitting there.

    “Alright.” You grabbed their empty plates. “Whilst you two talk further, I’m taking these downstairs before it attracts flies into the room.”

They barely acknowledged the announcement, Percival was too engulfed in what Lancelot was telling him and Lancelot was too concentrated on not saying something that the boy was too young to hear about. So you headed down to the inn, Amelia was sweeping the floor and gave a grateful nod when she saw you carrying the plates down.

“To lessen some of your workload.” You held the plates up. “Do I put them in the kitchen?”

“Please do. Thank you.” She continued her task of cleaning the inn for the night.

The baker, Charles, was still up and sat at a table alone, you had to walk past him to go to the kitchen. “Care to offer a listening ear again, or perhaps accept one for yourself?”

You walked past him. “My ears always listen. I’ll put these in the kitchen first.”

Once you returned from the kitchen, he was awaiting your presence and leaned over the table to move the other chair so you could sit. Again he told of his life, about how before he became a baker he dreamed of being a bard, and when he offered to play on his lute you had to tell him that those already asleep in the inn upstairs might not appreciate the music at that hour. He was rather sweet, it was nice to listen to him talk. He had some quite amusing stories to tell about how some patrons would empty out a loaf of bread and try to return the shell of it to get their coin back.

Charles leaned a little closer over the table, his hands wrapped around the tankard that was long since emptied. “And you, what sort of stories can you tell me?”

It made you get evasive. “I’m not that interesting.”

He tsk-ed. “Nonsense. I see stories in those beautiful eyes.”

“‘Beautiful eyes’?” A chuckle escaped you. It had been a while since such flattery had been aimed your way.

“Not used to flattery?” he sounded surprised. “Hard to believe from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” You had a cheeky grin.

“I enjoy your company and would love to enjoy it for the rest of the night.” Charles made no secret of his intentions, especially when he reached over to place a hand over your own.

A plate was put down on the table between you and Charles, who jolted back in his chair from the loud clattering it made. You reacted the same way, your heartbeat spiked. It was not Amelia who had put the plate down on the table, no, Lancelot had brought down your empty plate that you had forgotten upstairs in the room.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Charles asked rightfully irritated.

    "Her husband.”

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[ayukas]

18+ mdni

sub!jeno thoughts (.◜◡◝)

boyfriend!jeno who has always been rough with you during sex—tossing you around effortlessly, teasing you mercilessly until you were left shaking and dripping with his release.

but lately, you've started noticing subtle changes in how he acts—small, almost imperceptible things that make you wonder if this is truly how he prefers things to be.

he's been asking you to ride him more often, his voice unusually soft and pleading. "baby, d'you think you can be on top today? i just really need you—"

his usual deep, rough grunts have also shifted, slowly turning into prolonged, desperate whines that catch you completely off guard.

and it's not just during sex where jeno's changes stand out. even the smallest things seem to affect him, his reactions to your touch completely different from before.

a casual brush against his nipples has him shuddering, and one time, you even caught a soft, shaky whine before he quickly excused himself to the bathroom.

then there was the time where you playfully tugged on his hair after he forgot to take out the laundry, and the way his eyes rolled back, lips parting in a soft gasp, had you momentarily frozen in place.

eventually, you decide to bring it up. and the second you do, his eyes widen like he's been caught doing something forbidden, and the sight of him all flustered ignites something new in you.

"don't worry, puppy. let me take good care of you, hm?"

the moment those words leave your lips, he folds. practically dropping to his knees and trembling as he begs for your touch, his voice desperate as he pleads for you to suck him off or top him.

and how could you ever resist when he looks so cute and needy for you?

you urge him to get on the bed, and he scrambles to obey, hands fumbling as he pulls of his pants. he lays there, his boxers barely containing his hard cock, fingers gripping the sheets tightly as he gazes up at you with wide, pleading doe eyes.

you trail your hand over his bulge, earning a soft gasp from him, his eyes begin to water as he stammers, "please, please, please. need your mouth so bad—fuck baby please."

you smirk at his desperation, "since you're asking so nicely…"

slowly, you slip your hand into his boxers, teasing him with light strokes before lowering your mouth. your tongue barely grazes his cock before soft whines spill from his lips, his hips jerking up, trying to seek more friction. his whole body trembles with pleasure as he chants your name between breathless pleas.

but just when he's about to come, you pull back completely. his entire body tenses as he cries out in frustration, "fuck—why? i'm s-sorry fuck please let me come—i've been such a good boy."

god, the way his eyes light up at your next words has you rubbing your thighs together, heat pooling between them as you take in just how desperate jeno looks.

"what's the hurry, puppy? we've got all night."

[junedenim]

2012

beneath the boardwalk, part 10 (series masterlist)

why'd you only call me when you're high?

warnings: a whole lot of angst, temptation, nostalgia, and nothing

word count: 10.4k

Squished between two couch cushions watching Real Housewives, I got a call from Alex. "Did I wake you?" He questioned. It was late or early depending on who you asked. I had been woken up from a cold I was suffering from. He had never gone to bed.

"No, no, I'm just sitting around, suffocating," I complained. His voice was rough, but not thick with phlegm like mine. He chuckled in a rhythmic format, beat after beat. He sounded like he was sinking into himself, his flesh turning to goo. I heard his lips smack together as if he was chewing on a piece of hay. I coughed, the harshness reaching him miles and miles away. "You alright?"

"Yeah." I think he was chewing gum. "Just got home."

I hummed with understanding. "Did you have a nice night?"

He made a noise of indifference. "How long you been sick?"

"Two days now and it's not getting any better." I sniffled and stuffed a tissue up my nostril, thankful that I lived alone. "Think I caught it at a New Year's Party. I'm worried I have mono."

"Why? You've been kissing a bunch of people?" His words hung in the middle of us. Both of us moving on from one another had been unspoken. We were still on a break for all intents and purposes, even if he was with Arielle. Another thing we never talked about. 

I gave the best laugh I could do without coughing. "It's supposed to be good luck. I also ate 12 grapes and banged bread against the wall."

"Did you really?" He amusingly asked.

"No, well, not the bread part." I sighed. "Now, I'm just sitting on the couch watching shitty reruns. I can't fall back asleep."

"Neither can I," he said.

I hesitated and curled up under my blanket. "Is that why you called me at 4 in the morning?" I said it with a laugh to ease any tensions that may arise.

"It's only 1 here."

"Right. I forgot about the time difference." It didn't seem right for him to be so far away permanently. None of this seemed like the correct order of things. It was a misalignment but there could be no corrective measure.

"Yeah, I kind of did too." There was a pause like he was thinking things over. Like he might have had something to say but now he couldn't find it. "I'll let you go then." In more ways than one.

*

Alex was a cloud. He was away on tour, far away and out of reach. We talked less but not intentionally. We both just got really busy and we didn't need each other for that constant contact anymore. I was plummeting toward the wildest time of my life and he was up to his usual unable-to-contact schedule. Somewhere in Australia first then opening for The Black Keys. Plus, he had Arielle.

The new girlfriend thing didn't bug me much, at least, not in the form of jealousy. It was a strange thing. I hadn't fully adjusted to the idea but it was much easier when he was nowhere near my life. If it had happened when we were younger, I think I would've punished myself for it, but I had grown into a far lighter figure who understood not everyone was trying to make a mark against me. Alex was living his own life, which for the past few years had been dedicated to one person. It was "seeing what else was out there."

I was alone for the most part. I saw Jackson nearly every day, whether for work or leisure, but I was getting used to being alone for long grasps of time. I spent time writing in my notebook like the old days. A therapy session that I locked away in a drawer. I rotted in my room for days. I watched all of The Sopranos, practiced the splits, and thought about getting a cat. It was winter and a very boring time.

But around the end of January, I did my first interview. It was small and nothing huge, but it was talking about my work in-depth for the first time with a stranger. I pretended I was talking to Alex.

Alex and I didn't stop talking completely. I called him on his birthday, briefly, and we had a long chat toward the end of January where we caught up with one another. Neither of us had much to tell. He had been touring. I had been crawling around New York doing next to nothing, besides book matters and talking about my "marketability."

Alex laughed at this. "Yeah, they tend to do that. Try to whittle you down to one trait."

"It's making me feel insecure." I laughed at it but it felt small inside me, burning its way out.

Alex hummed in agreement. "Well, at least you're not a pimple-ridden kid doing it."

It wasn't something he talked about much. He hated people giving him attention, yet he was in a career that commanded eyes to be focused on him. It was one of our many skimmed-over conversations. In some ways, it made me feel like I didn't know Alex. We both hid parts of ourselves from one another and knew that the other did this. That burning curiosity we used to have probably went out once we started to live with one another. You know someone for long enough that it begins to feel like you know every inch of them. I slept with him night after night but I wondered if I ever knew what was ticking on in his head before he fell asleep. What was he thinking when he sat outside with a closed notebook? Why did he turn away?

I didn't even know why I turned away. I wrote repeatedly in my notebook, questioning why I couldn't make it work with Alex. I resisted jumping into a relationship because of that. If I couldn't make it work with Alex then it probably wouldn't work with anyone, especially during that portion of my life. I didn't know what it meant to be alone, like really alone.

I deflected a lot. I even deflected earlier in this book. I was devastated by the loss of Alex and I don't think it hit me until much later because I always had an anvil weighing on the back of my head telling me it wasn't over. Arielle complicated those ideals and I think for a while I was on my back unable to regain upright status. I was flailing.

That's why I paused. When 2012 hit, I was forced into a corner. I felt distant from who I was but still so far away from who I was becoming. I felt like I was the roots of the tree that had been cut down. I was left to be a stump.

One night, over a joint, I told Jackson I didn't feel British. Jackson, a Californian boy through and through, did not understand this. He laughed from the high while the smoke just made me more disoriented. He told me that I was "perfectly British." To me, that sounded like some marketing strategy. That's what the book would be marketed as—a British girl coming to America; her cold skin meeting the California sun. It made me hate the book. Or I hated myself, the lines were blurring.

I thought I had grown away from forms of jealousy. I have just previously insisted to you that I experienced no feelings of envy toward Arielle...but I did. It was ignored and then it couldn't be. The "R U Mine?" music video featured Arielle and a "new" Alex. I'm not a fan of the insinuation Alex suddenly changed after we broke up, besides his hair and fresh Sheffield tattoo, I would come to know Alex was exactly the same. Alex never quite changes. He's always been suave. It's hard to take a 20-year-old as seriously as a 25-year-old, especially when he is still pimple-ridden.

I found my jealousy toward Arielle in regard to "R U Mine?" was the same as when Alex showed me "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts" because, honestly, since then Alex's only explicit romantic muse (the word makes me want to barf, but that's what I was) was me. It's the weird thing of being with a writer, especially with personal subjects. It's beautiful when it's for you but then you realize that it was never really for you. It was about you. Alex didn't write a song to make me feel loved. He wrote a song because he liked writing songs.

Unknowingly, I always felt that. It's why I didn't swoon every time I heard "Mardy Bum." I loved it as a song but it didn't feel like a love letter. I felt Alex's love in far different ways. As the years went on, I would find love letters in songs, but at the center, I found his love in crevices: a note from college, a smoke outside a pub, a cooked meal, folded laundry—god, I sound old.

But his love wasn't restricted to those songs. Just as my love isn't restricted to this tome. This is a love letter in pieces for Alex but it's also for my youth. I found around this time, I began to reflect on those early years. Nearly 10 years out from 2003, I became a preservationist. I jotted down my memory of my first conversation with Alex. I tucked it away in my drawer, no use for it yet.

*

Alex called me on my birthday. He wasn't too far away, somewhere between Portland and Boston on a bus. It was late with only an hour left to my birthday, which I had spent drinking with friends. It was a rather simple birthday. It could've been just another night, minus the cake (red velvet with frosted flowers on top of it) that Fennel and Kaka purchased for me.

Alex texted me in the morning. Something akin to Hey. Happy birthday. Al.

It was formal and if it didn't make me laugh so much I think I'd be hurt by it. But Alex always texted like that as if he was penning a letter. The letter was awfully short but it was sent at 4 AM, which made me believe he either had no sleep or had just woken up.

I was expecting more and I got more. When I was drunk.

"Hi," I said, shoving the phone to my ear as a subway train came roaring by.

He chuckled, hearing the noise. "Hi." He waited for it to pass fully before continuing, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Did you spend it good?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty drunk."

"Alright, then, I won't keep you long."

"No," I insisted. "Stay on the phone with me." I was pleading. I didn't want to let go of him. "At least, until I'm home." I wasn't far away but I lied and acted like I was further away, keeping him on the line with me, even as we lost connection at various times.

"Sorry I didn't get you anything," he said halfway through the subway ride.

"I didn't get you anything,” I reminded him.

"Yeah. Feels weird."

We hummed in silence because we both knew how abnormal this was. We weren't friends. Alex and I were never friends. Nothing ever went away or could ever go away. We were struggling to redefine what we were. We could never disentangle from one another. It pulled us back toward one another, even when we shouldn't have.

"I was going to get you that, uh, milkshake maker so you wouldn't have to pay extra at Morgenstern's for one." I didn't know a person could get so emotional over a milkshake maker that they would feel like crying on the F train. I might be the only person ever.

It was such a stupid gift. I would probably get two uses out of the machine before it broke and it wouldn't be as good as Morgenstern's makes theirs and it would go to waste. Still, I can imagine if he did get it for me. How after I unwrapped it we would go to Morgenstern's and get a pint of ice cream and Alex would make me a milkshake. One just for me. If I was feeling generous enough, we'd share the straw.

None of this would have happened, even if we were together. He'd still be in between Portland and Boston and I'd still be riding the F, wishing he was with me. It was comforting that maybe I had done the right thing, even if it felt so hard.

"Well, you can get it for me for Christmas."

He laughed and said, "Okay."

*

Black leather loafers with black wool flannel trousers. A white poplin shirt, two buttons loose at the top and at the bottom. I had a black corduroy jacket that Jackson held for me. I felt like I was dressing up in my mother's clothes. I was doing book press. It was an unfitting experience but I held the hardcover book in my hand. It felt unnatural but I liked my authour's photo.

By that point, I was so far removed from the contents of the book. I started to second-guess it even coming out. It felt like my diary, even if it was evasive at times and cut out the personal from that time (Alex is not mentioned once, not even as the person I moved to LA for). Still, it was exposing, but it was real now and it was sitting in my hand.

Alex came to town a week later, opening for The Black Keys. I didn't see the show—things were getting too busy by that point. I asked Alex if we could meet for a quick lunch and he accepted.

We met at Westville, a cute restaurant, but by no means romantic. I felt a need for that to be clear. I worried about Arielle worrying that I was trying to "steal" Alex or whatever that meant. I don't think she ever did. After all, she had the guy and I was resigned with no longer having the guy. It wasn't the bitch fight it has been imagined to be.

I waited for Alex outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette to achieve my all-time high of cigarettes per day (this was not a good year for my lungs). I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I wanted to look cool but relaxed. I wore the previously mentioned black loafers to make it look like I didn't roll out of bed and throw some jeans on.

Alex wore the same thing: jeans, T-shirt, loafers...and a leather jacket. It was a hotter March day when spring was beginning to peek through and relieve the bitterness of winter. He was across the street stuck at a streetlight and I waved to him and he waved back. Then, we just stared at each other, waiting for the light to turn green.

He crossed, said hi, and hugged me. Every move was made with slight awkwardness. We hadn't been alone together since he moved out. "Have you been waiting long?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Got here early, just for a smoke. Do you want to go in now?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He bobbed his head.

I put my cigarette out and he followed me into the restaurant. "Your hair is back to normal." My natural brown. It was better for me to not play pretend when promoting a book about my own life.

"Yours isn't," I commented. It came off snarkier than I wanted it to.

He shrugged and smiled to ease the thick fat of awkwardness. "Yeah, well, you know." He didn't say it but this was the new normal for him, which was fine, but it was different from what I knew. When I dreamed about him or pictured him, it was still with a curling mop top or, you know, just the mop if I was dreaming of '09.

"Tattoo too," I added.

"Yeah."

"You're a changed man."

"Yeah."

Our heads ducked down and we stared at the menus in silence. It was a challenge of who would speak first—seriously speak, not those little comments over what looks good.

After we ordered, I said, "Sorry I'm not able to go tonight."

He waved me off. "You've already been to too many shows. Don't worry."

"Well, I like going. It feels weird not to go."

"Yeah." Somewhere in that word, I knew what he meant. It had been years since Alex had the ability to spot people in the crowd, but he told me once that there was a comfort in knowing I was somewhere in there, that even if he messed up, there would always be someone there at the end of it all. I wonder if he was still getting used to someone else being at the end of it all.

He sipped his water to cut off the look on his face. I decided to cut to the fat of it. "I, uh, have something to give you."

"Why do I feel like it's something bad?" He cracked a laugh, lifting the air in the room.

I picked up my bag. "I hope not."

I dug through my things slowly. It was held in my hands but I still had to catch my breath before I lifted it out. I saw a squint on his face as he tried to imagine what it was. I passed it across the table and his hands took it. That is when it all started to feel real; seeing his eyes land on it, his hands run down its spine with him smiling. "It's a first edition," I joked.

He raised an eyebrow, flipping it open. "Is it signed?" I laughed. I'm not sure what made me happier: him holding my book or joking around with him again. He opened the other end of the book. "Good author photo."

"I'm quite happy with it." Somewhere in that bittersweetness, I did feel content. It was never how I imagined him holding my first book. Parts of me were swallowed with sorrow that I would never experience this in the way I wanted—a desperate romantic lovemaking all-consuming kind of way—but there were small parts in me that were happy that we could still have this. I don't know if we kept dragging things out this would have been as joyous. That this would have felt like closure.

Alex looked up, meeting my eyes. A small smile played on his lips. The kind that can't be faked in any way. It was real and from the hurt. It was that pride he always had in me. The pride that kept me going for far longer than I'd ever imagined. I wrote the book, but he made the book. I never would've written anything close to it without him. I'd probably be stuck fucking Robert in London if it wasn't for him. It was my reassurance to him that he didn't have to make up for the sudden move to LA as he constantly tried to do. He wasn't in the book, but he was the book. It's why I dedicated it to him. It's why on the last page of his edition of the book I wrote: Don't make fun of me, Al. Thank you for this. I hope you know why. Love, Jane C.

I questioned the "love" part. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable but it would have been far more awkward to write something like "sincerely." I wasn't one for lying, especially about my love for Alex. It was something layered. It didn't rest in that romantic love. He wasn't just my boyfriend and he wasn't just my best friend. It's hard for a writer to find the word. It's nudged somewhere in this book. In all these little words.

"I wanted you to be the first to have it," I said. "Well, one of the first. Wanted to see the look on your face."

He looked back down at the book. Mild disbelief spread across his face as he looked back and forth between the book and me. "Thanks." He wasn't sure what else to say. He rolled everything around and looked as if he was choking on the bone of a chicken.

"It's been a little weird these past few months," I said while picking at my fingernails, an assured sign to Alex that I was referring to us. "I don't want it to feel weird. So, don't cry or anything," I joked.

He chuckled, dislodging the lump. He flipped the book over one more time before placing it on the table. "I'll try not to. I knew you could do it." He stared right at me, emphasizing every little syllable. The awkwardness faded from him and he leaned onto the table. His smile was small but bright. I could find a million different meanings in it, each meaning just as much.

"I know you did. You always did," I told him. "I had this dream last night. It was weird and blurry but we were driving around Sheffield or some weird ghost thing was driving us. It's hard to describe. I don't know. I think it was a sign or something. I'm not sure of what but just those early days of us talking. That's when I really started to write. I suppose my mind was thinking about this lunch and conjured up some old memories."

He smiled at me the whole time, eyes never leaving me, even when I glanced away. "Well, I had a dream that I was one of the animals left off of Noah's Ark, so, you tell me what that means."

I told him it had something to do with his fear of being left behind and he rolled his eyes and said I was trying to be Freud. Lunch came and we ate and laughed and agreed to split the check. He told me he would read the whole book tonight if he could. We hugged goodbye and he whispered in my ear, "I'll send you a proper review."

A few days later, Alex emailed me. It was long. Very long and detailed like he had taken a note on every page. He pulled the sentences he liked the most out, which turned out to be about half the book. I would later write back and ask what that meant for the other half of the book. He said they were left off Noah's Ark too. Continuing his initial email, Alex wrote at the bottom:

You did it. I hope you feel that too. Thank you, Al.

*

I had a book tour. A minimal one since there wasn't the highest of expectations and I didn't want to go to Omaha, Nebraska. So, there was Boston, New York, Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles. I hated the whole thing. I always wanted to go to these places but I wasn't really going to these places. We lingered in Chicago at the end of July, but it was the equivalent of touring with Alex, except this time I was Alex.

I've never enjoyed talking about my work either but it was nice that people thought it was nice. But that part still felt awkward to me too. Like, people actually read this??? It eased up as it went along. It was a short tour anyway. I wasn't going to Tokyo or anything.

I thought about myself a lot. It was a little lonely but I had adapted to that. Jackson was my only company on the road and it was easy for us to get sick of one another. We had both grown bored with one another, both slightly exhausted from these months so closely intertwined. I thought about Al, often. I thought about myself, often.

Could it be possible that I did everything right? No. I never thought that but I didn't think I did everything wrong. I had cracks in the surface of me and guts that spilled out. I said everything with my pen but nothing with my lips. I hid myself under the disguise of a freshly lonesome girl who knew the only means to move on was to forget. But I didn't forget anything, only myself, just for a little. Pieces of me dropped on the side of the highway. We drove for days and I found no meaning in it, only wondering did he feel like this all the time? How did he bear this loss of self?

I asked myself questions and never got any answers. I felt everything but there was never any meaning in it. There were closed-off vessels, no means to transport blood or oxygen, yet, I was still moving. I suppose that was the only thing left to cling to. I still had the memory of it and those never made me sad. I experienced it. How fortunate was I to be cracked open and exposed to this impenetrable love? I still felt it. We were both on the end of the same wire. It was bent and twisted, knots made to keep strong but disrupt transmission. No love lost. Just changed. I know good comes from change. I didn't feel the goodness but I could taste it coming. So much else was happening. I would hate myself forever for wasting those precious few days of enjoyment in place of a relationship that didn't need nourishment anymore. It was about me. I wanted it to be about me for so long and it finally was. Don't waste it.

The mini-tour ended in LA at the start of August. Summer had whipped me in the face so hard I forgot the season even existed, until I was stuck in the sweaty, SoCal heat, dying for a drop of water. The first night—the day before the Q&A and book signing—Jackson and I got dinner and drinks with Opal.

It was nice to let loose after feeling so pinned up for most of the summer. The liquor soothed my sunburnt skin and I decided the tour as a whole wasn't too bad—I was about 3 drinks in at this point. Then, after another drink, I texted Alex telling him I was in town. The last we chatted was a week or so before when the band opened for the London Olympics. I watched it later on YouTube and told him he did a bang-up job. He told me he nearly shat himself.

Alex had returned to LA since. The city had become his permanent home since the tour had ended. He bought a house out here and everyone in the band, for the most part, had relocated too. So, in my drunken state, I told him I was there and we should hang before I went back to New York.

When I woke up, it was an embarrassing text of I'm in LA, AL. Even in my drunken state, I wrote with proper grammar. Alex wrote back, Come on over. This was in the early hours of the day so he must have been up by some similar means too.

The following night, I panicked. I wondered if this is what single people felt like all the time. Prior to this, I had never faced intimidation when hanging out with Alex, except maybe when I was 17 and that type of thing could be labelled as teenage anxiety. But, no, this was a thing that would plague me the rest of my dating life and I wasn't even going on a date with him. Alex is the only "ex" I had stayed in contact with up to that point. Most of my friends didn't do this type of thing either, at least not Opal who lived by the mentality that once people were gone they were gone forever.

Half my anxiety came from the limited wardrobe out of my suitcase but considering it was just dinner and a dinner that would be had with the other bandmates and the girlfriends, there should've been no pressure. I wouldn't have told you this at the time, I barely want to write it down now, but the nerves I felt weren’t because of Alex, they were because of Arielle. Part of me wanted to be conceived as a non-threat. I was over those days. The other part of me—the stronger part—wanted her to be jealous of me and question why Alex and I ever broke up. I wasn't fully-formed yet. 

The two sides fought and then I just settled on jeans and a tank top because it was boiling outside and I was having drinks at Al's place, not the Windsors. Luckily, I showed up after Jamie and Katie so I thought of using Katie as a shield. I didn't accept Katie and Arielle to be talking though. The word traitor crossed through my brain and then I thought I must be regressing to my college days when Rosie and Will would feel each other up in front of me. Arielle was nice and I was probably an anxious bitch.

So, I hugged both of them as Alex came into the living room. He was staggering, dressed casually beside his uniform slicked hair. "Hey there," he greeted. He was calm, not an awkward bone in his body. He knew he had the upper hand. We were on his home turf with his hot girlfriend and I was a single mess who had been on plane after plane and stunk of cigarettes.

The room was hot with sweat dripping off every surface it seemed. The air conditioner was running but the flaming air came rushing in with the swing of the front door as Matt and Breana entered. The room became distracted by them, both looking darling. I hugged each of them, distracting myself in their grasp.

Arielle had lit candles for the dining table. It was the only thing formal about the informal event. The house itself was rather bare. Alex never carried much, I was always the one with the shit. 

Alex tapped my arm. "You want a drink?"

"What do you have?" I asked.

He waved his arm and I followed him to the kitchen, isolating ourselves. "Beer, wine, tequila, vodka, all the fixings. I can make you something if you'd like. Margarita?"

"Anything non-alcoholic?" Alcohol would ease my nerves but it would lead to my loud mouth and I couldn't afford that tonight.

He looked bewildered. "Who are you?" He joked.

We kept our distance. I pushed my hair behind my shoulder. "Got real drunk with Opal and Jackson last night. Figured I'd keep it clean. At least for now."

"Right then. Iced tea?"

He knew me well. I laughed at his smile and agreed to this. I moved closer to the refrigerator to just feel the cold air on my skin. He poured the glass, leaving the door open for me. I chugged the coldness like it was the elixir of life. It felt like my lungs re-inflated when the liquid dispersed and his eyes looked at mine again, so clearly over that fogged-up glass. Wet brown eyes into my baby blues and it felt like he might reach out and snatch them out of my eyes and keep them for himself. He always liked them. He has a thing for blue eyes.

We talked around the dining table, eating a mix of something Arielle had cooked and pizza. I had the pizza. Everyone talked loosely about things I had no knowledge of. Jokes about LA and all these people I had no concept of. I suppose if they had come to New York it would have been similar, except they all shared this with one another.

The sweet Breana turned the attention onto me, which partially made me shrink and revel in the joy of being included. "Oh, Jane, I loved the book!" Everyone chanted in similar sentiments all at once.

I laughed and took a bite of my pizza crust. "You didn't all read it," I laughed.

"I read parts of it," Jamie said. They were all sweet but I'm unsure how often any of them even had the chance to pick up a book, let alone their best friend's ex-girlfriend. Because that's what I was now. That was my title.

Alex looked at me. I could hear my mother's words ringing through his lips so I smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Disappointed I wasn't in it more," Matt said. "You know if it wasn't for me the book would've never been made." The long story of it has made that true but I can't give Matt credit for everything, it might go to his head too much.

"How's that?" Arielle asked. Everything shifted after that. We could all tell that she had been the wrong one to ask that question. Whether she was clueless and curious or was trying to make a dig at Alex, I wasn't sure, but I felt like an imposition being there. I didn't feel like an out-of-town friend. I felt like an ex-girlfriend.

Nobody spoke so I spoke. "Matt introduced me and Alex." I sipped my drink to wash down any other awkwardness.

Everyone seemed awkward other than Arielle. She quickly nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, Al told me that." I wondered why everyone else was so stiff when Arielle didn't seem to have much of a problem with it. Why should she when she looked like that?

I felt frumpy and had to pee badly from all the iced tea I had drank but I was too scared to go to the bathroom and see her things mixed with Alex's things. I could leave there with ambiguity and the belief that Alex didn't move on so quickly and I was stuck being alone.

"That was our first gig," Matt said. He seemed to relax, always the person to slice through any amount of tension. "Almost 10 years ago now."

"What was it like?" Arielle asked.

"Awful," Alex said. His eyes pointed toward me. "Right?"

"I don't know. I never reviewed it, remember?" He laughed and it felt inappropriate to display this inside language in front of everyone. "It feels weird that I'm the only one here who watched it." Even if that had been the case for many years, it had been a while since we all gathered around in a circle and talked about those days.

"I wasn't even there," Nick remarked. The room buckled with chuckles.

I laid my forehead against the palm of my hand resting against the table. "God," I said, "I spent that whole show with Will’s hand on my ass and Joanie screaming in my ear."

"Oh, god, Joanie," Matt muttered.

"Oh, god, Will," Jamie cracked.

"She got married last month," I told them. She had invited me but I was in the middle of the tour. We talked about once a year and everything was always nice. The only time I would've had the chance of running into her was when Alex and I visited Sheffield and that obviously wasn't happening anymore.

"Bless that man's heart," Matt quipped.

I shook my head. "No, she seems to have settled down in the last few years. I guess we all did. Seems so long ago."

"It was," Alex said. "We're getting old, Janie." His silence punctured the air. My lungs felt like they were deflating. He poured himself another glass.

Things grew looser and looser. They rattled off stories of LA, I rattled off stories from the road. Arielle excused herself to bed, citing an early morning. Her bed was upstairs.

Each couple left one by one until Alex and I awkwardly remained. I figured then I should leave. He walked me to the door with a freshly poured glass in his hand. "Hope I didn't keep you up too late," I said because I wasn't sure what else to say. It reminded me of what my parents said to each other after a fight. It was the one thing they clung to in order to keep their marriage somehow working.

He shook his head and sipped. "No, no. It's fine. You're always good company."

I shrugged. The whole thing kind of felt awkward, at least with him. I could laugh with Matt and throw my arm around Katie, even hug Arielle good night, but whenever my eyes landed on Alex, I tensed up so tightly I knew I'd be sore the next day. "If you're ever in New York or whatever."

He nodded and smiled. He would be visiting his old apartment. I wondered how that would make him feel. Was it the same when I walked into his house and noticed different shoes by the door than mine? Would the emptiness of his presence leave him uneasy? "I'd like that," Alex said.

"Thanks for having me." We reached the door and the end of the night but we stayed awkwardly staring at each other.

"Course. Text me when you're back at the hotel and safe and all that." He was drunk, rambling with an incapability of holding his tongue.

I smiled. "I will."

I didn't know whether to hug him or not. He leaned forward and kissed me. It wasn't affectionate. It was a peck. The kind my mother used to give me when left for school in the morning. Of course, she was my mother and I was 7 and Alex was drunk and I was, well, awkward. 

I said, "Night," and turned away. We never talked about it because there was nothing to talk about. It very well could have been a kiss on the cheek just like I gave Katie and Breana before they left. Of course, that was Katie and Breana and this was Alex—no longer mine.

*

Rain pattered against the window. Jackson and I returned to New York a week prior and we were now sitting in my apartment, drinking, and about to call Opal to join us. I felt dizzy and Jackson looked sleepy. It had been a long month.

"So," he said, "what's next?"

I finished off my glass. "What do you mean?" The year felt empty as the cold was beginning to creep into my summer warmth. 2012 was a bumpy year where so much yet so little happened. I was growing sick of my apartment because no matter how rid it was of Alex, he still had a whole life with me here. When I returned to it after the book tour, I was ready to move on.

Jackson placed his arm on the back of the couch. The tips of his fingers softly poked at my shoulder. "Now it's time to think about the next book."

I tossed my head back with a groan. "Gimme a break."

He chuckled and placed his empty glass on the end table. "No rush. For now."

I sat up straight, finishing off my glass, and growing more and more serious every day. "Thanks for doing this for me, Jackson."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I feel kind of empty," I confessed.

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I didn't feel like explaining it. I was growing tired of doing that with people. My stomach ached and I pushed Alex out of my mind. I felt that I had sacrificed our relationship for this success, even if it wasn't true. I thought I would have been over it by that time of year. It had been over a year. But it still felt so unnatural for him to feel so far removed from my life. Every word we spoke felt tinged with sadness and I didn't want it to feel that way. I wanted to move on.

I kissed Jackson. He kissed back. We never called Opal.

*

Jackson and I started dating in a casual way. We were exclusive to one another and treated each other as a boyfriend and girlfriend would but I suppose my association with dating was always a far deeper connection. I wasn't alone in this. Jackson had long-term girlfriends prior to me. He was older than me, not by some outrageous amount. He was born in 1979, seven years older, but I was 26 and 33 didn't feel so far off.

Opal loved it. She felt like the ultimate matchmaker and wanted to be both the maid of honor and the best man. My New York crew loved him. Fennel and Kaka found him to be rich in conversation. He liked going out more than Alex but then again most people liked going out more than Alex. Except more and more it seemed Alex enjoyed the going out part. (I was taken but I was still a snooping ex-girlfriend).

I didn't tell Alex. It felt awkward to call him up and tell him I got a new boyfriend. I decided to tell him when I saw him again, which didn't come up. He was in Los Angeles. I was in New York. We didn't talk very often either. I think I called him once in October because I couldn't remember the name of a restaurant we went to (he didn't remember either). 

Other than that, there wasn't much reason to talk. We had completely separate lives. But I was aware of what he was up to. I wasn't cyber-stalking him much anymore (only on nights when I was wildly intoxicated). I talked to Katie occasionally and texted Breana from time to time. Things about Alex would slip through the cracks and get to me but the majority of it was just that they were recording their new album.

We had both moved on. Or we were both pretending we did. At least I was pretending, in some form. I thought about him all the time. I didn't feel like a day went by when I didn't think about him. It wasn't in some romantic longing way. I had shared a life with him from such a young age and to be forced apart from it felt unnatural. There were so many jokes and stories that went untold because no one would get it but him.

When I went back home for the holidays, I confided this to my mother. I don't know why, maybe because of what she had told me so many years ago in Florida. I don't know if my mother ever actually liked Alex so I figured if she said awful things about him it would make me feel better. Of course, she didn't.

"It goes away," she said. "One day, you wake up and you're numb to it. You just get numb to it in the end, Jane. All those people you hated and loved turn to nothing. Even the ones you still want to love. You'll be thankful for it when the day comes that you don't feel anything anymore."

I frowned and my mother left me on the couch to fetch another bottle of wine. In retrospect, my mother was suffering from mental illness, but I was oblivious to that because I had grown oblivious to most of my mother's behavior. I just didn't want to engage with it anymore. Maybe part of me was numb toward her.

I didn't want to feel nothing. I couldn't imagine not feeling anything for Alex, even if we remained friends for the rest of our lives. I had tethered so much sentimentality toward him, he might as well have been a knick-knack on my shelf. Letting go of him would be letting go of an entire part of myself. I was content if that part only came out once a year when I saw him but I couldn't let go of it forever.

*

Joanie was having a baby. She likely got pregnant on her honeymoon. Someone my age having a child felt unnatural. I pictured Joanie being a teen mum, not a 26-year-old pregnant woman. She invited me to the baby shower taking place right after Christmas. It was ideal timing since all her closest friends would be in town or, like me, the country.

I debated going but decided that since I missed the wedding the least I could do was go to the baby shower. So, I drove the Beetle up to Wakefield. I figured it would be a mini-reunion. The only one I had seen as of late was Claire, who lived in Bristol now, and I hadn't seen since last winter.

We drove up together and listened to Radio 2 on full blast the whole way. I don't think I had ever felt more like a teenager even when I was a teenager. Claire continued her streak of always being a comfort for me. While other friends might be wedding and birthing, Claire had just ended her two-year-long relationship and gagged in her mouth at the thought of being a mother one day. 

It made me miss England so desperately. I forgot how much I ached to drive, which I hadn't done in years. The closest I had gotten to a car was the one taxi ride home drunk at 4 AM. And to drive on the left side of the road! I hadn't heard someone speak in a British accent since the dinner at Alex's. It eased my ears and made me wonder why I ever left, which just led to me thinking about Alex again.

Claire said, "I hate Alex, which sucks 'cause I like Alex." In a way, it summed up how conflicted I felt. Hate is a strong word but I was resentful for how everything went down. Then again, I probably didn't have much of a right.

Joanie's house was straight out of a picture book. I didn't know houses like that even existed in Wakefield. It wasn't fancy but at the sight of it, you'd call it a home. She had a little garden in the front that she said her husband grew herbs in that she used for cooking. It made Claire and I roll our eyes but we both desperately wanted that kind of companionship. If I ever would learn how to cook or grow plants, maybe that could be my life. I refused to do either, but it was a nice thought.

I bought Joanie—or Joanie's baby—these cozy fleece booties because that's what New York Magazine said to get. I never bought anything for a baby before (I got away with it two years ago during Harper's unmentioned pregnancy of my first nephew, Benjamin, by having my mother buy a gift for me) so I had no clue what to get. I bought Joanie this nice set of body washes that were her favourite when we were 17 with the hope that they either still were or she would feel nostalgic over them.

Claire and I ate a slice of cake and watched Joanie open her presents. Halfway through we turned to each other and decided we were going to go out drinking after. I love Joanie but oohing and awing over baby gifts with a bunch of women I barely knew got old quickly, especially incredibly sober and in the middle of the winter blues. The cake was good though.

The shower ended around 4 and while I was down to get hammered that early, Claire wanted to go out to lunch first. We ended up meeting up with AB at a pub. I hadn't seen AB since 2006 and I nearly cried at the sight of him all grown up. Claire and AB had broken up long ago but stayed in touch as good friends and if they could do it—two incredibly mature people—maybe Alex and I could too. 

AB's girlfriend of two years (and future wife), Shay, joined us as well. It almost made me barf how gorgeous they were together and I was shocked Claire wasn't fuming more over how beautiful Shay was. I was almost fuming over how beautiful Shay was!

AB sipped on a beer, which I don't think I had ever witnessed. He shared it was Shay and I swallowed down my drink at the painful thought that Alex and I once did things like that. I was such a sad sack. I thought about calling Jackson. Thank god I didn't.

We left the pub, hugging AB and Shay goodbye next to the Beetle. Claire and I were going to go back to the hotel to change out of our baby shower clothes and "hit the town.”

We waved goodbye to the couple and that's when I saw Alex with his mum. I turned my back to him and grabbed Claire's arm. "I think I'm gonna vomit."

She looked at me completely puzzled. "What? Why?"

I was so freaked out by the sight of him. I think the unexpected nature of it threw me off-balanced. I had never been that unnerved by the sight of him. My head felt like my brain was about to burst out of my ears. "Get in the car," I harshly muttered to her.

She was still unaware but she raced around the side of the car to get into the passenger seat. We bolted out of there before he crossed the street.

*

It was midnight when I called him. I was definitely drunk, but not wasted, standing outside a club smoking while Claire chatted up with some guy inside. I was freezing and felt so childish for doing it, even in the moment, but I wanted to see him. It shouldn't feel right that I was here and he wasn't.

"Hello." His voice was clear so he hadn't been sleeping. I wonder if he was in bed (with Arielle).

I swallowed whatever dignity I had left and let the rest loose. "Hey. I'm in Wakefield for Joanie's baby shower 'cause apparently we're old enough to have children now and now I'm out with Claire at a club. We drove up together from Bath, well, Bristol for her, Bath for me, but you know that. Jesus. I saw you earlier today and raced into my car because I was so scared by the sight of you, which made me realize I'm not as mature as I thought I was. And it was just after we went to lunch with AB and Shay and Claire and AB still get along like they didn't have this romantic relationship and I know that we get along too but I raced to my car and nearly shit myself. Now, I'm outside a club smoking in the middle of winter because I apparently regress back to teenage tendencies when I'm in Yorkshire or maybe just England in general. Anyway, I'm drunk and I'm thinking this was stupid and it probably is but I know you're probably laughing at me right now but I'm freezing my ass off and I can't figure out how to get back inside the club and Claire isn't answering her phone, which means she's probably shagging someone or something and I wouldn't want to interrupt that, you know, and I probably should just get a cab back to the hotel but I called you for some reason. Well, not for some reason because I'm drunk. Okay, now you talk."

I was out of breath and sure I had just lost my mind. I need another shot of tequila. I felt I was growing too sober to face the repercussions of this. I took a drag of my cigarette and listened to his breathing on the other end of the line.

I could hear his smile. I still had a knack for that kind of thing. "I saw you too, you know."

I slapped my forehead and thought about slamming my head into the brick wall until it broke my skull and my brain gushed out. "Did it look like we were being held at gunpoint?"

He chuckled lowly. "A little. But I must've looked like someone pointed a gun at me. I'd recognize that car anywhere, Janie."

I didn't know what to say. My car was such a sensitive topic for both of us. It was the cornerstone (ha) of our relationship, especially for the car to be returned to its rightful county. I thought I'd feel weird driving it but everything felt right like it was a complete homecoming. Like nature had found its way and every piece fell perfectly into the puzzle.

"I thought I would be grown up by now," I confessed.

He suppressed a laugh. "I like you this way. Makes me feel less alone."

"How so?"

He waited, not wanting to fully let the truth go but it was me he was talking to. There wasn't much point in lying. "I've called you in various states of intoxication too."

"Not after running to your car," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll do it one of these days." It was a silence but a vibration rang across the line to one another. Call it a vibe or a wavelength or just a feeling, but I could feel him like he was standing right next to me. "Where are you?"

It was so embarrassing I laughed. "Che & Coco." It was Barnsley College's resident bar and nightclub. The average age of the crowd was barely 20 and I felt like such a loser trying to claim that nostalgia is what made me want to club there.

"Geez, you really are down bad." His laughter rang through the phone and I nearly hung up due to how beet red my face was. He laughed and laughed. I could picture him with his hands on his knees, walking home from Will's house, unable to breathe he was laughing so hard. Then, I couldn't breathe. "You want me to pick you up?"

I'd like that a lot but I couldn't take it. That was a bridge too far. "No, no. I'll just call a taxi or something. Maybe even walk. My hotel isn't that far."

"You're gonna walk in Barnsley at midnight? Hope you don't get hit with a beer bottle," he joked. That had happened to Will back in the day. I'm convinced it made him even dumber if that's possible.

"I've walked later than this in New York," I reasoned.

"Janie," he stopped me, "I'd like to see you if you won't run away from me."

I sighed. "I'll see you in 20. I'll be waiting on Peel." Because maybe I would like to see him too.

He pulled up in his mum's car. It wasn't her car from way back in the day but it made him feel sophomoric to me. His hair wasn't gelled up, instead falling around in tendrils of combed-back magic. He had a hoodie on and a smile on his face. He honked the horn of the car and I dashed across the street to his car.

The car was warm, at least warmer than outside where I had been suffering. I tugged my coat closer and put my seatbelt on. "Hi."

Alex smiled over at me. "Hi." He pulled back onto the road and I couldn't remember the last time he had driven me. "How've you been?"

I shrugged in his peripheral vision. "Fine. Christmas was fine. My dad bought me Slouching Toward Bethlehem."

Alex laughed. "About 10 years too late."

"Yeah, but at least he's trying. I can't remember the last time he bought me a gift." My mother handled all the presents, something she was rather good at, even if it always felt like she didn't know me.

We stopped at a red light. "I didn't get anything for you," he said while looking over at me.

"Well, I didn't get you anything either." First time in eight years. It didn't even cross my mind. "This is enough of a present anyway."

He nodded in agreement. "Good." I believed him. The nod of his head told me that this meant as much to me as it did to me. Drunk actions are sober thoughts and sometimes I just wanted to hear his voice.

We kept driving. I had yet to tell him any directions. He was headed the right way but I wouldn't have had the willpower to tell him anyway. I liked driving around with him. I liked just this. The vibration of the road beneath us and the scent of him washing over me. The slowness of Yorkshire and the heat of him beside me. It made everything feel right.

"Arielle come with you?"

He rubbed his eye. He looked tired. "Nah. She went to her parents’." I nodded and he waited, looking over at me. I stared at him blankly. He looked back at the road and kept the car moving. "What about, uh, Jackson?"

My head snapped toward him. "He's at his parents’." I picked at my nails. I didn't want to talk about this. Why did it feel like I was cheating on him? It felt like Alex had died and I was some widower trying to move on but his ghost was coming back to shame me.

"Katie mentioned something," he muttered.

"Yeah," I explained, "just a few months."

He nodded slowly. "He's a nice guy." I laughed out loud. He laughed too, for some reason. "What?"

I shook my head. "We don't have to talk about my boyfriend."

"Okay. We don't have to talk about Arielle." It was probably some form of cheating, emotionally. We gazed at one another and never acted on anything, but the aftertaste of it didn't feel right. But in the moment, everything had fallen perfectly into place.

We went nowhere and neither of us said a single thing about it. The drive from the club to my hotel was ten minutes. We drove around for an hour.

"Joanie's house is beautiful. It's like my dream house. It isn't big but it's not a cottage or anything. But it's quaint. She's got plants and I never thought Joanie could take care of a living thing and now she's gonna have a baby," I told him. I fiddled with the radio, even though we weren't gonna listen to it.

"Are you sure they aren't fake?" He joked. I chuckled and hit his shoulder. "Eh! Watch it. I'm driving here, missy."

I held my hands up as a defense. I eased them back down with a giggle and tugged on my seatbelt strap. "You know, I thought I'd have a baby by now."

He snorted. "No, you did not."

"At one point I did. I mean, back before you. Like when I was still playing with dolls." 

He laughed again and everything made sense. "Good thing you don't. You can't even keep a plant alive."

"They're not self-sufficient enough."

"And you think a baby will be easier?"

"Not anymore but at six I did! It was right around when Stacey was born. I took good care of her."

Alex felt warm with a smile. "You did." He was an only child but at times I felt he might consider her a sister too. She considered him a brother. He had been around since she was 11. She was only a little over a year away from graduating university. 

"Granted I didn't have to breastfeed her."

It was still dark outside but it felt like the sun was rising in that car. "You wouldn't be happy living Joanie's life."

"How do you know?" I questioned. "Maybe if I was settled I'd feel better."

Alex's jaw gaped. He breathed a laugh and I looked over at him curiously. "Jane, you'd be losing your mind. The whole time I knew you here, you were begging to get out of here."

"Maybe I had it all wrong."

He shook his head, never looking over at me, just driving. "You're a completely different person because you got out of here. You're gonna get all that stuff one day. The kid, the garden, whatever the fuck you want, but you'd never have what you have no if you stayed put. You always knew what you wanted. Your gut is always right. I've learned that."

I sighed and accepted he was right. "Grass is always greener, I guess."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I think you have the greenest grass. You're the one who's a bestseller."

I rolled my eyes and leaned on the center console. "She's the one with the husband and baby."

He scoffed, "So is half the world. You have a tough time being proud of your accomplishments."

I gasped. "Look who's talking. My god!"

Alex chuckled and it felt like food for my soul. Fertilizer to my soil to keep growing. "Fair enough. But be cocky every once and a while, Janie. You deserve it."

I took what he said to heart but ignored him. I wanted to talk about something else. I wanted to put my feet in his lap and ride to Charlton Brook. Instead, I leaned back and looked at him. "We used to talk about the future so much and now it's come and gone."

"You're not dead yet." But we were. I think that's what I really meant. All those things I had planned with him and I had to be content with letting them go. Watching those promises slip through my fingers. I had no right to feel that way but it's all I felt.

I wanted to tell him I loved him with the windows rolled down and the cold air rushing in because he used to let me do that. I believe that right had been revoked. "I missed it here." The truth was hidden in those words, in between the lines, deep in those letters, stuffed in between them.

He hummed, glancing over. "Me too. Everything feels a little simpler."

I heard the radio speaking, ringing some familiar tune that I couldn't think of the name. Maybe if it had been a little simpler and Alex and I stayed there forever, in the car ride between Wakefield and High Green, we'd have a house, a garden, a ring, a little thing on the way. 

But I would've missed out on a lot more. I would have missed out on a lot of Alex. How he was with his hair long in the middle of Joshua Tree, looking over at me instead of the night sky. How he made up our bed in our London studio apartment into a couch because we didn't have enough space for one. How he felt sitting next to me on the C train at 2 AM. How he felt in the dead of winter in Yorkshire, somehow ending up at my hotel with a hoodie I used to wear and a smile he still wears just for me.

I'll never know otherwise. And that's fine.

*

a/n: this was a struggle but i think it landed right in the end. much, much more to come.

[bellobambino]

BECSPK

A Luigi Mangione Fic

748w

Summary: Luigi risks it all for some real fucking food.

Author's Note: yeahcanigetuhhhhhh -- lulu is hiding, planning, plotting.

November 27, 2024. Paterson, NJ

I'm cracking open yet another can of Chef Boyardee, staring at the contents. This looks like worms. And this was the most appealing option. Hunger recently has morphed into a strange dull ache and fatigue that i don’t even associate with food anymore.

I opened the cabinet where I stored the cornucopia of sadness. A whole lineup of despair in aluminum. Corn. Green Beans. Spam. Baby mushrooms. There's only so many vienna sausages a guy can eat before he ends up on the news. Squatting there, holding open the cabinet, I caught sight of my wrists. Thin. Weirdly thin. I'm starting to not recognize my own body. My usually bronzed and built, gym bro body.

And it pissed me off. I slammed the cabinet so hard it left a brief ringing in my ears. I took up my pacing route through the apartment, fists clenched. My head was swimming, and my vision was vibrating with my sudden rage. Or maybe it's the hunger. Probably both. I rubbed my eyes hard with my fists, then scratched my scalp with my fingernails just to break myself out of my sudden insanity.

Executive decision: I need to get some real food. Something made by a human being that’s warm and wasn’t sitting in a can since the Obama administration. I didn’t give a rats ass about being ‘missing’. I’m about to risk it all for a bacon, egg, and cheese.

I threw on a hoodie and jeans, grabbed twenty bucks, and left before I could reconsider. I locked  the door and then triple-checked it because paranoia is free and I’ve got it in spades.The air outside is terribly cold, stabbing through my hoodie like needles, but I don’t care. The fresh air woke me up, and it was almost… nice. I hadn’t left this dump in months, and just being out felt like stepping into Disney World.

I could see the fluorescent lights of the B&G bodega spilling out onto the cracked sidewalk, a warm yellow glow was my light at the end of the tunnel..But when I finally got there and opened the door, the warmth and smell of grease and coffee hit me like a gift from God.

The guy behind the counter barely looked up when I ordered. “Bacon, egg, and cheese, salt, pepper, ketchup on a hard roll,” He nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, then wiping that on his apron. Okay, gross, but i’d be dumb to say anything. 

While he worked the grill, I wandered. The shelves were stocked with the usual bodega mix: snacks, basic pantry items, cleaning supplies, and—wait, plants? There was a whole section dedicated to houseplants under grow lights. Why? Who knows. Maybe the owner was trying to class the place up a bit. Big job for a philodendron. 

That’s when I saw it. Nestled behind the plants, lounging like a little furry king, was a cat. A gray and white tabby, all curled up under the warmth of the grow lights. I swear it looked like something out of a Christmas card. I nearly gasped. I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached out and scratched its neck. And you know what? The little guy loved me. Started rubbing against my hand, purring like a motorboat. For a moment, I forgot about everything—my hunger, my situation, the cold. Just me and this cat. “You like that, huh?” I muttered, smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks.

The ding of the register snapped me out of it. My sandwich was ready. I left the cat reluctantly and walked back to the counter. The guy handed me the foil-wrapped masterpiece, sniffling. I paid, left a tip (because I was raised right), and headed back out into the cold.

Back on the futon in the apartment, I unwrapped the sandwich like it was my birthday. The smell hit me first—bacon, eggs, cheese, all hot and gooey and perfect. I took a bite, and—oh, my god. Chef’s kiss. I actually moaned, like a girl, but I just couldn’t blame me. It was the best thing I’d eaten in months. Probably the best thing I’d ever eaten, period.

For a few minutes, I wasn’t a stalker, or a guy losing himself in some rundown apartment in Paterson. I was just Lu, sitting on a futon, eating the most perfect bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich in the history of the whole world.

[imagionationstation]

22 and 25 please! 🛹 🎲 with Rise!Donnie and Raph

🛹 - I told you you couldn't do a kick flip! 🎲 - The most unlucky day

Raph knew this day had really taken a turn for the worst when Donnie left. It wasn’t as much the fact that he had left as it was how he left.

Fists clenched, eyes watering, and a bleeding scrape down his leg.

Their brothers’ laughter died when they saw his face. They only got a few seconds to process the new reaction to a wipe-out, and none of them were able to decide how to react before he went shooting into the sky at top speeds. Not entirely unexpected, Mikey and Leo immediately turned to him with wide eyes.

It took Raph a while to calm them down, ask for a portal back to the lair, and instruct them to hang back because “Raph’s got it”.

Those words seemed to calm them the most. And thankfully, neither followed when he stepped through the blue vortex.

He stepped in front of Donnie’s door, waited for it to close, and then knocked. Someone blew their nose. The voice croaked, “Go away.”

“But I came all this way.” Raph responded innocently, peeking at the knob. It’s unlocked, so he wants company. “I just wanna talk.”

“You want to comfort me.” Comes the grumpy voice. “I don’t want you to comfort me. Ergo, leave.”

“Yeeeaaaaah,” Raph twists the knob. “Raph’s not gonna do that.”

“You have to respect my wishes.”

“I’m the birthday boy.” He says brightly. The light’s off. He leaves it off and lets the outside light creep into the subway car. “So my wishes are more important than yours today.”

His eyes go to his leg. Blood has stained against the peeled skin. But it’s not still bleeding, so that’s good. There’s no way Donnie’s going to touch it while it looks like that. And he’s not going to let anyone else touch it while he’s high-strung. Hence, Big Brother comfort time.

“Just wanna talk.” He blatantly lies. “No comfort here.”

Donnie grunts disapprovingly into the pillow that he’s lifted to hide his face. He was probably hitting it against his head to rid the energy that still has his hands flexing around the cover.

As long as it’s not his fists…

“It wasn’t that bad of a wipe-out.” He says, somewhat awkwardly as he steps further into the room. “Don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

“Em notemberesed.” Donnie spits bitterly into his pillow. Raph sits next to him, smiling fondly. “Then why’d you run?”

A beat of silence. Donnie mumbles something that he doesn’t catch.

“Come again?” Raph leans closer. “Actually didn’t get that.”

Donnie tears the pillow from his face, throwing it against his lap. “I’m a dumb-dumb!” He glares, fingers digging into the casing. Raph sits up, getting out of reach of impending violence.

He doesn’t lash out. The fury dies some, and then he looks away. “Im a dumbest dumb-dumb and- and I’m ruining things!”

“Don’t talk about my brother like that.” Raph scolds importantly. “He deserves better.”

“I do not if that’s the truth.”

“Cite your sources.” Raph replies, because if it sounds sciencey then Donnie is more likely to open up than if it’s a feeling talk. “Because I don’t believe you.”

“Where have you been?” He snaps, slowly lifting each finger. “You caught me wrapping your gift, your cake had peanuts in it, the movie got lost, I forgot to tell dad about the celebration, April’s not here either, and now this!”

He dramatically gestures at his leg with his hands. Raph can’t help a light, “I told you you couldn't do a kick flip mid-ramp.”

Donnie shoves at him as he expects him too, freezes, and then immediately claws his hands back into the pillow as if to hide them. Guilt clouds his gaze as he glares across the room. “I ruined everything. I’m not ruining anything else.”

“Actually, you’re sources are based.” Raph pauses. “That’s not right. What’s that- that word when you’re like, when you’re judging something unfairly or, like, with your opinion without-“

“Biased.” Donnie interrupts, because he can’t help it.

Raph lights up. “Yeah! You’re biased-“

“I am not.”

“-because none of that was your fault. You told me not to go into the lab, the baker messed up the cake and we are going to sue because allergies aren’t real is stupid-“

Donnie nods solemnly. Confidently, Raph pushes on, “-movie got lost because Leo’s also stupid and forgot to put it away when you asked him too-“ He earns a firmer nod and a small smile, “-dad should have known it was my birthday and April was gonna be here but her mom surprised her by taking her out of town this week and you don’t argue with Mrs. O’Neil.”

Donnie sighs, “But it was my surprise.”

“And it was a great surprise!” Raph grins as the skeptical look. “And I love that you did this for me. We were at an actual extreme skate park! You did that!”

He flushes, “It wasn’t hard.”

“Uh, if it wasn’t hard to clear out an entire skatepark on a weekend afternoon, we would have done it already.” Raph shakes his head with big brother disapproval. “That’s awesome Donnie.”

“Just feels like today keeps going wrong.” Fingers kneed the pillow with less aggression. “I don’t wanna mess it up. Birthdays... Birthdays are important to you.”

“Like my birthdays would be any good if my little brothers weren’t a part of it.” Raph leans to wrap an arm around him, scooting him closer. Donnie cuddles into his side, refusing to look at him. “You’re trying to comfort me.”

“It’s my birthday.” Raph sing-songs. “Birthday means my wishes come truuuee. I want a birthday hug.”

“You are misusing wishes.” Donnie declares as he relaxes into the hold, pillow held to his chest. “But fine.”

And so Raph stays next to him, not about to drag Donnie back out before he’s ready, more than happy to have this moment sown in as a birthday memory. A phone dings and Donnie slowly pulls his out.

He abruptly shoots up, almost hitting Raph’s chin when he leans down to get a look, eyes shining as he gasps, “Dad’s got a cake! One of those ones from the Hidden City that taste exactly like peanut butter but with no real dangers!”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Raph explodes, because he’s been dying for one of those but they couldn’t find a shop that had any. “OH MY GOSH!”

“OH MY GOSH!”

“OH MY GOSH!!”

Donnie scrambles off the bed. “We’re going back! Leo’s portaling him and then he’s grabbing us!” He snatches his board, shoves it into Raph’s hand, and then goes to get the first aid kit. “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” He also pushes that into Raph’s hands as he stims with renewed excitement. “Okay! That’s it? That’s it! Cake! Let’s go!”

Donnie goes to shove him towards the door and Raph eagerly throws it open. Leo’s there waiting for them. Mikey’s gawking at the box that their smug dad holds and Raph scoops Donnie up to charge through.

“This party’s back on!”

Two prompts restricted me so hard but I DID IT!! Not proud of it but I am satisfied. Good job me 👍

[lollipopsie]

going crazy. goobbye.

[sysig]

Pretty clothes for you! ✨ (Patreon)

[mxwhore]

mutuals. i am getting caught in my own bitterness again...