#and shining sun. and i want so many good things for him. (i feel similarly about dean really but. lets not get into how i feel about spn.)

[khaire-traveler]

is there a way to get aphrodite to give me a break man i am doing so much work. why does the universe have to curse my wonderful girlfriend with every trial imaginable. i pour so much love into this in your name, and yet the trials are still ongoing. but stress chemicals hurt your body! and i have had too many stress chemicals! i am not a hero! it takes years to sail back to greece! please let years not be too long

Hey, Nonny,

I've felt similarly before, but it's extremely important for us to remember that deities are not always the cause of all of our trials, even when those trials fall under their domains. Blaming them for our struggles will only hurt us, and maybe them, too. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there is no specific reason for or plan behind it.

As someone who's experienced a lot of trauma within the past few years, I understand where you're coming from, especially from wanting a break. The thing is, Nonny, life will always have difficult times. There are ups and downs, peaks and valleys; we need to have one to have the other. The sun's light doesn't feel as remarkable if it's always shining.

You don't have to be some ancient hero to get through the difficult times in life. I noticed a specific comparison to Odysseus. Maybe instead of comparing how you're not him, take comfort in his story and that fact that he does eventually make it back to Ithaca. Things do eventually get better, even if it takes time. Believe me, I hate waiting, but every storm passes at some point; no storm lasts forever. You WILL get through this.

Regarding stress, I think it'd be in your best interest to practice different grounding techniques. There are many ways you can do this - find time to sit in a peaceful place in nature, focus on your breathing and point things out in your environment (for more immediate grounding), spend time with any pets you have and pet them while noticing things such as the feel of their fur, the way they're breathing, how relaxed and comfortable they are. There are many, many ways to ground yourself, and if stress consumes you, I implore you to look into these.

I'm sorry that you and your girlfriend are having such a hard time, Nonny. My best wishes go out to you, and I pray Aphrodite supports you both the whole way. I'm sure she wants to help you, and I encourage you to ask Aphrodite for assistance without assuming her intentions first. Try offering a glass of water, if you can't find the energy to do more; it was an extremely common offering in ancient Greece.

Anyway, I hope this response is helpful in some way. I truly hope things improve for you both sooner rather than later. Remember that you DO have the strength within you to get through this. You have a 100% chance of surviving stress so far; you've got this. Take care, Nonny, and feel free to reach out if you need anything else. Have a good day/night. 🧡

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 12

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

CHICAGO, 1986

We had been lying under the shade of that tree for a few hours now. A while had passed since the shade had moved enough to leave us unguarded again. The warmth felt good on my skin, and even though the sun was shining pretty strongly, it was nice to stay there, on the soft grass, with the gentle breeze from the waterfront. It felt like it had been ages since we actually stopped and enjoyed the outdoors for a while.

“Thank God it’s spring again,” Chucky sighed. “And it really feels like Saturday, to boot.”

“But you don’t have a job,” I reminded him with a little giggle.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

It had been a few months since we had moved to Chicago, and I didn’t miss Hackensack one bit. I half-opened my eyes to take a peek at the world around us. Birds were singing their pretty songs from the treetops. Seagulls flew above us like little white crosses against the pure periwinkle blue of the sky. The rustling of the fresh new leaves in the trees and the chattering of the scattered crowd relishing the sunny weekend weather at the park was as calming as the faint sound of the waves of the Michigan lake. People walked their dogs, children flew their kites, friends had picnics, other couples just like us were similarly sprawled on the bright green grass, basking in the sunlight. I closed my eyes again, focusing on the low quiet thumping of his heart, and pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose.

“You know, I was a real outdoors sorta kid, back in the day. Didn’t have many friends in the first place, so I tended to spend a lot of time on my own,” I said, going back to the few times I sunbathed by the park, smoking and wasting the hours before it was time for dinner. “Playing in abandoned houses, collecting spiders, exploring the neighborhood…”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of you as a tomboy.”

“I wasn’t a tomboy,” I frowned. “I just liked being out of the house.”

He stroked the side of my arm. We were both feeling kinda drowsy.

“What about you?” I asked him, pushing his sunglasses up and off his eyes. He blinked and scrunched his nose, briefly blinded by the light. “I can imagine you being a total boy scout type.”

He laughed, covering his eyes with his hand.

“I dunno, Tiff… We had a yard, back at my parents’ house. I guess I played in it,” he shrugged. “But the second home had some really nice grounds. Lots of trees, a whole forest surrounding it… Great for playing in, as a kid.”

“The second home?”

“Yeah—”

“You were in more than one home?”

“I was at two homes,” he said. “One back near Hackensack, the other in South Jersey. Had a pretty shitty time at the first. And, I mean, I was kind of a sheltered kid before, not the best at making friends. Not like I wanted any.”

I rested my cheek against his chest, playing with one of the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt. It wasn’t a confirmation, but I had had the suspicion he was an only child for a while now. Him having been a spoiled little thing made a lot of sense.

“I was convinced I’d be adopted in a month, at most,” he continued. “You know, I was a model kid. I knew all the right things to say. But time passed, and I kept getting annoyed with the other boys… And after picking a few too many fights I should have known I was too small to win—”

“You killed them?”

“Close enough,” he said with a little smirk. “I started a fire in their rooms, and it spread, and soon the whole orphanage went up in flames.”

“So you set an orphanage on fire?” I chuckled, honestly quite impressed. “Were those your first kills?”

“Huh?”

I crossed my arms over his ribs, and rested my chin over my hands. “I totally get it. One day you just have enough, you snap, and… You know. Things happen.”

Chucky sighed. We didn’t really talk about our life before meeting the other. Not that I was gonna complain. It was nice to see he trusted me enough to share something personal.

“After that, I was transferred to Burlington County Home. That was a more liberal type, the sort that’d get you a slap on the wrist if you were caught smoking pot in the hallway.”

I laughed. It would figure that it was there where he got introduced to some good music. Maybe it was along the same time I got introduced to Heath’s house parties, to his cool friends, and to what being cool was all about, too. I liked the idea –our parallel stories. There was a feeling of destiny to it.

“There I made an effort to start fresh, win people over… It was like turning a new leaf, you know? With all the records of my behavior having been burned up, and with most of my old tutors in intensive care. And besides,” he smiled wider. “My story of having survived a fire gave me quite a bit of a reputation among the other kids.”

“Bet you didn’t quite say how the fire started, though.”

“Well, you always got to doctor your stories,” he said, raising his eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses. “Omit some details, add a few new ones.”

I sighed and nodded, too. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Perhaps he had told himself, after that fire, what I had told myself after killing Heath: that it had been great fun, but that a functional member of society can’t go around killing all willy-nilly. After all, everyone loses their temper once in a while. I used to wonder if there were actually a lot more people who had killed someone in their lives –not just cops and surgeons, but your average joes and janes, people you came across in line while buying groceries, in the crowd at the movie theater, or spending a lovely afternoon in the park. One little accidental death doesn’t make a killer. No –you need to commit to it. You need to really love it, care about it, know what you’re doing. Otherwise, you’re just an amateur waiting to get caught.

“If you had stayed at that Hackensack home,” I said quietly. “Then we might have met a little earlier.”

He raised his sunglasses and squinted down at me. “You think so?”

“… No, not really,” I muttered, thinking it over. “I was probably already on my way to New York by then. Besides, the chances of us two meeting back then… I don’t think they were very good.”

All around us were little wildflowers, welcoming the season. I sat up and picked tiny daisies and buttercups, gathering them in mini-bouquets and spinning them, getting green stains on the tips of my fingers. Once I had a nice bunch, I leaned back on the grass, against him, and weaved them all along his black hair.

“At what age did you run away?” I asked him.

He looked up at me in surprise. Chucky hadnʼt mentioned it, but I could pretty safely assume so.

“… I was fourteen.”

Another perfect coincidence. I smiled. “Yes, you and I might have gotten along just fine.”

Not often did I think about that other kid at school, the only one who had asked me to be his girlfriend, Darry Cade. The pussy. Another missed chance to make a friend. If he had been Chucky, I knew he’d have agreed to run away with me. There was not a time in his life in which he would have turned down such an offer. Chucky was many things, but he wasn’t a pussy.

“What were you up to back then?”

“Oh, you know…” I shrugged, gazing down at my hands, wondering what childhood he had painted in his mind for me already, and how far it’d be from the reality. “We were just a normal family. Mom, dad, me, Bri… I went to school, I looked after my little sister, I helped my mom around with housework… It was a good life. Normal. I just… It was a bit stifling, you know? And you know how mothers can be kinda bossy—”

“Not my mom,” he said with clear pride in his voice. “She was the coolest. She let me stay up late, reading all night, even on a schoolday.”

“Lucky you,” I chuckled. “Mine was… She wasn’t so cool. And my dad, he was always somewhere else, only home for dinner…”

A stowaway ant had crawled its way out of a daisy, and onto Chucky’s brow. It went down the thin path of an old pale scar. I recognized it as the traces of scratches I had given him some time ago. They were almost invisible, except under a certain angle and a certain light.

“But it was a good life, all things considered. I can’t really complain.”

I could –but I didn’t want to. Besides, what was the use? Just to have him pity me? For him to bitch about how much I bitched?

He felt the ant on his face and raised his hand to try and kill it. I clicked my tongue. Carefully, I picked it with my nails, like I would pluck an eyebrow hair with tweezers. Slowly, I crushed the little bug until it stopped squirming.

“You know, Tiff,” he said with a smirk. “It’s that type of fine upbringing that makes us such outstanding citizens.”

We both burst out laughing.

Not very far from us, I heard the coos and babbles of a cute baby in a bucket hat. The parents laughed along and encouraged them, holding their little chubby hands, and helped them give a couple stumbling steps on the grass. I watched the family keenly. Sometimes I made an effort to remember my first memory; whatever it was, I had to guess it was probably something similar to that scene of the parents with their baby. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite picture it, though. I had a bunch of scattered images of me being dressed up by my mother, me being bounced on my father’s knee, me with my toothless mouth open wide, either in a laugh or in a scream, but then I realized these were all photos we had around my parents’ house. Real details were fuzzy. Both of my parents had looked the same across the years, so I had no way to know which event came first, whether a blurry, off-key Christmas pageant was during kindergarten or during elementary already, or whether a frosting-covered cake, made to look like a big hoop skirt for one of my dolls, was lit up for my fifth or for my seventh birthday. I do remember throwing a tantrum when I lost my favorite star-shaped barrette during the performance. I remember wondering if my doll’s cheek would melt with the fire of the candles.

“My mom thought I’d end up being a doctor,” Chucky commented quietly, lost in thought. “I mightʼve gotten into medical school, like my dad.”

“Mm… We should probably think about getting jobs by now,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Shouldn’t we?”

He stroked my hair. “… Well, we might not need to.”

I looked back up at him. “You say we just keep on looting?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “We can probably manage just fine that way.”

“Come on, most people don’t carry that much in their wallets,” I said with a frown. “Besides, you never take care of groceries and stuff, it’s easy for you to say so—”

“Alright, alright…” he huffed, taking off his sunglasses and pressing his eyelids. “I’ll see if I can get hired for something.”

I went back to resting my head on his chest, and considered what my options were. “You know, I used to want to be an actress.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… But I wasn’t any good at it. I had to give it up.”

“Shame.”

“I guess I’m not that good at anything besides killing,” I said, letting out a resigned chuckle.

There was a pause. Chucky then propped himself up on his elbows. “Hey –don’t say that. You’re a damn great cook, and you had that job at the hair salon for years… I don’t think you’d be able to hold down a job for so long if you didn’t do something right.”

I smiled at him. Genuine, creative compliments weren’t his strong point, and he was particularly stingy with them. Still, he had made an effort, and truthfully, I was more than a little bit moved. “Guess so.”

“Only thing…”

“What?”

“You do drive like a goddamn maniac.”

I laughed out loud. “Why, thank you, darling.”

“Am I wrong?”

I pounded my fist on his shoulder, laughing louder. He wrapped his arms around me, his chest shaking as he repressed a giggle, trying to get me to stop hitting him. It took a while before I calmed down, still smiling, and plopped down over him. He took off my glasses and set them over his own, making me laugh longer, louder, with those little snorts that he always found so funny. Just straight ahead of me, I noticed one of the other couples sitting up on the grass and shooting me a glare. Probably thinking I was too loud. I flipped them off. What a goddamn need some people had, to get all up in other people’s business.

“Do you ever think about being, like…? Normal?” I asked.

“You say this isn’t normal?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean… Like, a more traditional way of life.”

Chucky frowned and thought about it for a moment. “You mean white picket fence, two and a half kids, disposal in the sink, that sort of stuff?"

“Yeah. That sort of stuff.”

“No. I never think about it,” he scoffed. “Listen, Tiff, can you really imagine me working a nine to five? Carrying a stupid briefcase around, like a goddamn yuppie?”

“No…”

“So? We have a good life. We have all we need. All we could ever want.”

I gave it some thought. He was right, in a way. We had each other, and a nice place all for ourselves, and our fun little hobby. Really, what more could we ask for?

Well, for starters, I would have liked a real house. Not that our apartment wasn’t perfect, because it was. But I had always dreamed of a proper house, with a good kitchen, a dining room, a nice big bathroom with a tub, somewhere with a yard where I could grow flowers, and that would have a porch on which to sit on summer evenings… And a wedding, that would be really nice too. I gazed at Chucky’s face, breathing softly, his eyes closed behind the two pairs of sunglasses. It would make a funny sight, him dressed up in a proper tux, waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Before we left for Chicago, I had the luck to be invited to Connie’s wedding, back in Hackensack. It had been such a beautiful occasion –even though the groom was a cheating bastard. And, as silly as it could seem, I still dreamed of a white wedding, a proper one, big and impressive and with a lot of guests, and a big poofy silk-and-lace dress, in a grand church, and full of flowers and music and light, just like Connie’s. The sort that would make the local news. That would be a true dream come true, I sighed, coming down back to reality.

Only thing that would be missing from it, then, would be…

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” I asked him.

Chucky scoffed again. “Fuck no—”

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t considered it at least once.”

“What would I want kids for? Just to have them demand attention all day, and cry out all night?” He shot me a look from under the sunglasses. “I already got you for that.”

“Kids keep you company once you’re old,” I pointed out, thinking about something Connie had told me, part of the reason she had married her boyfriend. “It’s actually a pretty smart long-term decision to have children, when you think about it. Like an investment.”

“Well, let’s just agree to disagree.”

I pouted and poked his cheek. “Aw, are you that bad with kids?”

“Nah, I’m good with kids. It’s just that I hate them,” he replied. God forbid he admit he was bad at anything. “You know, those little fuckers can get pretty wily once they start walking.”

“What, did a baby try to bite a finger off you once, or something?”

“I grew up in an orphanage, Tiff. I know what kids can be like.”

I rolled my eyes, and looked down at the grass, pulling little green blades. Everything pointed to me not being able to change his mind. Not that I was suggesting anything, of course. We were just saying stuff to pass the time. He did notice some kinda shift in my mood, though. With a little sigh, he sat up, picked a buttercup from his hair, and tickled my neck with it, getting me to smile again.

“Listen, babe, we’re just not cut out for... For the supposed normal life,” Chucky said, in his best attempt at being reassuring. “We’re not like others. We are who we are. And we are… We’re special . And besides,” He put the buttercup up over my ear. My dark roots were showing again already. “I wouldn’t be a good father anyway. You know that.”

“I don’t know about a father… But I think you’d be a good husband.”

He snorted, and leaned back to lay on the grass, staring up at the sky. “Very funny, Tiff.”

I rested my chin on his chest. “You know that, if you popped the question, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. Right?”

He forced an unconvincing laugh. “Sure.”

“I’m serious!” I insisted. I turned his jaw so he would be looking straight at me. He rolled his eyes. “Hey. I love you, Chucky. You know that.”

He looked me in the eye, and finally gave me a genuine smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, what’s so funny about it?”

“It’s just… Come on, Tiff, this is crazy talk! Marriage? Really ? Do you honest to God think I would be a good husband?” Chucky huffed. “We’d just end up trying to kill each other. And you’d ditch me the second I got too old for the chase.”

“Don’t be stupid, Chucky,” I said, sitting back up. Did he really have that idea of me? “I wouldn’t leave you for the world, even if you got all ugly and wrinkly and fucked up in the face.”

“You say that now—”

“After all, you’d do the same if I got all fucked up,” I said with a shrug. “Right?”

He glanced at me, and let a few too many seconds pass by. “… Yeah, sure.”

I gave him a shove. He let out a real, bright laugh.

“You asshole, not even I am that shallow!” I cried, trying not to laugh too, as he shoved me back. “If I were, I wouldn’t have stayed with you for this long—”

He laughed again. I tried to slap his arm but he grabbed my hand, so I slapped his shoulder with my other hand, and we play-fought, him pushing me on my back and trying to tickle me, me giggling uncontrollably and trying to kick him off me, while at the same time swatting his hands as best I could, trying to gain the upper hand and tickle him back. I finally managed to grab his shoulders and shove him back and climb on top to straddle him –though there was a good chance he just let me overpower him this once –and distracted him from the little roughhousing with a kiss, declaring myself the winner of this round.

Chucky never said it out loud, but I knew how he really felt about all these things. Maybe I was being kinda stupid for thinking about our future like that. I just couldn’t take my mind off it. The more time that it passed with us together, the more I was convinced that, as much as he didn’t seem to care about that sort of life, this thing that we had was definitely gonna last. And if we were going to stay together, then what was so wrong about trying to plan for it? 'Live for today' , or however his personal philosophy went, didn’t need to come into conflict with just thinking things ahead of time.

I was spending a lot longer than I would have liked to admit, wondering these things to myself. Sometimes I did wonder if we’d ever truly get too old for the chase, having to, for whatever reason, stop going on our hunting dates. That might have been what scared Chucky, the idea of not being able to do what he loved anymore. Maybe he thought that a little more traditional life would clash with that –but why should it? Why wouldn’t we be able to be who we were, and still enjoy all the middle-class perks and comforts? After all, not all serial killers had to be rednecks and bums. We were smart, we could find some way to make it work. All I really needed was for him to see how good this could be, for the both of us.

After all, I knew he couldn't deny how much better it was to be comfortable in a little place of our own. 

Unboxing all our stuff took us a lot more time than we spent packing. Since we didn’t have anywhere to put our clothes at first, we just left them in the suitcases. The priority was to take out the more fragile things: while Chucky put away the knives and our mugs and the little dishware we had brought with us, I spent some time unwrapping my doll collection and my trinkets that would adorn the mantle. At the bottom of the box, lying awkwardly on a pile of Chucky’s books, I found Peeping Tommy, and beamed at the sight of him. Of course I knew he would have brought him along with us to Chicago, but still, seeing the tiny clown in the flesh was a relief. What wasn’t so nice was to notice the poor little guy hadn’t gotten through the trip unscathed: there was a long thin crack going from the upper side of his face down to his nose. It was barely noticeable, I told myself, running my finger through it, but it was still something I knew I should take care of. I decided to leave it in the box for the time being, and once we had settled down better and I could start buying back all my doll-fixing supplies, my glue and my paints, I would get Tommy looking as good as new.

And settling down in the apartment didn’t seem to be difficult, at first, until we realized just how many things we were actually needing. Some basic stuff was all covered, like heating and toiletries, but we basically ate all our meals either standing up by the counter in the kitchen, or on the sofa we got for the living room. Flea markets and garage sales were where we found most of our furniture, and we brought them up to the apartment after tying it up to the roof of the car and some effort to bring it up the stairs. First thing we got was a sleeper sofa, to at least have somewhere to lay down that wasn’t a couple of pillows on the floor, until we could get ourselves a decent bed. Eventually we found a beautiful old wrought iron bed frame, a good-enough mattress, and a dresser, and two little side tables. A couple weeks later we took a trip to the local Goodwill, and I got a few picture frames where to put some magazine cutouts to adorn the walls, so they weren’t so bare, while Chucky examined some knickknacks and wandered around the t-shirt section. We both had our own collections: I had my dolls, of course, and collector’s magazines, but also a few china figurines, old cake toppers, porcelain pillboxes, pretty candles, and interestingly-shaped bottles; while he collected animal bones, small statues of skeletons and devils, retro masks, and other weird little knickknacks –anything that called his attention, really. The more the merrier. I didn’t manage to find a new sewing machine at a decent price, however, which was what I missed the most of my old things at Hackensack that I couldn’t bring with me to Chicago.

The bedroom, more than the kitchen or even the living room, was the place that was the most lived-in. Chucky piled his books by the side of his bed for the first month or so, before he got tired of having such a hard time organizing them, and decided he would make shelves. It was his first time doing any carpentry work, apart from that forgotten Ikea table, and with his lack of patience and our lack of tools I knew before he even started that he’d end up with a swollen finger or two, at the very least. He refused my help, shocker, and since after a while he got particularly worked up, I decided to leave him to it and watch TV, keeping the volume low enough so I could snicker at his swearing and little tantrums. Still, it worked out well enough, the shelves weren’t too crooked, and I could display the rest of my collection, and he could place his books so he could organize them more easily. Similarly, I soon got sick of having to dive through the suitcases to find the clothes I couldn’t stuff in the dresser drawers. He managed to get us a clothing rack from which we hung our coats and my dresses, and a few days later I found an empty dollhouse at the Goodwill that I fixed up and refashioned into a shoe sorting thing. I even got us a tall, pretty bamboo palm from a hardware store, to bring a little life into the living room.

Slowly, piece by piece, the apartment became a proper home. A month or so later we could already say we were nicely settled.

I made an in-depth analysis of my options around the city before I took the car for a checkup. Luck would have it that the guy at the garage trusted me with a place to get the license plate changed, so I wouldn’t be caught with a stolen vehicle. Darnell’s was the name of the place, managed by this large man, Darnell himself, who was really interested in it. He offered me some pretty good money for it, even after I told him it wasn’t for sale. Truth be told, his last bid was a really tempting one, but I reminded myself that the Pontiac wasn’t just another joyride. This one had sentimental value. Besides, what was I gonna do with the money? Get me a shitty Chevette? No way.

We spent most days cruising around and getting acquainted with the city. We did the touristy stuff for a few days, and then we just became familiar with the neighborhood, so then we could branch out and go further. We got a feel of which streets were the most patrolled, and which ones were the best for when we wanted to go on our special hunting dates and pass by undetected. The change of scenery was really exciting at first. The new routine didn’t last very long, though: at first, it was as if we were the only two people in the entire world. But as time went on, Chucky started going out on his own during the day, only showing up late at night for us to head out together. He slept at home, but he would sometimes not even be there when I woke up, and so I had to have breakfast on my own –not even back in Hackensack he ever left me to have lonely mornings. Maybe I would have been able to understand it better if it wasn’t so inconsistent. Some days he’d be there to wake me up with a kiss; some days he would be gone and wouldn’t even show up until the next evening. I didn’t have a job to keep me distracted yet. I only had him, there in Chicago, and when he wasn’t there, it really felt like I had nothing at all.

And I hate having to wait. I hate empty moments. I hate silences. My hands start trembling if too much time passes and I don’t have anything to do. I need something to devote myself to. 

So I did my best to keep myself busy. When he wasn’t around I took out the Pontiac, filled it up, and scoured the city for cool new places to visit, for when he finally showed his face again. It became my new occupation to find restaurants we could go to, and nice cinemas, and a few clubs that didn’t sell drinks that cost an arm and a leg. I also applied for jobs, but nothing came up; besides, I didn’t really want to do anything that was too far from our new home.

One Tuesday afternoon I was alone again, so I drove to a record store I had my eye on. After all, I had a car now, so it stands to reason that I was needing my own tape collection. I picked some of the loose change I had scattered under the car seat, fixed my lipstick in the rearview mirror, and got into the place. I think the music that was blasting in there was some B-52s, but I’m not completely sure. There was a guy by the cash register reading a newspaper, with the front page announcing the latest murder of an insurance salesman by Irving Park, not too far from where the store was. I looked away from it with a little smile. Going through the box of tapes on sale, I found Purple Rain ; I picked it up and turned the case and went over the tracklist, and out of a sudden I remembered it had been a Prince song, the first one on that list, that which had been blaring out the loudspeakers at that Hackensack nightclub years ago. It surprised myself to even remember that. I wondered if Chucky remembered it, too.

“Hey,” I said to the nearest person, thinking she was an employee. “You got any Joan Jett?”

“I don’t work here,” she said, and turned around towards the cash register. “Hey, Jack! Look alive, you got a customer.”

The guy looked up from his newspaper. As soon as he saw me, his mouth gaped open, and then it struck me. 

“Tiffany?”

“ Jack ?”

God knows how I recognized him. He had badly chopped his hair into a homemade mullet, replacing the scruffy look he had as a teen. There were scars of recent shaves on his jaw, little dots that weren’t fully healed yet. All in all, though, he did look healthier: no longer sunken eyes and cheeks, no more the look of someone who slept on park benches. I wondered how different I must have looked to him, from that scrawny sixteen-year-old he had first met.

“Wow, it’s really you!” he smiled. “Damn, it’s been a while.”

“Ten years?”

“Give or take, yeah, I guess…”

I stared at him, wondering what the odds were for us to ever meet again –and in Chicago, of all places. For a moment I had a sudden worry that he might have somehow followed me from New York… But that made no sense, of course. And besides, if he knew anything about me, it was that it wasn’t wise to piss me off.

“What’re you doing here? Promoting your band?”

“Man, I wish. I’m hitchhiking my way to San Francisco,” he declared, as if that was a particularly cool thing to do. “Money’s been tight lately, so a friend got me this job, for the time being.”

“Huh.”

“What about you?” Jack asked, leaning forward. “You wanted to be an actress, right? I really thought you’d make it, back in New York.”

I scoffed and looked away, cursing at myself for even smiling in his direction. Still, I wondered if he meant it. He knew I had wanted to be someone. If he ever believed I had what it takes to be a star, he didn’t really say it until now.

“You know, the old twists and turns of life… You never know what fate’s got in store.��

The initial shock of reuniting with him finally washed away. We were never a thing. He never agreed to call me a girlfriend. If anything, more than regret, I had resentment.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, gesturing towards it. “Did the finger ever grow back?”

“Not yet, but I’m still holding out hope.”

I gave him an open-mouth grin. Jack just kept smiling, perfectly calm, as if we were discussing the weather. I wondered what he told people who asked about his wound. It was a given that he’d never tell anyone a not-girlfriend chopped it off at the back of a movie theater. Maybe he’d say he lost it in a knife fight, that surely sounded convincing enough. Back when I was in the dating pool, I had met a couple guys who liked to point out their domestic accidents and cat scratches, and say stuff like they had been assaulted at knifepoint and somehow miraculously managed to fight the attacker off with barely a scrape. And I’d smile, too, because I knew that that was what they wanted me to respond with.

“You’re, uh… You’re looking good,” he said with a nod, his eyes still fixed on me. Then he glanced down the neckline of my minidress, like they always did. My own smile faltered. “Real good.”

Should have seen it coming. He wouldn’t be half as nice to me if he didn’t have something else in mind.

I glared at him. Better to make it clear right then and there. “I have a boyfriend.”

Jack’s smile became less natural, stiffer, more of a grimace. Disappointment could have that sort of instant effect, I thought, biting my tongue. “Oh –really?”

“Yeah, really,” I said with a chuckle, quirking my eyebrows. “Two years, actually. Going nice and steady.”

“Wow. Lucky dude.”

He might pretend he had forgotten about trying to get his hand under my skirt. I hadn’t forgotten how Jack had stood me up in the dead of winter. Briefly I considered inviting him over, so Chucky and I could have some fun with him –but I decided to be forgiving, and let bygones be bygones. After all, I could be merciful. I could be nice.

“Sure is.”

“Is he here with you, in Chicago?”

I sucked on my teeth. The guy just didn’t give up. 

“Was his idea to come, actually.”

“You happy with him?”

What’s it to you? , I almost snapped. Instead, I just closed my hand into a fist, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Happier than ever.”

“Good,” Jack said, finally getting the message. “Good to know.”

I nodded. We kept silent for a moment.

“… You came for tapes?”

At least that gave us some room to talk like normal people.

Jack jabbered on and on about the Chicago music scene, complained about 'all these goddamn posers and sellouts ', and listed bands I had never heard of. I pretended to be really invested in all of this, even managing to ask a few questions for his sake. I'm not sure why I did it. I guess that a part of me still had some affection for him, somehow, after all this time. And Jack was genuinely happy to see me again, despite me leaving him with an uneven number of fingers. I think that was weirder than me taking some pity on him and allowing him to ramble on about his hobbies.

“Hey, by the way,” he finally said as he focused back on me. “When did you arrive in Chicago?”

“Hm, about three months ago? I think?”

Jack nodded. He took out a piece of paper and scribbled a number and an address. “Listen, if you ever need anything, like, I don’t know, some tools, some contacts in the city… I got a few guys who can help out.”

“Guys?”

“Yeah, folks I know ‘round here.”

I frowned. There was a feeling that there was something left unsaid. Like he expected me to do something in exchange. He handed me the paper. I looked at it. It really was just phone numbers and addresses, and a small list of names. His was included at the top.

“Last week I had an issue with the heater at the place I’m staying over. Paulie there,” he pointed at the paper. “He came over and fixed it for me. I paid him in lunch and beer. He’ll probably take the same from you, if you ever need to give him a call.”

I folded the paper and tucked it into my bag before he changed his mind. “Why’re you being nice to me?”

“You mean, because of this?” he asked as he raised his hand. “Well… Boyfriend or no boyfriend, I remember how hard things were, back then,” Jack said, scratching the back of his head. “I guess one can use all the help one can get.”

That did get me to give him an honest smile. I had no way of knowing whether or not Jack was being honest, obviously –but it was just an offer. And who knew, maybe I would end up needing some help, God forbid. I wasn’t gonna say no to a possible lifesaver because of some old stupid fight from back when I was a teenager... As tempted and justified as I was to keep the grudge.

“After all, you never know what fate’s got in store,” he shrugged. “Right?”

“Right.”

 Jack smiled at me again. I smiled back. It was so ugly, to feel those teenage crush heartstrings being pulled once more, after so long. It was difficult to even remember that I still hated him. We talked a little more, we said our goodbyes, and after a while I left the store with a pretty good haul of Lita Ford and The Pretenders.

So, really, it turned out a good deal of the ‘help’ Jack had offered me were the numbers of a few of his friends: weed dealers, aspiring musicians and desperate handymen. But he knew the local scene much better than I did, even with less time in Chicago than Chucky and I had, so I kept it. In the end, I liked the idea of having at least one friend in this new city, at least until I could properly feel at home.

Summer was soon on its last legs, and then it was fall again, and the cold came back with a vengeance. We were both really thankful the fireplace at the apartment was fully functional. Only problem was, neither one had gotten jobs yet. Money had gotten tight, and we were really living from kill to kill, taking all we could from the bodies we slaughtered. Most of all, whoever we chose during our dates was always a gamble. Since we were working together, there was no chance any of our victims managed to overpower both of us and escape, that was for sure. But people who dressed up to the nines did not always have much cash on them: our golden tickets, rich people who flaunted it and carried fat wallets, were pretty rare. That was without even mentioning how they tended to stroll around richer areas of the city, with heavier surveillance and cops in every corner. We were bold, but we weren’t stupid.

In the end, til either one of us got a new job to at least take care of groceries, we’d make do with our loot and a bunch of savings we kept under the mattress. That did mean less movie nights and less eating out, but it was sort of a given this would happen; and besides, both of us had gone through hard enough times to not make too much of a fuss about it.

We had missed the date for spring cleaning by a couple months, so one afternoon I decided we would get things done and finally make the apartment look neat and organized for once. It definitely wasn’t an empty two-room anymore: the clutter we had been gathering had turned pretty worrying. It wasn’t that we didn’t have room for it all, because we certainly did. The issue was putting everything in its proper place.

“You’re gonna do the bathroom, right, hun?” I asked him after I had changed into the oversized Betty Boop t-shirt I didn’t mind getting dirty, putting on the rubber gloves and heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, still staring at the TV.

“Hey –did you listen to me, Chucky?”

“Yeah, I said I heard you already,” he said, and finally turned around. “I am gonna do the bathroom… And it’s damn near impossible not to listen to you, you’re always screeching.”

I was about to snap back at him –but told myself that if we started arguing, then nothing would get done.

The kitchen was bigger than the one at my Hackensack apartment, but small enough that, thankfully, cleaning it didn’t take too much effort. All I needed to do was water down some bleach, soak up a rag, and give everything a wipe. The biggest issues were the fridge and the oven –but the fridge only needed to be cleaned once a year, and I rarely used the oven anyways, so that could wait a little longer.

“When d’you think you’re gonna be able to take care of the bathroom, sweetface?” I asked him once I was done, coming back into the living room, pulling the rubber gloves off my hands and checking I hadn’t messed up my nails. “I’d hope your very busy schedule can be cleared out before New Year.”

“You’re a riot and a half, Tiff.”

The TV was still on, but he was no longer paying attention to it. Instead, he had sprawled all over the couch, chewing on the end of a pencil, staring at something in the pages of his sketchbook. He was working on the last blank ones: all the previous pages were all creased and worn. On the coffee table was an old box of black pencils, also worn down and almost empty, a pencil sharpener full of shavings, and the very small end of an eraser that was a few more uses away from disappearing completely.

“Huh. I didn’t know you were such a dedicated artist.”

I wondered with a giddy smile if he was drawing me, and tried to catch a glimpse of the page he was working on, but he quickly closed the sketchbook before I could manage to make out anything.

“Hey –no peeking!”

“Why? Are you drawing nudes, or something?”

“Yeah, I’m drawing you inside out,” he joked, before going back to it. “No, it’s just… It’s just doodles. None are that finished yet.”

“I wanna see them, when they’re done.”

He glanced up at me, and gave me a smaller, non-compromising smile.

“Alright, I’m gonna tackle the mess that’s the bedroom,” I declared, stretching my arms and preparing myself for the challenge. “Would you go down and get a roast from Sawyer’s, so we can have dinner later?”

“… Huh?”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and put my hands on my hips. Chucky did that far too often recently, pretending he didn’t hear me to get away from doing basic helpful things around the place. “I said, go down and get a roast from Sawyer’s.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Sorry, no can do.”

“Oh, really? What stops you?”

“Well, I’m… I’m busy,” he insisted, turning his sight down to the sketchbook.

“With what?” Being too into a drawing was no damn excuse. “’Cause it’s certainly not cleaning the bathroom nor tidying up the bedroom.”

“That mess is all yours,” he said. “My clothes are on the rack.”

“You wear my sweaters—!”

“Yeah, exactly – your sweaters.”

I huffed. Granted, he was, admittedly, a little more organized than I was. He did hang up his coat when he came home, and he did put his ties on the rack and folded his t-shirts –that is, if he even remembered I had them washed. Me, I guess I could happen to be a little more scatterbrained… But still, with everything I did around the house, the least Chucky could do was lend a hand. It wasn’t just about the clothes, of course: he was the one who’d complain first about dust bunnies gathering in the corners of the room, all the while he didn’t even know where the broom was kept. He never wiped his feet before coming into the apartment, even though we had a perfectly good doormat. He always left the used wet towels on the floor of the bathroom. And that was all without even mentioning how he never even cooked or helped around the kitchen. Only time he ventured in there was to raid the fridge anyways.

I slammed the handful of wrinkled bills and coins on the only empty space on the coffee table. “It’s all there. And make sure they don’t rip you off,” I told him. “Count it. And remember to bring my change.”

“I’m not fucking going!”

“Yes, you fucking are,” I said, shooting him a glare. “Or you’ll fucking starve.”

“I’m not even hungry.”

Right on cue, his stomach rumbled, very loudly. I smiled. He groaned with a drawn-out eye roll. 

“ Fine . Fucking Christ,” he muttered, shutting the sketchbook, tossing it to the side, and getting on his feet. He stopped on his tracks when he reached the kitchen –he just had to have the last word. “You really get off on bossing around, huh?”

“Look who’s talking!”

He yanked his coat off the door hook, threw it over his shoulders, and stormed out.  

I cursed him out, grumbling under my breath. Recently he had been particularly thin-skinned, flying into a rage at the slightest provocation –whether it was a real one or imagined. He had always been quick to anger, especially if he hadn’t killed anyone in a while, but this was turning ridiculous. I was about to count the days since our last date when I reminded myself that, actually, it was none of my business. If he wanted to get into a hissy fit because I asked him to do one simple thing then that was his problem. Chucky could deal with it himself; he was supposed to be a grown man, for God’s sake.

All I could do was hope that he would be back with the roast before it was time for dinner.

Going back to the bedroom, I tried to get back to tidying up. I’d be used enough to my own chaos I wouldn’t have any hard time finding my stuff. Living with someone else meant another pair of hands eager to mess with my delicate order, which didn’t help matters. I was done with folding and stuffing sweaters in the drawers, and my shoes were already in their proper rooms in the dollhouse, and my jackets were hanging along with his. Next up, I sorted accessories, looking for my belts in the drawers, cursing at myself for not setting them aside in the clothing rack, hanging from a hanger like with his ties, where I could find them more easily. Humming to myself to manage my frustration, I almost didn’t hear the front door creaking open.

I stopped rummaging for a moment, and listened. There was the familiar weight of his shoes, along with the crinkling of a plastic bag. Of course it was him. Who else could it be? I needed to keep focused on tidying up, because if I got too distracted, I’d find something else to do, and then I would never finish clearing out the mess. I kept searching, throwing balled socks and tangled stockings to the sides, huffing and sticking my hand as deep as I could to feel around for anything that felt like leather. The steps came closer behind me, and there was the creaking of the floorboards by the bedroom doorway.

“I’ve come to get you—!”

I turned around halfway through a sigh –but I got a quick look at Chucky just before he was almost already against me –he was wearing this black apron, and was holding a cleaver in his right hand. At the sight of it I opened my eyes wide and gasped, and before I could say anything he was already circling me with his arm –and I squealed and laughed, trying to get away.

“I dare you—!” I cried, trying hard to keep a scowl on my face, and failing spectacularly.

“Yes, my dear, your time has come!”

Chucky picked me up for a moment, and I kept laughing, too tickled by his fingers clutching my sides to even pretend to be scared. I wriggled a bit and even without elbowing him or anything he had to put me down again –and I felt the cold metal of the cleaver’s square edge touching my arm –and he tried to pick me up once more. He realized it was no use, but he was just happy with trying to hold me to stay still –which, with only one arm, was harder than he had expected.

“I’m gonna cut you up!” Chucky exclaimed, in a funny British accent. “Cut you up and cook you for dinner!”

“H-how?” I managed to blurt out in a wheeze, between laughs. “You, who c-can’t fry a steak to save his life?”

I got free, and in a split second wondered where he had gotten that cleaver from (he had most likely bought it partly with the change from the butcher’s, I realized later), and whether I had any chances to grab it off his hand, when I stupidly tried to turn to him just as I stepped away and tripped over the bed. Holding his arms up to the sides as if he was a monster preying on me, the cleaver in his hand almost touching the blades of the ceiling fan, Chucky lurched forward, very slowly. I giggled, covering my mouth with my hand.

“You’ll see –I’ll eat you up…”

With the biggest grin, he bit the large square blade of the cleaver, holding it between his teeth, and charged against me –tickling me while I laughed and squirmed and squealed. I gave him little punches to his chest, in my attempt at fighting back, while keeping away from the knife he had pointed at me coming from his face. At some point I was laughing way too much, a full body laugh, with my back on the unmade bed, my eyes tightly shut and my knees buckling, and I couldn’t even see where I was grabbing. I was confident, even half aware of it as I was, that I had managed to lay my hands against Chucky’s shoulders, pushing them back. From there it wasn’t very difficult to go up to his neck, where I could curl my fingers and sink my thumb, pressing with my nail, pulling him down along with me. I felt the poking tip of the cleaver against my arm, but I didn’t care. Soon enough he had stopped tickling me, and I could open my eyes again.

Kneeling on the floor, still with the knife between his teeth, Chucky cocked his head as well as he could, what with my hands wrapped around his neck, to get his hair off his face. I let him go, breathing heavily, and propped myself up with my elbows. He grabbed the handle of the cleaver and took it out of his mouth. There was a damp half-circle on the blade where his chompers had been holding it. I giggled.

“God, you’re such a kid.”

“But you love it,” he said, still with that smug smirk of his, now in his normal voice.

“Yeah… I guess I do,” I sighed, smiling, looping a finger under the straps of the apron that went around his neck, and looked down at the cleaver under his hand. “You’re gonna be the disposal expert, now?”

“The knife’s for me,” he replied. “But the apron’s for you.”

“Shame. It looks good on you.”

“I know,” he snickered. “Still... I wouldn’t fill it out as nicely as you would.”

I chuckled, and he leaned closer, and I gave him a kiss. His hand cupped my jaw as he kissed me back.

“You better share your toys,” I told him once I pulled away, gasping for air.

Chucky pressed his forehead against mine. “You’ll get your turn.”

We kept kissing, opening our mouths a little wider, moving closer. He brushed the cleaver against my thigh, softly. His other hand wasn’t as delicate: he was already grabbing me, now going down to my waist, finding the hem of my t-shirt and getting right under it. I helped him out, taking it off and pulling it over my head and throwing it to the side of the bed. He smiled when he got a peek at my pretty white lace bra –but I didn’t give him much time to enjoy the view. I reached behind his nape to pull him back to me, and kissed him as if my life depended on it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cleaver coming closer, felt it tracing its way up my thigh, over my torso, before settling on my chest, just around my collarbone. It was barely touching me so far –but once Chucky got it where he wanted, I felt the edge of it, the blade pressed against my skin, not wanting to cut yet. Like a silent threat. My pulse began to quicken. I leaned back for a second, breaking up the kiss.

“How sharp is it?” I asked him in a whisper, looking into his eyes.

“You tell me.”

I grinned, and leaned forward once more, not for a kiss but to see if he’d keep his hand still, holding the cleaver, the tip of it already itching to get deeper into me. See if he’d chicken out. All the while I kept staring him down, daring him to push it even further.

His eyes flitted from the knife to my own eyes. For the briefest moment I saw the same stunned thrill I had seen back when we first met. But the knife was closer now. And we weren’t strangers anymore.

Chucky pressed further, just a little bit, turning the cleaver so only the thin edge of it would touch me; and then dragged it along, drawing a short red line below my collarbone and just over my heart. I winced and whined quietly, tensing my arms, curling my toes. There was a pang of pain, and the sting of broken skin. It wasn’t deep at all –but it wasn’t exactly a papercut either –and I let out a small sigh when I felt the first drop of blood trickling down my chest. He lowered the cleaver, leaned closer and kissed the wound. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. His lips were warm, but what really made me shudder was the wet tip of his tongue, running across the cut. It brought to mind religious pictures I’d seen as a kid –inappropriate pictures, even for Sunday school –of saints kissing Jesus’ wounds. I laughed to myself, wondering if they had used tongue too.

He moved away and looked up at me, with a bit of red on his mouth. And he smiled –maybe he thought he was tickling me, by the way I was giggling.

“You do look good enough to eat.”

I stroked his cheek and pulled his lower lip down softly with the nail of my thumb. There was a thin thread of blood on his teeth, pooling around his pink gums. And he kept gazing up at me, with those big hungry eyes... I barely noticed myself doing so –but I spread my thighs to the sides, a bit wider than before. He looked down. He understood immediately. 

Bringing the cleaver down, Chucky pushed my right knee even further, focusing on the inside of my thigh. Then I understood. We shared a brief look before he traced the way from my knee to the seam of my panty with the tip of the knife, sending a shiver up my spine.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

“Or what?”

Chucky brought the sharp tip of the cleaver against the growing little damp spot. I gasped.

“Or we’re gonna have a little accident.”

I closed my hands into fists. He pressed the blade harder against the panty. I did feel a rush of dread, even as sure as I was that it was all an empty gesture. He watched my face, clearly loving my uneasiness, before twisting his wrist and turning the cleaver in his hand, and I felt it, thin and hard, circling my folds –I barely managed to avoid jerking my hips –a whimper escaped my lips before I could even try to stop it.

“You scared?” he asked, and he sounded delighted by the thought.

I was. Like watching a horror movie, or riding a roller coaster, where you're nice and strapped for the ride and know you're safe, knowing it doesnʼt change the fact that your body feels danger. That the only thing it can do is to become excited. 

I scoffed as well as I could. “As if you would really do it...”

As if to question my trust, Chucky suddenly pulled the tip up, gathering the fabric with its point, and kept it just in my center, right in the middle of my pussy, leaning the long edge of the blade ever so slightly against the wet panty crotch that barely gave me any security. I tensed up. He pushed it, as if he was completely ready to just slice me in half. I moaned between teeth. Only then he slowly traced the way back again through my thigh towards my knee. I gave a sigh of relief. He was now choosing where to make that new cut, I realized, while the blade went back and forth. And I was thinking about whether to lean forward or not –to watch as he worked, or if to sit back and enjoy it –when I suddenly felt the cold hard edge of the blade sinking in –deeper than before –and I shut my eyes and cried out –moving my thigh in one sharp spasm, out of sheer reflex –tensing up and helping the cut become deeper. He gripped my knee to keep it still. The stinging of the cut was strong and sudden, but quick. A bit of relief, a sense of release. Another hot drop of blood. As soon as he was done, he hurried to kiss it. The contrast was heavenly. I opened my eyes and gasped, reaching down for his head, running my fingers through his hair.

“Baby—”

He sucked on the wound for a little longer, before planting a couple wet kisses along the inside of my thigh, nibbling and biting around the cut, letting it bleed out for a moment and kissing it again. I sighed. The cleaver clanked against the floor.

Chucky had gotten me where he wanted. Without so much as a warning, he pulled my panty to the side to give my pussy a quick kiss. I wailed. I felt his self-satisfied smile just before he kissed me again, this time a longer one, pressing with his tongue, just like he had done with the wound. I whined, higher. He kept warming me up, running his thumb over the fresh cut on the inside of my thigh, smearing the blood, squeezing enough to make the sting as sharp as the pleasure. I shut my eyes and bit my lips, keeping myself as quiet as I could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of becoming so loud so soon. When he stopped and tilted his head back –and I leaned forward to see what he was up to now –his mouth and his fingers were all sticky and red. My pulse quickened. His hands raced to pull down my panties. My heart was pounding in my ears. We exchanged another little look, and a smile.

He closed his eyes –opened wide –and ate me out, one arm circling my right thigh and holding it in place, one hand pushing down my left thigh and jamming his finger in the wound. I cried and whined and called him –rocking my hips against his face –clawing the sheets of –tugging at his hair, sinking my nails in his scalp. And he made this little low moan with the back of his throat, dragging his tongue, pushing my hips to get where he needed to, fighting against my squirming –and I just whimpered, shaking my head. There were flashes of pleasure, making me gasp and curse him out, just as there were sudden pangs of sharp pain that had me sighing and begging. God, it hurt. It really hurt, his firm butcher-like hand grabbing the slippery thigh and pinning it in place... But it did an amazing job at keeping me desperate for some kinda relief.

Another drop trickled down my chest, down my belly, drawing a red line down towards his head between my legs. We had never done this before, I managed to think. One thing was biting, slapping, binding… Another was full-on cutting. But how different was it, really? Just because it drew a little blood? Was it so weird that I liked it?

His tongue began to work faster. My hips rutted along him to match his pace. I shut my eyes tight and brought a hand to my chest, feeling my frantic heart right under the first cut he had made. I ran my finger over it. The touch of skin against the open wound obviously hurt, but just enough so that it was bearable, just enough so that it didn’t really take anything away from the bliss of his mouth working me… If anything, along with the burning cut on my thigh, it made it feel even better.

Out of nowhere he pulled back to take a breath, and I was left trying to catch my own, legs already weak, while he stretched his neck and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I grabbed the strap of his apron and dragged him to me for a deep kiss. We could rest when we were dead. One of his hands went up to my waist, pulling me closer; the other, that which had been pressing my wound, went up and cupped my tit. His mouth rushed down to my neck, my shoulder, and finally on the cut he had made below the collarbone, kissing it again and again, keeping the blood flowing. Two fingers slipped under the cup of the now red-stained bra, playing with the nipple, squeezing and pinching. It was hard to even try to keep quiet, and definitely impossible to remain still. A hand slithered behind my back, and he fiddled with it for a little bit till he managed to unhook my bra. Once he pulled it off me, he stopped to gaze at my tits with a smile, feeling them for a moment before he licked his lips –and got to kissing, sucking and nipping for dear life, lovingly, hungrily. I could only grab onto him and straddle him, feeling how much he wanted it. How much I wanted it. But it was clearly not enough.

With his mouth occupied, and one hand pulling me to him, his other hand went down and fumbled around with his apron –for a moment I thought it was gonna go under the waistband of his pants –before finally, thankfully, running over my pussy again.

 He pushed a finger in. I wailed, losing any self control I had left, and just gripped onto him, running my hands under his shirt and sinking my nails on his back. His breath was shaky, I could feel the ache in him, but he managed to keep his hand pretty steady, dipping in and out, up and down, in slow strokes. And somehow, despite my thrashing, I managed to shut my eyes and move along, automatically, on the edge of the bed, without even thinking about it, following his rhythm, as if we were one. Soon he decided my howling still wasn’t enough. He curled his finger, going quicker, and rubbed his thumb in little circles, and closed his teeth around the nub of my right nipple –and that ended every thought that was somehow still fluttering around in my mind.

He fucked me like that until I almost came. I'd given him plenty of hushed, blubbered, pathetic pleading, in between the convulsing and the contracting, but it hadn't been what he wanted from me. There was a little dribble of spit on his chin when he backed away from my chest, panting, groaning slightly when I dragged my nails harder, trying to keep him close. Just to make sure we were on the same page, I slinked one hand further down, under his waistband, under his underwear, feeling him up. My lips grazed his ear when I whispered to him about how hard he was already, and how badly I wanted it. It answered immediately by twitching in my hand. I think he chuckled and said something about me being so needy, but I could barely hear him anymore. As if I was the only needy one, anyway. He kissed my jaw a little more, all leisurely, then moved back down planting a couple light hickeys around the still sore wound on my chest. I tried to complain about him leaving me hanging like that. I brought my hand down to finish the job myself, but he stopped it. I was starting to worry that he would actually really just decide that I had had enough, just to be an asshole.

And then, he burrowed his face in the curve of my neck, and added one more finger, and his hand –his hand buried itself in me like a blade –and I could barely breathe anymore.

Not that I would ever admit it, but he had a better track record getting me off than myself. I knew perfectly well how that sort of thing would make him even more of an arrogant bastard than he already was… But, if he didn’t know it already, then he didn’t need to know.

He got me to the edge, just to the edge. He brought me to a sob. Maybe that was what he had been chasing, more than begging, more than screaming. No full release yet, but we were getting closer. Then he decided once more that it was time for a pause, and pulled away, moving back, and I still moved along with him, not wanting to stop yet. He knew what I really wanted.

“You asshole–”

“Ask nicely, or you'll get jackshit.”

“Just fuck me...”

“I mean it.”

I rolled my eyes. As if he would really leave me hanging there, when I knew he wanted it as badly as I did.

“Come on… Don’t make me wait…” I begged once more in a pained little whine, desperately reaching out for his shoulders, now putting on the show he wanted and making the pleading as straightforward as I could, knowing full well how much he liked that, how that had been his aim all along. “Please … ”

He smiled wider, clearly glad about his work, and took a little moment to breathe. Or maybe he did want to make me wait for it a little longer –who’s to say. Despite how thoroughly he had wrecked me, I managed to pull myself together, and sit back up on the edge of the bed. And, just to make sure he didn’t doubt it for a single second longer, I stroked his cheek and leaned forward, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering, inches away from a kiss. I stared him down, down his blue glassy eyes, on his knees, in the space between my legs. Gazing up at me like that .

“ Please .”

That seemed to do the trick. Chucky fumbled in the back pocket of his pants, looking for a condom. When he finally managed to find one, he tried to open it, but his dirty fingers slipped off the plastic wrapper.

“Just give it to me—”

“I can do it.”

He couldn’t. He tried a couple more times before losing his patience and ripping it open with his teeth. I snickered, already reaching down to unbuckle his pants, while he hurried to take the apron off over his head. He climbed on the bed and I glanced down and smiled, getting a quick look of his dick, already dripping with precum, before he slipped the condom on. I pulled him down to me and kissed him slowly, running my hands over his shoulders, now making him wait a little more, like he had done with me. He still had the coppery, sweet-and-sour taste of my blood on his tongue. But he was getting impatient. He pushed me on my back, and kissed the wound on my chest one more time before going to my mouth, making me taste my own blood in his spit. And I kept thinking about the red trail rolling down my chest…

And that reminded me: “Wait, wait, wait—”

“What?” he asked, stopping for a moment to look down. “Did it break?”

“No…” I propped myself up, still panting a little bit, and ran a hand through my hair to push it off my face. “… Did you remember to put the meat in the fridge?”

For a second there he was pretty confused. Then, he laughed. “Yes, I did… Don’t worry about it.”

We kissed again, one more sloppy kiss, and he quickly turned back to my neck, which definitely helped me get my mind out of the fridge and back into the bedroom. As if he had just read my mind, he sunk his teeth down just a bit, just how I liked it. I held him tighter –gave him a long moan. It was as if I melted down on the sheets. And he wouldn’t be able to keep it together much longer either. He took a moment to get into position, pulling my hips closer. Just then –gazing up at him – my legs wrapped around his waist –then he slid into me.

I grabbed his hair in my fist –gripping hard, white-knuckled –yanked his head away from me –and I cried out, loudly, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He grinned, eyes closed, letting me pull him tighter and harder backwards, like curbing a dog with a leash. Slowly, after that initial shudder had passed, my arm relaxed; I released him, he breathed and pressed his head against my shoulder –and began rocking his hips –slow and steady –clenching his jaw –swallowing –his Adam’s apple bobbing, his neck tensing, my hands running across his skin and feeling what lay underneath. Muscles, bones, sinews, veins. He pulled me up and pressed himself against me –skin against skin –my wound stinging at the touch of him –his warm breath on my chest, panting louder, pushing harder.

“Look at me,” he demanded, when he pushed my hips higher and angled himself better, getting me to shut my eyes and cry out. “You're mine.”

He had learnt some stuff from me by now. He was better at telling me what he wanted, what he needed. Less of a straight-up fuck, more of an actual scene. I loved that. It was all I ever wanted for us. 

“C’mon,” he said, stroking my neck, pushing my chin up with his thumb. “Say you’re mine, honeybun.”

I gazed up at him, just like he had done, and smiled. “You forgot to say please.”

Out of a sudden, he frowned and stopped. I frowned, too, and was about to ask him what was wrong –if he had left the fridge open, if he had forgotten about the change, if he had somehow come already –but then the hand’s grip tightened around my neck –suddenly I couldn’t breathe –and he choke-slammed me. In my surprise I opened my eyes wide, weakly turning my head, trying to cough. 

“Still in the mood to joke around, Tiff?”

After that initial shock I managed to breathe in and chuckle a little. I had to admit I was impressed. He wasn’t too good at being harsh. He stumbled, he hurried, he didn’t play the role well enough. Last time he tried, he got too excited and it got out of hand, and I ended up furious at him, and gave him the silent treatment for about three whole days. Our last real big fight. If he was gonna be cruel, it just came easier to go all out.

“So selfish …” I said mockingly, with a little pout. Not the wisest thing, maybe, but I knew he did like it when I gave a little fight. “I think I like you better on your knees.”

“I bet you do.”

He grabbed me harder.

“You're mine,” he insisted. “C'mon. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

I grinned wider, drawing a quick breath through grit teeth. “You’re mine .”

Not what he wanted –but did I lie? His fingers closed around my neck. The warm palm of his hand pushed down my throat. It was so sudden –I tried to laugh –but it was hard to even breathe. I brought my knees closer to my chest. His hand squeezed tighter than before. I could feel my heart beating in my head. Not wanting to be less, I put my hand on top of his hand, clutching his. He let out a little strained groan, at how deep I was sinking my nails on his wrist –but he didn’t let go yet.

“Now –it’s your turn to say it, sweetface,” I managed to barely mumble, all choked up, with a quirk of my eyebrows. “Like –you mean it—”

“Say it,” he insisted, his voice becoming lower, trying very hard to seem serious –menacing, even. I decided to reign in my smile and play along for a bit. “ I’m yours .”

My eyes were starting to water. I was getting dizzy already. I’d been pressing my knees against his hips, squeezing my thighs together tight, and they were trembling a bit because of the strain, soon about to give up and go limp. It was clear that I hadn't gone limp yet, though, by how he seemed to be enjoying himself. Part of me wanted to wait a little longer, see for myself how far I could go, how far he would let me choke this time. But then again, he was already in me, and I wanted that goddamn release he kept putting off. 

My lips finally parted. His eyes opened a bit wider. A pause, to build anticipation. He was pressing hard enough that my voice came out rather husky. “… I’m yours .”

His expression shifted, and he smirked, satisfied. And then –he looped an arm under my right knee –pulling it up –thrusting harder –making me yelp. 

 “You're damn right,” he smiled wickedly, and I laughed with a wheeze. Now that was something I loved to hear from him. 

I think I had been plenty patient, all things considered. Not anymore. I pushed him closer to me with my free leg, holding him tighter. He grunted. I shut my eyes. He held me closer, found the spot that got me squirming, moved faster. I arched my back in a gasp. His breathing became more shallow. I opened my mouth and gave in with a bunch of throaty moans and whines. I was so close. I didn't hold back anymore. And he didn’t stop. One hand went to grab my left thigh, digging his thumb in the wound, making it hurt so much I could just not separate it from the rush of pleasure I was riding. With his other hand, the one that had been wrapped around my neck, he grabbed my jaw and got me to open my eyes, to look up at him, as we were reaching the end. I tried very hard not to blink, even when my eyes were blurry and burning. As if there was anything else I would rather be looking at... And he kept repeating my name through gritted teeth, calling me as he started to lose focus and turn his sight up, but I could only whine higher and higher and half-mumble profanities, his name choked out in the bottom of my throat.

In the end I finally, finally came first, with a shudder and a hoarse cry and a little warm tear running down from the corner of my eye. He came soon after.

“ Fuck —”

I lost, but it didn’t feel like that at all. The heavenly daze I found myself in stopped me from getting too mad about it. My hand trembled up to touch the bruises on my neck, then down to my chest, to press down my heart and try to soothe myself. When I looked back at my palm, it was slightly tainted red. I was still bleeding, barely so –most of it was on his chest, a smudged stain that mirrored mine. His arms finally gave out and he fell over me gently, as if in slow motion, and rested his warm cheek on my flushed chest, still breathing heavily. We were tangled together, embracing the other with unsteady arms and loose legs. It was a nice type of tired that we shared, like a nice burst of heat and swelling, like after a good cry.

“Don't go,” I asked quietly, in a whisper, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close. “Don't leave.” 

“I'm not going anywhere,” I heard him saying against my ear. “Where would I go?”

The rush of pleasure slowly gave way to the sting of the cut. It was warm and cozy there, though, by his side, in my skin, in his, despite the tired muscles, stained and sweaty. I thought about whether to go ahead, stumble off the bed and clean the wounds with some alcohol and cottonballs I kept in a tin box in the bathroom. But I didn’t want to move. Not a year ago, we would have taken a little break and then carried on, kept the blood pumping, before we could even let the bedsheets grow cold. Now we just breathed, heavily but quietly, wrapped in the other, eyes half closed.

I winced when he moved a bit so he could fit more comfortably next to me. He rolled over, and sighed, and circled my shoulders with one arm. Absentmindedly, I leaned my head against him, laying a couple little kisses on his red chest. 

 “Jesus, Tiff –you're still bleeding.”

His hand went over my inner thigh, and I moved it so he could get a better look. Meanwhile, dizzy and still struck by the soft exhausted soreness of my muscles after the release of all that tension, I sucked on a finger to get the blood from under my nails. 

“How're you feeling? Lightheaded?”

I smiled, for some reason, and nodded. I felt drunk, or high, or both.

“Yeah, you've lost a bunch of blood.”

Well, it had to be that or the choking. But I couldn’t even worry. Chucky groaned as he got up and stumbled out of the bedroom. I heard his feet going over the carpet through the living room and to the bathroom. He soon came back with the cottonballs and a box of Band-Aids, and dragged himself back to the bed.

“Shit. I forgot the rubbing alcohol.”

He sucked on his thumb and wiped some of the blood off the wound, before going over it with the dry cotton. It was as if he was playing nurse. His hands were still dirty, and as he traced the wound his finger trembled just a little from the recent strain. A sweet, funny sorta weakness. 

I reached out for him. “Darling... I love you.”

Chucky looked back up at me, and smiled. He didn't say I love you back, and I didn't need him to. I knew it. And if he loved me half as much as I loved him, then I had more than enough. You're mine , he had told me. Even as I teased him, he had to know it was true.

I really wished that could be enough. 

After that he just laid next to me, and we spent who knows how long in silence, each one lost in thought. Lately, more often than not I caught him staring at the wall, focused on something I couldn’t see, with that intense look on his face. Sometimes it was as if he wasn’t even there.

Heʼd get annoyed when I asked him about it, so I just stopped, eventually. Chucky always made up for it when he got in a good mood, when we were out on our dates, when we managed to really have some fun together. But as much fun as I had with him, I still felt lonely the rest of the time. 

I ended up calling the numbers Jack had given me, and spent more time in the store where he worked, and somehow I ended up becoming friends with him again. Well, sort of. Like before, back in New York, the key word was quiet . I went out with him during his lunch breaks, along with his coworkers (he always said there were no more available spots at the store), and they all talked about the latests bands and the top records, and about some drama between singers and their wives and their lovers, and I just ate my fries and listened to them, and laughed at their jokes, and told myself I had friends. Jack had a side job selling weed, so he was my dealer, kinda, and we would all go to the back of the record store and smoke together a little sample of his, and this is what I did so I didn’t go crazy on my own. It was good enough, mostly. Every once in a while, Jack would shoot me a funny look, or smile at me like we shared a secret, or make a comment that got the other two girls he worked with raising their eyebrows. I had the feeling he was fucking at least one of them. I knew that, whichever it was, she wasn’t the one he wished he was fucking.

Once, one of the girls, Hallie, asked me where I saw myself in five years. I didn’t know what to answer. She insisted that I had to answer something , and Jack made a joke about me being off living it up in Hollywood by then. I shut him up telling him I hadn’t been to an audition in the last six years. The other girl, whats-her-name, said that it didn’t mean I couldn’t end up working as a janitor at the Universal Studio lot, if I worked hard enough. They laughed. I distinctly remember putting my hand inside my bag and stroking the metal handle of my nail file, breathing in deep, imagining the feeling of the pressure of the blade in the flesh, and smiling at them with a little fake laugh. Meanwhile I just kept thinking of ways to kill her that would look like accidents, to calm me down. I needed someone to spend the lonely hours with, anyone, but they weren’t really my friends. 

When it was time to get back home, I made an effort to drag it out. Just in case Chucky got there first, so he'd find the apartment empty, just so he could feel how I felt. I always took the long way round and passed by the residential neighborhoods, the suburbs that looked much like where I had picked my Pontiac, and looked at the big houses, the cared-for lawns, the toys left by the children out in the driveway. There were a bunch of them with those ‘ for sale ’ signs out, but I knew I didn’t have nearly enough money or credit to afford even a mortgage. I didn’t care. I could spend hours driving through those places. If it was a weekday and it was obvious nobody was home, I would park in the middle of the street, and have a smoke, and imagine myself living there. I would have dinner cooking, and I’d spend the rest of my afternoon talking to my friends, my real friends, or playing with my kids. I had two kids in these fantasies, a boy for him and a girl for me. Chucky was in the picture, of course. When he got home the kids would dogpile him to welcome him back, and he’d laugh, and pull me close for a kiss, and then they’d tell him what they had done in school. They would be smart, real smart, I just knew it. And I would look at them proudly, and kiss the top of their heads, and Chucky would close the door, and we’d spend a nice evening all together at home.

On weekends, if the weather was nice, we could even go on the hunt, all four of us, together. I wasn’t completely sure of how this would work (especially at the beginning, when the kids were still noisy little babies), but weʼd come up with something. Eventually, it figured they could choose whether to come along with us, when they were old enough. I had my first kill at fourteen, after all: I had a feeling Chucky’s had been younger. I didn’t think it would really be too difficult for them. As long as we didn’t get caught...

Chucky rarely got home before I did. He usually arrived by the time I was either watching TV as a last resort, or when I was trying to organize the chaos that our living room always turned into, or sometimes both at the same time. Sometimes, he got home when I was making dinner, which at least meant that he would have dinner with me. Most often he didn’t even eat anything, unless I was eating, too. It had started to worry me. It hadn’t been like this back in Hackensack, or at least not that I was aware of.

“Still no job?” he asked me after hanging up his coat.

“Nope,” I said, watching him from the corner of my eye, as he loosened his tie. “What about you?” 

“Iʼll find something... Eventually.” 

He picked an apple and gave it a bite. I shot him a glare, but said nothing. Among Chucky’s many annoying little quirks, one of the weirdest was grabbing an apple, having four or five bites, and then leaving it in the fridge, as if he was saving it for later. We had three half-eaten apples, all brown and rotting, currently waiting to get thrown away with the rest of the garbage.

“You’re making dinner already.”

“You don’t say.”

“Isn’t it early?” he asked, sitting on the counter.

“It’s six o’clock.” He had arrived early, for once. I knew I should be happy about it, but I really wasn’t.

“And you’re hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

Chucky snorted a laugh. “You’re always hungry. You know, you keep that up, youʼre gonna get huge.”

“Get your ass off the counter.”

He had another bite. I elbowed him, and he gave me a kick.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked him. He hadn’t been home the day before, not even for breakfast. I had woken up alone, without a note or anything, and just had to trust that he’d eventually show up. When he did, he gave me no explanation. I might have still been a little bit angry at him about that.

“I dunno... Yesterday? I guess?” he shrugged. “We had dinner while watching the nine o'clock news. You made ribs and mashed potatoes. I spilled sauce on the couch and you threw a whole damn fit. Don’t you remember?”

“That was before yesterday. You didn’t have anything after that?” I insisted. “Not even coffee?”

Chucky shrugged again. Another crisp bite, and then he got off the counter, sauntered towards the fridge, and left the apple in there. Four apples to throw in the garbage. It was like a goddamn Sesame Street skit. I turned around to throw the onion skins into the trash can, and stumbled on him standing in my way, and huffed.

“Are you gonna help, or are you just gonna take up space?”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Watch that mouth, Tiff.”

Great. When he was being all testy, and I complained, then I was just being too sensitive. But when I snapped at him, then I was being insane. I had no way to fucking win.

“So,” he said, leaning against the fridge behind me. That kitchen was too damn small to have a conversation in. It reminded me a lot of the kitchen back at home, from when I was a kid. At least I helped around with cooking. “You’re making new friends already, huh?”

I had told him about Jack and about the record store. It didn’t sound like he was happy for me.

“Well, I didn’t think you had any friends in the first place,” I replied. “Do you visit them, too? When I’m not around?”

He didn’t reply.

“Where do you go?”

“Whatʼs it to you?”

There it was. That irritated tone when I asked something completely reasonable.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Chucky,” I said, gesturing with the knife. “I think Iʼm entitled to know.”

He shot me a side glance. “... I go meet up with some folks at North Damen and Grand Avenue. Theyʼre into the voodoo stuff I told you about.”

Chucky had never told me much about it, really, but I got what he meant. Still, I scoffed. “So youʼre spending all that time in a book club?” 

“Yeah, Tiff, Iʼm in a fucking book club,” he said. “What dʼyou think?” 

“I think itʼs a shitty excuse.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he said, raising his voice, so I knew that it was on. “Are you on the rag or something?”

“No –it’s the same time, every month, and it has been so for years. And you might know that, if you ever listened to me. If you ever paid any attention at all.”

I peeled the onion and was about to start chopping, when I remembered that I had forgotten to take out the pasta sauce jar from the fridge. I groaned and turned around and he stepped aside to let me get it. All the while he just stared at me, as if expecting an explanation.

“So it’s not that. What is it, then? Huh?”

“Take a wild guess,” I said as I continued chopping the onion.

He laughed and shook his head. “You donʼt even know. You’re just throwing a fit for the sake of it.”

“Youʼre barely home anymore,” I said, raising my voice as well, forcing myself not to sniffle. “You show up whenever you want, meanwhile Iʼm here wondering if youʼll be back for dinner.”

“Thatʼs what you're getting all worked up about?” he said as he kept chuckling. “Iʼd say you're old enough to be able to be on your own, Tiff. Iʼm not about to be your damn babysitter.” 

“You asshole, you're the one to throw a tantrum and make a scene when I get home a little late!”  

On and on with his crazy logic. But the truth was that, when I got angry when he was late and didnʼt tell me beforehand, I was just worrying something might have happened to him. When Chucky got angry I was late, it was him getting all pissed off because dinner wasn’t ready (even when he supposedly wasn’t hungry in the first place), or because some chore he could very well do himself hadn’t been done... I worried about him, and all he worried about was that I did everything he was just too ‘busy’ to do himself.

“I cook and clean after the two of us, I get rid of the bodies, I’m the goddamn getaway driver… What do you do, besides flicking the wrist from time to time to spill some guts?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t you ever get tired of whining?” he said. “If you hate me so much, then why do you even stay?”

That really was the million-dollar question. “Why do you think?”

He frowned, and turned away for a moment. I didn’t know if he really didn’t have a clue, or if he was just considering different options. Still –he didn’t answer. I crossed my arms and waited. Time passed, and just silence from him. No answer was worse than a wrong one.

“… I guess you just don’t know. Big surprise,” I said, squeezing the ground meat in my fists, making a huge effort to keep my voice from trembling. “You piece of shit.”

“ Should I know?”

“I really should just split. Since you clearly don’t appreciate anything I do for you!”

I was on the edge of going off, but if I was going off, his reaction was just as insane. It was kinda hilarious, to see him swing wildly between wanting to keep his cool, pretending to be unfazed, and losing it and scream bloody murder at me.

“I’d like to see you try,” he finally grumbled, finally deciding to pretend to be the bigger person.

“Just watch me.”

“Come on, you’re not gonna leave,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t last a fucking day without me!”

“Well, you’re not exactly a fucking delight to have around, quite honestly!”

 “Iʼm the only one you got.”

 That gave me pause. I looked up at him. He smiled, knowing just what he’d done. I hated that he was right. At least, to my knowledge, I was the only one he got, too.

“I can get someone else,” I shrugged, pretending to be focused on the meatloaf. “Easily.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “With your magnetic personality, sure. Admit it, Tiff, you’re lucky you’ve found me.”

“Lucky’s not the word I’d use.”

“I’m the best thing that happened to you, babe, and you’re bending over backwards to deny it.” He laughed again. “You can’t even argue with it!”

“Keep that up, and I’ll show you exactly how I’d argue with that,” I said, finally turning towards him. “With my goddamn luggage in the trunk of the Pontiac, ready to...! To...!”

He raised his eyebrows again, waiting for me to finish my sentence. I just couldn’t. He grinned.

“God – fuck you !” I screamed while he kept cackling, and I turned back to the bowl. “See who’s fucking laughing, when you come home and see me good and gone!”

“Really? What would you even do, then?” he yelled, all of a sudden taking me very seriously. “Go back to that sad old life of yours?”

“Well, it’d be better than having to stand your damn tantrums!”

“C’mon, you’d still be screwing random fucks if I hadn’t showed up.”

“And you’d still be killing on your own if I hadn’t showed up! No,” I cried, turning around once more to face him, pointing at him with greasy fingers. “You’d be either dead, or in jail. ‘Cause that’s what would have happened, because your goddamn lucky streak would have ended someday.”

“You’re really blowing up your own smarts, Tiff. Stick to cooking and driving.���

I finished shaping the meatloaf, threw it on a broiler pan, and shoved it into the oven.

“You would’ve died without me by now,” I repeated to myself as I washed the chopping board. “If it weren’t for me–”

“Aw, get fucking real for once!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the counter. “You think I’m an idiot!? That I can’t look after myself!?”

“You obviously can’t!”

“You don’t do shit ‘round here!” he cried, so loudly I thought he might as well shatter the window. “What you actually do is scream about how important you think you are! It’s all in your damn head! You think you do everything because you’re a selfish fucking brat!”

“So I’ll just leave, then!” I cried. “Since I’m so unimportant! ‘Cause clearly you don’t want me here!”

“You’re not fucking leaving!”

“ Try and fucking stop me! ”

I stared at him, gripping the edge of the counter. He stared back at me with wild eyes, all tense, as if the only thing in his mind was how much he wanted to throw a punch at me or to choke me to death. But I had the chopping knife at hand. I guess that’s why he didn’t do it. We just stayed like that for a few seconds, measuring each other, expecting the other to make the first move.

And, when I didn’t do anything, and he just couldn’t keep it in any longer –he took a deep breath –gave out a short scream –and punched the wall. I jumped. When he pulled his fist back, there was a hole in the white paint, and cracks all around it. Chucky shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and winced just a tiny bit. It had to hurt like hell. I sighed, and clicked my tongue, and almost went out to the bathroom to bring something to clean the wounds on his knuckles. But I hadn’t fully come down from the high of my rage yet. 

“Oh, real smart, hun,” I said. “You happy now? Do you feel better? I guess you're gonna have to call someone to fix that –unless you're counting on me to clean up your mess again–!”

“ Shut up! ”

For once, I did. He knew I was right, anyway. Chucky stretched his fingers, as if that would help with the pain, with a shaky frustrated huff. After a moment, though, when he looked back at me, it looked like however much it hurt, it wouldn't hurt half as much as whatever he imagined he was doing to me. And me –I just stared at his hand. I thought of when he pummeled that guy to death in the roadside motel when I asked him to. I thought of when he was about to punch me by the side of the highway, and didn’t. How, as angry as he got, he somehow managed to hold on to some small degree of control. It angered me even more. That meant that anything hurtful he said, he really meant it.

And he still had a little more poison to throw my way.

“No wonder nobody gives a shit about you,” he said.

We kept quiet. I could hear his heavy breathing, and my own, and then the noises of the city, the police sirens, the rumbling of cars, the chatter of the TV of the neighbors. By this point they probably knew this was a rather common thing to happen next door. After a while I just turned around, opened the faucet, and washed my knife, and waited for him to say anything else, preferably an apology.

“Go die in a ditch, Tiff,” Chucky finally said. “I'm fucking sick of this shit.”

I tensed up, ready to shove him off me in case he got too close. He didn’t. Instead, the door creaked open, and then it slammed shut, and when I turned around his coat wasn't hanging by the hook on the wall, and I was alone in the kitchen again. 

The meatloaf was done: half burnt, but certainly done. I served it in one dish, since everything pointed out to me having to dine alone. I almost threw the rest of it to the garbage, see how he liked it. Just as I opened the trash can, though, I thought it over. I had seen this going down before. In the end I put the rest in another dish, and saved it in the fridge. The TV gave me some company while I had dinner, still sniffling with the strong stench of chopped onions. I stayed up all through the late night news until I fell asleep on the couch. And then, the next morning, unsurprisingly, Chucky wasn’t there.

I worried, because that’s what I do. I just can’t help it. As much as I tried to stay angry and change the script for once, all I could do was try to find other things to keep my mind off it, off the image of Chucky getting too drunk or angry or cocky, and picking a fight he couldn’t win, and getting his ass handed to him and not knowing when to stop, and hurling himself into some serious shit, and digging himself deeper and deeper, until not even a phone call could get me to pick him up, no overpriced ambulance could help him, no amount of praying could save him, and he would end up a limp dark rag thrown over the curb, choking in a pool of his own blood, dying silently under the feet of passersby...

I set the TV at top volume, shifting between MTV and the morning cartoons, and brought everything I needed into the living room. It was time to get busy. First I fixed Peeping Tommy’s face crack, filling it with some putty, and repainting it very, very carefully, to match colors as perfectly as possible. When he was done I set him up on Chucky’s nightstand, so he could see how nicely he had cleaned up, when he came back. Then, I decided I could do with a smoke, and took a little from our stash, and that did help a bit more to calm me down and focus. After that I hand-sewed some stuff from my to-fix pile, prickling my fingers with droopy clumsy hands: there was a black leather coat Chucky had picked up that he never wore, because he was too comfortable in his old trenchcoat, so I wore it instead, but it needed a new lining, so I improvised one out of an old ugly purple satin shirt I had; and afterwards I added a lacy hem to a couple camisoles, and reattached a few buttons in Chucky’s favorite shirt, and tried to rub baking soda and lemon juice on an iron burn that had ruined one of his white tank tops and that no matter how many wash cycles it went through I couldn’t fully get off. And then, because I was now relaxed but bored out of my mind, I went out and bought a Bedazzler and a bag of studs and rhinestones and went back home and added a bunch on a jacket and on a dress while trying to copy stuff I’d seen in fashion magazines. And then I got hungry, and went back out again and bought groceries, spending the rest of the money we had left for the month, and then I went back home again and just when I thought I was gonna go insane I remembered it was time for Search For Tomorrow , so I made myself a sandwich and ate it on the couch while watching the soap opera with my newly bedazzled purple dress on. The episode ended, and I brushed the crumbs off the couch and onto the rug, and I was dumb enough to glance at the time again, and notice the growing darkness in the apartment, and remember that Chucky still wasn’t home. So I changed into my nightgown and got straight into bed, so as to avoid thinking about it, but I wasn’t as tired as I had thought, and took a long while to fall asleep.

When I finally did, I was suddenly woken up by a creaking of the door.

“Tiff...”

“Hm...?”

I turned around to see Chucky in the dark, lurching around the bed, dragging his feet. I blinked. I expected to feel ecstatic, or furious, at seeing him again; but instead I just took a deep breath, wishing he could have come home when I was awake.

“You asleep?”

“Not now, I’m not...”

Chucky plopped down on the mattress, making the rusty springs squeak. I cursed him in silence. As if it wasn’t enough noise already, he untied his shoes and dropped them to the floor with a loud wooden thump! I groaned. It had taken me so long to finally fall asleep, and of course he had to come and bother me. Just in case he had forgotten I was there, I gave him a little kick, to signal to him to keep it down. He ignored me, took off his pants and tossed them anywhere and made more noise with the racket of the belt buckle hitting my dollhouse shoe rack. Once he had made himself comfortable, Chucky slumped heavily beside me, pulling the bedsheets to him, and stretched an arm over my waist.

“Hey—”

“Shh.”

I elbowed him. “Don’t you shush me—”

“Alright, alright,” he slurred with a drowsy sigh, his voice trailing off. “I’m not shushing you… Just stop bitching.”

I kept quiet. It was senseless. And he was half asleep already, breathing quietly, nuzzling my neck, holding me tighter. I laid a hand over his, feeling the little cuts on his knuckles. He was freezing cold. I had to assume he hadn’t eaten.

“You’re incurable,” I muttered under my breath. He didn’t seem to hear me. I wasn’t surprised.

Next morning we woke up at more or less the same time, and had breakfast together. I knew he had to be hungry, even if he didn’t notice, so I made pancakes with the groceries I had bought the previous day. And Chucky was so happy about it, smiling and pulling me to his lap and kissing my cheek, that I couldn’t be bothered to stay mad, no matter how hard I tried. He decided to stay home, and we just spent a lazy day together. At some point he dozed off while we watched TV and fell asleep again, his head resting on my lap, and while I stroked his hair, I kept wondering... What would I do if I left him? What would he do if I did it? That life before each other seemed so far away to me now, and not just because of the three states that lay between Chicago and New Jersey. I know I have a hard time being on my own, so obviously I’d end up trying to find someone who could keep me company, who loved me and that I could love. But after getting a taste of this kinda life, I couldn’t really just get anyone. Nobody would feel as right.

I brushed some hair off Chucky’s face, turning the volume of the TV down a bit. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. He never snored, nor mumbled, nor tossed nor turned; hell, he barely seemed to breathe.

And he... What would he even do? He had these supposed friends who had an interest in voodoo, apparently. I wondered how many people there were in that group, if they ever spent time together as actual friends. If he had ever told any of them about me. The sheer idea of there being someone in that group that he could have a liking to, someone Chucky might like better than me, that he’d rather spend time with, was enough to get my blood boiling. But he wouldn’t. It couldn’t be.

We had each other. That was how it was meant to be. These were all empty threats. Our own little ways of checking the other was still there.

That was the biggest fight we had in quite some time. It did its job, getting all that anger we had building up out of our systems. From then on it was just a few little bickering sessions every once in a while. We still didn’t have much money, and we still didn’t get any jobs, but Chucky at the very least tried to be home a little more often, to keep me company. The cold helped, too: I had an excuse to snuggle next to him, and wrap him in blankets and coats and cuddle him when we were in the bed, or laying on the couch, or smoking on the street while searching for our next victim. We broke our own record on monthly kills, so that kept us both in a pretty sustained good mood. He still went to his so-called study sessions, though he stopped staying out late afterwards so often. Chicago winters were a lot harsher than he had thought, he had told me, as an excuse for getting home earlier. And, on my part, I made an effort not to get angry when he did get home while I was sleeping, or trying to sleep. I tried to get happy, instead. Grateful. I got really clingy, back then. But Chucky never complained about that.

I think that he actually liked it when I was so attached to him. Mostly because, back then, he seemed to be as attached to me as I was to him.

“Weird, gotta say,” Chucky told me as he raised his eyebrows. “Not like you to let this type of opportunity pass you by. Too busy to get your man a little gift?”

“Well, maybe I don't know if you've earned a gift this year,” I replied with a shrug. “You haven't been very nice.”

He smiled at this. “I could always be worse.”

“That was never in question.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and I laughed along. Christmas Eve, and the city was numbingly cold. We had gone out on a mission: I had seen an ad in a magazine about custom engraved necklaces, which I thought was a wonderful gift. Chucky’s not the type to wear such things, though, so I’d been looking around for a good place where I could get an engraved hunting knife, but that seemed to be harder than I had originally thought. We hadn’t had any luck finding anything else good at our usual secondhand store, so we decided to venture into the bigger shops in Michigan Avenue, partly because we knew that there were bargains abound and because the crowd was our best bet at getting some warmth. Of course, by the time we managed to make our way through traffic, all of the good stuff had flown off the shelves, and people were actually getting into fights over the goods throughout the aisles. In the end, Chucky and I decided it was not worth it, and headed back outside.

“If I have to listen to Santa Claus is Coming to Town one more time, I swear...” he grumbled between grit teeth, sinking his chin under the collar of his overcoat when we passed by the sliding doors of another big store, blasting the heat and the radio at full power.

“Isn’t it lovely, though?” I said with a little skip. The dead trees were covered in twinkling lights, and the shop windows were decked in beautiful themed displays. It would take more than a few unruly crowds to bring me down. “Families gathering for a home-cooked dinner, children going to bed dreaming about their presents... And it’s nice to see people taking so much pleasure in spending time together.”

“You see many happy people?” he asked. “All I see is people pissed they didn’t get the steal they’ve been standing in line for hours for.”

“You Grinch,” I laughed. But he did have a point. The happy people were indoors, having a good time with their loved ones. The streets belonged to the desperate.

“Spare change, please?”

A beggar surprised him at a street corner, getting right in front of us. Chucky whipped his head at her, stopping right on his tracks, dragging me to stop with him. It was a pale old woman, all bundled up, hair covered in a black veil and a black coat, with a rosary hanging from her neck and holding a bright red bucket labeled Help The Children in her bony white fists. A holy panhandler. I remembered we weren’t far from Saint James, where I had seen a beautiful white wedding taking place a couple weeks ago, on the steps of the church. The nun was shivering in the chilly wind, and with her black and white getup, she looked like a penguin escaped from the zoo.

Chucky scoffed. “Do I look like Mother Teresa?”

“Oh, hush, Chucky. After all, like my mother always said: you reap what you sow,” I smiled at the little old woman. She was lucky she had found me in a merry mood. “You never know when you might end up being the one needing a little help.”

“Bless you, miss...”

I kept smiling, but looked down at my hands for a second. It was a silly thing, I know, but it kept making me wonder –why did nobody call me Mrs when I went out with Chucky by my side? It was clear we were together. We couldn’t be standing closer together if we tried. Maybe it was because I wasn't wearing a ring. Nuns are conservative like that. 

“Tiff...” he butted in, standing a little apart, as he shot me one of his annoyed looks. “Are you serious right now?”

“Hm, I just can't seem to find my wallet...” I said, ignoring him, moving away from the corner and into a little nearby alleyway where the wind wouldn’t be so strong. The nun came along with me, and then Chucky followed us, too. “Please hold this for me, will you?”

I handed the nun my sunglasses while I kept searching. Then I handed her a packet of condoms, and then a postcard I had meant to send Molly but hadn’t gotten around to do yet, and my makeup compact which, without any more hands, the nun had to hold in her mouth. And I pulled out my nail file and slashed the nun’s throat, a superficial wound, but deep enough so that she couldn’t scream. Chucky cackled in happy surprise, and when she dropped my sunglasses he caught them midair. He put them in his coat pocket just as the nun turned around to him, grabbing at him as if asking for help.

Before she even noticed what was going on, Chucky grabbed the beads of her rosary in one fist, twisted it tighter, and pulled hard. The nun squeaked and squirmed, but in between the throat wound and the tight pressure on her windpipe, she didn’t make another sound. I watched as he shoved her old bones onto the narrow sidewalk, pinned her down with one knee, and kept pulling until her eyes were white and bulging, and her tongue stretched out her thin cracked lips as if trying to escape.

“Where's your God now, sister?”

I snapped out of it with a laugh. I assumed we were safe in that little dark alley, anyways, so I allowed myself to enjoy it for a while longer. Once Chucky decided she had croaked, I crouched down and picked up my stuff and the unexpectedly generous amount of coins and bills some blessed souls had given to the needy.

“Thank the Lord for charity,” I said, pocketing the change.

“Got it all?” he asked, dropping the body and getting back up on his feet.

“Yeah,” I slipped it inside my coat's inner pocket, and was about to hurry down the alley along with him, when I had another look at the nun. “Oh... Chucky?”

“What?”

I grinned, looking back up at him. “She’s still alive, sweetface.”

He frowned and crouched, and checked on her. She was paralyzed and speechless, but her eyes were still moving, and she still wheezed with her last few breaths. I clicked my tongue, shaking my head.

“Sloppy job,” I said, taking out my nail file.

“You think you can do better?”

“Oh, I know ...”

I kneeled too, knees on the cold hard pavement. I held her jaw and pulled it up, and continued slicing deeper, following the line to the back of her neck. The little shriveled old lady had a lot more juice in her than I had assumed. My festive white-and-red painted nails got a few specks of blood, which I quickly sucked off, looking back up to him to give him a go-ahead nod. Chucky smiled, took out his knife –and stabbed in the right spot on her back to get one last spasm out of the nun. We shared her for a little while. We got so into it –she kept moving her eyes like a broken doll, she just didn’t seem to die –that we only got out when I was startled by a voice too nearby, that didn’t sound much like him at all.

“Oh, my God –oh, God !”

That was our sign. I jumped back onto my feet, almost slipping on the puddle. Chucky got up and grabbed my arm and squeezed tight and we ran like hell. I turned around to look over my shoulder just as we were about to turn the corner and I saw, behind us, a small crowd gathering around the dead nun –and a man running and following us –and I gripped Chucky’s hand –and ran faster.

The sudden sound of sirens made me jump. I looked around me as I tried to remember where I had parked the car. Chucky yanked my arm. I just followed him. We went through a few clear streets and alleys while avoiding the crowded avenue –I had to trust he knew where the Pontiac was –until I finally realized that he wanted to get into an almost-empty store –about to close –and I stopped him and looked around once more and realized where we were –just half a block away from where I had parked –so we kept running, and we looked back, and couldn’t see the man but we couldn’t be sure yet, and just before we crossed the street and turned the corner I saw him, along with a couple other people, huffing and panting in the distance, and I digged into my bag for the car keys and as soon as I saw it I pushed it into the lock and opened the door.

We jumped inside the car, I slammed the door behind me, and without warning he pulled me to him and kissed me, and for a moment I tried to look behind me and through the window, but he grabbed my face and kept kissing me furiously, and I got what he was doing and wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

A moment passed. I heard footsteps rushing past us. Another moment passed. Chucky stopped and turned his head away. I kept kissing his jaw, under his ear, still breathless, still with a racing pulse.

“Are they gone?” I asked in a hush.

He nodded, and sighed. Still clinging to his shoulders, I looked over my shoulder towards where he was looking. I thought I could see the shape of a couple officers questioning some passersby, but I couldn’t be sure if they were cops at all from the distance. It could just be my still-jittery mind all shook up. I found my reflection in the mirror, and saw he had managed to really smudge my lipstick in the hurry.

“God,” he muttered. “That was way too fucking close.”

“Do you think they saw us?”

We stared at each other for a moment. He passed a hand through my hair, which was probably a mess. I giggled, and he chuckled with me, and we laughed together, tired but relieved and happy with the rush of the race and the thrill of the kill. I started the car. He kissed me once more, and then we headed back home.

On our way there, we started arguing on what we should have for our Christmas dinner. At first I was all excited as I told him the list of things I had in mind: I had gone over my Betty Crocker cookbook in the last week and I was looking forward to preparing baked ham, some mashed potatoes, and baked apples, too. And then I remembered there was next to nothing in the fridge. I had forgotten to buy enough groceries to last the month, and of course Chucky took that chance to complain about how I always left everything to the last minute.

After parking the Pontiac I finally accepted I had to make a quick trip to the store. I kept going back and forth about whether I should not waste any more time and get there straight away before it closed, or go back home first and change into something that wasn’t all dotted with blood. All the while Chucky declared he would stay in the apartment, refusing to come along with me, and I insisted that at the very least he help me carry the bags. He bitched and moaned for a while and, in the end, I said fine , as long as he set the table and washed the dishes after dinner.

I’m not sure how I didn’t even feel it coming. I was too distracted looking for the keys in my purse while I walked up the steps, I guess. It was just when I raised my eyes to the entrance of our building that I saw her: with the little black shoes, the old black wool coat with faux-pearl buttons, the bright red beehive hair.

My mother turned around to face me. I could feel the blood draining from my head.

“Ah, finally... At least this means you’re not ignoring the buzzer,” she said, gripping her little black handbag a bit tighter. “I’ve been waiting for ages, out here in the cold.”

For a moment I thought I was imagining it. It was impossible, after all, for my mother to be there, after so long, standing right in front of me. Really, it made no sense. Maybe I was dreaming it. Maybe it was all some weird nightmare, a result of eating too much before bed, like she always told me not to do.

“You clearly haven’t had any problems with money,” she said as she looked at me up and down. “By the way you’re looking, you’ve managed to feed yourself well.”

I said nothing to this. I just reached for my neck, wondering if it had gotten too thick, if my cheeks were too full. It had been about a decade since she last saw me. Had I changed much since then? My mother, on the other hand, looked just like she did when I last saw her. I thought of the framed wedding photo by the front door of her house. She had looked so much like me, back then. She, of all people, probably knew how ugliness could slowly settle in.

“… So? Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

Chucky’s hand rested on my back, bringing me back to the present. I tried to say something, but whatever words I managed to string into a sentence died in my throat. Instead, I just nodded, and opened the door.

The three of us went into the elevator in silence. My mother’s attention had shifted from me to Chucky, and even behind his sunglasses I knew that he was similarly studying her. Just then I feared there was any blood on us –if she was so quiet because she was wondering why on Earth we were coming home at that hour with red splattered on the side of our faces. I took out my compact and checked, pretending to fix my makeup. 

“I don’t suppose you’re thinking of introducing me to… Whoever this man is.” she said out of a sudden, making a small gesture towards Chucky, which annoyed me but at least reassured me that she hadn’t noticed anything particularly troubling.

I cleared my throat. “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Charles.”

He took off his glasses and gave her a half-hearted half-smile. In return, she also gave him a long hard look up and down, stopping to glare at his hair.

“You are a man, I suppose…”

The elevator stopped with a sudden jolt. Chucky took in a sharp breath, and I saw the flash of anger in his wide-open eyes, and for a moment I just knew he was about to whip it out and curse my mother to hell and back—

“So, how was the trip?” I said quickly.

“By all accounts, not really worth it,” she said once we stepped into the hallway, glancing around at the cracked paint of the building walls. “When you said you had moved into Chicago and were going steady, I was expecting something better than this.”

She was never one to mince words, especially with the lack of fucks to give that comes with age. Chucky shot me an annoyed glance from behind her back, and made a gesture pretending to hang himself, tongue lolling out and all. I grinned, quickly pressing my lips together to disguise it when she looked back at me.

“Are we going to stay in this dirty hallway for the night?” she demanded.

I unlocked the door to our apartment. My mother walked in first, and examined the kitchen carefully. There was the pile of dirty dishes on the sink, empty bottles on the counter, some old newspapers. Apart from that, the kitchen was pretty spotless: I had cleaned the counters a few days ago, wiped the little window, even mopped the floor. Still, my mother made a grimace before moving on to the living room, which was another story altogether.

“It’s not that bad,” I said, locking the door. 

“It’s not exactly the very image of cleanliness, either,” she said. The lived-in, warm smell of our place was at odds with the soapy scent of the cheap perfume my mother always wore. “Then again, I assume you wouldn’t even keep your place this tidy anyways unless there was a man in the picture.”

“If I knew you were coming, I’d have cleaned up a little.”

“You shouldn’t need an excuse to take good care of your home. The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you.”

As soon as she began saying it I could already mouth the words myself. She had told me something along those lines quite a few times. Of course, whatever me and my boyfriend did in private was our business and only ours –but when your mother drops by, you’re expected to be up to the test. I was about to follow her into the cluttered living room, maybe try to hurry and hide some of the mess under the sofa before she could notice it, when Chucky grabbed my arm.

“Hey –quick word…”

My mother turned around and glanced at us. We both gave her a little smile. She sighed, and focused her attention back to the pigsty where her daughter lived. Chucky dragged me back beside the fridge, closed the door, and then banged his head as low as he could against it. I turned on the sink faucet, letting it run for a few seconds over the greasy dishes, before soaking my hands in the ice-cold water to wash away the traces of blood.

“How –the fuck –does she know where we live!?”

“I sent her a postcard,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t think… Jesus, I didn’t think she’d come this far!”

“What’d you send her a postcard for!?”

“I just wanted her to know how I was doing!”

He leaned his back against the door, covering his face with his red-stained hands, muffling a yell, and took a deep breath.

“Well, there goes a perfectly good night,” he muttered. “How can we get rid of her as soon as possible?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, she’s stubborn. She’s not gonna leave till she decides she’s had enough.”

Chucky unbuttoned his coat and showed me the situation he was dealing with. His white shirt was drenched in mostly dry blood, less bright red and more cherry-colored –but still plenty suspicious. 

“Listen, I’m looking like fucking Carrie here, Tiff. I’m not exactly meet-the-parents presentable at the moment,” he said. “Hell, you want her to ask us how we met while I look like this?”

I knew that was the sort of question she’d make, whether we wanted to tell or not. I thought about it, tapping my heel against the floor tiles, sinking my nail on my lips.

“You get to the bedroom,” I finally said. “I’ll chat with her, distract her a bit, see how I can get her to leave.”

Chucky nodded in agreement, tightening his jaw. I handed him a wet dishrag for him to wipe his neck and hands with before turning the faucet back off.

“I didn’t want this,” I told him in a whisper, just to make that clear. “I didn’t invite her over. I didn’t want her here.”

He sighed, throwing the dirty rag back on the counter. “I know, babe.”

“I would have liked to patch things up with her... Maybe help her change back into when she was just my mom,” I admitted. “But not like this. Not this suddenly.”

He rolled his eyes. “Something I’ve learned throughout the years, Tiff, is that people don’t really change. They just stop lying to themselves.”

It made some sense. At some point my mother must have decided she could stop trying to pretend to like me.

“She’s still my mother, though,” I said. “I guess I still owe her… Something.”

She had come all this way to Chicago just to meet me. That had to count for something . As much as I wished she would just take a quick look around, say a couple biting lines, and walk away, I also wished she would stay a little longer and see for herself just how well I was doing, and how much happier I was now. She didn’t seem to believe me. I had to ask myself what would ever convince her of it.

But then, I remembered what my mother had told me. ‘ Love isn’t something we’re owed, it’s something we earn ’. Had she earned the love she expected of me? Did I really owe her anything? 

“You know... You can love someone and still kill them,” Chucky suddenly said, matter-of-factly. “It’s not as hard as it sounds. At all.”

“Really?” I said, picking the dry clumps of blood off from under my nails. If my mother hadn’t noticed the stains we had, it was likely she wouldn’t notice such a small thing. Still, one can never be too sure. “Who did you kill?”

“Long story for another day.”

Not wanting to face her just yet, I glanced through the half-open door to the living room, where my mother was now inspecting the view from our window. After a moment, I looked back to Chucky. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“For God’s sake, Chucky, don’t be stupid,” I huffed, leaving the kitchen.

Back in her line of sight, my mother hurried towards me. I braced myself for what was coming next.

“This place stinks,” she declared. “Don’t you ever open the windows? It smells sickly in here. You’ll get sick.”

“I won’t, mom—”

“And so cold, too! Don’t you turn on the heater?” she asked. “And in winter, of all times… You’ll catch your deathly cold.”

“I won’t —”

“You sure? With the way you’re dressed?” she exclaimed, grabbing the lapels of my faux-fur coat and shaking them in her fat little fists. “Looking like a cheap minx, for God’s sake…”

My cheeks were burning, but I tried not to let it show. What mattered most was that my mother was distracted enough with this to not even notice Chucky slipping behind us, out the living room, and in through the bedroom door.

“Have you been using a curling iron?” she said, furrowing her thinly plucked eyebrows, reaching for a hair strand on my forehead. “Doesn’t look like curlers—”

“ Yes , mom, I’ve been using a curling iron…”

“You’ve been bleaching it so often, your hair’s becoming thin. You should change to a better shampoo, at the very least, or the heat’s going to keep damaging it.”

Great, so my mother had come all the way from Hackensack to tell me what to do with my hair. Even as I turned my face away from her she kept pulling at my curls, brushing them to the side and adjusting a few stray hairs over my ears.

“Just… What are you doing here?”

“Brittany earned that scholarship she had been studying so hard for, did you know? Probably not, seeing as you didn’t even try to keep in touch with us,” she muttered, and finally left my hair alone. “Well, now that I am a widow, and that your sister is away at college, I have quite a bit of free time in my hands...”

I shot her a look out the corner of my eye as I took off my coat. I pictured her, sitting on the sofa and smoking her herbal cigarettes in the living room of that old little house, exactly the same as it always was, except that now she was completely alone. Meals were single-serving, there were no shirts to iron, or toys to put away, or beds to make, except her own. The weekly bridge games were not enough of a distraction. I looked down at my boots. It embarrassed me, to recognize that loneliness that I had felt so often in my own mother. Was I to blame for it? I had been the one to run away, after all…

“Anyways, you said in your postcard that you were doing well. Of course, whatever ‘well’ is for you is a mystery. So, taking advantage of the fact that I’m free now, I had to come and see for myself.”

“You had to come check up on me?” I said, crossing my arms. “I’d thought you had given up on me.”

“I have given up on you, for a long time now. And still, despite my better judgment, I have looked out for you, cared for you, worried about you…” She gave one more glance around. “The least you could do is offer me some tea.”

I went back into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. I turned on the stove and put it on top, automatically thinking about whether I had anything to accompany her tea. On a little dish, covered by another one of our dishrags, there were some gingerbread cookies left (a true Christmas miracle), but I knew she would just complain about the excessive frosting. I scoured for a bit till I found a jar in a cupboard, with two lonely chocolate chip cookies that Chucky had either forgotten about or had been saving for another time. The first one was the most likely.

“Water’s heating up,” I told my mother, coming into the living room with my offering of the prettiest china dish we had, holding the two chocolate chip cookies. Despite everything, she was too well-mannered in the very specific way of never talking with her mouth full. I would take full advantage of that. “Thought you might like something to have with your tea.”

“Chocolate chip,” she said, unimpressed, picking one and inspecting it. “A child's choice. But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

She took a small bite. Even there in the living room, with her noisy chewing, I could hear the hissing of the gas stove, and the water that just wouldn’t boil quick enough.

“Not too bad,” she finally said, before she frowned. “Wait a minute… Is this my almond cookie recipe?”

“What?”

“This has almond extract,” she hissed, shaking the cookie around, spreading crumbs everywhere. “And lard instead of butter. You took my almond cookie recipe and added chocolate chips to it.”

She sounded absolutely appalled. A thought flashed in my mind: I could have dipped the cookie in some rat poison we kept under the sink, see how she liked it then.

“So what if I did?”

My mother set the cookie down, giving a long sigh. “Turn on the heater, or light the fireplace, at the very least. It’s so cold here, almost colder than it is outside.”

For once, Chucky had remembered to buy kindle for it. I lit the fireplace and waited, kneeling in front of the growing fire, avoiding my mother’s gaze, while she stood beside me. Once there was a nice warmth coming from the hearth, I considered going ahead and changing into something else as well, but didn’t want to have to pass by her side again yet, feel her questioning eyes on my back. Anything I changed into would be the target of a bunch of new criticisms anyways.

“Is that better?” I asked her.

“It’s better than freezing.”

Age had really done her no favors. I reached for the fire poker and removed a few ashes, causing a little spurt of sparks. It felt nice by the fire, warmed up and cozy. My mind wandered back to some very early memory, of some other winter, when my father had bought a brand-new heater and we were sitting around it, having hot chocolate, trying to keep warm. I had a memory of my mother’s soft breathing, her hands cupping the mug, my head resting on her lap. Most details were fuzzy, but I could perfectly remember the electric buzz of the heater, my mother’s heartbeat, the quiet funny gurgles of her belly as she swallowed gulps of hot chocolate. I had a sudden wish to rest my head on her lap, like I had done back then. In my mind, one of her hands moved away from the mug and reached to stroke my hair, so very gently; but I wasn’t sure if that was real or something I added later to the memory.

The tip of the fire poker had turned bright red. I gripped the handle tighter in my fist. It was heavy, pure iron. If I left it close to the fire for a little while longer, it would get white-hot. The tip of it was probably sharp enough –and if it wasn’t good enough for a nice quick stab, then I could beat her to death with it. Would the screaming be loud? I knew she could yell pretty loudly if she wanted to. Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care?

“What do you work in?”

“Secretary,” I quickly lied. “For a real estate company. Only part time, though. I mostly stay at home.”

“And this Charles, what does he do?”

“He works in waste disposal.”

“Figures.”

I left the poker in its place, stood up, and pretended to fix the garland on the mantle. There were the holiday decorations I had set, my biggest Christmas purchase, that had seemed so cheery when I first arranged them. Their little plastic smiles now seemed mocking.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“He’s changing into something more comfortable,” I replied, adjusting the tiny Santa hats on the heads of my dolls. “He wants to look presentable, to properly meet you.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know, mom.”

“I’m not joking. There’s something strange about him. He seems…”

I glanced at her over my shoulder, admittedly curious to what word she would find the best to describe him with, and wondered whether Chucky was listening on us from the other side of the door.

“… Unpredictable.”

“We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

“I don’t mean that,” my mother insisted. “I mean, he’s… Sinister .”

“Well, I like him that way.”

“No, you don’t,” she said tiredly. “You think you do, but you don’t. Don’t fool yourself, take a good hard look at him. You must know the type by now. No commitment. No loyalty. That’s what I mean by ‘unpredictable’. He can’t be trusted, especially not by those he has wormed his way into staying by his side.” She took another bite of the cookie, and chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before continuing. “He’ll end up letting you down, Tiffany, mark my words.”

“Where was that great intuition when dad ended up cheating on you?”

Silence. For a moment I was sure she would walk up to me and slap me. She didn’t. She just grit her teeth, left the half-eaten cookie on the dish, took out one of her cigarettes from her black handbag, and kept still, carefully picking which words would hurt me as much as I hurt her.

“He doesn’t really love you,” she finally declared, almost spitting the words.

“As if you knew so much about love,” I grumbled, reaching for the pack of Marlboros on the coffee table.

“I do,” she said, and she lit her cigarette. “You know I do, Tiffany.”

“Charles does love me,” I tried to keep my voice even. The pack was empty. “He shows it to me. He’s… I don’t think I’ve ever been truly loved, before him.”

“He really has reeled you in, then,” she sighed, and dropped the ashes of her own cigarette on my carpet. “If you believe that bunch of crock. How long do you honestly think this can last?”

I didn’t reply. It would last for as long as I lived –or at least for as long as he kept loving me –but I wasn’t gonna tell her that. I already knew what her response would be.

My mother scoffed. “You think that because you have a couple things in common, because the sex is still decent, because he gives you a little gift from time to time, that he loves you. But none of that is real. I made that mistake. Don’t repeat what I did.”

“Well, what’s your advice, then?” Since she was so full of wisdom…

There was another drawn-out silence before she spoke again. “I knew that, once I married your father, I would never be able to go back to my family. That was a choice I made, which I have lived with for the rest of my life.”

I wringed my hands. To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of that family anymore.

“I’m giving you a chance I was never afforded, Tiffany. You make a choice, you pay the price. Wait, and think, before you regret it.”

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked. “Leaving your family?”

“Regrets don’t mean anything,” she said, looking down. “I had a new family. At least I wasn’t alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Right,” my mother said, shooting a glance towards the closed door to our bedroom.

“He does actually like me as I am, mom,” I insisted. “He doesn’t want to change me into something else.”

“Does he, now?” she laughed bitterly. “I find that hard to believe. You were never easy… Of course, I guess part of the blame lies on me. I made you the way you are, warts and all,” she said, sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, creaking under her weight. “I made a goddamn monster.”

Her words made me realize how many childhood memories I had, all of them muddled and fading, of her doing things for me. My mother bathing me, my mother feeding me, my mother giving me a spoonful of cough syrup in bed. And then, memories of me rejecting her care. Me bathing myself, me cooking for myself, me downing aspirins in the bathroom. ‘ Stop exaggerating ’, I remembered she used to tell me. ‘ Don’t be so dramatic. ’ I was about to repeat her own words to her. Then I thought, I was kind of a monster. At least to her. Compared to who she wanted me to be, I guess I was a monster.

Maybe I did owe her. 

“I don’t know where I must’ve gone wrong… Since your sister turned out to be such a well-behaved lady…” She looked up at me, and let out a deep sigh. “What happened to that sweet little girl you used to be, Tiffany? When did she turn into…? Into this?”

I had no answer for her. My mother stared up at me until I felt uncomfortable, but I stared back for as long as I could, determined not to let her see it. She was looking for some doubt, some sign of weakness she could sink her teeth in and exploit. It had been years since we last talked to each other, but I knew her stares and glares very well, and I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I wouldn’t be intimidated by her any longer.

“Did you ever find out who the other woman was?” I asked her. My mother was quick to point out my faults. Better to remind her of her own.

“No. But I can imagine it was some vulgar streetwalker,” she said, lowering her voice, fiddling with her ring. “Or more than one, surely. These women are fickle, of course. You can’t really put a price on love… Though I don’t think that love was what your father was looking for in them, in any case.”

It wasn’t the same, of course, but I still wondered what she would say if I told her about my string of one-night stands, after my last breakup. She would be disgusted, that was for sure. She would probably not be there in my apartment if she knew. To her, I would be a vulgar streetwalker too. I gripped my wrist and sank my nails in my skin. The little taste of pride I had about having become what she despised most was quickly overpowered by the sudden disgust I had at myself.

“Maybe he did,” I shrugged. “Maybe he did love that woman... Whoever she was.” 

“Oh, please. You didn’t know him like I did,” my mother said. “You didn’t know him at all. Even you, with your whining and your tantrums, did more around the house than he did. When he was promoted, boy, I really believed he would have more time for the family… At least he could have stayed faithful for Brittany’s sake.”

“If he was such a pig, then why did you marry him?”

“You must know how relationships start like dreams come true,” she said, arching her thin eyebrows. “Before they turn into full-on nightmares.”

She must have known how that thought kept gnawing at me. Always, in the back of my head, popping up when I least expected it. Like a parasite, or a rash. How true love never seemed to last.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Tiffany. Men were born to lie,” she declared. “And women to believe them.”

He loves me –he loves me –he loves me , I repeated to myself. She was just trying to get under my skin. Chucky wasn’t like the others. He had to love me. There had been so many chances for him to just kill me. He wasn’t afraid to shed blood. If he didn’t love me at least a little bit, why the hell would he even keep me around?

“So, you think you got it all figured out now? You think you’re happy?”

I wasn’t so sure now. What was the difference between thinking you’re happy and being happy? Was one real and the other a lie? I felt happy with Chucky around, even despite the few rough patches, the occasional arguing and the fights. It felt real, more real than anything else I had ever felt. Though… Certainly, back with Heath, with Cesar, with Arlene, I just loved them. I just felt it, and it was enough to convince me it was the real deal. Could it be that I was just fooling myself again, just like I had done so many times before?

Regardless of the answer, I forced myself to smile, raise my chin, and take a deep breath.

“Yes. I’m happier than ever.”

My mother drummed her nails on the armrest. Her expression sparked another memory, the way that her presence in general simply did that, plucked from years I had a very weak grasp of. I was back at her house, and I had thrown a fit or something, and after her typical yelling she had decided to go for another tactic. ‘ Fine –you can cook for yourself, then. Cook for yourself, clean for yourself, do your own laundry, pay your own bills… I’d like to see you managing without me. I’d like to see you try. ’

“Well, Tiffany… As the saying goes: if you love something, you have to set it free. And you have been free for a while now.”

I didn’t want to be free. I wanted to be loved.

“We don’t have to keep seeing each other. We can forget the other exists,” I said. It was the easiest thing to do, and the one that, most likely, would hurt the least. “Hell, it’s what I’ve been doing ever since I left home.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tiffany, you couldn’t forget about me even if you tried,” she said. “I’m who gave you life. I’m your own flesh and blood.”

“Say what you want, mom, but I’m not gonna go back to Hackensack with you.”

Because that was what this was all about. She just didn’t want to be alone in that crummy house.

Suddenly she stood up, startling me. She stood almost as tall as I did in my heels, in front of me, with that disappointed look. One of her hands moved away from the handbag, and approached mine, giving it a small but tight squeeze. I held my breath. I didn’t pull away. Her hand moved farther, now close to my cheek. I did wince there, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of submitting. I didn’t move any further than that. The back of her fingers stroked just beside my jaw, careful not to let her hard acrylic nails touch my skin. I grit my teeth. My mother’s hand was much softer than I remembered.

And then, the only thought I had, all I really wanted, was for my mother to hold me close.

“I have come all this way, I’ve done all of this, because I care about you, despite everything. Despite how impossible you are, and how much you say you want to keep away. I know you,” she said quietly, almost shamefully. Worst of all, I knew she was telling the truth. “And you know that, don’t you?”

I stared back into her dark brown eyes, the eyes that were almost exactly like mine. My lip trembled –and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay stone-faced. But still I couldn’t shake the image of my mother, all alone, a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other, spending the afternoon in the living room of her empty house. Waiting for something out of sheer faith. It was her when I came home late, and it was me when I was too tired to cry after my latest breakup, and it was her when I got up early in the morning with period cramps and she had already done all the chores, and it was me when I felt absolutely nothing and could do nothing but stay still and let the time pass me by—

Chucky came out of the bedroom. He was now wearing one of those floppy t-shirts he had picked at the Goodwill: this particular one read ‘ Get Really Stoned: Drink Wet Cement ’. I let out a relieved breath, and snickered at the sight of it. He winked at me. My mother just glared at him.

“Oh, nice –cookies,” he said chipperly, taking the other one from the pretty little dish and munching on it as noisily and rudely as he could.

I kept pursing my lips, trying to hold back a grin. My eyes were still burning. At least he found a way to ease the situation, in the best way he knew. Thankfully, before my mother could start her grilling, asking for all the gritty details and the obligatory questions about our relationship, about his education, his family and his reputation, the kettle whistled to call me away back to the kitchen.

“Give me a minute,” I told her, able to loosen my shoulders at last. “I’ll bring you your tea.”

“I’ll help you,” Chucky said quickly, following me back into the kitchen.

I had a wave of fear that she would sneak into our bedroom while we were both away in the kitchen, out of sight, with him having closed the door again so we could talk and not be heard. I didn’t know exactly what my mother could find that could give away our little hobby. Really, there was probably nothing in there that she would ever approve of in the first place, I realized, thinking of our clothes lying everywhere, the newspaper clippings, the unmade bed, the weird books he read…

“Christ, Tiff. Your mom fucking sucks,” Chucky told me in a hush. “Why didn’t you ever tell me she’s such a bitch?”

So he was listening in on us. “I know she’s got her issues—”

“Yeah, no shit.”

I pressed my knuckles against my chin, digging my nails into my palms. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember a time in which she had stroked my cheek like that.

“… She’ll want to stay for dinner.”

Chucky glared at me.

“I don’t think I can bear even five whole minutes more with her,” I admitted.

He clapped in relief. “Thank God, you said it. So!” There was a sudden energy to him, as if he had gotten all wound up and ready to go. “How should we get rid of her?”

I took a deep breath. I glanced at the cabinet below the sink. “Rat poison in her tea. Right? That sounds merciful.”

“You say she deserves it?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can be merciless with her,” I said as I poured the hot water into the teacup, thinking back to the poker by the fireplace. “She’s still my mother.”

“Tiff, come on,” he said, raising his tone. “She treats you like shit!”

“Keep it down,” I hushed him. “And it’s not that bad. It’s just –it’s just how she is. She’s probably really tired from the trip—”

“She hasn’t seen you in years, and she talks to you like this!?”

Chucky was right. What was I even doing, trying to find excuses for her?

The bag of red tea quickly dyed the water a deep rich color. “Yeah, poison won’t cut it. Something stronger. Something final.”

“I can distract her with some story,” he suggested. “So you can come from behind and slash her throat.”

“No… No, I don’t want to touch her.”

He frowned, glancing at the kitchen drawer where we kept the emergency Glock. “A bullet would make too much noise, even with a pillow to muffle it. Would you really risk it?”

“No, I mean… I don’t think I can... That I can touch her. I can’t look at her while I kill her.”

“Hm… What about suffocating her with a plastic bag, then? That’d be clean.”

“Could you do this for me, Chucky? Please?” I asked him, wringing my hands. “I… I can’t do it.”

“What?”

“I want her dead, I do, it’s just… I… I don’t know what it is, I just can’t…”

“Tiff,” he said, with a look of disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? You’ve done this a million times. You’ve done this less than an hour ago!”

“It’s different,” I said quickly. “I’ve thought about this so many times, but… I’m afraid I’ll… I won’t be able to…”

“You won’t be able to go through with it?”

I nodded. He was almost let down for a moment, but then he picked himself right up, and gave me one of his smirks.

“Well, that’s what you got me for, babe. If you end up getting cold feet, I’ll finish it for you, no problem.”

“No… No, Chucky, please,” I stammered, more and more embarrassed of my own reaction to all this shit. “Just… You do it. I know you’ll do it right.”

“But, Tiff—”

“Please, please… I can’t.”

“It’ll be fun…! We can do it together,” he promised, his voice softening. “We’ll have a blast.”

“I can’t—” I said, my voice cracking.

“Yes, you can!” he insisted, and he held my hand and squeezed it tight. “I know you can—”

“Chucky, please …”

“… Alright, alright.”

He turned around, and picked his second-favorite knife from the drawer.

“But I’m not going for poison in her tea.”

“Do it however you want.”

He was about to leave for the living room. At the last moment he gave me one more look.

“Are you watching, at least?”

I gave it a thought, still wringing my hands.

“I’ll stay here in the kitchen. Just call me if you need anything.”

Chucky looked down at his knife, turning it in his hand. “You know, it’s a damn pity. I think we could really enjoy this… Are you really sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

I don’t think he understood why I couldn’t go through with it. Hell, not even I understood.

Chucky hid the knife in his pants’ back pocket, picked up the teacup and left for the living room. I closed the door behind him but kept close by, listening carefully to anything and everything that went on.

The TV was switched on. There was no keyhole in the kitchen door –I only had sounds to tell me what was happening. The noise of some game show covered the clinking of the teacup on the coffee table, the barely-thankful harrumph of my mother, the steps of Chucky’s shoes circling the rug. All of which I could imagine perfectly well, with or without evidence.

I closed my eyes to listen better. I even held my breath. Chucky had taken a knife with him, but I had already told him a hundred times that I didn’t want any bloodstains in the living room, since it was so hard to get them off the furniture and off the hardwood floors. Maybe he’d go for smashing something on her head, maybe suffocating her with a bag, like he had suggested. Maybe strangle her with his own hands. I hoped it hurt. I hoped it was not quick and painless. I hoped the last thought in her mind was that this was what I wanted.

A stomp of a heel –I jumped. I kept holding my breath. I remained as still as I could. A loud gasping, a groaning, almost a squeal, loud enough to be heard even with the brash laughter of the game show. A familiar chuckle. At last I opened my eyes. My fingers were cold and still gripping the doorknob, my heart was racing in my throat. I was squatting so low behind the door I was almost on my knees. There was silence beyond the TV. But it wasn’t done yet, there was a tension in the air, and I could perfectly imagine her face becoming as white as my hand, life draining out of her, leaving only the clownish makeup colors. I lost track of time, wondering what expression she’d have. Whatever it was it’d be ghastly anyways. My mind soon went to more important questions. Was Chucky killing her slowly? Was he enjoying it?

“Hey, Tiff,” he called. “It’s done.”

Slowly, I cracked open the door, and stepped into the living room, staring down at my boots. My mother was back in the creaky armchair, with her arms hanging limp to the sides. I looked up, bracing myself to see her –and, thankfully, the horrible sight of her shocked face was pretty softened by the jolly glow of the Christmas lights Chucky had strangled her with.

“I knew you didn’t want any blood on your nice couch.”

He sat beside her, on the armrest, waiting for me to say something. It took me a moment before I could walk over to her and look at her properly. There were the lines of the strangling on her neck, deep marks, as if she had been a tied-up roast. Her face was slightly purplish-blue, not white. The mouth was still gaping, her eyes wide open. I stared into her eyes for a few seconds, almost waiting for them to move and stare back at me. It hadn’t been an easy passing. Yes, Chucky must have really enjoyed it.

“Want me to close them for you?”

I scoffed, and did it myself. She still wore the same makeup she put on when I was a kid, the same I wore when I stole her blue eye shadow. The blush was applied almost violently. Her eyelashes were as sticky and stiff as always. She had changed so little, really, even in death.

“… So that’s what you’re gonna look like in twenty years.”

He snickered when I gave him an angry shove, knocking him off the couch’s armrest.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get started.”

We pushed the couch and the armchair out of the way and carpeted the floor with the bags so as to not stain the floor nor the carpet. It took a while, but it was nothing compared to the task ahead of us. I had a feeling Chucky was having a good time anyway. As the disposal expert I had the hard work, obviously, starting with the legs. Like that night at the hotel, when we had first met, it was a chopping job, made easier by having a proper cleaver instead of a carving knife. Regardless of the tool, holding my mother’s fat ankle, staring down at the black pumps she was wearing, I found myself doubting. Why, I didn’t know. She was dead already. It was just a piece of meat for me to cut up.

“You want me to do that for you, too?” he asked.

“Can it, Chucky.”

“Alright, sheesh…”

I pushed my hair off my face, telling myself to pull it together. Raising the cleaver over my head, feeling its weight and tensing my arm, I brought it down in one quick hard swoop –the cleaver went right down the flesh –and stopped suddenly at the bone, and it made a small dent as it got stuck in it. I grit my teeth and yanked the cleaver out the ankle, and raised it over, swinging it down, three more times before I finally managed to separate the foot from the leg. Once that was done with, I tossed it to the side.

“Nice job,” he said. “Try to aim for the joint next time, maybe that way you won’t dull the cleaver’s blade that much.”

I huffed and wiped the splattered blood off my cheek. This was taking too long. What we needed was a saw. The old woman had stronger bones than I had thought. I went through with the other ankle, while Chucky got experimental and tried to saw the elbows off with one of our steak knives, and when it didn’t work so well, he tried with the carving knife –which at least got it done quicker, and gave him an easier time snapping bones. I knew the biggest challenge would be the head, so I left it for last. Eventually, though, I had to do it: so, as Chucky bagged the chopped parts, I hacked my mother’s head, sinking the blade into her neck, bringing my tired arm up again, sweat falling down my back, the cleaver coming back and forth like a faulty guillotine. My arm was aching badly. I was exhausted from the effort of the previous joints. And this part, with my mother’s face, eyes closed as if taking one of her migraine naps, felt like it was going on forever. And the head just wouldn’t come off. I knew that if I didn’t get it done Chucky would insist to do it –I knew he was itching to use the cleaver –but I had to do this myself –if only I could finish it –and take my mother’s damn head off her neck…

“ Goddammit, you bitch—! ”

I screamed at her dead body. By the sixth time the cleaver had gone through her flesh, I still hadn’t gotten to fully behead her yet. What would it take for it to do so? How many hacks? How much longer did I have to keep chopping for it to come apart? I kept yelling, shouting and swearing, too furious to even notice Chucky standing behind me. And when it finally, finally rolled away from the neck, adding one last victorious spurt of blood to the pool around my knees, I was all sore and my throat was dry. I blinked. A few tears burned my eyes. I blinked again, sniffing and groaning, and I breathed, closing my eyes and turning my face up to the ceiling. There was a silence, still thick with the echoes of my yelling. It took me a minute before I could open my eyes again and brace myself for what came next.

“... You okay, Tiff?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Ready to go?”

We put the remaining limbs in the bags, put on our coats, and went to dispose of the body. Carrying one garbage bag each, it was still pretty damn heavy for just two people, no matter how the weight was distributed. It was Christmas Eve, and apart from a few drunks staggering around, the streets were almost empty: people were celebrating the holiday in their homes, which meant we could sneak off to the lakeshore without being seen or calling any attention to ourselves. Chucky joked that if someone stopped us and questioned us, we could say that we were Santa’s helpers, bringing toys in these bags for needy children. I laughed a bit to humor him, but I wasn’t feeling like joking around much anymore.

One bag at a time, he made a little slash in them so they wouldn’t float, and we shoved them over the edge and into the dark water. They sank almost instantly, first blowing up like balloons, the air being pushed up, and then letting out a few quiet bubbles before finally sinking like stones. And then it was done. My mother was officially dead and gone, now on her way to line the bottom of Lake Michigan.

“You cold?” Chucky asked me, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag before passing it to me.

I shook my head before accepting it.

“Let’s get home.”

We walked in silence for a few blocks. It started snowing again. The apartment wasn’t very far, but now that we had the weight of the body bags off our backs, we were in no hurry. And besides, I wasn’t feeling like cooking a Christmas dinner anymore. I wondered whether we had any chance of finding a restaurant that could be open and had a free table for us at that hour. The odds weren’t good.

“Wait, hun,” I said with a groan, three blocks from home. “My feet are killing me…”

It wasn’t the feet as much as the knees. I’d been on the floor next to the body for too long, putting all my weight in my knees and arms, sawing and chopping away. I had stopped just as we passed by a little playground. I took off my heels and wandered off over the frosty grass towards the swings.

“Tiff, come on, I’m freezing my ass off—!”

“It’ll just be a minute,” I insisted. “Stop being such a baby.”

I sat on one of the swings and let out a deep sigh. It really was cold, but my knees were very much relieved once I allowed them to relax. Chucky waited on the sidewalk, shifting his weight from leg to leg, smoking and sighing in annoyance, before finally huffing and sitting on the swing beside me. We kept quiet. After a moment, he handed me the cigarette back.

“We can do this at the apartment, you know,” he grumbled.

“Back there we’ll have to get to cleaning all that blood,” I replied, blowing the smoke up over our heads, watching it dissolve in the wind.

“Bah, I’m not gonna hold it against you. It can wait till tomorrow,” he said, and rubbed his hands together to keep warm. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

“How considerate of you.”

My voice came out a bit harsher than what I had intended. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, I clicked my nails, holding the end of the cigarette that was almost fully done through. Chucky turned to look at me. I flicked the cigarette stub on the dead grass, slipped my heel back on, and stepped on it. A couple little sparks sputtered away before it went dark.

“Guess tonight’s menu’s gonna be leftovers,” he finally said, rocking back and forth on the swing, the chains creaking and squeaking above him. “That is, if there’s anything left in the fridge.”

I was about to snap back at him, and say something about him never bothering to get groceries, and instead eating whatever and whenever he wanted, all take and no give –before I got a knot in my throat. This, he noticed. I looked down, swallowing, wishing I had something to wash off the taste of salt and nicotine from my mouth. ‘Ladies don’t spit’ . Another of her little nuggets of wisdom. Chucky’s hand rested on my shoulder, turning my swing so I could face him. I turned away. I tried to laugh, as a last desperate attempt to mask the incoming blubbering.

“Hey, hey –why’re you crying?”

A bit too forcefully, I sniffed and wiped my eyes. My makeup was definitely a complete mess by then. “I… I don’t know—”

“Well, are those happy tears or sad tears?”

“I don’t know !”

“C’mon, don’t worry about it… What’s done is done,” he said, his voice sounding like it did when he was building up to a punchline. “She’s in a better place now, and all that shit.”

“I wonder,” I said, with a bitter little giggle that came out quite alright.

He chuckled along, and rubbed my shoulder. “See? You’re okay. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” I insisted. “I’m not.” And right on cue, when I was just getting too confident, my voice cracked.

He knit his brows together. “Well you don’t seem on cloud nine, either.”

I could feel it –something similar to pity in his voice. No, not pity: something more like confusion, disappointment, frustration. Like dealing with a kid that refused to do her chores. An ungrateful kid. A difficult brat. I huffed and shut my eyes and swinged on the set. Some movement might get some blood running through my body, I thought. The chains of the swing were burning cold against my hands. The chains creaked rhythmically, back and forth, and with my eyes closed I was taken back to a winter in which I stayed out after sundown, at the Hackensack playground, sucking in the cold because my mother had forbidden me to do so, arguing that I’d get a fever. I did get a fever. I got so sick I couldn’t go to school; I could barely leave my bed to go to the bathroom. All the while my mother nursed me back to health, telling me to open up so she could give me spoonfuls of cough syrup, grumbling about me being incurable.

Too many memories, too quickly. It was as if I was drunk with them, sick with them.

“What was that thing you said, about what you believed in? The afterlife?” Chucky asked me, suddenly swinging beside me. “You said it doesn’t matter. It’s just death—”

“It does not matter!” I shouted. “Jesus –this isn’t about her, you asshole!”

Another silence, barely interrupted by the creaking of the chains, then slowly becoming silent again. I was never good at holding back tears, but right then I was making a real effort, and prayed to myself I could manage to keep it in at least long enough so we could get back to the apartment, wash my face, have dinner or whatever and then go to sleep. There was a vague awareness that I had made some sort of plans for Christmas Eve, but right then all I wanted was to crawl under the sheets and have a good long cry.

“… Did she get to you that bad?”

That was the last straw. I jumped off the swing, stood up and crossed my arms, walking away. All I needed was to stop the sniffling, and then I’d be alright. For a moment I looked down at the snow that was gathering at my feet, but when a tear slipped from the corner of my eye I immediately pulled my head back and stared up at the black cloudy sky. Not a single star in sight, only the sparkling white snowflakes being blown by the chilly wind. The cold was really setting in now, but I was unsure whether I wanted to go back inside or not by now. Back home it was nice and cozy, but there in the playground it was dark enough that, if I really started bawling, at least we could pretend I wasn’t.

Enough snow had piled up so that I could hear his steps coming from behind me. I wiped the lower lid of my eyes. I told myself I had it under control. I was alright. If he insisted on going back to the apartment, I’d say yes, and that would be the end of it.

Instead, Chucky hugged me. I held my breath for a moment, pretty surprised. It’s not that he never hugged me, of course, just that it was not really his preferred way to show any sort of sympathy. When he did hug me, it was usually in the thrilled aftermath of a nice kill, or when we were half asleep in bed, and he clinged to me, as if to make sure I was there. But not like this. Not that I didn’t welcome it –it just felt kinda awkward. After a couple seconds, though, I was far too warm and comfortable to want to break it off. I closed my eyes and hugged him back, resting my head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. And I finally let myself cry.

“Tiff… You know youʼve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he said after a while, his voice muffled against my fluffy coat. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

Chucky moved away just a little. He kept one arm around me, keeping me close. He cupped my cheek with his still-warm hand, and wiped a tear off with his thumb. I sniffed once more.

 “… Thank you,” I said quietly.

Was I thanking him for killing her for me? For staying by my side and comforting me? I don’t think I was even sure. A puzzled frown crossed Chucky’s face for a second, but then smiled.

“Anytime.”

It had been smart of me to keep our previous kill’s loot in my coat’s inner pocket. Just around the corner we had a Chinese restaurant that was still open. We bought a whole bunch of takeout to bring home with us, rushing back to the apartment with the boxes kept warm under our coats. There was also an old bottle of mid-quality whisky I kept in the cupboard for emergencies, and this seemed like enough of an emergency to me. Not exactly the most picture-perfect Christmas dinner, but it certainly beat going to bed on an empty stomach. We spread the banquet on the coffee table, then sat on the sofa, my legs stretched over his lap, and we covered ourselves with the biggest coziest blanket we had. There wasn’t much on TV, apart from Perry Como’s holiday special and reruns of How The Grinch Stole Christmas , but we caught It’s A Wonderful Life, which Chucky had never watched in full. So we watched it, and I cried a little more, and we drank and ate as much as we could before getting sick, until we fell asleep.

I don’t think I really ever told him just how thankful I was. Years of dreaming about my mother dropping dead, but I never actually made a plan, or thought about actually going through with it. Chucky didn’t need a plan. When the opportunity showed up, he simply took it. A hundred percent hassle free. It wasn’t his mom, anyways. To him it was just another kill. But I knew he knew how much it meant to me. And he had understood how much I needed him to be patient with me, that night.

Those really were the best times we had. If we argued, we forgot about it immediately. If we fought, we made up right away. If the other seemed to be feeling kinda low, we cheered each other up. So often back then I found myself grabbing on to him, in his arms, wishing and praying that the moment could last forever. I didn’t want morning to come, him to leave, or me having to be alone again. But time passed us by anyway, regardless of what I wanted, as if mocking me. All I could do was enjoy it as much as I could.

It had taken him a couple months to catch up with me, but my boyfriend had finally turned twenty-eight. And I promised myself that this birthday would be a really good one.

Anyone who knows me knows I love parties. I love having opportunities to dress up and celebrate and pick gifts for people I’m close to. Chucky, well –he wasn’t much like that at all. Not that he hated them, on the contrary: he knew how much it meant to me, so for the last three years we had been together he had made sure I had a truly great birthday and Valentine’s Day; anniversaries were always a blast; and, of course, he was a huge fan of Halloween, almost as much as I was. Other lesser holidays, like Easter, Thanksgiving or Christmas, were just excuses for us to do a little something special. But his own birthday, he never gave it much thought. I liked planning places to visit, dates to have. To him, for whatever reason, something as important as his own birthday seemed like more of an afterthought.

Not this year, though, I had told myself, once I picked up the Pontiac from Darnell’s after one last thorough checkup.

“For God’s sake, Tiff,” he called out from the bedroom, over the background buzz of the TV’s newscast. “You still getting ready?”

“I’m almost done, geez… What’s the hurry?” I yelled back. After just finishing with the eyeliner, I still had a little more work to do on the eyes. “Perfect’s not easy, you know.”

After applying mascara generously, I moved back away from the mirror to see the bigger picture and take in the results of my effort. The eyelashes were nice and thick, just how I liked them. The eyeliner looked even enough for me. Finally I smiled, satisfied.

Just then I noticed the shadow behind me in my reflection. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, watching me through the mirror. I had been so focused I hadn’t even heard him coming close. I smirked, putting my little tools away, and just to bother him a bit more, I pretended to fix some invisible flaw with the tip of my nail for a minute or so. Chucky let out a loud annoyed groan. I giggled. As if he didn’t love watching me getting ready. 

“Alright, I’m done now.”

I had pulled out all the stops for the special ocassion. We had gone to the movies to watch a double feature, and then we had dinner at home. There was still the warm spiced lingering smell of the tomato sauce we had with the Swedish meatballs, wafting through the rooms of the apartment, and there was even a little bit of the waxy burnt wick of the birthday candles I had insisted Chucky blew. And that was not the end of it. I still had a surprise left for him, and despite his usual impatience, he seemed plenty satisfied with everything else we had done that day, so he wasn’t particularly restless. What’s more important, he was grateful. Between laughs at the cinema, he had circled my shoulders and brought me closer, not to do anything, just to keep me against him, like a grounding wire. During dinner, he would constantly look up from his dinner and give me small glances, as if to keep telling me, that way, what he repeated before and after I set the plate in front of him: that it was delicious, and that I was an angel. And there, with both of us in the little bathroom, before we would head out again, he gazed at me through the mirror, with a proud little smile of disbelief on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. As I was the most beautiful creature in the world. 

“Hey,” I said, smiling back. “You’re looking sharp.”

“Huh?”

I huffed, and turned around to face him instead of his reflection. “I said , you’re looking sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he said, grinning to himself. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He snorted a laugh. I grabbed his necktie, tightened the knot, and pulled him to me for a kiss. It had been my original birthday gift –a real new purchase, coming all the way from the ritzy displays at the Carson Pirie Scott department store downtown, instead of the bottom of a bargain bin at Goodwill. At first I was really worried he might not like it, or that it might be too garish (the saleswoman had been very insistent, and it was very likely she had done most of the convincing when it came to choosing it, after my initial interest), but Chucky’s delighted reaction when he unwrapped it was as genuine as they come. It was a yellow tie, with a pattern of bright red diamonds all over it. Even if it might not had been the type of clothes he usually wore, it had reminded me of him as soon as I laid eyes on it. It reminded me of him, and of the sort of colorful stained glass you’d find on the window behind the altar, at the end wall of a church. Pretty fitting for the occasion, I’d say.

“So?” I smiled, fluffing up my curls and doing a little twirl. “What do you think?”

After a while of trying to choose what I’d feel most comfortable dancing in, I decided to go for the red pleather pants, a black bustier and a see-through top, in case it got chilly. Chucky wrapped his arms around my waist, and looked at me up and down, frowning as if he was concentrating really hard. I stifled a laugh as I waited for the verdict.

“… So no skirt, huh?” he asked, and patted my thigh. “I thought you’d wanna show off those stockings I got you for Valentine’s.”

“When we get back,” I said, tapping his lips with the tip of my finger. “No skirt, no pants, no nothing. How’s that sound?”

Chucky smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

He followed it with a kiss: a little kiss, the sort of kiss that felt more like a goodbye than like a thank-you. I blinked, still smiling, though a bit confused. Only then I noticed how, despite how happy he seemed, that his calmness and patience was beginning to appear like it was hiding something else. Chucky didn’t kiss me like that, so lifelessly, unless there was something he was turning over in his mind.

“Oh, wait –I gotta find the map,” I said, leaving the bathroom and heading back to the bedroom. “Can’t rely on my memory for this one.”

He chuckled a bit. With my own thoughts shifting between the drawers full of junk and the crammed glovebox of the car, I tried to juggle some possibilities for why Chucky wasn’t bouncing all over the walls, why he wasn’t pulling me to him constantly now, why he wasn’t humming or whistling to himself, why he wasn’t ecstatic, like he had been in other happy occasions, and with less. Was he too full with dinner, or maybe not full enough? Did the cake give him heartburn? We both could handle much harder stuff, and walk it off without breaking a sweat. Had the morning sex been somehow disappointing? He didn’t seem to find it disappointing, then. Had he smoked a joint while I was getting ready? That might have been it... But I didn’t smell it, and besides, he always had the bare decency to offer me a toke when he took something from the stash.

When I came back to the living room he was standing in front of the window, staring out at the skyline, silhouetted against the flaming orange sunset. I hugged him from behind, and leaned my chin on his shoulder. He said nothing, not even a glance back at me, not even a smile. It was as if I wasn't even there. Something was off.

“You okay, darling?” I asked him. “We can stay home if you want, find something else to do.”

Chucky blinked himself back into the present. “Nah –now I gotta know what you got planned.”

I didn’t ask him any further. If there was something bothering him, I had to trust he would tell me; after all, it was not like he ever had any difficulties complaining when he wanted to. Better to keep my spirits up and hope some of it would rub off on him, and that we could still have a good time.

“Uh, Tiff…” he began saying once we were on the road. “When are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

I smiled, getting off the highway. “It’s a surprise.”

“You’re starting to freak me out.”

I laughed. That didn’t seem to soothe him very much.

It was a half-hour drive. The area was full of tall grass and trees, perfect to leave the car without it being spotted by potential thieves. The stark white headlights made the surrounding forest seem haunting and mysterious, with only a small section of the woods being visible in the dark. Meanwhile, Chucky kept an eye on the map, telling me where to turn to reach the red X I had marked, all the while trying to guess what the X stood for.

“A drive-in theater?”

“No.”

“Hm… Night hunting?”

“Nope.”

“Some kinda weird ritual sacrifice in the woods?”

I chuckled. “No, not tonight, no…”

We finally got off the paved road and onto the dirt, onto a rocky path over dead grass and broken branches, getting a few flashes of brightly lit treetops and bushes… Until I braked, the car stopped swaying, and we were right in front of the place.

Chucky leaned over the glovebox, almost pressing his nose against the windshield. “What is it, an old schoolhouse?”

“Cold, cold…”

“A church?”

“Getting warmer…”

He glanced at me, clearly confused. I smiled wider. We got out the car, and as we got closer to the ivy-covered white church, the night sound of chirps and croaks was replaced by thumping music.

“Midnight mass?” he asked. “At this time of the year?”

“It’s a different kind of party.”

“… An orgy?”

I laughed. “No, not that kind of party either…”

Once we had gotten close enough, we saw movement: dark silhouettes of people stumbling around the tall grass, downing cans, laughing, sneaking in through the windows. The music was loud enough now to recognize it as such. And, as it dawned on him what this was about, a big bright smile crossed Chucky’s face.

“… But close enough.”

He grabbed my face and covered it with kisses. I laughed, trying to push him away.

“Stop, you’re gonna mess my makeup—!”

He grinned, held me tighter, and smooched my eyes, smudging my carefully applied blue eyeshadow before kissing my mouth once more. That was more like him, I thought with a giggle, watching him hurry out the car, barely stopping to check I was still behind him.

The front door of the church was chained and locked to hell and back. Fortunately, a few windows had been smashed so thoroughly it was easy to climb in through them.

It was a cavernous place, full of broken glass and rough rubble and ripped mattresses and car tires. At least, that was what I could manage to see. There was almost no light inside, only a few small desk lamps near the DJ and near the improvised table where a guy was handing beer bottles and serving something in plastic cups.  More than what you could or could not see, the focus was on the music. The hum of a generator feeding the music system, the buzzing and booming of the loudspeakers, it all sounded like a rumbling you could feel deep in your bones, coming up from the soles of your feet all the way to the back of your skull. And the music echoed all over the barely visible, supposedly tall ceilings of the church, so when it reached you it was like a memory of a song, more than something you were hearing in the moment –but still undeniably present.

Chucky and I started off with whatever we were handed when we asked for a drink. The expensive stuff. We downed a plastic cup each, tasting Kool-Aid mixed with whisky along with something sharply chemical. It was like a gulp of gasoline to the throat, and like a kick to the gut. We dared each other to have another, and then we shared a beer that didn’t taste much like beer anymore. Soon we had succeeded in becoming absolutely wasted.

We clung to the other, all dizzy, the world turning in circles around us as the little light there moved unsteady along with us. I thought back to when it had been my own birthday, at Navy Pier. I had felt so free then, flailing around, squealing and being pushed around by gravity and pressure and loving every single minute of it. It was the same heart-pounding excitement, but there was something else, too. 

“ Acid on the floor, so she walks on the ceiling— ”

Something about the place, or about the stuff I took, made me feel lost. I grabbed him, trying to pull him to me for a kiss, wanting some reassurance. I was lucky to notice that the person I had grabbed wasn’t quite my Chucky before our lips touched, so I shoved him aside, and staggered across the broken ground, over the cracks and the holes. I was getting sick, and not exactly in a fun way. 

“ And the body electric flashes on the bathroom wall— ”

 I pressed my back against a wall and stared up, trying to get my head to stop spinning for a second. The roof had been destroyed over the years. Some beams were still holding up, and I sorta could see the shape of a steeple somehow intact, but there was nothing to guarantee that it couldn’t come crashing down at any minute. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. At some point the place had been a functional church, I thought. People must have come here for Sunday mass, to baptize their kids, even maybe had a few weddings, right there, in the middle of nowhere.

I walked out of the church through a busted wall, watching that I didn’t trip with my heels. The tall wild grass tickled my ankles. The sky was rather cloudy now. The music was loud enough you could hear it even outside, but there were the quiet sounds of nature, too: the crickets’ songs and the wind in the trees. I finished the cigarette, pressing my nape against the concrete. Would the empty houses at the edge of our suburbs, back at Hackensack, at what used to be my home, end up like this? Reused for secret parties? It sounded like much more fun than to just keep them as junkie hang-out spots. At least here there was music that wasn’t slurred singing, and drinks that weren’t a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka.

“Tiff? Are you here?”

I gave a little whistle to signal to him where I was. Chucky stumbled towards me, over the debris and the garbage and the tall grass.

“The party’s in there,” I told him. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

He took the butt of the cigarette I still had between my fingers, picked it as delicately as he could, and smoked what was left. Keeping it in, he held my face in his hand, and I opened my mouth, and he leaned forward and blew the smoke in between my lips. I knew there were people just a few feet away, back at the party; but somehow, it really felt like we were alone out there, sharing secondhand smoke like a secret.

“You got bored already?” I asked him with a smile, keeping my voice low, for some reason. As if I cared about being disrespectful on holy grounds. “I thought you’d like it—”

“I do like it.”

“But you wish we were back at home?”

He looked back at me. I rested my arm on his shoulder as I tried to find his answer in his face, to no avail. I just knew that there was something up with him, some kinda frustration, something that was gnawing at him and he couldn’t put into words. A shitty feeling to have to put up with during your own birthday.

“Sorry, Chucky,” I said, stroking his cheek. “I thought this would cheer you up.”

“Tiff...”

“Yeah?”

“We’re alright.”

I kept gazing at his face in the shadows. There was nothing I could read there or draw a conclusion from. He sounded honest, at least, but I wasn’t so sure.

I kissed him, as the reassurance I wished I got, pressing my nose against his, feeling a few drops of sweat sticking from his forehead to mine. But he wanted something more than reassurance. He wrapped his arms around me, and kept me still and quiet against the wall, finally kissing me back as if trying to push something off his mind. I knew how I could help with that. I reached down to palm him over his pants, and he groaned a little in response, pushing himself against my hand, asking me to go on. As I unbuckled his belt, he pressed a knee against the wall and between my legs, and I kept kissing him and pulling him close, running my free hand over his back, hooking my leg around his, snaking my body around his, trusting he could keep holding me enough to just let go and hang on to him. He had me, I trusted. While I kept fondling him, I started to rock my hips lazily against his thigh, and he got to sucking and nipping at my neck when he realized what I was doing. He was going slow. He wanted it to last. I wanted to hurry up, get to the good stuff, and then maybe have another drink and then go home. He kissed me, and now I was the one with the mind elsewhere.

“Hey. You here?”

“Yes... Yes, yes...”

I opened my eyes when I heard footsteps on the grass. Some drunk had ventured out the party too, and was leaning his arm against a wall and pissing on some dandelions. I watched him for a while, until Chucky noticed I was losing momentum and began touching me over the panties. I grunted. The noise called his attention, and the guy turned around, still a black shadow in the distance. He watched us, and I watched him, watching us, up until Chucky decided I needed to join in and dipped a finger, and I cried out and shut my eyes. 

I dragged myself back into the party, dancing by myself, with the electronic beat echoing in my head. I felt glass against my palm, so I pulled my hand to my mouth and had a sip. My cheeks were still flushed, and there was still a nice warmth on my skin, in the middle of the crowd. White and red flashed before my eyes. I was riding high above the crowd dressed in black. My head moved back and forth, my hair feathering my shoulders while my jacket dangled from my elbows. Even if I hadn’t been moved by the dancing crowd I would’ve been swaying to the music, as if rocked in a cradle, as if riding a seesaw. Something dripped off the side of my mouth. I licked it off and swallowed the sharp bitter something mixed with creamy lipstick. Something like glass shattered under my heel, and I gripped my bottle a little tighter. Whatever it had been was too small to be a bottle. I walked off at some point and stumbled upon two drunk shirtless guys either wrestling or making out, while a small crowd gathered around watched them with barely any interest. The light flashed on them for a second, like lightning. I blinked. The two guys seemed to be about sixteen, at most. Did Jack tell me to come to some child’s birthday party?

I bought another drink. I knew that some of the guys standing in the sidelines, chatting with their friends against the graffitied walls, would probably sell me something good, if I had the money for it. I was almost sure I didn’t have the money for it. That might’ve been a better gift, I thought. Once, Chucky had told me he liked yellow best when he was high. I liked red the most: if caught in the right moment, a flash of red was like an electric shock.

“Sweetface?” I called out, as if he could hear me over the music.

I heard his laughs ringing close by. There was a small room beside the choir that somehow still had its four walls intact. Inside, sitting on what was left of a door, I saw him. He’d found a guy who had brought a canister of nitrous oxide, and they were having the time of their lives, passing a mask back and forth and cackling their heads off. At the sight of me the other guy smiled and tried to stand up, but Chucky grabbed his shoulder to prop himself up and shoved him back down on the broken wooden board.

“Glad to see you finally having fun,” I giggled for no reason.

He brought a blunt he was nursing in his hand back to his lips, and giggled, too. “Have I ever told you, Tiff, that you got the most adorable laugh?”

I picked the blunt from his mouth, took a drag, and sighed. “God, you really are off the shits.”

He followed me out of the little room. I glanced over my shoulder at the canister guy, who was back to their giggle gas. He was older than the wrestling duo, but still skewed young –no older than twenty, at least at first glance. Medical student, I assumed.

Soon I lost Chucky again.

I don’t know how I ended up talking to a skinny short girl who had lost the friends she had come with too. She kept talking on and on, leaning close to me so I could listen better, about how hard it was to meet fun guys nowadays, how all men wanted was a quick fuck and ditch before sunrise. I found myself agreeing with almost everything she said. Her breath was warm and sweet, and her face was sticky with sweat, with a black curl that seemed glued to her forehead. I plucked it out, like an old scab. She giggled like a child. Deep black eyeliner ran down the corners of her eyes. I thought at first it had to be sweat, too, but it might as well have been tears. I asked her if she was alone there, but she didn’t hear me.

She ended up wandering off. I danced a little more, scouring the chaos that was the dance floor, and bought another beer. To my surprise, I found another familiar face. Jack was standing behind the broken pulpit where the DJ was, beside a cracked wall and standing over a pile of debris. It was easy to recognize him under the bright moonlight that seeped through a hole in the roof. Out of the city the moon was a really beautiful sight, all big and white and clear. I stared up at it for what felt like hours. It seemed magical. I wondered if what I took had been stronger than usual.

“There you are,” he mumbled when he noticed me. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

I stretched my arms to the sides and gave a little curtsy, as if being presented by a pageant announcer. Jack walked up to me until he got real close, too close, towering over me with the confidence of someone who didn’t quite know me at all. I dug my hand inside my jacket pocket and gripped the handle of my nail file, just in case, for comfort.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said to him, looking down at a wet stain on his shirt.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Bet you are,” I smiled playfully. “Don’t get too used to it. I wouldn’t if it weren’t for my boyfriend’s birthday.”

His face dropped once more. I was starting to find it really fun, seeing how he got his hopes up and then smashing them to pieces with just a little word.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Oh, you really were,” I nodded, and took a sip.

Even in the little light I could notice Jack was still staring at me. I swallowed, and stared back. I knew he only wanted me now because I wasn’t available. And he really wanted me now. As entertaining as it was, toying with him, my grudge kept festering, giving me ideas. I brought a finger to my mouth and nibbled on my nail. He tilted his head, following the movement of my hand. I just had to consider teasing him a little further. I wanted him to feel that frustration I had, when back then all I had wanted was for him to tell me how much he loved me, and instead all he gave me was a nervous chuckle and a misplaced hand.

“Who’s the freak with the funny tie?”

Jack pointed at someone in the crowd, striding over to us. Once the light flashed on him I recognized Chucky. He had spotted us talking, and by the look of it, he had noticed something about Jack that he didn’t quite like.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I sighed as I had a drag. I saw what was coming from a mile away.

“ That ?”

I laughed between my teeth. “Come on, Jack, as if you were a certified goddamn hunk.”

“I don’t mean that, I just—” he scoffed, shifting his sight between him and me. “… Dammit, I just thought you’d be with someone more up to your level, Tiffany.”

“Up to my level, huh?” I raised my eyebrows. “You mean someone like you?”

He scoffed again. As soon as he got to us Chucky gave Jack’s shoulder a shove.

“Hey –what the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”

Jack turned to him, and without skipping a beat he flashed a big bright smile. “Hey, birthday boy—!”

“I asked you a question.”

I closed my eyes and gestured towards him. “This is Jack. He’s the one who tipped me about the party.”

“Oh,” Chucky frowned. “So you two know each other?”

“Well, yeah ,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Hun, do you think weed just grows on trees?”

He barely seemed to listen to me. He was far too busy glaring at Jack, who just now seemed to be getting a bit uncomfortable.

“So, uh… How’re you enjoying the festivities?” Jack asked him.

“You know,” Chucky muttered, tilting his head dangerously to the side, just barely having the balance not to fall. “… Enjoying it. So far.”

Jack gave a little chuckle and nodded. “That’s good, man!” he said, and took a gulp from his beer. “That’s good. Say, where did you get the bitching tie?”

Chucky smiled, still askew. His eyes were already wild. “It was a gift.”

Jack shot me a confused smile. I knew what was gonna happen.

Indeed, Chucky smashed Jack’s head with his bottle. It burst in a rain of glittering wet glass. Jack dropped his own –and Chucky grinned a little wider, between barely repressed rage and sheer joy –and shoved the broken bottle shards into his guts. Jack gasped and groaned and stumbled backwards, too shocked to do anything, to even hurt. Chucky pulled out the broken bottle and threw it to the side –it was good for starting off, but not very fun for keeping it up –and he took out his knife from his coat pocket. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, out of habit, but I wanted to see what he’d do next. Chucky didn’t want to waste any time either. He stabbed him, and twisted the knife with one quick turn of the wrist. Jack groaned, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Finally, it hurt. Blood began to flow, bright red even in the dark. I couldn’t stifle a giggle. Chucky pulled out the knife and, just as Jack bent forwards and brought a hand to his wound, he grabbed his knife with both hands and continued stabbing him over and over on the back, until Jack collapsed, and then Chucky somehow managed, in his tipsy state, to kneel over him and keep on stabbing him. He kept stabbing him even after he had gone very much still.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” I said. I think he didn’t quite hear me either.

After a while Chucky finally decided he had stabbed him enough, wiped the knife on his jacket, and stood up with some effort. I patted his shoulder.

“Are you proud of yourself, now?”

Just then we realized that the music had stopped, and a few of the other people at the party were staring at us. Chucky spat on the floor and wiped his mouth.

“ The fuck you all looking at!? ” he yelled, raising the bloody knife.

“He’s just feeling a little sick,” I told the crowd. “It’s perfectly okay.”

And, to prove just how okay he was, Chucky puked on Jack’s bloody corpse.

Nobody did anything. What would they even do? Call the cops? At least Chucky wasn’t that stupid, thankfully. Still, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t pissed off.

“We’re not gonna be allowed back to these parties, you know,” I huffed, once we were back in the car, on our way back home. “Not if you keep pulling this shit.”

It had felt like ages in there, but the sky was still dark. Each time I managed to glance at the clock, as soon as I looked away I forgot what I had just read. Fully giving up on my carefully applied makeup, I rubbed my eyelids and yawned. The exhaustion was catching up with me. In about a couple hours or so, the hangover would be head-splitting.

“We’re getting old, Tiff.”

“What?”

“I said, we’re getting old.”

I just laughed. “Speak for yourself.”

“No, I’m being serious… Did you see all the people back there? Kids, teens… God, we’re so washed up.”

I turned to him for a second. He was being serious.

“It’s just a birthday, sweetface ,” I told him softly. “Don’t worry.”

“Y’know, I’d rather die than end up turning old and crusty,” he kept saying, shutting his eyes, pushing his head back. “Not being able to move, needing help to fucking piss ...”

“You don’t mean that.”

There was a tension in the air, something beyond him slaughtering Jack among a crowd of hopped-up people, beyond the clumsy breaking of our law of ‘ leave no witnesses ’. A part of me wanted to chew him out for flying off the handle so carelessly. Another part of me was silently glad he had killed Jack. Regardless, my mind was too scattered to even focus on any one subject to start talking. The alternative, to stay quiet all the way to the apartment, slow as I was going to avoid any accidents, wasn’t too appealing either.

“So this is it,” he muttered to himself. “It's not gonna get any better than this.”

I turned on the stereo, since for once Chucky didn’t seem interested in arguing about whose turn it was to choose the music. It was already halfway through, so I left the previous Sabbath tape in there. The echoing electric guitars made the headlight-illuminated road ahead of us seem even more haunting. I liked that; I just hoped it didn’t mess with Chucky’s head too much. There was no way of knowing all he had taken, and with how sullen he was, there was a chance he was a few seconds away from stumbling into a bad trip.

“ The lover of life’s not a sinner… The ending is just a beginning— ”

Chucky stared at his hands. I glanced at them too, out the corner of my eye, under the white glow of the dome light. They were rather pale, and I got a quick look of the soft blue of his veins, branching out from his wrists to his tense fingers, like tiny lightning bolts.

“I don’t think I ever had an X-ray done…” he said suddenly, slurring his words. “But there are bones and shit under my skin. Blood and meat and stuff.”

“There sure is.”

His voice turned lower. “We will be dead one day.”

“You came up with that revelation all on your own?”

“Doesn’t that disturb you?"

“Why would it? It’s the most normal thing there is,” I shrugged. “Are you thinking about your last will and testament already?"

“Don’t joke about that.”

I frowned. Weird . First time he ever said something like that. “What’s wrong, hun? You took too many downers?”

“No, I don’t think so… I just –I’ve been thinking…”

He kept quiet for a moment, long enough that I assumed he might have lost his train of thought. I focused back, as well as I could, on the road, the music, the smooth humming of the car engine and the whistling of the wind. The Prince tape was still unopened inside the glovebox. I thought about putting that one on, at least to lift up his mood a bit.

“You ever… Feel disconnected from your body, Tiff?”

A chill ran down my spine. I was expecting my mind to wander to any of my drugged experiences, anything from Hackensack pot to New York blow to the couple scattered experiences I’ve had with acid –but it went straight to Heath kissing me, on his dirty mattress, breathing on my neck –and I was floating away, somewhere above where my body was. I hadn’t thought about that in years.

“Yeah... I guess.”

“It’s… Sometimes it’s like… My body doesn’t tell me when to do… Human things,” Chucky muttered. I wondered just how high he had gotten, for it to keep him talking like that. “I know that sounds nuts. But, I mean… You know, I can forget to eat. To sleep. And that’s… Not normal . Right?”

“We’re not normal,” I reminded him, in a voice that tried to be comforting. “We’re not like the others… We’re special.”

Chucky breathed with some effort. It reminded me of when I was about to start crying. But he never cried. The sheer idea of him getting upset enough to cry, like an actual cry, tears and sniffles and all, was somehow terrifying. Unnatural. I couldn’t even try to imagine it.

“You know… When I was a kid, my mother told me I was special,” he said. “She always told me, ‘you’re the most special kid in the world’. I believed it, because of course I did, everyone wants to believe that. All mothers tell their kids that. But…”

I shot him a glance. He wasn’t staring at his hands any longer, and he didn’t cry. Now he was completely still, with empty eyes, leaning his head against the side window. I reached out to him and stroked his cheek.

“Darling…”

He didn’t move, didn’t hear me, gave no response. He seemed to be completely gone, locked up in his own head. He must be just tired, I told myself. Even still… Chucky didn’t act like that when he was tired. Hell, he was never this glum.

Could it really be just the drugs that hit him bad? I chewed on my lip, looking back into the night road.

Whatever it was, I hoped it was just a one-time thing.

[truecharged]

25. While she's always had muscle thanks to her physically active lifestyle, Talini didn't really start to bulk until her 30s. She used to have dyed streaks in her brown hair, which has since gone entirely gray. Her attire used to be a bit more rugged when she was younger, too!

Talini has changed as a person too. She'll always be focused on nature and conservation, but ever since being appointed The Guiding Sapphire Star she's realized her duty to the people around her as well. She's now much more connected to them than she used to be!

26. Talini's stubborn and blunt attitudes are probably her biggest flaws. She's not the best at sugarcoating things even when it may soothe feelings. She's also self-sacrificial to a fault, which can be stressful for the people around her in a myriad of ways.

As for what she needs to work on, I've already written out many of Talini's main arcs; a big part of them as I've mentioned before is finding a balance btwn her duty to people & nature. The only reason she comes to the New World is to help solve the Elder Crossing and to make sure humans don't overstep their bounds in a new land. Sh wasn't really thinking of serving them, but rather of protecting nature. This changes as people come to rely on her; being appointed the Sapphire Star is a big wake up call that takes major adjusting!

27. Talini's favorites are forested locales for the sheer amount of biodiversity you can find in them. Their landscapes are nice too; good balance between cool shady spots and bright dappled sunlight! The Ancient Forest was a delight to explore because of this.

Since she spent so much time surviving on her own in the wilds after leaving her home village, she's very at home there, & so will happily explore any new location she finds herself in. Similarly, she can adapt to any weather, but functions best in bright blue skies & shining sun. Inclement weather can pose risks and difficulties during hunts, and freezing cold can cause her aging joints to stiffen.

28. Talini keeps odd hours, going where & when hunts take her. She used to be more of a night person, but after dealing w/Fatalis' corruption she started waking up before others to get some peace & collect her thoughts. This habit stuck & she now enjoys early morning tranquility.

29. Talini strives constantly to protect nature and to further humanity's understanding and respect of it. She also wants to understand the mysterious Elder Dragons better, as she suspects there's more history with them that hasn't been brought to light.

In general, all of Talini’s dreams & goals revolve around keeping the things she cares about safe. If there's one thing I like people to take away after hearing about her, it's that she will be there come hell and high water to protect and look after the things that she cares about!

30. Sabi (short for Wasabi), Talini's Silver Rathalos Monstie, actually survived. He was hauled off by the poachers they attacked (hence her being unable to find him) but was later freed by a band of hunters. They reconnect when circumstances force her to return to Hakum.

Given how much time has passed, the nature of their relationship has changed, and it takes time to reestablish trust. That doesn't mean they aren't both still kindred spirits who respect and care for each other! She eventually folds him back into being a protector of Hakum.

PREVIOUS: Questions 19-24

Annnd that's a wrap! A big thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed getting to know a little bit about my Monster Hunter OC. 💙✨

[saturndivine]

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you. 

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control. 

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.” 

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible. 

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness. 

“And I love too, that love soon might end, 

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby. 

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.” 

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root 

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand 

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness. 

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars.  This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. 

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.” 

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul. 

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path. 

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. 

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.” 

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy. 

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead. 

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.” 

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit. 

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, 

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. 

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat. 

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

Link to Website [Services, Blog, & More!]

[dourpeep]

The men of Genshin as romance types:

This just kind popped up in my head after thinking about Xiao's characterization! I might add to this in the future, but for now it's just a small list of headcanons + a short blurb :>

Contains: Lots of fluff, lightly suggestive

Features: Albedo, Venti, Kaeya, Xiao, Zhongli, Childe, and Diluc

Note: you can be soft and still top btw, this is only for how they'd be romantically

Sweet:

Albedo

Albedo is also shown canonically to do little gestures like give people the sketch he did of them to see them smile, this man might seem kinda standoffish at first, but he's not cold

From his voicelines and story, we also know that Albedo is the type of person to think pretty deeply about everything around him

His brain goes 100 miles an hour with all the possibilities and scenarios he can think of

So with his s/o, the best thing that could happen is that he'll take the time to really slow down and unwind

Being a busy, busy man in pursuit of knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension, Albedo rarely gets time off (his sketches are considered research, in a way, no?)

So once he's finally at home, there will be lots of little shows of affection

Passing behind you, perhaps a light touch on your back or shoulder to let you know he's there

On a particularly rough day, he'll sit facing you with his forehead resting on your chest and just--take your hands and put them in his hair

Not really the type to pamper, but there's no doubt of his love

Probably the type of guy to like sitting close in silence

Maybe on the nights you cook, he'll come and wrap his arms around your waist, head leaning on your shoulder as he watches you work

Quietly, you lay on the couch tangled up in his arms, the soft sound of breathing and the light warmth you feel lulling you to sleep. It seems that, even though Albedo is left half asleep from a long day of research, he still continues to trace mindless little patterns on the back of your hand with his thumb. You shift, and he hums, pulling you closer.

Venti

The man’s been through so much, honestly

He's lost his closest friend, helped a rebellion usurp a tyrant, been through a war that lasted centuries, watched as another friend he'd known since birth fall to corruption (but ultimately was saved)

Point being, he's tired and just wants to have his fun

True to his nature, he likes to tease and poke at his s/o, but nothing that can't be undone (after all, a prank isn't funny if it's permanent)

Hand holding, is a must! Venti is a very affectionate person who isn't afraid to express his feelings when it comes to his s/o

Lots of smooches too! (Please smooch him back)

Speaking of hands and smooches, he's the type to bring your hand to his lips and give each your fingertips a little kiss. They've done so much for you and allow him the joy of holding them, so it's the least he can do!

His type of love is free and sweeter than the scent of cecelias, soft as the wind that kisses your skin

Really, he wants to be able to treasure you as much as he can in the time you have together

Today was a picnic date kind of day. A basket filled with fresh, ripe sunsettias and a few dishes you both worked together to make (mostly you, after what happened with Venti's apple cake) sat on top of a sturdy blanket laid on the grass. Head laid in your lap, the wandering bard strummed idly on his lyre, adding a lovely backdrop to an already perfect day.

Romantic:

Kaeya

Of course, the suave Captain doesn't stop with honeyed words

Mysterious as he is, he takes what he does in stride

If he could spend all his life entwined with you, he'd die a happy man

Kaeya is the type of partner to romance with candlelight and nighttime strolls on the beach

A little cheesy, yes, but all the more to sweep you off your feet

Flirty, he likes to take his time with his love and while he similarly treasures his s/o, it's in the way the fairytales are written

Perhaps a little cliche at times

Nevertheless, he's the type of partner to sweep you into a dance despite there being no music and dip you low (whether you both lose balance and fall is up to gravity)

He'll show his affection physically, whether through a quick kiss when you stop by the Favonious Knight's HQ, or pulling you close when you walk through a crowd on a market day

Teasing is also a big thing, if he can make you blush, his mission is accomplished

In privacy, expect his treatment to be the same--it wouldn't do any good if he leaves his dear s/o confused about how he feels

Once again, you take his hand and he sweeps you into a lively waltz, sweeping across the living room floor. Not once do his eyes leave yours. All he ever needs is the feel of you close and the rush of his heart in his chest that bubbles into something fonder when your laugh reaches his ears.

Xiao

Not the best with words, Xiao shows his love through his actions

Little gifts, helping now and then with commissions and clearing the road, he'll do it all with no expectation of thanks (should you thank him, he'll be extremely grateful for the recognition but also perhaps unsure how to react)

He doesn't tend towards physically showing affection to his s/o, so when he does, expect them to show his utter devotion

Often, Xiao questions what it is that he did to deserve such a love, but as soon as you appear in his view, it no longer matters because as long as you believe him to be worthy, why wouldn't he be?

His love is based deeply in trust. The heart is a fragile thing and to someone who's suffered so much in his lifetime, he guards it fiercely to protect himself

When he finally does allow himself the comfort of a relationship, he'll soak it up entirely

Nights spent stargazing on the top of Wangshu Inn, pinkies intertwined, or bodies held together tightly with the sweet exchange of breath

Every touch that he offers is gentle, reverent, and serves to remind him that what he's experiencing is real

He tried, really, for the thing on the plate to turn out the way that you usually make it. It's a far cry from what he remembers, but you set it down and bring your hands to his face. The sight of your beaming smile warms him deeply and he pulls you in close for a kiss.

Zhongli

Be still, my beating heart-

Just as he's full of information from the flowers of Liyue to the deepest cracks in the soil, he loves fully and unapologetically

He's lived through many eras and seen so much that it's hard to not want to express how he feels as he feels it

Deeply appreciative of whatever his s/o does and does for him

He indulges in every word, touch, feeling, and look- He's not a greedy man, but when it comes to love? There's a deep desire to feel it all

There are many ways that Zhongli expresses that love, a few being through your daily strolls through Liyue Harbor and the daily and nightly rituals the two of you have settled down into

His favorite is probably the mornings

There's something about waking up wrapped up in your lover's arms, head resting on their chest as the sun's warm beams shine through the windows that's utterly satisfying

Zhongli indulges in these little moments, favoring them over all else

Once in a while, he'll take you back to where your first date was to reminisce, perhaps even (jokingly) mention little embarrassing things either of you did

Zhongli watches as you sip at your drink and admires the way the sun compliments your eyes. You're preoccupied by the falling leaves, it seems, mentioning how they're just as brilliant gold as his. Though the feeling he feels is far from the excitement of butterflies, it has settled into a comforting sort of warmth that hopes you feel as well.

Passionate:

Childe

This man's love is wild like his personality

Loud, fun, and never quite predictable, he loves like a whirlwind and with an enthusiasm to match no other

Lots of teasing going on here, to make you blush or to mess with you, you'll never know

But it's his unapologetic fire that drew you to him to begin with

When he's not occupied with work, he'll drag you to go sight seeing

Every experience is a new experience, no matter if it's something that seems so everyday or not

His affection is in the form of tightly held hands (he doesn't want to lose you with how quickly he weaves through the crowd), well-placed winks, and kisses to steal your breath away

He also loves in a way that's fiercely protective. His job is a dangerous one and, with the way he's open with your relationship, his affection serves to protect you

But don't forget that despite his passion, he's a man who deeply treasures those close to him and, as his s/o, you'll be showered with only the best he can give you

It was only a quick break in your day, he'd assured, but it quickly became another round of seeing Liyue through his eyes. In the span of only an hour, you've already spotted an untouched patch of glaze lilies, sampled rich Li-style cuisine and fresh Yue-style cuisine, helped a young girl fetch her kite from atop a tree, and now are working your way (or rather, Childe is working your way for you) to a little area behind the busy streets to show you a pack of dogs he'd befriended. Fondly, you smile and watch as he beckons them out of hiding.

Diluc

Diluc lives for the way that his s/o brings the best out of him and, in return, he does the same back

He exudes the air of a gentleman with the way he shows his affection, but, whether intentionally or not, in an utterly enticing way

Being busy during the day with running the tavern and the winery as well as at night as the Darknight Hero (he insists you stop calling him that as well, but you don't miss the light flush of pride each time), the time he dedicates to you is left in the early morning long before you leave for the day and the evening as he settles just before he sets off

During morning time, he's often fond of running his hands over you, feeling each dip and curve, memorizing the way your hair falls and the way your lips curve when you smile

It's a quiet sort of passion

His love is expressed in the fond murmurs against your shoulder and head, sharing those moments of deep intimacy both physical and not

In the evenings, you both settle in front of the fireplace, sharing a drink or two

There's sometimes a certain look in his eye that sets your heart aflame in the dimly lit room, and sometimes he sets off a little later that night in lieu of a few more stolen moments with you

Diluc slides into your shared bed in the early hours of the morning, a bit later than usual. The shift stirs you just enough to wake up to two arms pulling you to his chest and a deep breath with his nose buried in your hair. He's no doubt exhausted. Eyes bleary, you turn until you're facing him and loosely wrap an arm around his waist. In the moments you're still half-awake, you hear a low murmur of 'love you' and you smile against his skin.

[ellewords]

atsumu was like the sun. he shined and glowed and warmed people just by being near them. without a single thought, he was able to brighten the mood in ways that no one else could. even on his darker days or when his being felt too harsh, he left an impact that made everyone long for more. you couldn’t always see him, couldn’t always feel his presence, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somehow, unseen but known.

by association, that sort of made you the moon. you could shine brightly and leave a warm glow and comfort others when they felt like they were in the dark. but all of that wasn’t possible without the sun. without atsumu.

people didn’t know you unless you were by atsumu’s side. they didn’t spare you a glance until atsumu brought attention to you. but you didn’t mind. all you wanted was to have him by your side, to support you when you couldn’t hold yourself up, to be brilliant beside him even if you would never outshine him. you were content in your current situation.

so why did it hurt so much seeing him continue to shine? why did his warmth suddenly feel so cold? why couldn’t you be as bright as him all on your own?

or, atsumu will always be the sun, you always the moon. maybe now it’s time to accept that you’re nothing without him so you can finally shine for yourself.

-💛

—  from elle ! 💛anon you never miss, do you? aaaa this was so good it lived in my head rent free ever since i first read it >_< i just had to write an addition to this for the way you made my heart actually ache. i hope i did your drabble justice :<< this just hit a lil too close to home ngl thank you for reading everyone, i hope you like this! reblogs are appreciated, they help a ton <3

fic notes / warnings : timeskip!miya atsumu x gn!reader, angst, fluff (-ish? kinda) ending, oneshot, wc: ~1.52k (!! my longest margins addition so far omg)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

atsumu has a gravitational pull, that much has always been clear to you and everyone else; a pull so strong that you can’t help but orbit around him. every room he walks into, he commands the attention of everyone present. one can’t help but simply be drawn to him — with his bright smiles, boisterous laughs, and larger than life movements. it’s no wonder why everything seems to bend to his will, how the universe seems to revolve around him. 

you’ve moved around him for as long as you can remember, every now and then, he lets you borrow his light. the world has associated you with him and you don’t blame anyone one bit. 

his name has always come first. setter for the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. invited to the all-japan youth intensive training camp, miya atsumu. captain of the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu.  

meanwhile, yours is treated as an afterthought, an attachment, a footnote in the awe-inspiring narrative of his life. you’re known as his childhood friend. his best friend, the one who cheers him on from the stands in every single one of his games. alleged significant other, according to whispers in the hallway and to the tabloids and paparazzi. his eventual confirmed significant other, ln yn. 

atsumu and who’s that with him? atsumu and his best friend. atsumu and his significant other. atsumu, oh, and yn’s here too. it’s always atsumu before yn; his name before yours. sometimes, you wonder if anyone would know your name if he hadn’t started dating you.    

you walk behind atsumu, not beside him, when you enter a room. fingertips loosely intertwined with his, you attempt to keep your head up as atsumu introduces you around. they spare you a quick “hi”, before beginning a conversation with your sun. 

though he’s not really your sun, is he? you’ve always had to share him with everyone else. everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, a little warmth; his brilliance is dazzling, like everyone else, you revelled in his glow. 

the world has always associated you with him, but it never worked the other way around. atsumu has always shined on his own; you needed him to have light for yourself. 

~

no one blames the sun for burning a little too bright; it’s simply the way it is. similarly, you’ve never blamed atsumu for being the way he is. he doesn’t know, didn’t mean to do it in the first place. atsumu has always existed for himself, lived life the way he sees fit.

you can’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to. even if you forced yourself to. 

staring at the sun is fascinating, but do it long enough and it starts to hurt. the warmth is no longer comforting, but harsh and prickly. the light is no longer magical and dazzling, but blinding and terrifying. it took some time, but you eventually convinced yourself to look away. 

“ya sure ya wanna do this?” atsumu asked, immediately recognizing your hesitance. he doesn’t want to break up, he wants you to take your words back, he wants you to tell him that this was all just some sick prank. but right now, it doesn’t matter what he wants. what matters is how you feel, the emotions he didn’t realize you had been feeling. 

“no…” you mumbled. the intensity of his gaze makes your knees buckle, but you stand your ground. even in the chilling darkness of his living room, he radiates light and understanding, making everything all the more difficult. you bite the inside of your cheek, letting a few beats pass before your next words, “but i have to.”

“i believe in you,” atsumu nodded, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans. he lets out a quiet exhale, eyes gazing on the suitcases in your hand, “yer gonna do so many amazin’ things.”

your grip on the bag’s handle tightened. it was the end of an era, one that you didn’t expect would be ending at all. but it had to be done. for the first time since you met atsumu, you finally began to think of yourself. a small smile plays on your lips, hoping that he picks up on the pure gratefulness of your tone, “thank you for lending me your light.”

his reply would play in a loop in your mind. even in a breakup, the darkest the night has ever been, atsumu offers you a little bit of light. as expected from the sun.  

~

the moon goes through several phases. some days are better than others. it’s a wave of several highs and lows, but you grow to understand that’s how things are. on some nights it’s as invisible as they come, the clouds blocking out what little light it already produced. though it glowed on other nights, you often feel like nothing has changed. but you learn to trust the process either way. 

gazing at the moon is calming, not dazzling and exceptional, but calming. it provides peace, serenity. you often gazed at the moon, especially on the nights where you could only toss and turn. a cold breeze would blow past you and send shivers down your spine, painting your bare skin with several goosebumps. leaning on the balcony railing and taking in the sounds of a city that barely slept makes you think of him. 

you miss the sun; you miss your sun. you miss his presence and the warmth he brings you. atsumu checks in every now and then, asking how you’re doing and wondering if you’d ever want to meet for a cup of coffee. you’ve never accepted any of his offers for fear of only getting pulled back in. 

you’ve never realized that you always had a gravitational pull of your own. atsumu spends most of his nights gazing at the moon. when his heart raced and his mind buzzed, the moon brought him tranquility — as did you, his anchor. 

[ miya atsumu ] : the night sky is nice tonight, it makes me think of you. i like that we’re always looking at the same one. 

[ miya atsumu ] : i hope you’re doing okay.

he’s right, the night sky does look nice. the moon is full and shining the brightest you’ve ever seen it shine. gleaming, enchanting, and breathtaking doesn’t seem to do its beauty any justice. perhaps the poets and artists had been right all along, the moon is the perfect muse. your thoughts almost convince you that its light isn’t artificial. but twinkling beside the moon are the stars, shimmering high above the world you know, their light completely their own.   

you’re not okay. being the moon may not be too bad, but you’ve already realized that you want to be amongst the stars as one. 

~

days turn into weeks, and eventually months. sometimes they blend together when nothing of interest or importance happens, though you strive for events that are worth remembering. you’ve found a job that you actually like, one that you truly excelled at. you’ve started to put yourself out there, to meet people that pushed you to be better than you had been the day before. slowly but surely, you began to create your own light.

some days your light faltered, some days are dimmer than others, but it was a light of your own. it’s one that didn’t need another’s glow to exist. soon enough, you find yourself accepting one of atsumu’s many offers for a cup of coffee.

he’s now brighter than ever. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu, has turned into setter for japan’s olympic team, miya atsumu. his radiance is as blinding as ever, the largest grin on his face as he waves his hand out the second he caught sight of you.   

but you’re brighter now too, weaving through the cafe tables with your head up high. you’re more sure of yourself, standing taller, making each step towards him with purpose. you’ve lost the tension in your shoulders, the weight that built in your chest. and atsumu notices it too.  

“you’ve changed.” he smiles, much softer than you’re used to. his gaze is fond as you settle in the seat in front of him.  

“i know,” you reply, the corners of your lips twitching upwards, “but thank you for lending me your light.”

atsumu’s smile remains that same soft one that you’re not used to as he recognizes your words almost immediately. he leans back in his seat, gesturing a hand to you, “never gave ya anythin’, this is all you.”

he replies with the same words he said several months ago, the latter half of the sentence being the only addition. warmth fills your chest as he never lost a single ounce of sincerity. the only difference? this time you actually believe him. 

atsumu may still be the sun, but you’ve become a star in your own right; you no longer need him to shine. maybe someday you’ll shine bright enough to allow yourself to exist beside him. but for now, this is enough. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

send me a hc / or a scenario ! <3 |  written on the margins masterlist

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[sanguinescorpios]

Still Alive

dream x f!reader

PART ONE

summary | Just under 20 years ago, the world slipped from humanity’s grasp and fell into the lap of mutant creatures. While most humans hid from the variants, some, like reader, grew restless in the bases they grew up in and needed out. What will happen when reader realizes that she doesn’t stand a chance in the wild on her own, and can something deeper blossom from a survival-based alliance? 

warnings | none!

word count | 1.7k

I had never seen a flower before. At least, not that I could remember. Things like that didn’t exist within the confines of the city walls, the beautiful, living things. The things that reminded you you were alive. My gaze fixated on the object before I even knew what I was looking at. Its petals swirled with pinks and purples, hues I had only seen in worn-out wool and peeling paint. Deep emerald leaves adorned a similarly colored stem, all woven together intricately and standing out amidst the field of brown. I marveled at the plant, bending down to hold it delicately between two fingers. It was incredible, even better than in photographs.

I spent months looking through the old textbooks Zoe had found, simply admiring the anatomy of different flowers and plants from the Old World. She was so excited to show me. I can still picture her jumping up and down as she entered my room in her tattered sports jersey and two-sizes-too-big jeans, a huge stack of books cradled like a child in her arms. Her tight curls were always pulled up into two buns, perfectly placed on the top of her head and bouncing with her childlike movements. I had quirked up an eyebrow at her as she wordlessly dropped her findings on my cot with a thump.

“Books,” she had said, looking at me with a newfound glimmer in her eye, “textbooks. We can learn!”

There was plenty of other information in those textbooks, but the flowers fascinated me. They caught my attention not just for their beauty, but for their mechanics, too. As I read, I began to appreciate how their roots anchored them to the earth, how their stems acted as passageways for water and nutrients, how they came in so many shapes, shades, and sizes. I wanted to know everything I could about them. I had always been that way, I guess.

A nearly foreign feeling emerged in me as a smile curled its way onto my face. The muscles were rusty from a long hibernation and they weren’t sure how to react to the sudden use. Dust found its way into my eyes as my cheeks rose with the grin, so I brushed it away quickly. That, I was used to.

“A cosmos,” I said to no one but myself. Of course, it was a cosmos.

The world before me was barren, a bleak expanse of land that seemed to never end. How the fuck was I supposed to survive out here? Despite my extensive studying, I wasn’t necessarily well-versed in survival. I had no protection out here, no roof over my head, and no soldiers with weapons on watch for intruders, or worse, for variants. A shiver ran down my spine at the thought. Variants were the one thing I knew almost nothing about, despite how hard I tried to get information from the watchmen and neighboring families. In all honesty, we didn’t know much about them, just that they didn’t seem to like us too much. One week the world was our terrain and the next it was theirs. I had never met one and I wasn’t planning on doing so, but I no longer had control over that. I chose to leave and there was no turning back.

That didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Adjusting my pack on my back, I grabbed my flask and poured a bit of water over the stubborn flower.

“Hope we make it, little guy.”

One last look at the distant confines I used to call home, then I was walking again, this time never turning back.

. . .

As it turns out, walking across one huge expanse of dust and dirt isn’t very fun! In fact, it’s fucking brutal. I had no idea where I was going, that much was clear not even ten minutes into the journey. Leave the city, that was my only plan. A shit plan, in hindsight. I reached into one of the many pockets of my pack and pulled out my water bottle. Last sip, that’s not good. If I could just go a little longer and reach the forest, I’d be okay. Much of the landscape had been torn apart over the years, but there were still occasional patches of green, at least that’s what I had been told. Just a little farther, surely I would reach it soon.

The hours dragged on, all melding together into one blurry week of sleeping in a ripped tent in the middle of nowhere and barely eating or drinking. When my eyes focused on a small dot of green in the distance, I nearly brought my hands up to rub the mirage from them, but I knew better than to do anything like that before washing. Especially after the week I’ve had, too much dust and not enough water.

I had been preparing for my lunch break when I spotted it, excited to get my hands on my tenth granola bar of the week. All desire for a break left my body, replaced by the desperate need to get to that forest before nightfall. There could be water in there, shelter, food, the possibilities were endless. I picked up my pace, feet moving with fervor despite my obvious exhaustion. My pack threatened to slip off my back, but I ignored it.

I reached the edge of the forest by nightfall, a shudder running through me at the thought of spending the night alone in the dense environment. Anyone or anything could be living here, and they could be hungry. The ground didn’t feel safe, too open and vulnerable of a place to sleep, but the sliver of moonlight shining down on me wasn’t enough to find anywhere else. This would have to do.

A few restless hours passed before I had finally fallen into a deep sleep, my back pressed uncomfortably against a tree and my pack serving as a makeshift pillow. I didn’t bother to set up camp, figuring I’d pick up and move in the morning anyways. I expected to get a few good hours of sleep at least, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, I was shaken awake by unfamiliar hands and a gruff voice.

“Get the fuck up,” the voice barked as my eyes adjusted to the morning light, peering up at the shaded figure looming over me.

“Wha-what?”

“Get. The fuck. Up.” The figure grabbed my pack from underneath my head and I groaned at the rude awakening. In my early morning haziness, I barely questioned the individual’s orders. My body moved before my brain told it to, pulling itself out of the fetal position and standing up, unsteady but sturdy enough.

As I rose to my feet, I took a good look at the person for the first time. He stood tall, towering over my frame with long legs and broad shoulders. Underneath his hood, a mask shielded most of his face from me; it looked to be made of some sort of wood and with the jagged smile that was carved into it, it was borderline terrifying. Dark blond hair toppled out and around the thing, curling messily at the ends. He sported muted green cargo pants and a thick belt bearing a multitude of knives and other weapons I didn’t even want to imagine. A black T-Shirt spread across his torso, strong arms emerging from the sleeves and gloved hands gripping a satchel against his hip. If this went south, I was outmatched.

“What made you think sleeping on the ground was a good idea?” he hissed out a few minutes later as he led me through the trees, taking angry steps at least two yards ahead of me.

“I didn’t have many other options,” I responded simply, not sure what he wanted from me and still groggy with sleep.

“Well, you picked the stupidest option.”

I rolled my eyes, who did this guy think he was? Sure, the ground wasn’t the smartest choice, but it was all I had! I huffed, kicking at a rock as he stopped to check...something — who knows what he was doing.

“You got a name, mask boy?”

He shushed me, holding up his index finger as he looked around at our surroundings.

“It was just a question-”

“Dream,” he cut me off, “now shush.”

He said it simply, like it wasn’t the most absurd name anyone had ever heard, and went right back to surveying the space around us. I poked my head around at him, trying and failing to get this mystery man’s attention.

“Is that your real name?” I inquired, making awkward eye contact with the mesh-covered eyeholes of his mask and wishing I could see his face when he answered. Maybe then I’d know if he was bluffing or not. Or if he planned on killing me.

“It’s what you’ll call me.”

There was a finality in the way he said it, a sternness in his voice that I wasn’t about to argue with. A beat passed in utter silence, me waiting for him to continue the conversation and him already three steps ahead of me on the path. Dream isn’t a chatty guy, noted.

I jogged to catch up to him, slowing as I reached his side. He didn’t seem like he was going to kill me as soon as night fell on the already dark forest, but keeping him in my sight was the safest bet.

“You’re not gonna ask my name?” He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow and bobbing his head as if to say ‘go on’. I gave him my name and he grunted in response — men.

He persevered through the forest, cutting away branches and leaving a green mess in our wake. I had no idea where we were going or why I was following his lead so easily, but he seemed confident and I trusted his confidence more than my own.

“So…” I dragged on, twiddling my thumbs and shooting him a look, “do we have a plan here or are we just gonna wander for the next five hours of daylight?”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an “ugh” as he pushed through another set of leaves. I wasn’t wrong; the sun would be setting soon, and based on how he reacted this morning, he wasn’t a night owl.

“Our camp is set up a few miles north. We should get there before nightfall.”

Did he say our?

[bloodpacks-archive]

HOMES OF THE RFA (+V AND SAERAN) HEADCANONS

alright we’ve got zen’s bachelor pad first - generally zen tends to be a pretty minimalist guy with his house. part of it is honestly because he couldn’t really afford to completely deck out his house for a while, and now he’s just grown used to the look of it so he really likes having spaces that are a little less cluttered. the one exception to this, unfortunately, is his kitchen. he doesn’t use his kitchen often, and as a result, he often forgets to do his dishes until the end of the week. monday? that shit is spotless. his kitchen is cleaner than anything has ever been and the dishes are neatly put away. do not even look at that kitchen on wednesday. it’s become a disaster zone and he’s embarrassed. but once the mc starts to come by more, i think he ends up cooking for himself a lot more because he starts to realize that he actually really enjoys it. he loves being healthy, and now that he has the motivation to cook for himself (and her, of course), he starts to realize how much he likes control over what he eats. so now his kitchen is a lot cleaner bc it just has to be.

two different places for yoosung !! - the one on the left is yoosung’s dorm :) it’s actually really cool in there. he spends a lot of time in that little room, so he decides to invest a little bit and make sure that he’s happy with the place he lives. he likes alternative lighting (mainly because it helps his eyes a bit when he’s playing lolol) but also because overhead lights can be a little harsh for him, especially after a long day of school. when the mc’s there, he always makes sure that the lights are just right. it’s very common for both of them to fall asleep while the LEDS are still on, a movie playing on the projector he bought a while back. when he moves out of college, though, his house is a bit of a different story. he still keeps some LEDS and neon signs in a little gamer/office space, and for the most part he’s actually pretty neat, but his house can definitely get messy. surprisingly enough, the mattress on the floor is not for him. in fact, it’s for zen. he comes over so often that yoosung ends up setting up a little mattress for him so that he can stay over whenever he has drinks with him. the mess honestly isn’t terrible though, and he and the mc are both good about making it an organized disaster.

jaehee’s cozy little apartment - rather than art posters, jaehee actually has a lot of framed broadway and other musical posters on her walls. she branches out a bit from zen’s musicals over time, and she actually really loves decorating her home with something that she loves so much. she likes her small apartment, and it means that she and the mc are never really that far away from each other. she places her hand on the mc’s back whenever she squeezes past her in the kitchen, and when they have their coffee in the morning she can lean over and grab her hand during conversation. she always has candles lit, and she prefers really earthy and woody scents. tobacco is a common scent, but as is sandalwood. even with the candles, their apartment constantly smells like fresh coffee beans and sourdough bread. it is a very rare day if there isn’t dough rising in the window somewhere, and even rarer if there isn’t a baked loaf hidden away in the kitchen.

two homes for jumin as well !! - the first picture is of his penthouse when the mc moves in with him. she adds little throw pillows, some rugs, and some plants to his stupid penthouse and makes it feel much more like a home. he gets rid of that stupid circular bed the second he realizes that she feels a little cramped in it and upgrades to a beautiful king sized mattress. there’s about a million and one windows, and that’s actually something he really loves about the penthouse. so it’s really no surprise when he and the mc move a bit out of the city and they keep the big windows and the big open spaces, but make it feel like something that’s meant to be lived in. jumin discovers his love of wood and tall bookshelves with a mix of occult novels and old classics, and the mc convinces him to add a little more color into his interior. their new house has a big garden out back so he can still visit the roses (though they aren’t the same ones from his old rooftop garden, but he’d argue that he planted them with her, so they’re so much better). they built the house themselves so it’s perfect for them, and elizabeth the third has her own little space for playing.

hmmmm. saeyoung choi’s new home <3 - saeyoung eventually leaves the bunker. it’s a hard move, and it’s definitely not one he takes lightly (he’s used to moving, but not away from a place with so many good memories). but, he builds this new home from the ground up with the mc. he makes the plans and hires architects to help him, and he starts to fall in love with this new home even while it’s still a blueprint. he never gives up his complicated security system (the arabic dictionary really starts to feel heavy sometimes), but he does start to realize how much he loves windows. he still ends up getting them reinforced, but he loves the natural light and he actually really likes being able to see outside so easily. it’s a stupid thing, but sometimes the mc will catch him sitting on their couch and just looking out at the secluded little forest they ended up moving to, and he seems really happy. similar to yoosung, saeyoung cannot stand overhead lighting. at first, his solution was to just have no lighting at all, but one day he came into his office and there were these little lamps everywhere and they actually made his office feel a lot less daunting. ever since then, he’s started using lamps more often than the lights installed into his ceiling. he also says they help to reduce any sensory issues he might have from the light, which also means a lot less headaches for him. he starts to really love thunderstorms while he lives there, and so he and the mc always curl up whenever it starts to rain and they sit on the couch, watching as lightning cracks across the sky and counting the seconds until the thunder together. whenever it rains, saeyoung knows he can take a break from everything for a while.

jihyun kim’s beautiful little apartment - his apartment is tiny except for his studio. similarly to jaehee, he likes the small spaces because one, he loves how cozy is feels, but two, because it means he can reach out to his mc a lot more often. his studio, however, is the biggest and brightest space imaginable. all of his apartment is big on natural light, but he loves having a huge window in his studio because it means he’s able to see actual life even when he’s wrapped up in his work. it’s also big enough that the mc can sit in and watch him work without ever feeling like she’s in the way, which he absolutely loves. it’s really common for her to be sitting on one of his extra stools, flipping through some of the drawing drafts he’s made with delicate fingers. he’ll turn then, half-dried paint on his fingertips and go to kiss her. she’ll laugh when she feels the coolness of the wet paint on her cheek, and he’ll feel terrible about it, but there’s not many worries that can be had when you’re standing in the shine of the afternoon sun, surrounded by art that you’re proud of and standing in front of the girl who brought you back to artistry. as far as the rest of his apartment goes, jihyun is very particular about color. he likes things to look nice and he appreciates things to be very calming in nature. the green kitchen is perfect for him because of this, and everything is always spotless. the only part of his home that’s ever a mess is his studio, but he knows where everything is.

and lastly we have saeran’s little getaway :) - of course, saeran stays close to saeyoung. they both end up moving to a really nice, secluded area where they feel safe. even after the issue with their father has been resolved, both of them feel safer if they’re away from the public. this actually ends up being great for saeran though, because it means that he has access to so many plants. so many. he can walk though his pretty summer garden outside to get to his greenhouse, and he loves being able to tend to all of the flowers there. it really is something that’s calming for him. plus, whenever he walks outside he can see saeyoung’s house and he can be reminded that he’s only a few steps away, so he’d make the trip often even without the flowers. his house is pretty small, but he can’t imagine wanting anything too big. it always smells really fresh in his house, like clean linens and citrus, but not the artificial kind. he just always has oranges somewhere in his house so fresh citrus is always there in the kitchen. he and the mc enjoy a really quiet life together in their house, and it’s honestly at this point that he feels the happiest. he likes being able to wake up in the morning and sit at their kitchen island together, a homemade breakfast in front of them and her head leaning on his shoulder.

[aquarii-writes]

History on repeat(Dream x f!reader)

Ngl this was inspired by a dnf piece on tik tok. While I don't ship it the art was beautiful and the song attached inspired me to write this. This also includes my headcanons for Dream/his parents and I'll elaborate on it in a different post if enough people ask lmao

Notes: I should mention to look at my 'DSMP headcanons' especially Dream's part because that's where I kinda explain that I don't believe that Dream himself is a dreamon but that his mask contains one. I also used Dream's real name as his fathers name. I don't really like using the dsmp members real names if it's not in their user but I had to think of a name

WARNINGS: none I can think of aside from death and stuff of similar manners

WC:1,005

Genre: Angstyy

Two people sat together along the shoreline of a river. The colors of the sunset danced on the water. Turning the already beautiful area ethereal. Warm summer air tickled the woman; her blonde hair jumped with the wind.

"You're so beautiful [REDACTED]" the man spoke. His amber eyes held a love for the woman beside him; his lovely wife. Her green cloak acted as a pillow for her.

"You're too kind my darling" a smile played on the woman's lips. Her mask discarded beside her. The painted smile similar to the one she held.

"I love you with all my heart" a smile danced on the mans face. His lovely wife sat up and hugged him. Falling back into the grass the happy couple basked in one another. Masks long forgotten beside them. "Stay with me forever [REDACTED]?"

"Of course my darling dream" the twos faces were close as the wife spoke. It felt as though time sat there frozen to preserve the lasting moment.

Smiling towards you Dream held out his arms to get you to come towards him. As you got near Dream pulled you on top of him. His arms circling around your waist.

~~~

"Dream~" your voice was loving. Dreams mask was off as he watched you jump in the stream water. The sun was setting over the horizon and the light gave an other worldly glow to you and the water.

Playing with the locks of hair that fell into your grasp, Dream watched you. A deep seeded longing in his eyes. Out here away from everything was when Dream was the most caring. His affections unrestricted when he wasn't in the eyes of his friends. When he could easily sneak away.

Though the future had many plans for the two of you, but here in this moment the future could wait.

"I would do anything for you (y/n)" Dream's amber eyes looked like the sun. Specks of gold shined like they were directly in the sun. Nodding to his statement you kissed the man before you. An adoring hum escaped him.

Pulling away you mumbled out a response. "I love you with all my heart~"

"Will you stay with me forever?" with a teasing smile Dream rubbed your sides: tickling you along the way.

"Of course my darling Dream" an unknown feeling of deja vu came over the two. Seems as though something similar happened in the past.

~~~

"My dream!!' [REDACTED] screamed for her husband. "Don't take him away! Please!," the woman covered her small sons ears. The child didn't know what was happening. huddling into his mother arms the woman kept screaming for her husband.

Huddled under her cloak the small boy held a hand over his mother stomach and whispered to it. The boys father struggled against the men who held him away from his family. "CLAY! LET HIM GO! He didn't mean it.." [REDACTED] dropped to the ground crying. Her son hugging his mother. "Oh my baby Dream"

Dream's mother held onto him for dear life. Tears fell from his eyes as he watched his father get taken to the gallows. As a final goodbye his father threw towards them.

Crawling away from his mother, Dream grabbed the mask; his fathers mask. The plastic was cracked in a few placed, and some of the paint was chipped, but it was probably the last thing he would ever have of his fathers.

"Please just let my husband go" [REDACTED]'s mask was similarly painted though the tears the spilt from under it spoke another story. "It was the Dreamons who did it.. not my Clay.. not my lovely dreamer.." her whimpers drew her son back over to her.

"Mommy what's happening to daddy?" Dream wouldn't get an answer from her. Just wails and whimpers about how cruel the world was.

~~~

"Dream what did you do..," Tommy and Tubbo huddled behind you. A fearful look settled in your eyes. Dream's mask was just that, a mask. Behind it he held no remorse for what he had done and what he said.

He did plan on killing Tubbo, but the look in your eyes made his thoughts stutter. Should he not kill Tubbo? When Dream said he doesn't care about anyone it planted a seed in your heart. Did he really not love you anymore?

Dream didn't answer you. All he did was stare at you through the mask. "Take off your damn mask and answer me Dream" when your voice jumped at him all Dream could do was stare. He didn't talk and he didn't react. "Why aren't you answering me?! Dream WHY did you do it?!"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Like hell you didn't mean to!" your tone was sharp. It made the boys behind you move back as you came forward to hold Dream's face. This felt too familiar. Why does it feel so familiar?

Knitted brows went unnoticed behind the mask. His annoyed expression hidden to the world; to you. His everything. Before he lost it he wanted to marry you. He even joked about you being his wife. His darling wife.

"Do you not care about me anymore? After everything that's happened between us?" a certain sadness pushed your pain to him. It was the same sorrow his mother screamed from the top of her lungs. That's why it felt so familiar.

A desolate look decorated your (e/c) eyes. The same eyes he would've fought wars so see happy. The very eyes he believed he would love forever.

"It's not my fault- sweetheart it's not my fault" his words became more rushed as Sam pulled Dream away. Dragging him to Pandora's Vault. All the way to his box.

The misery and heartache Dream saw on your face reminded him of his mother. The heartbreak he never wanted to see again.

~~~

{REDACTED] held a baby in her arms as she watched her son play on the hill with her friends son. The baby girl in her arms slept peacefully as she spoke to her friend beside her.

Puffy had been a good friend of [REDACTED] for a long time now. "Puffy you have to promise me something"

"Anything [REDACTED]" Puffy watched the baby in her friends arms. The poor thing had been born months after her fathers hanging. The family had to go into hiding.

"Please after tonight take my babies with you.... I don't think I can carry on much longer with out my Clay.." despair was the only way Puffy could describe her once vibrant friend.

The woman's once vibrant green eyes now only held melancholy. The satchel that sat beside her only contained a few things; one thing being Clay's mask.

"Dream my beloved!" [REDACTED] called out for her boy. The mask that once adorned her face constantly had been vacant since her husband died.

Running up to his momma Dream reached out to hold his baby sister. Passing baby Drista [REDACTED] kissed her sons head before pulling something from her satchel.

"Dream listen to me. The world is a cruel and it will hurt you-" holding out Clay's mask to her son said everything to the small boy. Giving baby Drista to Puffy, Dream took his fathers mask away from his mother. "Wear this.. it was your fathers..," a sadistic smile rested on his mothers face.

It scared him, but it was the first smile he saw from her since his father died.

"Okay mommy" Dream slipped on the mask his father once wore and winced. It felt like strings were licking his face. It felt wrong. This wasn't his mask to be keeping was it?

~~~

The prison vault was deafening. Nothing was a really annoying sound when all that surrounded you was lava and crying obsidian. Though he had one thing to look forward to.

You promised to see him today. His lovely wife. Well you weren't married. He fucked up that chance when he lost himself to the mask. The dreamons that whispered to him constantly.

Ever since he came in here the whispers stopped. Except for when they speak about you.

The pistoning sound of the bridge coming brought Dream from his head. A sadistic smile grew on him. Throwing off the mask the threads retreated back into the plastic.

"(y/n) my beloved!" a crazed look adorned Dream's face as he looked at you. His beloved wife. "I love you so much~"

"Dream.." with a heavy heart you held Dream's face. His eyes held a look of longing love.

"Dream love.. listen to me. The world is cruel.. and it's going to hurt," your voice cracked as you held Dream's hands. Worry filled him as Dream dragged you towards him.

Pushing back Dream dug around in the chest of his room. A ring sat gently between his fingers.

"Wear this... it'll protect you.." a hopeful look held on to Dream's face. All his love and adoration for you.

"I'm sorry Dream.. I love you so much but maybe it's better if we split ways.... I.. why do I trust you so much? Your hands are scarred with murder, but I trust them completely.." crumpling to the ground you sobbed. Conflictions and pain battering against you for weeks.

Dream held you. He had seen this all before. History was repeating. He witnessed this happen between his parents. The very thing he never wanted to happen to him did. He's losing the love of his life.

Why does history have to repeat?

[poptod]

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 3 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Things get busy as the palace prepares for the Pharaoh’s journey to Thebes.

Notes: WC: 5.1k

+

Warm flame blotted out the stars shining through the marble arches, leaving their light dim and diluted. In each corner of the small room, a floor torch illuminated the rows of papyrus scrolls, fire and shadow dancing as the men at the table conversed quietly. At first you had attempted to follow the topic, but the longer the hours grew the less patience you had. Eventually you found yourself wondering how the Pharaoh did this seemingly every day.

"I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves," said a man you eventually learned was named Gyasi. He, along with most others gathered at the table, was an old man donned in golden linen, bearing curved lines drawn above his eyes. "We don't have time for such provisions. A number of things has delayed the King from planning earlier, so the journey to Thebes cannot be as detailed or grand as the last years, with Merenkahre."

"But we cannot arrive barren of gifts. As much as the mayor is loyal to the crown, it is good to keep in the graces of those ruling your cities. We can't afford any doubt of obedience," said the man sat on the far end of the table.

"I shall attend to the provisions and gifts myself, if need be," Piye said. Very rarely had they spoken at all this evening, and the deep tones of their nearby voice nearly startled you.

"What of the ships? Our fleet was destroyed and we don't have enough of the right design to carry what Merenkahre's advisors planned for their trips," said another man, whose long hair fell over his shoulders as he spoke.

"If the rest of you agree to tend to the soldiers, and for you the offerings," Ahk turned for a moment to the several priests gathered, "I will go through our models to find the best fit. Agreed?"

"I'm not –"

"It's nearly midnight," Piye interrupted. "The King needs his sleep, as do all of you. If you have any grievances you can bring them up tomorrow."

"... thank you, Piye," Ahkmenrah said, sighing sharply as he buried his face in his hand. "You're all dismissed. Get home and sleep well."

Rings of 'thank you, my king,' came from the men, cloth and cushions shuffling as they rose to their feet. You watched with wide eyes as they left. All who remained in the study were you, Piye, and Ahkmenrah. For the first time in at least several hours there was a quiet surrounding you, which you made sure to appreciate.

The night outside appeared to calm down, leaving only the sound of flowing water and cricket bugs chirping. Not even wind dared to brush through the arches. You sniffed, feeling sleep tug at the bags beneath your eyes. Ahk had gotten up early, and of course he insisted on taking you with him, creating for you a schedule you were very much not used to.

"I'm sorry, Amoke," Ahk said lowly, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean for this to carry on for so long. Are you tired?"

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled as you rubbed your eye.

"I'll see to it that Naguib doesn't wake you two until later. Will you be staying in your regular room or...?" Piye asked, their back turned to overlook the city.

"Inner," Ahk said with a stretch of his arms to the ceiling.

"Coward," Piye said, heading towards the door.

"Hey now, just because you have the body warmth of Ra doesn't make me a coward," Ahk said sternly, pointing a vindictive finger in Piye's direction.

"Right, sir," Piye said before swinging themselves out of the room.

He let out a long, weary sigh as he bent forward, resting his head on the low table. The blanket spread out between your laps shifted, as did the cushions, and though you tried to give him space he pulled himself into you the moment you moved. There he hid himself in you, breathing deep as he fidgeted with the cloth of your skirt.

"Did you have any thoughts about the meeting?" He asked, muffled against your neck.

"Your advisors are disappointed in you for being distracted when it comes to the religious part of the state, but can't realistically say anything since you're good with foreign diplomacy," you said.

What exactly they were planning and why had escaped you, but within the first thirty minutes of genuinely paying attention to the discussion, you'd deduced that with the prior knowledge of Ahkmenrah's and Merenkahre's reign.

"Are your advisors inherited from your father or did you choose them yourself?"

"Most of them are my father's," he said, pulling away from you to look you in the eye. "I know my cabinet needs some reorganizing, but it's not something I can concentrate on right now. Once we return from Thebes... I ask your help in deciding what changes to make."

"Um – that doesn't sound very wise, asking the advice of a civilian," you said, trying to back away from him. As usual, he did not let you, and held tighter to your hips.

"Do you question my judgement?" He asked, though kept a smile on his face.

Your answer to that was yes––very much so. There was no way you could say that, obviously, but you didn't want to lie either, so you stayed silent as he scanned you.

"A King knows what's best, my dear."

In the morning, Naguib woke you, and as he dressed Ahk, the King spoke to you. You had yet to leave the confines of silk sheets, and thus lay on your side with your cheek squished into the mattress as you watched them.

"We've got many a designs for ships, but only five of those are properly big enough to support us, the court, servants, soldiers, and offerings. Of those five there are about.. seven, I think, variations in the sails. We'll need to try each of them. How many ships is that?"

Naguib quickly looked away, avoiding the question. Similarly, you shrugged your shoulders, too out-of-it to formulate the correct answer.

"Thirty-five. Thirty-five ship rides today. Have you ever been sailing before?" He asked as he fiddled with his gold bracelet, turning to glance in your direction.

"No," you said quietly. As revered and important as water was, you still clung to your fear of the depths, and thus had never taken the opportunity to travel by river.

"I think you'll enjoy yourself," he said, with quite the amount of confidence in his tone. You, with insight into yourself, knew otherwise, and shriveled at his smile.

Massive sheets of linen rippled above you, tossed and blown by the eastern wind. The creak of wood sounded beneath your feet, spiking an uneasiness that plagued your stomach, and only worsened by the sway of the massive raft on the battering tide. All that remained to comfort you was the sun, shining blazingly overhead. You combated the burning heat by staying beneath the overhang of the little shack built into the middle of the boat.

Meanwhile, Ahk stood with hair flying in the breeze, his crown long forgotten on the floor. The skirt he wore was the only thing on his body now, allowing rays of sun to shine off the sheen of sweat worked up by his succinct movements. Mid-air he caught a rope in his palm, twisting it so it wrapped around his hand, and tugging harsh till the sail calmed itself. The billows dissipated into a smooth pillow of white, standing like a cloud against the blue sky.

"What do you think so far, Amoke?" Ahk asked above the splashing waves and muting wind.

"Takes an awful lot of effort, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," he said, panting lightly as he released the rope and headed towards you. "I won't be doing the sailing on the way there, however. At least not most of the time. We'll have our soldiers do that. Besides, this ship is large. Perhaps it is the sail hindering our work."

Our work. He could galavant off to wherever he wanted to, fix the entire problem himself, and he'd still say 'our,' or 'we,' or 'us'. You couldn't quite pinpoint why that annoyed you.

Along with the help of several other sailors on the ship, Ahk brought the hull to a rest against the sandy shore, while the sailors began to strip the sail and replace it. While they did so, Ahk rejoined you beneath the overhang. Once he arrived, the two servant girls on either side of the door held up their fans, blocking the sun further for the King.

"It may be a little windy, but today is a beautiful day," he said to you, circling an arm around your back. He rooted his hand to your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't... like big boats," you mumbled, shoulders tight as your fist.

"Really? Why's that?" He asked with a grin.

"The wind is unpredictable and you can't see past the surface of the water."

"I think I can help you with that," he said, and his hand fell from your waist, tangling his fingers in your own.

Before you could say anything in reply, he was dragging you out from beneath the shade, into the open, unmanageable expanse of floating wood. The floor swayed as the boat was removed from the makeshift dock, nearly toppling you over from your poor balance.

"Careful there, dearest," he said as he steadied you. You bit your tongue, but reluctantly accepted his help in leading you evenly forward.

He took you to the tall mast, almost swaying with its' thin height. Wind filled the sail with a great howl, and with a little assistance from the soldiers, the boat was back to coasting down the Nile with the new sail.

"The wind is coming from the southeast," he said, leasing his grip on you to grasp a loose rope. "It'll be coming from there all day, so you can adjust the direction of the sail accordingly. If the wind is blowing too strong, you tie up the sail so it doesn't catch the wind. If the wind is weak, you open up the sail. It's all very simple. The design of these ships are specifically tailored for conditions along the Nile, so it's very rare any ships are overturned.

"For example, right now we're going a little fast. A few pulls and a few knots later," he tugged hard, lean muscles popping up beneath tanned skin as he did. Your eyes widened, unconsciously staring at his arms. "There. Didn't close it up all the way, cause we'd probably go to a standstill at that point and it can be a little hard to pick up momentum again."

"... momentum?"

"Thrust force," he clarified. Despite yourself you blushed and turned away, embarrassed of your own question, and flustered by his answer.

"Right," you said, mouthing the word, though not fully saying it. "It is easier for things in motion to remain in motion rather than to stop and pick it up again."

"Exactly," he said with a grin.

He stepped nearer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. Your own shoulders locked and tensed as he did.

"You know, Amoke," he said, looking down to you, "I quite like having you along with me on my daily duties. I know it's not the most interesting thing for you, but... I hope you enjoy it as well."

The obvious answer, at least to you, was that you weren't enjoying yourself. Never once in your life had you given a thought to learning how to swim, which made you antsy and nervous whenever you were near water. Even a shore felt like too much. To be stuck right in the middle of a massive, overflown river with a man essentially holding you hostage kept you on overload.

As the boat continued its' leisurely pace down the water, your fingertips and feet began to itch, desperate to leave the swaying rock of the waves. Sickness welled in your stomach and crawled up your throat, acid burning the back of your tongue. You tried your best to swallow it down, but your discomfort was already noticed by the Pharaoh, whose eyes turned to concern as he faced you.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little... um, nauseous," he said, his brow furrowed.

"I feel very warm," you admitted with flushed cheeks.

"Oh, well there's a very easy cure for that!" He grinned. "Do you know how to swim?"

"Never learned."

"Don't worry. I shall take it upon myself to teach you, for now and future instances," he said, placing his hands on your upper arms.

"I - I'm not sure I –"

"Don't worry," he murmured, pressing his cheek to yours so as to whisper in your ear. "Would you rather have to face the possibility of drowning, should I not be near?"

His hands traveled down your arms to your waist, where he began to tug at your belt. The motion had your hips bumping against his, and though you tried to jump back, all that did was loosen your skirt further. Your heart began to beat against your bones, practically thrumming in your chest. While your anxiousness grew tenfold, the Pharaoh kissed your forehead, soft as his ministrations continued.

Soon your clothes were tossed to the wooden floor, forgotten as he took in your bare form. For a moment he appreciated you, ran his fingers down your skin as his eyes dragged from your shoulders to your hips, keen to move exact and slow.

"Come now," he said, ceasing contact to take your hand, and leading you to the edge of the boat.

Steps built into the boat's side led down to the water. He led you down them, helping you to perch beside the rushing water as his own skirt fell, crumpled and tossed in the same direction as your own clothes.

By example you dipped your feet in the cool water, mimicking Ahk's own legs pushed to the side by the current.

"Moshe?" Ahk called over his shoulders.

"Yes, my King?" came from the bow of the ship.

"My pet and I are going into the water. Slow us down, will you?"

Your what?! you thought, but said nothing concerning that, and attempted to change the subject.

"Don't you have a lot of sails to go through?" You asked.

"We've got all day, and tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. After that, though, we're out of luck," he said, a wide, crooked smile cast across his face. "But, of course... anything for you."

You almost laughed with him, but you tempered it down to a half-smile. From the spark in his eye and his blushing cheeks, you realized that it didn't matter if you laughed or smiled––it was still a positive reaction in his view.

Once the river slowed to the steady pulse of a sail-less ship, Ahk dropped himself into the water, his head sinking beneath the murky surface. Your eyes widened, but you made no attempt to reach him. For a moment you imagined he'd died, and pondered upon what you would do then. Probably leave.

Wouldn't that be nice, you thought, spacing out as you stared at the sandy shore.

Drenched curls drew slowly upwards, till they sat plastered against Ahk's forehead. Droplets fell down past his eyes, trailing down his cheek, and settling on the bow of his lips. His hands reached for you, settling on your ankles with a tug. You instinctively jerked away, and he grinned slyly, humored by your easily-won reactions.

"The water won't bite you," he said, tugging harder on your ankle. "Promise."

When you still barely moved from your spot on the step, he said, "I won't bite you either, if you're worried about that. Tread water with me, dear."

Gingerly your legs untensed, thighs slipping into the water as you sunk down. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared into the hidden depths, hypnotized by the streaming rays of sunlight, reflecting off the sand floating in the river. His hand moved from your ankle to elsewhere, though you lost track of it until it reappeared on your hip.

"Not too cold, right?" He asked with a pleased smile.

"No," you said.

It was indeed a bit frigid on your skin, but you attributed that to the fact that you'd been overheating all day in the sun. The burning cold soon began to dissipate, and what you were left with was a pleasant relief from the sun, hidden in the long shadow casted by the boat upon the ripples of water.

"Keep kicking your legs or you're going to sink," he said, moving to give you room to experiment.

Once you got hold of your legs, he mimicked how to move your arms, and soon you were floating untethered to the boat. Before you realized it, the ship was drifting away with the cool breeze. You very nearly panicked, but Ahk began to swim leisurely alongside it, and motioned for you to do the same. The slow speed of the new sails treaded steadily on, allowing the two of you to keep the same pace as the hull.

"How do you like it?" He asked, turning to drift down the river on his back, hands entwined behind his head.

"What happens if there's a creature beneath us?" You asked in return, still attempting to see the bottom through the murky water.

"We get back on the boat," he said with a shrug, a sly grin spreading across his face as you glared at him.

In order to keep with his schedule, he soon hauled himself back up onto the ship's ledge, offering a hand for you as well. You took it, but remained on the edge with your toes dipped into the water. Behind you, Ahk discussed something quietly with one of his soldiers, and reordered the sails.

Those gathered on the boat––numbering about eight or nine––went through the seven variations in the sails, and soon the boat was pulling back into the docks with the scribe's notes in the Pharaoh's hands. The crew trampled off the ship, boarding the next one in line as the sails were moved from the first deck to the second. You watched from the side, careful not to interfere, and listened to Ahkmenrah's conversation with his scribe, whose name you learned was Zaid.

"Speed can be sacrificed for storage, if we leave earlier," Ahk mumbled, biting at his bottom lip.

"Those faster ones are easier to tear," said Zaid. "If you're putting even more weight on the ship, they aren't going to work."

"Hmm. No use debating when we've got four more boats to go through."

"Yes, my King. Very well."

Zaid left the Pharaoh's side to help with the sails, earning you once more time alone with Ahk. He stepped nearer to you, placing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you in, squeezing you in a gentle side-hug.

"Zaid is a very special scribe," Ahk explained, eyes still training after the crew. "He learned his trade from Piye while they were travelling the world on a soul mission. Piye doesn't remember him at all, but he does his job very well so I don't think it's a problem, even if he is lying."

"A soul mission?"

"Yes, well, Piye didn't always look like that. You know, the whole very tall, very dark skin and very white hair. They've got a very special magic about them," he said with a nod. "I believe most of it was unlocked during their soul mission, which caused the change."

"... right," you mumbled. Ahkmenrah had said a great deal of strange things to you, but claiming magic to be real was a little much, even for you.

Egyptians were always a bit of an enigma to you––from what you'd learned in your own travels, they were fiercely protective of their homeland, such to the point that they rarely invaded other countries. Magic was something as entwined with their daily life as eating or sleeping. Every town seemed to have their own pantheon of Gods, and each tomb their own spells scarcely found in doubles. Harmony was of utmost importance, and family life was revered, having its' own pedestal to rival the significance of the Pharaonic family. The incestual Pharaonic family.

You shivered instinctively at the thought. As much as you wanted to believe Ahkmenrah was not a part of that area of his culture, you had no way of knowing, and asking him directly seemed too great a task.

For the remainder of the day, your weight was grounded on wooden decks, only breaking when you let your feet hang off the side and into the water. Ahk tried to keep his focus on the project at hand, but his attention would often waver whenever he caught sight of you. Unfortunately for the crew of the ship, that was quite often, and the Pharaoh had no trouble acquiescing to your every desire. Be it questions, or a wish to swim or break the ship routine, he would immediately fulfill your request.

By evening the tests were finally complete, leaving a few stacks of papyrus containing Zaid's notes on the ships and their sails. Ahkmenrah invited him back to the palace, where the two of them conversed quietly in his study, ignorant of the outside world and ignorant of you. To bide the time you tried looking at star charts, as the actual night sky was blinded by torchlight both in the study and the city.

The rows upon rows of scrolls and tablets soon bored you, at which point you listened on the duller conversation between Ahk and Zaid, who had a pleasant back-and-forth concerning the trip to Thebes. Slow, soft murmurs brought your shoulders to sag, muscles aching from the minimal effort of the day. It had been a while since you'd gotten any true exercise.

You closed your eyes for a moment––you could swear it was only a moment––but when you opened them, you found yourself rustling from movement, and blearily realized you were being held. Someone was carrying you down a chill hallway, and by diminishing torchlight you recognized the face of the Pharaoh.

"Long day, hmm?" He said upon noticing you were half-awake.

"No," you insisted with a frown. "I'm awake."

"Not standing, though," he teased.

"I'll fuckin' stand if y-"

"Shhh," he said softly, leaning in to peck your forehead. "We'll be sleeping soon anyway. It's far too late to do anything else."

Morning came and you found Ahk already awake, dressed in commoner's clothes and speaking softly with Naguib. From your spot on the bed, your cheek pressed into the pillow, you watched their tiny motions and the few words you could hear.

A couple minutes into listening, Ahkmenrah noticed you were awake, and hushed Naguib as he turned to you.

"Good to see you're awake," he said with a peppy smile, too bright and cheerful for your morning eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go into the markets today for a special deal. I won't be able to take you along. You might get lost in the crowd, or get hurt, and I abhor that idea. You understand, right?"

He was lying. Something about his choice of words, or the way he held his shoulders, hinted at the lie. What the truth was you wouldn't ask, though you speculated it to be a shady deal he didn't want you to know about. Instead you nodded, shifting to sit up, silken sheets pooling around your hips.

"Naguib, does this door have a lock?"

"Only from the inside, sir," Naguib said, his hands dutifully behind his back.

Ahk paused for a moment to process the answer, a detached coldness glazing over his eyes.

"Fetch me some rope, will you?" He said, and your eyes went wide, limbs suddenly scrambling backwards.

"Yes sir," Naguib said as he left the room.

"Please don't," you asked, almost on the verge of begging. Your wrists were just now barely healing, the blisters from tweed rope bruised instead of bleeding. "I'll stay with you in the market. I won't try to escape."

"I'm sorry, pet, truly," he said as he knelt on the bed, crawling up until he pinned you against the wall, your thighs pressed tightly together as you stared with pleading eyes.

"Please, Ahk," you begged, succumbing to your natural self-protective instinct.

"It won't be for long," he promised, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You shivered in disgust of his movements. "I'll come back in a few hours and I'll... I'll take you anywhere you want to visit, alright?"

His kind words made you falter, and once more you reminded yourself of an unfortunate illness that happened often to those kidnapped by lust-driven people. It was a condition you'd seen a few times––the kidnapped begins to sympathize with the kidnapper, falls in love with them, and never realizes the implication of it all.

Those sweet words of his would not bring you to your knees. You kept your resolve best you could, even as tears began to well in your eyes, pain shooting through your nerves as he wrapped the tweed rope back around your wrists and tied you to the bed frame.

Before he left to follow Naguib, he kissed your forehead again, brushing the hair out of your face as he did.

"I'll have the servants bring you some food," he said, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed sharply. Since you were last tied up, this would be your first moment alone, hidden deep within the stone walls of an alien palace. Irritation grew within you as you looked to the paintings on the wall, and soon you were grunting as you pulled at your restraints. The rough hay poked at your skin, stabbed and chafed as you struggled, attempting to find some give in the tight knot.

In the end you lay back down on your side, tears crossing your eyes and temple as blood began to drip from your already-bruised skin.

Damn him, you thought, sniffling. I swear I'll kill him.

About an hour later––though you had no idea of knowing how much time had actually passed––a servant came to visit you, a tray of food in hand. You sat up best you could, attempting to wipe away your teary shame.

"My name's Haji," he said. "I've seen you around, with the Pharaoh. I'm sorry."

"... thank you," you said blankly, despite the horrifying array of emotions that came to you. That was the first time you'd actually gotten sympathy in this Godforsaken place. Mostly you were met with people who thought you were lucky, or people who thought you were bad for the King.

"Yeah.. do you want me to undo those?" He asked, gesturing to the rope.

"Yes please," you mumbled, shoulders tightening as a blush dusted your cheeks.

He reached up, nails digging into the strange knot. Slowly it began to loosen, eventually falling over your shoulders, with your arms no longer numb from blood loss. Freezing cold first overcame your limbs, followed by tingling warmth that finally brought about movement.

"Thank you," you said, reaching for a roll and biting into it. "Are you actually allowed to do that?"

"Not really," he chuckled, "but usually people like to keep their dignity and not be handfed as an adult."

"Right?" You said, your first smile in Egypt crossing your face. "Ahk insists on it sometimes, it's incredibly strange."

"He probably has some sort of weird mommy complex. I do know he really wants kids," Haji said, drifting off slightly in thought.

Your eyes widened. Is that why he wanted you? Then came the next question, barreling into your mind without thought for your sanity––were you the child, or was he keeping you there to have his children?

You very nearly threw up.

"... but that's probably just because he enjoys protecting people," he finished.

"You seem to know him well," you said, attempting to speak through your nausea.

"I've worked for the royal family my entire life. I kind of grew up with the Pharaoh... he used to steal wine from the kitchen and I always let him. Don't really want to risk saying no to a royal," he joked.

"I understand," you said softly. "If it makes you feel better, it doesn't really matter what you say. He'll take whatever he wants."

"I know," he said, looking to you with a regretful brow. He allowed a moment of silence before he asked, "you begged with him, didn't you?"

"Yes," you said, voice cracking.

"Bit of advice? If you struggle physically, he'll get more forceful, but if you cry, he'll feel bad about himself and stop," he said.

Without thought you burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as you tried to stop the torrent of giggles. He grinned as well, less amused by his advice, and more delighted that you found it so entertaining. Caught up in your own laughter, neither of you noticed the door swinging open by the Pharaoh's hand. When you did turn, you found the King beaming at you, his smile bright enough to fill the whole of the room.

"Amoke!" He said, striding across the room to you. Your eyes darted quickly to Haji, who looked as alarmed as you, before you were pulled from your spot and heaved into a tight hug by Ahk. Even there you glanced to Haji, whose mouth was now open in disbelief.

"Um, I'll leave you two alone," Haji said, gingerly raising himself from the spot on the bed.

Ahk promptly dropped you back into the soft cushions, a high-pitched huff unwillingly leaving you as you landed.

"Nonsense Haji! You made my pet laugh," he said, turning from Haji to you as he spoke your name, fingers dragging beneath your chin to force you upwards. "Considering I've rarely seen Amoke smile, much less laugh, I think some new arrangements in order. You shall join us on our journey to Thebes."

"Like... a professional friend..?"

"Sure. Whatever you'd like to name yourself. Go get packed––we leave within the hour," he said, information that sent Haji bolting out the door with an obedient, 'yes sir'.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you noted with mild suspicion.

“Someone burned a whole pot of blue lotus and it got caught in the, um, room. With the traders. You know, where I was for an hour. That’s probably why.”

"Oh. I thought we were leaving in two weeks," you said with a confused frown, moving to your feet when Ahk pulled you to do so.

"Not sure where you heard that, but we were hoping to leave within a week. Do you have any belongings you want to bring along?"

"My clothes. I still haven't gotten them back from those washhouse servants," you said.

"Then it shall be done. By someone else. We need to get to the docks. I'm assuming you've never been to Thebes before?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it," he said, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. "The orgies there are fantastic."

[sashayaweh]

Sam and Bucky dance to this song after having to take refuge in a safe house during a particularly high stakes mission. Theres a record player and Sam makes this necessary senior citizen taunts when he catches Bucky's frequent glances towards where it sits on the wooden shelf. Eventually, Sam walls over to fiddle with it because Bucky insists on faking disinterest, but Sam really wants to see him being not-so-boring for once. It was rare to see the other man take interests in his surroundings, barring the hyperawareness that he had for every environment he found himself in.

Sam could almost imagine Bucky's robo-brain whirring to calculate all the exits, people, and vantage points for any possible threat. He never seemed to fully relax. Even sitting in a chair, he sat stiffly as if he was ready to leap out at at any moment. Sam could understand. He wasn't brainwashed and weaponized for 70 years, sure. But he has seen war and death. Things he'd rather forget. And he's felt fear. The initial fear of the thousand foot free falls, the fear of the police and the banks, and the fear of losing himself in it all. So, Sam gets the mental burden and understands how hard it is to leave once you're in.

So, he fiddles with the record player and pretends not to know how to work it. There's no other records visible, but luckily one is still in place. Bucky would eventually get irritated and put everything into place because he knows what Sam is doing. And he knows that Sam knows. Because Sam knows everything. Bucky assumes this from the amount of time the other man spends talking. So, he puts the record on like old times and ignores the lump trying to force its way up and the memories that resurface. Steve-

"You're lucky, man. Etta James, and a classic at that, talk about a two for one. Looks like our luck it starting to turn around, CP30," Sam smile toothily and Bucky wants to do do something to that gap in his teeth. He doesn't quite know what that is yet. Maybe punch it because Sam knows he doesn't understand that obvious reference. But Sam's smile soften to a close, and the corners curl at the edges as his head begins to sway with the notes. Like silk curtains, his eyes slip close in simple pleasure as if he was settling himself into the music.

Bucky watches and feels awkward. At some point, in the past, he would know what to do in the situation. He would know what to do with the violins and the soulful tones curling words of longing into the air. And tired fulfillment. Maybe, he would know what to do with Sam but he doubts it. Or at least how to...be himself. Maybe then they wouldn't argue for once. Sam opens his eyes and looks over to see Bucky who stood, stone faced and deep in thought. The focus of his hooded stare was intense and Sam scoffed. The other man was being broody again.

"Are you even listening to the music or did you zone out again?" He shifts, slightly elbowing his companion and Bucky blinks, his thoughts shifting back to the present.

"You started talking, I couldn't help myself," Bucky quips and Sam let's out a soft scoft that becomes a short laugh. Bucky feels his own lips twitch.

"You gotta relax, man. You could beat a piñata with the stick you have up your ass," Sam shakes his head. That wide tooth smile is back but this time its less cocky and a little more warm. Bucky rolls his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot. At least he understood the reference this time.

Sam sighs and stops the music. He replaces the needle at the original point and let's it go. After a few seconds of crackling silence, the song fills the room again. Sam slaps the back of his hand gently against Bucky's chest and steps back with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wanna dance, old man?"

Bucky gently freezes in shock but Sam catches it because he expected it, really. Its why he asked in the first place. He wants to shake up that tightly wound exposure that Bucky has at all times. And he was bored. Bucky was not a talkative person and their current predicament left them without many sources for entertainment. It'd been hours since they arrived, yet Sam was feeling the time pass under his skin like an itch. He was exhausted and body weary, but it was better to stay awake so he could orient to the new time zone. As a result, he couldn't help but pester the other man.

"No."

Sam just kept looking at him. His gaze was sleepy, but a twinkle of the earlier mischief still shined through. Similarly, his skin reflected the warmth of the sun as it clung to the early evening and seeped through the windows. It was lucky that they got to be above ground this time.

The staring lasted a long moment. Like it always did. Then Sam shrugged.

"I know dancing may not be a particular talent of yours-" but before he could finish, Bucky was in his space and the rest of Sam's sentenced disappeared with some of his bravado. Bucky was fast and his sudden closeness wasn't expected given the man's reservations a second ago. The sudden adrenaline that had sparked through Sam's started to fade too. He wasn't scared of his companion, but the man's behavior was largely still a mystery to Sam which meant that sometimes he was caught off-guard.

Bucky raised his right hand out, brow arched expectantly, and Sam took it with caution. The man's other hand rose to hover a few inches above Sam's hip, and it took a few moments before he realized Bucky was waiting for permission. His cheeks warmed and he hoped his complexion made it less obvious. He gently guided the metal hand until Bucky settled it on the jut of his hip, the surface cool and smooth under his soft hold.

"Aren't you a gentleman? Thats that old-school chivalry," Sam teased. Bucky pulled their bodies closer and smirked wryly.

"I aim to please." A new song had started and Bucky briefly tore his attention from the heat he felt spreading along his front. He hadn't danced in a long time. Not like this.

The current song featured a masculine husk crooning affections for the listener. It was accompanied by the distinct, steady tempo of a piano. Bucky felt his body catch the music, the way he'd been taught, quickly adjusting to an appropriate rhythm. Sam followed without much of a pause, finally starting to settle into the feelings of sharing this foreign intimacy with the familiar stranger who was holding him so damn gently. Even so, Bucky gripped him firmly like he'd catch Sam if he even thought about falling.

It was...nice. Nicer than Sam (or either of them, really) had expected. He hadn't been held in who knows how long. He was too busy and had mostly outgrown flings, but it wouldn't be fair to a potential partner if he randomly left on long missions that required little to no contact with those who didn't have the clearance. But that was kind of an excuse. Since everything that had happened, Sam hasn't much felt like having others in his space. He was a social person and owned that, sure. But it was hard to open up authentically as much as he teased Bucky about his tendency to isolate himself. He tries to take the advice he regularly gives to the veterans he takes under his wing. Its enough to sustain his close relationships, including whatever he has going on with One Armed Wonder, but he has little energy to offer anyone else. He has to remind himself that thats okay.

Without thinking, Sam realized he had sunk his head into the crook of Bucky's shoulder. He had started to drift, still following the gentle sways of his partner's body like a boat welcoming the gentle rocking of small waves after a storm. Bucky hadn't said anything, luckily, so Sam remains in his position and enjoys the comforting sounds of soul that has wrapped around them.

He had finally put Bucky onto some real good conditioner after growing sick of the greasy tresses the man sported as the Winter Soldier. No judgement. Its hard to have a solid hair care routine as an international assassin for magic super Nazis. But now, it smelled like honeyed coconuts instead of the scentless, dollar brands he used to buy at random. Even though Bucky's hair was shorter, Sam still caught wiffs of it near his neck. It was more noticeable this close given the man's lack of cologne.

Bucky had noticed earlier when Sam's head dipped into his shoulder. Shortly after, he though he had heard soft snores, but the man's body had otherwise remained upright and solid like usual. He had continued to follow the pattern they'd set, so Bucky had just shifted his hand to his partner's lower back to provide support and kept their pace steady. Otherwise, he lost himself in the heat of Sam's hand and the confusing stillness that had settled in his chest. He felt...anchored. But that was Sam. He was strong and steady, and reliable, but just as capable of sinking as anyone else without the support he inarguable deserved. The support Bucky tried to provide.

Steve was gone now. He'd left the both of them to figure out the aftermath of everything that had happened. Bucky wondered if it hurt Sam like it hurt for him. He didn't blame his Steve; couldn't begrudge him that act of selfishness after all they'd been through. Without Rogers' strong presence between them, they had been left to scramble in the gap and reshape it for two. Sam had his family and Bucky had his therapist, but nobody could understand the them as much as the other, as different as they are. So here they are, slow dancing in a safehouse Rhodes had been generous enough to lend them on short notice. He was amicable towards Bucky, but the generosity was really for Sam. Bucky's neck itched, likely with dried sweat, and he sighed internally. He needed a shower.

The man worked his hand against Sam's lower back instinctually and the other man responds with a questioning hum tinged with sleepiness. Bucky doesnt have an answer so they continue in silence. The song had changed. It was a woman again. She was singing the Blues, if Bucky guessed correctly. He's been picking up more of the music Sam liked. It could be relaxing but full-bodied one moment or rich and thrilling the next.

So far, he has only worked his way up the mid-80s. Sam jokesthat his sensitive hearing isnt prepared for the young and hip tastes that dominate the charts, but he'll still sneak recent artists into his recommendations so Bucky isnt completely "out of the loop." Like always, Bucky would just roll his eyes, but now and again he closes them and try to imagine what Sam felt when listened to the music. Wonders at the connections the man shares with the melodies, and the histories curved into the lyrics. Some things, he couldn't ever understand, even if he tries. So, other times, he just listens.

Now, he's curled over his partner's slightly shorter stature, nose brushing the other man's temple. Sam was not a small man. He was built like a brick house. His upper body was strong, but his lower half was thick with muscle and padded by soft curves of flesh. Probably because he only does legs. Meanwhile, Bucky's own body is near the opposite: wide, sturdy chest that tapers to a firm waist and steady, straight legs. They contrast nicely, Bucky thinks. Filling up the spaces the other doesn't. For two people of their size, they still manag to fit snugly with little space between their bodies. Any closer, and Bucky isn't sure how he'd handle the proximity. He feels lulled into the calmness of the evening that had unexpectedly crept up on them in the quiet of everything around them, save for the music.

The two danced a bit longer, but eventually Sam's body grew too weary after the lack of sleep. With hesitancy, they quietly parted after the final notes of the song slipped from the record player. Bucky turns stopped the music while Sam flops into the nearby couch. His growing exhaustion does not stop him from throwing a smirk Bucky's way which the man met with his regular deadpan stare.

"Not bad. Not a single hip replacement necessary. I'd say thats a success for two old men." Sam quipped. Bucky stayed silent.

"You're not old," he finally said. He hadn't moved from his spot by the record player.

"Hmmm. Well, compared to you, 42 isn't that old." Sam lets his eyes close again but Bucky clears his throat, causing one of them to open in question.

"There's a bedroom upstairs," he explains carefully. They've been on the move for some time now with little time for real rest. If Sam was going to finally sleep then it should be in a real bed, at least.

Sam lets out out a quick laugh, "if you think you can butter me up with a dance-"

Bucky cuts off his teasing with a quick glare. If there was ever a moment being the Winter Soldier has served him, it was now. Otherwise, the heat he could feel trying to redden his ears would send Sam into a fit of hysterics.

"I did a perimeter check when we arrived. There's three bedrooms upstairs. All of them have en-suites bathrooms so take your choice," Bucky grumbles out, avoiding eye contact with his counterpart. The earlier stillness he had felt was slowly disappearing now that they were interacting again. His nerves were more taxed than before. He'll analyze that later. Maybe with his therapist, but she was kind of petty, so maybe not.

Sam's teasing smirk has settled into something a little more kind as he rises frim his seat and crosses the room to where Bucky stands. He roughly claps the other man's arm a couple of times before settling the familiar weight of his hand at the ball of Bucky's shoulder.

"I'm just messing with you, man. Thanks though. That couch would do my back in after being thrown by that explosion. Luckily, you were there to provide some cushioning," he says with that toothy smile. Before Bucky can respond, Sam bids him goodnight and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bucky watches him go, dry-mouthed and slightly confused. Once Sam has completely disappeared from view, Bucky takes in his surroundings and feels the emptiness of the room without Wilson's presence.

He'll do one more perimeter check then turn in for the night. Even he can feel the pullings of sleep. Maybe tonight, he'll dream about dancing.

[mytwistedhome]

𝓝𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓮 ~ 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮'𝓼

Gender-Neutral Reader ; written in present tense & second person pov

I, personally, adore Valentine's Day no matter my relationships, but I know that this day is associated with loneliness for a lot of people, so... this particular story was written for that feeling in mind. I hope you all are able to find love and allow it into your hearts every day in any way.

You're standing at the edge of the wishing well, with beautiful clothes and your hair done well. The air is warm for the coming of March, and the sun melts away the last mounds of shimmering snow on this final February morning.

And, with snow in mind, you remember Neige, whose name and essence is that of snow. He was the one who asked you here just a week ago. It's the reason why you're dressed so nicely right now—he insisted upon a day with you soon, and of course, a day with him by your side was reason enough to look your best. This morning, however, you found it difficult to put the effort into getting ready. There was a hesitance weighing you down upon rising from your bed; an identifiable feeling that made it hard to do much of anything. But, once you started, you found yourself being lifted into a better mood, and you tried to enjoy the process of getting ready and pretty.

Indeed, you look so pretty, but you don't quite feel so as you stare at your reflection in the water of the well. Though your mood as slowly gotten better over the last couple weeks, you still feel a weight at your chest. The loneliness that Valentine's brings when you spend it void of company or gifts.

You wonder if Neige had noticed you down because of that day of love... He had, after all, asked you out after seeing you sad for several days. You appreciate his thought, but you hate to think that this was out of pity, for if it's done of pity, than it isn't sincere.

But... you trust that Neige's intention isn't as such. You know him to be genuine and honest—too sweetly simple to be anything but. You know he only would ask to be with you if he, himself, truly wanted to. He had to.

You let out a breath, a deep exhalation that clears your thoughts, and you focus your gaze back to the water of the well. Slight ripples and waves are made with every small vibration that the water seems to sense, though you don't know what it could possibly be. Something so subtle to make the water tremble?

Oh, but it doesn't matter now. You look up from the well and onto the earth around you. Much of the trees are still bare from having suffered through the winter, but in just a few more weeks, everything would bud and grow green again. Everything will be full of life. You don't quite know if you're excited for or dreading this year's spring. What is spring even like in Twisted Wonderland? You realize, now, that you do not even know.

But, before you can ponder further on the things you still have yet to learn of wonderland, you a familiar voice echoing gently through the barren woods. Soft and beautiful, but projected clearly... how pretty.

The voice grows louder as the prince approaches. It is a song of no words, just voice moving up and down to create a wonderful melody—one that could entrance you for all eternity.

Louder, still, you're able to hear exactly where the voice is coming from. Your turn your head toward a clearing between the trees, catching the shadow of a young man coming into view.

"Neige!" you call out to him and wave your hand in greeting. A wide smile unexpectedly spreads over your lips; you wouldn't have guessed that you'd be as happy as this.

Neige beams when he sees you, his expression so bright it could warm any frigid winter day. Running to you, he exclaims, "I'm so happy you came!"

The joy is shared, you say in your head as Neige gets near. He does not hesitate to hug you at once, embracing you tightly as if he'd missed you dearly.

You hug him back and inhale a sweet scent of apple and daisy. He feels so warm within your arms, and you are so grateful for even this brief affection.

But, of course, the moment cannot last forever, and Neige pulls away, still standing close. "How are you?" he asks, "I know it hasn't been long since I last saw you, but it really seemed like it. You look beautiful!"

"I've been good!" you answer him. It is a white lie, or, perhaps, the goodness you feel within this moment is enough to make all of February become a fond memory. Your heart is beating fast hearing that he missed you enough to feel a drawl in the time spent away from you, and you find yourself smiling ever wider. "How has your week been?"

"It's been really good," he answers with a smile as he leans over the well, "Though, this month has not been the most fun."

Your own smile falters upon hearing that. You had been feeling the same way, and it made you sad to think that Neige could be feeling any similarly...

"Oh, no! Please, don't get the wrong idea!" he rushes to correct his words upon seeing your face fall. "It hasn't been bad at all, just less fun compared to the month before. Winning VDC was such a wonderful moment, but the weeks that followed have felt empty in comparison. That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy them." His sweet expression returns, "What about you? I know you managed the team for Vil. You did a wonderful job! But it must have felt lonely to no longer have rehearsals."

You fluttered your eyelashes, surprised how just spot on he was... The weeks have, indeed, been extremely lonely. You no longer have so many friends at your dorm, and having that companionship you didn't even realize you loved so much stripped away made for such a lonely month, and led to sulking Valentine's. Yes, "lonely" is the perfect word.

You are honest when you answer him, though you try to phrase it in a way that isn't so distressing. "Yes, you're exactly right... I miss the rehearsals and seeing everyone so often. It is lonely without them. I miss them a lot sometimes."

Neige's expression softens into one of understanding and compassion. "I completely know how you feel," he reassures you, "There's always an emptiness when we're no longer able to see the people we've become close to, but that leaves you room to get comfortable with just yourself. You don't have to feel lonely when you're alone!"

"Yes, you're right... thank you, Neige," you say, so appreciative of his kind words. Someone like him must never feel alone... There's enough love in his heart to entertain himself forever. Perhaps there was something to learn from that.

Neige takes your arm and pulls you closer toward the well. "How about we wish to never feel lonely ever again?" he smiles brightly, "I read in a story long ago... if you sing a wish into a well, and it sings it back, than it means the well has heard it, and it's sure to come true."

Your cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment, hesitating to sing in the middle of the woods. "Oh... I'm not sure..." is all your able to muster out, but of course, Neige insists.

"There's nothing to worry! Wouldn't you like to make a wish?" he laughs a little upon saying that, "I guess it is a little silly, but there's no harm in trying. Here, I'll go first."

You watch as Neige leans further over the wall, stretching gracefully with his arms gripping the stone. "I'm wishing~" he sings, his voice a perfect melody. And then, quickly, he turns his ear to the water, eyes growing wide as the well echoes his voice. "Did you hear that?" he asks you, "The well can hear us!"

You nod your head enthusiastically, showing him a beautiful smile. Wonderland is full of wonderful things... Perhaps this well is magic, too.

Neige continues with his song. "I'm wishing~" he repeats, waiting for the well's reply, and then, "For joy when I'm alone~"

The well echoes him perfectly, and you gaze down at the rippling water with so much hope. A small part of you may still doubt the magic that Neige promises, but even just believing, just pretending, is enough for you to enjoy.

"It's your turn...!" he says to you gently, beckoning you not to be shy.

You nod your head bend over the well, pressing your lips together as your heart begins to race. You hesitate a moment, but eventually find the courage to repeat the words he sang. "I'm wishing~" your voice comes out meek and soft, but there is still a faint echo that whispers back.

"Yes!" Neige exclaims, "Keep going!"

You take a breath and, with a bit more confidence, you sing, "For joy when I'm alone~" The well repeats your words clearly, assuring you that it heard, providing you with a hope that it just might come true.

As you straighten yourself beside the well, you feel a blissful lightness at your chest, and you smile true happiness. All the weight of the month sees to slip away, tumbling and drowning into the water below, leaving you with a serenity well-deserved.

You turn to Neige and smile. "Thank you. That was wonderful."

He grins in return. "I know! It's one of my favorite things to do, and you were wonderful."

Your heart flutters, and the two of you laugh together, simply happy to be with each other's company.

Neige soon breaks the pleasant stillness as he reaches his arm out to you. "Come on; we can't stay here all day. Let's take a walk together."

You nod your head and take his arm gently, linking it with yours. You walk together side-by-side across the stony pathway that led out of the woods and into the courtyard of RSA. "It's really a beautiful day," Neige says as he glances at the mounds of melting snow. "I love when the sun shines during winter. Everything is pretty."

You giggle to yourself lightly, "Yes, I agree! It's easy to be happy on a day like this." And you walk on with him, knowing that this will be a wonderful day.

[cross-d-a]

Pass the happy!💖 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications!

(I have decided that Discord notifs count because I love you dearly and wanna hear what makes you happy)

HELLO!!!! I love you and I kinda really needed this and I think you know that so thank you!!!!! I love and appreciate you SO MUCH!!

Also I've literally been thinking about this post for two hours and so I'm not gonna stick to just five- I'm gonna list MORE than that because I wanna remind myself that there are many wonderful things in the world to be happy about and also PICS!! I'm adding PICS bc I CAN!!!!!!!!!

under the cut bc it gets LONG! :)

1) YOU make me happy, Sierra!!!!!!! Also @s1utspeare and @vishcount and of course my bff @haru-tl !!! You guys are so fucking incredible and talented and AMAZING!!!! I love you all SO MUCH!!! You always make my day!!! And all the dmbj peeps!!! I am so lucky to know so many wonderful people!!!!

2) as long as we're on the subject of people- I absolutely can't leave out my coworkers!!! Literally some of the best people I've ever met in my life. I have so much fun with them. I can always count on them making me laugh.

Like today, we were talking about this reptile house a few towns away and my manager was telling us about their cool anaconda exhibit where you can crawl under the glass tank and watch them eat and she mentioned their teeth being scary. So I googled Anaconda Teeth and went WOAH THEY'RE COOL and our Resident Snake Expert came over and went actually that pic is from the movie Anaconda. And then he helped me find Real Pics and the teeth were even COOLER. I left the Google search up on the work computer and a couple hours when I was on lunch I heard Mike exclaim: "I had NO idea that ANACONDAS had TEETH!!!!!!" Which?? MIKE?? WHAT??? Hahaha everyone burst into laughter :)

3) my cat BOOTS makes me happy!! He's always asking for belly scritches and he drools when he's happy. Here's a pic bc I adore him:

4) my new baby boy So Mun from The Uncanny Counter makes me VERY happy!!!!! He's just- the Sweetest Boy to have ever Baby'd!!! I adore his little crinkly-eyed smile and curly hair!!! He's just so GOOD it makes me cry!! Also!! Disabled rep!!!!! LOVE HIM!!!!! Look at his lil' FACE:

and bc he is Unfortunately Very Hot in his mourning outfit:

adding this too bc LOOK AT THAT ADORABLE SMILE I wanna SCREAM

5) my Pangzi necklace makes me happy!!! I have an Iron Triangle matching set, but the Pangzi one I first put on bc of Brigid's Pangzi chapter for Swiftly Tilting and then I kinda just- never took it off haha. It's just so pretty and makes me feel like I've got a bit of Pangzi with me at all times. I love that man SO much and if I can be even a fraction of how wonderful he is, then I can die happy

6) the smell of the sea makes me happy!!! It makes me feel refreshed and relaxed! I live by Puget Sound and on very lucky days I can smell it at my house! Tonight was a lucky night! I came home and it smelled like the seashore, so I kept my window open as I folded laundry :)

7) my new collection of Kpop CDs makes me happy!! It's entirely bc of Vish's influence and I LOVE her for it!!! The packaging is just so pretty and I always love being able to hold things that give me Good Feelings in my hands :)

8) since we're on the subject of COLLECTIONS, I love to collect things!! And one collection of things that makes me happy are my books!! I have- too many. Working in a bookstore makes it too easy to buy them! But seeing the bright spines on my shelves gives me delight. I particularly really like my queer manga collection!! I've got four whole shelves of it! :) I'd offer a pic but I'm too tired to go upstairs, haha but I love the art and the representation 🌈

9) I ALSO really love all the figures I collect! Seeing characters that I love on a daily basis makes me happy. I usually decorate my bookshelves with them. One set that makes me particularly happy are my Pingxie ones. They look like they're getting married and it delights me:

10) another purchase that is entirely bc of Vish (I ADORE you!!) is my Chimmy blanket!! He's just so adorable and bright and coming home every day to see him waiting on my bed makes me very happy

11) yet another bright yellow thing that makes me happy is my dmbj Xiao Ge coaster!! It's so sparkly and fun AND it's a friendship coaster I share with Sierra!! We've got a matching set, babe!! I love you!! Let's just shake them around and be distracted by the sparkles forever!!

12) coming back to work from my weekend to find a bunch of manga to shelve always makes me very happy!!! Buying/pricing/shelving manga is my favourite thing to do at work! I love seeing familiar and new titles!

And it's interesting to see how prices can change if it goes out of print! Sometimes every single book in a series but ONE is the same price. Like last month we had a series where like/ volume 8 was worth $250 vs the regular $7.99 for the rest of them. And someone BOUGHT IT!! Things like that can happen randomly. It can be bc it was a smaller printing for that particular volume. OR something special happens in it (new character appearance/fan favourite story arc/BOOBS), so more ppl want to keep it which means it's harder to come by (and then sellers raise their prices BC it's difficult to come by). You usually see the collectible value go up for out of print BL or older series like Aria or Lupin III. Not everything that's out of print is collectible, but it's always interesting when it is :)

13) DAY6's The Book of Us: Gravity has graciously given me a big serotonin boost the last couple days!! It's just- I dunno! Uplifting! Catchy! Full of energy! :)

14) similarly, I've been listening to Close Your Eyes by Isaac Hong almost exclusively for like- five days now! It's from The Uncanny Counter and it makes me very happy! It's very emotional and just reminds me of my baby boy So Mun :)

15) sunshine makes me happy!! I'm at that point in the year where I don't want rain anymore, just sun! So it's always nice having my windows open at home with the sun shining through. Or the back doors at work propped open while we go about our day. It's almost impossible to feel sad when you get to bask in the warmth of the sun and smell the nice fresh air

16) finding weird random books at work makes me happy! It's so fun seeing the kinds of things people read! And sometimes you find cool ephemera in the things people sell to us that they don't want back. Like- look at this pic from an older fortune-telling birthday book I found. She is 1000% Drowning Him and I love that for her :)

17) reading manga makes me happy. There are just so many wonderful and ridiculous series out there. There really is nothing "too weird to publish" in the manga world. I was reminded of this the other day when I discovered a series about a girl who timetravels and finds out that her soulmate is a Neanderthal. You can literally find a series about ANYTHING in the manga world and I love that about it. There's no limit to the imagination and there's something for everyone :)

18) when I'm in the mood, writing and drawing make me happy. There's just something about creating that really just- fills the soul :)

19) making playlists makes me happy!! I love having playlists for characters and relationships and fics and even specific fic chapters or moods or going to sleep! (And rec playlists! Like Vish's :) ) It's just- so satisfying having the Perfect Playlist on hand! Plus it's fun actually making them- like figuring out the mood/lyrics and what they fit into :) I listen to music almost constantly, so this is essential! :)

So thank you Sierra!! It was nice to remind myself about a lot of different things that bring joy to my life!! I love and adore you SO MUCH 💖💖💖

[jaeminlore]

bard!taeil ^_^

commissioned by @warmau luv u thank you for giving me free reign i’m sorry i used it all on world building

words: 5k+

a/n: sorry this is a bit late ! also for any mistakes !

okay first thought when given free reign of a story is PRINCE or ROYAL bc that is where my mind is for every story i love a good castle moment

i just think they’re neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but yknow i was thinking about bards and also my skyrim game and how annoying yet precious the bards are in the inn. and if that is not taeil i will eat my own foot,,,,, like omg i forgot his name i think it’s mikael?? he’s at the inn in riften!!! i beat him up to preserve the honor of some lady and now we’re best friends ^_^ anyways he’s lovable and it makes me think of taeil

i miss taeil i read a post about how precious he is and it made me feel some type of way ,,,,, my favorite taeil era was cherry bomb bc the CHOKER and the EYELINER and he just felt like the embodiment of that tiktok sparkly filter

okay now that that’s over

this story is set in a lone kingdom called intima,,,, intima is a word meaning the heart of something and it’s where the word intimacy comes from and it makes me feel warm and happy so i assume it will make the people of intima happy too !!!!! it’s an island centered around the sun — and YOU my dear reader are the eldest princess, the first before six younger siblings !!!

as the oldest, the throne is in your future, and you are set to be the reigning queen WHICH you are quite excited about this isn’t one of those aus where you hate your kingdom and your job and serving,, you LOVE your people and your culture and you genuinely can’t wait to become queen

i’m going to set the world!!!! bc world-building gives me endorphins >.>

intima is a HEAVILY floral-filled island. the clivia (or bush lily) is the capitol flower, often associated with patriotism or pride for intima as an island!!! it’s the flower people pin to their chest during coronations or royal festivals!! and the yellow/orange/coral shades are often what you and your siblings wear to represent yourselves and your island.

intima is a land of equality!!! bc i said so!! and also because the culture is purely built on gratitude and kindness ,,,,, i like to think the spirituality or “religion” in the culture is the worship of the sun and the warmth it brings,,,, a sort of serving the thing that shines a path for the hopeless!!!! there are hundreds of poems and legends and songs about the sun and who she once was and why she blesses intima with her harvests and all kinds of other things and i do have the time to get into it but i know all of you do not

intima also believes that art is hard work!!! and it’s one of the most respected jobs there are!!! like a busker or a street painter are often praised and it’s expected of islanders to tip them and stay to praise them a bit!!! and usually they’ll sell their art (if that’s what they made) afterwards!!!! and poets will read for the children and adults alike and they’ll sell their services to like,,, people who struggle to put their words down on paper and it’s all very helpful and lovely

farmers and fishermen are well respected as well!!!! ofc they bring the food in and the vendors at the marketplace sell them while the artists keep entertainment going. it’s a lovely system and often as the seasons change people will shift their jobs so a vendor will decide to create for a season or a fisherman may decide he wants to sell wares,,, it’s a system so that people can enjoy where they are as well as express they’re creativity properly

and the wealth is distributed equally so that no one goes hungry!!! everyone helps each other out to find a job that fits them!!! and not many people take advantage of the system because it’s quite shameful to refuse helping your fellow neighbor

so yes!!! kindness and helping each other out is not only expected but it is often an indicator of how respected you are as a member of society

ungrateful people get the shame cone >:(

the island is HUGE and set in a sort of jagged star shape, with villages and markets surrounding the castle itself!!! and there’s a moat surrounding the castle made from the streams that trail in from the sea ,,,, and the harbors are quite beautiful if you stand atop the castle walls you can see the ships come and go and it is just *chef’s kiss* immaculate

and the moat is so beautiful i can just imagine the ferns!! like palm brush ferns and tiger lilies and birds of paradise just lining either side of the moat,,, so pretty :( and the moat isn’t to keep people out!!! it’s actually a natural pool for the villagers when it gets too hot :)!! but otherwise the drawbridge is always down so people can come and go throughout the courtyards

similarly, the castle walls run down the island as main roads, leading to the actual castle where the main courtyard sits.

you and your siblings are very personal with your subjects, and it’s not uncommon for the princes and princesses to walk hand in hand with those of a lower class than them,,,, esp bc there isn’t really a class system in place. since wealth is evenly distributed,,,, it’s evenly distributed to the royals as well, and everyone lives comfortably. the only added expense are gifts!!! so if there’s a birthday or something more wealth might be offered to the recipients by default

the courtyards!!! are so beautiful!!! there are four in total but the one i want to focus on is the coronation courtyard!!! this is the courtyard where the coronations and celebrations are held!!!

but when there aren’t any coronations, it’s where people hang out to have picnics or sell their wares or tell stories!!!

and this is where we see taeil!!!!

every day our hero brings his life and ~sings~ a different story to whoever happens to be walking by. he’s actually hugely popular with many of intima’s people,,,, mostly because his voice is like HONEY and his smile reminds everyone of home

he has like,,,,, kind big brother who only comes home for thanksgiving but each time is more memory-filled than the last energy ,,,,, anyways

you don’t actually notice him at first!!! because usually he isn’t in the coronation courtyard.

also you’re too busy planning your OWN coronation

#queenshit and all you know the vibes

it actually isn’t until yuta points out that there is a “very tiny man singing about how beautiful you are” in the courtyard that you’re actually like,,,, okay,,,,,, interesting..?

and at first you’re like shut up yuta i’m trying to work on seating placements you know ten from iacto can’t sit beside donghyuck from stella or they’ll start a prank war during MY coronation

also there are a lot of people who write songs about you and your siblings that’s just how the vibes are !!!!!

you and your siblings are known for your beauty and kindness, so many creatives often use y’all as muses

so you just brush it off

and go back to your planning

which actually consists of you begging your advisors to make little goodie bags for everyone on the entire island (they WILL eventually agree because who doesn’t want a small bee charm necklace or some cleansing crystals)

but i digress

it’s not until you visit the courtyard to finalize the seating arrangements that you actually see the man your brother was talking about

at first you don’t even realize it’s the same person

sure, this man is short, but he is nothing like the unattractie picture you painted in your mind. not that short men are unattractive, but most men who hit on you are often uhhhh creepy and old bc intima is a beautiful place but men are still a disease

this man is, dare you say it, handsome.

like prettily handsome

his hair is a warm chestnut that falls over his eyebrows in loose curls. strands curl and bend around his ears and his eyes are lined with what seems like kohl

his lips are pursed, and he’s too far away for you to hear him, but he seems to be singing

you tear your eyes away from his coral-colored jerkin and try to focus on the seating arrangements

in the end, you leave the work to your advisors, choosing to break away and listen to the lonesome bard

and just IMAGINE for a moment taeil singing like real people do by hozier

just taeil singing any hozier song i cannot get over the thought of it >_>

those are the vibes for this story

taeil a sexy irish bog man

not really but i’ll bookmark the idea for later !!!!

okay so imagine him singing real people do or sunshine and it’s so gentle and warm coming from his mouth that you’re entranced at the very start of it,,,, you’ve heard tales of sirens luring sailors into the sea,,, and they’ve always sounded quite far fetched but now that you’re hearing taeil’s voice you’re like,,,,,, maybe it’s possible

you sidle up to another listener and ask for his name

“taeil moon”

it’s a befitting name. you run it over your tongue for a good while until it feels familiar,,, and when the song is finally over, you clap and shout a few praises, thinking your voice would get caught in the crowd

but taeil catches your gaze, and he strums a sour note on his lute. it’s a swift apology and an even swifter exit as he leaves the courtyard.

you watch him go, unsure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable knowing you were there. “is he alright?” you ask the same listener who told you taeil’s name. they answer, “he’s never left a set before. perhaps you frightened him, princess.”

you DID frighten him. moving into taeil’s point of view, the man has been declaring his infatuation with you for months now and you’ve never come to listen. he suddenly feels naked and vulnerable,,, the one person he chose to write songs about is the future queen and he could very well be executed for such unauthorized poetry

(as if executing is something intima didn’t outlaw ages ago)

so taeil is just a tiny bit dramatic, and he clings to the honest hope that you came to his show late and didn’t hear his declaration. his “all my love songs of now and forever after are for the princess y/n” that he starts every set with. he feels like a fool, so he finds himself hiding in the royal gardens, far behind the brush and hedges, where a lone forgotten fountain rusts. still water bubbles out of the spout, but there isn’t enough for the fountain to actually flow, so it just makes an incredibly awkward gurgling sound as taeil strums his lute and tries to collect his thoughts

taeil doesn’t just like you because you’re the princess. it goes so much deeper than that; he has one faint memory of his graduation out of bards college (it’s a thing in skyrim so it’s a thing in my au) and it consists of you meeting with all of the graduates and giving them each a bush lily from your own personal garden,,,,,,, you also wrote everyone a handwritten letter addressing them by name !!!!!!!!!

and it’s not much to go by at all, and taeil would feel incredibly foolish even bringing up the memory, or the fact that he keeps the card in his memeriy box,,,,, because it’s obvious that you don’t remember him from it, but he can still remember the color of your eyes up close, and he knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your smile,, and just the memory of your fingers grazing his when you handed him the flower and card makes his cheeks warm with childlike fondness

he’s a fool, he knows. he’s also a coward, because he ran at the very sight of you

“you ran off before i could tell you how lovely your voice is.”

taeil falls into the rusting fountain as soon as you round the hedge. he has no idea how you managed to find him, but he can’t really think much about it because he’s soon coughing and shivering from the cold and dirty water he’s just fallen into. he mourns his lute,,,,,, just floating in the shallow water ,,,,,, it’s not dead it’s just wet :/

“oh dear i’m so sorry!” you grab his hand and help him out of the fountain, wincing at the way his clothes cling to his body. (Wait. wait. taeil’s lil baby tummy.... through the sheer shirt,,,,,,, like after he takes off his jerkin to dry it out :(((( omg he’s so cute) “i just wanted to compliment you.”

“thank you, princess,” taeil manages to get out. he paints a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s never been put in a more awkward situation. “it means a lot, honestly.” he decides to avoid the topic of having a crush on you, because he thinks he has experienced plenty of embarrassing moments today, thank you very much. so he changes the topic completely. “good luck, uh, on your coronation. i’m looking forward to it.”

you lower yourself into a mock curtsy. “why thank you. save me a dance during the after party, won’t you?”

taeil nods, not trusting himself to speak, and you bid him goodbye

y’all know taeil’s face where he’s just cheesin. like :D

that’s his face for the rest of the day. and every day up until the coronation !!!!!!

and you visit him!!!! when you can !!!!!!!!

taeil has a very easygoing personality i feel like after the initial awkwardness he’d actually be the one to initiate a friendship!!! like sometimes he leaves you letters by the old fountain !!!!!! :((((

and taeil’s letters are very friendly but every once in awhile he’ll slip in song lyrics that make your heart flutter!!!! just imagine your favorite love song or folk song written out by taeil to you because he learned it and it made him think of you :(( i’m crying and i know you’re crying

one day you have a picnic!!!!!!!!! and it’s just the two of you and taeil thinks he should be nervous but he genuinely does enjoy your company,,,,, and he kinda sort of slowly starts to think of you less as a muse and more as a friend,,,,,, or even maybe a potential ,,,,,,,,, l o v e r oooohhhhhhhh,,,, omg it’s so cute tho he lays out a blanket in front of the fountain and the two of you eat sandwiches and apple juice and :(( eventually the sun makes you both a lil tired so you fall asleep side by side

and you get kind of flustered when you wake up beside taeil like oh 😳 okay 😳 now 😳

the two of you hang around each other in secret. not because it’s against the law or it would be publicized or anything like that,,,, intima is a very casual island and no one would bother the two of you too much,,,,,,,,, but taeil feels like a little secret you aren’t sure you want to share ,,, also your brothers and sisters would tease you relentlessly for giving your time to someone KNOWN for singing love songs about you

your friendship w taeil feels a bit like a bird feather on a windy day,,,,,,, like one hesitant breath could blow him away,,,,,,,, but taeil is so FUNNY and warm and gentle and COMFORTABLE that you slowly start to feel yourself fall for him.

taeil is a story-telling bard in the way that the songs he sings often tell stories of his life or the life of someone famous, installed in their hearts from the moment they were all in elementary school. like imagine him singing a tale about the greek gods or norse mythology or perhaps he goes and bit more fairytale and songs of thumbalina or sleeping beauty

he’s an amazing storyteller, so much so that when the two of you hang out, he often recites some form of verse to you, especially if it’s a legend you love dearly (SIRENS) ,,,,,, but the one thing that kind of irritates you is that he has yet to sing you one of his legendary songs that are “supposedly” for you

you’re not trying to be prideful, but this is the lovely singer everyone has told you about, and you still haven’t heard any of his original songs. or at least, his original songs dedicated to you. you’re very curious to see what you look like in taeil’s eyes, even though it might make you feel horribly vulnerable.

and taeil is like :) obviously :) i’m not going to sing love songs :) about my crush :) to my crush :)

but it’s whatever.

what i want to talk about is the coronation babey !!!!!!!!!!!

it’s very public,,, in the middle of the courtyard,,, and all the market stalls are up selling their wares to the large crowd!!!!! and kids are playing in the moat !!!!! sort of a summer festival and you’re the main event lol. like some people will gather and watch the coronation and some people will be off dancing on the other side of the courtyard but everyone is celebrating the same thing!!

and this is a high fantasy setting so there aren’t any modern things like microphones or speakers aside from a copper horn or smth ,,, but it’s all very fun and festive!!!!

merchants are selling banners of orange and gold,,, yellow roses and tiger lilies,,,,,,, flower crowns and faux scepters for the little kids!!!!!! and there’s lively music for people to dance and celebrate to,,,,,, and can you guess who is in charge of the music !!!!?! TAEIL

he’s got an entire band leading the courtyard and it’s all traditional songs for the most part of taeil is able to slip in a few love songs now and again. and ofc everyone loves them bc they know taeil and OBV it’s hard to hate taeil

but :( you aren’t really focusing on the music since it’s such a big day for you but if you were you’d know that taeil is singing his original songs :((( all the love songs about you,,,,,,,,,,

and i SWEAR i can imagine taeil singing hozier-esque songs..... omg or like mystery of love ,,,,, imagine him singing mystery of love on one side of the courtyard while you’re getting crowned queen on the other side

that image is something that can be so personal to me ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

:(((( and you’re dressed in a tan and peach maiden dress,,,, cloaked in golden silk with day lilies tucked in your hair,,,,,,,,, omg or BRAIDED into your hair,,,,,, you just look like a sun goddess okay golden by harry styles are the vibes ALRIGHT babes,,,, and there’s a speech to be made and someone made cake for the masses,,, so you get a bit caught up it everything

taeil isn’t really in the crowd for the coronation as i already stated before ,,,,, but he can kind of hear everything that’s happening and it makes him just smile to himself as he messes with his lute :((( omg if you guys haven’t heard you are gold by the national parks THATS the song taeil sings as the celebrations are dying down

and all the street lanterns are lit and people are quieting down and eating or chatting or rounding up their kids for bedtime !! omg little kids racing past and giggling, their flower crowns askew as they shout about becoming a queen one day :( that’s so cute esp to imagine taeil watching them fondling and waving at them as they pass

and there are fireflies all around!!!! lighting the pathway!!! it’s just so cute and soft and lovely think tangled at last i see the light scene OKAY except it’s not on water it’s a festival and it’s beautiful every seems to be glowing in the light

this au is partially inspired by tangled,,, or the kingdom of corona (lol) so

anyways back to you are gold

the chorus is as so: “you are gold / you are all i see / you are aurum scarce and meant for kings / and i will wait if it’s time you need / what i see in you i hope you find in me.”

and can’t you just SEE taeil singing that absentmindedly not really knowing that you’re making your way to him and then he just looks up during the final chords and he just,,,,,,, fumbles the music and his voice cracks a little (but how COULDNT it bc you’re so beautiful and angelic and taeil could easily picture the stars against your skin and in the shade of your eyes)

“h-hi,” he stutters. “you look. nice.” :D

i think taeil is pretty confident with his feelings but i also feel like he can be quite clumsy with them as well. if that makes sense. but on the other hand confessing to the now-queen of your island is a bit much and taeil isn’t really ready to be rejected on a regal level.

“thank you,” you say. AND!!! you can feel your cheeks get hot because taeil is quite handsome and you DEFINITELY heard the last few lyrics of the song and it ignited feelings inside of you that you weren’t sure you’ve felt much of before.

you kind of just want to take his hand and go spend some ~ alone time ~ with him ^_^

“you know,” you sit down beside him and wrap your cloak around yourself. “everyone has been telling me that you’re quite famous for dedicating your love songs to me. how come i haven’t heard such declarations?”

taeil’s ears turn red and he smiles down at the lute in his lap. “isn’t it a bit disrespectful to make you listen to all the songs i write for you?”

“i want to hear them!! genuinely!!”

can you just IMAGINE taeil holding eye contact and singing sunshine by hozier >:( or like ANY song by ray montangue for today we’re pretending taeil wrote all of these

hold you in my arms by ray montangue YOO :((

just taeil strumming and singing sort of under his breath because he doesn’t really want anyone else to share this lil moment with you. and he’s so sweet like i imagine after he sings he doesn’t expect any praise and he certainly doesn’t expect you to confess your love or anything like that

bc taeil is a respectful future king

LIKE JUST IMAGINE kind of grabbing his face and just giving him a lil kiss,,,,, a lil smooch,,,,, if you will

taeil is probably rlly pretty just after being kissed like his eyelashes would flutter so prettily and it would be so soft like he’d just press his forehead against yours and then omg a FOREHEAD KISS like a really gentle one

you would be so important to taeil like i think he would just be so gentle with you in every way

the relationship is a slower one,,,,,, you have queenly duties and he’s still working as a busker,,,,, getting ready to help the merchants in the winter,,,,,,,

but the two of you make time. it’s similar to before, you just set up picnics, or sometimes you watch him sing, and he’ll write you love songs and send them to you through a letter,, stamping with purple wax,,,

and taeil is always so sweet :( i think he’s more of a casual lover in the sense that he doesn’t need pda or loud declarations in order to make you feel loved flashback to him dedicating every love song to you in the middle of the square but he’d be the type to just hold your hand around the courtyard,, or he’d just send you soft smiles from the other side of the marketplace

he’s the time to buy you a basket of your favorite fruits and deliver them personally to your door

everyone in the castle just lets taeil into the chambers section at this point

the two of you will swim in the moat and play hopscotch with the village children or go shopping together or take naps beneath the afternoon sun and with taeil by your side it’s all so fond and precious and some times you’ll go days or weeks without seeing him just because of schedules but it’s never awkward when the two of you get back together

and it’s actually not until some of your very own villagers are coming up to you like hey,,,,, why haven’t you made taeil your partner yet?? he’s so precious and sweet and he would look lovely in a crown 👀👀

and uhhh who are you to argue with that lmao

so you buy taeil a ring

a pearl !!!! encased in silver <3333 i like to think that the tales he sang to you about sirens often slides to a pearl of some sorts,, so you make sure it’s the rock you place on the ring

and you take him back to that rusty old creaky old ugly old fountain :)

and you just,,,,,, ask him to marry you ,,,,,,,,,,

ofc taeil says yes, a bit frozen because the two of you have talked about marriage but only briefly,,, and he wasn’t sure you’d ever take that step so he didn’t want to pressure you

taeil ofc has always been ready,,, his soul is more open than yours if that makes sense !!! which isn’t a bad thing but he has definitely been ready for a lifetime with you for a long time now

and it’s a long-ish engagement i feel like

not that it really matters but it’s more of a betrothement !!!! so the two of you are technically already married even before the ceremony if that makes sense??? like everyone alludes to taeil as the consort and the two of you live together and receive gifts of betrothement and !!! it’s quite sweet and it’s the way they do things in intima

also you guys aren’t in a big hurry for another ceremony esp bc yuta’s coronation is coming up and you don’t want to take any of his spotlight

king!yuta hold up

but yeah taeil is a wonderful consort !! doesn’t do much yet politically bc he isn’t especially versed in politics but he’s learning!!! he’s really good at keeping a good energy in the room even if two ambassadors are fighting taeil will just be vibing like :-D and it often calms tensions

he’s just a GREAT person and a helpful ruler even tho he really doesn’t even have to be,,,, he’s just a consort,,,, but he still takes the effort to learn genuine laws and help guide the people

the people are obviously obsessed with him,,, they wouldn’t ask for another consort because he’s so kind with all of them

still sings in the courtyard as his job ,,, and the people love it just as much ^_^ esp because now all the songs are openly for you and about you and it makes people more fond of you as well

taeil creates y/n propaganda pass it on

but he works in the castle too,, and he’s a fast learner especially when it comes to settling arguements within the village or even within the court,,,, he also sets up festivals !! he’s wonderful at it !! genuinely !! taeil as an interior designer i can just see it man him designing flower arrangements and the setlist and just !! being a wonderful host

and tbh you’re very thankful because it’s nice to rule with siblings but it’s even nicer to rule with a soulmate

and taeil feels just like that — a soulmate, a missing piece of the puzzle,,,,,

and if intima is the sun , if you who rules it is the sun, then taeil is the moon,, and it’s quite obvious that the two of you were made for each other

perhaps in the future the two of you will have kids or adopt

or you guys get a puppy!!! i can see you w a puppy and taeil with a kitten and the two lil pets just follow you guys around omg

the two of you fix up the old fountain so it isn’t rusty or squeaky anymore

you guys find rocks out on the shore and create a new bed at the bottom of the fountain

and guess what!!!! you guys write little wishes on the rocks and invite everyone else to do the same with the idea that once the fountain is filled with wishes, you’ll hold a festival where you put the wishes back into the sea to be completed

omg how cute would that be like a yearly thing where the fountain would be filled with rocks and everyone gets a handful to take down to the beach and throw into the sea

it’s where lovers write their names and people confess to their crushes and anniversaries and birthdays are celebrated and it’s where artists write pictures and poets write verses and people write prayers to the sun

and it’s where you and taeil announce your first pregnancy >.<

and it’s really soft

the place between the sea and the sun is where your love lies

where your family lives

omg taeil singing lullabies to his baby :( HES be such a sweet dad

i feel like taeil already has a family just by his vibes yknow

but say it’s a daughter he’d teach her how to play the lute and he’d buy her her own

he’d let her express herself in any way and identify however she’d want and love whoever she wanted

he’d be an AMAZING father and husband and king

ANYWAYS to conclude

this was fun to write and i hope it made sense i know it’s all over the place but in conclusion taeil is sexy and deserves to be loved

[bijoharvelle]

i saw this post from @top13zepptraxx and uh...... i wrote the angst. cw: major character death [cas]

Faintly, Dean realizes that the wordless shout of rage, of despair, came from him. Some part of him is still lunging forward, stopped only by Sam holding him. He fights, blindly, only registering Cas, Cas’s body, Cas falling to his knees and then collapsing back and then the searing flash of grace released. Cas was so diminished that it only lasts a second.

Between one blink and the next, Cas is dead on the ground, his tarnished wings spreading ash across tallgrass and dandelions. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before,” Chuck says, as if he’s just solved an insect infestation. “It was always Castiel, wasn’t it? What did Naomi call him -- the famous spanner in the works?” Chuck laughs, almost fondly. Crouching, he leans close to Cas’s face.

“Get away from him!” Dean yells and he’s staggering forward. Sam let his guard down, so Dean is up in God’s face in a second.

He can remember a roadside fast-food shack. A last ditch prayer with desolation crowding in on his chest. He can remember, forever, the silence in answer.

There’s a cruel twist to Chuck’s grin as he looks up from the husk of Castiel to Dean. “I created so many worlds,” he says, his tone one of wonder, “so many universes. And in all of them -- every one of them, Dean -- he loved you.”

There’s something rising up in Dean and it might be bile, it might be tears. It might be that hollow, choking feeling that has followed every defeat they’ve found their way into, every unforced error, every blockade that’s risen from the snowmelt of every almost-success. All that comes out, though, is a strangled out cry.

He trades positions with God. Chuck rises to his feet as Dean drops to knees. He reaches out, strokes at the sweaty fringe that falls over Cas’s forehead.

“Did you know that? That he loved you?”

He thought it, maybe. Had considered it, some dark nights. He thought it as he watched Cas walk back into a Gas ‘N’ Sip in Idaho and he thought it as he watched the angel back from the dead next to a payphone and he thought it as Cas showed him the truth of Purgatory and he thought it as he said, lost, “For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” He thought it and rejected it and thought it and rationalized why it couldn’t be.

“Some part of you must have,” Chuck is saying but he’s mostly white noise to Dean. Everything else is white noise, except Cas. “He wasn’t exactly subtle about it, was he?”

There was one time. The night before he let Cas go in Idaho. There were looks and thick swallows and there was Cas’s hand at his shoulder and Dean’s hands at Cas’s hips, suddenly, and Cas’s back against a motel wall. And then…there was nothing. 

Because Dean shuddered through an inhale and ducked his head and Cas said his name and Dean stuttered something about a shower and then…that was it.

Maybe Dean’s whole life has just been a series of missed chances, one after another, with the biggest, most important one laid out before him. Some part of him, some deep twist at the base of his stomach, knows that this isn’t like any of the times before. Isn’t even like the time with Lucifer at the lake. Because Cas is really gone (like that time) but something sure and certain and crippling inside Dean is whispering that he’s not coming back. You don’t come back when God personally kills you.

“Hey!”

Similarly, when God wants your attention, you’re a little powerless.

“What?” Dean barks. Because Chuck might be God but he still just killed Cas.

“You’re not listening,” Chuck says, sounding like a petulant second-grader.

Dean is halfway to spitting out a “fuck you” when Chuck reaches out. And Dean thinks, This is it and This is how I die and, optimistically, Coming, Cas.

But it doesn’t come, Death. Chuck puts his fingers to Dean’s forehead and it hits him like lightning. Knowledge… It takes him a minute to realize what exactly he’s seeing: those other universes. All the ways Cas has loved him.

There’s the horrible world taken over by Croatoans. There’s a pink-cheeked, dazed Cas sprawled over a dilapidated armchair in a cabin with a beaded curtain. His hair is dirty and a mess and when that terrible version of Dean from 2014 stalks forward, he fists his hand in the hair. Cas grins with all his teeth and tips his chin to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean says something, close and soft and heated. Cas’s face changes, warms, melts, and his eyes go to half-mast. Dean leans forward into him.

There’s a world shot through with grayscale and Cas has a soldier’s set to his shoulders and hair that’s so neat it almost looks messy again. He’s standing in some barren wasteland and his eyes are to the sky. He’s staring and staring and staring and Dean can remember his Cas staring at a motel’s ceiling, cursing his deadbeat dad.

There’s a park and there are children running happily. There’s sun, so much sun, and there’s Jack and Sam laughing as they chase some toddler and there’s Cas looking at Dean, who’s watching the mismatched game of tag. And there’s Dean, looking back and finding Cas’s eyes and smiling. Dean reaches back and his hand is open and waiting, for Cas. All for Cas.

There’s a barn, and there’s a prophet’s house, and there’s a ring of holy fire, and there’s a reservoir, and there’s Purgatory, and there’s a crypt, and there’s the bunker, and there’s a Mark on his arm, and there are arms around him from behind, and there’s Lucifer’s sick grin, and there’re wings burned into a lake shore, and there’s a call coming through as Steppenwolf plays, and there’s a Jack’s body cradled in a graveyard, and there’s Cas’s dejected shoulders, and Cas’s angry spine, and there’s a blossom from Purgatory and there’s Cas, there’s Cas, there’s Cas.

There’s, finally, a bed.

It’s in a room of mostly mid-tone wood and there’s sunlight coming in from a window, casting lines across the bed.

There’s Cas, sprawled on his stomach with his hair even more of a wreck than usual and he’s not wearing a shirt and his face is tipped so the soft smile there is obvious. And Dean is underneath him. It’s not some other Dean that he’s watching like out-of-body, no, this is Dean. He can feel the weight of him, the heat. He can feel the slight shift as Cas breathes in and out, he can feel the smooth skin between Cas’s shoulder blades, where his hand is running up and down.

Dean is crying and he slides his fingers into Cas’s hair. He snuffles at the touch and stirs and his smile goes even wider. Dean cries harder, full sobs that wrack through his chest but Castiel doesn’t seem to notice.

He opens his eyes and smiles at Dean. Reaching, he laces their fingers together and cocks his head. “Hello, Dean,” he says, like he’s said a hundred, a thousand, times before and Dean can’t breathe. A cloud moves and the sun is brighter. Dean can feel it on his bare skin, he can see the shadows it makes over Cas’s cheeks. “I love you,” Cas says quietly. Dean’s never seen him so easy, so calm, so...at peace.

The bed falls out from under him and Dean is landing on hands and knees and there’s just bluegrass and ash under his fingers. “No, no, no,” he’s chanting. He can feel his stomach turning and he can’t breathe.

“Maybe now you’ll learn to play by my rules,” Chuck says, and then he’s gone.

A moment later, or maybe it’s an hour, or maybe it’s a second, Sam is at his side and holding onto his shoulders. “Dean, c’mon,” he’s saying. His words are waterlogged. “Please, Dean…”

It must have been more than just seconds, though, because when Dean comes back to his sight, Jack is on the ground too, his head on Cas’s chest. All curled up on the corpse of his father.

Dean shakes his head. He stands, dirt sifting through his hands as he goes. 

The imprint of Cas’s wings burnt into the ground bear a handprint, high on the left, where Dean levels himself up off the ground.

“Dean?” he hears behind him as he turns, sees the Impala shining in the setting sun.

“C’mon, Sam,” he says. He shrugs one arm up, wiping at the raw-red of his eyes. He worries his bottom lip with his tongue and then, more to himself than anyone else, murmurs, “We got work to do.”

*

@prayedtoyou • @vcastiel • @good-things-do-happen-dean • @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you • @bianca29753 • @spaceshipkat • @wanderingcas • @601218764 • @nickelkit • @dizzypinwheel • @epple-benene • @kayrosebee • @randomlikes24 • @feraladoration • @queenvee08 • @thursdaysangels   

[tiikeria]

Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts

Title: Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts Ship(s): None Rating: T Warning(s): Language Words: 1,874 words Summary: “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it.” Notes: Huh. Two fics in two weeks? Am I feeling okay? I also have a third planned, and my lovely co-creator Pchew has one going as well. We like this AU bit too much. Anyway, enjoy!

Gavin didn’t like showing off what he could do. The more you played close to yourself, the more people underestimated you. That’s how he got such a reputation as a bumbling idiot. No one suspected the dumb one to swindle you out of everything, now did they?

But something was endearing about the childlike wonder Michael and Jeremy watched him with when he used his powers. Even the smallest thing seemed to capture their attention. His fellow Lads were so curious about what he could do, and, honestly, it was refreshing. Normally people regarded the gold from his hands with distrust and fear.

“So, what can you make?” Jeremy asked one afternoon, a lazy Sunday playing games and just enjoying each other’s company, “I mean, with the gold. Like, can you shape it, or is it just a flood, like before?”

Michael snorted, putting down his controller, “Jeremy just wants to know if you can make him a golden Spyro.”

“I do not!”

Gavin laughed, but produced the aforementioned dragon in his palm, shining brilliantly in the afternoon sun, “Shame, that, because I happen to have one, yeah?”

Jeremy’s pure joy and awe almost made him blush, “Okay, I do really want a golden Spyro, holy shit that is so fucking cool.”

“You think everything Spyro is cool, though.”

“I’m a simple man,” Jeremy stated, still staring longingly at the golden figure in Gavin’s hand, “I see Spyro, I’m happy. Same thing with whiskey.”

Giggles erupt from Gavin’s lips as he tosses the dragon to Jeremy, “Sorry, I can’t make golden whiskey. That’ll have to do.”

Michael huffs as Jeremy cradles his new toy like a father cradles a newborn, “What about me? What do I get? How dare you gift this schmuck something before you gift your Boi something! Does Boiship mean nothing to you, anymore!?”

“Michael, no, Michael!” More laughter bubbled from Gavin’s chest, “You’re my Boi, Michael! Jeremy’s my Lil J, but you’re my Boi! I have something for you, yeah? How about this?”

Gavin makes a show of it since he had their undivided attention, and because he could without the worry of scaring them. With a flourish, he presents Michael with a small, blocky, golden sword. Michael pretends to not be impressed, but Gavin can see the awe and joy in Michael’s eyes.

“Gold swords are for chumps, Boi!”

Gavin pretends to be offended, all part of the games they all play with each other, “I don’t bloody shit diamonds, Michael! But if you get me some, I might be persuaded to give you an upgrade.”

“You can do that?!” Jeremy perks up from where he had been admiring his little Spyro, “You can make diamond swords?”

“Well,” Gavin hums, “I can make swords. I’m sure making one out of diamonds isn’t impossible, yeah? Just have to figure it out. We could make a day of it, lads! I could teach you how to be smithies, just like I used to in the 1800s!”

“I always forget how fucking old you are,” Michael shakes his head, “I mean, you talk about the 1800s like it was last fucking year.”

“I’m only 3000 years old or summat. That’s nothing compared to other Gods!”

“‘Only 3000,’” Michael mocked in a high, squeaky, British accent, ignoring Gavin’s whines to stop being a “smegpot.” Jeremy laughed in turn at Gavin’s pout, but not unkindly, “You old ass Greek fuck.”

“If you’re Greek,” Jeremy giggled, “Why the fuck are you British?”

“What? What do you mean, ‘why am I British?’”

Jeremy throws his hands up in the air, “You were born in Ancient Greece. You lived in Ancient Greece for a long fucking time. You’ve lived in the US for a few decades. So why the fuck did you decide to be British?”

“Because I lived in the British Isles for over a century, Jeremy! I came over with the Romans and never bloody well left! I’m probably more British than Greek anymore, yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“That’s not how you work,” Gavin grumbles petulantly, earning him a snort from the two other Lads.

“So you’re fake British. What the fuck made you come to Los Santos of all places? I mean, you went from European shithole to American super shithole.”

Gavin stretches out on the white sectional that took up most of the Fakes’ living room, sun streaming in the floor to ceiling windows making his skin look more golden than it really was. Jeremy and Michael settle down similarly, the quiet music from their abandoned game the only other sound in the room as Gavin collected his thoughts.

“Now that’s a question, innit?” He finally says, leveling them with a lopsided smile, “You know I’m God of Gold, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jeremy instantly answers, to which Gavin hums.

“That’s not all I’m God of. Most gods have other domains as well, like Artemis being Goddess of the Hunt, but also of Childbirth. Or Apollo being God of Medicine as well as Music and Prophesy. I also have other domains.

“Akakios contacted me a few decades ago, about 40 years, really, and said he found a city that needed me. He had been living in the States for quite a while at that point, from the Northeast to the South to the Midwest. Everywhere, yeah? But he had never said that about any of the cities he visited. So, I knew he had to be serious to even consider that a city needed my help.”

Both Michael and Jeremy watch Gavin closely as Gavin turns to look out over the city through the windows. Eventually, when Gavin didn’t start up again, Michael piped up, “So what else are you God of that made it so you could help Los Santos?”

Gavin smiled softly, “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it. Corruption was even worse than it is now. At least 80% of the population was below the poverty level. Almost 30% were homeless. Kios saw these people and knew I could help them somehow. So, I boarded the next flight from London and got to work.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy breathed, “You fixed Los Santos?”

“I still am, yeah? Until these people no longer pray to me, I’m needed.”

The three were quiet for a moment, as Gavin watched the sun dip lower in the sky out the windows, buildings glinting in the late afternoon sun like steel and glass gemstones. He still had so much work to do to get Los Santos to where he’d be happy leaving it. So many were still born into poverty. Too many homeless and alone. He did what he could, but he was one God against a society that didn’t care.

Gavin started when Michael finally spoke, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. Gavin knew that tone very well. Michael had made up his mind about something and wasn’t about to be swayed.

“So, what can we do to help clean up the shit?”

“I…what?”

“You heard me. How can the crew help? We have more money than sense anymore. And most of us grew up in lower-class dumps like Los Santos. Hell, Fiona was raised here. I’ve been on the streets, and it sucks major doo doo. So, how can we help you make this place a level above a turd?”

Gavin felt a swell of emotion for his Boi, that extended to Jeremy when he saw him nod in agreement. Both of them were watching him in rapt attention as if soldiers waiting on their orders. And Gavin…well, Gavin knew exactly what they could do. A grin curled on his lips as he pulled out his phone to call a crew meeting.

“Boys…I think we need a heist.”

A few weeks later, the news would tell a peculiar tale. Someone had broken into dozens of homes of wealthy Los Santos citizens, all in one night. Nothing was taken but the clothes in their closets, and the food in their cupboards.

Meanwhile, every legitimate shelter in Los Santos, homeless camps, and charities received an anonymous donation of clothes and food. The only note was emblazoned with a green duck and written in gold ink.

Enjoy your donations. Make sure they’re used. We’ll be watching over you.

Of course, this didn’t make the news. Stories of the lower class never did. But that was just fine for the culprits; they didn’t do it for the fame or the fortune. No, they did it for the people. The people of their city.

It took a while before the police caught on to what the crew was doing. Sure, they still hit banks, but the majority of the stolen notes would end up funding an after-school program for at-risk youth. Expensive items would go missing, only to end up at a charity auction for a women’s center. And those few good officers saw what the crew was trying to accomplish. For the first time, the Fakes had allies in the LSPD; not many, but it was a start.

And the crew themselves seemed to have a new spark. Excitement in the air when they all sat down to plan the next heist, with the next recipient of their Robin Hooding. Jack heisted for a Children’s Hospital and they ended up with a small green duck on the new mural for the playground at the hospital’s campus. Geoff bolstered local AA and addiction groups, giving them the resources they needed to reach more people. Jeremy and Michael worked together to create boxing and wrestling programs for low-income kids. Matt and Trevor created STEM programs. Fiona worked on LBGT programs. Lindsay was adamant about helping the animals of Los Santos.

They all had their niche. And, together, they did their best to make good in the city.

Gavin was overjoyed, to say the least. To see the people he cared about the most helping him make the city a better place was everything he had ever hoped for. He still got prayers daily, almost hourly, but they were coming less as people had more places to turn for help. Of course, he would always answer the call, if needed, but he could finally relax after 40 years of doing everything he could to raise the city from its rough beginnings.

And he started to see a shift in the people as well. They were helping each other, raising each other from where they had fallen. Injustice was being spoken out against. Marches were organized for victims of senseless violence. People were donating more of their time and money to helping those around them. Gang wars turned into alliances against corruption. Ballas and Vagos worked side-by-side on cleaning up the rec center that bordered their territories. The Families extended protection to those too weak to fight for themselves, with no payment needed. Even Madrazo’s Cartel could be seen handing out food and blankets to the homeless.

Something had changed. Something had shifted.

Maybe there was still hope for Los Santos after all.