#just stay in your million dollar mansion until it grows back at this point

[doomedpuppetyuri]

shaking milo by that fuckass tuft of fur on his head /silly

[byuntrash101]

PARAPHILIA - Part 7

Pairing: Dom!Baekhyun x You; Boss!Baekhyun x You; CEO!Baekhyun x You

Genre: smutttttt

Tags: cuckolding, cheating, NTR, cum play, dirty talk, name calling (light), edging, oral (f)

Raiting: +18

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: When you are desperate for money you have no choice but to seek the help of Byun Baekhyun: your husband's rich, powerful and wicked boss.

A/N: This is the only part where OC and Baek are not a couple but keep reading it might even be better hehe. Guys this one is one of my faves of this whole series so I hope you like it toooo~ 😇😇 -Cat 😼

Tag list:  @lovebuginlove @calamell @bobohumyonlyboo @smolbeanmika @making-me-blush @wooya1224 @yixing-jaehyun @f4ncyvelvet @lalalala-lav @deligxt @xofanfics @byunsugar @dixnysustae @to-all-the-stories-i-love @artisticcgroove @myexoobsession @geniusloey @blahblahblah-boo @nana-banana @mingiandbaconjam @chanyeolscoon

Tell me if you want to be added/removed

PARAPHILIA masterlist | General masterlist

Gif credit: thristyforbaek

Paraphilia #7: Troilism, Observing one's partner engaged in sexual activities with another person

T H E A L P H A M A L E

"Come on Seokjong, we're going to be late!" you tell your husband as you precede him on the pathway towards the big mansion. Your husband pants behind you.

"I know honey but... slow down a bit, will ya?" He puffs holding his side, difficulty going up the stairs. Your husband was never one to be really fit. He was rather short, not even taller than you and also a little chubby. People often told you that you two were not a good match. Telling you how much more good looking you were compared to him. Often you had to turn down the advances of men that thought themselves to be better than Seokjong but the truth was that you loved him. You loved him exactly the way that he was. Happily married for 4 years now.

Well... That was true up until recently. Even though you try to convince yourself otherwise. Your feelings are... changing.

You ring the doorbell in front of the enormous door of the even more gigantic mansion. While your husband catches up to you.

"Please enter" the distinguished butler says. "Please get seated. Mr Byun will receive you shortly" he points towards comfortable couches placed in the entrance. You look around the now familiar place. The floor is made of black marble tiles, the walls have an elegant white wallpaper with exquisite details. The entrance is very big, so big a renaissance style statue of a woman sits in the middle, while a huge staircase is right in front you.

You know the entrance very well but not the rest of the house because apart from the hall and another room you never visited it. Even though it was your 10th visit. Only two more to go...

After a while the butler came back and signaled you to both go upstairs. You politely nodded and went on your way. You knew exactly where to go...

Last room on your right... Mr Byun's office.

"Enter!" the low voice commanded from behind the door. You pushed in the door, your heart beating loudly.

The first thing you notice is the atmosphere. The big windows that accompanied the tall walls and the high ceilings are covered by curtains. The only light source is the desk lamp placed on the elegant dark wood desk that sits in the middle of the big office. The room is grand, the atmosphere very intimate.

Mr. Byun was standing there, slightly leaning back on his desk, shuffling through some paperwork, absentmindedly playing with the collar of his white shirt.

He wore a really expensive suit, very professional looking. Navy blue with discreet golden yellow accents and of course a thin white shirt that was perfectly hugging his frame. Which made your heart stomp even harder.

Mr. Byun was exactly what every woman would desire. He was handsome, had beautiful shiny chestnut hair. A body shape to die for with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs. Gorgeous smooth skin, the most charming and seductive smile and of course... he was powerful.

Everything about him was, this mansion, the sports cars he drove, the way he dressed, the way he walked and even... The way he looked at you. Like right now.

He lifted his eyes from the paper, when they landed on you he took his time fully appreciating the view. He started with your shoes. You were wearing the sleek black shiny high heeled pumps he had requested for today. Then his eyes went up your legs to the slit of the red bodycon dress you paired with the shoes then to your breasts where his eyes lingered for a bit then to your collarbones then your neck then your plump red lips then finally your eyes.

Definitely you were not growing accustomed to the way he looked at you.

Seokjong also came in panting and profusely sweating. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead. You rolled your eyes at him. You felt bad for that but at the same time... How could you not be mad at him? He was the reason why you were here in the first place.

Seokjong had an addiction. An addiction to gambling. For the past couple of years it has gotten worse, to a point where Seokjong lost 1 million dollars to the mob. It was a colossal amount of money that needed to be paid back right away. So of course you took two other jobs and also borrowed money from your parents but you barely could gather 80 000 dollars. It calmed down the mob for a while but after a time they started to threaten your family and loved ones.

So Seokjong turned to his boss: Byun Baekhyun. He had worked for him all his life and even for his father before he took over the company. So you both went to see him on the top floor of the big company building. Your husband got on his knees and begged him to lend him the money. He told him that he would work his whole life for it. He offered to put Mr. Byun on his will, he even offered him his parent’s farm, which was a ridiculous offer, and he knew it but he just had to take the chance in order to save your marriage, your family and even your life.

But Mr. Byun laughed at his face.

"Look at me... Look at this office. Does it look like there is anything in the world that I can't afford but you... somehow can?" his voice sounded so cold at the time.

"N-no..." Seojong said, lowering his eyes.

You remember how Mr. Byun leaned over your husband still flat on the ground and said:

"Offer me something that's unique, that only you have. Something that money can't buy and I might consider it..." with that his eyes turned to you and he looked at you for the first time like he did moments ago.

You remember how the shivers ran down your spine when his lips curled in a carnivorous smirk, how lust gradually clouded his eyes.

That time, for the first time. You let another man touch you, feel you, and look at you in places that were before only for Seokjong. Only for your husband.

That time, for the first time, at the top floor of the big highrise. You let Mr Byun Baekhyun have his way with you.

That's how you both agreed to let Mr Byun fuck you in front of your husband every month for a whole year in exchange of clearing Seokjong's depts with the mafia.

That was what you were now: Mr. Byun Baekhyun's whore.

"The door, Seokjong" Baekhyun commanded which brought you back to the present moment.

Slowly he walked up to you... Gradually you felt heat washing over you. You didn't want to admit it but there was a moment in time where you started to anticipate every time you had to come into this mansion. Of course you never told anybody, not even yourself.

Baekhyun walked behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. You felt his warm breath brush on your ear and his body press against your back. His fingers brushed up your arm. From your wrist to your shoulder, sending goosebumps all over your body.

Already you felt a tingle build in your core. Because Baekhyun didn't even have to try to get you started. His aura and the simplest, littlest touches were well enough. But the worst part was that he wasn't content with that. Everytime he made sure to drive you crazy with desire, pushing all the right buttons to the point where you were the one begging for him.

Without even a word he slipped one of the spaghetti straps of your dress off your shoulder and started to nibble at your neck and earlobe. You knew your husband was right behind you, watching your every move so you tried your hardest not to make any noise as he planted blue and purple love bites all over you. He smirked when he noticed you were holding yourself back. Because he loved when you resisted him. The more you resisted the more gratifying it was when you finally gave in. And he knew you would... eventually you will give up yourself to him, again.

"Seokjong come here" he commanded while stepping in front of you and standing at a little distance, to be able to fully see you. Your husband shuffled to his side.

"Yes Mr Byun?" he asked looking up at him as he was a lot shorter.

"Strip her for me" he said motioning to you with his chin.

"Yes sir" Seokjong responded. He came to you and slipped off the other strap. Then with caution he slowly pulled on the thin red fabric and rolled the bodycon dress off you. First, your breasts popped out since Mr. Byun specially requested you to not wear a bra. It made him smile and lick his lips when he noticed how hard your nipples already were. Because even though you're trying to resist, your body speaks the truth.

Slowly but surely the dress was completely off you. Leaving you close to naked in your red lace thong and your shiny black pumps.

Baekhyun stayed silent for a minute while he walked around you. Admiring your breasts, your beautiful legs in the shoes he chose and even your perky ass in the minimalistic red thong.

He licked his lips again. Then walked in front of you. He slowly closed in the distance between the both of you until you felt his warm breath tickle your cheeks, his broad torso pressed against your naked chest and his bulge against your stomach. You held in your breath trying to contain the thumping of your heart.

"Seokjong come here" your husband shuffled to him. Baekhyun placed a hand on his shoulder. "There... stand... right there" he said as he placed him exactly facing the both of you only a few centimeters away.

"Pay attention" he told Seokjong, winking at him and playfully padding his shoulder.

"Yes sir" your husband answered.

"Now baby" Baekhyun brought back his attention to you. "Stick your tongue out for me"

Hesitant you slowly opened your mouth to stick out your tongue. Baekhyun glances again at Seokjong, making sure he's watching carefully. Then approaches his face to yours. Slowly he sucked on the tip of your tongue then he pushed his soft lips against yours. Embarking you on a hot kiss. His tongue swirled inside your mouth and as heat started to wash over your body you couldn't help but to look at Seokjong. He didn't lift an eyelash, he was petrified. Baekhyun deepened the kiss. His hand went up your hair, tangling his fingers in it, while the other slipped to your lower back where he pulled lightly on the waistband of the thong to let it slap against your skin. Gradually you felt his bulge harden against your stomach which made the tingly feeling even stronger.

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath and looked at you with a satisfied smile. Stafisified because you couldn't hide anymore. Your eyes were begging him to continue as your body was too... Baekhyun felt that.

"Seokjong" Baekhyun called your husband, before sitting you on the desk and sliding off the red thong, passing it over your heels. "Look, that is what a simple kiss with me does to your wife" he said holding the little fabric in front of your husband face. You felt embarrassment creep up inside you.

The thong was drenched with juices, and you hated that. You hated how this was the truth. Your body was betraying you, craving more of his touches, longing for the moment he was going to be inside you.

Seokjong looked at the shameful result of your arousal and simply nodded.

"Lick it." Baekhyun commanded, smirking. "Taste your beloved wife's desire for my cock"

You whipped your head in the direction of your husband. He, too, looked at you before slowly bringing the red piece of fabric to his face and licking the wet spot. He closed his eyes, his eyebrows creased.

"How is it?" Baekhyun asked.

"Delicious, sir" Seokjong answered, opening his eyes. Baekhyun smirked before turning his attention to you again.

"I want to try it too" he said before crouching down and bringing his face close to your heat. You felt embarrassed. But at the same time you didn't move a muscle because you couldn't wait anymore for him to finally touch you there.

You immediately let your head fall back when you feel his warm and wet tongue on your slit. Slowly going up to your needy clit. A small whimper escapes your lips which makes Baekhyung smile against your folds. His skilled tongue paired with the teasing from earlier makes the knot in your stomach tighten. Really quickly, you feel the pleasure rising uncontrollably. But as soon as Baekhyung feels you twitch under his tongue he slows down to an unbearable pace.

You can't help but whimper desperately. He smirks again and picks up the pace, circling your swollen bud with his tongue.

This time shameless moans escape your lips, the pleasure is just too much and you can't help it. You're so close, you want to cum. But again, he slows down. You look down at him with pleading eyes but don't dare to actually say the words. He smirks at you; he loves to see you struggle like this. He loves the frustration in your eyes.

He starts up again. He gives you just enough to be close to the edge but not enough to actually go over. He keeps you there, in the middle, playing with you, torturing you. And you just can't take it anymore.

"Please" you whisper. He parts his lips from yours.

"Please what?" he says smirking, looking up at you. He brings his hand to your heat and draws small circles on your very sensitive clit. You gasp, biting your lip.

"Please let me cum" you beg in a breath, your head is dizzy, you have trouble keeping your balance on your high heels and you hold on for dear like to the edge of the desk.

"You want to cum baby?" you nod.

"Seokjong come here" your husband comes to stand directly behind him, facing you. "Watch how your wife cums for me".

With that Baekhyun's fingers slip inside you and curl up immediately spotting your good spot. You can't help but to moan loudly. His lips go back to your clit where his tongue continues to tease you further. Only this time, it's to finish the job.

Mercilessly his fingers and tongue attack you, to transform you into a moaning mess and as you feel the knot threatening to come undone you look up at your husband. You feel immense shame to let him see your delighted, sinful expressions from another man's touch. You're ashamed of letting him hear you moan for Baekhyun like that but at the same time... It turns you on so much. When you're met with the disappointed eyes of your husband you are finally able to cum. Your walls tighten around Baekhyun's fingers as you twitch uncontrollably under his tongue. Your juices rush out of you completely soaking the wooden floor. Completely out of breath you squirt all over, a blissful and lingering moan rolling off your tongue.

Baekhyun pulls out his drenched fingers out of you and stands back up before turning to Seokjong.

"Did she ever squirt like this for you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, sir." Seokjong said, lowering his eyes. Baekhyun smirked, satisfied.

You tried catching your breath as you held yourself up on the desk with difficulty.

"Seokjong sit there" Baekhyun said as he pointed to the floor in front of the desk. Seokjong complied and sat his back straight against the darkwood and waited, his eyes locked on the floor.

Baekhyun started to undress himself. One by one he undid the button of his white shirt and took it off. Revealing his perfectly sculpted body. His chest was glistening from lightly sweating. His cologne gracefully floated to your nose. He smelled exactly like he looked: very expensive and manly.

He then took his pants off and kissed you again. Forcing your mouth open with his tongue as he pushed his hips on your stomach. You couldn't wait for him to be inside you.

"Bend over the desk baby" he said softly in your ear.

You turned around and bent over. You were positioned in a way that your husband's face was directly underneath your crotch. This way he had a front row seat on your adulterous sex with his boss.

Baekhyun came over and rubbed his hot tip against your drenched heat. He brushed it against your swollen clit before slowly slipping inside you. You moaned shamelessly at the delicious full sensation he was making you feel. There was no comparison. He was so much bigger than Seokjong.

"Seokjong, did you see how easily I slipped inside her? It's almost like she was made for me" Baekhyun said in a groan. Fully indulging himself in the tightness and warmness of your naughty little pussy.

Seokjong didn't even reply, instead he started to palm himself through his pants. He hated himself for it but he couldn't stop himself from getting aroused. He saw expressions you never made for him. He heard moans he never heard from you. All of that was, inevitably, turning him on.

Baekhyun started to slowly thrust himself in and out of you. You moan for him like he is the only one in the room. At this stage, you don't care one bit about your husband anymore. The only thing that you want is Baekhyun's fat cock rearranging your guts to fit him.

"Please faster" you plead. Baekhyun smirks but decides to grant your wish and goes faster and even deeper inside you. You throw your head back as he tightens his grip on your waist. Making your breast jump and the desk shake to the sound of your skin clashing.

He feels so good inside you, no one can ever fill you up like he does with his huge cock. You moan for him, forgetting about your husband right underneath you. You want Baekhyun to hear how good he makes you feel.

"Does it feel good baby"? he groans in your ear.

"Yes!" you reply without hesitation, his low voice sending goosebumps on your skin.

"Does my cock feel good?"

"Yes! Aaah.. So good!!" you close your eyes as you feel the knot tightening again.

"Yes you're a dirty little slut of a wife" he whispers in your ear.

Seokjong palms himself harder, rubbing circles on his aching cock. Drunk on the sounds that you make only for Baekhyun. Droplets of your juices crash on his cheeks and bottom lip which he sucks off hurriedly. It's almost like you never tasted so good.

Baekhyun picks up the pace again when he feels your pussy tightly gripping on his cock.

"Moan for me slut" he says through gritted teeth.

"Aaaah Baekhyun I'm cumming" you moan shamelessly. But Baekhyun once again slows down, a whimper escapes your lips as you feel your orgasm getting away.

"I'll let you cum if you tell Seokjong how much of a disgraceful wife you are" he says in a low voice, groaning in your ear as he fucks you at an agonizingly slow pace. You whimper, not wanting to go that far.

Seokjong doesn't move anymore, he holds his breath, somehow... he wants to hear that...

Baekhyun violently thrusts inside you to convince you. You scream out a moan to the immensely pleasurable but ephemeral sensation. With a trembling lip you start.

"Seokjong I'm sorry to be such an undeserving wife" you start, Baekhyung goes ever so slightly faster inside you.

"Aaaah... I let Baekhyun fuck me and... Aaaah.. I love it"

Seokjong rubs himself through his pants once again.

"But his dick is so much better than yours... Aaaaah"

"Good girl continue" Baekhyun encourages you by fucking you harder.

"There's no way... Aaaah... I can go back to your tiny penis anymore... Aaaah. After getting a taste of Baekhyun's huge cock"

Baekhyun goes even deeper and faster. The knot is threatening to come undone at anytime.

"Baekhyun's cock is... aaaah... aah... So good I only want him to make me cum. Only he knows how to manhandle me."

Seokjong furiously palms himself underneath you, his face towards your heat, where he carefully watches his beloved wife's pussy get rammed by his boss.

"Good girl." Baekhyun praises as he doesn't stop fucking you mercilessly. Feeling your pussy twitch around his cock. "Now cum for me baby. Cum on this dick baby" he commands.

You give yourself in to the pleasure Baekhyun makes you feel as your tongue loosely hangs out of your mouth and your eyes roll back. You can't control anything anymore. You're cumming harder than ever.

"Seokjong, listen to me moan while I cum on Baekhyun's fat cock" you scream as you finally cross the edge.

Your pussy pulsing around Baekhyun's huge cock inside you. You scream Baekhyun's name one last time as your juices gush out of you again. So much liquid spurts out of your pussy, to completely soak your husband that is still sitting right underneath you.

Seokjong releases himself in his pants. A stain of cum appears on his crotch through his pants as he opens his mouth wide to catch as much squirt as he can. He drinks your juices as his dick pulses under his hand.

Pleasure completely takes over your body, making your mind blank until the only thing you can ever remember it’s this incredible sensation of Baekhyun’s cock inside you.

You don't even have time to get down from your high that Baekhyun pulls on your hair to make you face him and kneel before him. He violently pumps his fist around his cock.

"I'm gonna cum in your mouth. Baby open wide" Without even a second thought you open your mouth and stick your tongue out more than happy to welcome his warm cum.

Finally Baekhyun shoots to the back of your throat and all over your face. You look delighted as so much thick cum coats your tongue and cheeks, the delicious bitter and manly taste spreads in your mouth and makes your head dizzy.

You fully savour his cum playing with it in your mouth before swallowing it all. Baekhyun looks at you with a satisfied smile. He taught you well. His eyes turn to your husband again.

"Now Kiss her. I want you to taste my cum in your beloved wife's mouth".

To Seokjong it's an unexpected miracle. He quickly scoots over to you and happily links your lips together. The bitter taste spreads to his mouth as he thoroughly licks and sucks your tongue, not forgetting one corner of your mouth.

Seokjong never told you either, but with time he also came to anticipate the visits to Mr Byun's house.

You both liked the thrill of doing something so bad, so wrong. But it felt so right and both of you were hooked.

Baekhyun smirked, a carnivorous smile plastered on his face. In the end, he both transformed you. He was proud of turning a happy couple into to two adulterous sex hungry freaks.

"See you next month"

PARAPHILIA masterlist | General masterlist

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 24.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

A/N: Really really huge thank you to my queen @xjoonchildx​ for making me the newspaper clippings. I love them so much! This is one of my favorite chapters because of how fun it looks! And as always I couldn’t have done it without @ladyartemesia​ and @ppersonna​

Yoongi takes a deep breath, letting the September air fill his lungs. Who knew life could be so fucking trying?

He turns his head to you, hearing your soft footsteps down the marble stairs. He notices the small splotches of paint on your skin and it fills him with a sense of calm. You're a sight for sore eyes.

"My baby," he breathes, leaving his glass of whisky on the outdoor patio and walking back into the mansion to be with you.

"I'm all dirty," you mumble, picking at the dried paint on your hands.

"I can make you dirtier." your fiance quips and you give him a lopsided grin at his joke.

His joke doesn't match his mood and your eyebrows furrow as his arms wrap around you.

You know just how stressed he is. You know just how much his heart hurts everyday that Sera refuses to sign the divorce papers. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if you didn't seem to be growing more and more everyday.

His chin rests atop your head and he stares past you to the two marble staircases that lead up to either wing.

Even though Sera is no longer here and she's in the guest house with Jin and your dog, her ghost seems to haunt the CEO at every turn.

"I want to buy a new house." he grumbles, pulling away and looking down at you.

"Why?" you ask softly, running your hands lovingly over his arms.

"This house fills me with nothing but bad memories. I see the leech everywhere I turn… I hate that. I want a fresh start." he admits, caressing your distended sides.

You hum in agreement. "Is it too much for you right now? You have so much on your plate. Let's look for a house together when we get married," you suggest.

Just the thought of marrying you makes his heart flip inside of his chest. The thought of holding you in his arms everyday until his last is miraculous and special.

"When we buy the new house, you can decorate it any way you want." he promises.

"Oh, I plan on it." you reply, pulling him towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" he asks curiously, letting you take him with you.

"You need a distraction, baby boy."

He shivers at your tone, how strict it is. A small smile spreads over his face as he trudges up the stairs with you. "Yes, Mistress. I do."

"Jin?!" Sera calls, dropping her bags down at the front of the guest house.

She promised him she'd try and she thinks she's doing well so far. She only complains thirty percent of the day which is a lot better than the eighty percent she's used to. She's even held her tongue a few times when Jin has told her he's going to hang out with Leena.

"I'm getting ready for work, mouse." he calls back from upstairs.

His velvet voice fills her with joy and she rushes up the stairs without a second thought.

"Can I come with you?" she begs, peeking into his bedroom.

His hands wrap and tug at his tie as he turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"No. You're still married." he states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

She scoffs gently, wrinkling her nose. There's something about how quick and dexterous his fingers are as he ties his tie that sends her stomach coiling.

He still hasn't had sex with her and he hasn't even kissed her after that fated day when she begged him to stay with her.

"Why not?" she whines softly, leaning against the door jamb.

Seokjin chuckles gently, rolling his eyes. "Because you won't sign the divorce papers, like a normal person." he announces.

"Why do you keep bringing it up?! It's always 'divorce this or divorce that,' aren't you tired of saying it yet?" the actress cries out.

Jin grabs his suit jacket, sighing so loudly that it scares the woman behind him.

"Yes, actually. I am tired of saying it. You should just do it."

"But why? It has nothing to do with you." she mumbles.

Turning to her, he tilts his head. "Yes it does. If you don't get divorced, I'm not staying with you. I'm not going to be the guy that makes another man a fucking cuckold. I don't want that, that's fucking disgusting. There's nothing for you in your marriage anymore. You don't get any money, you've been cut off, you don't love Yoongi, you don't even care! So why are you being so stubborn about signing a damn paper?"

She looks down at the floor, playing with the ends of her hair, not wanting to answer.

"Because you're spiteful," Jin answers for her, "but your spite is literally making my pregnant best friend sick. She's a nervous wreck because of you, Sera. I hate that. You have everything in the world you could possibly want. And you can't just sign a few fucking papers?"

Jin whistles for Gaesu as he squeezes past the actress in the doorway.

"I just-"

"You don't want to give up something because you're greedy. Yeah, I get it. You want others to be miserable because you've always been miserable your whole life," he turns to her, cupping her soft face and staring down into her amber eyes, "You don't need to continue to be an asshole. You need to focus on becoming a better fucking person. Not everything needs your input, sometimes you can just let everything go and you can start again on your own. Like now, you don't want to be with Yoongi, you want to be with me. And I see that you're trying, you're doing great so far. But I can only work with you as long as you work with me. And you still being married isn't working with me. It's the opposite."

She swallows thickly, looking up into his blazened mocha irises. He's so serious that it sends a shiver down her spine. When she whimpers gently, whether it's out of need or fear that he'll leave, he brushes his soft thumbs against the apples of her cheek.

"When you sign the papers, I'll sleep in your bed." he promises, pulling away.

She blinks once, twice, three times, watching him walk away from her.

Gaesu follows closely behind your best friend, excited to go to work with him.

"S-So I can't come to the club?!" she calls leaning over the banister.

"No, mouse, Leena will be there and I'm spending the night with her." Jin calls back, grabbing his car keys.

"What?! She touched you in front of me and you're just going to hang out with her again?!" she screams, hanging over the banister.

"One. Be careful, you might hurt yourself. And two, I'm sorry to break it to you but Leena has touched me so many times that her touch feels normal to me at this point. My best friend coming to hang out with me is perfectly fine. And what's more, her boyfriend will be there." your best friend calls back, opening the front door and leaving without another word.

"Fine. We'll see," Sera seethes through her teeth, walking towards her room.

Stepping into Miyoung's art studio, the natural light that bleeds through the glass ceiling really seems to highlight all of the paintings that line the walls.

"Well, if it isn't the famous artist in my very midst." Miyoung quips, stepping down the slightly curved staircase.

You smile up at the pretty woman, leaning against the wall with two coffee cups in hand.

You can see how Yoongi was always fond of Miyoung at a young age, she's beautiful and quirky with everything she does. Even her clothes scream unique and you love that.

The brown French beret that hangs from the side of her head and the long blue corduroy dress she has on screams artistry and you adore it.

"Brought you some coffee," you quip, holding up one.

"You shouldn't be drinking coffee, pregnant lady." she jeers, finally reaching the ground floor and wrapping her arms around you.

"Mine is decaf, thank you very much." you joke back, accepting the hug with open arms.

When you both turn to the walls of art where your paintings were, it's surprising to see the walls almost empty.

The people that walk to and fro with their hands respectfully behind their make your heart bloom with pride.

"Do you wanna know how much money you've made?" Miyoung whispers in your ear, a playful smile spreading on her face.

You roll your eyes, nudging her with your hip. "You know I don't care about that stuff."

"That's why you'll make tons of money." she murmurs back, earning a laugh from you.

People notice you easily when you laugh, turning to you with wide eyes. It's a bit strange to be recognized now because of the Dispatch pictures and it's even stranger when they begin to approach like they know you.

Yoongi's best friend from childhood doesn't stand for it for a second and within seconds she's fending them off with a polite smile.

"Pregnant women don't like to be crowded, if you have any questions about art, please come to me. I'm very in touch with the woman beside me." Miyoung announces, waving her hands for the people to move back.

When she shows you to the art gallery office, it feels like an out of body experience. "There were so many people." you breathe out, sitting down on the loveseat beside her large desk.

"You became famous pretty much overnight. What do you expect? People are salivating for more of your art." she announces, sipping her coffee.

It's such a bizarre thing to hear when you've only ever done painting as a hobby.

"Should I start making more art, you think?" you inquire, crossing your legs and leaning back into the comfy couch.

She hums, tilting her head. "No. I don't think so. I think you make people wait for more. Obviously not too long. But it's good to get people curious and excited for what you're going to do next, y'know? Finish the art for the mall and hotel. Have the baby and then start making more art. You've made millions of dollars on the thirty pieces you've released. That's enough to get people really excited for the next release."

You nod understandingly, letting your eyes drift over the two paintings you've created for her office.

"You're my most successful client ever. I'm proud of it." Miyoung says, making you giggle.

Your heart feels warm in her presence and you can understand why your fiance has always been fond of her. She's an amazing woman.

"Call Minho to help you get downstairs when you're ready."

"Is that necessary?" you quip, sipping your coffee.

"Of course! You're famous now." she gasps, leaning over her glass desk with a playful smile.

Yoongi sighs loudly, throwing his suit pants into his luggage.

He hasn't been able to relax for a single second. He can only pray that paparazzi in Japan aren't as desperate as Koreans.

Staring down at the multitude of watches that spin on their platforms, he gets lost in his worries.

You're giving birth in only three months time. How is he going to cope? What kind of father is he going to be? Is he going to live up to what he wants? Are you going to be proud of him?

He's so worried.

But he's more worried about the leech. When the fuck is she going to sign that goddamn paper?

He opted for platonic parting rather than suing, because it would be messier that way but Sera is so spiteful that he doesn't know what to expect. He knows Jin is trying his hardest to rein her in but who knows how long that will take. It's nerve wracking to say the least.

Yoongi's eyes flutter shut as your arms wrap around him like needy vines. The feeling of your rotund belly against his back has him sighing so softly it barely reaches your ears.

"How are the paintings coming?" he asks gently, turning around in your grasp to cup your face with both hands.

"They're almost finished." you reply, hugging him tightly.

He hums sweetly, letting his lips drift over your forehead. "Have you packed for Japan?" he murmurs, letting the sweet scent of your lavender shampoo enrapture his senses.

"I packed a little this morning, but I got caught up in my inspiration. I have to finish." you announce, putting your cheek to his bare chest.

The warmth of you against his body is so welcome during his time of uneasiness. "I'll help you pack. Just hold me for a little while. It feels good." your fiance breathes out, squeezing his eyes closed tighter.

You're so comfortable within his arms, you have no intention of moving. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and you know exactly why he's on edge but you don't bring it up.

Late nights in your post-coital glow, you've talked extensively about both of your worries and you've come to the realization that they're the same fears.

"I'm going to have to stay inside in Japan, aren't I?" you quip, looking up at him.

He snorts gently, putting his chin on the top of your head. "Probably yes. Does that upset you? I bought out the penthouse so there's a lot for you to do."

His voice is wrapped with guilt but you decide to not dwell on it. Just going somewhere with him is enough for you. You don't care if you have to stay inside, it'll be nice to leave the country for the first time with him by your side.

"Plus, y'know, soon you'll be too big to go anywhere. That's what the doctor said." he whispers.

You smile into his chest, accepting his soft voice. "I know. I'm happy to be going anywhere with you."

His thumb and index finger capture your chin, he tilts your head up so your eyes meet. It's so easy to fall into his mocha irises and the smile that spreads over your lips is so natural. When he bends down, your breath stutters in your throat and the feel of his lips on yours is something so sensational, there are no words that could describe this.

"I love you, little dove."

"I love you too."

Jin should have known Sera wouldn't take kindly to Leena showing up at the club. But he didn't think she would go so far as to show up to the club.

She looks completely terrifying sitting in her booth. She's alone and completely menacing. Even with all of the people around she can find Seokjin in a matter of seconds no matter where he goes and he doesn't know whether to find it attractive or completely scary.

"She's staring at you again," Leena quips, leaning deeper into Taehyung's embrace.

Seokjin hums in agreement, looking down at his Italian leather shoes.

"Just go talk to her or some shit. She's making me uncomfortable," Leena whines, nudging her best friend.

Jin looks over at the actress and he sighs loudly. Her eyes are narrowed at him and her lips are parted over the champagne glass in her hand.

When he stands, he can see her body go rigid with excitement.

"Good luck, bro." Taehyung laughs, kissing over his girlfriend's exposed shoulder.

It's a quick walk over to Sera's booth as Jin wades through the groups of people on the dance floor.

When he steps up to the platform, he can see how nervous she is.

"Why did you come? You know that's trouble." he chides her, sitting down in the booth.

"Because she was coming." she sneers, nodding her head to Leena.

The eye roll Jin gives is so severe that it sends chills down Sera's spine.

"You came all the way here, got snapped by the paparazzi, ordered thousands of dollars of alcohol, because you were jealous that Leena is here?! You're such a baby." he scoffs, pouring himself a glass of champagne.

"I just wanted to be here with you too," she admits meekly.

Jin looks her over before zipping up her dress to cover her exposed cleavage. "Behave tonight. Do you understand me, Kim Sera? I'm tired of having to worm my way out of awkward situations."

She nods gently and when she gets a small smile from him it makes her pride expand tenfold.

"Will you sleep in bed with me tonight?" she asks softly, sliding down the booth to be beside him.

He snorts gently, letting his arms expend over the top of the seat. "Not until you sign the papers. You know this. Don't push your luck." he chides, poking her cheek softly.

She pouts gently, looking down at the hem of her dress.

"All I have to do is sign the papers and you'll be with me?" she asks unsurely.

Jin hums in agreement, pushing some hair behind her ear. "All you have to do is free Yoongi from this marriage and you can have me." he promises.

Her cheeks puff out as she thinks, is anything ever really that simple? She's never found it to be so.

"I'll think about it." she breathes out.

That's good enough for Jin at the moment and for the first time in a long time he smiles widely at her. The expression is so blinding that her heart stutters in the recesses of her chest.

Yoongi is so completely thrilled when he throws both of your luggages to the penthouse floor.

"Wow," you breathe out, rushing over to the large windows.

Your fiance's smile is sweet and soft as he folds his arms, leaning against the gold wall.

The scenery that meets your eyes is indescribably beautiful. The way the gentle breeze in the Osaka air blows cherry blossom petals from their trees and the countless gardens that scatter the grounds below set such mysticality into your bones.

"There's an infinity pool up here for us. It's warm," Yoongi announces, walking towards you.

Your hand lands on your stomach as you watch the petals blow in the breeze. "This is beautiful," you say aloud.

The father of your child's lips are soft against the back of your neck and in your entrancement, you hadn't even heard him come close to you.

"You're beautiful. Anything for you, little dove." he promises, placing both of his hands on your stomach.

The stress seems to melt away as you stare out the window with your fiance behind you. His lips are soft and plush against the column of your neck and it wipes your mind completely blank.

When your fingers card through his hair, the gentle puft of air that warms your neck makes your legs weaker.

"I love you." Yoongi breathes.

There's nothing sexual about his touch, it's just pure passion that seems to bleed through his fingertips. But the feeling of him so close is so heavenly.

The soft classical music that plays throughout the large room is so peaceful and your worries float away for just a little while.

Next Chapter ------>

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fade in, fade out - part two

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***

The Backstory

September 2006

In Nora Priestley’s fourteen years of life, she’s never lived this far away from the ocean before. It’s always been just right outside her window, a quick ten-minute trek from Thames Street until she reached the rolling dunes of Rejects Beach. Smelling the salt in her hair and feeling her skin grow sticky from the feeling of the ocean air was practically second-nature to her, but ever since she moved to the middle of nowhere Connecticut for boarding school, she’s never felt more disconnected from normality in her life.

Nora’s never really been a big fan of embracing change. She’d like to blame that on the fact that she’s never really had any monumental shifts to her tectonic plates so far in her short life, and she’s not quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s always been just her and her mom. A dynamic duo. A tag team of epic proportions. 

Growing up in Newport, Rhode Island could be worse, Nora thinks. She was lucky enough to grow up in a small coastal town where everybody accepted her in one way or another. Even though she was much different than the other kids her age, considering she spent most of her time alone while her mother worked, she never felt unhappy. Life was simple. Life was easy.

Nora and her mother, Shannon, lived in a small apartment in a renovated old colonial townhouse at the bottom of Thames Street. It was a third-floor walk-up, and in the heat of the summer when the humidity made the wallpaper begin to curl at the edges of her tiny paisley-coated bedroom, Nora had to sleep with her creaky window open with nothing but a thin sheet to cover her sweat-soaked body, the soft sounds of the rolling waves crashing against the shore lulling her to sleep.

Shannon Priestley was the ultimate leading lady in Nora’s life. She referred to Nora as her perfect mistake, because having a baby the summer she turned eighteen with a boy she thought would be her forever was the very definition of that phrase. But she handled it like she did everything else in her life—with grace and dignity, and nothing but a big gleaming grin on her face that always made Nora and everyone else lucky enough to be around her sunbeam feel that everything would be okay. 

With a one-year-old baby on her hip and a bright and shiny high school diploma under her belt, Shannon found a job listing to be a nanny for the Clemonte’s. Without a second’s deliberation, she packed up her things and moved to the tip of the state to Newport. 

The Clemonte’s were one of the wealthiest families in Newport, hailing from an impressive lineage of old money with an expansive estate of fourteen acres overlooking Ochre Point and the Atlantic Ocean. They were one of those families that named their properties, and when Shannon Priestley first stepped foot inside The Breakers mansion, she knew right then and there that her new bosses had very high expectations for her.

Shannon became the singular nanny to Warren and Jane Clemonte’s baby son, William. He was born three months after Nora, and even though Shannon felt slighted that she had to spend most of her days with another family’s child while her own was being watched by their downstairs neighbor, she promised to split her time evenly. And even though twenty-four hours in a day was never enough for Shannon, she made sure to spend most of it with Nora.

And Nora was always grateful for that. 

The second Nora was old enough to take care of herself, she started going to The Breakers after school so that her mom could walk her home. It was at that very moment when she had her first taste of ostentatious luxury, and from then on it never failed to amaze her. The other half certainly did live differently than Nora and her mother, and stepping foot inside the Clemonte’s mansion made that realization startlingly clear. 

This was when she first met William Clemonte. Nora always knew he existed, considering her mother would sprinkle in small anecdotes about him while doing other mundane tasks. “Willy was very quiet today,” Shannon would tell Nora on their walk home from Ochre Point to Lower Thames. “Mr. and Mrs. Clemonte want Willy to take piano lessons and learn Latin. How on earth is a seven-year-old supposed to handle that?”

To Nora, Willy was somewhat of a fictional character living behind the towering walls of The Breakers. She imagined him being a smaller boy, blonde with blue eyes and wearing some sort of matching ensemble sitting inside the thick walls of his mansion, overlooking the deep cobalt ocean through a grand wall of windows. But when she meets him one afternoon after her first day of second grade, she could not be any more wrong.

Sure, Willy Clemonte was a small boy, but he was by no means shy or scared of her. He took her on a tour through the grand halls of The Breakers, showed her all of the secret passageways built inside the walls from when the mansion was first erected back in the early twentieth century, and shared his brand new toys with her. 

But most importantly, he listened to her. He asked her a million questions about public school, about the world outside of his tall fortress, about the television shows Shannon let Nora watch after dinner, and the different kinds of popular music other kids their age were listening to.

“Wait, so *NSYNC isn’t just Justin Timberlake?” Willy would ask whenever Nora would show him what was inside her portable CD player (which was almost exclusively No Strings Attached until she reached the fourth grade). 

“Oh my god, Willy! *NSYNC is a boyband! Justin is just the best one,” Nora would scold right back, shoving the plastic headphones over his blonde head of hair so that the felt cushions would press against his ear, the vibrating thumps of “Bye Bye Bye” playing through the electronic equipment.

Whenever he would ask her about school, Willy was always shocked to hear how different her experience was from his own. Nora would tell him about the yellow school buses that picked up and dropped off her friends, she would show up to his house afterward wearing jeans and a pink Gap sweatshirt and he was always surprised to learn that kids could wear whatever they wanted during the day, and when she would come over on Fridays and tell him that her mother gave her a dollar for pizza day at lunchtime, Willy wished more and more that he could go to public school with her, too.

While Willy was nothing but sunshine and kindness, Warren Clemonte was the complete opposite. A cold and distant man, stern and grumpy with a perpetual frown on his face, he sent a terrifying chill all the way down to Nora’s bones until they rattled together like a hollow instrument. And one Thursday afternoon when Shannon was busy packing Willy’s bags for the Clemonte’s annual Christmas trip to Aspen, Warren caught his son running around the main hall searching through every nook and cranny for Nora’s impressive hiding spot. It was only once she heard the bellowing yells when she emerged from behind an old armoire in the library, peeking her head around the corner to watch Warren yell at Willy in the echoing hallway.

“What do you think you’re doing, running around when you’ve left your Latin workbook unfinished?” Warren demanded, his low voice bouncing off the thick walls.

“I’m sorry, dad. I was just—”

“—Just what? Playing around and avoiding your responsibilities? How are you supposed to learn anything if you spend all of your time dilly-dallying with that girl, William?”

Willy began to cry then, and before Nora could interfere, her mother was already ten steps ahead of her, entering the main hall and apologizing profusely while her daughter stayed hidden behind the old armoire, watching everything with regretful eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemonte. I was just packing for Willy, I didn’t realize he had run off. I’ll make sure it never happens again, sir,” Shannon said, placing a comforting arm around Willy’s shaking shoulders while his father stood barely five feet away, watching his wailing son with lifeless eyes. 

“Please do, Miss Priestley. William does not need any more distractions.” His voice held a clipped finality to it, and when he walked away and Nora appeared from behind the wall to approach Willy who was clutching her mother for dear life, she never understood how his father could just leave his son to fall apart in front of him like that.

That was the last afternoon Nora ever spent at The Breakers. 

Up until four months ago, Nora was almost certain that the entire Clemonte family had forgotten that she existed, and that treacherous afternoon with Willy nearly seven years ago was just a sad memory that could be tarnished for the rest of eternity. But when her mother comes home with a thick black and red folder, the words Townbridge Academy in capital letters splayed against the front page above a golden crest, Nora’s never been more confused in her life.

When she asked her mother what she was doing with a boarding school acceptance letter in her hand that Nora had never heard of before, the answer she received was definitely not what she had expected. Apparently, Mrs. Clemonte found out that Nora was planning on attending the public high school on Broadway Street, and apparently, she believed that she could offer Shannon a lending hand. Nora would like to blame it all on Jane Clemonte’s philanthropic tendencies, but a few phone calls and a faxed copy of Nora’s stellar transcripts later, Nora was appointed a lofty scholarship to attend Townbridge Academy in the fall. 

All things considered, Nora did not want to go. She liked her middle school friends, she liked being her own person, she liked knowing that her mom was only a twenty-minute walk away, and most importantly, she liked not having to be associated with a family like the Clemonte’s. She didn’t want to be seen as a charity case, and accepting the scholarship on Mrs. Clemonte’s behalf to attend a prestigious boarding school like Townbridge Academy was exactly that.

But when her mother sat her down and told her how amazing this opportunity was, and how much Nora could accomplish with a diploma from one of the best schools in the country, Nora couldn’t bring herself to say no. Especially when her mother held her close and whispered in her ear, “God, Nora, you can do all of the things I never could have done,” Nora knew that there was no way she could break her mother’s heart.

Because now, standing in her new dorm room with deep oak walls, a creaky polished hardwood floor, a red ornamental rug that smelled a bit like Warren Clemonte’s cologne, and a small twin bed nestled in the corner underneath a window overlooking the bleak green hills of Connecticut—Nora Priestley wishes she had told her mother no.

Before she can even wallow in her own self-imposed misery, the front door opens revealing an older man carrying a trolley holding a matching six-piece set of luggage. Nora looks down to the singular old leather suitcase she purchased at a surplus store on Spruce Street resting on the floor, comparing it to the monogrammed navy blue set with the gold letters ARW spanning across each piece.

The man begins placing each suitcase onto the floor without uttering a word to a very confused Nora, and suddenly the door opens wider, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair floating into the room. She’s wearing a white tennis skirt that rests a few inches above her kneecap, with a powder blue collared shirt cuffed at the wrists. For a brief moment, Nora wonders if her mother purchased the wrong uniform set for her, but when the girl lifts her eyes from her Blackberry and looks over at Nora, she notices a sailor’s crest embroidered on the right side above her chest with more initials, and she begins to breathe a little. 

“Hi! You must be my roommate, I’m Nor—”

“—Where are the rest of your bags?” the girl interrupts, eyeing the old leather suitcase disdainfully. Nora’s fingers immediately fly up to her scalp and begin raking through her blonde hair, a nervous habit she’s tried her hardest to get rid of.

“I have a duffle on the desk chair, too,” Nora explains quietly, removing her hand from her hair so that she can point towards the old wooden desk that holds her mother’s duffle bag.

Nora watches as the girl’s piercing gaze shifts from her two flimsy bags to her outfit. And when Nora watches beady hazel eyes take in her old white tank top, her mom’s grey knit cardigan, thrifted bootcut jeans, and sandals from two summers ago, Nora’s never wanted to disappear more in her life. 

Before she can find the words to speak, Nora hears a shrill “Alyssa!” echo through the hallway, until a matching set of girls wearing nautical-inspired clothing and thick headbands are hugging the strawberry blonde-haired girl who just so obviously judged Nora a few moments ago.

“Who’s this?” one of the girls asks Alyssa, breaking away from their hug and looking over at Nora with interest.

Just as Nora reaches a hand out to introduce herself, Alyssa says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go, girls,” and the three girls spin around without even uttering a goodbye. 

Nora watches as they walk down the hallway, giggling the entire way as if they hadn’t singlehandedly just ruined her first official day away from home.

***

October 2006

The first month at boarding school is just a series of Nora playing catch up. While she thought going to public school and hanging out with normal people would be enough to prepare her for high school, three weeks in she’s never felt more lost in her entire life.

She’s one of the only students who doesn’t own a cellphone, she wears second-hand Sperry’s instead of fancy loafers with gold links on the front, her backpack is a maroon Jansport while most students opted for leather messenger bags, and when people ask her how she spent her summer, she’s gotten used to the wide-eyed look they give her when she explains that she scooped ice cream near the beach for tips.

Nora’s not naive. She knows that she’s referred to as The Scholarship Girl behind her back, she knows that Alyssa complains to her elitist friends about how dreadful it is to be forced to room with a girl who wears hand-me-down clothing, and she knows that adjusting to life at Townbridge was going to be the very definition of arduous. 

But she remembers what her mother told her—how Nora’s skin is thicker than she thinks, and no matter how different she is to everybody else, she’s still just as deserving of a top-notch education. 

Even though Nora was at the top of her class for most of her life, she still felt far behind the rest of her classmates at Townbridge. She spends the first few weeks getting very acquainted with the walls of the library, making the nearly twenty-minute trek from her dorm in Emerson Hall to Millikan Library across campus. Classes have only just begun, but Nora can’t afford to fall any more behind than she already has. So instead of making friends and signing up for various clubs and sports teams, Nora’s allowed her backside to practically mold into the stiff wooden chairs inside the empty library.

Nora would have completely forgotten about the First Year Mixer being held that evening if not for Alyssa and her friends getting ready in her dorm room. When she walks in still wearing her uniform well after classes have ended for the day, the three girls look at her as if she were crazy.

“Did you forget about the mixer tonight, Nora?” Grace, one of the twins, asks with a shocked expression decorating her pretty face. All three girls are wearing colorful Lilly Pulitzer dresses, passing along mascara and eyeshadow amongst themselves in preparation for tonight.

“Uh, no I was just—”

“—Making friends with the books again?” Alyssa sneers, earning a giggle from the girls.

Nora chooses not to respond. It’s just easier that way.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Nora sorts through her limited selection of clothing to find something appropriate to wear for tonight. She didn’t even want to be in attendance, but she’s figured that she’s probably spent enough time on her own, and that maybe, in the off chance that Townbridge has some normal students, she can make a friend or two.

The only two dresses she brought with her were a simple long-sleeved cream sweater dress that fell just above her knees, and a thin summer dress her mother bought her two years ago that was tighter and fell around mid-thigh. She goes with the sweater dress, deeming it the best outfit she has to just simply blend in. Once it’s over her head, she reaches for her thigh-high socks and brown boots she got as a graduation gift, slipping them on quickly. October has left a brisk chill in the nighttime air, and considering her jackets consisted of a worn-in winter parka and an oversized flannel she scored at Goodwill, Nora thinks this combination will be more than fine.

She reaches for the comb on her desk and begins to rake it through her knotted hair, smoothing out the kinks and leaving the strands to fall in their messy, wavy natural state. Just as she’s digging through her backpack to try and find her lip balm and mascara, she can’t help but overhear Alyssa gossiping to Grace and Erin loudly from across the room.

“Harry’s plane landed a few hours ago,” Alyssa gushes, plucking the blush from Grace’s hands and beginning to apply it to the apples of her cheeks.

“Oh my God, no way! You must be so excited, Lyss!” Erin squeaks, reaching for the lipgloss that Alyssa just used. Before she can even remove the lid, Alyssa swats at her wrists and tells her to pick another color.

“Have you been texting all summer?” Grace asks from behind the vanity.

Alyssa nods, readjusting her freshly curled hair. “Ever since he left the Hamptons in July, yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth. He told me he can’t wait to see me tonight.”

“That’s so romantic, Lyss!” Erin says, and Nora tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. “I can’t believe they let him miss the first three weeks of school.”

“He’s Harry Styles, Erin,” Grace chides, turning to face her sister with slanted eyes. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Nora twists the mascara wand back into the tube before backing away from her desk, double-checking her outfit to make sure that it was suitable enough. Just as she gives her hair one last fluff, she hears Alyssa ask, “Are you really not going to do anything with your hair?”

Nora turns towards her with a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t own any styling tools so…” she lets the words fall from her mouth, watching the three girls in front of her look at her as if she had a second head growing out of her neck.

“You’ve never straightened your hair?! I’m sure Alyssa will let you borrow—”

“—Erin! Enough. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” Alyssa scolds, ending the conversation abruptly. Before Nora can even shoot a smile in Erin’s direction, the three girls are already out the door, leaving Nora to walk to the Great Hall by herself. 

The problem with spending all of her time walking from her dorm to the lecture halls on East Campus to Millikan Library is that she seemingly forgot where every other building was. Trying to locate the Great Hall in daylight was already difficult for Nora, but now with the sun practically set behind the horizon and her sense of direction completely shit, she starts panicking when she’s walked by the dining hall for the third time.

An upperclassman saves Nora before she can have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the quad, and with two minutes to spare, Nora finds a row with a few empty seats towards the back of the room. 

Nobody seems to have noticed her, save for the girls in the row in front of her who turn around when Nora’s boots jostle their chairs. She offers them a muffled apology, and just as quickly as they turned around to look at her, they swivel their necks to face the front again.

Nora sighs to herself, before lifting her head to hear the Headmaster begin his speech. After listening to him drawl about the mission statement and his expectations for the first-year students, Nora immediately wishes she never left her dorm room. She can feel her eyes begin to droop, and before her body can slump further down into her chair, the sound of a heavy oak door closing echoes throughout the Great Hall, and Nora feels her body springing upwards.

Headmaster Clayton pauses in his monotonous ramblings, and before the entire collection of students in front of Nora can turn around to see what the interruption was, a long body falls into the chair next to hers, and the Headmaster resumes his speech as if nothing ever happened. 

“Did I miss anything?” an impossibly British voice whispers in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit surprised by the low timbre of it. She looks over at him and finds herself staring into green pools with a golden shimmer surrounding his irises. Nora’s never been captivated by a boy before—but the one sitting next to her with fluffy chocolate curls falling over his forehead, surrounding his ears, and ending at the nape of his neck might possibly be the first. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of an expensive-looking black trench coat, and his upper body is leaning towards hers as he awaits her response. When Nora notices his pink lips forming into a small smirk, she’s almost positive that she’s been caught staring at this boy for far too long.

“Uh, no. Not really,” she whispers back, scrutinizing the way her voice squeaked at the beginning of her sentence.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and Nora can feel her cheeks begin to burn. “Hm, sounds like somebody wasn’t paying attention in the first place.”

Before Nora can retort, the boy near her chuckles softly at her nervous expression. “Can’t say I blame you, love. Clayton’s a fucking fossil.”

Nora giggles, causing the girls in front of her to turn around again with a murderous expression on their faces. She stops abruptly, and after they’ve snapped their heads forward for the second time, she looks over to the boy on her left and finds him trying his hardest to stifle another chuckle.

He shifts his body so he’s no longer leaning in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit saddened by the sudden distance between them both. 

Nora replays the interaction in her inexperienced, fourteen-year-old mind, wondering if the boy near her was just flirting with her. There’s no denying that she thinks he’s cute, considering she finds herself sneaking looks at him every few minutes during the duration of Headmaster Clayton’s speech just to get another glimpse of his soft hair and sunken dimples. And on more than one occasion, he catches her in his periphery, shooting her that charming smirk that never fails to make her cheeks blush. 

The moment Headmaster Clayton wraps up his speech and the rest of the students begin to stand, Nora turns towards the boy and finds that he’s already looking at her. Now that they’ve exited their row, Nora notices how tall he is, taking in his long legs clad in black denim, his even longer torso in a similar black shirt. The all-dark ensemble somehow makes him look older. Makes him look mysterious. Makes him look even more handsome—and suddenly Nora’s grown a bit nervous.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He hesitates, looking between her face and her outstretched hand with a smile on his face, finding it incredibly cute that a girl his age would greet him so formally. 

Just before his hand can fall into hers, another hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s forced to look at the intrusion, his own arm falling back to his side. “Harry, my man! How was the flight?”

When Nora looks over his shoulder, she notices two boys greeting him warmly. She hasn’t really met anybody at Townbridge aside from Alyssa, Grace, and Erin, so she’s not surprised when she doesn’t recognize the two other boys infiltrating their small bubble.

But upon further inspection, Nora realizes that she does, in fact, recognize one of them.

Standing directly in her line of vision is none other than Willy Clemonte. Although it’s been seven years since Nora last saw him, there’s no denying that the sandy-haired, blue-eyed teenager in front of her is him. He’s practically almost the same height as his father now, towering over Nora in his khaki pants and a white cable-knit sweater. His hair still tangles in his eyelashes and his cheeks are still dusted with freckles, and Nora’s stunned at the sudden rush of memories that flood her insides.

He seems to have made the same startling realization as Nora did, because his eyes begin to widen almost comically, and a strained expression falls over his features. Before they can give away that they’ve been staring at each other, the boy from before, now known to Nora as Harry, spins around on his heels and gives her a small smile.

“Nora, right?” he asks, and she nods hesitantly. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newport,” Nora answers.

“Oh, wicked! So you must know Will, then?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension radiating from the two of them. 

Before she can respond, Will clears his throat and takes a step forward. With one last panicked look at Nora, he tells Harry, “Yeah, man. Her mom was one of our maids.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, confusion written all over his face. Nora’s surprised that she can hear it over the sound of her breath leaving her lungs from Willy’s comment. Sure, she knew that the last time they saw each other he was crying into her mother’s arms over a remark his father said, and sure, she didn’t expect them to resume their friendship as if nothing had happened.

But to blatantly lie about Nora’s mother, a woman who took care of him for years? Nora never thought that he would grow up to be so cruel. 

To twist the knife lodged into her chest even further, Alyssa and the twins approach the group with annoyed looks, all aimed in Nora’s direction. They seem to have overheard Willy’s previous comment, and before Nora can even defend herself, Alyssa reaches out and wraps her hand around Harry’s forearm as if she were claiming him in front of everybody.

“Yeah, apparently Townbridge is letting just about anybody in this year. Just ignore her, Harry, we all have been,” she says, her tone nothing but dismissive. 

Nora watches as Harry shifts his gaze from Alyssa to her. His green eyes fall down her body, and for the first time, he notices the loose thread at the hemline of her dress from overwear, the tear in her socks behind the knee, her brown boots that lack the distinction of a designer label. With one last look at her, he takes a step back, and Nora knows right then and there that she’s been condemned as an outsider. 

“C’mon Harry, tell us all about the rest of your summer in France! I want to hear all about it,” Alyssa enthuses, and without a second look, the group turns around and leaves Nora staring after them.

No matter how attractive she finds Harry, there’s no denying that his personality is undeniably ugly. And as she watches him wrap an arm around Alyssa’s shoulder, Nora thinks it’s quite fitting that they’ve both found each other.  

***

November 2007

Summer has always been Nora’s favorite season (living permanently near the ocean sort of makes that inevitable), but that summer after her first year, Nora’s never been more excited to be home. She missed her mom, she missed the beach, and she missed her normal friends who didn’t care that she wore sandals that were falling apart and shorts that were fraying at the edges.

When Nora came back from school, she begged her mother not to send her back to Townbridge for her second year. She told her how she couldn’t make friends, how everybody made her feel like a social pariah, and how she was absolutely miserable being so far away from her. 

“Oh, Nora baby,” her mother said, holding her close. “You know exactly who you are. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent—and you’re so much better than those kids who make you feel like you aren’t.”

“You don’t understand, mom,” Nora said through hiccups, wet tears soaking her cheeks, “They hate me. All of them. They never even gave me a chance.”

“Everybody?” her mother asked. And when Nora just stared at her with her lower lip trembling, Shannon combed her fingers through Nora’s blonde hair comfortingly. “I’m sure there are people at Townbridge who are just like you. I just don’t think you’ve tried to find them yet.”

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Nora knew that her mother was right. So after another summer filled with scooping ice cream for tips and spending every second of her days off at the beach reading romance novel after romance novel, Nora packed up her things for the second time—this time with another suitcase—and set off for Connecticut with higher hopes for her second year.

Things seemed to be turning around for her when she discovered that her roommate was no longer Alyssa Whalen. Instead, it was a girl named Lydia who lived a few towns over in Madison by the beach, just like Nora. They bonded instantly over their shared love of having sea-knotted hair and the feeling of having sand squished between your toes and letting your fingers wrinkle from wading through the briny water for too long. And when Lydia encourages Nora to sign up for the swim team with her, Nora’s grateful that she’s finally found a friend in this hellhole. 

Her second year is leagues better than her first, considering in the first three months, she barely had to cross paths with Alyssa and Harry. On the rare instances that they do run into each other, they simply ignore the other’s existence, and Nora doesn’t mind it one bit. It’s just easier that way, she supposes.

Halfway through Nora’s swim season, she turns sixteen and discovers that everybody around her is getting their license. Lydia’s parents bought her a used 2005 Honda Civic when she passed her driver’s test, and when she told Nora that she could use it whenever she needed, Nora felt bad lying to her new friend. Because once again she was playing catch up, getting her learner’s permit over the summer when everybody was already scheduling their exam, and with the way things were going, Nora wouldn’t be able to get her license until she was home again for summer break.

She also didn’t want to admit to Lydia that she couldn’t afford a car, and that her mother would never allow Nora to take her 1997 Toyota Corolla to campus. 

After swim practice one November afternoon, Nora leaves the Athletic Center with wet hair to head back to her dorm in Donahue Hall completely across campus. Normally, Nora walks with Lydia, but since it’s Friday and students who live in-state with a license are allowed to leave campus for the weekend, Nora’s forced to make the twenty-minute journey alone. 

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Nora begins to walk through the parking lot to head towards the footpath that will bring her through campus. The sky is awfully dark for four in the afternoon, and when she looks up and notices the menacing grey clouds, she kicks herself for not packing her umbrella before she left her room this morning.

Just as she’s almost in the clear, she hears a familiar giggle that makes her skin crawl. Living with Alyssa for one excruciating year has allowed Nora to recognize that sound almost immediately, and sheepishly she tucks her chin deeper into the neckline of her jacket, praying that her face is hidden as she walks past the group. 

When Nora reaches inside her half-zipped gym bag for her water bottle, she swears to herself when the strap detaches from the siding and the nylon bag falls to the cement. Making sure everything is strapped appropriately, she heaves the bag over her shoulder once it’s zipped up. As she swings her elbow to place the bag comfortably around her body, she doesn’t take into account her proximity to a particularly shiny black SUV—and just before she can escape the parking lot undetected, her bag smashes against the hood of the car, causing the headlights to flicker on and off and the alarm to blare piercingly through the space. 

“Hey!” Nora hears from behind her. When she turns she sees Harry jogging towards her, his brown hair dripping from the shower he just took. He’s wearing joggers and a Townbridge Academy Soccer sweatshirt, and when he reaches inside his pocket and reveals a shiny key fob, Nora swears for the second time knowing that the fancy car she just accidentally hit belonged to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice is booming through the parking lot and it’s enough to make Nora feel incredibly small. When he finally presses the alarm button on his key and the blaring stops, she can hear his exasperated breaths in its place, and she’s not quite sure what’s worse.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—I saw the whole thing, Harry!” Alyssa calls over from her spot across the cement, walking towards the pair of them with an accusatory finger extended in Nora’s direction. “She slammed her gym bag against your car.”

“It was an accident!” Nora screeches, feeling her face turning red. “My bag strap fell off and when I went to put it back on my shoulder, I bumped your car. Not, er, intentionally.”

Harry looks between the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face. “Just be more careful, yeah? It’s brand new.”

When Nora looks at the behemoth of a vehicle to her left, observing the shiny black exterior with the words Range Rover written across the front in chrome lettering, she can only imagine the outrageous price tag it has. Which is why she nods, apologizing one last time.

“Won’t happen again.” Nora begins to turn around on her heel, just as the air begins to get cooler and the slightest smell of rain can be detected in the distance.

“You’re walking all the way to Donahue in the rain?” Harry asks suddenly, and Nora begins to wonder how he even knows she lives in that building. She pauses, thinking if he or Alyssa or any one of their stupid friends lives in Donahue, and when she comes up with nothing, she turns around with a confused expression on her face.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a car.” Before she can feel the first drop of rain hit her skin, laughter erupts from the small group surrounding Harry and his car. Nora hides her face, wishing the ground would swallow her up. 

With one last gulp, Nora turns around and begins walking towards the footpath, shoving the hood of her flimsy rain jacket over her head. 

“Well, at least your hair is already wet!” Nora hears Alyssa call out from behind her, with more laughter following until Nora’s a safe distance away from where she can no longer be scrutinized by Harry and his rude friends.

As Nora reaches Donahue Hall with her tracksuit bottoms sticking to her legs like a second skin and her jacket completely drenched, all she can think about is how she’d rather walk another ten miles before ever having another conversation with Alyssa Whalen and Harry Styles if her life fucking depended on it.

***

A/N: Here’s chapter two! We’ve finally met Harry and Alyssa (yikes), so feel free to share with me your thoughts and predictions for the next part! High school is a funny time period to write about, and I’m excited to share the next part with you all. Look out for it on Friday, February 19th, which will be the normal update schedule. Until then, stay safe! x

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[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold

*Felix simps come get y’all juice!

The hyperfixation hit me hard and because I just have to add backstory and character development to every single request I get, this one shot request is another mini-fic. I do not know how long it is going to be but I am hoping to keep it under ten. I already have like 5 chapters written now. Also, Felix deserves some multi-chapter love dang it!*

Prompt: Reader and Felix are stuck in Storybrooke together. What will happen next? Spoilers: it’s feelings and fluff and a horny teenagers being stupid.

Requested by: anon

~~~

“I blame you.” Felix said.

“How is this my fault?” I retorted. Felix and I sat on the docks of Storybrooke overlooking the water.

“You’re the one that convinced me to come to Storybrooke with you. Now look what’s happened! Pan is dead and we have no way to get back to Neverland.”

“We’ll find a way back to Neverland.”

“And how do you figure that? There is no more shadow to ferry us, we have no magic bean, or any pixie dust to fly us back. We are stuck here!”

“Will you calm down?”

“You want me to be calm? How can you expect me to be calm after everything that has happened?”

“I don’t know but you panicking is not going to help us any. Storybrooke is the only town in this realm with magic. If there is a way to cross realms we will find it here so stop worrying so much and start brainstorming. Like you said, there is no more shadow so our reliable way of getting back is gone. Magic beans are scarce if any even still exist. So our only option is to find some method of transportation that can either fly us back or we become mermaids and swim through the realms. So we gotta sprout wings or gills. Ideas?”

“Well I can’t swim worth a damn so I guess we’ll need to find a way to fly.”

“No point staying here.” I got up, “We were fine camping in the woods but that’s not going to serve us well much longer. Winter is rolling in and neither of us have ever lived somewhere that wasn’t tropical and humid all the time so I don’t think we’ll survive long on our own out in the wilderness. We need to start looking into different housing options.”

“You sound like an adult.” Felix groaned.

“I hate it too but there’s not much else we can do unless we want to freeze to death. Come on,” I held a hand out to him, “The sooner we find someplace the sooner we can start dedicating our time to finding a way out of here.”

“I’m coming,” Felix stood up, ignoring my hand. We walked all around Storybrooke looking for someplace to hole up in. My main concern was having a place with heat which left a lot of the vacant houses out since their utilities were shut off. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that there were no fireplaces so starting a fire to keep warm was also out of the question.

It was getting late and our search had yielded nothing. I had a bad feeling that if we couldn’t find somewhere suitable through our own means we would have to resort to actually paying for housing somewhere. Which meant we would need money which also meant we would need to have jobs. Paying bills, having jobs, this was a nightmare!

We shuffled back to our camp and checked the traps we had laid for any game but only caught a small rabbit. Barely big enough for one person. Better than nothing at least.

As Felix roasted the rabbit over our fire I sighed, rubbing my arms to keep off the chill of the late autumn.

“You know what I’ve noticed these past couple days?” I said.

“Hm?” Felix hummed not bothering to look up.

“This is the first time in all the years we’ve known each other that we’ve ever really hung out.”

“Guess so.” Felix shrugged.

“Is that not strange to you? We’ve known each other for decades on Neverland. We hunted together, played together, fought together with the boys but this is the first time us two have ever been alone together. How do you not find that strange?”

“It’s not like I was close to everybody on the island.” He took the rabbit off the spit and cut it in two, “Besides, you were always off galavanting with Artie and Frank. What’s it matter if we ever hung out?”

“I guess it’s just making me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Why you followed me here?” I answered as he handed me my half of our dinner. “You didn’t know that Pan had switched consciousness with that Henry kid until after we left Neverland. You could have stayed on Neverland with the other boys. You didn’t need to come with me when I asked you to. So why did you?”

“Let me ask you something,” Felix dodged around the question, “Why is it that you asked me to come with you in the first place? You had your friends on that ship already. Why take me along? Why is it that you’re roughing it in the woods with me when you have friends that are snug and cozy in that fairy monastery? Answer me that.”

“I--I--” The words were caught in my throat. Why had I asked Felix to come with me? I knew the answer lay deep in my gut but I couldn’t for the life of me bear to bring it to the surface. I bit into my rabbit with a small scowl.

Felix gave a small exhale before diving into his dinner as well. The conversation thoroughly ended. I curled up to go to sleep near the fire. Our only source of heat. I really did miss Neverland. I would deal with a million humid heat waves if it meant that I could be warm again.

Sometime during the night a gust of cold wind snapped me awake. I huddled in closer to myself trying to retain some warmth when I felt something being draped over me. I peeked an eye open and saw Felix lay down again and curled more into himself. I looked to see what he had done and realized he had draped his cloak over me. His only form of heat, thin as it was. I decided at that moment as I watched him violently shivering on the cold ground that I would gladly grow up a little and get a job if it meant we  would have somewhere warm to sleep tomorrow night.

The morning came and as casually as I could gave Feilx back his cloak. I made no mention of his generosity. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate you pointing out his selflessness for whatever reason. Too proud to accept my thanks.

We went back into town and I sent Felix off to find some cheap accommodations for us while I walked along main street and hopped into every store that I could looking for work. Unfortunately it looked like no one was hiring. Dejected and pissed after the tenth shop owner denied to even let me fill out one of their ridiculous applications I stole a handful of dollars from their tip jar. At the very least I could buy us a decent meal tonight.

We met up again outside of the diner. Felix had no luck finding a place to stay either. Everyone just shrugged him off. To my delight though he had the same idea as me and produced a wallet he had pickpocketed off the landlord he had spoken to. A couple of twenties tucked safely into the worn leather. We may not have anywhere warm to sleep tonight but at least we could get a hot meal.

We entered into the diner and immediately were met with stares. It was the same stare I got from everyone I asked a job from. I tried to shrug it off and sat down with Felix at the counter. We ordered two plates of the lasagna. The waitress was kind enough but everyone else at the counter moved away from us when it was evident that we were staying.

“Felix,” I whispered, “Is it just me or is everyone--”

“They don’t want us here,” he whispered back, “They’re not saying anything but they’re making it obvious enough. The reason no one will give us a job or let us live anywhere is all for the same reason. We were here for Pan and even though he’s gone they still don’t trust us. Just eat your food and we’ll go back to camp.”

“Do you think we have enough money to maybe spend just one night at the bed and breakfast?” I asked, hopeful.

Felix shook his head. “Even if we did I think we should be saving this for food since game is proving difficult to come by.”

“You’re right,” I stabbed into my lasagna. “It just gets so cold…”

We finished our meals quickly and left just as fast. At least I was more full than yesterday. We started on our way back to camp when I noticed a trail I hadn’t seen before.

“Where are you going? Camp is that way?”

“I know but I need to see something.” I told him as I started running down the other trail.

“Wait!” Felix ran after me. I kept huffing and puffing down the trail until it opened into a large field. In the distance was a huge house. A mansion by the looks of it.

“Whoa,” Felix said as he took in the sight of the mansion. “How did we miss this?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get a closer look.” We ran across the neatly trimmed lawn and hopped over the fence onto the mansion grounds. The lights were off inside. Whoever lived here was either gone or asleep. We checked the garage and found no car. Peeking in as many windows as we could it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Should we?” I asked Felix. The temptation was too great. “Even if someone does live here it’s so big I doubt that they would even notice us staying here as well.”

“Let’s take a look.” Felix grinned. Strangely enough the front door was left unlocked. I tried the lights and was delighted when I realized that the electricity was working, there was running water too. Even better was that there was heat! Heat and dozens of bedrooms.

The place was so clean and orderly but yet there were no signs of it being lived in. No pictures on the walls. No food in the fridge. All the doors and windows were unlocked. There was a large kitchen, dining room, multiple rooms just for sitting in, a dozen bedrooms, and even a ballroom with a beautiful crystal chandelier. All the windows had the most spectacular views of the ocean or the mansion’s garden.

“This place is amazing!” I picked up a strange cylindrical paperweight with stars painted on top of it and tossed it in the air. “Felix, I don’t want to get our hopes up but I think we found a place for us to stay.”

“And you’re sure no one lives here?” Felix gazed around the room we were standing in.

“We searched all the rooms we came across and found no one. The place has been cleaned out of food or toiletries. Either whoever lives here desperately needs to go shopping or they just don’t exist.”

“You think we’re really that lucky?”

“I think we’re owed a bit of luck. Even if someone still does live here do you really want to spend the night shivering outside or spend a night wrapped up warm in a bed and run the risk of someone chasing us out in the morning?”

“You make a compelling argument.” Felix grinned, “Race you for the master bedroom!”

“Felix!” I chased after him as he went flying up the stairs. He got to the room first and flopped down on the large king-sized bed.

“I win! Go take one of the lesser bedrooms.”

“You only won cause you have those long lanky legs.” I flopped down beside him and sighed as I sunk into the soft mattress. “I don’t think I can move from here. It’s way too comfortable.”

“Too bad. My room.” He pushed me off.

“Hey!” I laughed as I stood back up. “Fine, you can have the master bedroom but only on the condition that you find us more money to buy food and toiletries. Got it?”

“Sounds good to me,” Felix stood too, eyeing the bathroom attached to the bedroom. “Soap or not I think I am going to indulge in a hot bath.”

“That does sound heavenly.” I haven’t had a hot bath in decades. “Have a goodnight, Felix. We go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

“Night,” Felix gave a wave as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

I left the room and wandered around the hall looking for a space of my own. I found a nice bedroom that felt just as grand as the master bedroom. I went into the bathroom and drew myself a piping hot bath. I nearly moaned when I sunk down into the water. Even if this lasts for only a night I’ll be happy. One night of warmth.

After my bath I wrapped myself in a large fluffy towel and went back into the bedroom. I really didn’t want to put my old dirty clothes on my clean body. I opened the dresser drawers hoping maybe the resident left behind some old clothes but they were all empty. I crept out of my room and checked the other guest rooms surrounding me but all their drawers were empty too. There was one place I hadn’t checked. If the owner did leave something behind it would probably be in the master bedroom. I glanced down at my towel with a grimace. It covers everything at least. I tentatively knocked on the door but was met with no answer. I cracked it open and sighed with relief when I saw no Felix in sight. He must still be in the bath.

I went to the dressers and, “Nothing? Really?!” I slammed the dresser shut again. How is it that there isn’t so much as a single shirt in this house?

“Why are you making so much noise?” Felix stepped out of the bathroom in a billow of steam. My throat went dry when I caught sight of him. Completely naked except for the towel hanging from his  hips and still dripping went. His blonde hair that usually hung in his face was brushed back opening his face up more. His torso had an array of scars I never knew he had before. That wet chest that was impressively chiseled…

I shot to my feet clutching to the towel covering me. “Sorry! I was just looking for some clean clothes.”

Felix gaze swept me up and down. He took a deep breath and grabbed something from inside the bathroom and tossed it to me. It was a fluffy white robe with a monogrammed M on the breast. “There.”

“Thanks.” I slid the robe on over my towel. “Anything else in there?”

“Nope. Just that one.” Felix turned away from me. His face looked red and I could only guess he was angry at me for barging in. “Now scurry back to your own room.”

“Right. Thanks.” I rushed back to my room, my heart hammering in my chest. That was certainly new. I never thought I would see that much of Felix. I mean why would I ever want to see his wet, practically naked, and not so shockingly buff body? No! Bad! Impure thoughts I should not be having about my...my…

Huh. What was Felix to me? On Neverland we were Lost Ones but that didn’t really fit here. I don’t know if I could exactly call us friends either. Roommates? Was that what we were now? We have been living together at our crappy camp all this time and now we’re staying in this mansion together. I guess that’s what we would call one another. Roommates.

I dropped my towel and pulled the clean robe tighter around me. My thumb traced over the M stitched on the breast. This house has no food, no toiletries, no clothes, not a single photo on any wall but yet there was a single monogrammed robe. Who was M? Who had lived here?

Those were questions for the morning. I sunk into bed and this time I did moan as I cuddled under the many thick blankets. Finally warm at last.

---

(Next)

[callmeblake]

Kerrang Issue #1103 (Sources 1, 2)

Photo Credit: Jeremy Harris

Magazine Release Date: 2006

Issue Label: April 15th, 2006

Transcription below the cut  (translated by google from Spanish):

You're not in this alone

April 15, 2006

Kerrang April 15th, 2006

Lostprophets & My Chemical Romance 

When it comes to million dollar studios / mansions, Los Angeles, where My Chemical Romance is currently doing pre-production for their new - and as yet untitled - album, is very impressive. Built in 1920 for a silent film star, it is covered in such a way as to simulate an Asian palace, with panoramic views of the city, an outdoor swimming pool, acres of gardens, and - according to vocalist Gerard Way - a ghost that opens and closes doors and even takes baths. Gerard crawled out of bed at noon as his old friend, Ian Watkins is coming soon. He and the Lostprophets frontman will meet to discuss their future performances on 'Give It A Name' - a festival that will see them perform to 30,000 people in two days.

When Ian appears the two greet each other genuinely affectionate, talking about many things; from Gerard's art to Bono's sunglasses and, of course, the ghost guest Gerard admits to fear. The two singers are pleasant company, laughing, joking and obviously relaxed, interrupting and finishing each other's sentences as close friends usually do.

When did you meet?

Gerard: It was at the Slims, in San Francisco and Lostprophets was running a show with Head Automatica. I didn't know them, so I got on his bus and he was the coolest singer I've ever met.

Haven't you met singers before, back then?

Gerard:I had met a few, but singers are usually weird guys. They often have a 'lead singer vibe' and he didn't have one, he was so kind, respectful and personable.

Ian: We knew his manager because he had toured with bands that we had toured with. Even before the first My Chemical Romance album came out, he was already talking all day about them. He sent me the record when it came out and I used to listen to it all the time, it was fucking awesome. Did they get along immediately? Gerard: Yeah. I think everyone in both bands hit it off right away. They were down to earth guys. We hadn't met anyone as great as them, so it was a huge impression on our band that they had that attitude. Ian:

And after that, we keep crashing at events, anywhere, like in Japan….

Gerard: That is a very funny story! You have to fly everywhere when you play (at the Japanese festival) Summer Sonic; you can't drive because Japan is made of a lot of big islands. This was when he still used to get screwed. It was one of the last times that I was drunk or high, actually… Ian was in front of me on the plane and he was turning around to try to have a conversation with me, but he couldn't.

Ian: I hadn't realized it at first. I was talking about the songs on the album I was thinking about…

Gerard:… And at one point I just thought 'I can't deal with this man'. I felt really bad about that I had already thrown up more than I had ever seen in my damn life while trying to get my pills; we were sharing a bus on the way to the plane. I must have looked like the most broke asshole. I was ashamed all the way.

How often do you get together?

Gerard: I would say once every five months, maybe more often. We always collide.

Ian: Yes, when you go on tours you always bump into someone. The strangest thing was when I was in New York, having a snack ...

Gerard:Oh yeah! And we just meet! We were on our way to a place called 'Toy Tokyo', which is one of our favorite stores. We passed a restaurant and Ian was sitting there hanging out.

Ian: They came by and I was like 'Oh shit!' because it was so unexpected.

Gerard: And then we did a full US tour together and it was fun, but Lostprophets was still on the UK schedule, so they would fall asleep on the bus at odd hours and stay up all night.

Ian: That was before the My Chemical Romance record took off, so it was before they became rock stars! But it was cool because we did our own shows on off days.

Gerard:Yes, it was fun doing our shows together, because there was always the same vibe.

Do you keep in touch when you are not on tour?

Gerard: Yes, Sidekick! (controlled email senders)

Ian: You're never in yours! He used to be online all day, but now he's very cool for it.

Gerard: I think I changed my username, but I didn't tell anyone, I just hoped they would notice! So no one talks to me now!

They grew up in places as remote as New Jersey and Wales, what common areas do they share?

Ian: I think we are both working class.

Gerard:When you come from a working class place, you have to leave soon or you will be stuck there forever. Jersey is definitely that kind of place. It's very different if you live somewhere in Los Angeles…

Ian: You don't need to try here, you can go to clubs and gigs every day in LA. It is very easy to believe that you are someone in LA until you realize that there is a whole world outside. It's like the same as London and New York.

Gerard: Yes, but to come from the places that we come from; Where you have shitty jobs, you realize that you are nobody.

Ian: And if you want to do something, make a difference or at least enjoy life, you really have to work your ass off.

Gerard:What's the most shitty job you had in Wales?

Ian: I worked in Iceland. A frozen food store.

Gerard: Oh wow that's weird because my first shitty job was at a frozen food stand at a supermarket. They're both sober now, but Gerard wasn't when they first met: Did his using drugs and alcohol affect their friendship? Gerard: No Ian: I just didn't realize I had a problem! Gerard: Yes, apart from that plane trip. But even though he had a problem, I think the press made him look worse than he already was. When we did that tour together, I was already clean.

The two are working on new albums. Has either listened to each other's new songs?

Gerard: No. We haven't played anything for anyone.

People are predicting that they will both transcend the rock scene and come back with a more pop album this time. Is there any truth to that?

Gerard: I think that's what they expect us to do! On the other hand, some people may believe that our album will be more aggressive to compensate for that.

Ian: A lot of bands do that and screw themselves up. They succeed and say 'we have to prove that we are real' and confuse being real with being shit.

Gerard:That is completely true. So people might expect a more aggressive record from us, or maybe one that makes a lot less sense. But I wouldn't say it's more pop, although it's prettier.

Did you see a lot of bands growing up?

Gerard: Yes, because our only escape was to go and find the local show. There were two places that I would go, ' The Pipeline ' and ' Studio One '. The latter was completely hardcore, bands like Downset, Madball, Dog eat dog…

Ian: Dog Eat Dog! Dammit!

Gerard:The most taboo thing there was as a teenager was Slayer. The [Anti-obscenity lobby] PMRC was so big in the US that they made it almost impossible to get their records. They thought Slayer was satanic. You couldn't get WASP or Venom records, but Slayer was a sure door to evil! I remember when I got 'South of Heaven'; it made a big impression on me. Have you been in front of any other band performance? Gerard: Not in the mosh zone, but I was on the floor for Slim's once. Most of the time, I watch from the side of the stage. Ian:

Everything is ground at Slim's! That was a great show, because we met there. As I said; We got to know each other before these guys took off, and that's nice because I think meeting them after that would have been kind of weird.

So is it weird to meet bands that are already big?

Ian: Yes, because they don't care. As Gerard was saying, singers sometimes have attitudes and it is strange to meet a successful band that is still humble. I don't think My Chemical Romance would have been like that but bands get very reluctant when meeting people. They think 'you only want to be my friend because you want something.' It was great meeting Gerard before they grew up, because I know our friendship is honest.

Do things change when you get to the same level as other bands?

Ian: If we played in the US now, My Chemical Romance would top the list, whereas last time we were on them, but that's okay.

Gerard: Yes, when you go out with a band that you love, there is respect and it shows on stage. But if you play with a band that you don't respect, then you go out and destroy them.

Ian: And it's not like we release two albums at the same time. We left and their time came.

So what if both albums were out at the same time? Would they be aware of the other's sales position?

Gerard: Well we're both rock bands, but we offer something very different to people, so I don't feel in competition with these guys.

Ian:If they were assholes it would be horrible to see them get so successful, because it sucks to see idiots doing well. The only thing they do is add to your stupidity! But when you like band music it's always great to see that they do well.

Gerard: Yes, you will always be supporting your friends even if they are kicking your ass!

Ian: And if they're kicking your butt, it just makes you work harder- It's not a sour rivalry, it's a great thing -a friendship and respect.

My Favorite My Chemical Romance Song (by Ian Watkins)

I love 'You know what they do to guys like us in prison'. The first time I listened to their second album, that song grabbed me as soon as it started playing. It had some really cool changes; the way it starts off with a piano staccato, and the lyrics are fantastic. It conjured up a lot of images and I liked the fact that the verse is on the piano.

My Favorite Lostprophets Song (by Gerard Way)

It's easily 'Last Train Home'! When we were working on Three Cheers for sweet revenge, that damn video came out every five minutes and no one could help but sing it. We were saying 'Man, this is great!' I think the chorus is really beautiful. They weren't trying to capitalize on some kind of junk-young culture, the song really meant something, especially when they were playing it live. If someone is really honest with a song, it will always become a favorite song, and that one really stood out.

Translation: Liz

[coeursetcolores]

What I Would Add To/ Change About: Devil May Cry 5

Hello again! Today is March 8th! Two years ago, Devil May Cry 5 was released, over ten years after Devil May Cry 4. Such a long gap caused many to believe that Capcom abandoned the franchise, but to our surprise at the 2018 E3 conference, after years of silence and tentative hope brought by a picture of Reuben Langdon and Johnny Yong Bosch in mocap gear, the day we dreamed of happened: DMC was back!

Now here’s the million dollar question: Did Devil May Cry 5 live up to it’s fans’ expectations after all those years?

I’m pleased to say, YES!

To the whole collective fandom, this game was totally Smokin’ Sexy Stylish!

To me individually...

Well...

It wasn’t really what I’d thought it’d be.

This is all just my own personal opinion and if you disagree with me, that’s perfectly okay! If you’d like to talk about a point I made, please let me know, but please try to respect my opinion as I respect yours.

Fair warning, I won’t talk about online stuff. I’m not an online gamer, that’s just not me.

Well, with out further ado, let’s get started!

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Like the last time, I’d like to start with the positives before getting to the things I wasn’t 100% on board with.

Combat. It’s DMC, and it’s styling way past any other game that dare challenge it.

The music: Frustration is getting bigger! BANG, BANG, BANG! Pull my Devil Trigger!

NICO. I jut love that crazy chick. And yay! Nero has a friend!

The death screen changes were SO helpful. Giving an option to come back in the middle of a fight saved me so much time! As long as it stuck to in-game currency...

The backgrounds are so detailed, Redgrave City looks amazing! And I was really happy when they brought back that gorgeous gothic architecture for Sparda’s mansion!

Bosses are tough, but not to unfair levels. It really makes you feel awesome when you finally knock that last bit of health out.

I’ll never miss an opportunity to fight Vergil. One for having an opponent that doesn’t tower over you, two for his fights just being great as usual. And after everything he’s done, yeah, it feels good to beat the ever loving crap out of him.

Dante dance. I cannot do it justice.

Lady’s new outfit is so cool!

Patty! Call her back Dante!

MOTORCYCLE! BUZZSAWS!

Dante has officially embraced being a silver fox. I salute him.

LORE!!!!!!

NERO! NERO! NERO! BEST BOY, SPICY SON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU PRECIOUS BLOODTHIRSTY SWEETHEART!

You can see just how much detail went into the game. From the blood tubes staining you to V decomposing, it’s astounding.

Nero got a Devil Trigger! And it’s GORGEOUS! ...I do miss his persona, though...

Seeing all our favorite demon hunters again! I missed these guys!

Okay, but before we get to what I wish they added, I want to say something.

I have a lot of issues with this game, but while I can blame some of that on the writing and design teams, a lot of it is also on me having spent years basically imagining the story that would be perfect for me and probably me only. So a lot of my problems may boil down to the game not matching my imaginary scenario, so take my suggestions with a grain of salt.

Now here are some things that could have possibly made me like the game more.

ADD:

MORE LADY AND TRISH. These women were screwed when it came to the plot and they could have done more, what the heck?! Maybe some scenes where they try to process what happened to them, have them distraught at having been used by Urizen to help him destroy the city and blame themselves. Have Lady blow up at Dante for not warning them about what was really going on, for letting them go in unprepared, let her tell him that the blood of the city is on their hands because he kept his mouth shut. Lady is a huge influence in his life, and I feel like this would really open his eyes to how much he messed up.

As for Trish, she knows better than anyone else that you can really screw up and hurt someone that cares about you. Maybe after everything goes down, she could be the one to encourage everyone that, “Yeah, we messed up big time. But sitting around here hating ourselves isn’t getting anything done. So get up, we’ve got a city to fix.” I feel like this could really show how human she’s gotten from being with Dante and the others. I think it’d make her look more multi-dimensional.

And how come Vergil can get a DLC when he was in the game even less than they were?! The women in these games deserve equal representation, Capcom’s DMC developers!

And as for Vergil, maybe make his deal less ambiguous? I mean, the whole “Is Vergil really redeemed?” debate is really bringing out the worst in people. Like yeah, keep it ambiguous to the characters, it makes sense for Vergil to not show something “weak” like remorse to others, but show it in a way that the player can easily interpret.

Give Vergil some missions to himself where he takes in exactly what he’s done. Have him see Redgrave City, where he was born, devastated, people he may have once known reduced to ashes and know this is all because of him. That just because he wanted to be stronger, he’s destroyed lives, because even if he had no intentions of doing so, the split went against his wishes and left him weak to see a tyrant slaughter countless people without any goal. Have him realize that even if that was unintentional, he still nearly almost ended humanity once before with a sound mind (Temen-ni-gru) so he can’t pretend he’s in the right and that he’s actually probably a disgrace to Sparda’s legacy. Have him run into a sobbing little boy crying that his mother was killed and he lost his brother, maybe in the ruins of the family home. Have Vergil look into a mirror and see Mundus, have him realize that he’s no better than the demon that killed his mother and imprisoned him for years. Have him hallucinate Sparda disowning him for going against everything Sparda believed in. Have him see Eva sadly tell him that she wanted to save him, but seeing what he’s become lament that she lost her life trying to save a monster. And when Dante tells him Nero’s his son, he freezes. He abandoned and maimed his own child, left him for his brother to care for. Dante sees this and doesn’t know what to do? Is Vergil...sorry? Can he take a chance on him this time?

Or leave him an unrepentant jerk that’s just upset he still can’t win and expressly tells Nero he’s only going to cut down the Qliphoth down so he can fight Nero again and because he doesn’t want to give up Yamato.

And for that matter, make V’s goal clearer to the player. Have him expressly state, when he’s by himself with his familiars with no one that he can manipulate around that:

A. He wants to stop Urizen and prevent anymore devastation as atonement for his crimes as Vergil and part of the reason he wants to merge again is that while he does want to fight Dante again, he deserves to die as Vergil or defeat Dante and fix his mistakes by himself, realizing that Dante’s been cleaning up his messes for years. 

B: He wants his power back, his mind got stuck in the human half and he can’t stand how weak it is. Everyone is just a stepping stone for him to be stronger.

Actually have the characters react to the Qliphoth. Seriously, everyone is crazy apathetic to all the death and destruction that they failed to stop. Aren’t they supposed to be the “heroes?” The only character this would make sense for, ironically, the one who actually seems to remember it exists at the end, Nero. Yeah. Remember how he didn’t care about anything but Kyrie in 4? Remember how the developers said he would just walk away after Dante shot the pope if Kyrie wasn’t there? I’m not say he needed to stay apathetic, I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense for him to be the righteous character. 

Have Dante at some point just look out at Redgrave and see that if he had told the others what was going on, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. “...This didn’t have to happen.” Have this weigh on him. He’ll still act goofy, but he realizes that his selfishness can have real consequences. 

Have him realize that he really hurt Nero with what he said and that he used Nero’s trauma and insecurity against him in the heat of the moment and it’s causing a rift between him. When he’s alone, make him privately promise to make it up to him later and actually apologize at some point near the end. Dante should know from his experiences with Vergil that insecurity can lead someone down the wrong path and that if he doesn’t do something he could lose one of the few positive relationships he has.

Have Nico have at least one freak out at everything around her and realize that she might not be as ready for this as she thought. She hasn’t experienced something like this before like the others. Nero comforts her and it makes their friendship grow stronger.

When Nero starts talking about family, he should acknowledge that while he is related to Vergil, they’re not really a family yet until they actually work for it, and that he knows what a real family is like, the ones who adopted him and were there for him (Kyrie’s parents, Credo, Kyrie, Nico, Dante, Lady, Trish, etc.).

Make it clearer that Vergil isn’t forgiven for his crimes, but that they’re willing to give him a chance. His last one.

Alright, now for the overall changes.

CHANGE:

The entire ending. Instead of Dante going down with Vergil, Vergil stops him and tells him that his life is here, with people that haven’t hurt him like he has. Dante tries to protest, says he can’t leave Vergil free to do whatever, but Vergil gives a bittersweet smile and tells him he can’t stop him, but it’s obvious Vergil’s not going to do anything again. When Dante gets desperate and tells Vergil he can’t leave him again, Vergil tells Dante he’ll be back, once he’s cleaned up his own mess for once; he’s the older brother after all. With that, Vergil goes to fix his mistake.

Dante’s left behind by his brother again. Instead of brushing things under the table, Nero is furious with Dante for never telling him the truth about his family. Especially after he was left uncertain about the future and looked to Dante for guidance, Nero feels betrayed. Dante understands and apologizes. Nero’s too upset to accept and tells Dante he needs time to think before he’s ready to talk to him again. Instead of begging Nero to stay and keep a connection he desperately needs, Dante lets him go, realizing that if he wants to fix things, he needs to start learning how to talk about how he actually feels instead of covering things up and unintentionally hurting those he loves.

Vergil destroys the Qliphoth, but doesn’t leave the Underworld. Realizing just how much he’s sinned, starting all the way back to Temen-ni-gru, he resolves to not go back to the human world until he’s made himself one worthy of being a Son of Sparda, finally understanding what that really means. Descending into the Underworld, he won’t leave until he’s eliminated those that would harm the world his brother, father and son protect so hard. This could be the start of his own spin-off series that would focus more on the demon lore in the games and take place entirely in the Underworld with Vergil struggling to be a better person and take responsibility for his own actions. Devil May Cry: Atonement, maybe.

Nero heads back home with Nico but doesn’t read V’s book. Hurt from his betrayal, he puts it in a box and seals it up for Vergil’s maybe return. When Nico starts talking about how Agnus is the reason she’s alive, she also acknowledges that she already has a real father and family that love her and subtly (and stutteringly) implies Nero’s a part of that, cementing that Nero has a family that loves him and is there for him. Nero thanks her  and the two descend into silence for a bit before they start mocking each other and end up laughing before Nico realizes Nero’s crying. When she starts freaking out, he explains that he’s scared he’s still not strong enough to protect them, but before Nico can say anything, the phone rings. Answering it, a voice says, “You don’t have to be.” Looking out front the two see Kyrie and Patty, decked out in hunting gear, a phone in Kyrie’s hand. Smiling at them, she says into it, “We’ll protect each other.” Running out of the van, Nero scoops Kyrie up in a hug. When Patty starts complaining about them ignoring her, Nico pulls her away and tells her not to interrupt. After a bit, the group looks out at the horizon and vow to fight together, not letting themselves fall to the bitterness that led to this mess. Seeing some demons approach and watching his crew get ready, Nero smiles before smirking and gets ready to throw down. “Let’s rock!” Devil May Cry: Forsaken.

Dante looks out over Redgrave from his childhood home, silently miserable. After a while, Lady and Trish come over and try to talk, but he cuts them off with an apology. Fully realizing how his inability to let other people in nearly got them all killed, he encourages them to leave so they don’t end up like that again. Stunned from Dante apologizing, the two are silent. Then Lady angrily asks, “What the hell?! Just how dumb are you?!” She tells him that yeah he really screwed up this time, but they’re not going anywhere! He’s an idiot, but he’s THEIR idiot, and they’re not leaving him alone. They need him and he needs them. Trish tells him that if he has time to mope, he has time to clean up the city. The girls begin to walk back to the city and tell him to hurry up. A genuine smile on his face, Dante looks to his family’s home one more time, sheds some tears and walks away, from his past to his new family. Devil May Cry 6 will pick up on what happens next.

If Resident Evil can have like 50 spin-offs, why can’t DMC?

Alternatively, I’m also open to the suggestion of Vergil being stuck as V for the rest of his life. Karmic punishment at it’s finest.

In all honestly, Vergil was really unnecessary to bring back. Like, just make him DLCs, his whole story is done. It just feels like fanservice and the writers banking on a popular character to bring in sales. I also feel like the game bends itself over backwards to please him (back to life, cheat coded to power, no more nightmares, gets to fight Dante whenever he wants, gets a son who wants his acknowledgement he didn’t have to raise, crimes are basically swept under the rug) while everyone else gets kind of screwed over (Dante has to leave his friends behind, Nero’s abandoned again, Lady and Trish are captured and get no screen time, V’s familiars are gone, millions are dead).

I think Urizen and V should have been their own things: I liked the idea of Urizen being the general of Mundus that attacked Dante’s house (his ACTUAL reason for fighting) and V being Mundus’ son who was abused and bonded with his henchmen who decided to become a devil hunter in vengeance for his mistreatment. I dunno, I feel bad V (who legitimately creeped me out) was just made into a convenient little redemption arc.

Nero’s character arc really should have been something else. I think he should have learned throughout the story to stop caring what others thought about him (a trait that should have been visible in 4 if it was going to be such a big deal in 5) and learn to trust his own strength. He should’ve realized that he doesn’t need to prove anything to Dante, he’s never going to be the same and he should be happy with who he is. Also, wanting Vergil’s acknowledgement doesn’t make sense. He may be his biological father, but literally the only things Nero knows about him is that he ripped his arm off, started the apocalypse, got millions killed, manipulated him and wants to kill the guy who was actually like a dad to him. Biological ties can only count for so much.

Alternatively, his arc could have been about becoming a more compassionate person. Like I said earlier, it’d make sense if he didn’t care about anyone other than Kyrie being in trouble. And remember when he tried to kill an armor he thought had a human in it in 4? Along with the seemingly human Agnus? Have Dante worried Nero might go down the wrong path. Have him tell Nero about Vergil WAY earlier (months after 4) and have Nero worried if he’ll turn out like that. Nero actually had more potential to be dark than Dante, and I feel like that in trying to make him look like a perfect hero in 5, they had to make Dante look worse (keeping secrets, ignoring suffering, etc.).

And instead of “deadweight,” Nero’s berserk button should have been Dante not telling him things. You know, like the Order? The group he worked for that tried to start the apocalypse in secret and nearly got him and his girlfriend killed along with actually killing his older bother? Yeah.

I do not like the hyperrealism. This is purely on me preferring more animesque art styles, but I always felt that not looking like actual humans helped the series’ fantastic elements shine.

Dante’s new outfit is just so...muted. It’s just boring. Dante’s supposed to be flashy, dang it! Give me back the chaps!

Nero’s hair is awful. It just looks terrible on him, I wanted him to have long, pretty hair. They should have just kept his trigger hair all throughout the game.

Also, Dante’s the hunk, give Nero back his soft, pretty boy face!

DON’T GET RID OF DEVIL BRINGER! I hated using the Devil Breakers, who wants breakable weapons in Devil May Cry?! What’s next, reloading ammo?! And if you can come back from being stabbed, shot, electrocuted, impaled, would it kill you to let Nero grow his demon arm back to keep his playstyle easier?! And if you needed a challenge, congratulations! Nero lost his Devil Trigger! WORK WITH THAT! 

Please don’t get rid of Dante. I love Nero, but he can’t do the main protagonist role. This is Dante’s series and he needs to finish it. Sure, give Nero a spin-off or two, but let Dante finish the story; the “Sons of Sparda” storyline was just 3. Not the whole series. Vergil is an important figure in Dante’s story, but he’s not where it ends. Dante. And. Vergil’s. Lives. Do. Not. Revolve. Around. Each. Other. They just liked to fight each other and developed opposing ideals, but their overall goals ultimately didn’t really factor in the other.

The whole Vergil abandonment thing shouldn’t have happened along with his beating Dante obsession, it seriously weakened Vergil’s character. He started out as someone who wanted the power to defend himself and became so deluded that he was ready to disregard any moral limitation to get it and simply fought Dante to amuse himself while never letting it get in the way of his goals. And him blaming Dante and Eva and insisting that Dante had an easier life, while I can understand it, just makes him come across as a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum.

Let V’s familiars kill demons without him. That was just really annoying.

And that’s it. My dreams for Devil May Cry 5 and the reality were two very different things and honestly...I’m afraid I’m growing out of this series. 

I’ll still post some content I want to get out, but I’m not sure I’ll be picking up the next one.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 15: The House on Prytania Street

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The gang heads to Prytania Street to meet with the last power left untouched in New Orleans; the Garden District Coven. Taylor starts to experience the side effects of being a fae halfling.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The sun’s heat is blistering on the back of his neck.

It feels unnatural in a way; conducting their business with the darker side of the world in the daylight. They’ve been running between the worlds that exist between sunset and sunrise for so long that he almost forgot what the sun even looks like.

He likes looking at the moon. But looking at the sun? Ouch.

Still it feels strange not to have Cadence’s towering presence hovering somewhere at his back. Looking over at Katherine — he can’t imagine what it must feel like to her.

“Hey — nope, eyes here.”

Taylor winces at the backhand to his arm but Ryder definitely isn’t in the mood. He’s been tense ever since they left the hospital with a time and place to address the Garden Coven. Like he didn’t know that was the plan, or something.

“I’m listening,” promises Taylor. But listening for Nik at that very moment requires eyes as well as ears.

“Really? Then what’d I just say?”

He blames his hesitation on the fact its taking forever for the coffee to hit his nervous system. Looks to Cal beside him for some kind of help but the werewolf gives him a look of you’re on your own.

“Uh —”

“Right, thought so.”

“I get the gist, Nik. Don’t be rude, don’t make eye contact, probably best just not to open my mouth.”

Cal snorts. “Actually that’s scarily close to verbatim.”

“Did I ask you?” snarks Ryder, but the bait remains abandoned in the cracks on the sidewalk.

The Upper Garden District is like most wealthy neighborhoods; nice to look at for a time but not much for entertainment value without a place to actually go. And sure Taylor has entertained the thought of owning one of the many million-dollar mansions lined with black iron gates and enough bedrooms to sleep in a different one every night for a week or more.

But its like the streets know. They know what Taylor and the rest have seen — what some of them have done. They know what creature hunts them and close their entrances off with hanging willow branches and high brick walls.

Claiming innocence, refusing to be witnesses like covering their eyes in cupped palms absolves them of the duty placed upon survivors to recount tragedy when it is over.

Because they might be the only ones left to do so.

Taylor drags his fingertips along the winding bars of an iron gate. Wonders if the prickling he feels under his touch is static, his imagination, or something more.

Nothing about 937 Prytania Street sets it apart from the houses on either side of it, or across the street for that matter. If Katherine hadn’t stopped in front of it he might not have even guessed it was their final destination.

Wasn’t a witches’ home supposed to be covered in sigils or guarded by spirits from another world? At least adhere to the aesthetic, people.

Thank god, though, he’s not the only one underwhelmed by the obviously-new shiny coat of eggshell-white or the lack of shutters creaking in the mid- morning breeze.

“You sure this is the place, Kathy?” asks Cal with his head slightly raised, nostrils flared to try and pick up whatever scent witches carry. “It smells pretty ordinary.”

She doesn’t answer. Just presses the buzzer and waits patiently for the gate to open.

It does and without so much as an ominous creak.

Maybe its his paranoia kicking in but with every step they take towards the house the feeling of unease in Taylor’s stomach grows, and grows, until it sloshes around — doesn’t sit well with his coffee. Everything his eyes take in seems too normal. A lawn too well-manicured, a set of metal golden numbers too polished. Makes him want to grab a fistful of soil from a too vibrant pot of Easter lilies and throw it somewhere, anywhere to make the place a little less picturesque.

Lamrian was beautiful in its perfection.

The House on Prytania Street is perfect the way a staged corpse is perfect.

A stiff gentleman in a three-piece suit opens the door before Katherine can use the knocker. Looks the four of them over with a condescending air about him and there’s a half-second where it looks like he’s ready to close the door in their faces on principle.

He doesn’t, instead steps aside.

The problem with most of the houses in the area is that, beauty aside, most of them stand empty. Not on the material front — they are always filled with collections of things and with more places to sit than is realistically necessary. But whether its the shitty housing market or the fact that they’re just owned like another piece of a collection, rarely are they lived-in.

The Garden Coven house is no different.

While the Suit leads them to a parlor off the right of the house Taylor tries his best to try and find some evidence of life being lived; on the walls, the carpet, even in smudges in the dust that lines various and seemingly unrelated objects on display.

There are none. Not one single fingerprint.

Though the Suit gestures to a matching array of chaise lounges and high-backed chairs for them to wait in, they stay standing because Katherine stays standing.

“You will be collected shortly,” is all the Suit says before returning the way they had come; though this time he pulls the double doors closed behind him. Leaves them all feeling trapped despite the open windows and sunlight pouring through.

“Random question here,” Taylor breaks the silence because it might actually drive him up the wall, “but do we have a plan for if this goes badly?”

He looks to Ryder, who looks at Katherine, who has suddenly taken up an interest in the antique carpet underfoot.

Of course they don’t have a plan. Why would they have a plan for their last resort? The same wonder team that practically broke into Persephone without so much as an escape route on the brain.

Historically things have worked out in their favor, though. Is it wrong of him to hope this time, too, might not be so terrible?

The glowing yellow eyes that bore into his soul from across the room say yes, yes it is wrong of him. Say how dare he imagine that things might not turn out so bad. They blame him for bringing hellfire and brimstone down on this house, on this city.

“— ly shit, Taylor. You okay?”

Its like an out-of-body experience in reverse. Feeling too deep and too trapped within himself to answer the concern on Ryder’s face. Like he’s drowning inside his own mind — or inside someone else’s.

Nothing about her is stable — pinpointing what she looks like beyond the startling gaze with which she holds him captive is about as easy as finding a single raindrop in a stormy sea.

One moment there are wrinkles around her eyes. Lines at her mouth pursed with thin lips in a frown of disappointment. Then youthful candor in aching regret. Grey hair healthy and full then withered, curling like the rumors that hair and nails continue to grow long after you’re buried in the ground.

He doesn’t realize it until the tear burn at his eyes and make him choke, but he’s crying.

“Taylor — Taylor!”

It’s back-breaking to pull away from the vortex he’s been ensnared in. Both the sun and moon in each of her eyes. Glassy and knowing at the same time.

But he blinks. Feels those same tears run down his cheeks and tickle his chin. Looks at the concerned faces of his friends with utter confusion because how in the world could they be staring at him when he’s facing judgment at the metaphorical pearly gates, here?

Even he’s aware of how foolish he sounds when all he can let out is a dumb “What?”

Nik takes him by the shoulders; looks him up and down for any signs of physical harm like it all isn’t in his head. Remains the most tried and true validation of his experiences to this day.

“You — what the hell happened to you?”

Taylor looks to Cal’s frown of concern, to Katherine’s violet curls like whips lashing around her face as she tries to pinpoint what, where.

“You look like you jus’ saw a damn ghost,” Cal sees the confusion in his eyes and thinks he’s helping. He isn’t.

So he cranes his neck back, away from Nik, to the point where it feels like he might snap his own spine.

She’s still there — in the doorway to a shadowy corridor. Both young and old and there and not. Then she isn’t her at all and the elderly man standing in her place reminds him of his grandfather a bit — which does nothing but unsettle him further.

“You… you don’t see her — hi— it?”

No, of course they don’t. Why would they?

He’s used to this — defaults into the old habit of trying to pretend the thing he’s looking at doesn’t exist. Already with denial on the tip of his tongue burning like a sour candy left forgotten.

But this was supposed to have stopped. No more headaches, no more hallucinations. The things he’s seen and accepted… so why is this different? Why now of all the rotten times is he seeing something no one else can?

Sure Nik tries; Cal too. They look in the doorway where the figure hovers like a bad trip on acid. They try, but they don’t see.

“Rook,” — is this where he pulls a Hermione, tells Taylor that seeing things no one else can see isn’t normal even in their freaky lives? — “there’s no one there.”

Only he doesn’t sound his usual level of confidence. Sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself right alongside.

Katherine scoffs under her breath; shakes her head and sits because there’s nothing else to do with her arms folded so tightly across her chest its undeniably a measure of self-comfort. Of keeping herself grounded.

When Cal tries to sniff the air his nose crinkles. “There’s too many different scents. Ritual burnings, smudges — I can’t get a read on shit.”

“I swear,” mutters Nik so low Taylor wouldn’t hear it if he weren’t as close as he is, “if these bastards are messin’ with you —”

For a guy who spent the entire journey warning against this exact type of frustration, anger, Taylor’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter if the Coven — wherever they may be — can’t hear him.

“Stop, it’s fine.”

“It ain’t —”

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

“Like I give a damn?!”

“Lower your voice!”

“A-hem.”

At some point the Suit had returned without their notice. Taylor would like to hope it was after his little freak-out but, time to face facts; he’s just not that lucky.

The way he looks them over — he might very well have some sort of magic-witchy x-ray vision. How the fuck someone can have a gaze that feels something like being scored at the top of his head and having his very being pulled back layer by layer is a mystery and, unlike the others, its one Taylor has no desire to solve.

“The Garden Elders will see you now.”

He wants to ask for a second to catch his breath; regain his composure. But why ask for it when he already knows the answer he’ll get?

Like before Suit doesn’t wait for them to speak an agreement. Just turns and begins walking deeper into the old house with purpose. Cal follows close behind — for all his bravado there’s unmistakable gooseflesh riddling his forearms.

Taylor reaches out to Katherine without a second thought; offering like he can help her up when they both know she could very well launch him over the chair and out the window like a rag doll.

Just another thing to distract him from the unrelenting stare digging knives into his back, probably.

Only Katherine takes his hand; surprises them both by doing so.

“You still see them, don’t you?”

The way Kathy’s eyes roam the space behind him, Taylor can tell she’s searching for the smallest speck of something to assuage his worries. But if you see something you don’t look for it.

So Taylor just nods. Follows with her at Nik’s back where he acts like a wall to keep their whispers private.

“Its not the Coven.” She says it so matter-of-factly.

The figure, now a young girl in the same pale grey shroud as the other faces had been, keeps staring even as they leave the parlor behind.

“Then what is it?” Nik throws back through gritted teeth.

“Something much more powerful.”

Taylor squeaks. “Not helping.”

“I recognize that look — I’ve seen it in the mirror,” and when they approach another set of double doors, stalled behind the Suit and his glower, her breath is hot in his ear.

“Keep an eye out. If The Fate is watching then there’s far more at stake than we assumed.”

His first thought is there have to be more witches in New Orleans than this, closely followed by please stop inviting trouble into your life, Taylor.

But even Katherine looks confused at the emptiness of the solarium they’re led into. How unassuming the three occupants look taking their tea with a pristine porcelain pot at a table out of Home and Garden magazine.

The same kinds of lilies, white petals large and curling under the sunlight, occupy every planter and pot in sight. Some of them are accompanied by flowers he’s only ever seen in books or movies — others look like they might be more at home in Lamrian taking root than here; to be appreciated but ultimately with a finite lifespan.

The solarium is a half-circle of heat and glass. Even the door leading out to a back garden path is see-through; the handle made of crystal. Everything catches on the sun and it makes Taylor quite literally hot under the collar.

He wipes a bit of sweat away from his chin uncomfortably.

They aren’t greeted when they enter. There are no chairs for them to take up. The Suit departs with the same wordless condescension with which he arrived and they’re just left there, taking up space on pristine marble, watching the so-called Garden Elders take their tea.

Only one of them actually looks the title ‘elder.’ The cotton on his robes looks scratchy, makes Taylor want to itch along his arms even at a distance. The locs that obscure his withered face fall back when he lifts his head up to the sun — casting shadows in the lines and creases of age he wears not just well but with a sort of pride.

With a delicate two-fingered touch he pushes his cup and saucer to the woman to his left. She refills his cup without looking away from the newspaper folded in front of her setting. The air around her seems to hold back as if afraid to touch — reverent of her existence but willing only to observe. The way the light illuminates her dark skin is practically golden. Makes her shine with some ethereal grace more at home with fae-kind than mortal witches, but the glow is undoubtedly hers.

The third Elder takes Taylor by surprise — he’s seen her before. Can still smell the sour cling of sweat to copper talismans and commercial incense on the ever-crowded floor of the House of Voodoo shop on Bourbon Street. Takes hiding in plain sight to a whole new level.

Would the Taylor from before all of this have felt the power that radiates around them? Would he have understood there was something to be feared about this particular trio; something he couldn’t possibly understand yet could feel in a place deeper than in the marrow of his bones?

I guess we’ll never know.

The polite thing to do would be to wait for them to finish their morning repast.

They don’t have time for politeness.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice, Elders.” Katherine gives a respectful nod of her head when she steps forward. Based on the look she throws at Ryder that’s what they should all be doing — but he doesn’t. And Taylor just doesn’t want to look like an idiot.

Something rattles hollow around the old man’s neck and when he turns Taylor really hopes those aren’t real bones strung together with twine. His eyes are a milky, clouded white but he looks at Katherine with no trouble.

“Despite what rumor may have you believe we care a great deal of our ties to the community.”

Kathy opens her mouth to speak but because Nik is Nik he scoffs “yeah, sure,” loud enough to drag the focus of all three Elders onto him.

“If you’ve something to say, boy, say it,” says the House of Voodoo employee, and Taylor will never hear a customer service voice the same way again with the shiver it sends running down his spine.

“Elder Millet —”

It isn’t politeness that cuts Kathy off when Millet raises her hand. Not with the purpling of her face or the way she seems to gasp around unspoken words.

“Excuses are as bad as lies, Miss Lopez,” she gives a flippant wave to her peers that breaks her unspoken spell; leaves Katherine on the verge of clawing at her throat for fragrant lily-scented air, “if Mister Ryder here has something to say who are we to force him into silence?” Ironic, much?

Now he’s done it — Nik can tell, too. If they want to continue he’s going to have to finish his thought and accept the consequences that come with it.

But he is Nik; so he squares his shoulders and stands his ground despite the unease that Taylor feels emanating from him.

“I mean no blatant disrespect Elder Millet,” —to the old man— “Elder Vion,” —and to the woman still yet to look up from the paper— “Elder Daniels; but if any of you three gave a damn about the community we wouldn’t’a needed to come get you in the first place. You’d have shown your faces at the Beau-Keyes with the rest of ‘em.”

“And look what happened to them,” drawls Elder Daniels as she flips the paper  to the financial section, “almost killed due to reckless stupidity and an inability to see beyond the moment.”

The private laugh the three of them share isn’t lost on anyone. In fact it makes Cal bristle and go red in the face.

“You—You knew we’d be attacked? You knew and you did nothing?!”

Pack blood still runs deep.

Elder Vion adds a pink sugar cube to his tea. “‘Doing nothing’ was the ideal course of action.”

And his fellow Elders agree; “It followed the plan precisely.”

“And leaves us with an opening.”

“Though the guests will have to be taken care of first.”

“They won’t be here for long.”

“Hey—Hey! Now ain’t the time to dissolve into crazy!”

Nik’s clapping isn’t just loud — it makes the room tremble. Glass walls, the glass panels on the ceiling all somehow stunned by the weight of his audacity. That he would dare call attention to himself, this small, insignificant creature—

Taylor hastily shoves his palms into the front pockets of his jeans. Like that will somehow stop the feeling prickling at his palms like a thousand tiny needles. Different than anxiety; something borderline painful. Like if he thinks about it too much it will start to hurt, but pushing it out of the forefront of his mind will keep it at bay.

He recognizes the feeling easily enough — still doesn’t know what it means or what’s causing it but there’s one answer he didn’t have before. It has something to do with being a fae.

“So you all know what’s out… there.” Taylor jerks his chin to the garden, to the French Quarter beyond and the rest of New Orleans with it.

Given everything they’ve seen when it comes to the bloodwraith so far it’s almost laughable to think such a gruesome creature could exist—let alone appear—on a day like this.

Elder Millet looks Taylor over like she’s peeling back each and every layer of him with her eyes. Maybe she is — he wouldn’t put it past magic itself. Let alone past the magic that told the Coven Elders how terrible the attack at the Beau-Keyes would be and convinced them to do fuck-all about it.

“We do.”

But they knew that. “And you know what it’s after.”

“We’ve drawn our own conclusions.”

“Do those conclusions tell you how close you’re getting to the top of the list?” It sounds an awful lot like a threat. Good — he wants it to be.

“Do they tell you its only a matter of time until it comes after you — after the entire Coven?”

Nik agrees; “Whose to say it’ll stop with the Elders? Someone takes your place eventually — it can go after them, and the ones that follow, and the ones after that —”

Vion scoffs around his tea. “Preposterous!”

“Actually no; not in the slightest.” Wariness, distrust hangs over Katherine in an aura of thunderclouds. And its growing. “It’s logical.”

The word, the very implication of it makes Millet’s fingers twitch towards something partially obscured by the teapot. At first Taylor wrote them off as napkins but now the shape and size rings familiar.

Her deck of tarot cards doesn’t like being questioned.

“Logic is the predilection of the mundane.” When Elder Daniels finally looks up from her paper its to stare directly at Katherine. Hard and unyielding. Its a look of power; a silent demand for surrender.

And she almost does. Taylor knows without a doubt that she’d deny it with her last breath but words mean nothing when he can see the flash of her soul behind stormy skies — hear the rolling thunder not far behind.

“There are a thousand and one ways to interpret any given reading. And you chose the one that would keep you out of the crossfire.

“Even if it meant turning your backs on the Accords.”

Outside the walls of the sunroom nothing has changed. The clouds have continued to drift lazily by and the sun still beats down upon them. But when they entered the room felt as transparent as it looked.

Now they may as well be trapped in a dense fog. It threatens to block out the sun; to take pleasure in wringing out their last choking breaths.

“You overstep, insolent little Nighthunter.”

Elder Daniels stands and waves her hand. Probably takes a sick sense of satisfaction in the smallest flinch Katherine fails to hold back — but instead the witches’ spread vanishes as though it was never there.

There is no gaping absence of it — they could just as easily have been standing the entire time and had Taylor’s eyes not seen the table and chairs, had he not smelled the brewing tea or heard the clinking of cup against saucer, he would have a hard time explaining why he thought any of it was there in the first place.

Millet’s fingertips hover just above the surface of her tarot deck. The only physical thing to have remained. As much a member of the Elders as anything.

And the wrinkles on Vion’s leathery face have sunken deep like canyons. His movements are ancient and slow as he stands beside his fellow Elders in defiance of some unknown.

The sides are becoming glaringly obvious.

Small as it was Daniels’ display of power served its purpose; reminded them of who—what—they were dealing with. A power strong enough to entice the bloodwraith and prove its worth by remaining untouched.

The continued existence of them was a claim to power that the likes of Carlo de la Rosa and Denna the Shifter could never have dreamed of.

Taylor knows he’s not the only one of them having this fact hammered home inside him. Not solely because it takes some big and important shit to keep Ryder silent for this long but definitely highlighted by it.

“Perhaps,” Millet drags the word out solely to fuck with them, “we are the ones to be blamed. Blamed for our naivete in agreeing to this meeting disguised as an attempt to point fingers.”

And because its Katherine on the line — more than her name or reputation, but her life — she remains the sensible one. She tries to smooth-talk her way out. “With respect, Elder Millet, no one’s pointing fingers—”

“Save your arguments,” barks Vion, “though I’m sure they were well-rehearsed. Even blind to this physical plane as I am, I can see your true intentions for coming here.”

“Well there weren’t any, so —”

“We open our doors to you in this hour of need and yet you seek to accuse us of that which you cannot even begin to understand. Do you deny?”

It’s beginning to feel an awful lot like a trial and Taylor isn’t the only one who can feel it. He knows what the tension in Cal means — the way Nik shifts to the foot he favors standing his ground on.

But something just isn’t right. It’s echoing hollow in his bones; in the air around them. It fills him up, keeps filling him until he’s not sure he can stand it anymore. Until it wants to pour from his mouth or leak from his ears.

“Then why even agree to meet with us at all?” he blurts out to the surprise of the room; to himself.

And all that pressuring weight shifts from Katherine to him. Now he’s deep in it. Way to effing go.

Only its the first time the Elders don’t have a remark ready to be snapped at their heels. A fact that isn’t lost on them — and isn’t lost on his friends either.

And since its the only silence they might be getting any time soon he tries to roll with it in his usual word-vomit way.

“If you can see so much of the future in your cards or whatever — why agree to meet with us at all? Wouldn’t you know what we think of you? What everyone thinks of you? And you guys don’t seem like the type to entertain stupid people for the sake of a laugh.”

Nik gives him a very specific ‘Did you just call us stupid?’ look. Yeah, yeah he did.

But its rambling, and Taylor is good at rambling. Rambling is what he does best — rambling and improv monologues.

“You guys —” he drags an accusatory finger across the spread of them, “— are the ones accusing anyone, here. Which I get, you know, because there’s a lot going on. And everyone’s scared and everyone’s got their walls up because this is—like—ten thousand leagues away from normal even for your crazy world.

“But if we keep pointing fingers and we keep not helping everyone then what’s gonna happen? Right — the bloodwraith is gonna win. Because we’re gonna do its job for it!”

He drops his finger, then, because he’s making a point and leading by example. “Whatever reasons you may think we have for coming here are bullshit. No one wants to help, everyone’s just in it for themselves! And seeing as literally everyone in the city is a target right now that’s a really really stupid way of thinking!”

Like — he’s making sense, isn’t he? He feels almost compelled to look around not just at the Elders but at his friends, too. How many stories about good versus evil demand that everyone band together in spite of their differences for their own survival; for everyone’s survival?

They had been so close at the Beau-Keyes. If they’d all been given more time who knows what they could have accomplished. Maybe Kristof would be more willing to help. Maybe Lady Smoke wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Maybe Elric would stop hiding behind his wards like a coward.

Taylor sighs and it comes out a ragged thing — takes every last bit of air in his lungs and tries to wring a choked noise from his lips but he’s just too tired.

“If you had already made up your minds about us — about helping everyone — then why bother letting us come here to ask?”

Over Elder Daniels’ shoulder, across the room and through the spotless glass wall he sees the same figure as before. Knows its them by the glint of their golden eyes. The young woman’s face is forlorn; almost weeping. Flickers like a heat mirage from young to old to young again.

The Fate, Katherine had called them.

Why here?

Why now?

Why won’t they do something?

“Such a rousing call to action…” says Millet with the vestiges of praise — yet it looks bitter on her tongue.

Daniels agrees; “And from the unseen complication, no less.”

“Perhaps we underestimated him.”

“What difference would it make? Everything has gone as predicted so far.”

“One wrong move can turn the tide.”

“Yes — but this…”

Again they fall into whispered confidences — as though the others aren’t even there.

Ryder almost growls. More unwilling to call them out on it than before but just as impatient. “This was useless…” he hisses through gritted teeth back in Kathy’s direction.

A small movement draws Taylor’s attention to Elder Vion. To the empty space beside him.

Where The Fate — as a child, making it all the more eerie — reaches up and takes the witch’s hand in theirs. Blood soaks through their grey sleeve; drips down onto the pristine white floor. One droplet becomes two, becomes three and more. A puddle forming at their feet and spreading out of its own will.

He knows it isn’t real — that none of it is really there. There is no child and no blood not only because no one else is freaking out about it but because of the way the blood moves. Spiraling tendrils seeking to consume but only at the Elders’ feet.

The meaning of the whole disturbing sight is clear.

There is blood on the Elders’ hands. They’re drowning in it.

“You didn’t answer his question.”

Katherine cuts Daniels and Millet off mid-word. All that cool calculation hidden behind her pretty face; the perfect mask to hide behind. “Why’d you agree to this? What do you gain?”

Daniels’ upper lip curls. “There is nothing you could offer worth our time.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question.”

“Do you forget you called upon us?”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “when I thought you’d be useful. But we’re just talking in circles here!”

They are. What more do they know now compared to before?

Nothing is making any freakin’ sense. Nothing except for the sickening feeling growing inside. The blood spreads — devours. Leaves the witches draped in a dark veil thicker than a fog at night and the solarium, once filled with the light breeze of lilies, reeking of rot and the sour tang of open wounds.

A scent he’s becoming all too familiar with — something Taylor never thought would ever cross his mind.

Again there’s a prickling at his palms but this time he reaches for Ryder — a port in the gathering storm. Clasps their hands together tightly; desperately.

Nik who does a double-take when he catches the hollow light of fear in his eyes.

We need to leave.

What do you know?

Too much.

Too much. He knows too much. The Fate knows it and that’s why their figure has vanished but the blood seeping into the hems of the Elders’ clothes remains. The world knows it too, somehow. Keeps that damp and musty smell of molding decay stuck in his lungs and makes him choke on it. Makes his eyes water and an itching pain climb up from the inside of him begging to be let free.

He knows too much. Can’t even begin to understand the how or the why and maybe even a little bit of the what but he does.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the darkness that gathers around the Coven Elders and the one hanging as a fatal noose around the bloodwraith are one in the same.

We need to leave.

“It doesn’t matter Kathy,” Nik interrupts — keeps his eyes on Taylor like a grounding point; the only solid ground to stand on, “whether they answer or not it’s clear as day they don’t plan on helping anyone but themselves.

“We oughta get goin’.”

To their credit the Elders don’t deny it.

But the sudden change is a bit too much for Katherine. “Are you—Nik what the hell?”

“Kathy —” Taylor’s wavering voice almost breaks at just her name. Its enough; enough to drag her away from frustrating thoughts building to the fact that he’s white as a sheet and on the verge of unconsciousness. “Please.”

She doesn’t get the chance to argue. Not when the room turns to shadows upon shadows; very real and very not-in-his-head clouds blooming across the sun over their heads.

Even when Elder Vion lowers his hand the spell continues; grows and takes hold of the sky above until the sun is nothing but a distant memory, until the shadows are only a darkness unending.

He tuts and clicks his tongue — such a normal act in contrast to the way he leans on the gnarled handle of his cane. “Finally the consequences reveal themselves.” He bites out, though his scorn is quickly directed to the Elders at his side. “Had you not wished to speed the process this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Had we?” Millet snaps; gestures with her hands so wide that one of the cards slips from her deck and flutters to the ground face-up.

The Wheel of Fortune stares lifelessly upwards.

“You insisted the Council could not be allowed to congregate, Vion.”

“Indeed we acted on faith of your vision,” agrees Daniels.

Vion, though, is adamant; “The consequences outweighed the risk.”

“And what of that,” Daniels thrusts a finger at Taylor, “little consequence? Was it worth the knowledge he now possesses?”

The energy directed his way makes Taylor double over — from pain or pressure he doesn’t know. But Nik isn’t having it.

“What the hell are you crazy people talkin’ about?!”

“Silence!”

There’s a loud and resistant groan over their heads. They look up just in time to see the metal framework stop — now twisted, coiled like a spring ready to snap and send the ceiling panels hurtling down in what would surely be a painful death for all but the Elders.

“You dare interrupt your betters; dare demand of those who hold absolute power over your mortal lives?!” She’s practically shrieking now; and with each crack of her voice comes a crack in the glass surrounding them. “That you continue to live is a testament to our generosity despite your wretched meddling!

“But a Nighthunter never learns. Not until he is forced into submission!”

The bones around Elder Vion’s neck rattle on a nonexistent breeze. “To give this cur the same punishment would be my pleasure.”

“Why bother prolonging it?” adds Millet in a ravenous growl, “Kill him now and we have a second soul to cut from the veil. A second soldier to finish the task at hand.”

Cal goes rigid; taken by surprise. Now he knows. “Holy shit. It’s you.”

And now Katherine knows too; forces down the oncoming waves of revelation — keeps herself afloat with a strength well-hidden.

“You’re the ones controlling the bloodwraith.”

[alexsmuarchive]

THIS IS IT.

TAGGING: Alexander, Jefferson and Mary-Anne Montgomery. Mentions of: Jamie Montgomery, Autumn Rose. Small mentions of: Regan St. James, Victoria Vanderbilt. 

LOCATION: Mountain Brook, Alabama. 

TIME FRAME: Tuesday, February 12th; around noon.

SUMMARY: Alexander goes to Alabama to have a talk with his father. 

WARNINGS: A general warning of Jefferson’s conservative views, tbh. Also, mentions of abortion/rape/domestic violence. 

WORD COUNT: 1610 words. 

Chicago Cubs pitchers and catchers were meant to report to camp February 13th and though Alexander was meant to travel to Arizona late Tuesday night with some of his teammates, he changed his plans at the last moment and instead, traveled to Alabama for the first time since leaving for college. Alabama held bad memories of a terrible childhood and neglectful parents, so when he got the chance to leave, he took it and never looked back. There was a reason why all of his friends - especially Autumn and Regan had never been and would never be in his childhood home. Even when he wanted to see Jamie, he made sure to pay for her flight to Chicago instead of him going back to Alabama and having to deal with his parents. But now, he deemed it necessary. It was a conversation that was long overdue and one that would put an end on whatever hold Jefferson Montgomery had on him. 

Ever since Jamie had left for college, the Montgomery’s had moved to a bigger, better house. Of course, the Montgomery’s and the Vanderbilt’s of Alabama wanted to show off their wealth instead of focusing on values that actually mattered. Neither he nor Jamie nor Victoria had come out unscathed after growing up in such a lifestyle and whoever got angry that the rich complained about their problems, didn’t know that money couldn’t actually buy happiness. 

The new gatekeeper didn’t know him, which should’ve been a clear indication that being there was a mistake and that he was doing things based on impulse and anger. "Alexander Montgomery” he said calmly, though feelings were already building up, “their son. I know he’s not in DC right now, but he will be by the end of the week. I need to talk to him.” He wasn’t angry at the gatekeeper’s incompetence, he was just doing his job, but he was irritated by the fact that he had to explain himself. After a few minutes of clearing up the confusion, he was finally allowed inside and Alexander couldn’t help but scoff at the delusion of grandeur the mansion exuded. Antiques and paintings that neither Jefferson nor Mary-Anne really cared about decorated the house, the marble floors shining brightly, taxidermy throughout the high ceilings. It was everything he hated. 

“Is father home?” Alexander asked his mother in lieu of a greeting, ignoring her surprise and her fake smile at seeing him for the first time in years. Mary-Anne barely did a thing, she was a trophy wife who agreed with her husband and that made her just as bad as Jefferson was. “I need to speak with him.” Though Mary-Anne exclaimed she was happy to see him and asked if he wanted something to eat, Alexander ignored her until she said he was in his study and led him there. 

The office was more of the same except there, Jefferson showed off family pictures as if he actually cared about family and not just himself. Jefferson’s desk was adorned with pictures of the four of them, and he couldn’t help but scoff yet again at how fake it all seemed. They weren’t a happy family. They never had been. The only good thing Jefferson Montgomery ever did for Alexander was cheat on his wife --- Alexander got a sibling and someone who he could actually talk to about everything. Though, that was just him being selfish. Jamie didn’t deserve to have a father like him. 

Jefferson, as Mary-Anne had done, acted as if he was glad to see him and when he sat up to greet him with a hug, Alexander took a step back and shook his head. There was no way he was going to hug someone like him after everything he’d done. Not after he ruined his life. 

“Do you remember...” Alexander trailed off, sucking a breath between his teeth as he took a moment to gather himself, “do you remember when I came to you, as my father, so you could help me get Autumn out of the situation she was in? And you so kindly gave me half a million dollars to get him away from her, but blackmailed me into also staying away from her? Do you remember that, father? You should. That was the last time we had a conversation, if I remember correctly.” 

Alexander started pacing, noticing Jefferson’s posture stiffen and his lips pursed into a fine line. “Do you know what happened after, father? When I went to Detroit and Autumn stayed in Chicago? You know... a funny little thing happened because Xavier somehow found out about our little deal and made things worse for her. He forced into marrying him, he beat her, raped her, and she ended up having a little girl with him. She finally decided to leave him though, but not after six years of that. Six years.” Alexander paused, shaking his head and trying to hold back tears. “Meanwhile I was miserable too. I was married to Sam, but I didn’t love her. When she was gone, I felt free. Do you know how much of an asshole someone has to be to feel free and liberated when someone dies? I guess I got that from you, though.” 

When Jefferson tried to interrupt Alexander, he took a step forward and warned him with a look. This was something that he needed to get off his chest and, frankly, he didn’t really care what Jefferson had to say --- he just needed for him to listen. “I have been beatin’ myself up over this since I found out. I’ve been tellin’ myself that it was my fault that Autumn went through so much. But I was wrong. You did this. You ruined my life and you ruined Autumn’s life. It was your deal that kept me away from her.” He furiously wiped a tear from his eyes with the back of his hand before continuing. “She was pregnant when I left, by the way. The baby was mine, father. But I was gone and she had to terminate it... and I know you ain’t gonna care about her feelings and are just gonna say that she’s a sinner and a killer because of your bullshit religious beliefs --- by the way, did you think about that when you were fuckin’ another woman that wasn’t your wife, father? Were you thinking about those religious beliefs when you had a child with someone else?” He smirked, glad to have gotten that out of the way after so many years. “Anyway, father, if Xavier had found out that she was pregnant... he would’ve killed her. All because you couldn’t fuckin’ stand me being in love with someone who didn’t have money. You... you and the Vanderbilt’s always hated that Victoria and I fell in love with people you deemed as less than us. You, mother, Charles and Eleanor couldn’t bare the thought of us loving decent people, huh?” 

Alexander shouldn’t have come and he knew it. He probably wouldn’t get through to Jefferson, not that it really mattered by this point. Jefferson and Alexander had never seen eye to eye when it came to Autumn in general, Regan’s sexuality — God, he’d even tried to get her to ‘pray the gay away’ at one point, not even allowing himself to actually voice the word gay — and Jamie’s tendency to be... free. Jefferson was set in his ways and no one, not even his own son, would be able to change his mind. 

“Now I’m in Chicago again and Autumn and I are working through things. It’s gonna be hard. It’s gonna take time for us to even get a little bit of what we lost because of you, but we’re gonna try.” His usually stoic expression when it came to his father was nowhere to be found, and he knew Jefferson could see every emotion on his tired face --- anger, disappointment, hate and a little bit of hope for the future. “Autumn’s gonna divorce that piece of shit and I’m gonna help her. And... I’m gonna do one more thing for you and then that’s gonna be it. You ain’t gonna be my father anymore and you ain’t gonna try and talk to Jamie, either. You ain’t gonna come to Chicago to grovel. You’re gonna leave us alone for good. You got it?” Alexander didn’t wait for Jefferson to agree; he was done with him. This would be it. 

“I know you care about your standing as a Senator more than you ever cared about us. So, when I gotta talk about payin’ Xavier off, I’ll tell them that the money was mine and that you only wired money from my inheritance. It was grandfather’s money that he’d left for me when he passed. I mean, it ain’t much of a lie, is it? That was probably the money that you used for this.” He wrung his hands a few times, easing the tension he felt building up. “No one’s gonna know you paid anyone off. Don’t worry, father, your reputation will be intact.” 

Alexander let out a deep breath, looking at the man before him and smiling sadly. Fate had handed him a shitty card. “After this... when I leave today... I’m done with you. I don’t need your money, I have my own. Jamie doesn’t need your money, she has me. You can keep grandfather’s money for yourself because I don’t need it and I don’t need you.” He knew he only had to say one more thing and Jefferson would know that he was serious. “The next time I get married, I’m going to take my wife’s last name. I don’t want to be a Montgomery anymore and I won’t let her be one, either. We’re done... Jefferson.” 

[thekpopaus]

Series Yoongi, Chapter Two

Series Yoongi, Chapter Two

Word Count: 2000-ish

Warnings: Language maybe, violent images, violent flashbacks, mention of the selling of people, domestic abuse

There’s a lot of another characters background in this chapter but I promise its important to the actual story! Hope you guys like it. Also Idk if any of ya’ll like NCT, but like can Ten and Taeyong stop pls. I can’t handle either of them. One minute ur convinced they’re sweet bby angels and then Baby Don’t Stop comes out and its like not today Satan.

 Ch. 1

“Wait, you said mates are like soulmates so that means I have to be with you for the rest of my life? I don’t even know you! You could still turn out to be just like them. Why should I trust you let alone want to be with you?” I don’t know what this guy, or wolf rather, wants with me, this could just be another mind game, like the vampires always used to screw with my head.

“There are instances where the mate rejects the wolf. I won’t go into detail because I don’t want you to let that rule your decision. I want you to do what will make you feel safe. If that means leaving here, then so be it. I will help you on whatever way I can, and I’ll leave you alone and you can live your life with this behind you. But I can’t guarantee your safety. If you stay I will protect you with my life, and so would the rest of the pack should something happen to me. I know you’re scared and this is all new, but I want to take care of you and if you let me, I promise you, you will never want for anything and no one will hurt you again. Christ, it took everything I had in me to let Seokjin help bandage your wounds without ripping his head off. Point is, this was your fate to end up here with me, and I swear on my life that I will make it worth going through what you did to get here.” He spoke with such conviction it almost made me believe him.

“I just need to think about all of this. I’m confused and I’m very nervous and I just don’t know what to do.” He nodded, already getting up off the floor.

“I’ll give you all the time you need. I’ll send up Kara with some food for you. She’s Namjoon's mate. If you need anything just call for one of us and we'll come. Talk to Kara. She was in a similar situation when we found her. She will probably have some advice for you. She went through this decision already so she will understand and try to help you.” I nodded, sort of relieved that I would have someone that has been in my shoes. I still feel nervous, because it could be a trap, but glad that I don’t have to deal with another wolf.

He turned to leave, and just before he shut the door I called out to him, “What’s your name?”

“Yoongi” I nodded again, and he closed the door behind him.

I settled back on the bed and laid the curtain rod next to me. Someone knocked on the door a little while later and I reached for my makeshift weapon.

A dark-haired woman poked her head in, “Y/N? I’m Kara! I brought you some dinner, is it okay if I come in?”

“You’re by yourself, right? There aren’t any wolves with you?” She shook her head and nudged the door open enough to come in.

“We weren’t sure what you liked so we made some rice and noodles and there are some scrambled eggs here as well. I know you probably haven’t eaten in a long time but you need to eat slowly so you don’t upset your stomach.” She set a tray on the table beside the bed and sat down next to me.

“Yoongi said you’re very reluctant to speak with him and you said you’re confused?”

“Yes. It’s a lot to take in and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I can trust you, let alone a bunch of werewolves.”

“Here, you eat and I’ll tell you my story. Maybe it will help you understand a little. I was very little when I realized my parents were into some very bad things. When I was seven, there was a man that knocked on the door and when I answered, he pushed me into the house and held a gun to my head. I started screaming for my parents and when they finally came running into the room, he started demanding money. He kept saying that they owed him millions of dollars and that if they didn’t pay him he would kill me. What scared me was not so much the man holding me hostage, it was the look on my parents faces. It wasn’t terror, it wasn’t sadness, it didn’t even look like they gave a shit what happened to me. They begged and pleaded sure, but it didn’t take a genius to see what they really cared about, keeping this guy, whoever he was, on their side. The man finally let me go after my parents promised the man to have his money by the next week. I went upstairs, and my parents never came and talked to me, or explained, didn’t apologize at all. They acted like it never happened. I was obviously very shaken and upset. After that, nothing really happened. I almost forgot about that incident and the next eight years passed and I felt like a normal kid, going to school, thinking about getting a job, crushing on boys, things a normal teenager would do. My parents pretty much ignored me and I didn’t really interact with them either. I knew they could give a shit less about me so I just lived my own life.” She pauses and sighs before continuing, “I came home one day, and there were a bunch of strange men in the living room, talking to my parents. I walked in, and my poor excuse for a mother walked over to me smiling and started talking about how beautiful I was and how I would grow up to be a trophy wife. These men were all twice my age, at least, and were all looking at me like rabid dogs. What happened after that is blurry, mostly because I was just in shock.”

She leans back on the bed, and it looks like she’s holding back tears, “My parents gave me to a mafia leader, to pay off their debts to him. They took me to their mansion and forced me to do housework. I had to cook and clean and make beds and the like. They told me once I was 18 I would be auctioned off to someone who would marry me. I was lucky no one there took advantage of me, but I guess they had some common decency to leave me be. As soon as I was 18, I was taken to a sort of underground black market. They would negotiate contracts, and sell everything and anything, from Ivory to weapons to people there. I was put up on the auction block where I was advertised for these people the same way my parents advertised me before, a beautiful trophy wife. I was sold off to the highest bidder, I can’t even remember for how much, and he took me home and we signed the marriage papers. He expected me to still do housework when I wasn’t wearing skintight dresses and clinging to his arm. He didn’t expect me to have sex with him at first, he had other women for that, but once he started drinking, he was the worst. If I told him no, he would hit me, if I pushed him away he would beat me so badly I couldn’t see because my face was so swelled up. The longer I was with him, the more he drank and the more violent he became. I dealt with it for four years because I had no where else to go. It got to the point that I just figured it would be better to die alone somewhere than let that bastard kill me. So, one night after he was done beating me, I snuck out and made a run for it. I ran into the woods and didn’t look back. I ran and ran until the sun started to come up, and then I allowed myself to rest. I sat down next to a tree and passed out. When I woke up I was in a bed, in a strange room. I thought he had found me and I panicked and tried to run. One of them caught me and I started fighting, trying to get away from him. I was too weak to do much, and I eventually just couldn’t even pick my arms up to hit him. He sat me down and told me he wasn’t going to hurt me. He asked what had happened to me. So, I told him my story. He explained to me what he was, what his friends were, and he told me about mates. I was overwhelmed, just as you are now. I didn’t even believe he was a werewolf, I mean those things only existed in books and movies. It took me months to come around to the idea of even staying here, let alone staying with Namjoon. All that time though, he waited for me to make a decision. He never pushed me or tried to change my mind or sway my opinion. Not once. Yoongi is even more patient than Namjoon is. I’ve gotten to know him very well over the four years that I’ve been here with them. It’s all he’s ever wanted was to meet his mate. He told me he’s afraid you’ll reject him, but he wouldn’t blame you if you did. I want you to make your own choice here, but I encourage you to at least give it some time here. You’ll come to trust every single one of the wolves in this house, and I know it seems like you won’t, I know you just want to get away from all of this, but I promise you, if you stay and give Yoongi a chance, you wont regret it. Werewolves live for their mates. Namjoon always puts my safety and happiness over his own, and I know that Yoongi will do that and more for you. I hope maybe some of this will help you feel a little more at home here. All of us here just want what is best for you. Just think about sticking around okay?”

I nodded, hoping that eventually I would feel at home here, just as she does. “Can you see if Yoongi will come up here? I need to talk to him.” She smiled at me and took the now empty plate with her, “I’ll send him up, Y/N.”

“Thank you Kara, for telling me all of that. I know it must be hard for you to talk about.”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be. I know that it is all behind me now and that I’m safe here, so it doesn’t bother me as much. You’re welcome though. I really hope it helps you.”

She closed the door behind her, and I settled back on the bed. She had given me a lot to think about. The way she spoke about her history, I can believe every word she said. If that’s how she feels now, maybe I can feel safe and happy in a few years with Yoongi.

There was another knock on the door, and I didn’t feel the need to reach for my curtain rod. Yoongi stepped into the room, and he looked like he was nervous. “Kara said you wanted to talk to me?” He scratched the back of his neck and I wondered if that was a nervous habit of his.

“Kara told me about what happened to her. I think, if its okay with you, I think I should stay for a while and maybe see if you aren’t as bad as you seem. Just maybe for a few weeks or something.” He smiled at me, and I think maybe, if I get to see that every day, it might be worth staying for a little while.

[justjen523]

Chapter 2

Book 1 of The Gods Children Series

Alexandros/Elliana/Icarus

Gentlemen

     “So tell me, what do you intend to do with my daughter Alex?” His smile was kind and pleasant but I knew better. His daughter inherited this frightening trait from him and they were equally terrifying. Especially if you happened to be the one it was directed toward. 

     “H-Honestly sir, I had no intentions of even telling her.” His eyebrow raised as he sipped his tea. Why was it so hard for everyone to believe that I had no intentions of taking this anywhere? I loved her yes, but that didn’t mean we had to take our relationship in a different direction from where we already comfortably were.

     “Your daughter, Sir, is....too beautiful and kind. She’s the kind of woman a man would do anything for. To be on the receiving end of her love would be...an honor for any man. She has already blessed my life just by being in it and for that I will always love her. I don’t want to risk losing her by pursuing her romantically when I already have all I could ever ask for Sir. She’s.....too good for me.” That wasn’t for show or an act. Those were my true feelings. Ellie is too good for anyone in my opinion but that’s not the point. Her Father who was now staring at me intensely seemed taken by surprise at my words. After a few long moments in silence he finally spoke.

     “My dear Alex. Since you have so courageously confessed what’s in your heart, I shall do the same in return on this matter.” I couldn’t help but tense in anticipation of what he truly had to say. Before now we never really had a serious one on one so nervous didn’t even come close to describing my apprehension.

     “I held you in my arms when you were nothing more than a tiny babe. I watched you grow into a sweet child who always looked out for my little girl and was there for her when I could not be. Now you stand before me, a grown man whose Father should indeed be proud of the son he has raised into a perfect gentleman.” I couldn’t believe my ears. This was Zyglavis, Head Minister of the Department of Punishments right? Who also just so happens to be Ellie’s Father?

     “My son, if there indeed was ever a man worthy enough of my daughter’s affection, it would undoubtedly be you.”

     “S-Sir? I....umm...” I was too shocked to form proper words which I was well aware of the fact that it was probably making me seem like a complete moron after everything the Minister just said. When he suddenly burst into laughter and walked over to me with a sincere smile, I felt myself finally relax a little. When I stood to face him, I offered him my hand to shake.

     “T-Thank you Minister.....I truly am at a loss for words right now.”

     “I would imagine so. Not expecting my blessing were you?” He laughed taking my hand and shaking it firmly. It was that moment that the door opened and in walked Ellie, her eyes going wide the moment she saw our exchange.

     “Oh? And just what are you two scheming?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously looking back and forth between the two of us standing side by side. Zyglavis wrapped an arm around my shoulders before replying pleasantly.

     “Nothing at all my dear. Alex here just came by to ask for some advice, isn’t that right son?” He smiled at me in a way that gave me no room to do anything other than agree and nod.

     “Is that so?” It wouldn’t be Ellie if she wasn’t suspicious. She was extremely perceptive like her Father and getting anything past her was a near impossible feat.

     “Anyway, it’s time to go you two. Or are you going to make me wait even longer?” She was pouting which to me was absolutely adorable. Her Father’s expression however said that he felt otherwise. 

     “Elliana. Need I remind you this is not a trip for pleasure but one of necessity. Though we have agreed to allow both of you to accompany us there are most certainly rules that shall be unquestioningly followed. Is that understood young lady?” 

     “Daddy I-”

     “-IS that understood?”

     “Ugh....yes Daddy.” She gave me one of those ‘yeah right’ looks that meant we were almost certainly going to get in trouble somehow. Considering everything the Minister just said to me, I somehow felt guilty at the thought of doing something that went against what he said. I still had no intention of telling Ellie how I feel, but just knowing her Father deemed me worthy enough for her was all the compliment I ever needed.

     Once we arrived we were immediately surprised that this was the infamous mansion. It was so beautiful and lavish that it was hard to imagine why any of them would want to stay away from here. 

     “Wow. This place is amazing!” Ellie’s eyes were nearly popping out of her head as she walked around taking everything in.

     “Don't touch anything, you’ll probably break it.” I teased her earning a punch to my arm. After a tour and rundown about where we were allowed to go and not to go within the mansion, Elliana asked the million dollar question.

     “So when do we get to go out and see Earth?” Our Father’s exchanged a troubled look before The Minister’s face turned stern and addressed his daughter’s question with uncomfortable seriousness. 

     “I’m afraid that is out of the question.”

     “What?” Oh boy, here it comes. She rarely made that face let alone directed it at her Father.

     “It isn’t safe.” My Father replied rescuing Zyglavis from his daughter’s impending wrath. 

     “I’m pretty sure Alex is more than capable of keeping me safe if that’s what you are worried about.”

     “Elliana, it’s not that simple. While on Earth you are going to experience changes.”

     “What sort of changes?” I asked now feeling concerned for her well being.

     “Relax son, it’s nothn’ to get worked up over. You two are going to slowly feel drained though.” Ellie and I exchanged a look of shock that such a thing could happen to a god.

     “Precisely why I informed you earlier of the rules the two of you will undisputedly follow. You are not to leave the grounds under any condition. While it cannot be fully prevented, the changes you will experience will be far less while you stay on the premises. The King has surrounded the area with a divine shield that protects us from the vast majority of the Earth’s impurities. That is not to say that it is the only danger of being present on Earth. There are a great number of things that you are not aware of and we wish for it to remain as such.” From Elliana’s now serious and slightly worried expression it was safe to say she was reconsidering her rebelliousness of sneaking out anyway. I knew her all too well.

     “So what’s gonna happen to us exactly while we’re here?” I asked hoping to put her at ease a little.

     “It is as your Father said. The impurities of Earth slowly eat away at your divine energy which will leave you feeling drained and quite possibly exhausted after an extended period of time. As we are currently unaware of the length of time that we are required to be here there is a good chance you will experience this phenomenon. At such time you will be required to ingest human food and sleep. That will help replenish your energy.” Ellie and I exchange a look of surprise as neither of us have slept since we were children. It didn’t escape me the way my Dad looked between the pair of us, smirking a very brief moment. 

     “Does that mean we can’t even go outside?” Ellie asked looking more and more disheartened by the moment. Sensing this, the Minister loosens the reins a bit and smiled.

     “You may venture outside as long as you stay on the grounds. That being said, there is quite a bit of land this mansion sits upon. You are free to explore but I would prefer for you not to be out past dark until you are more familiar with your surroundings.” Finally, an enormous smile stretches across her heavenly face making my heart race. I do my best to quiet it and remain stoic as she turns to face me.

     “Alex can we go right now? Please?” When she looks at me like that I can’t deny her anything. I wonder if she realizes how truly beautiful she actually is. However, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give her a little shit for it first.

     “Hmm. I dunno. Seems awfully boring, I think I’ll stay behind and finish my book I was reading.” Pfffft, there it is. That angry, vengeful look I adore so much.

     “Damn woman, quit glaring at me like that. You’re making my face hurt.” Pretending to be none too pleased I allow her to take me by the hand and lead me on some crazy adventure. 

[thegnasticious]

Bavarian Car Key Party

When I was growing up, everyone in my family wanted to stay at Aunt May’s house. Even some of my friends would beg to stay the night at basically the biggest residence in town. Her house looked like The Munster’s mansion, filled with antiques and collectables both her and her husband collected over the years. One wing of the house was devoted solely to horse and circus sculptures, another part had old wax figures of Black and White actors. Many of the items held disputed values, but it was estimated her residence was in excess of millions of dollars in possessions.

The thing about Aunt May, was that she was peculiar. She tended to the wax figures as if they were real people, with little acknowledgment of piles of rotten food nearest them, insects beginning to feast of the morsels. She would disregard this, no matter the visitor and insist these messes were caused by an unborn child named Victor, who was also to be known to torment guests at night. When people would go off to sleep, they would wake up to their valuables missing, or put in strange places they never put it the night before. This was Victor’s way of reminding him that he was there and very likely when the guests were slipping into unconsciousness, that was the time he was becoming conscious. The steps and knocks of his feet would wind the dark halls at night, keeping any visitors in their rooms. Aunt May would often refer to Victor as ‘The Sandman’ and said if you were good that night he would sprinkle sleep dust over you throughout the night, keeping you shielded from his torment.

Apparently I was one of Victor’s favorites. Every time I stayed there I found no sleepless nights. It was as if someone snapped and the day turned to night instantaneously. All until one visit, when I showed up that day there was broken glass and a bit of blood on the floor, the front door was wide open. Aunt May labored to the mess, speaking to herself aggressively with each swipe of crimson red blood. 

“Are you alright Aunt May?”, I asked.

She looked down at the blood and back up at me and said

“Some things people, and places never change”, and started crying.

I tried to hug her but she pushed me away, very coldly.

I proceeded to try to help her clean the mess. She started shaking her head and said,

“Please go home now, I need some time by myself”.

When I returned home that day I decided to ask my Father, Lance, about what exactly was wrong with Aunt May.

He told me that in the years of the war she defended the house and it’s possessions from some sort of foreign occupant. he said that in many ways, the subsequent isolation and the absence of her husband was driving her near mad. This was where the collections of strange artifacts began to accumulate, as he remembered. 

I visited her mainly for my Father. He worried for her health and as these strange and basically unseen ‘belongings’ of hers started mounding up, the concern only grew stronger. 

The next visit was a bit stranger. about 3 days after I returned to see if she was doing any better, I was also quite sleep deprived. I don’t know what it was but since the last night at her mansion, something loud or extremely cold would shake me from even the deepest slumber. As if it was trying to return me there.

When I got to the big wooden doors, I used the knocker and waited for the footsteps I recollected so well. None came. I knocked again. Still no steps. On the third knock, the door opened itself, as if it was never shut at all. 

The house was completely dark, the usual candles were all blown out, and a strange hint of lilacs and lavender doused the air. I expected to hear the mad wailing of an old organ, or the shriek of a cat, but all that was found was impenetrable silence. Worried for Aunt May, I went to her room. There was a green glow emanating from her door. Sort of glowing and fading like a lantern.

I creeped to the door, and pushed it open slightly. As I peeked in, I saw a young boy dressed in old victorian clothes by the head of her bed. He held his hands above his head, and his eyes were stark white. Before him, lay Aunt May, suspended in the air, her arms and legs laying lifelessly. He chanted these words that seemed to have an innumerable volume and presence, sucking you in like a whirlpool. His voice was deep and not of someone that size. Behind him a dark shadow coursed so strong you couldn't see anything else. I held my mouth to keep from screaming, that was when my Aunt’s Black cat came up and purred right next to me. The boy then looked me dead in the eyes, and something took over me. I saw a vision of a room with white suited doctors rushing back and forth, on an operating table in the middle lies the boy. The doctors some how see me watching this and pull a curtain shut, when they do, I worry for the boy for some reason, though I’ve never known him. I see the shadows of the operation, and it looks like they are pulling confetti and boxes out of him. Finally at the end of the operation, they open the curtains, and on the table is what looks like 5 or so orders of prime rib, dripping with red blood. They close the curtains again then open them to darkness. A spot light shoots from above, and the boy is dropped down slowly. Wires come from the veins in his wrists, and nails through his ankles are secured to hooks behind him. I look to see what is doing this, and all I see is two giant red eyes above. Glowing like the rear car lights of a murderer. 

The dream faded to daylight and all of I found myself laying in the Mansion’s guest room. As usual with any dream I’ve ever had at my aunt’s I usually can’t recall how I got there, or if I was dreaming. The house had this odd effect over me. Nonetheless I could still see those glowing eyes above in my mind. 

Aunt May came into my room with tray of food,

“How was your sleep last night? Any bad dreams?”, she said and set bed tray down with eggs, bacon, and some bread.

“I had a dream I saw you, but you weren’t you”, I responded.

“Oh well, is that odd”, she said, putting some sort of powder into my drink.

“What is that?”, I asked.

“Oh just some sugar for your tea deary”, She said.

A few moments of silence passed and I nibbled at the food, not touching the drink. She seemed to be watching me and I had a feeling she wouldn't leave until she saw me drink the mixture.

“You know, I fought the Nazi’s in my day, every day they’d come in and out, looking for things or people. you know what kept me and the house so empty, even in foreign occupation?”, she asked.

“No”, I said.

“Hard work, every day, always doing something. No men, that’s the way the world ought to be. It makes it easier, to move on”,

She said.

“Are you sure that that, wasn’t what made the house so empty?”,

I inquired.

“Things got better once he was gone. Every day he would get more angry at the spirits here, taking it out on me and the family. The service was the only thing for George. And when George started seeing Victor, like you did yesterday, well, I had to do something. The Nazi’s had gotten to George at that point, and I had to do something. Thats how I found George’s weapon. One night he had a pile of this White substance on his desk, I assumed it was cocaine. He proceeded to say that it was the Fuhrer’s sugar and like you right now, I started realizing how George was keeping me trapped in this house”, she said and started coming towards me.

She grabbed my arms and held them down in the bed. A strength seemed to enter her, she pressed her faced to mine revealing all black eyes. She then took the drink and forced it into my mouth, hold my mouth shut after and not letting me open until I swallowed the substance.

I awoke to a strange place I had never been before. The temperature was warm, like that of the tropics. Outside the window, palms blew in the open air. I could hear people talking and eating in the other room. As I exited the room I entered an eating hall of sorts. Most of it’s occupants were my family, some alive, some I was sure were dead. At the head of the table was my father, Lance. 

“Take a seat”, he said and pulled out a chair beside him.

I did and looked around the table trying to place faces. I recognized my Aunt May, though supposedly widowed and single, was now sitting with a young boy and a nicely dressed older man, who I presume was George. 

George rose a glass of something Red to the ceiling and said,

“Tonight we dine and eat for John Dale!”, 

All sitting at the table cheered in agreement, raising their glasses high.

My Father then stood up and said,

“I’ve brought you all here tonight for a special reason. To show you all who John Dale really is and with your help, the last of the bloodline being our guest and main course”, he then patted me on the shoulder, “show you who will be the next John Dale after me”.

Everyone cheered again and as I looked at the meat on their plates, it deformed from prime rib to masses of human remains. Everyone started gorging on it like pigs, even my father. A feeling of terror overcame me, that this was all really happening, no longer a dream. I rushed to the front door and opened it. Outside was a camera crew about 7 feet from the door, just filming the house. I immediately threw up anything I ate, I could see the crew focusing their lighting and zoom right on the pile of red crimson vomit. 

I collapsed on the ground and a paramedics crew came up almost as if scripted. 

The next time I woke up, I woke up to a bunch of suited men in a hospital room. 

One of the men gripped the end of my hospital bed and looked me dead in the eyes. For a second I saw his eyes flick to the black like Aunt May’s.

“We want you to know that you have been brought to an institution, and we also want you to know that treatment can start and end today with one simple agreement. That you are John Dale. All of your previous possessions and identity, is to be erased entirely. If we hadn’t found you, your family was doing this anyways, albeit crudely and in some ways unprofessional. The Fisher institution which is in technicality where you’re being transferred from, is not fit for the powers you are about to possess. So all of this, though strange, is actually exactly as it was supposed to be. This transfer is more of an inheritance, but because of complications your still existing Father formed by pretending to be him, required you to sacrifice your life as you knew it.”

He then handed me a pen and I signed the paper,

John Dale

[jinyingkellyli]

My Happy Ending

I wrung my excessively sweaty hands. The few blonde wisps that were hair sprayed stark and stiff were now limp and stuck to my forehead. Pain soared through my spine, extending upward, vertebrae by vertebrae, until it reached my head, where it threatened to send me to the hospital. My left hand was gripping tightly onto my right wrist, in a failed attempt to control the erratic shaking. It was beginning to get late and it would take over an hour to get home in the traffic. By the time I reach home, my daughter Sylvia would already be asleep like she always is. Despite my consistent efforts to expedite the filming time, it was incredibly difficult for me to get home before Sylvia goes to bed. While my thoughts strayed to home, Jack, the director, was jabbering excitedly about the next scene to me, pointing out props here and there, and exuding the same enthusiasm that I once held for acting.

After almost 12 years in the film industry, I am still trying to survive. Because that’s all I’m doing. I’m only surviving, just as I was when I was a penniless eighteen year old. I was a no- name budding actress when I was chosen to be the star of Hitchcock’s romance thriller, Stay. I was a young girl with doe eyes, willing and ready to act in whatever I was offered. It wasn’t exactly a shock that I received the part; what was surprising was the fame that I was able to garner from this one picture. My fantastical envisions of having my face plastered on blown up posters and bright lights and money were becoming real and tangible things. Grace Turner became a household name. I became an icon among adolescent girls and a paragon of the dream girl among the guys. I was immediately signed to a film company and more offers were practically thrown at me. I was the best of the best. I was the crème de la crème. I was America’s sweetheart. I was happy. Unfortunately, happiness fades. Or at least, the thing that once enticed it no longer produces the same effect. The present is a dull mark when compared with the past. I want to disappear. I want to erase my name and identity from the minds of the millions of people who watch these absurd movies. I want the screaming fanatics to stop hailing my name and hail someone else’s. I want the blinding spotlight to dim black so that I could put an end to those ceaseless, unresting eyes that scrutinize my every move.

I am on the edge of the cliff, hanging on by a single branch with an ever-growing splinter in the soft wood that deepens each year. My looming future stares at me dead below- laughing, cackling. If you blink, you would miss it. Squint your eyes and it’d become clear. The overwhelming laughter stems from a collective mass of people below. Their faces are devoid of human characteristics, and their only purpose is to satisfy an insatiable greed. I am tasked with the endless job of trying to satisfy these faceless hoards of people. This usually comes in the form of a press conference or a photo-shoot or another picture where I play the role of another hopeless blonde romantic with a happy ending (something Hollywood already has enough of). But, when I look up, something else stares at me. I see Sylvia, bright and shining with that beautiful brown glint in her hazel eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair frames her small face neatly and she seems to have an iridescent glow all around her. The small dash of freckles on her cheeks slowly moves upward as she smiles at me. If I concentrate on her face, the cruel taunts and jibes of all those below the cliff fade out until it is nothing more than a soft ringing.

While I was riveted in my thoughts and the lingering pain, Jack continued to explain the details of the next scene to me. It had something to do with me finally realizing I love this guy or whatever.

“Jack, my apologies, but I really must be getting home soon. We agreed to a set time for me to leave. My daughter is waiting at home and I really must go.”

Jack looked at me confused for a minute and opened his mouth to say something. Then, as if his thoughts had been filtered and adjusted, he stopped and closed his mouth immediately. He nodded slowly before saying, “Yeah, Grace. We’re almost done. It’s just I really want to finish this scene and use this momentum we have going on right now. So what you’re going to do after you say this line is...”

Once again, Jack began to ramble and fall back into his world- a world where he lives, breathes and thinks about films only. Suddenly, Jack’s high pitched voice was replaced by a familiar, low, husky one that caused me to look up. There, about fifteen feet away, stood my husband, Gregory Olivier. Correction: my ex-husband. Double Correction: my soon-to-be ex- husband. I stood there, dressed in this Renaissance pinafore, staring intently at the script in my hands, as if I could somehow yield it to make me disappear. From the corner of my eye, I watched him as others from the set began to recognize him; they pointed towards me, directing his attention to this girl who he was still, as of this moment, legally supposed to call “wife”. He walked with a swagger to each step, swaying one arm casually on his left side and pushing his dark hair back with his right hand. From the look of his tight, pursed lips, I could have seen that he was irritated. As he approached and the distance between the two of us slowly lessened, I felt the tension slowly build up inside of me. I knew he wanted to discuss the separation of our financial assets; In fact, that was why we were getting a divorce in the first place. I didn’t care about any of the unfaithful acts I know he committed; even before we were married, I was aware of the numerous, younger ladies he hung around. Admittedly, I, myself could not plead to be the most faithful of wives. There were affairs then and there are affairs now, but that has always been the common variable in my life, whether it was him cheating or me cheating. No, I was less concerned about infidelity than I was about his imprudent use of my money.

As a painter, he didn’t bring that much income home, but again, I wasn’t so concerned about that part either. It was the fact that he managed to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in a single week when he only made three thousand a month. It was his disgusting habit of getting overly inebriated every single night and waking up at the crack of midday. It was the luxurious parties that he threw for people who wouldn’t give him a second glance. When I finally confronted him about the accumulating bills, he blew up at me. The typical excuses were thrown around: I was never at home; I spent just as much money as he does; he’s “working” on a new piece. After arguing for five more hours and realizing the futility of continuing on, I ended the conversation by stating that I wanted a divorce. That was when he shut up- for the first day at least. The following day, he showed up onset with a lawyer. Let me rephrase that: he showed up at my work place, with his lawyer, flailing and red-eyed, to talk about why he should get the Ford Cortina and why I should get the Ford Granada instead. That was a pivotal moment in my decision to actually get the divorce. I was so exhausted of having to care for a man-child. He threw tantrums. He refused to admit any type of wrongdoing on his part- it was always my fault. I had to run behind him, constantly picking up his slack while trying to maintain my own sanity. Suddenly, in the middle of my own mental rant, I noticed that Gregory was standing in front me. His tall stature caused him to look down at me and any sort of remaining confidence I had left vaporized into thin air. His piercing, cold blue eyes dug into my skin and lingered there. I brushed my arms lightly, as if it could get rid of the crawling feeling, but to no avail.

“We need to talk,” he said reaching for my arm, ready to pull me into the nearest dressing room.

“Okay,” I said, dodging his outreaching arm and began striding towards my dressing room. He followed behind me; our footsteps moved in sync and the sound of our heels hitting the ceramic tile echoed throughout the hallway. Click clack. Click clack. With every step, I felt my heart speed up drastically. When we reached, I opened the door and let him in first before walking in and shutting it behind me.

“A “Mr. Smith” contacted me today. He said you wanted to keep the Malibu beach house and the ranch in Texas. Grace, you know that’s not what we had discussed. I either get the ranch or the beach house, and I chose the beach house, so you get the ranch. I thought this was sorted out. Because Mr. Smith seemed a bit dubious when I was explaining this to him over the phone for about two hours.”

“You’re getting both cars and the Beverly mansion. I think this change might make the scales a bit more balanced, Gregory.”

“But you’re also leaving me with less than half of the financial assets, Grace! Does my wellbeing not matter to you in the slightest bit? Divorce aside,” he said making a grand gesture with his arms, “can’t we at least be respectful, thoughtful individuals to each other?”

“It’s my money! I work for it! You used more than your deserved portion already!”

“God, Grace! This always has to boil down to that right? ‘I make the money! What are you doing all day?’”, he said, mocking my tone of voice. “At least I’m at home, okay? I think that’ll sound really nice to a judge when he decides who gets to keep Sylvia!”

That’s when it hit me. We had never actually discussed who gets to keep Sylvia. Nausea and dizziness suddenly came over me, and I sat down on my dressing chair. I took a deep breath in and shut my eyes, unable to process anything. I couldn’t lose Sylvia. Not sweet Sylvia. I couldn’t leave her with a monster like Gregory. I couldn’t leave her period. He must have seen the effect his words had on me because when I looked at him again, his rage was replaced with a smug smile.

“Yes, Grace. Sylvia. Our daughter. Our own flesh and blood. How do we divide one person when there’s two of us?” he asked sarcastically. “Maybe,” he said sitting down across from me and taking my shaking hands, “maybe we don’t have to.”

“But I...” I stuttered out. But that was all I could manage to say as his words began to set in. Of course, he was going to hold this against me. He knew she was my weakness. He knew, of all the things we were to divide during our divorce, I would not give her up. I sat stiffly in my seat, unwilling to concede, but also unwilling to give this man custody of the one thing in my life that made sense.

“C’mon, Grace, darling, do you really think you can get Sylvia and all that property. I’m afraid,” he leaned towards me, and with one finger, lifted my chin slowly, “you were just too irresponsible as a mother,” he spat out. “All those late nights on set, cavorting around, pretending to be a fictional character...now that’s no way for a proper mother to behave,” he stated deadpan.

Voices swarmed my head, and it was impossible to listen to a single one without the others drowning it out. I shut my eyes tightly. Just give the girl up. No, you can’t give up Sylvia! Why are you guys even divorcing? You need to get back to work. That money is yours. With my frail hands, I covered my ears, desperately trying to make them stop. I lifted my knees and wrapped my arms around them, curling into a ball of helplessness and vulnerability. The voices advanced around me, becoming louder and louder. My heart beat right against my rib cage. My blood pressure rose. My teeth clamped down on each other and my jaw locked. My breathing hitched and beads of sweat ran down the side of my neck. But as sudden as it had started, it stopped instantly as I felt something grab my trembling fist. On the other end of it, I saw Gregory. He gave it a soft squeeze then gently extended my fingers out, revealing my callous palm. With his other hand, he fumbled around in his coat pocket before snatching his fountain pen and placing it in my hand. Then from his briefcase, he produced a fifteen to twenty page document. It was somewhat creased in the middle and a small staple held on for dear life at the upper right corner of the dense stack.

“Gracious, you know what you gotta do,” he said softly.

“I need...I need some time to read this,” I said hardly above a whisper. My emotions were on the edge of my lips. If I increased my decibel any higher, I risked breaking down right here in front of someone who was ready to manipulate me. I also didn’t have the time to read through this document; it was as long as an entire script in one of my pictures. Besides, it was getting late and I needed to get home to Sylvia. It wasn’t a school night; she would be waiting up for me today.

“You will get full custody of Sylvia,” he said emphasizing his point by moving his hand in a straight line through the air. “You’re only a signature away from having that sweet, precious girl, Grace.”

Those few words seemed to control my next actions, because that’s all I heard. I would have Sylvia. She would be mine and I would be hers. We would be together. That’s all that mattered. I tightened my grip on the fountain pen, lifted it upright, and signed the dotted line on the last page of the document. ‘Grace A. Turner’, I wrote in my distinct, crooked cursive writing. I then handed to papers to Gregory who happily received it with a smirk.

“I knew you’d come around, Gracious. You always do,” he glanced down at his Omega watch before turning his gaze back to me, “You should head home now. I’ve gotta get going too.”

He got up and strode towards the entrance, but not before my voice called him back, “Will you be there for Sylvia’s birthday party next week?”

With his back still facing me, he cocked his head up, contemplating his response, “...Yes, I will be.”

“Did you get anything for her?”

Again, a thoughtful cock of the head before he stated, “Flowers. Carnations, specifically,” he turned to look at me before continuing, “They’re her favorite.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. He nodded back and turned on his heel before leaving the room. The door shut with a loud slam on his way out. I sat there on the edge of my seat, playing back the events of the evening once more as if it were a film. I began laughing. Finally, I thought, I’m finally in a picture where I don’t have a happy ending.

After I was done filming the rest of my scenes for the day, I drove home. I had brought a small box of chocolate donuts from set for Sylvia. They sat in the passenger’s seat to my right; I drove extra carefully to make sure they didn’t jostle around too much; she didn’t like it when the frosting stuck to the sides of the container. By the time I reached home, there was still time before Sylvia had to go to bed. I locked the car and headed up the driveway, purse in one hand, doughnuts in the other. Samantha, the nanny, had heard my footsteps and unlocked the door for me before I even reached for the keys. I thanked her with a small smile before heading towards the kitchen to set the things down.

“Sam, where’s Sylvia?” I asked while taking the milk out of the fridge. I walked towards the stove to turn it on. Samantha opened the cupboard in front of me and reached for the nearest pot. Opening the lid, I poured two cups of milk in and put it on the stove to heat.

Adjusting her glasses to the bridge of her nose, Samantha shook her head before replying, “I’m afraid she’s already asleep, ma’am. Maybe tomorrow night.”

I sighed sadly. I had really hoped to see her before bedtime. Between interviews and premieres and travelling, I hardly saw her. I decided to go check on her; she probably just laid there wide awake, waiting for the minute I got home. “Watch the milk, Sam. I’m going to go check on her really quick.”

“No! Just...wait. Let me go,” she burst out. “No, it’s okay. I can go,” I urged her slowly.

“No! Miss, please...,” she said cautiously, fumbling for words. She avoided eye contact with me as she pushed her bangs behind her ears. She began to walk out into the hallway, towards Sylvia’s room. Confused, I quickly followed behind.

She rapidly turned around to face me; I stopped abruptly, but I was still only inches away from clashing with her. “Miss, please, I shall go. You can stay in the kitchen.”

“Samantha, I want to see my daughter,” I pushed her out of the way and walked with staccato steps towards Sylvia’s room. I forcefully turned the knob to her door and looked in. She wasn’t in her bed. Frightened, I scanned the room from right to left, from top to bottom.

“Sylvia!” I yelled, sifting through the covers on the bed. “Sylvia, honey, come out!” I shouted again, tearing through the clothes in the wooden closet. “Sylvia!” I desperately called out again in the hallway. Samantha stood at the other end of the hallway, shifting from one foot to the next. She bit down on her lower lip and looked towards the ceiling, unsure of herself.

I ran towards her and grabbed her by the shoulders before demanding, “Where is my daughter?”

She blinked and a single tear cascaded down her painted red cheeks. That was when a thought hit me, “Samantha...Sylvia is allergic to make-up. Why would you be wearing that when you have to take care of her?”

She shook her head and opened her mouth, wanting to speak but was unable to form any sort of intelligible words. Finally though, she was able to croak out, “She’s not here.”

“I know she’s not here! Then tell me where she is!” I screamed in front of her face. She grimaced and continued to weep.

That was when it happened again. Voice began to fill my head, each one competing with the next to get my attention. I covered my ears violently and shouted, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

Suddenly, one voice was able to stand out- she’s dead. All the other voices began to die out as this realization hit me again and again. Sylvia, sweet Sylvia, was gone. She had been forfive years already. I had been without her for a full five years. Samantha, who eventually gathered I understood what she meant, turned and bolted for the door. I leaned against the wall for support before I went crashing to the carpeted floor. I laid there, stiff and stoic, unable to confront the sad truth of it all. The sad truth of the fragility of our bodies. The sad truth of losing a child. The sad truth of loneliness.

I solemnly thought again, I’m in a picture...where I don’t have a happy ending.