#at 5 in the morning in the woods? it's him and jack and the one coyote who scared the shit out of them once

[parvuls]

a samwell au where bitty isn't on the hockey team but still wants to keep in shape, and is having difficulty dragging himself out of bed to exercise before class. one day he sees a post in the samwell undergrad facebook group (written by someone whose name is just "Jack Z" and who has no profile pic, which is... maybe suspicious) stating that he's starting a 5a.m. running group, for serious athletes only. the post isn't phrased in a particularly inviting way, but bitty is desperate, so he signs up. perhaps unsurprisingly, he's the only one who does.

anyway. a vaguely dream-like au where bitty and jack form a two-person running group and only ever meet each other between 5 to 7 in the morning, when no one else is around. their social circles don't overlap. they don't have any classes together. in fact, by winter break, bitty's not even sure that jack is a real person who goes to his school.

[s1llysmut]

NSFW Alphabet for Lucifer

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is immediately asking you if you need anything, getting you water, snacks, running you both a bath, cuddles. Surprisingly if you take a bath with him it won’t lead to more sex unless you initiate it. Don’t get me wrong, he loves having sexy time with you but he also loves those intimate moments after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part of himself is probably his tongue. He considers himself quite talented when it comes to oral. His favourite body part of yours is definitely your thighs. He LOVES to squeeze them and have his head between them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He LOVES to cum inside of you. He literally begs you for it every single time.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves to be pegged. Honestly is that really a secret though?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is extremely experienced. I mean come on this is the king of hell we’re talking about, of course he knows what he’s doing! How else did he pull Lilith AND Eve?!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves missionary because he can see your beautiful face but he also loves being ridden. He just loves when you use him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely allows himself and you to be goofy. However if it’s your first time together and you laugh at a mistake he makes he might get a little insecure.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t shave but he does keep it well trimmed. It’s blonde like his hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is extremely romantic. He is such a sap I swear to god. He would unironically do those cliche rose petals and candles. Don’t laugh at him okay? He’s trying to be a good partner.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I have a feeling he gets morning wood like every single damn morning so I feel like he masturbates mostly in the mornings. Only if you’re not there to help him though.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He loves being praised. He’s a sucker for it. Tell him he’s making you feel good and he’ll fold entirely. BUT he also likes being degraded to a degree. Call him a good little slut and he’ll die.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere literally anywhere.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Praise, teasing touches, slight degradation, whispering in his ear, etc.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Knife play. He doesn’t wanna hurt you ever. No matter how much you reassure him it would still make him way too anxious.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves when you suck him off but he also loves eating you out/sucking you off. He loves your thighs wrapped around his head and as I said before he’s very skilled with his tongue.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

That depends on what you want. He however prefers to go slow and sensual. He wants to feel every inch of you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind them however he does prefer to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes he will definitely take risks. He’s a sucker for you so he’s willing to try pretty much anything if it’ll make you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go probably quite a few rounds. I’m thinking maybe 5? He likes being overstimulated.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He probably owns a dildo and a fleshlight for himself when you’re not around.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He might tease you a little bit but like I said, he’s down bad for you, anything you ask you will receive.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

If he’s dominant he’ll be moaning and grunting , some panting here and there too. However, if he’s the submissive, he is full on whimpering and whining.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would 100% let you step on him. He loves when you’re dominant so much.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s thickkkk. He’s about 7 or 8 inches long too. You’re in for a longgggg night.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a fairly high sex drive. He likes doing it daily soooo good luck.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As soon as he’s sure you’re comfortable and content, he’ll cuddle up and sleep with you.

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~* Monday

A/N: SCREAMS. There was no reason why this took me so long to get out. But it's here and I hope you guys like it! Another thank you to @bun-lapin for allowing me to use their lovely OCs for this fic series! I love them so much and I'm having so much fun playing with them! Word Count: 8.4K Words (God damn the next part is gonna be even bigger...) Warnings: She/They Pronouns OC, Period talk, Mentions of labor and pregnancy. Pairings: JamilxOC (Poly), Paternal Crewel &OC ~TagList @twistedcece @deltrea @krenenbaker @koebishrimpuwu @cat100200 @emyluwinter Start, Part 2 (Octavinelle), Part 3 (Heartslabyul), Part 4 (Here), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt.1), Part 5 (Diasomnia pt.2), Part 6 (Pomefiore)

Yuu felt awful, just total dog shit in a bag and on fire awful. But, that was to be expected when they had their period and hadn’t been able to take any pain medication. So, in all honesty, they should be fine.

Yuu checked themselves over in the bathroom mirror. Huffing under their breath and trying to get their hair to settle in a less haggard fashion. They weren’t too sure if they should even go to class. But then they thought about the fact they enjoyed school in Twisted Wonderland. They had teachers who, begrudgingly, took time out of their days to help them understand the coursework. It felt like some kind of disservice to skip out just to laze around their dorm in pain. Not to mention Crewel would have to either visit himself or have someone else bring them food and pain medicine for the day. It just sounded like a lot of unnecessary back-and-forth for everyone else that Yuu wasn’t in the mood to put their loved ones through.

 So, Yuu had put her big girl panties on - with a hand towel between her legs for blood catching, hoping she wasn't going to bleed through it - and got out of bed to go to school. She should also try to pick Grim up from Scarabia. While she’s sure her cat companion was having fun being held and hand-fed gourmet crackers, she did miss the furball and if Jamil’s update texts were of any merit, he was pouting about being away from her for so long.

Now fully dressed, and stiff with muscle aches, Yuu sighed as they walked out of their dorm. At least they were able to leave much earlier than they normally were. No Grim to drag out of bed and the fact they had been awake for hours beforehand playing a very key role. With the Sun just barely peeking over the thick woods, they started their journey to the main road to the school.

But, stepping onto the dirt path that branched off from the paved walkways of the school’s actual borders, Yuu pauses, calling out, “...Jack?”

Tall gray-furred ears perk up, the massive figure they were on freezing at the call of his name. Jack turned around slowly, almost in confusion at being called out to. But seeing it was Yuu who called to him, his wide-eyed expression shifted, his eyebrows creasing as his eyes darted to the dorm before moving back to Yuu, “Why are you outside?”

“No, no, good boy. This is still my property. I ask the questions first. What are you doing out here?” Yuu raises an eyebrow, walking closer to Jack and watching as he seemed to grow more nervous.

“I was…Just on my morning jog…”

“...At 7:30am?” Yuu smiles, tilting her at different angles with each question, “Without Vil? In your school uniform? Walking at a leisurely pace?”

“Yes, what of it?”

Yuu smiled, covering her mouth as she playfully batted at Jack’s arm, the other freshman scowling and twitching his body away from her hits, “Aw~. Were you checking on me?”

“NO, stop hitting me!”

“Oh, by the seven. I lived to see the day! Jack Howl, caring for his classmates. His heart has softened! He shows his emotions on his sleeve! His tail is wagging with glee!” “Shut up! It’s not!” Jack quickly looked behind him, just to double check his tail wasn’t actually wagging before he turned back to Yuu, “That’s not important! Why are you outside? Go back inside!”

“No? I’m going to class.” Yuu shrugs, moving to walk past him before the towering freshman steps in their path, “Jack. I was in a silly goofy mood, but not enough for this. Step aside.”

Shaking his head, Jack folds his arms in front of his chest, “No. You’re injured. You should be resting, not going to school. We’ll bring you your notes or something. Go back home.”

“No~.” Yuu tried to step past Jack again, only to lock them both into a half-step and jump dance that quickly had Yuu groaning in frustration, “Fucking move your enormous self!”

“No! You’re going back to Ramshackle to rest properly.” Jack moves forward, hands braced to clearly pick Yuu up to carry them back to the dorm physically.

“Jack.” Yuu steps back, a hand held up in a motion of ‘Stop’, “If you fucking touch me, I will eject blood on you so hard it’ll bruise you and never come out of your jacket.”

Jack instantly steps back, hands pulling back to his sides in mild fear. He…had no idea if that was even a thing. Was it a thing? Could Yuu actually somehow spray him with blood with enough pressure to harm him physically? He didn’t want to find out. Looking away, Jack steps back another pace, “I just…Should you be walking around? You don’t look good…”

Yuu sighed, tilting their head back, “I’m…gonna live. Don’t worry about it, I’m gonna get a quick pain potion from Crewel and just…fucking deal.” Rolling their neck, they shrug their shoulders and finally falling in step beside Jack to slap his back, “Come on, good boy. We got an education to get.”

“...” Jack sighed, quickly falling into pace with Yuu’s lazy stride, “Stop calling me that. Leona-Senpai keeps mocking me for it.”

“Good, you’re too big. You need to be mocked before you get any taller.”

The walk to the main building was longer than Yuu cared to remember. It was only longer with Jack constantly pointing out that Yuu counted as ‘ill’ and that it would make sense for them to skip class for the day. Then, when Yuu would simply state they were fine, Jack would offer to just carry them on his back to the school since they were clearly in pain.

“Jack, you’re very sweet. I will literally bleed on you just to prove a point. Drop it.”

The beastman huffed, looking away in annoyance but not bringing it up anymore on their walk. But in the semi-crowded hallways, Jack didn't leave for his own class. He looked conflicted, glancing at Yuu then down the hall to where he was supposed to be. He didn’t want to leave his friend unattended. The scent of their blood was stronger the longer he walked with them and he could only guess how much stronger it would get during the day. Looking around, he could see the other beastmen glancing at them in various degrees of concern and bewilderment.

“Don’t you have to go to class?”

Looking from their surroundings, Jack turned back to Yuu. He sometimes forgot just how small they felt beside him. Sure they weren't the shortest of their friends and they wore heels whenever they could, not to mention they fit into Night Raven almost too well with the number of students they've sent to the medical wing. But smelling their blood, seeing how tired and simply weathered they looked…it made a part of him want to just scoop them into his arms. Try to hum and growl the obvious pain away, like how his own parents did when he hurt himself in his childhood.

But, he'd rather Yuu actually spray him like some kind of demented blood skunk than say that to them, "Yeah I'm…Yuu. You know you smell…weird right?"

The look in Yuu's eyes literally made a bead of cold sweat form at his temple. Piercing yellow eyes quickly looking away from deep, near soulless appearing black pupils as he stuttered. Yuu somehow managed to learn Crewel-Sensei's famous "I will skin you alive and wear it as a coat" glare, something that quickly put anyone on edge because they weren't sure if they'd actually try to do it.

"Not! Not like 'smell bad' weird! Just…off…like…" he blushes, a hand coming up to nervously thumb at a pinned back ear, trying to find the right words, "You…you smell like a lady…"

The glare had thankfully faded to a simple "That was the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life" expression. Yuu tilted their head both in question and to look Jack directly in his sheepish eyes,"..." They sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose and gesturing down the hall with their other hand, "Jack, go to class."

"But-"

"Go to class."

"Bye, Yuu."

They sigh, watching Jack's hunched figure scurry down the hall and into a classroom. Honestly, the fucking men of this school…

With a spin on their heel, missing the crowd of beastmen who jump and scramble out of their way, they walk toward the teacher's lounge. Hopefully, they'll catch Crewel before he made his way to homeroom for the morning roll call.

Instead, Yuu ran into Jamil and Kalim. The two second-years standing in front of a classroom and seeming to be arguing. Grim held in one of Jamil’s arms and clearly pouting. Whether it was from the lazy hold or his own bad mood, Yuu couldn't tell.

"I can take Grim with me to class. You already have issues focusing and Grim won't be any help in that avenue."

Kalim pouts, trying to take Grim from Jamil only to be denied each time, "Come on! You won't cuddle with him and he'll be so sad until lunch. Shouldn't we do our best to keep him happy until Yuu is feeling better?"

Jamil rolls his eyes, smacking Kalim’s hand away once again, "Yuu doesn't even try to keep Grim happy at all times. He can handle not being cradled for a few hours."

Yuu walks up beside the two, hands easily snatching Grim from Jamil’s grasp in his surprise, "I don't indulge him, Jamil. There's a difference." Yuu smiles, feeling Grim instantly start purring under her grip, shifting him until he was able to rest his arms on her shoulders in a lazy hug, "Sup buddy?"

"Why the hell are you here?"

"Hello to you too, Jamil, my love."

Grim grumbles, nuzzling into Yuu's shoulder, but pulling his ears back at their scent, "You still smell weird…" his grumbles turning into purrs as Yuu scratches behind his ear.

"Yeah. I'm still on the bleed, but I should be ok."

"How!?" Jamil looked ready to either burst a blood vessel, or simply grapple them to the ground to drag them back to Ramshackle. Which was fair, but Yuu felt like if anyone besides Grim touched them they'd start swinging.

Yuu shrugs, "It's fine. I'm…living. I can handle a day at school. Did it all the time back home."

"Yeah, I don't think that was healthy…" Kalim gives them a nervous smile, clearly wanting to gather them up in a hug but having enough sense to take note of their expression, "You look…upset…"

"Oh, I am. But, that's normal."

Jamil finally relaxed, if only to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Why are you here? You should go home, you're not well."

"Jamil." Yuu placed a hand on one of his shoulders, stepping closer to press their sides together and let the second-year wrap his arms around them, even though the contact was slowly worsening their mood, "It's gonna be fine. I'm on my way to get a pain potion from Crewel. I'm going to be sitting all day. So unless by some miraculous, horrible, divine intervention and periods become contiguous? Everyone else is gonna be fine, too."

"..." Kalim suddenly stepped back, his hands covering his lower stomach in brief panic, "Wait, it's contiguous?"

"No, you fucking- I'm gonna go." Yuu pulls away from Jamil, managing to pry the second-year's hands from their jacket, " I'm gonna go before I clock Kalim in the face."

"Me!? What'd I do!? I'm sorry!"

"Stop talking." Yuu took a breath, moving their arms to properly support Grim slung over their shoulder, "No offense Kalim,  but the sound of your voice is activating my fight response. So I'm leaving before I put it into action." They nodded in farewell, almost stomping away from the confused duo. Missing the panic that slowly grew over Jamil’s face before he pulled his phone out and started texting someone.

Yuu walked down the hallway, doing her best to keep her mood above the poverty line. Beastmen bobbed and weaved through the crowds, watching Yuu through doorways and running back around corners when they saw she had noticed their staring. Normally she’d attribute it to Savanaclaw reacting to one of her and Leona’s public squabbles, but too many uniforms were sporting non-yellow ribbons to only be the Beast King’s dorm.

Showing up to the ornate door of the teachers' lounge, Yuu saw a group of beastmen from various dorms crowded around it, whispering sharply among themselves. Yuu stood back a few moments before speaking up, “Are you guys gonna move or go in?” 

The yowl the cat beastmen let out made everyone jump. Yuu stepped back as they all turned to look at her in what could be described as ‘horror’. 

“...Um…Hi?”

“Do you need help!?”

“...” Yuu looked at the other beastmen, each one almost shaking with panicked expressions, “I gotta…get into the teachers’ lounge. So can you guys move?”

They move as a unit, one of them even shoving another to get him out of their path faster. They stood in a single file line beside the door, looking at them in a mix of respect and fear. One started to scramble to remove his jacket, placing it on the ground for Yuu to walk on as if it were some kind of tiny red carpet. The taller boy smiles sheepishly and gestured for Yuu to go into the room.

…

Yuu looked down, doing their best to not walk on the jacket, “Okay…Thank you…Please leave.”

There was a second scrambling, the same student shoving the other straight to the ground as they all tried to leave. The cat beastman doubled back. He stood fidgeting with his fingers and biting his lip. Looking at him closer Yuu could see he was from Heartslabyul. Seeming to gather up his courage, he looked at her with a firm nod, “You’re doin’ great!'' Then he turned tail and ran down the hall. The group of them peeking from around the corner before fully disappearing.

…

Grim pulled his head from Yuu’s shoulder, looking at them in sleepy confusion, “What was that about?”

“I…I wish I could tell you, Grim…Let’s just go see Crewel.” Yuu leaves the jacket on the ground, stepping over it awkwardly and opening the door, “Oh, papa dog? Your favorite puppy is here.” Crewel’s head snapped around from his seat at a fast speed, Ingrid giving his neck a concerned look at the audible pop she heard from across the table, “Why?” He looked Yuu over in bewilderment, standing up and rushing  to them, “WHY ARE YOU HERE!?”

“Well, I'm in this room to get some pain relief. But, I’m in the building to go to school? That thing you guys really want me to do? To get an education or something?”

“WHY-” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to calm himself down. He bends down and places a hand on Yuu’s free shoulder, pulling her closer to speak softly, “My sweet puppy. My little mongrel. My mini menace…Why are you coming to school when you are actively bleeding from your vagina?”

“Because I’m not a little bitch?”

“You wanna repeat that?”

“Okay, okay!” Ingrid stood from her seat, gathering up the designs and fabric swatches she and Crewel were going over and quickly getting between the ‘father-daughter’ duo, “You two hotheads can cool down. Crewel, she’s here and willing to stay for classes. Now, as teachers, we’re not going to try to dissuade a student from attending classes now are we?” 

Ignoring Crewel’s grumbled response, the redheaded woman turns to Yuu. Her smile turning strained as she gets a good look at the first-year student. A part of her filing away the cutting remark of ‘hit by a truck chic’. But she keeps smiling, tilting her head in a questioning manner, “Yuu, are you…sure…you wanna go to class?”

Yuu sighed, taking one arm from supporting Grim to pinch at her nose. Copying the pose Crewel had just done only moments ago.

 Ingrid tried to keep her coo to herself. By the 7, she really behaved like a mini Crewel at times.

“Ms. Oster. I'm fine. This is totally normal, it'd actually be weirder if I didn't go to school. Unless I'm like…dying, there's no reason for me to not deal with my daily burdens while on my period. I just need a painkiller and I'll be good for the day or at least until lunch.”

Ingrid looks from the corner of her eye, taking in Crewel’s upset face before the bicolor-haired man scoffs. He rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, red bottom lace up loafers clicking against the floor.

“I swear, you were born to a damned dystopia. No one should be leaving their home, let alone their bed when bleeding like this!” He threw open the doors of a medicine cabinet roughly, fully stocked with all sorts of pain relievers though most of them were formulated for headaches. Being a teacher was hard enough, being a teacher at Night Raven College was a gauntlet.

Yuu shrugged, managing to catch the potion Crewel had flung at them. They were sure if they hadn't the teacher would have used their ‘decreased hand-eye coordination’ as a reason they shouldn't be in school. Uncorking the bottle, they gulped it down. While the pain was easing, none of the other symptoms did. They still felt awful, bloated, and as the fizzy thick syrup settled in their stomach, nauseous. 

Hearing the small groan Yuu made, Crewel clicked his tongue, “Puppy, I'm serious. Go back to bed, you're not well.” His stern tone dipped into worry on his last word, expression changed from angry to concerned as he walked closer to them.

Yuu waves not only him but Ingrid off, breathing evenly to get their body back in check, “I'll be fine…period never stopped me before, no reason for it to stop me now…” they sighed, letting Ingrid press a hand to their forehead briefly.

“...” Ingrid hummed, pulling her hand away to instead pick and straighten Yuu's uniform, “They don't have a fever…and they did manage to walk all the way up here. She might be okay to stay, Crewel…”

“Ha!” Yuu smiled at Crewel, “Get outvoted, bitch.”

“You wanna stay for classes!? Fine!?” Crewel slapped his crop in his hand out of frustration, growling under his breath before waving the crop as he walked, “Well then hurry up, puppy. Follow me to class. You're lucky it's a joint class day. Homeroom and potions will just be lectures.”

Even though Grim groaned in their arms, complaining about how boring just sitting was going to be, Yuu was pleased, “Perfect. I don't have the beans to actually measure shit out right now.”

“Amazing. It sounds like you shouldn't have come to classes.”

Ingrid chuckles, waving the two away as they leave the room, still nipping comments at each other in annoyance. Once she was sure they were gone, she whipped out her phone. Typing furiously into the teachers' chat room. If Yuu was going to be on campus, she needed to make sure Hui-Yan kept a certain someone in Diasomnia for as long as possible.

Yuu and Crewel walked into the room, the teacher lightly shoving Yuu toward their seat, “Sit. And if I see blood on the chair when you leave, I'm dragging you back to Ramshackle.”

Their response was to quickly flip Crewel off, rushing over to their seat when the teacher raised his crop in a threatening manner. Sitting down, they nod their head in a greeting to their friends before placing Grim on the tabletop, “Sup?”

Ace and Deuce were staring wide-eyed, each leaning on the table in an effort to get a clear view of them. The duo looked at each other, then both looked across the room to Jack and Epel. Jack carrying a pinched expression, the look of guilt just barely coming across as Epel ogled aghast. The purple-haired boy gestured as subtly as he could, not wanting to call attention to himself as Crewel started to write on the board.

Deuce cleared his throat, hesitantly nudging his arm against Yuu's, “Yuu…do you really wanna be here right now? With everything going on?”

“Do you wanna die, Deuce?”

“...” The spade card soldier shared a fearful glance with Ace before answering, “No…?”

“Yeah, but you're gonna do it one day anyway. That's how I'm doing right now, so don't talk to me.”

Ace winches, tilting his head in confusion, “ If you don't feel well why didn't you just stay home?”

“Ace, I don't…wanna speak. I don't feel good. Just leave me alone and we can all get through today with our bones.”

The Heartslabyul duo clearly wanted to say something else, hoping to wear down their friend into going home. But the resting bitch face was stronger than normal, and neither wanted to test if Yuu was willing to actually attack them during class. So instead they sat quietly, taking their time to send messages with the other first years across the room.

Throughout the class, Yuu's glare only got worse. A headache almost forming from just how strained their facial muscles were. Crewel snapping his crop more than normal wasn't helping either. The professor kept dead stopping in his lecture to demand the attention of the class. Yuu didn't hear anything that would normally call his ire. Sparing a glance around the room, they noticed a few beastmen quickly look away from their eyes.

Yuu managed to make eye contact with one, the canine beastman jumping up from his seat, seeming to ready himself to vault over the table.

“SIT DOWN!” The crop hit Crewel’s desk so hard Yuu was afraid that the poor wand would just snap in half at some point.

The yell was enough to send the beastman crashing back into his seat. The Ignihyde student blushing furiously as he tried to curl away from the view of his classmates.

The class settled into an uncomfortable silence, Crewel grumbling before he turned back around to aggressively write on the chalkboard, the chalk squeaking harshly with each swipe.

Yuu sighs, gathering an already snoozing Grim into their arms and using him as a mock pillow. Laying their head down, they closed their eyes and welcomed the half nap that quickly took them over.

If coming to classes was a ‘bad idea’, going PE was a horrible, shitty idea. Yuu had only gotten into their uniform by the grace of the Seven and however many other icons decided to help. The fact they'd need to change again after class only made their stomach churn.

By the time they walked out to the field, they were the last one to line up. Jack sends them a glance but straightens up as their teachers call for their attention.

Vargas boomed out a laugh, “Now that you’re all here, let’s get those muscles primed and trained! Let’s do some quick stretches then you’ll pick which training to do today. Either endurance training with me or strength training with Professor Dubhghall.”

Iomhar Dubhghall was a tall, quiet man. From afar he looked like an average person, but standing closer, you saw just how large the man was, broad-shouldered and long-limbed. While he did teach physical education like Vargas, he spent most of his time focusing on a sparring-centered class that was only open to the 3rd-years. Yuu had met him only a handful of times, delivering staff handouts in Crowley's place was the only real way their paths crossed. He rarely spoke but Yuu had the impression he was pleased enough with her. He had once called her back during a delivery to teach her a few moves on a practice dummy before sending her on her way.

Yuu didn’t mind the other gym teacher, she kind of preferred his quiet judgment over Vargas’ bombastic demands to ‘build muscle’. Overall, a more balanced teacher.

Sadly, neither PE activity was high on their list to do. They groaned and grumbled through the stretches, Jack muttering back to them that the stretches were almost over, to hold on for just a bit longer. Touching their toes made their stomach roll, having to swallow down what they feared really was vomit. Once the warm-ups were done, Yuu groaned, sitting down on the ground as the other students quickly divided themselves among the activities.

Epel tried to walk closer, a nervous expression on his face before he was called back from one side of the field. Someone obviously taunting him about not being brave enough to spar. The Pomefiore first-year growled, looking at Jack before the two of them nodded, Epel running after the student who mocked him. Instead of picking an activity, Jack stood vigilant beside their seated form, eyes scanning the crowd. Every now and again, he’d growl or increase his glare in a direction.

Ace and Deuce ran around the track, Grim hot on their ankles as they would look over every time they passed her. The Heartslabyul duo checking on her in their own way.

Vargas looks from the side, opening his mouth to call Yuu over, only to stop at a firm hand resting on his shoulder. Iomhar didn’t turn to face Vargas’ confused glance, only shaking his head. Vargas huffed, folding his arms but not calling out to Yuu, “I don’t see why she should be allowed to sit out…If she had the energy to come to class, she’s got the energy to build her muscle.”

Iomhar shook his head again, “Just because she had the will to get to the mountain doesn’t mean she has the might to climb it. Not today at least…”

“What does today have anything to do with it?”

“...” The other teacher looked at Vargas with an exasperated look, “Do you not check your phone?” 

Yuu sat silently, hands gripping and ripping into the grass in a method to distract themselves. Luckily, Jack kept his strange guard around her. The Savanaclaw student every now and again rushing around to grab and offer Yuu a cold water bottle that she would only accept half the time. Mid swallow, a familiar Heartslabyul student walked closer, ears pinned back as Jack growled at the cat beastmen.

“Jack…Calm down.” Yuu titled their head at the Heartslabyul beastman, questioning glare just a bit fiercer than necessary, “What do you want?”

“...” The cat beastman suddenly got nervous, shuffling his feet and looking down before breathing out, “We made you something…Come see?”

“...I guess?” Yuu groans, standing to their feet and sighing, “What’s this thing?”

The student perks up, gesturing behind him to the bleachers, “It’s under there! Me and some others worked hard on it so it’d be extra comfortable for you.” A beat of silence passes before the beastman steps closer, “Do you need me to carry you?”

Fuck no? That was what Yuu was going to say. Instead, they had to force down a gag as they felt themselves being scooped up and jostled into large firm arms. Once the nausea faded they realized they were in Jack’s arms. Their Savanaclaw friend glaring daggers at the shorter student.

“I’ll carry them. Just lead the way…” Jack looks at their bewildered face, ears pinning back in embarrassment, “Sorry…Should've asked…”

“You shouldn’t have in the first place.”

Jack hummed in what had better be agreement, following the jittery Heartslabyul student behind the bleachers. When they arrived, Yuu still wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be looking at. On the ground, protected from the dirt by a tarp, was a pile of fabrics. It looked like a mess of school uniforms all piled together and formed to give it a side so that someone could lay lounge style. Looking longer. Yuu noticed a few pieces of clothing that belonged to her friends. Epel’s ruffled dress shirt, Ace’s tie with a playing card tucked into the back folds, and what seemed to be Deuce’s track hoodie.

Silence passed, until Yuu spoke up, “What the fuck am I looking at?”

The group all deflates, turning to start whispering to each other. ‘They don’t like it.’ ‘I told you we should have put food nearby!’. ‘We didn’t get enough of their friends' stuff…’

“No, don’t ignore me, tell me what the fuck I’m looking at!”

Jack huffed but didn’t demand an answer either. Readjusting them in his arms before turning away with a mutter of, “Pitiful…” Exiting the bleachers as the group of beastmen start to mobilize again.

“I’ll go grab snacks!” “You! Go grab some blankets and pillows from your dorm!”

“How did I not think of it!? Pomefiore is a haven of proper materials!”

Yuu scowled, upset from still being unanswered, “Jack. What in the green eyes of the thorn fairy was that bullshit?”

Jack glanced away, ears pinning back as a conflicted expression crossed his face, “...” He opened his mouth.

“Jack. If you tell me something along the lines of, ‘I smell like a lady’ again…something…will happen to both of us…”

And his mouth snapped shut, the clinking of his teeth being the only noise he made. Reaching back to their plot of free space, Jack moves to place Yuu back on the ground.

“No.”

“Alright…” Jack stood up straight, keeping Yuu in his arms. Eyes scanning the surrounding area for various “dangers”.

From the side, Vargas looked up from his phone and groaned, “Iomhar, look at this! They’re not even sitting anymore! Howl’s carrying them around. I’ve had plenty of muscle cramps in my life, this can’t be as bad as everyone is claiming it is.”

Iomhar again shook his head, “Yuu’s already primed to fight anyone they please. It’s even more so now and I don’t believe any fondness they hold will keep them from actually trying to hurt someone…So if they attack you, I’m not pulling them off of your neck.”

“Phhht. I doubt they’d be able to reach my gloriously robust neck. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of fighting Little Ramshackle?”

“I don’t fight children, Vargas. I at most spar with them, and at least, train them.”

“Oh, and I assume flipping the Schoenheit boy three times in one match was sparring.”

“It was. It was in the ring and everything.”

Yuu glared at her friends, Grim held firmly in her arms, “Literally…All of you?”

Epel smiled, a bead of sweat just barely rolling down his temple as he tried to steady a clearly distressed Sebek who was clawing at the hallway wall in a bent-over position, “Sorry…Sebek’s really not feeling well. Ace, Deuce, and Jack are helping me since Diasomnia gives me the creeps. We’ll try to be back by lunch! To keep you company!”

Yuu shook her head, walking past the group of nervous boys, “Don’t worry about it. Take little bitch boy Sebek back to Diasomnia. I’ll…take notes or something I don’t know…”

Deuce spoke up, nervously rubbing the back of his head, “Do you…wanna come with us-”

“NO!” Sebek jumps up from his huddled position, the panic clear in his expression as though Deuce just suggested they all go line up to punch Malleus in the face. He realized his outburst, turning to Yuu with a fearful expression, “Uh…I mean…Please don’t come to Diasomnia.”

“...” Yuu blinked before shaking her head and walking into Trien’s room. Whatever was going on today with everyone was something she did not have the bones nor spoons to try to figure out.

The potion had started to fade, already feeling the tightening pressure doing nothing to help their rolling empty stomach. Their mood had also not gotten any better. For the rest of gym class, the same beastmen students had continuously called Jack to carry them back behind the bleachers and show off increasingly elaborate piles of fabric. They still refused to just tell them what the fuck the mess was supposed to be, only growing more determined to ‘get it right’. But when they had failed by the end of the class, they had actually apologized to them profusely and wished them luck before rushing off to their own classes.

So, by Night Raven boy standards, very fucking weird.

Yuu should have asked at least one of her friends to stay behind in class with them. One of them to act as a buffer against the wide-eyed stares of various first and second-year students who possibly hadn’t seen them yet today. She clicks her tongue, looking around the room and breathing a sigh of relief seeing Ruggie. The hyena beastman had a half-eaten donut shoved in his mouth, slowly chewing to make it disappear, and rifling through his beaten-up bag. And just her luck the seat next to him was empty.

They sat, letting Grim crawl out of their arms and getting comfortable, as much as they could with the cramps slowly returning and the feeling of a moist hand towel against their pussy, “Hey Ruggie.”

“Hey-Hold the fuck on…” Ruggie whips around, looking at them as though they were back from the dead. The hyena leaned closer to them, sniffling deeply before pulling back so hard he almost tipped out of his seat, “By the seven, are you okay!?”

Grim gave Yuu a nervous glance, waving a paw as he tried to warn Ruggie to calm down his concern, “Uh…Hey listen-”

“Ruggie, do you wanna be okay?”

“...” The Savanaclaw sophomore actually looked down, seeming to weigh his options before he looked up and nodded, “Yeah?”

“Okay, then I’m gonna need something from you.”

“Sure! What ya need? You want some water? I think I got a bottle left, hell just take the one I had too. You must be hungry, you’ve probably been working hard all day. Let me see if I got anything in here to eat-”

“Ruggie.” Once Yuu was certain they had his attention, they motioned him to lean closer again. He did, though he looked mildly reluctant to do so. Once he was close enough, Yuu gripped him by the collar and pulled him even closer to whisper, “I want you to shut the fuck up. Just…Just shut the fuck up for the whole class. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Less intensity.”

“Yeah, I can do that…Do you want the water though?”

“...” Yuu sighed. Maybe water would help their growing nausea, “Fine. And a sucker if you got it.”

Ruggie turned and searched through his bag, quickly pulling out a fresh water bottle and a handful of brightly colored suckers to dump on the table, “Here you go. Made them myself. The yellow ones are lemon; you like lemon right-”

“Ruggie.”

“Sorry.” The hyena raised his hands, scooting away as much as he could without pressing against the other student beside him.

The joint history class was passing by. That being the best way Yuu could describe it. Trein’s dry voice, while being the dullest kind of ASMR, was a calming effect to Yuu's thoughts. While it was history here, Yuu couldn't help but hear the lecture as a very detailed fairytale being read aloud in a fancy library. She could feel herself finally relaxing, stomach being only slightly appeased by the sweet-flavored lemon suckers.

If she had bothered to look around, Yuu would have noticed how the beastmen around her were finally calming too. The clearly distressed mood from the Ramshackle prefect doing more damage than she thought it would have.

But the peace was broken, just as Yuu crunched down on their second sucker, the cracking being more audible than they were expecting. But seeing how Trein didn't stop speaking or even turn to them, they grabbed another sucker and started to open it-

“Sensei? Is Ramshackle supposed to be eating?”

It was like time had frozen. Trein’s writing had stopped abruptly, the chalk in hand snapping off in his tightened grip. Every beastman nearly stopped breathing, turning to glare at the Scarabia student who had spoken up.

Ruggie turned to Yuu, opening his mouth to tell them to not mind the student, they could keep eating their sucker. Only to jump back as Yuu stood up, slamming their hands on the table.

Trein felt his face pinch, watching Yuu gather up the half-empty water bottle and numerous unopened suckers. He sighed as Yuu walked toward the small wastebasket by the door, “Yuu, you don’t need to-”

“No, it’s fine!” Yuu shrugged in an almost frantic motion, slamming the water bottle into the wastebasket hard enough the poor plastic bowl had nearly tipped over, “It’s fine. I just can’t fucking have anything!” They had moved onto the suckers, whipping each one into the basket with enough force that everyone was able to hear the candy being broken on impact, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!” At the end, they simply threw all of the suckers into the trash.

The room remained silent, waiting in bated breath as Yuu stomped back to their seat, ignoring the concerned looks from Grim and Ruggie. Without saying anything, Ruggie slipped his hand into Yuu’s, holding it firmly as a form of silent support. They looked over, expression clear that they were not pleased, but didn’t pull their hand away.

Trein looked over his class. The beastmen not close to Yuu were spending their energy glaring at the student who had spoken up, those closer were trying to subtly pass items to Bucchi. Hidden juice packs, different candies, savory snacks. All things that were forbidden in his classroom besides a Pomefiore beastmen trying to hand over his gallon-sized personalized water bottle. He sighed. If he had the time to properly speak, he would have told the student to pay attention to the lesson and not his classmates sitting silently, minding their own business.

Sighing, he turned back to the board, grabbing a fresh piece of chalk, “Now…as I was saying…”

The lesson continued on, the air clearly tense as Yuu started to tap on their table in an increasingly aggressive manner.

 Trein turns to the class, “Can anyone tell me what was the tactic used in the battle against invaders of the East Kingdom?” Seeing no one raising their hand, he unfortunately fell back on muscle memory. Yuu had shown great promise in his class, excitedly asking questions about historical events and even reading text for the second or third-year classes on their own time. So it didn't occur to him that calling on them in their current state was not the right move to make, “Yuu? Would you care to enlighten the class?”

“...” Yuu stood from their seat, leaving behind a confused Grim and Ruggie, and walked out of the room. The door slamming hard behind them and rattling the surrounding frames.

…

Trein sighed, turning back to the chalkboard and continued writing, “Does anyone have the answer?”

The botanical gardens were always pleasant. Perfect temperature no matter the season, full of fresh smelling air. Even when the magical dome had its annual rainshower, Yuu wasn't above gathering their friends and sitting under a tree to chat in the sprinkle. Which is probably why the gardens were the first place their legs took them.

Just where he normally was, Leona laid down with his arms folded under his head in a relaxed pose. The third-year napping peacefully in his patch of overgrown grass. She sat beside Leona, moving to stretch her back as she did during gym.

Leona’s eyes snap open after a few beats of silence. He sat up on his elbows, looking at Yuu with wide eyes, “...” He tilted his head, eyes flickering to their lower body, “Are you okay?”

Yuu sat up, winding back their fist and punched Leona directly in the chest.

“AUH! You little-” Leona had pulled his hand back, fully prepared to backhand Yuu in retaliation before he paused. Taking in Yuu's face, he noted how pathetic they looked even though they were glaring at him. He groaned and clenched his hand tightly. Having to remember his key reasons for not just striking back the non-magical student at every sucker punch Yuu managed to land on him. ‘They were younger than him’. ‘They didn’t have magic’. ‘They knew better than to just hit him, so they clearly want him to do something’. He breathed in, putting his hand back down and raising an eyebrow at the angry scowl on Yuu’s face, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with everyone else!?” Yuu waved their arms around, as though Leona could see the examples all around them, “This whole fucking day, everyone’s been acting so weird! Jack was basically a fucking bodyguard for me during gym! Hell, Ruggie was almost trying to hand-feed me during history!”

Leona mumbled under his breath, realizing just how late in the day it had become, “Fuck, I overslept…”

“Plus, like, I think every beastman is acting like I’m about to explode if they don’t treat me like the most delicate little flower.” Yuu turned to Leona, confusion easily bleeding into their scowl, “Like, what the fuck is going on today!?”

“...” Leona points to between Yuu’s legs, nose wrinkling as he sniffles the air softly “What’s happening down there?”

“I’m on my period…”

“Yeah, because I clearly know what the hell that is, Feral.”

Yuu groans out, the force of it almost making them slump over before they snap back up, “I’m bleeding out my pussy. Don’t freak out, it’s normal for me,”

Leona brought his fingers to his temple, sighing, “Yeah, that’ll do it…”

“Do what!?”

“Send everyone into a fucking panic. You smell like you’re in active labor…” Leona suddenly looked at them from the corner of his eyes, “You aren’t, right? If that lizard actually knocked you up while you’re still in school-”

“I’m not pregnant! This is literally happening because I’m not pregnant!”

Leona leaned away, doing his best to not roll his eyes, “Okay. By the seven…I'm just saying if he did, you can sue him over that.”

“Leona, I'm not suing my boyfriend just because you've got some kinda one-sided blood feud with him.”

“One; it's not one-sided. Two; it's sound legal advice. You two had a binding agreement and if he broke it you have right to-”

“Words can not express how much I want you to shut the fuck up…”

Leaning back, Leona scoffed. Arms going back to their folded position as he reclined on the grass, eyes closing, “Fine. Get fucked over for all I care…” After a beat of silence, he sighs out, cracking an eye to look at Yuu, “What happened? You're supposed to be in history. You're a little goody for Trein normally.”

“...” Yuu sighs, taking the standing silent invitation and laying down beside Leona, hands folded over the growingly tense muscles of their pelvis, “It's just been…a lot today. I can normally handle my period just fine but…” 

The following silence quickly sombered their conversation. Leona gave Yuu his full attention, raising an eyebrow as a silent gesture for Yuu to continue. His concern almost showing on his face when they don’t respond to him, “Yuu-”

“YUU!?”

Leona’s ears press against his head at the yell echoing in the garden. He grumbles under his breath and sits up again, sniffing in the direction of the yell before calling out, “Stop making so much noise. We’re over here.”

Ruggie comes rushing around the corner, Grim just barely hanging onto him from his shoulder. In his arms were blankets and multiple kinds of snacks and drinks, “There you are! Are you ok? Ya hungry? I got some cold juice on the way over here. Leona, how's it looking? Are the contractions far apart still?”

… Yuu rolls over to fully press their face into the ground, frustrated screaming slowly growing in volume as they banged their fists against the grass. Ruggie had attempted to rush over, dropping the bundle in his arms only to be stopped by Leona’s outstretched hand.

“Calm down, she’s not pregnant. Just being a little bitch.”

“Wait, what?”

The screaming had died down, Ruggie and Leona speaking in quick mumbles to each other. Grim slipped off of Ruggie’s shoulder, cautiously nudging at Yuu’s prone arm.

“Hold on…this is normal?”

Leona shrugs, running a hand through his hair as he sighed, “I’m guessing from how pissed they’re being about people worrying over them…” His green eyes looked over Ruggie, noting his empty arms before he scowled, “And where’s my lunch?”

Ruggie rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue and picking at the collar of his too-big button-up, “Well, forgive me for being more worried about the potentially pregnant person about to pop out a baby to get you a damn sandwich…”

“That’s not an excuse to not do your job-”

Grim whined, pushing against Yuu’s arm even harder than before, “Yuuuuuu! Come on, henchman, I'm hungry! Don’t you wanna go get lunch-”

“NO!” Yuu snaps up, their yelling sending Grim rolling away from them and scrambling to hide behind an equally stunned Leona and Ruggie, “No! I wanna take a shit and die. Just fucking pass away from the mortal coil!”

“Yuu-”

“It shouldn’t be this fucking hard!” Yuu pulled themselves up from the ground, kneeling as they look at their hands, trying to find the answers to their boiling-over questions and concerns, “It’s normal! It’s fucking basic as fuck for me normally! Periods shouldn’t be this hard, things shouldn’t be this hard!”

Ruggie and Leona share a look with each other, the second-year trying to step closer, “Hey, bud, it’s okay-”

“IT’S NOT RUGGIE, AND THAT’S THE PROBLEM!” Yuu was almost shaking from the force of their welling emotions, “Everyone is acting like something’s wrong! And that has never happened to me past just ‘Oh fuck, your period started? You need a tampon?’ And that’s it! Like, I knew things were different here, obviously. But I don’t think about it, you know? But now I am because everyone is acting weird when it’s just my period, it's not a big deal! But it is a big deal here! A lot of shit is a big deal here. And I'm thinking about where I came from a lot now and holy shit, I'm never gonna see those people or places again. And I'm okay with that! But, oh my fucking God, I am craving comforts and shit that I'm never going to have again. And I'm spiraling thinking about the few things I do regret and how I'm never gonna be able to fix them, I won't even get to try! Does anyone even know I'm gone? Did anyone care? I'm in a place where I don't actually exist, bleeding out my pussy with basically no support, and I'm realizing I have never felt more alone.”

The only sound was Yuu’s harsh breathing, the magicless human trying to take deep breaths to calm her rolling stomach and fight against the tears threatening to spill. The three males all shared a look, having a silent conversation with a series of eyebrow raises and glares. In the end Leona sighed, leaning over to place a hand on Yuu’s shoulder.

“Oi…Feral…You okay?”

“...Yeah…” Yuu’s face pinches up, a single sound of struggle slipping out as she shook her head, “No…” Turning, she dry heaved into the grass.

“Oh, by the Seven…” Leona moved, reaching over and pulling Yuu’s hair back in time for them to let out a wet-sounding retch that finally brought up a bit of watery bile. He held their hair, silently directing Ruggie to wrap up the food items in one of the many blankets. He only looked back to Yuu once the vomiting had stopped, helping them to sit up, “Feel better now?”

Yuu looked at Leona, tears clear in their eyes and quickly losing the fight to not cry. They shake their head again, tilting it down as they whimper, “I wanna go home…”

“Alright…” Leona slips his arms around Yuu’s body, easily scooping the smaller into his hold and cradling them close, “You shoulda stayed home in the first place…”

“Shut up…”

Leona looks to Ruggie, using one of his hands to grip the makeshift bag of treats, “Watch the weasel, I'm taking them home.” He made his way out of the garden, calling over his shoulder, “And you better have my lunch by the time I’m back!”

Ruggie sighed, sharing a look with Grim before he gave a disgusted look to the puddle of vomit on the ground, “I should find a hose or something to clean this up…smells awful-”

“Uh…Ruggie?” Once Grim was sure he had the hyena’s attention he pointed a paw to the top of the greenhouse dome, noting the fast-rolling dark clouds, sparks of green lightning seen inside them, “Should we be worried about that…?”

“...Fuck…”

“Cozy?” Leona pulled away, making sure Yuu was completely covered by the blanket. The prefect was curled up on the couch, sniffling and getting themselves fully comfortable before nodding their head, “Good.” Leona pulled a basket closer, the snacks Ruggie had gathered filling it almost to the top as he offered a juice box to them.

Yuu took the box, the tops of their arms leaving the warmth of the blankets to open the drink. Sipping once from the tiny straw, before speaking, “Thank you…”

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me for this. Coming to school when you were basically sick and then throwing a tantrum like that…you know better, Feral.” but looking at Yuu's pitiful face, he felt his own frown soften. Kneeling down, he pets at Yuu's head, subtly checking for a fever, “...Are you gonna be alright alone?” he asked it so softly Yuu almost missed it.

They smile, sniffling and wiping at their eyes, “Yeah…I think I just need a good cry…if it gets bad, I'll call someone. Promise.”

He nods his head, standing up and walking to the doorway of the lounge, “On or off?” At Yuu's soft call of ‘off’, he flipped the light switch. With the room in darkness, Leona gave one last grunt of goodbye, walking away as he heard Yuu's silent crying turn to choked-back sobs.

Outside of Ramshackle, he noted the shift in weather. The clouds he had noticed on the walk in had completely taken over the sky, still rolling like the bubbles of an overheating potion. And as he stepped onto the path leading away from the building, he saw a growing spark of green lightning. The lights crackling and seeming to follow the path of something, or rather someone walking in the direction to Ramshackle.

Leona sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking forward. Seems like he'd have to be the one to talk to Malleus…

[princessimotep]

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 5

~*~ Some 18+ content below. Minors do not interact. A lot of character relationships explained ~*~

A month had passed since Miriam joined the camp. It was safe to say she had finally settled in. Dutch, Hosea and Miss Grimshaw were happy with Miriam’s progress and the other gang members had taken well to her. One word the gang would describe her as was “compassionate.” She was someone who would go out of her way to help others, even though she was a little quiet and sometimes shy.

Dutch and Hosea shared the same opinion; Miriam was a wonderful addition to the camp and they could see everyone was in a better mood because of her presence. Dutch had some suspicions due to the lack of information he knew about her. Hosea however would reassure him that Miriam would reveal her past in due course. She just needed a little more time.

Miss Grimshaw was happy there was someone as competent as Tilly around the camp. The only thing she disagreed with was some of the men being distracted from their guard duty to go speak to her whilst she was reading amongst the trees. She knew Miriam couldn’t exactly help that; it was more a lecture she would have with the gents.

Mary-Beth was closest to Miriam, the two of them inseparable. Whether it was doing chores together, eating dinner or sat in each other’s tents just talking. Miriam was the Yin to Mary-Beth’s Yang. Miriam was quiet, preferred the night, looking up to the stars and staring at the moon, whilst Mary-Beth was bubbly, outgoing and preferred bright sunny days. Despite them both being inseparable, Miriam would still always escape the camp for a couple hours just so she could be alone in the woods.

Tilly was a sweetheart to the newcomer. On par with Javier when it came to checking in on her. In return, Miriam would always make Tilly a cup of coffee for her in the morning.

Karen on the other hand scared Miriam. They got on just fine, but at times, Miriam would find Karen’s boisterous manner to be intimidating. It was a quality she wished she had. Karen would often be in a tipsy state and wrap her arm around Miriam, telling her to trust no man and that she needs to take no shit from nobody. Despite the intimidation, Miriam did admire Karen for her confidence. She knew she was a ‘real one’ for advice. In turn, Miriam would always make sure Karen got to bed okay and poor water into her empty beer bottle. When Karen was drunk, she was none the wiser on what she was drinking.

Molly O’Shea was somewhat of an idol to the young woman. She found her to be the most beautiful woman in camp (yet she thought all the women were beautiful) and would find herself sometimes watching Molly in the mornings. Just observing how she would do her hair and apply her lipstick. Skills which she would mentally note down. After all, Miriam wanted to look her best when she knew she was going to be around Javier.

Abigail had spent the least amount of time with Miriam out of all the women, yet it never made the two women think any less of each other. When they would have their morning brew, the two of them always exchanged kind words and would talk about mostly Jack. Miriam was always happy to listen about Jack and how Abigail fell in love with John. It was something Miriam wished for. A family.

Sadie Adler. What a woman. Sadie perhaps cared for Miriam the most out of everyone in the camp. She knew exactly what it was like to be the newcomer and to have people hounding you with questions that you didn’t want to answer. Often, she would stick up for Miriam, telling everyone to ‘get lost’ or ‘leave her the hell alone.’ Sadie would tell Miriam about what happened to her and her Jakey when the O’Driscolls came by. In turn, Miriam shared with her what happened that night in the cabin. She didn’t detail the full story, but explained that the O’Driscolls came and tried to assault her before wanting to take her away to Colm. Sadie understood her hurt and promised her that if she ever needed anything, Miriam could come find her. Miriam promised the same.

Jack found Miriam just another pretty lady that joined the camp. Miriam found him incredibly cute and would offer to read to him sometimes, much to Abigail’s delight. The camp could get boring for a young boy at times so any possible way to entertain the boy was welcomed by his parents.

John kept his distance from her. This was mostly down to the fact he was either arguing with Abigail about things or he was always off doing some sort of mission with Arthur. He thought Miriam seemed nice and was grateful she would watch over Jack if Abigail was busy.

Arthur was lovely to Miriam. A man with high honour. If Miriam ever mentioned something that she missed such as a pair of earrings, Arthur would find a similar pair on his travels. He did this with all the gang members but Miriam appreciated the gesture a lot. The way she gave back to Arthur was by telling him about locations she had read about in her books, letting him know there might be things of interests for him to scribble down in his journal. One time he came back after a long ride out, visiting one of the spots she told him about; he would thank her, telling her it was worth checking out.

Mr Pearson and Uncle were both sweethearts to Miriam. Most of the camp members were irritated by their presence, especially Uncle’s but she found the both of them to be the jolly spirit the camp needed. Although Miriam couldn’t contribute any food to Pearson, she would happily go get supplies for him at the general store. These visits were always accompanied by either Arthur or Lenny who would drive the wagon. Uncle on the other hand would always be telling Miriam stories of the good ol’ days and would manage to get sympathy off her when he talked about his underlying conditions. Miriam was an empathetic person, also gullible at times and would take the old man’s word for it. Despite his persistent talking, Miriam would never tell him to go away. She would always listen with her ears pricked and mind fully engaged.

Reverand Swanson was someone who Miriam would hardly ever see. He was either passed out drunk in camp – or passed out drunk outside of camp. The bare minimum interactions they did have were Swanson telling her that she’s a sinful woman and that she needed to repent. Often this would lead to Javier scolding him, telling him to stay out of camp until he sobered up. In the past, a drunkard like that wouldn’t get to her, but after the things she did before she met the Van Der Linde’s… she felt there was truth to what Swanson was saying. Despite being upset by the Reverand’s interactions with her, she would always let one of the gang members know if she saw him wandering out of camp in a drunken daze. She never wished any harm on the man.

Leopold Strauss was kind enough to her. If she ever needed a remedy, he would offer her something. He would constantly remind her that if she didn’t wrap up warm, she’d catch her death. When going into town, she would pick up any tonics that he was running low on. To be honest, she was perhaps the only one in camp who was actually nice to him. Not many people talked to Strauss. But she did. Even if it was just a ‘good morning’ or a ‘how are you?’ Strauss would appreciate those little exchanges.

Kieran Duffy was someone who Miriam initially stayed far away from due to him having run with the O’Driscolls for a bit. One day she walked past the boy whilst he was tied up to a post and heard him crying, begging for some food and pleading out that he wasn’t an O’Driscoll. Being the empath she was, she couldn’t leave him like that. She gave Kieran her own bowl of food, seeing as the rations were running low one week. He thanked her profusely, saying he would never forget her kind deed. He was not someone she would go out of her way to make conversation with, but in the end, she realised that he was nothing like the O’Driscolls.

Bill Williamson was an odd one. He was very vocal around camp. It didn’t take Miriam long to find out he was an ex American soldier dealt with a bad hand in life which gave him an excuse to be the way he was. She mostly stayed away from him, worried that he could explode at any moment due to his trauma. Yet she still wanted to try and see the good in everyone and always believed in giving people a chance. She would feel sorry for him when the other camp members picked on him for ‘screwing things up’ or being ‘stupid.’ Whenever he needed a repair, she would always fix his clothes up first, leaving them folded neatly by his tent. She had to be honest – she found him strangely sweet when he would reply with a bashful ‘uh… thanks’ followed by an awkward silence and then a swig of his beer. It was the most she’d get out of him, but she was fine with that.

Lenny and Charles were gentlemen. Whenever they were around, Miriam felt most at ease. She knew there was not one bad bone in their body. Lenny would often ask about what story she reading and would even start imposing more questions about character’s back stories, scenic descriptions etc. He was a young man who just wanted to absorb information and it was adorable. Charles was quiet, more so than Miriam, but when he did talk to her, he was always courteous. Whilst out in the woods, the young woman would bring back hawk feathers for his arrows and oleander sage for him to use as poison. He’d give her a heartfelt thank you every time.

Josiah Trelawny, she had met just once. He waltzed into camp one day and made his presence very known. He was intrigued by the newcomer, saying that she had a strangely familiar face. This panicked Miriam and she immediately brushed him off, saying she just had that kind of face. He pondered but left it alone saying that she was probably right. He seemed like a charming, flamboyant man but Miriam hoped she was never in the same space as him again. She couldn’t have anyone finding out who she was and exposing her past. Thankfully, he was someone who never stuck around for long and would disappear with a flick of the wrist.

Sean was indeed a handful. The flirtiest one of them all. He’d always try to walk over to Miriam, complimenting her on how beautiful she looked. It would mostly end with Karen yelling at him or even Javier just simply giving a look that told him to go away.  Javier just had that kind of look which would strike fear into people’s hearts. Miriam found it… very attractive. She was thankful that Karen never got antsy with her. Karen always blamed Sean for his playboy behaviour. Sean would try though. He’d insist on grabbing Miriam a beer or even a whiskey if she’d prefer. Miriam wasn’t a drinker, yet he would persist. Luckily, Sean did understand the meaning of the word ‘no’ (even if it was eventually) and would take a hint if Javier was staring at him nearby.

Javier Escuella. Just thinking of him made her heart pump uncontrollably fast. Javier found himself becoming… almost obsessed with her. Every morning, noon and night he would check in on her. If he had to go on a mission, the last person he would speak to would be her. Returning? She was the first one he’d talk to. There was something about her that made his chest puff out and want to protect her. Whether it was making sure she was warm enough round the campfire, if she had eaten that day or if anyone had bothered her at all. He didn’t stay by her side though, not wanting the camp members to know of his obsession – especially Miriam. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him; looking so lost and helpless with her big brown eyes. He knew she could handle a knife but didn’t want to see her in that kind of situation again. At night, when he retired to his tent, all he could think about was her and those thoughts would keep him up at night. How her waves cascaded down over her bare shoulders, her cute plump cheeks and her luscious round lips. Occasionally he would give in to his dark desires and stroke himself to the fantasy of having his cock shoved down her pretty little throat. He would shudder at the thought of her trying so desperately to be able to breathe but would praise her for taking his cock so well. Ever since that horse ride back from Strawberry, he hadn’t been the same. And neither had she.

The last member of the camp, she hadn’t met yet due to him being in jail. Yet that was all about to change.

“Hello there, sweetheart.” Miriam looked up from the book she was reading by the campfire. She was sat on the ground, with her legs tucked away to the side. She blinked at the blonde male who was towered over her, his leg propped up on one of the large logs that lay across the dirt for gang members to sit on.

“Hello.” She lightly replied, not knowing any better. Everyone knew not to give Micah Bell the time of day.

“Ain’t you a pretty little thing, hm…” He muttered, a low growl forming in the back of his throat. He sounded feral. He gestured to the end of the log which was nearest to where she was sat on the ground. “May I?” She smiled.

“Of course.” He rose an eyebrow. He was genuinely surprised by how… innocent she was. He let out a dark chuckle at this notion.

“Very kind of ya, sweetheart.” He wasted no more time and perched himself next to her. The height difference giving him a flex which he used to his advantage. “So how you been keepin’, doll face?” He looked around then back at her. Micah seemed theatrical with how he expressed himself with his hands. “Everyone been… nice and all?” Miriam nodded.

“Yes, thank you… um…” She blinked slowly, not actually knowing who he was. He laughed out loud at the realisation.

“My, my! Where are my manners?” He grabbed her hand, making her drop her book. He placed a short and quick peck on the back of her hand. “Micah Bell the third.” Miriam blushed just a little at the action but thankfully it couldn’t be seen due to the flickering light of the fire in front of them.

“Miriam.”

“Miriam…?” He quizzed, trying to get her last name. She smiled nervously, retracting her hand.

“I’d rather not say.” He would remember that. Micah was always good on picking up small connotations.

“Ahh… a woman shrouded in mystery. What on earth did you do I wonder…” Her blood started to turn cold. “I mean it is strange you know. You’ve been with us for… a month now? And we still don’t know anything about you.” She started to get up, needing to remove herself from the situation. He instantly wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Ah, ah ah! Where’d ya think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” He pulled her down closer to his face. He scowled at her with his animalistic eyes. “I’m not done talkin’ to you.”

“I am.” She counteracted. His mouth went agape, started to laugh at her comeback

“Oh ho ho! You have a bite to ya! I like that. I really… like that in a woman.” She gritted her teeth, feeling her wrist start to ache.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I like to do, to pretty little things like you…”

“Let her go.” Javier spat, walking over with a hand resting on his belt. Micah rose his eyebrow and looked both at Miriam and Javier. Another streak of laughter followed.

“Oh. Oh ho ho… I see what’s goin’ on here.” Javier didn’t care for what Micah thought he knew. Micah stood up, squaring up to Javier. “Why don’t you fuck off back to Mexico? Hm?” Javier scoffed quietly. He was about to turn around when suddenly he smashed his fist into Micah’s face, causing the blonde male to fall on his ass. Javier towered over him, venom dripping with his words.

“Why don’t you fuck off back to hell?” Javier looked at Miriam and lifted her up by her arm to usher her away. Micah took a second to register what had happened, holding onto his face.

“You hit like you dress! All… feminine.”  Javier stopped in his tracks but Miriam convinced him to just walk away. Miriam and Javier walked into the trees and once they were far enough away from camp, Javier put his hands on the young woman’s shoulders and spun her around to look at him.

“Are you okay, mi amor?”

“I’m fine but are you okay?” She rapidly responded, not even realising the change of nickname. She was so used to him giving her Spanish nicknames, she just guessed it meant something simple and non-endearing. And definitely not anything romantic. The corner of his lip tugged upwards. Just slightly.

“Sí.” He frowned, looking down at her wrist. “He hurt you.”

“It’s noth-” Javier’s hand lifted her wrist which Micah had squeezed badly. He could see fingernail marks imprinted on her skin and it looked as though a bruise was starting to form.

“No me mientas.” (“Don’t lie to me.”) He hissed which made the young woman let out a shaky breath. She hadn’t seen this side of Javier before. She didn’t know what he had just said but she felt she knew roughly what he meant.

“I’m sorry…” She was breathless as she watched how his dark eyes scanned over her injury. Her wrist was so close to his lips. His breath from his nose tickled her skin. Smoothly his hand slid along from her wrist to her palm; he wrapped his fingers around own and gave them a squeeze to make her look at him. He rose an eyebrow.

“Should I go back and kill him?” His response made her let out a shaky laugh, smiling brightly with her teeth.

“No. He’s not worth your time.”

“But you are, mi armor.” There it was again. That familiar, sickly feeling she was forming in her belly. “I want you to know, Miriam… if you ever need me, I will never be too far away from you. Just call and I’ll be there.” She squeezed her thighs together, unable to break away from his smouldering gaze. She gave a couple little nods to him. He nodded once back and let go of her hand, walking away after taking one last look at her. She watched him leave her alone amongst the trees, with the moon shining through like a beacon of serenity. Miriam held onto her wrist, the one he had just held. She sighed with her head lowered.

‘Oh Javier… what are you doing to me?’

[mrsbluehands]

Night time for the mansion!

Headcanon (x reader)

Creepypasta

Little idea that I wanted to write for a while now. First writing post! Hope it's not too short.

Tw: none

Pronouns: GN

-

X-Virus (give him love please)

Quite forgetful. Even if his nighttime routine is as simple as brushing his teeth, he might forget (please remind him for his own good).

Moves in his sleep like a three year old that is learning how to sleep in a real bed for the first time.

I think he sleepwalks whenever he's stressed. Since the rest of the mansion found out, they force Cody to lock his room from the inside during the night. (You wouldn't want to find him half naked in the wood again...)

Putting your arms around him might help a bit, but you could end up being crushed under him in the morning. If that's a sacrifice you are willing to make.

Can totally also end up on the floor or crushing you under him in the morning

But on the good side, Cody's a real cuddly guy. He needs to feel you close to him all the time.

Usually is the one who is completely engulfing you in his arms at night. He adores to know that you are safe with him, but won't say no if you prefer to have his head on your chest and hands in his hair...

Jeff the killer

Blasts music until 2 am like the edgy teen he still is.

Falls asleep whenever. Doesn't matter if the sun is stil beaming outside or if he just woke up from a afternoon power nap. He will sleep no matter what.

Will also eat anything before going to bed. Usually gets hungry at night, but this man can eat a 5 course meal at 3 am. Hearing some noises at night? You'll find him munching on the meatloaf leftover you made. (He likes you cooking what can he says!)

Not really into sleeping and cuddling stuff. Not a light sleeper, but sometimes he wakes up abruptly and he really wouldn't want to scare you off.

Likes to keep a hand on you anyways. Like wrapping his arm around your shoulder or waist. A hand on your stomach or waist.

He's nice to sleep with though! Extra warm (sleeps only in his underwear) his skin is a real radiator.

He really is a nice guy (mostly with you though). If he wakes up before you in the morning, he most probably will, he'll look at you and smile even wider wondering what he did to deserve to have someone as wonderful as you in his life.

BEN drowned

He doesn't need sleep but he likes it. Especially if he can cuddle with you.

He goes to bed whenever he pleases. No nighttime routine or whatever. He just plops on the bed and he's out.

Speaking of going to sleep whenever, he's the type to take naps in the middle of the day.

I like to think that he sleeps like a cat. All curled up on himself and taking so little space that you could probably spend the whole night in the same bed without touching him once.

Always cold even if he's warm to the touch. Please hold him. Only your warmth makes him feel alive again.

In the darkness of the room, he emits a faint green light while his eyes are a vibrant red. Nearly screamed when you slept with him for the first time.

You might wake up without him on your side, but no worries! Since he doesn't feel the need to sleep, he probably just woke up before you and decided to make you a small breakfast ❤️ (terrible at cooking but he tries that's what's important)

Eyeless Jack

Definitely let's you sleep with his hoodie. Wants to make sure you won't be cold even in summer (you never know).

Nocturnal demon. He sleeps with you because he likes the feeling of having you inside his arms to keep you safe.

He's very much probably never going to let you be the big spoon, mostly because there's very little chance that you're bigger than him, but especially because he loves to feel like the big demon that can protect you at all costs.

His skin is hard and weirdly cold to the touch. Hope you don't get cold at night because he's not much of a warm being unlike Jeff.

Since you are so different from him, he like to feel your skin under his touch and to look into your eyes. They feel so lovely when he compares them to his empty sockets.

Not a much of a talker, but don't worry, you will never fall asleep without your goodnight kiss on the forehead.

Does not move. Like not at all. Heck you need to shake him awake in the morning to be sure he's not just dead (well he kind of already is but you get my point...)

Jane

Pretty sleeper. I'm so jealous. She looks like a movie character.

No drooling, no talking, no mumbling... even her hair stays in place. Like how?

She sleeps with a tons of plushies and pillows, you can't change my mind. She especially likes teddy bears, she probably has like 15 of them.

But if you're here with her she will let her plushies go and hug you instead.

If you sleep together, you two will probably not sleep until morning. She loves to talk. Bonus point if you're a good listener!

You like to hold her at night? Go ahead! She gives so much affection to people for sometime she forgets to take care of herself :( (she really is the mom friend)

Expect her to be wide awake when you wake up, she's a real early bird and likes to do chores in the morning. Just like BEN (but it'll taste better) you'll have wonderful breakfast to start the day.

-

Hope you enjoyed!

[kelp-my-beloved]

What the hell is going on with False

[EDIT: This is no longer up to date, and has insted been suplanted by this post]

As the title says, I'm trying to get to the bottom of False's lore. I divided all my questions into ten points that I think sumarises the mistery in a satisfactory way.

This is also 90% so I can have some sort of structure when making any theory. If you notice something missing or want to add literally anything, feel free to let me know or make your own adition

So, first of all. In my opinion, for a theory to be strong, it has to answer at least most of the ten main questions:

Dead Guy's Clothes: This one is about that corpse e!False found in episode three and stole their clothes. Besides them, in the pile there was also bones and raw beef. Where did they come from? Why are they dead?

Those Weird Signs: Here's a post with all the signs. Who put them there? What do they mean?

Pumpkin Jack: Our favourite suspicious pumpkin. He was seen outside of Goblan, too, and appeared to False for the first time in episode 4. On episode 9 False put him in jail for Scary Crimes, and on episode 10 he was found being murdered. He was put in a field, where he stayed, and on episode 12 he got Buff after eating his vegetables. Sausage also claims to have seen many like them before, and one appeared outside Gobland. Plus, at the beggining of JoeHills hermitcraft s9e40, we see him wake up in the Tumble Town Water Thing in the bridge, no memories of how he got there, a sign saying beware of the pumpkin, three pumpkins stew, various pumpkin seeds, and saw a giant carved pumpkin at the end of the bridge. Wether or not it's connected is up to your interpretation.

e!False Murders: What the hell False. She killed Pixlriffs with an amnesia potion, and is heavily implied she did the same to Jevin (she threw an amnesia potion at him while he stayed in her room, after which he woke up on a different place and no memory of the fact. On False's video, we also see the same room filled with redstone/blood. This clip is shown before the one where she invites Jevin to stay, and the next morning False can't find Jevin, and tells herself he must have left on his own. Wheter this is an unreliable narrator stuff or the blood is somebody else's is unclear. Also, it's important to note that Jevin is literally a blue piece of slime. Wether this implies that it can't be Jevin's blood or that it's hard to recreate a murder scene in minecraft is unclear). False is also shown placing a sign on the hermit area to invite them to stay at her tavern, and it's implied that that's why Jevin went to stay there

h!False and e!False: Funky Lore Stuff. h!False knew of e!False, but e!False seems to not know about h!False. h!False called the other one dangerous, and is spying on her to make sure she isn't doing anything bad. e!False had a flashback at some point, where a False is shown looking at the camera, talking about wheter or not something worked, and that she had never wiped someone's memory before. There's also the fact that while e!False is having "brain glitches", a high static/electricity noise can be heard, and after them the sound of a clock ticking.

Gathered Resources: Now and then, resources that e!False's need appear out of nowhere. In one ocassion, they were placed in chests with a sign that said "you're welcome". They were the resources needed to build the ship she had dreamnt about.

Glitch/Flashback/Vision: There was a post that tumblr will not let me find that disected the clip beautifully. Point is, we see a False looking at the camera, claiming that she has never wiped anybody's memory before so she's not sure if it worked. See 5 for more details. Ep 14 had a whole cake of vision's lore, in which we see a False captured in a cage, working behind a desk somewhere, and observing someone in a cage. For more details see the wiki

Rift and Tower shock: Whenever a False is near something she shouldnt be, she gets shocked, even if the material can't carry electricity (eg wood). This happened to e!False when she tried to check on h!False's spy tower, and to h!False when she tried to get near the rift over at hermitcraft before the travel happened.

Where did e!False come from?: This one is probably very related to (5). At the begining of the season, we see what she described as "home" being a small room with a bed and nightstand, with windows we can'tsee through, and an iron door that she uses at the end of the clip to get out, though it's barely shown. Whether or not this is a holding cell depends on how much you want to stretch it. This also has to do with how she appeared in empires. Once again, ep 14 has a whole cake of lore. For vague details see 7, for extended ones visit the wiki

Memory potions: Who made them? How long did False had them? Did she only use them on Jevin and Pix? What are they for? See: JoeHills ep40, detailed in point 3. Also, both of them had recently been on an ancient city, and is shown on Pix's video that he is missing his Lore Compass, though the reason why Jevin went to stay at Cogsmead was a sign inviting any hermit in their area. On ep 14, e!False comments that maybe she should make some sleeping potions for her bad dreams, instead of the 'kind she's been making'.

Also, credits to @maple-cloak and @moth-ed-man for pointing out a few details I missed! I added them after posting

New note: Im updating this post as new information comes, but there's a limit of what i can reasonable put in it. If I dont cover something completely, I'll put where one can get the full picture besides watching False's whole season.

[cinebration]

Come Back To Me (Jack Russell x Reader) [Part 5]

You wake up in Jack’s bed.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Tagged: @lucy-sky​, @faeoftheapocalypse​, @theconsultingdoctor10​, @starfirette​, @bitchyglitterfox​, @thefandomqueenuno​, @scarlettsoldier​, @russell-ed​, @xasement​, @stand-with-cap​, @marvelenthusiast10​, @supermarvelgirl15​, @mobiusismyfav​, @killeromanoff​, @hawkins-2000​, @fangurldayandnight​, @liv-victoriano​, @randomchick546​, @g1m2g3, @gingermous​, @howlingco​, @vynsvision​, @jwjeepers, @rellasnowheenim​, @yelenas-lova​, @nyrovia​, @littlenosoul​, @allthingsvicf​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: timothydalton

Sunlight slanted over your face, nudging you awake with its warmth and brightness. The familiar scent of wood smoke and musk wrapped around you. Slowly rising from the depths, you peeled your eyes open and blinked away the blurriness, the room resolving into focus around you.

Confusion slowed down your ability to think. Sitting up, you found yourself wrapped up in unfamiliar sheets, the bed not as soft as yours at home. Glancing around the room, you saw men’s clothes in the closet and on the dresser, shoes much too large for your feet by the closed door.

Alarms chiming softly in the back of your mind, you untangled yourself from the sheets and padded to the door on bare feet. Someone had taken the time to remove your shoes before putting you to bed. Disconcerted, you opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, wishing you had more than your hand-to-hand combat skills. Your stomach burned at the thought of flinging yourself at an attacker.

The living room and kitchenette slid into view. Stepping softly into the room, you glanced to the right. Sprawled on the couch with a thin sheet thrown over him, Jack slept soundly, one arm draped over his face, one leg hanging off the sofa.

You relaxed. Striding over to him, you stared down at what little of his face you could see behind his bicep. He looked peaceful, his hair mussed from sleep. You hadn’t noticed the gray hairs buried among the brown before. You leaned down to examine them, your eyes still bleary from your own rest.

Jack’s arm moved, and his beautiful eyes stared up at you. At that distance, all you could see were his beautiful eyes.

“Buenas dias,” he whispered, smiling.

You straightened, embarrassment burning your neck. “Good morning.”

“Cats do that, you know.”

Your sleep-addled brain struggled to process his words. “What?”

“They lean over you to check your breath,” Jack answered, sitting up. The blanket fell away from him, revealing his bare torso. Reaching for a shirt draped over the arm of the couch, he wiggled into it, treating you to a show of his muscles. They weren’t as lean or defined as Jaeger’s, and there was a softness to his belly, but your ears burned as you watched him.

It felt too intimate, like something only a lover should see.

Glancing away, your throat tightening, you looked around for a clock. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep in the car. I don’t know where you live, so I brought you here.” Standing, Jack stretched, his back audibly popping, and smiled sleepily. The expression nearly made you melt. “Do you want breakfast?”

“I should get going. I don’t want to put you out.”

“I like cooking,” he insisted. “I’ll make a great breakfast.”

“Um…okay.”

“The bathroom is that way if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Retreating to the bathroom more out of embarrassment than the need to use it, you breathed a sigh of relief as you fought the conflicting emotions swirling in your chest.

I am a hunter, you reminded yourself, glancing at the mirror. I don’t get relationships. People aren’t an option. So stop it.

Splashing cold water on your face, you washed the sleep from your eyes and tried to rid yourself of your own bed-head hair. You couldn’t believe you had fallen asleep in the car, let alone not noticed him moving you into his apartment or taking off your shoes. Feeling strangely exposed by your bare feet, you left the bathroom, your wits hardly gathered about you.

Delicious smells wafted out of the kitchenette, making your stomach clench with hunger. Wincing against the pain, you shuffled out into the living room and watched Jack move around the half-kitchen, his actions sure and easy. Something sizzled in the frying pan behind him.

“You’re not allergic to anything, yes?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

You found that his shifts in naked emotion were endearing, almost painfully so. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Smells delicious.”

“Huevos rancheros,” he explained.

Retrieving two plates from a cabinet, he placed them on the small counter beside the stove and tossed tortillas onto the bracket hovering above an open flame. With his fingers, he flipped them until they developed brown spots and then plopped them onto the plates. Grinning at you, he smeared black-bean paste onto the tortillas with a flourish. From the pan, he tipped eggs sunny-side-up atop the beans, then heaped a large helping of salsa beside them.

By the time he set the plate in front of you, you were salivating. It took all your self-control not to shove the food into your gullet.

“I hope you like it.”

“I can tell you I already do,” you said, eagerly forking up some of it.

Beaming, Jack dug into his own breakfast. You both ate in silence but for the sounds of chewing and an occasional hum of satisfaction from you.

You were disappointed when you realized the plate was empty. Resisting the urge to lick it clean, you set the fork and knife down and settled back in the chair. Jack had finished only moments before. You found him watching you, the warmth in his eyes making your chest constrict. You shifted in your seat, winced from the pain.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, reading the question on his face. “It’ll be like this for a long time.”

“Does that bother you?”

You frowned, startled by the question. Does it? You reached for the scar on your belly, feeling it through the fabric. It was by far the worst injury you had yet sustained in your life. Would it be the worst at the end of it? Or was there worse yet to come?

The idea made sweat break out under your hairline. Swallowing thickly, you shrugged. “I don’t know what my next move is to find the werewolf.”

Jack straightened in his seat, his expression serious, professional. “Are we sure it’s even nearby? It could have left the state, even the country.”

You sighed, weighed down by the improbability of locating the creature. “It could be anywhere.”

“Maybe it can’t be found. It’s a man for most of the month.”

“Yeah. It could be anyone, even my own boss.” You laughed at the absurdity of it, then considered the thought. Jaeger did have a tendency to dominate others, and around the full moons you never saw him. You also presumed it was because he was out hunting, but when was the last time you officially knew he hunted?

Shaking the thought from your mind, you sighed again. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until the werewolf strikes again.”

“The next full moon?”

You nodded. “It’s very near, but I doubt the others are having any better luck. At least I got to talk to Elsa.”

A wan smile puled on Jack’s lips. Gathering up the plates, he retreated to the kitchenette, placed them in the sink, ran water over them.

“I should get going,” you muttered, though you didn’t want to leave. The awkwardness of being around him weighed itself against the desire to have his arms wrap around you again. You stood abruptly. “I’m needed home.”

He frowned, his attention jerking up to you. “You have a boyfriend? A family?”

“Uh, no. A bird.”

His teeth shone brilliantly in his wide smile. “A bird?”

“Yes. They’re easy to keep, and they don’t mind me being gone.”

Wiping his hands on his pajama bottoms, he stepped back into the living room and retrieved your shoes from beside the couch. Handing them to you, he watched as you pulled them on, the back of your neck burning the whole while.

“So, no boyfriend, then?” he asked again.

“Uh…no. Not for a long time.” How ’bout ever?

“That’s good.”

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow arching. Cheeks flushing red, Jack smiled nervously and covered, “I mean, it’s not good. It’s nothing.”

Your other eyebrow rose to meet the first.

Chuckling uneasily, Jack cleared his throat. “If you don’t have a boyfriend, I mean…would you like to have dinner with me?”

You froze, unsure you had heard correctly. “You’re asking me on a date?”

“Yes. Is…is that not how they do it now?”

“No, you did it right. I just…” Shaking your head, you matched his nervous smile. “I’d love to.”

His beaming grin was infectious, buoying you with light and warmth you didn’t know you could ever experience. “Tomorrow night? I can cook the whole dinner.”

“Um, yeah, sure.” I’ve never had a man cook me dinner before. “That sounds great.”

“Great!” As he walked you to the door, he hesitated. “You’re sure you’re not allergic to anything?”

You laughed despite yourself, the nervous energy in your stomach bubbling over.

[hunty627]

Here’s the script for Kayley and the mysterious critter.

Kayley is a bus who is has road wheels and rail wheels. And being a railway maintenance bus, her job is to carry the workmen to areas where they need to do some railway track maintenance. It makes her very proud, especially when her driver beeps her horn to tell the engines to slow down when there’s railway repair work. One day, Kayley was being refueled when Sir Topham Hatt came to see her. He told Kayley that she has to take the workmen to fix the train tracks in the forest at night. Kayley knew that meant she had the red of the day off until nighttime comes. Her driver took her out for a drive past the beach, over Gordon’s hill and through Henry’s tunnel. Then she was given a nice soapy wash. That night, Kayley set off to the woods with the workmen to do their late night railway work. She used her headlights to help the workmen see which parts of the track that they needed to repair. As the workmen began mending the tracks, Kayley saw something moving in the air. It looked like some kind of animal. It was some kind of furry flyer. When it landed on her roof, Kayley got scared! And as the mysterious creature jumped off, she raced backwards as fast as her wheels could carry her! Meanwhile, Sir Topham Hatt was at Tidmouth sheds, telling Percy that he needed to take the mail train at precisely 12 o’clock midnight and Henry needed to take the flying kipper at 5 o’clock in the morning, when suddenly, they all heard Kayley’s horn. She raced into the yard and screeched to a halt. Sir Topham Hatt asked Kayley why she left the workmen in the woods. The white bus told him and the steam team that she saw a mysterious creature that had fur and can fly. Gordon and James thought it was silly, but Percy was just as scared as Kayley. Thomas didn’t want the bus to be scared. He wanted to help. Then, an idea flew into his funnel. He asked Sir Topham Hatt if they could ask zookeeper Jack from the Sodor animal park to find Kayley’s critter. Sir Topham Hatt agreed. They arrived at the animal park just as zookeeper Jack had finished putting the elephants to bed. They told him about the furry, flying creature in the woods. Zookeeper Jack agreed to help them investigate. When they arrived at the woods, the workmen were cross with Kayley for leaving them behind. The foreman spoke severely to the bus. Kayley apologized and explained that she got scared. And sure enough, they all saw the animal. Kayley and the steam engines got scared, but Zookeeper Jack told them it was nothing to be afraid of. The creature was actually a flying squirrel, a small, cute, furry creature that mostly glides from tree to tree using its special cape-like membrane between its arms and legs. It also has big round eyes for seeing in the dark because a flying squirrel is nocturnal. Kayley and the others were amazed. It was a female flying squirrel. She was just looking for some nuts to feed to her babies for a midnight snack. Percy & Thomas teased the big engines about being scared of something small and cute. James & Gordon felt rather embarrassed. After that, Sir Topham Hatt and zookeeper Jack went back to their homes to bed and the steam engines went back to the sheds while Kayley watched the flying squirrel feeding her offspring some yummy nuts as the workmen continued their work. The next morning, the workmen had finished their late night track maintenance, but Kayley had fallen asleep, just like the flying squirrel fell asleep in its nest. Then, Ronnie the Amtrak diesel passed by and used his horn to give the white bus a wake up call. After Kayley woke up, she sleepily drove back to her shed after telling the flying squirrel to sleep well, and the flying squirrel snored quietly as she used her long bushy tail as a blanket to sleep all throughout the day. And Kayley learned that if something scares her, she has to learn more about it, and it won’t seem scary to her after all. The end.

[myfriendofmiseryyy]

Pedro pascal character’s comforting you through a storm ⛈️

It’s storming right now and my autistic Ass needs some comfort.

Frankie morales 🚁🐟

Frankie is admittedly a little scared himself,the thunder booms remind him of the war and being in South America and he hates it. But as soon as he sees you panicking all of his thoughts are pushed back and his attention is fully on you,holding you close,telling you it’s going to be ok,putting on your favourite tv show/movie for distraction. He also realises this is a BIG sensory no no for you and makes sure whether you want to cuddle or for him just to be next to you. He will put on the “cozy lights” and get your favourite comfort food if you feel like eating.

Basically this man will give you the world if you’d let him,during a storm is no exception.

Joel miller 🧟‍♂️🪓

You didn’t think that Joel cold hearted miller cared about you until one faithful night when you were both making camp,it was dark outside and a sudden flash of lightning made you jump out of your skin. “You ok there sweetheart?” Joel kinda jokes but also is genuinely concerned about your safety,when you jump again at the sound of thunder Joel sits down beside you and let’s you cuddle into him,”it’s ok sugar,only a bit of thunder”he says quietly. I’ll make sure there is no clickers,I’ve checked the permitter 5 times already but after the worst of this is over I’ll check again” you and Joel make light conversation about your childhoods (both growing up in Texas) until the storm clears and you fall asleep,he didn’t sleep that night,to afraid of 2 things,A,what lurks in the woods and B,his feelings for you.

Javier pena 👮‍♀️🚬

Javi is honestly confused why you are scared of the thunderstorm but he is understanding,”want to take your mind of it mi amor” he whispers,Javi only knows one distraction and that is sex. So he makes love to you till sunrise. He would be more vocal than usual,whispering praises and how much you mean to him in your ear. This is very unusual of Javi but you’re into it…maybe it should storm more often.

Marcus soft boi pike 🩷🫶🏻

Ultimate boyfriend/husband alert!! He will tell you in advance that the storm is coming and prepares a night in with all the best movies and comfort food and cuddles (or just cuddles if you prefer) he will hold you close every time a thunder boom scares you and stroke your hair gently to comfort you,he will whisper how proud he is of you and how brave you are being. He will bring your favourite candles out and light them (even if there is still power) and lets you snuggle into his chest until you fall into a deep sleep,when you wake up the next morning you find Marcus had carried you to bed and he is spooning you with his body wrapped around you,you feel so safe and secure. He is your home,you don’t ever feel scared with Marcus,you know that he is going to be there for you every step of the way. He constantly reminds you how much he loves and cares about you,and how he would do anything for you. You turn around to admire the sleeping beauty that is your husband,mouth slightly open,hair draped over his eyebrows,yeah you could live like this for the rest of your life.

Jack (whiskey) Daniels 🤠

Surprisingly very soft,you two are on a undercover mission when a storm rolls in, jack automatically notices you are anxious about this. “You ok sugar?” I fucking hate storms” you say with embarrassment on your face “no embarrassment in that sugar,everyone has their fears,I’m not to fond of them myself I must admit,come here and give old jack a cuddle” he says softly,you and jack snuggle underneath a blanket until the storm passes,you never knew that jack “ladies man” daniels could be this soft…you wish you saw this side of him more often.

Javi g 🧸🩷

This man will be just as scared as you,he is the human equivalent of a golden retriever. And will cuddle into you for both of your comfort, A la mierda esta tormenta, me alegro de tenerte aquí hermosa. You chuckle softly,he always uses his native tongue when he is pissed off with something “I agree darling but it will be over soon,let’s watch a movie.” Javi is your home,your comfort and you love everything about him,and he loves everything about you,he tells you constantly,when ever he can,especially after sex. The man is a god at aftercare,you watch the movie and fall asleep in his arms. You couldn’t think of a better life.

[nopeferatu]

Click for some...spicey spice 🤪

"Christ—fuck, oh God, Ennis—" Jack panted and squirmed within Ennis' arms, rocking back as best as he could to meet the fervent thrusts behind him. Ennis ran a hand along Jack's chest, down to his soft belly before reaching his muscled thigh to pull it farther where it hooked over Ennis' hip, spreading him wider. Finally, he reached for his dripping cock, hand and hips working in tandem to stroke Jack both inside and out.

Soon, Jack tensed, and Ennis heard the familiar intake of breath that let him know Jack was on the edge. "C'mon now, darlin'," he breathed, nipping at his ear, and with one, two, three more pumps, Jack gasped, spilling himself sticky-wet onto Ennis' knuckles and trembling in his arms. Ennis lengthened his strokes, chasing his own release and burying himself deep inside of Jack, nuzzling his face in the back of his neck to stifle his groan.

The two laid spooned together for a bit, Ennis softening inside him as they rode their highs and caught their breaths. Jack felt Ennis' fingertips trail along his flank, felt soft kisses pressed into the nape of his neck before stretching a long, luxurious stretch in the circle of Ennis' arms and settling back down onto the bed.

The bed. Now wasn't that just something. Though this thing between them had led them through snow-capped foothills and past still corries, riding along jagged crags that sliced through cool spring air, and had seen them rolling around on fragrant summer beds of columbine before the autumn-chilled freshwater streams sluiced over them when they were done; though it'd had them traipsing all over Wyoming's natural wonders, a simple bed sitting in a room with four solid walls was territory their thing had not charted. Not since they were four years worth of desperate to consummate their friendship once more in the dingy Motel Siesta room.

Probably would never have charted again, neither, had an old foreman Ennis used to work for not had an out of use cabin to spare that harsh winter, and had there not been a long string of disappointments that Ennis needed to make up for.

Jack finally felt Ennis ease out of him. Remembering to send up a little prayer of thanks for the generosity of Don Wroe, he turned to face him, leaning in for a kiss.

"Mornin', darlin'," Ennis murmured after pulling away.

Jack smiled. He knew the sparsely used pet name to be part of his taciturn cowboy's quiet form of pillow talk, something he was always delighted to revel in when given the chance. The fact that he got to hear it twice that morning alone meant Ennis was deep in his tender feelings, mirroring his own mood.

"'s too early to be mornin'," he yawned, his long fan of lashes fluttering shut once more.

It was just about closing in on 5. The sun had not yet made its steady ascent from the east across the dark December sky, and here they were rolling around in bed—a cardinal sin in Ennis' line of work, which demanded him bright eyed and bushy tailed by 4 a.m., but a lifestyle that Jack had long grown unaccustomed to. It was something he'd all but left behind when he set out from his parents' ranch in Lightning Flat at just twenty years of age.

Hell, Jack wouldn't have even been awake at all had it not been for Ennis and his damn internal clock. Jack had felt him shuffle off the bed to go take a leak and mess with the wood-burning stove around 4 before settling back against his warm body, unintentionally pressing his cock into the small of his back. Like every good country boy brought up under a proud mama, Jack was raised to never look a gift horse in the mouth. As soon as Jack felt his length rub against him he stirred from his feigned slumber, grabbed at Ennis and, still slick and loose from their last coupling only a few hours before, eagerly fitted him inside for another go-around.

If he hadn't been tired before, he was definitely exhausted by then.

Jack heard Ennis' amused hum and felt the weight on the bed shift. Opening his eyes, he put a quick hand on his shoulder to stop him from getting up.

"Ain't got no horses to tend to," Jack started with a gentle tug, "jus'... stay here a lil' longer," he said, his blue eyes tired but imploring.

Ennis conceded, settling back down besides Jack before lifting a hand to run his fingers through his thick, dark locks. For a moment the two just laid together face to face, eyes locked and nothing but the sound of crackling fire, even breathing and fingers gently combing through hair disturbing the peaceful morning quiet that had settled upon the room.

As with the pet name, Jack usually savored the moments he was able to drown himself in the whiskey rivers that flowed in Ennis' dark eyes. After all, his shy cowboy was not so good at making nor maintaining eye contact—not even with Jack, despite all they'd shared throughout their years together. However, the combination of being up at such an early hour, the warmth of the rekindled fire, the five-alarm sex, and the tender hand stroking his hair proved a potent mix that made it hard to keep his heavy eyes open.

Jack felt Ennis shift closer before the hand at the back of his head tugged him in for another kiss. The sweet press of lips was as passionate a declaration as their love making had been, with no heat behind it to stoke up another round. Jack didn't mind, though; there was still nearly a whole week's worth of time for that, yet. Right then, he was just too tired to do much of anything but drift.

The last thing Jack remembered was nicked fingers caressing his scalp and warm puffs of breath feathering across his nose as the quiet hum of an old lullaby, same as the one he'd heard in the memory kept closest to his heart, drew him back into deep and sated slumber.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

Summary (request from @thesassywallflower​ for @spnfanficpond​ Secret Santa): Donna is horrified to learn that the boys have never had a proper Christmas, so she invites them to her house for the holiday.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Warnings/tags: explicit (eventually), fluff (? Idk), angst (? light), domestic (can’t get much more domestic)

Chapter WC: 2000

Author’s notes: There will be multiple chapters to this -- at least three, and they will all be written in 3rd person POV, shifting perspective in each section.

Many thanks and love to my dear friend and the very best beta ever @brrose-apothecary​.  Text divider by @talesmaniac89​.

________________________________________________________________

“That’s it,” Donna exclaims, after wiping down her machete and carefully replacing it in its secure case in the bed of her truck. “You two’re comin’ home with me.”

She’s hyper-aware that the Winchesters didn’t have the most conventional upbringing, but, dangit, how many more times will they break her heart with stories about never going to a Christmas party or experiencing the joy of opening gifts on Christmas morning?

“C- coming home with you?” Dean wonders aloud as if he’s testing the words in his mouth. As if she uttered the invitation in Old Norse.

“Yes, Dean. To Stillwater.” Donna turns to face the brothers who both eerily resemble that deer she missed by a hair’s breadth on Highway 95 last week. “Jody and the girls’ll be there, and all’s you need’re the clothes on your backs. We can stop at the dollar store down the street for you two to pick up a couple white elephant gifts.”

“Dollar store?” Dean asks, looking thoroughly bereft of understanding.

“Dean, stop repeating everything that comes out of my mouth. And close yours while you’re at it; you look like a drowning guppy.”

Donna rounds the side of her pickup to stride toward the driver’s side door. The brothers shuffle after her like a couple of 10-year-olds who’d rather be playing Super Mario than endure whatever perceived Hell she’s invited them to.

“Donna...” Sam lets his words hang in the air while both brothers huff and puff condensation into the frigid night air and fidget after her. “We’ve never been to a Christmas party or anything like that.” 

“That’s why you’re coming to mine. No excuses.” She spins on her heel and stares them down as they exchange looks and unspoken words.

Dean’s the one who breaks first. He swings his narrowed gaze back to her.

“Will there be mistletoe?” he asks pointedly.

Donna tries not to think about Dean and mistletoe at the same time. Not that she’s never imagined kissing him, but now is not the time.

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Of course! What kinda Christmas party would it be without mistletoe?”

Dean grins before slapping his brother on the back. “Well, Sammy, looks like we’re gonna have Christmas after all. Ya know, one without a Wood Nymph.”

“Huh?” Donna furrows her brow in question.

Sam shakes his head. “Never mind, long story,” he mutters. “I guess we’ll follow you?”

Donna claps her hands together as she nods, bouncing on her toes. “You betcha!”

“Can’t believe we almost passed this up,” Dean mutters to Sam as they unpack their bags, making a load of laundry. They each showered in Donna’s guest bathroom and she gave them some old clean sweatpants and t-shirts of her dad’s to wear for the night.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Sam agrees quietly, tossing his last pair of underwear to the floor. He’s pleased that Dean sees the value here in Donna’s home.

Ever since they defeated Chuck, Sam has tried a dozen different ways to get Dean out of the bunker and into a real house and real jobs. Dean seems frozen in time, though, like he can’t see that they can do just about anything they want now. They’re regular hunters — no angels or demons to battle (Jack and Rowena have seen to that). In fact, most of the monster world has quieted and stays in their own lanes.

“Imagine having this on the regular.” Sam tests the waters. “A washer and dryer from this century?” he chuckles, scooping up the dirty clothes and shaking his damp hair out of his face.

“Yeah, well, I doubt Donna wants a couple salty old hunters camped out in her guest room for the rest of her life.” Dean turns down the covers of his borrowed bed and inspects the pillow. “‘Sides, I like havin’ my own room.”

Sam watches Dean smooth his hands over the bedding, wondering...

He knows how Dean feels about Donna, even though his brother’s never put those feelings into words. Sam’s seen the way Dean looks at her, the way he touches her like she’s made of glass, and the tone of his voice when he says her name. Dean adores Donna, but even more than that, he wants her.

“What if...” Sam starts then pauses, shifting his weight. When Dean turns to face him with a questioning brow and wistful smile, he forges ahead. “What if you could share it with someone like Donna?”

Dean almost rolls his eyes as he slowly straightens his stance. His soft smile twists as he meets his brother’s gaze. Sam worries that he’s pushed Dean too far.

“And now we’re back to Donna deservin’ a lot better than...” Dean shakes his head and motions between himself and his duffle bag.

“Heya,” the woman in question sing-songs as she pokes her head around the door. “How ya doin’ in here? Need anything?”

Dean’s edge immediately smooths at the sight of the sheriff.

“Hey,” he answers with a quick, practiced grin. “We’re good. Better than. Just, uhh...” He reaches for the bundle in Sam’s arms. “Gonna throw this stuff in your washer if that’s okay?”

Sam notices the tiniest flush in Dean’s cheeks, and the sight squeezes his heart in his rib cage. Dean doesn’t think he deserves a life like this.

“Yep,” Donna replies, a bright smile gracing her freshly scrubbed and freckle-dusted face. “Right down the hall.”

“Alrighty then. Lead the way,” Dean says, following Donna to her laundry room.

Sam heaves a sigh before wandering to the small bookshelf in the corner for something to read.

Dean has nightmares almost every time he closes his eyes. Last night, he had a different kind of dream.

Donna was there, her soft blonde waves were piled on top of her head. Her fingers were floured and her big flannel shirt was dusted just the same. She laughed at his jokes and hummed through her smile when he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She smelled like butter and vanilla.

When he wakes, Sam’s already up and out of the room. A low light sneaks through the curtains, and Dean smells coffee. He rolls out of bed, runs his fingers through his hair, and makes his way to the bathroom across the hall.

“Dean, hey.”

Dean cocks his head and squints because it’s too damn early for pleasantries. It’s Kaia, though, and Dean owes that girl a lot of pleasant.

“Hey, kid. When’d you get in?” He turns toward her and she steps into his arms for a hug.

“‘Bout an hour ago,” she replies. “Claire’s in the kitchen.”

“‘Kay,” Dean answers pulling out of the hug with a lopsided smile. “Be there in a minute.”

Kaia nods and shuffles past him. “There’s coffee and french toast.”

“Nice,” Dean grunts, pushing through the bathroom door and switching the light on. When he sees his reflection, he groans. “Christ.”

His eyes are puffy and his hair’s sticking out in nine different directions. He shakes his head and sighs before taking care of business. Dean definitely puts the seat back down, washes his hands, and splashes his face and hair with water.

Before heading to the kitchen, he makes his bed and changes into his own clothes. As he shrugs into his flannel, he realizes it’s the one from his dream. The one Donna was wearing — his shirt and nothing else.

He could feel every dip and curve in his hands. She was so warm and soft. Dean’s thought about a hundred different ways to make her say his name the way she did in his dream. He can still hear her breathy voice in his head as he walks the length of the hallway toward the bright kitchen.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Donna greets him first, and his skin flushes with heat.

Before he can focus too much on it, Claire sacks him without a word.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding her close. He isn’t exactly the picture of emotional growth, but since Cas… well, he’s trying to be more present.

Dean closes his eyes and buries his nose in her messy hair. She’s been smoking, and probably drinking by the looks of it. “Takin’ care of yourself?” He pulls back, gripping her shoulders and looking her in the eyes.

Her smile is crooked, and her blue eyes are shot red and rimmed with black, but she’s still the strong little girl from Illinois whose daddy loved God enough to leave her.

Claire shrugs. “More’r less.”

Dean huffs a wry laugh, squeezing her shoulders before releasing her. “Sounds about right.”

“Heeeyyy.” Jody and Alex round the island to greet him with hugs and Patience isn’t far behind.

“Coffee?” Jody asks.

“Absolutely. I also heard there was french toast. Or did I miss it?” He turns to find Donna extending a plate heaped with carbs, and a steaming cup of joe. “Awesome.”

He accepts the proffered items from Donna with a hearty thanks.

Jody and the girls retreat to the dining room where Sam sits, doing a crossword puzzle. He looks up and Dean nods a good morning to him before sliding onto a stool at the island.

“So, uhh, dollar store, huh?” He digs into his breakfast, trying not to ogle Donna’s ass in her cute little red and white snowflake leggings. The phrase ‘thick thighs save lives’ will be stuck in his head for the rest of his stay here and he isn’t mad about it.

Donna nods as she turns to face him with her own cup of coffee. “And if I give you a list, can you pick up some wine?”

Dean bobs his head as he chews and his eyes roll back. “Oh, yeah... Yes, anything. Holy shit, this is good.” He’s momentarily distracted from objectifying his hostess by the un-fucking-believable french toast.

Donna chuckles, jutting a hip against the island. “Family recipe. Just like the smorgasbord for tonight.” She sips her coffee and watches him devour the rest of the meal in silence but for Dean’s moans and groans of satisfaction.

How many times has Donna thought about this? About Dean Winchester sitting at her kitchen island eating a breakfast and coffee that she made? About him enjoying it?

Experts say that good food and good sex share neural pathways. That a person’s reaction to good food is similar to their reactions to good sex. That theory takes on a whole new level of wow when applied to Dean.

Dean drains his mug and wipes his mouth.

“More... anything?” Donna asks innocently -- or so she thinks.

Until Dean’s gaze flicks to hers for a hot minute. She could write his hesitation off as morning brain, but then he drops his gaze to her mouth. He licks his bottom lip into his mouth then slowly drags it through his teeth.

Donna’s breath catches in her chest and her insides flip.

“Hey, so, we should hit that dollar store, and I think Donna wants us to grab a few bottles of wine, right?”

Sam realizes a beat too late that he’s walked in on something; Dean looks ready to attack and Donna’s cheeks are fuchsia. The younger Winchester’s gaze bounces around the tension between Dean and Donna before he clears his throat.

Dean blinks a couple of times and shakes his head. “Yeah... yeah, uhh...” He draws a deep breath and looks back up at Donna. “Got that list?”

Donna gnaws at the corner of her anxious grin. “Oh, yeah. I’ll text it to ya.”

Dean nods and pushes out of his barstool. The brothers find their boots and coats in the front closet. As they walk out the door, Donna calls from the kitchen.

“Oh, and Dean? When you get back, you need to help me find that mistletoe.”

The screen door slams shut behind them, and Sam laughs.

Chapter Two

Please don’t leave without telling me what you think!

[squeakyfir]

The Love from a Skelton [Jack Skellington X Reader]

Plot: Halloween... The time of year you absolutely hate. Not because of the ghouls and monsters, you enjoyed that kind of thing, it's because of trick or treaters. They get free candy and whine and complain to their parents if they didn't get what they expected, which is the whole bowl of candy. Anyways, since you don't celebrate that holiday, you decide to go for a late stroll through the woods on the hiking trail. While walking, your whole life changes. And I mean that literally... Everything started to change drastically until you find trees with holiday symbols on it. One of them being a Jack-o-lantern. Being curious, you enter through the door and discover a world that would represent a children's book written by Stephen King. But the leader of this place was a king. Not just any king... A pumpkin king. His name is Jack Skellington. He's a very tall and slender skeleton with a pinstripe suit, a black cat bow tie and ghost dog named Zero. He discovers you and welcomes you to Halloween town until he can figure out how to send you home. But this place is perfect! No taxes to pay No drama And no more loneliness Jack believes that your hideous. But don't worry, hideous in the Halloween town definition means... Beautiful. Enjoy! *I do not own the Nightmare before Christmas. All rights belong to Tim Burton and Disney™*

Chapter 5

Previous ~ Next

After the town meeting, you were starting to get tired from everything that's happened. Jack offered his home to you and said you could stay as long as you wanted. You thanked him for his hospitality and could now trust Jack completely since he's now proven that's he a true gentleman.

Or in this case, a gentle skeleton.

He provided you his room and when you told him it was unnecessary, and tried to deny his offer, he told you once again that he didn't mind a single bit. You were his guest and he wanted you be comfortable to the fullest extent. Jack stayed up reading Christmas books and even decorated his home with Christmas decorations.

It seemed a bit strange but kinda cute, to be honest. Once again Jack set a book aside and said, "Theres got to be a logical way to explain this Christmas thing"? You wanted to tell him but he then pulled out a book that said 'The Scientific method'. You smiled since he was taking this whole thing to literally but you didn't want to intervene. After a moment, you started to get tired and you settled down by the fireplace. Jack noticed and said, "Are you tired"? You nodded and Jack stood up and offered his hand to you.

You took his hand and he led you to a room. There was a large bed and you instantly figured out that it was his bed. "Oh no, I can't take your bed".

"Oh thats ridiculous, I insist you do".

"Then where will you sleep"?

"In my chair of course" he said with a smile.

"I'm sorry Jack, but I'm not taking your bed just so you can sleep in a chair. Please take your bed". Jack took your hands in his bony hands and said in a comforting voice, "It's alright. I promise I don't mind". You sighed and saw no end to this. Jack then said, "Go ahead and get your rest, I'll see you in the morning". Jack then carefully closed the door and you sat along the bed. You started to think about everything that's happened today. Your in a new world thats all about holidays.

Does that make sense to you... because it shouldn't.

When you woke up in the morning, you saw that Jack was gone. He left a note on his side of the bed that read,

"Dear (Y/n),

I went out to retrieve some equipment from Dr. Finklestien. I didn't want to disturb you while you slept. I'll be back soon.

-Jack".

You put the note aside and got up to leave the room. A familiar barking sound caught your attention and you saw Zero flying towards you, looking happy to see you. "Good morning, Zero". You went over to the large window that overlooked the small town. It was more eerie in the morning than it was at night. It reminded you of a early morning in mid January, gloomy and chilly. You didn't mind, if anything, it reminded you of home.

Home...

You then thought about your home and hoping it's still vacant and also hoping no one broke inside. "(Y/n)? Zero? I'm home". You looked over and saw Jack walking the spiral staircase. "Welcome home, Jack".

"Thank you (Y/n). How did you sleep"?

"I slept fine, thank you. What's that stuff for"?

"Oh! I'm conducting a series of experiments". You looked at him curiously but he then placed the case on the table and pulled out test tubes and other pieces of equipment. All of this just for trying to analyze Christmas? To name a few of the things he did for experiments was putting a small berry from a mistletoe and looking at it under a microscope only to have it crushed. He stuck a candy cane in a pot of what was believed to be boiling water with voltages and when he pulled it out again, it was nothing more than white and wet noodle. He attempted to make a snowflake but made Halloween flake with a spider as the shape. He also cut open the stomach of a teddy bear to examine the stuffing.

He's been doing it for hours and seemed to forget about you. He may have also forgotten, or maybe didn't know, that humans require three things. Food, water and air. In your case, it's the first two. You were getting parched and starting to starve. You wanted to tell Jack your needs but he was so enamored with Christmas and not paying any attention to you. Zero flew over to you with a smile but then heard your stomach growl. He look worried and then flew over to Jack and barked at him. Jack stopped and looked at Zero with shock since Zero was now growling at him.

Zero then flew back over to you and barked at Jack. Jack was then able to piece the puzzle together and understood what was going on. You were starving and dehydrated. Jack had huge guilt and shame on his bony expression. He walked over to you and placed his bony hand on your shoulder. "(Y/n), I- I have no excuse for this. I'm so sorry".

"Its ok Jack, I forgive you". His frown quickly turned into a smile and the both of you went out the door to retrieve some stuff for you. Luckily, there was fresh water and since it was Halloween town they had candy. All different kinds. That was good but you obviously can't eat candy all day. Jack understood and after getting the temporary candy, he went to go back to Dr. Finklestein to get books about humans and what they do and need.

Jack has now got a lot more to learn to put it briefly. That night when you went to sleep, your dream seemed to last for only fifteen seconds as it was a stick that turned into a small and cute Christmas tree. But it suddenly caught fire and turned to ash. This couldn't be good.

TIMESKIP:

It was the next morning and you awoke to a very strange and disturbing bird. It sounded like a rooster but it also sounded like it was dying. You then hear music and the following vocals from the fellow monsters.

Something's up with Jack x2

Don't know if we're ever going to get him back

He's all alone up there locked away inside

Never says a word

Hope he hasn't died

Something's up with Jack x2

You quickly got out of bed and went to see Jack pacing back and forth thinking deeply. He must've heard the monsters singing because he started to sing his own lyrics.

Christmas time is buzzing in my skull

Will it let me

I cannot tell

Jack sat down on his chair and as he kept singing, he placed two playing cards on top of a house of cards.

There's so many things I cannot grasp

And when I think I've got it and then at last

Through my bony fingers it does slip

The house of cards fell over and Jack got a bit irritated by that and just brushed most of the cards off the table. He kept singing and then pushed himself along in his wheeled chair pointing out all the Christmas decorations and still wondering what they were.

Like a snowflake in a fiery grip

Something here I'm not quite getting

Though I try I keep forgetting

Like a memory

Long since past

Here in an instant

Gone in a flash

What does it mean x2

Jack then stood up and goes near three small Christmas things frozen in some containers. You weren't sure why he did that but if he knew why he did then it doesn't matter.

In these little bric-a-brac

A secrets waiting to be cracked

These dolls and toys confuse me so

Confound it all

I love it- though,

Jack then picked up a doll and continued singing but started shaking the doll as if it would answer, which it didn't.

Simple objects, nothing more

But something's hidden through a door

Though, I do not have the key

Something's here I cannot see

What does it mean x2

"What does it mean? Hmmmm". Jack threw the doll over his shoulder and it landed on Zeros bed which awoke him. He looked over at Jack worried as he continued singing. Jack went up a ladder to look through the Christmas books for the millionth time.

I've read these Christmas books so many times

I know the stories and I know the rhymes

I know the Christmas carols all by heart

As Jack came down the ladder, Zero flew past you and he was carrying a picture of Jack on the spiral hill with a pumpkin in his bony hand. You went closer to Jack to get a better look at the picture.

My skull's so full it's tearing me apart

As often as I've read them, something's wrong

So hard to put my bony finger on

You went closer to Jack to get a better look at the picture.

Or perhaps it's really not as deep as I've been led to think

Am I trying much to hard?

Suddenly, the picture changed from Jack being the pumpkin king to him being a Santa skeleton. He wore Santas clothes but it fit Jack well. Instead of a pumpkin in his hand, it was a small present. It was a bit odd since he's the king of Halloween but Jack thought that this was brilliant.

Of course!

I've been too close to see

The answers right in front of me!

Right in front of me!

Jack got up the ladder again and made the ladder push to the other side of his bookcase. You and Zero looked at each other in confusion but kept listening to Jack sing.

It's simple really

Very clear

Like music drifting in the air

Invisible but everywhere

Jack then got down from the ladder and started dancing with the small Christmas tree by twirling it and dipping it. He then pulled twirled the tree to pull the string of lights off which made ornaments fly off and crashing on the floor which left broken glass on the floor.

Just because I cannot see it

Doesn't mean I can't believe it

You know I think this Christmas thing is not as tricky as it seems

And why should they have all the fun

It should belong to anyone

Jack had the string of lights wrapped up like rope and slid across the floor on his knees to wrap the lights around an electrical chair.

Not anyone in fact

But me!

Why I could make a Christmas tree

And there's no reason I can find

I couldn't handle Christmas time

I bet I could improve it too!

And that's exactly what I'll do!

Jack then pulled the lever to the chair which turned the lights on but since the chair was very high in voltage, it made the bulbs of the Christmas lights burst. Jack then laughed and ran to his big window and opened it fast. "Eureka! This year, Christmas will be... OURS"! You could hear the monsters cheering and applauding for this small announcement. You then remember your small dream last night about the burning Christmas tree.

You couldn't help but think yourself...

"What does it mean"?

[redheadspark]

hey idk if anyone’s asked for this yet but 14 with jack russel?? i’d love to see what you write xx

A/N - I think this is great for Jack! Thanks for requesting this, my friend!

Cinderella

Summary - Jack was always a fan of fairytales

Warnings - Just some fluff for Jack :)

"Jack, do we really have to do this?"

"Yes! It's the perfect timing for it!"

You had to roll your eyes as Jack was kneeling in front of you, helping take off your old books that were worn to the bone and placing them on the side. Your socks stayed on, thick and warm up to your mid calves to keep warm from working out in the snow for most of the morning. But Jack made you come in towards the end of the day, greeting you in the snow as he was returning from a recent monster hunting job out in Sweden.

And he brought you a gift.

You two lived out in the woods, in a rural part of Canada that had no real town for at least 50 miles. It was the perfect place for Jack with his lycanthropy and his need to transform every full moon, with no humans in sight for miles, and plenty of open space for him to roam if he needed it. You both were glad you moved out there some time ago, right after you got married and wanted to settle down. The cabin you found was in decent shape, Jack bought it from an old colleague of his and a past customer that he helped with his monster hunting. With some fine-tuning and a fresh coat of paint, the cabin was your home.

The perfect home.

You loved working outdoors, it brought you peace in a chaotic world. Thanks to getting solar panels and your own wifi working out in the middle of nowhere, you still worked as a journalist. Jack had some decent money thanks to his profession, so there was no real need to be worried about living comfortably in the woods.

One downfall though, was that your clothes would get worn out faster. Some of the winter clothes you had would only last one season and then you would have to buy more in preparation for next winter. Jack never had to worry about it since he ran hotter than the normal human. It was a perk on your end when he would wrap you in your arms and be your personal thermos on colder nights.

But this time, it was your boots that were done.

You were Facetiming Jack a few days before, talking about the upcoming snowstorm that was going to come for the next 5 days and you prepping the cabin. Jack asked if you needed something that he could buy for you, knowing fully well you two would be snowed in for those 5 days with no way in or out until the storm blew away.

"I don't think so, but my boots are on their last legs,"

"That bad, Amor?"

"Yeah, but I think this season will be the last for them, I can manage,"

You weren't expecting Jack to pull in with a trunk filled with food, supplies, and a special box with your name on it.

"How do you know if you got the right size?" You asked playfully, hearing him scoff.

"As if I don't know my own wife's shoe size!" He said in a sarcastic tone, you giggling as he then took off the box of the box and moved the wrapping paper to the side. There was a fresh new pair of winter boots, dark brown and already laced, nestled in the box and ready for use. You grinned widely as Jack took out one boot and held it delicately in his fingers.

"The salesman said these are waterproof, the newest model, and the top of the line!" He said with pride, swiping his thumb over the top of the boot before he then faced you with the opening of the boot near your toes.

"Shall I place it on, Cinderella?" He asked in his light tone, you laughing with a hint of blush on your cheeks.

"Remind me to never introduce you to fairytales," You joked, Jack laughing.

Jack loved a good story, whether it was true or not. He was amazing at telling a tale, ever since you two got together you would be entranced with all the monster stories that he would share with you, or would be willing to share with you. You would hang on to his every word if you could, and you in return told him all the fairytales that you grew up with as a child.

Jack loved every single one.

He seemed like a young child hearing them for the first time, making you stop mid-way through a story to ask questions and get to the bottom of some of the open ends.

"You mean she only needed a kiss to wake up?"

"Why would be want to be a human when she was a mermaid?"

"So he only needed happy thoughts?"

You answered them all of course, always happy to see Jack's face light up in joy as you went from one story to another. But his favorite was Cinderella, thinking of the fantasy story of love and magic working until the stroke of midnight was fascinating.

"She sounds wonderful, but you are far more beautiful than Cinderella, my love," He said against your lips as he descended with you onto the bed, stripping off your clothes piece by piece. Since then, you were his Cinderella, and he never regretted calling you that at one moment.

"Ah, the perfect fit," he said, almost reciting the very fairytale. The boot was a perfect fit, a bit snug but would be broken in within time outside in the snow. You felt a flutter in your heart as he laced the boot all the way up and tied it as a finishing touch.

The road you and Jack traveled on to get to this point was no fairytale. It was more of a bloodbath, but it brought you to where you two were the happiest. You would never trade a single tear or moment of anger, simply because that road lead there, to that cabin, with the one person who loved you more than anything. That was worth more than any priceless story you would tell one another.

Your story was the best one.

You then leaned down to take his hand in your own, pulling him up gently and wrapping him in his arms to kiss him soundly.

"My Prince Charming," You said against his lips as he grinned widely, "How can I ever live without you?"

"You could manage," He said in a shrug, "But I won't let my Cinderella go that easily with one slipper on,"

Jack was a sucker for fairytales, but he had his own true love to care for in the end.

The End.

Spring Prompt Session

[canary0]

August 24th - Dracula 2023

Mina Harker’s Diary

Arthur’s father has recovered somewhat, and he managed to make it here this morning for the meeting with everyone. Thank goodness Whitby is only a few hours by rail. If things take a turn, he can go, but Lucy seems in considerably higher spirits since his arrival. Drs. Van Helsing and Stankiewicz both agreed that she would benefit from a blood transfusion between them – her blood pressure very low in addition to the anemia, apparently, and this was Dr. Stankiewicz’s first choice of treatment for Jonathan, as well, when he arrived at her hospital (with a blood bag in his case rather than a direct transfusion). All three of her suitors, current and former, volunteered, and Arthur was chosen.

Once that was all said and done, we set the to meeting. I set up a microphone and a camera connected to my laptop so that we wouldn’t miss anything said. I have a hardcopy of the transcription, and I’ve included the video linked below:

[The video starts. Sitting around the table are seven people sitting around a fine antique wood table in a beautiful dining room. A voice sounds from behind the mic.]

Female Voice: Could everyone introduce themselves for posterity?

[A woman with long, wavy black hair, and a kind expression in her large, dark eyes comes around from behind the camera, sitting down next to a smaller man with a light brown undercut and delicate features, who smiles at her. She looks to the camera, lifting a hand.]

Woman: “I’m Mina Harker.”

[The man next to her lifts his hand. As the camera auto-zooms slightly toward him, the dark circles of exhaustion under his green-hazel eyes become more obvious.]

Man: “I’m Jonathan Harker.”

[A woman with blonde hair that waves down to her waist, half tied back waves to the camera with a bright smile, though she also has dark circles that belie her enthusiastic movements.]

Woman: “Hello! I’m Lucy Westenra.”

[The man on her other side has curly, dark brown hair and dark eyes, and his hand rests on hers on the table. He has a slight 5 o’ clock shadow. He gives a small smile to the camera.]

Man: “I’m Arthur Holmwood.”

[The man directly across from him has black, tightly curly hair and a neat, close-trimmed beard. He looks a bit well rested that several on the other side of the table, managing to seem relaxed even in the stiff-backed formal dining room chairs. A clean, light tan cowboy hat rests on the table next to him.]

Man: “Quincey Morris.”

[Continuing back down the table, the man directly across the table from Lucy has very straight, very black hair, and a pair of small glasses rest on the low bridge of his nose. He holds his tall, thin frame somewhat stiff in his chair. He simply nods to the camera.]

Man: “Dr. Jack Seward.”

[The next one down, across from Jonathan, is a tall man with red hair graying at the temples. He gives the camera a jovial smile, pale blue eyes practically sparkling behind brass glasses rims.]

Man: “Hello! I am Professor Abraham van Helsing!”

[The final person at the table is almost as tall-seeming as the man next to her despite leaning forward with her elbows on the table, forearms cross. Her hair is short and dark brown, not even brushing the collar of the buffalo plaid overshirt she wears.]

Woman: “Dr. Dominika Stankiewicz. Shall we get to the subject at hand, then?”

[Stankiewicz gestures to Mina, seeming to be the person who called the meeting, considering how she seems to be leading it. Mina smiles and nods to the doctor, and speaks up.]

Mina: “Thank you all for coming, especially Professor van Helsing and Dr. Stankiewicz. You both had to travel quite a ways to be here, and I truly appreciate it.”

Van Helsing: “Madame Mina, I am absolutely thrilled to be here. I am quite glad my protege thought to contact me regarding the trouble your husband and Miss Lucy are dealing with, and by way of them, everyone here. I hope I can help.”

Stankiewicz: “Well, it is my job to get to the bottom of my patient’s health issues. Even if it seems the bottom isn’t a standard sort of malady. Besides, the hospital practically threw me out to take a vacation.”

[Stankiewicz shrugs. Van Helsing chuckles beside her.]

Van Helsing: “Does this really count?”

Stankiewicz: “I’m not in the hospital. Close enough.”

[A few chuckles sound around the table before Mina continues.]

Mina: “So… It is as you said, Dr. Stankiewicz – what Jonathan and Lucy are going through isn’t a standard malady. As you pointed out when Jonathan was in the hospital, there’s obvious signs of blood loss, but no indication of the kind of wounds that would normally lead to blood loss of that level. Lucy’s been dealing with the same thing. You just did a transfusion on her.”

[Stankiewicz nods, expression very serious. Van Helsing also looks surprisingly grave. The suitors have expressions ranging from shock to deep worry, and Arthur squeezes Lucy’s hand, trying to reassure her. Lucy herself looks a little uncomfortable with all the staring directed at her. Jonathan and Mina simply look serious.]

Stankiewicz: “Indeed. It’s quite a mystery, unless you’ve both been excessively generous to the Red Cross without telling us.”

[She gives a brief, grim smile before continuing.]

Stankiewicz: “I did what tests I could without a proper lab – finger stick hemoglobin, that sort of thing – and it looks like, as with Jonathan, blood was drained whole. They’re missing red blood cells, white cells, plasma, the lot. They…”

[She hesitates, looking to the two of them to confirm whether she should continue. They each nod, Lucy more hesitantly.]

Stankiewicz: “They both have small injuries on their throats, but no other signs of needles, lesion, anything like that. If I had to hypothesize on the subject, I would say that’s the site of exsanguination, and an extremely dangerous one at that. The fact that there hasn’t been any blood on their surroundings when it happened is shocking. An injury to a vein on the throat that’s more than surface level… Well, I shouldn’t have to tell you how that should normally end.”

[Quincey in particular looks disturbed at the implication.]

Quincey: “I’ve seen enough to have a good mental image of what you mean, ma’am. I must admit, I’m certainly glad nothing like that’s happened. But I do wonder why?”

Van Helsing: “It seems our culprit is rather fastidious. I wonder if it is something to be glad of.”

[Most of the rest look horrified that he would say something. Arthur in particular looks aghast and takes Lucy’s hand in his other one. Jonathan and Lucy the only one not looking immediately horrified.]

Arthur: “Professor!”

[Jonathan shakes his head.]

Jonathan: “No… I understand. I remember thinking that I would rather die the way I was than let whatever was happening continue. Unfortunately, it seems I didn’t get that luxury.”

Mina: “Jonathan… Don’t talk like that. We’ll solve this.”

Jonathan: “Sorry… I know.”

[Jonathan nods, sighing, and Lucy has her lips pressed together, looking at the table. Van Helsing rises from the table.]

Van Helsing: “Mr. Harker, Miss Lucy, do you mind if I do a quick examination on the two of you? Nothing we need to leave the room for, I assure you. Just a quick check.”

[The two of them look past Arthur at each other, seeming to ask something without words. Then Jonathan shrugs and nods toward van Helsing.]

Jonathan: “I’m fine with it. Whatever it takes to deal with all this.”

[Lucy nods in agreement. With that, van Helsing comes around the table, disappearing briefly behind the camera. Stankiewicz follows after a moment to keep an eye on his examination. Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, he briefly checks their necks and mouths, as well as taking a look at them over all. He lifts Jonathan’s hand while he’s examining him.]

van Helsing: “Mr. Harker, what happened to your fingers? Did you burn yourself cooking?”

[Jonathan looks uncomfortable, then sighs. Mina puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently.]

Mina: “It’s okay.”

[Jonathan closes his eyes and nods.]

Jonathan: “… The crucifix fell from our window at one point. I… tried to replace it myself. Mina ended up having to do it for me.”

[Van Helsing closes his eyes, then takes Jonathan’s hands, squeezing them gently.]

Van Helsing: “My dear young man, I am so deeply sorry than you must suffer such. We must do everything in our power to ensure that you and Miss Lucy’s tormentor can no longer go anywhere near you.”

[Lucy looks distressed.]

Lucy: “If we try to leave, I’m sure whatever it is would go after someone else. Did you see what happened to the Demeter?”

[Van Helsing shakes his head, smiling at Lucy.]

Van Helsing: “Fear not, Miss Lucy. I mean that we will seek to ensure his menace ends without hurting anyone else. You are a kind heart, my dear, for not wanting others to suffer.”

[Lucy looks relieved and leans into Arthur’s shoulder. Dr. Stankiewicz has crossed her arms as she stands nearby.]

Stankiewicz: “So you have some idea about the nature of the culprit, then.”

[Her tone isn’t at all that of a question. Her eyes are staring hard at van Helsing, who nods, looking knowing.]

van Helsing: “Indeed… Though it is only an idea, an inkling. Perhaps you, too, have an idea, Doctor?”

[Dr. Stankiewicz scowls.]

Stankiewicz: “Unfortunately, I do.”

[van Helsing nods firmly and smiles.]

van Helsing: “We shall have to look up information and make some confirmations, then. Young Seward, you shall also help us. We shall need the rigor of your serious mind to help confirm and make sure that our biases are not getting in the way. Come, we shall set up an office.”

[He looks to the others.]

van Helsing: “In the mean time, do continue what you have been doing! The crucifixes, those are very good. Holy things, pure things… those will help, if the situation is what I believe. Do not lack for hope.”

[He gestures to the other two and takes off quickly. They follow. Mina looks at everyone.]

Mina: “Well… I guess we’ve done what we can do for now. Arthur, would you be willing to share Lucy’s room tonight?”

[Arthur and Lucy both turn very red and attempt to say something at the same time, but embarrassment leads them to stumble over their words. The others laugh gently at the display of being flustered by one another.]

Mina: “If you two are uncomfortable with it, I don’t mind continuing to share with Lucy.”

Lucy: “Oh, Mina… Will that be all right?”

[Jonathan and Mina both exchange a smile.]

Mina: “Of course it is. Quincey, would you be willing to share a room with Jonathan tonight and make sure nothing happens?”

[Quincey smiles and nods to Jonathan.]

Quincey: “Naturally. It’d be my honor. I look forward to it. Jonathan seems like a fine fellow.”

[He tips his head to Jonathan, and there’s the sense that if he was wearing his hat, he would have tipped it. Jonathan smiles in return.]

Jonathan: “You, as well, Quincey.”

Mina: “Well, it seems like that’s settled. Let’s call the meeting adjourned for now.”

[Everyone nods and she rises, moving behind the camera again. The video feed cuts out after a moment.]

<A/N: that was a lot @_@ But I finally got in done. Sorry about the wait for chapters! I plan to do two more tomorrow in my effort to get caught up. Look forward to it!>

[free-for-all-fics]

Part 5/7 💜📸📝

Eugene was about to be reunited with you, the love of his life. At least, he hoped he was. The love of his life seemed to move around a lot, although Eugene was sure he’d found you at last. You were a painter— one of those nomadic types who traveled from country to country, town to town, city to city. Eugene had met you months and months ago, when you had visited the city of Cairo. He’d told you that he would marry you, once he had enough money after inheriting his mother’s house and the surrounding land. The rules of inheritance stated that he wouldn’t inherit until his thirty-fifth birthday, with his uncle acting as the guardian of his money until then. With his thirty-fifth birthday in just a few months, he was crazy enough to hope you would wait for him, but by the time his thirty-fifth birthday came, you had moved on. Then began the long and tedious business of finding you. The first place he went was one of the grungy inns along the roadside. The bartender was only able to tell him that you and your companion had followed the road south. So Eugene went south too. He asked questions along the way, inquiring if anyone had seen a stunningly beautiful young woman who painted masterpieces that would rival the great geniuses of the Renaissance on any surface for coin. He followed the gossip and rumors up and down the continent. First you were living in a motel in Brazzaville, next you had moved to Tanzania. You always seemed to have an assortment of eccentric characters around you. You would be glad to get away from them all, no doubt. How could anyone want to live life on the road, unprotected? Then, only a few weeks back, he had met a strolling street performer in a tavern. He was a jack of all trades, and a bit drunk. Of course, Eugene asked the man about you.

“Oh, her?” the man said, “I’m a good friend of hers. What do you want with her?”

“I’m going to marry her.”

He raised his eyebrows and grinned smugly. “Of course you are,” he said sarcastically.

“No, really! It’s true! I met her up in Cairo, and I had to have more money first, so I—”

“All right, all right,” the man interrupted, “I’ll tell you where she is, but they won’t thank me for it. They don’t like your kind hanging around all the time, you see.” The man sipped from his drink, then went on. “She’s not in Africa anymore. Left months ago. Was in Algeria but had to cut her visit short to make an impromptu trip, last I heard. I didn’t ask why. None of my business. She’s staying with a rich friend of hers in one of the castles near a village in Wales. It’s along the roadside—you can’t miss it.”

And so, after so much walking, driving, riding, and sailing back and forth, Eugene believed that he had finally found the love of his life. Wouldn’t you be happy to see him when he came walking up the road! You must have missed him even more than he missed you. But where were you? His inquiries at the train station brought him to a gypsy camp out in the woods on the swampy moors. The camp was quiet, since it was still morning and light out, although it was approaching high noon. The motley folk tended to stay up late and sleep late. Here and there he saw signs of life, women cooking over open fires, children running around and playing in the dirt. Eugene asked a young boy where he might find you, and was directed to a moss green tent at the edge of the camp. Eugene took a deep breath and walked over to it. The first thing he noticed was that there was a small crowd gathered in front of the tent flap. A mustached man with dark hair and equally dark eyes dressed in a bejeweled fortune teller costume stood barring the entrance to the tent, his arms folded across his chest. He might have been handsome, except for the three, raised scars crisscrossing his cheek around his eye and the strange star-shaped scar on his forehead. Five men stood gathered around him, arguing about something. All five were carrying flowers of different varieties. Eugene thought this was something of a coincidence, because he himself was carrying a simple but pretty bouquet of bright red poppies he planned on giving to you, when he finally found you. Standing off to the side a bit were four more people dressed as servants, carrying a large, jewel encrusted chest. But Eugene’s attention was focused on the arguing group of flower bearers.

“Oh, come on,” said a man carrying sweet williams, “are you pulling my leg, you fool?”

“No,” said the gypsy.

“You can’t honestly expect us to believe you!” shouted the man carrying pink and white stargazer lilies. “Let me speak to her face-to-face, or I’ll cut you to ribbons!”

Eugene hesitated. He hadn’t meant to walk in on a fight—he couldn’t stand the sight or smell of blood.

“With what, your fingernails?” said the man, “I don’t see a knife or a gun. Unless you’ve got one hidden in your lillies, which I doubt."

“Can’t I just talk to her?” asked a man holding a bunch of white and orange carnations. “Just tell her I’m here, and surely, she won’t object.”

“Are you quite sure about that? I tell you, I’m under her strict orders not to let anyone in, especially if they’re carrying flowers. She sends you all her gratitude for your consideration, but she absolutely loathes flowers. Except for one. Obviously you fools don’t know that, since none of you are holding the flower she likes. Now get lost.”

One of them tried to joke, “Well… Would she like weeds instead, because I got those too!” but, unsurprisingly, it didn’t get a laugh. Unless you counted the awkward pity laugh the man gave himself to try to cover up his blunder. Like the other men, his cheeks heated up in embarrassment from seemingly falling at the first hurdle. How could you not like flowers? You were a woman, weren’t you? Didn’t all women like flowers? Your mother absolutely adored flowers… But you liked only one type of flower? What was it? Judging from the look on the gypsy’s face, it was obvious he wasn’t going to tell them.

“Her strict orders?” said a timid looking man holding yellow roses, clearly worried red would’ve been too cliché. “Goodness, is she very bossy?”

Eugene was starting to feel quite curious as to what could possibly be going on. He came closer.

“All I want is for Miss Skeffington to show her lovely face and accept my humble gift,” said the last man, who was carrying blue hydrangeas, “Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Weren’t you here yesterday? I recognize your footmen,” said the gypsy, with a glance at the jewel encrusted chest. He finally seemed to notice Eugene, standing behind the man with the hydrangeas. “Not another one,” he groaned exasperatingly.

“I’m here to see Miss Skeffington,” said Eugene.

“Tough luck. Men carrying flowers are not permitted beyond this point.”

“I could put them down, if you like,” said Eugene, bemused, “But I must speak to her. I’m here so she can marry me.”

“You and the rest of the world. I’m saying this for the last time: She’s not Miss Skeffington anymore. She’s already married. Her husband is just inside with her.”

Eugene gasped. “No! Who’s she married to?”

An older looking man in a suit with brown eyes and a full head of hair combed neatly to the side opened the flap of the tent and stepped out, finally making himself known amongst the lineup of wannabe lovers. What stood out to the group of men was that he was dressed in a black suit. In fact, he was dressed in black from head to toe. “Me.”

“What!”

“Me. Myself. I. Yours truly. He who is standing in front of you.”

“I said it was ridiculous,” said the man carrying sweet williams, “If the girl had any sense she’d marry someone with money or position.”

“Or someone good looking.” That was blue hydrangeas.

“She almost did marry a man who had both of those qualities. She was engaged to Sir John Talbot, remember?” said carnations.

“I can’t believe she gave him up. And for what? You? A man lacking in wealth, status, and beauty,” sweet williams scrunched up his nose.

“She’d beg to differ and, of the lot of you, her opinion is the only one of value. The only one I care about.”

“What she sees in you, I’ll never know,” scoffed sweet williams.

“Good. It’s not for you to know. If your pea-sized brain isn’t developed enough to comprehend such basic concepts as ‘Thank you, but no.’ And ‘no means no’ and ‘Leave, get lost’, then I can’t dare to hope you’d ever wrap your head around such a complex idea as ‘two people love each other for who they are, not what they have.’”

“That may be the first time a man has dared insult me.”

“It won’t be the last.”

“If I’d known all of this, I wouldn’t have come,” said the man carrying orange and white carnations. He was quick to set down his flowers and leave, clearly no longer interested in seeing you. This was far more than he had bargained for. This was all too much. He didn’t want to be here to witness whatever dramatic debacle was about to transpire.

“I don’t believe you,” said Eugene, “I want to talk to her in person.”

“That’s what everyone says,” said the man, “Perhaps you lot have a point. Very well, have it your way. I’ll go tell my wife that you idiots are her problem, and not mine.” He slipped through the tent flap. The fabric offered little privacy, and the men could hear his voice from inside. “Darling, Bela and I have tried and tried to get these warthog-faced buffoons to leave, but they’re being stubborn and are unwilling to listen to reason. We explained the delicacy of the situation, and we were sure to use small words so we were sure they’d understand us, but their brains can’t comprehend the most basic and simplest of concepts. I give up. They’re your problem!”

A few seconds later, your annoyed voice said, “Darling, who are you tal— Oh, them...”

You looked almost exactly the way Eugene remembered you, as you pushed open the tent flap and looked at the small crowd of flower carriers. But what caught his attention was that you were also dressed in black from head to toe, though you weren’t wearing a dress, skirt, or gloves, but a plain blouse and trousers instead. If it wasn’t for the black birdcage hat you were wearing, maybe you could’ve been mistaken for a man at first glance. Your black outfit made your looks all the more striking.

“Dearest,” you said to the suited man, “My mother dealt with lovers regardless of if Father was away. When he was gone, there were usually twice as many of them. Maybe Mother was right and I did get my looks from her. Damn. If I have to share her fate and keep arguing with suitors day in and day out, I’ll never have any time for my art, photography, or letter writing. Not to mention the housekeeping.”

“I never could understand why you’re so into housework,” said the man, “We don’t even live in a house.”

“Cleaning up after ourselves, then. Call it what you like. Are you lot still here?” You shot the odd assortment of men an angry glance.

The group of flower holders stood and blinked at you, as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. All except the man with blue hydrangeas, who said, “Nice to see you again, lovely. Will you accept my humble gift of these flowers in perfect bloom, and the contents of this box?” He gestured to the box-holding servants.

“If I do, will you go away and never come back?”

“I will leave you.”

“Forever?”

“For now.”

“No. Not for now. Forever and ever and ever and ever. I’d hate to have to go through the hassle of getting a restraining order against any and all of you, but I will if you continue to stalk and harass me and my husband.”

Blue hydrangeas recoiled. “Why must you say it like that?”

“Because that’s exactly what it is. No matter what lies you told yourselves to make it okay in your minds, the fact is I don’t know any of you, yet you followed me here through word-of-mouth and showed up uninvited while I am in mourning for my best friend’s elder son. And for what? So you could all try your luck at bribing me into abandoning my husband or entering into a bigamous marriage with flowers and gifts I have no need for? This is my first and final warning. I want you all to leave Wales and go back to wherever you came from. If you persist in your pursuits of me, I will get the law involved. I don’t want to, but I will if that’s what it takes.”

Most of the men had the good sense to swallow nervously and back off. Most. Not all.

Blue hydrangeas, sensing you weren’t bluffing, immediately backtracked. “…I will leave you forever, if that’s what you wish.”

“Thank fucking God. Yes, that is what I wish. Thanks very much.”

The rich man handed you the hydrangeas, and his servants set down the box and followed him out of the camp.

The man with sweet williams, unlike the others, was not so easily put off. “I challenge you to a battle of wits!” he yelled at the man standing next to you. “Whoever wins will get Miss Skeffington’s hand in marriage!”

“Lot of good that will do, as I’ve already got her hand in marriage. As Bela said, her name isn’t Skeffington anymore. It’s Masters.”

The man with sweet williams fell silent, as if he needed time to work things out.

“Did he force you to marry him?” asked Eugene, indicating your husband.

You looked alarmed. “Good heavens, no! Does he look like the forceful type to you?”

“Don’t you remember me?” asked Eugene, softly, meekly. “I’m Eugene, from Cairo.”

“No, I have no idea who you are. We may have met briefly, but Jim and I meet so many people on our travels, it’s impossible to remember any face or name that isn’t our own. I guess I left a bigger impression on you than you did on me.”

“But I asked you to marry me, and you said you couldn’t wait!”

“Did I say it in a sarcastic or absentminded tone of voice?”

“Umm...” Eugene struggled to remember. It was hard to think straight in your presence.

“I think he’s having a hard time thinking straight in your presence,” said your husband, this so-called ‘Jim’, with a mocking grin, “That does happen to the dumber ones, occasionally.”

“I really do love you,” said the man with yellow roses, “But I can see that you aren’t returning my affection and I know when to call it quits.”

“Exactly,” you said, brightening up. “You must be one of the more intelligent ones. Go ahead and leave, I don’t mind.”

“Of course I’ll leave if you don’t want me,” he replied, mournfully, “but I’d like you to accept these flowers, all the same.”

“That’s very kind of you. As my husband said, I don’t like flowers very much, but these are the same color as the ones I do like, and I’ll find a good use for them,” you said, taking the yellow roses. The man who until recently had been holding them walked away down the road.

“How about a battle of wits anyway?” said the man with sweet williams to Jim. “They can be quite fun sometimes, whether there’s a prize or not.”

“Sorry, but I’d outwit you in a heartbeat. You look to be barely out of your britches, still green and wet behind the ears. I’m not going to add to your humiliation. You best run home to your parents and bleach your mustache, boy.”

The man with sweet williams stared at you. “You married someone who speaks like that? What kind of a woman are you? Nothing like what my father said your mother was like.”

“Oh no, did I fail to meet your unrealistic expectations? I’m oh so torn up about it. If you wanted to marry Fanny Trellis, you’re almost thirty years too late. Your parents should’ve met and fucked sooner, then maybe you’d have been born in a different year, one that would’ve given you a chance.”

“Ugh. I’m leaving. I do not believe that I have ever met such a lovely woman with such a beautiful countenance, but a filthy mouth. You can have the flowers if you like, but you’re so not worth my time. I’ll find another woman who’s richer and more beautiful than you.”

“Best of luck to you.”

Instead of handing them to you, he dropped his sweet williams on the ground and stomped off after the man who had yellow roses.

You and Jim turned to Eugene. “I think he’s still dumbstruck by your unearthly beauty,” remarked Jim as he waved his hand in front of the young man’s face.

Eugene gave no reaction. He didn’t even blink.

“Are you dumbstruck?” You gave Eugene a concerned look, your voice laced with sincerity for once.

“I’m heartbroken, not dumbstruck! I thought you loved me—” He felt his eyes filling up with tears.

You sighed. “I guess I’m just doomed to follow in my mother’s shadow and be the sort of woman men tend to fall helplessly in love with at first sight. I’m flattered, really, but it’s already beginning to get a bit tiresome. Why don’t you take your flowers, and go home?”

“You can borrow a handkerchief, if you like,” said Jim, kindly.

Eugene glowered at him. “I want you to have the flowers,” he said to you. “Whenever you see them, try to think of me, even if—” he hiccuped, “—you don’t love me.”

“Thanks very much,” said the love of Eugene’s life, taking the red poppies. “You can go now.”

Eugene walked off, wiping his sleeve across his eyes.

You watched him go, feeling a bit sad for the poor man who looked like a kicked puppy as he walked away, but mostly you were relieved. “I hated it when they cried. They all reminded me of Mother’s lovers. It makes me fear that I’m really turning into her.”

“You weren’t nearly as soft or as passive as her, thank God. I think they got your message as soon as you threatened legal action. They won’t be back.”

Your eyes moved to the abandoned jewel encrusted chest. “What do you reckon could even be in that thing?”

“Something gaudy and sparkly that costs a fortune, no doubt. Or many somethings, judging by the size of it.” Jim gave the chest a kick, and it sprang open to reveal what looked like rolled up fabric studded with pearls and gems. “See, I was right.”

You lifted up the pile of multicolored fabrics, discovering that they were all evening gowns, along with necklaces, earrings, and bracelets inlaid with precious gems. The children that were playing nearby gathered around you and reached out to touch the glistening material, oohing and ahhing at the pretty colors and sparkles. There was a slip of paper resting on the bottom of the extravagant crate. Jim picked it up. “To my beloved and beautiful Miss Skeffington,” he read, “Here are some new dresses and gorgeous trinkets so you may sparkle as much on the outside as you do on the inside. I sincerely hope that you will enjoy these humble gifts. Love, Sir William Berbrooke. Of course he’d bring you flowers that shared his name. But the man himself is anything but sweet. I’ve never witnessed a man so full of himself in my life. Say, since when is that Berbrooke person a ‘Sir’?”

“He’s not. I think he just tacked that on to make himself sound more important or to give the impression that he was worth more money than he actually is.” You examined the dresses in your hands. “Well, he certainty knows how to give people useless presents. We all know how often I wear dresses.”

Jim, meanwhile, was trying in vain to pick up the chest. “No wonder that guy had four servants carrying this thing,” he said, his voice strained from exertion. “Even empty, it weighs a ton. I can’t even drag it or push it. We’ll just have to leave it here in the path, because it sure as hell isn’t going anywhere. God, even your Uncle Fred wouldn’t give you something adorned this heavily and atrociously. He’s a man of extravagance, but he’s also a man of good taste, unlike Berbrooke.”

You folded the dresses back up, and laid them back in the chest, leaving them for whatever man or woman wanted them. They weren’t worth trying to sell. The money you could’ve gotten from just one of those dresses would’ve been nice, but it’d only slow you down if you had to carry it. “Now then, what will we do with all the flowers? We could have put them in a vase on the table, but for lack of a vase.”

“And a table,” Jim added. He picked up a yellow rose and tucked it behind your ear. “We could always open a florist's shop.”

“Very funny. Do you know what would be useful? A suitor exterminator service. No more lovesick young men, guaranteed or your money back...”

“I doubt they would get much business. Most of the general population enjoys being doted on.”

“The general population is a bunch of warthog-faced buffoons, then. As you said.”

“Of course they are.”

Then a lightbulb went off in your head. “I think I know exactly what we should do with them. Let’s go to the cemetery and leave them as offerings, not just for John, but for every grave. The flowers we left for him at the funeral have probably wilted or been eaten by now, and God knows there’s more than enough to go around.”

“I love the way you think, darling. Come on, let’s load them up into the wagon. I’m sure Maleva will give us a ride. It’s not that far from here.”

February 1940

Dear Uncle George,

I’ve had some really bad times... It turns out Mother may have been right, and I may have inherited her looks after all, and everything that goes with it - both good and bad. When I was a child, I was considered ugly and led a reclusive existence. But somehow, a string of unrelated wannabe lovers and suitors found out not only my maiden name, but where I was! They must’ve followed me by word-of-mouth because they all came to Llanwelly from who-knows-where! Out of nowhere these men were all carrying flowers and other gifts I had no need or want for and started fawning over me and making fools of themselves. It was as if the features that had made me ugly in my adolescence were suddenly in fashion and I was considered one of the most attractive people alive. It was so very strange. I felt like I had entered a different dimension. It’s a long story I best tell you in person, as I’m sure you’ll get a great laugh out of it. I hope this isn’t some ironic hereditary curse. I hope this will just be an isolated incident, a one-time event. Otherwise, I may have to go to Maleva for a protection spell or a cleansing of my aura. I don’t know. Anything to ward off these unwanted attentions from strangers. I really don’t want to have to constantly fend off suitors like Mother (though she didn’t really fend them off. She mostly just sat and let them come to her, relishing in their attention while simultaneously laughing at them). Jim thinks I handled them well, much better than Mother ever did. I was much more firm than she was. The trouble with her was that she was soft-hearted. She was so kind to them all. So gentle and considerate. Jim liked to joke that it saved him the trouble of sending flowers and candy, but I hope I never have to be in a situation like that ever again. Mother had to reject them all on the average of about twice a month, but I don’t want to subject Jim to the same bullshit that Father had to deal with, so I’m nipping it in the bud right away.

Okay, enough about that! The silver lining to that embarrassingly uncomfortable situation was that we put the flowers to good use by leaving them as tokens of remembrance for the deceased. Not just John, but everyone else laid to rest in the cemetery. But I can’t complain too much over some minor hiccups in the road. I’ve adapted to the weather here in Wales, the rainy afternoons and the swaying of the lake. Incredibly, the one who should never have come to these lands is not me, it’s John... I don’t care about myself or the money or anything. But John… He isn’t like us. Success means his whole life and now he fears he’ll have nothing. I’ve seen how his joy at the beginning of the year has transformed into sadness, anger, regret, bad humor... To cope with his loss, he’s been pouring all his time and energy into his latest research project, but it has not worked out as he hoped. John feels he has disappointed his peers and is afraid that the university will cancel his project. In the two weeks that passed since John’s funeral, Larry has begun to take control of the family estate. He’s even offered Frank Andrews a position on the board of directors, and tasked him with keeping an eye on the day-to-day operations of the estate’s labor force. I imagine he’ll take him up on the offer. Now that he’s come back home after eighteen years away, it looks like he’ll be staying for good this time around. Although John’s death now makes him heir to the estate, he and John were separated by a ten-year age gap and weren’t exactly what one would call close. Their difference in age rendered John “just a guy” to Larry, so he isn’t staying out of a sense of duty or obligation to his deceased brother, but because he’s genuinely concerned for his father’s well-being.

Though John tries to hide it, his son’s death has been a devastating blow to his emotional and mental health. I see him desperate, despondent, and my company has stopped calming his spirits. At least I’m not alone. Here I have Jim, my best friend and husband. Though John congratulated us on our marriage and was genuinely happy for us when we first arrived, we can feel our time here is coming to an end and, while I’ll be sad to leave, Jim and I don’t want to make things worse by overstaying our welcome. Luckily, a lovely woman of thirty-seven years named Elisabeth started working as a maid a few months before John’s death and now she’s John’s assistant. At first, I thought she intended to flirt with John, to seize the opportunity to seduce him as soon as he was once more a free and unattached man, but she shares John’s passions, his interests. She likes him for who he is, not what he has, and I’m immensely relieved.

It was late in the night. John was in Scotland to meet with John’s fiancée and her family. Since the funeral was over, he was busy going through the ordeal of fulfilling the requests listed in his elder son’s will, including bequeathing any money or possessions of John’s that were to be left to her. Sir John, John’s fiancée, and her family also had to settle on what was to be done with John’s house there since it was in John’s name only and nobody else’s, not even Sir John’s. You had been getting ready for bed when the phone rang. All the servants and Jim retired already, so you answered it. Only Elisabeth and you were still awake. Neither of you could will yourselves to sleep just yet.

“Sissi, Sir John’s on the telephone,” you said, dressed in your pajamas.

“Tell him to ring tomorrow.”

“I think you should speak to him.”

With a sigh, Elisabeth got up from her place on the couch and trudged to the rotary phone in the hall. She picked it up. “You should try to sleep, Sir John.”

“Must you still use my accolade? We’ve known each other for long enough to drop the formality, haven’t we, Elisabeth?”

“John, you should be asleep.”

“I found that I had to hear your voice first. The truth is...I won’t sleep until I know where we’re headed.”

“John, please let’s not do this now. It’s too soon. You’re still grieving.”

“Think of my son, not us. Hear me out. John would have. Because his death has made me realize we don’t have a minute to waste, you and I. This is my carpe diem moment. I... I must seize the day.”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have said this now, but John’s death has made me realize something, too. We’re not meant to be together, John. We’re not right.”

“I can...”

“Don’t start saying you’ll give up hunting or astrology or researching. I don’t want you to give up anything except me.”

“I can’t give you up.”

“Please. I wish you nothing but good. I want you to have a long and happy life. Just not with me.”

“Elisabeth. My sweet Sissi—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“I must. Goodnight, John.” She hung up before he could hear her cry.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” you said softly, your voice no higher or louder than the whispering wind of the moors.

“Do you know the worst thing? When they said it was John Jr. and not Sir John who was dead, I was glad! Think of that. I was glad!”

“You’re not seeing straight. That day brought up your fiancé’s death and all the rest of it. You’re in a black mist.”

“It’s not what I want!”

“You’re frightened of being hurt again. But let me tell you this. You will be hurt again, and so will I, because being hurt is part of being alive. But that is no reason to give up on the man who is right for you.”

I don’t know if anything will ever come of it, if a romance will ever blossom from their friendship, but now is not the time to think of such things. John’s death is so recent, and the memory of him is so vivid…the pain of his untimely death is still so raw… It’s the same for Sissi and her fiancé. He died fifteen years ago, but he died fifty years before his time. She told me that the pain of his death didn’t hurt anymore but it was still there. But sometimes, even though the pain of it isn’t fresh, things happen that involuntarily trigger a response in her and, as irrational as she knows it may be, it feels as if he died yesterday. They both have grief and trauma to overcome, but I’m relieved that they’ll still have a friend in each other, someone to lean on for support whenever either of them need it. If it wasn’t for Elisabeth and Larry, I would’ve had doubts and second thoughts about leaving, thoughts that I should’ve stayed. I would’ve felt awful if my and Jim’s departure meant I was abandoning John and leaving him all alone in that great castle to wallow in his grief. I know what it is to be abandoned and left in a great empty house, and I would’ve hated if John suffered the same as I did… There comes a time when you must let go and walk on alone, but my mind is at ease knowing he’ll still have someone. Two someones. John will be in good hands with Larry and Elisabeth, and Elisabeth will be in good hands with John. They’ll take good care of each other. I was a bit annoyed when I found out what John hadn’t told me about her, but I have to admit I’m really hoping things work out for those two. If you ever find yourself visiting Llanwelly, the creepiest thing you’re likely to encounter is maybe those trees. But it’s not their fault they look like that. As for me, I’m looking forward to someday returning to good old non-haunted New York. Can’t wait to see you!

Love,

Your niece xxx

April 1940

Dear Fanny,

You’re not the only one going on vacation around here! Uncle Fred and Uncle George used some of their air travel miles and bought us round-trip tickets to Canada! So here I am on a plane (a very small plane!) bound for Canada — specifically, for Icicle Creek Lodge, a guest lodge deep in the Canadian Rockies of Alberta. Jim and I get to spend four wonderful days seeing the sights, listening to music, and eating fabulous food! From there, we’ll be heading to the States!

Love,

Your sister xx

April 1940

Dear Uncle George,

The Year? 1940. The place? The road to Tiburon, where we find Jim Masters behind the wheel of his blue roadster, and his traveling companion and wife in the front passenger seat, just passing through on their way to Jim’s hometown of stormy San Francisco, pondering this question: Why did Sally Crandall - a seventeen-year-old girl whom Mrs. Masters only knows through their mutual friend, Kay Lemp - ask her to drive all the way out to the Lotus Inn to see her? Does it have something to do with the fact that Sally’s mother died barely a month earlier, leaving Sally to run the restaurant with only her guardian, Rosemary “Rose” Giles, to help her? And more important, why, when she called, did Sally sound so desperate? As Jim turns off the main road, the spunky young woman beside him is blissfully unaware that Sally isn’t all that awaits her at the end of the driveway. No, Mrs. Masters is about to get her first taste of the mystery, intrigue, and adventure that are to become her destiny.

This time Jim and I are staying in a beautiful Victorian mansion. You’d love the room we’re in. It’s full of old Chinese furnishings and some interesting knick-knacks. The only awkward thing is that my bed was someone else’s for a bit, so they told me it’s a little odd to see someone there. “Like it’s a ghost!” HA! A gangster named Mickey Malone built this place back in the 20s as his country getaway (we’re talking major fixer-upper). Anyway, as I said, last night, Sally called and said she desperately needed my and Jim’s skills. She refused to say why over the phone. Naturally we said we’d drive up to San Francisco immediately. Sally and Rose hope to turn the place into a bed and breakfast by next month. But, from what I’ve gathered, Rose isn’t sure if they can open in time. Ever since they’ve started the renovations, they’ve had lots of accidents. I hope it’s just a rotten case of bad luck, but better to be safe than sorry. Sally asked me to come out and help her with some renovation work, but weird things started happening the moment we pulled up. This big tree fell down behind our car and has us totally blocked in. I’ve been crafting physical letters of late. They feel grounded in reality and it is nice to have a paper trail and something of a will in case, God forbid, anything happens to me. With all the strange occurrences taking place, these notes comfort me. Being in California also gives me a chance to keep practicing my painting skills and take time to process what is happening around me. Don’t know where it’s coming from but sometimes I see this…THING. Don’t know why, but I have to paint it. Even if it’s…just to get it out of my peripherals.

Love,

Your niece xxx

P.S. Update: Bradley Davis finally cleared away that dead tree, which means Jim and I are free to drive on. San Francisco is beautiful, but I’ve had enough of the American cities for now. Hopefully we’re going to the American countryside next.

It was late April, 1940. In the parlor of her mansion, Fanny glared at the unopened envelope sitting on the small coffee table. Presently, the Skeffington matriarch was torn between opening the envelope or letting it merely sit there and continue to gather dust, as it had been for the last three, nearly four years since George gave it to her. She still remembered what he said to her when he first gave her your letter:

“It’s like we’ll never be free of this fog. It’s like it’s following us. You know, Fanny, this reminds me of when I found her leaving the house one day. It was overcast then just like it is now. She was really upset. I must have said something to her because she came over to me. I could tell she wanted to say something. But it was like someone took her voice. She gave me a big hug with a promise she’d be back soon, and ran off. Now the wedding’s off and John’s back in Wales and she’s who-knows-where. This letter came in the mail today, Fanny. It’s addressed to you. Of course, I don’t need to tell you who it’s from. You already know very well who it’s from, don’t you? Manby wasn’t sure if she should deliver it, so she gave it to me to decide. I think your daughter wants me to give this to you. On the day she left, she promised me that she’d write both you and her sister goodbye letters. I believe this one is yours.”

Nearly four years, and she still couldn’t bring herself to burn it or throw it in the garbage. Still, the thoughts swirled around in her head now and again. Lately, however, they had been unrelenting, bashing and screaming against her skull: She could’ve at least said goodbye…Couldn’t we have stopped her?… We can do something. Manby. Manby. Call a taxi quickly, will you?… No. It was only a matter of time anyway… I wish I had known what to do that night… I wish I could have stopped her…

Fanny traded her beauty treatments for remedies to manage her migraines and insomnia.

“Oh, would you just open the damn thing?” snapped a voice from the doorway.

She turned to the voice. There stood you, her daughter, frowning at her in disapproval. This hallucination, this figment of her conscience, this ghost of a memory, whatever this thing was, it was all she had left of you, all she had to keep her company whenever George or Job were too busy.

“I went through all that trouble to write you and all you can do is sit there and simmer in anger when it’s I who should be angry! What if all I want to do is be able to someday tell you that I love and forgive you despite all you’ve done to me, but you won’t even take the first step to reconciliation, which is admitting you were wrong!”

“And how would you know?” Fanny snapped, glaring at you for a moment before softening her gaze. You were her daughter, after all.

“Because I’ve been sending Fanny letters and postcards too after I wrote her that first goodbye letter. Uncle George too,” was your surprising reply. You sighed. “Would you just read it? I’m off to a party, so don’t wait up for me.” You left, disappearing into thin air, not waiting for a response.

Fanny turned and looked at the letter. She reached out a hesitant hand, but pulled back, as though afraid the paper would burn her. She gave a heavy sigh and picked up the envelope, shaking and wiping off the dust and carefully tearing it open. She pulled out the multiple sheets of paper with your neat cursive.

May 1936

Mother,

I don’t know what’s happened. Uncle George has made you feel bad, or Fanny, or maybe it’s just the same old Fanny, who wants her cake and hate me too! Well, whatever the case, you got what you wanted. Jim has left for the train and hasn’t told me where he’s going. You’re not sorry to see him go, of course. I doubt you’ll care, but I’m going away. With his departure, I have no reason to stay here. I’ll be out of your (false) hair at last. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? I’m done watching you get away with the shit you’ve done to me. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? That you’ve been using your friends, lovers, and connections to break Jim and I apart so you can keep up appearances while still having some fun with your boy toys and lovers?? Well, I had MY share of fun when I told Uncle George what you’ve been doing. You should have seen the face he made when I got to the part about you withholding Jim’s letters from me and reading them. You promised him that you’d stopped doing that sort of thing after you secured my engagement to Sir John Talbot, and he was very disappointed to discover you lied. Not one person in the world is necessary to you, so I hope you enjoy your happy life now that there’s no husband or daughters to get in your way.

I first thought the answer to my problems was taking a year or two off before college, so I dropped out of school. I was so determined about leaving that the promise of potentially being a pillar of the community wasn’t enough to convince me to stay. I didn’t need to be a model student. Nothing says “PICK ME” in college admission like a spotless student record, and college wasn’t really something I wanted. I then thought I should join the war effort. Then I thought I needed to get married. I was not a hypocrite, with one real face and several false ones. I had several faces because I was young and didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be. I didn’t know what I wanted. I pursued all these institutions in the hope that I would find out what I’m supposed to do with my life. Travel can sometimes push us to lose ourselves and find ourselves at once. The shedding of old prejudices, dead skin, and the opening of one’s eyes is far better than what any mainstream news outlet could ever tell you. I was lying to myself when I thought I was lost, but deep down, I think I’ve always known... I have never been lost - I just wasn’t ready to be found. What I really need more than anything else in the world is to find myself. And to find myself, I need to find the missing piece of me. Why do I puzzle-piece so perfectly into his form? It seems like a cruel, cosmic joke that I would fit so neatly, so completely in Jim’s arms. We both fitted, Jim and I. If our corners were not rubbed off they were at least pulled in. I need to find him...to find Jim. I was completely whole and yet never fully complete until he came into my life. Our pathways may come together and separate again for months or even years. At this point in time, I have no need to marry. I can settle down when my soul is settled to my own self, when I can find the peace in each given moment and find a quiet, almost shy, happiness. Only then, when I am enough for myself, can romance truly work out. How else can I ever expect to support my lover in times of need if I cannot stand upon my own feet? In this new life I only seek the sun in the sky and the light so freely given. The days of needing support of others are over, I can well support myself and approve of my own blooms. So keep your old love letters, or burn them if you wish, because, unlike you, this girl doesn’t need the love of men, for she learned how to love herself.

Since John and I broke our engagement, you must think my chance at ever having a relationship with someone is over. But as New York smiled on me, I came to see that there was another who could offer me so much more than Sir John could. What would my life be if I had accepted John? I don’t think we would have been happy, he wasn’t my type anyhow. Who is my type then? A man like Jim. I’d never known it was possible to love as he did - with complete devotion yet devoid of promises. There was no desire in him for a state or condition, no picture in his mind of the thing to be when he had followed his longing; but only a burning and a will overpowering to journey outward and outward after the earliest risen star. Because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, to keep rolling under the stars... But deep in us both is something that makes us require more for happiness.

Father always said it was up to me to write the rest of my story...but you’ve been writing it for me, Mother. Now it has to be my turn. I can either stay in misery and listen to you demean yourself by trying to justify your venom, or just go and find a way out of this life that is killing my soul. Leaving home has been coming for so long, as the headlamps of some faraway train. As it pulls into the station there is a sense of shock, yet of course I knew it would come. I ducked my chin, but I was smiling. When Jim looked at me again, I was staring through the front windshield, a mix of wistfulness and guilt on my face. With people like Jim and I, our home is where we are not.

When I was a kid all I wanted to do was be somewhere else. As a girl, all I wanted to do was to fly around space exploring new worlds. There's a part of me that still wants that adventure and to know more about what's out there. As I grew I realized the price tag that came with that life wasn’t measured in dollars and cents. When I first met him, my darling Jim, it wasn’t love at first sight. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but there was a moment where I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Every wise hero realizes that dreams come with price tags that have nothing to do with money. I believe that when you meet your soulmate, the universe will show you the price of what you wish for. The real deal is never cheap. I saw what was on the table and knew what the cost of his love was. But I didn’t balk, I didn’t turn away, I kept going. Because I knew then that he was the one for me. The kind of love we have is something we must pay for with personal struggle. I’d never see you or Dad again, never be there if either of you needed me. I wouldn’t have a husband and children. I guess that’s part of growing up, understanding the finite nature of every life and with every opportunity I take there are so many others I cannot.

But the struggles Jim and I endure today will be the ‘good old days’ we will laugh about tomorrow. Those who will pay the price of emotional pain can learn what love is, can feel the blessing of true love. Sometimes a hard sacrifice must be made for a future that’s worth having. That’s all I’m saying. A new life doesn’t open as a present, with pretty ribbons and assurance of comfort, yet more as a road to adventure with a degree of fog and chill. And thus it takes the adventurous heart to grab it, the brave feet to travel it, and the bold eyes to remain open to its curves and undulations. If it were any different, the masses would not stay in such unfulfilling lives from cradle to grave. To gain more is to accept that sensation of danger and risk as one reaches for the far horizon. It was never easy. I once almost got caught taking a picture of Jim soaking wet after we both were caught in a sudden burst of rain. But I kept going. Every picture I took was a love confession I could never make. You told me in New York that he would lead me from one difficulty into another. You thought that would put me off, but I didn’t mind. If achieving dreams were easy, if chasing dreams were free, everyone would have one come true and this world would be better already.

You know as well as I do that nothing is ever free, is it, Mother? Everything you ever gave me was a debt, “remember who gave that to you, remember I did that for you.” When you tried to tell me about Jim’s first family, you hoped to stir the pot, to get me turned off. You wanted drama you didn’t deserve. You didn’t deserve shit. I owed you nothing. Not an explanation, not an apology. But in truth you were the bully, instilling fear, obligation and guilt, anything to fog up my mind, cloud my thinking. You manipulated, showboated and vented. You only allowed appeasers and ego strokers into our lives. In conversations you set out for victory, switching topics, portraying yourself as the victim, showing no empathy. Every conversation was a subtle competition you were never prepared to lose, for even the smallest of infractions could bring on your ire, your jealousy. “It’s about time you get your head out of these sketchbooks and pay attention to more important things, my love. You’ll start to get strange ideas if you keep up with this,” you had once said, your lower lip jutting out ever so slightly in a pout. Jealous of a sketchbook. Of course you were. You really did become envious of anything that took anyone’s attention away from you.

I needed your “permission” to be friends with people. You got antagonistic if I laughed too much while in the company of men. Was happiness offensive to you? Or were you just jealous I took some men’s attentions off of you for even a moment? Am I only allowed a certain quota before you drag me down once more? I’m seriously starting to think you were under a curse that would kill you if you stopped talking about yourself. “I’m Fanny, I’m pretty! Don’t stop looking at me!” I’ve never seen such an appalling exhibition in my life. You made eyes at every man at the table. You’re really pathetic. Not a single moment went by without every other person in the world screaming for your attention. You were never fully there. Just a lifetime of…fractured moments…contradictions and confusion…with only a few specks of time where anything actually made any sense. After your tantrums you made me work for your affection all over again, made me beg, took my self-esteem and burned it to ashes. Self-esteem is not a beauty cream that you can rub all over yourself and see instant results. You dominated me, hurt me, waged war, when all I only ever wanted was love, understanding, and peace. I have bitten my tongue these many years, poured love into you as the fixer-pleaser personality type I am, always wishing I could do more to help you. And instead you took all the love I gave you like it was your right to have it, and in return showed only the most superficial of understanding. It is in these dark days, with heart smashed upon the floor, that I know you aren’t capable of real love and you never were. You don’t care about anything except yourself and your goddamn face. You’ve never loved anyone. You’ve never loved me, Mother... You never loved me. You loved the idea of me. Imagine, your beautiful daughter of marriageable age, being the wife of Sir John, a popular member of high Welsh society, with money, and a title, and castles, and acres and acres of land, not to mention great social influence. Sir John is a very dear friend to me, but that’s all. I’m very fond of him, but I dream of love, not fondness. True, romantic love from a man who wants me for who I am, not what I represent to him and to others!

Can you imagine it, Mother? To be drawn to an idea. For your soul to open. For love to have a fatal power. No. I don’t suppose you can. You don’t love me. You can’t really love anyone. That’s not meant as a reproach. That’s just one of the facts of your life. Even if you don’t find it very flattering, it’s nonetheless true. You were a goddess, the most beautiful thing on God’s earth. You were a classic. Ageless, beautiful, with a long line of worshippers willing to wait on you hand and foot, just for the chance to get close enough to kiss your hands and your feet. Every time you said sweet things I was worried they were insincere or even creepy, and I’d die a little more inside. You made a promise never to love. Even now, if you break your vow, all will be lost. At least you left Fanny alone other than giving her an occasional backhanded compliment about how her dress was “too old for her” or some other nonsense when she passed by. I understand how the men and women who didn’t really know you very well could keep hanging around you, but Uncle George? Manby? They have the patience of saints. And so did Father. For a time, anyway. It took him a long time to stop being such a nice guy, and even then he remained endlessly polite to you, his pseudo-adulterous, uncaring wife.

I can’t fix you. Trying to effect change in others is a lost cause, especially if you are unwilling to first change yourself. Why should I, as a woman, waste my time trying to convince you, my insecure mother, that you are beautiful? Instead, I tried to convince you that you are not stupid. But my words sounded very hollow to you. “People only commend a woman’s personality or intelligence when her face is…unfortunate looking,” you said. “Every intelligent woman knows outward beauty is a nip, tuck, chemical peel or diet away. If you don’t like it, fix it.” So I gave up. I hated every moment I was not with Jim. I was hiding, I was helpless. Every day, I wanted to call him, just so we could chat. But I was afraid of what you would think of it. I was afraid our relationship could even hurt Jim’s reputation more than my own. But now that it’s all out in the open now, I’m no longer afraid. I don’t care that you don’t approve of Jim. Not after all you’ve done. It’s time for you to start worrying about my approval, because I am done looking for yours. “Society won’t stand for it.” It’s not society. You’re the one who won’t stand for it, right? “If you do such a thing, society will make you suffer for it.” It’s not society. It’s you, isn’t it? “Before you know it, you’ll be ostracized by society.” It’s not society. You’re going to do the ostracizing, aren’t you?

Society tells me to follow my own truth, but I don’t let society tell me what to do. If you need someone to tell you that, chances are you’re part of the crowd that will move on to the next fashion that comes around. The dominating idea of high society was not to cultivate your own path and personality, but to avoid scandal. I’m so very proud to become the black sheep of this family, for you have all the steadfastness of a weather vane. Of course you see me as challenging your ways and opinions - I have a functioning moral compass. And so while you continue to bend your “facts” around whatever suits you best in the moment, I stay true to the light. And so this “black sheep” contains more radiant beams than the brightest of sunny days. The difference between my darkness and your darkness is that I can look at my own badness in the face and accept its existence while you are busy covering your mirror with a white linen sheet. The difference between my sins and your sins is that, when I sin, I know I’m sinning, while you have actually fallen prey to your own fabricated illusions.

I am a siren, a mermaid; I know that I am beautiful while basking on the ocean’s waves and I know that I can eat flesh and bones at the bottom of the sea. You just wanted to be beautiful. That was all you cared about. You did not grow old gracefully. Of course diphtheria is the most dreadful nuisance. It has a ravaging effect, you know. Your hair fell out in handfuls. “As to my hair and eyebrows, you can say that often after a severe illness, one loses one's hair, but I’m letting mine grow as quickly as possible,” you said. You were a remarkable woman. Always looked twenty years younger than you really were. You had a pretty face, smoothed by hypocrisy, and your manners were excellent. But this illness, well... The years have caught up with you. As you can see, this illness has even added a few. You are a white witch; you prefer a cold environment and suspect love as a form of manipulation. To you, only direct speech with “no sugar coating” is “truth”. Your spells are manipulations yet you wrap yourself in white and wear a silver wig.

Beyond the glittery street is darkness and beyond the darkness the East. I have to go. The café is ahead. I imagine how its royal blue paint will glisten in the first golden rays of the day. I can see the rain drops that cling, jewel-like to its name. Outside the sidewalk that will bustle in a few short hours is quiet, the concrete oblivious to whether it is midday or midnight. My face smirks upward at the sight of the flower planter to the right. The city has put in new blooms that will give us flashes of sunny yellows and hot pinks through the springtime. If I stop walking right now, I can almost hear the heartbeat of the city - quiet, like the ticking of an old grandfather clock. Though I’m in no hurry, I keep walking. The café isn’t my destination, just a microcosm of happy memories with Jim. No, it’s the ferry I’m headed for and a journey East... I see many couples passing by. They all look so happy. I almost envy them. But that’s going to be me and Jim one day. Imagine, Miss Skeffington calls Jim Masters from a payphone in the middle of the night and silently listens to his voice. You know, all the other boys are so ABC, run of the mill. But Jim… I never know what he’s gonna do or say. Whenever I’m with him, there’s…there’s always a thunderstorm coming up. I have to fight hard to catch my breath. To act is in itself divine. Even the slightest movement of our hand is evidence of our soul in motion. Yet our free will is so easily overwhelmed by the dullness of everyday life. Our actions become rote and rigid, in spite of luxury and comfort. True divinity is found in the choice of leaving the stage where we all perform. People who discover this freedom unexpectedly will be struck by the terror of this revelation and become paralyzed, or worse, turn to suicide. However, if you are able to weather that storm, you will discover that there is a divine path beyond that fear. There is a chance to dismount your destiny and make something new. Something that hasn’t been planned for or predestined. There is difficulty in explaining this type of acting as it transcends our everyday choices. This isn’t some banal decision choosing some career over the other, or even who I should marry. Leaving the stage, no matter how, isn’t a matter of course correction. It’s a rejection of the story that the creator is telling.

I wanted to walk with you through any and every storm, but it was akin to trying to hold a toddler who scratched and bit for years whilst alone. And though I tried, you broke me, literally, in pieces. So I’m taking this rebuilt version of myself, and I’m going to find friends and family who love me and treat me well. I would always stay with a friend or family member in any storm, yet walking into the same storm that once left me for dead…not a chance in Hell. It is time for me to leave, for good. What was going on inside of you at that time was difficult. From the way you behaved, it must have been painful. Yet there are times we must protect the self, protect our own hearts and souls if the damage from friends or family is too much. Each phase of living has forms of arrival and leaving. If we are lucky enough for these to remain in the realm of the symbolic, then we can remain with those we love and build a secure life that feels safe and dependable. For some, however, as fate would have it, these things are literal. There are times we literally have to leave and move on, alone. I’ve been doing exactly that since childhood. It would be nice to stop. It would be nice to feel a sense of being somewhere, with someone, that I could stay in a way that is ongoing. That would be great.

Outside, the city begins to withdraw. A siren sounds in the night, blue light reflecting on brickwork as tireless paramedics rush to the scene of another trauma. On the pavement below, a woman hurries home, casting furtive glances over her shoulder as she pulls her coat tight around herself, the rain beating patterns on the fabric. A car drives past, music disturbing the peace. The woman looks at the man in the car. He turns the music down, calls something out as he passes. I see the woman start to walk faster. She flinches at the thunder. The car drives off. It’s easier to focus on other people’s issues or shortcomings rather than look inward. But it’s counter-productive to try to clean someone else’s house, while your house is a disaster. Not to mention, hypocritical. You scandalous woman, will you ever throw away your hypocrisy? Hypocrisy annoys me. People need to look into mirrors. Let me hold a mirror in front of your face. Do not require standards for others you do not yourself obey. Start with yourself and then worry about others. I’m not sorry you lost your looks. It’s a frivolous concern in times like these. You are more intent upon reshaping your dear little nose than in fashioning your character. Affronts to your reputation pierced you to the heart, though I couldn’t understand why, since you had very little character left to defend. Be more concerned about your life’s impact on the lives of others than your image.

Another set of sirens now. Somewhere, in the distance, the city is drowning. This is where we live. This is our world. Ebb and Flow. Endless, forever. It’s the perfect time for loneliness. The perfect time to indulge the selfish, petulant monologues of the dispossessed. In the city, one is alone because the world is made up of strangers, and to be a stranger surrounded by strangers, to walk along silently bearing one’s secrets and imagining those of the people one passes, is among the starkest of luxuries. This uncharted identity with its illimitable possibilities is one of the distinctive qualities of urban living, a liberatory state for those who come to emancipate themselves from family and community expectation, to experiment with subculture and identity. It is an observer’s state - cool, withdrawn, with senses sharpened - a good state for anybody who needs to reflect or create. In small doses melancholy, alienation, and introspection are among life’s most refined pleasures. But sometimes it’s just like this, you know? Sometimes we can’t help it. Sometimes we don’t want to go out and hang out with our friends. Sometimes we don’t want to talk. Sometimes we just want to wallow. But I am done wallowing. I am running and singing and, when it’s raining, I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4AM to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.

There is strange comfort in knowing that no matter what happens today, the sun will rise again tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a lovely morning. Just right for a nice walk in the park. But you don’t like walking in the park. As I write this letter, you’ve been in the house all day for nearly thirty days in a row. You’ve scarcely been out of your room. I often saw you staring at nothing. What, did you see Dad again? Is that why you won’t leave the house?? Fanny and I weren’t able to get acquainted with you while you were ill. Dr. Melton wouldn’t allow any visitors at the hospital, and when you went to the rest home, you wrote us not to come. You didn’t want to see anyone. We thought perhaps it was from being so wretchedly weak after diphtheria, but…no. It was the way your lovely hair had fallen out in handfuls, the way wrinkles overtook every inch of your face, the way your teeth yellowed… You wouldn’t want anyone to see you, not even your daughters, unless you were looking your absolute best, and diphtheria was no beauty treatment. But that wasn’t the only reason for your reclusiveness. Set off you did, and he who had once been your husband appeared to respond to the treatment with an alacrity which startled you, and gradually became quite upsettingly vivid and real. Dr. Melton said you could go out anytime you wish, but you still won’t. So bound to your determination that nobody should ever see you in your decay, you condemn yourself to being a prisoner in your own house, with the excuse that you mustn’t stay up long, that you’re still very weak. Oh, well. Suit yourself, Mother. While you, in the sun of its surface, waste months in shamefully selfish, childish misery over the loss of your beauty and sink into your mattress and hide behind your thick blankets and decorative pillows, hiding yourself away from the world day in and day out as you just lie there and waste away into practically nothing, I will better the world by being out in it, as you had once done. For so many years you had made the world a more beautiful place, simply by being in it. Now it’s my turn.

You don’t know me. You never fucking knew me. But I know you. I know you to be a nasty, jealous, scheming bitch! You’re a bitch! Not content with ruining your own life, you’re determined to ruin mine! Well, I’m not going to let you. You don’t get to barge in and start stealing the life I’ve only dreamed of just because you woke up one day and decided you wanted to try to be a mother after twenty years of absence. Go fuck yourself, you judgmental, self-righteous bitch. As for Jim, I’ll see him soon. And you’re wrong as you so often are. When you were ill, you thought there were at least six men willing to give their lives for you. That was before you became ill. The only person of any use to a woman whose run has been long, whose romantic days are over… The only person who will stick to such a woman is her husband. Your lovers… They were really very sweet, but said, “I love you” in that tolerant tone. Automatic praise is a mere succession of noises. I usually don’t like compliments, don’t see why a man should think he is pleasing a woman enormously when he says to her a whole heap of things that he doesn’t mean. We ought to punish pitilessly that shameful pretense of friendly intercourse. There is nothing I detest so much as the contortions of these great time-and-lip servers, these affable dispensers of meaningless embraces, these obliging utterers of empty words, who view everyone in civilities. I like a man to be a man, and to show on all occasions the bottom of his heart in his discourse. Let that be the thing to speak, and never let our feelings be beneath vain compliments. Your admirers or sweethearts never meant what they said... Once time caught up to you, the wrinkles and folds of your skin now dry and so pronounced it was hard to tell what you must have looked like as a young woman… Perhaps you were once admired, courted and coiffured… Now you just looked like a party balloon almost bereft of its helium, sagged and deflated… All the promises they made died on the wind. They all ended up by turning sour on the stomach, even if there was nothing that actually could be called sour about their parting. An honest man would feel bad. But they were all dishonest men.

So you see, Mother, you mustn’t blame your illness for no longer being beautiful. You haven’t really been beautiful since the day you sent Father away. Because, since that day, there’s been no man who’s really loved you. Don’t you see if they had, it wouldn’t matter to them now? The only person who will stick to such a woman is her husband. And, oh, how Father loved you. Unfortunately, you believe he only loved what you looked like. Not you at all. But that’s not the truth. Hadn’t he worshipped you, lived for you, thought only of you - even, somehow, when he was thinking of the pretty girls in the office as well? And what, in the long run, were the pretty girls in the office to a man? Nothing; nothing; less than nothing, compared to a darling, exquisite, and, as you had once supposed, permanent wife. Father was - is - perfect for you. Just as Jim is perfect for me. You’re just too stupid and stuck up to see it! Still, at least he’s got away from you, which is something to give thanks for, I suppose! Don’t bother to write or call. I’ll be moving around too much to have a permanent phone number or address. I won’t call home and I won’t answer any of your correspondence. Not until you’ve learned to look past your own nose. You need help. Call me old fashioned, but I think you should go to a hospital and get that ego checked out while you’re at it because it must be swollen huge. Dr. Jaquith said hypocrisy is a form of self-deception and self-ignorance while engaging in the same behavior or activity for which one criticizes another, allowing one to maintain the illusion that they are better than others. He also viewed Narcissism as a developmental freeze, for the narcissist is both emotionally cold and stunted. I’d say you check off enough boxes to classify under both. We do have something in common after all, Mother. We both have lots of growing up to do. But don’t worry, we all have to grow up someday. It’s inevitable.

Warmest regards,

Your daughter

Nice note to leave on what might’ve been a wedding day. As upsetting as it was to read a letter that was laced with your venom, and each word stung her heart more and more, Fanny felt she could bear to read it because she felt she deserved it, at least to some degree. She was venomous towards you first and, as she had time to reflect on the last day you were in the house and the months leading up to it, she should’ve expected that you were going to bite back with the same energy she was giving you. Your lengthy goodbye letter allowed Fanny to look at the situation from your point of view, something she never tried to do before. Maybe the apparition of you (her conscience?) was right, and reading your letter was the first step to repentance.

Fanny found herself trekking up to the attic. She sat by the window and opened her own little book, a diary of sorts, where she wrote letters to you. Letters that she never sent and never would. She started this the same day Jim left. Fanny hadn’t thought about her ex-husband for over eight years. After putting three continents, and a successful, independent life between them as soon as she found out about his indiscretion, she thought she never would have to, until your departure. It wasn’t until after you were gone that Fanny saw that Job had played, for a time, a leading part in her life. He had been, she recognized, the keystone of her career. Up to her illness, how unclouded her life had been! Really a quite radiant life, full of every sort of amusing and exciting things like would-be lovers— at one time the whole world appeared to want to be Fanny’s lover— and all because Mr. Skeffington was never able to resist his younger typists. It was thanks to the settlements he had made on her, which were the settlements of an extremely rich and extremely loving man, that she was so well off, and it was thanks to his infidelities— but ought one to thank infidelities? Well, never mind— that she was free. She had adored being free. Eight years of enchanting freedom she had had, and adoring every minute of them except the minutes at the end of a love affair, when things suddenly seemed unable to avoid being distressing, and except the minutes quite lately, when she was recovering from a terrible illness, and had nothing to do, but think, and began thinking about Mr. Skeffington.

April 1936

Jim left on a train. I thought I would be glad but I’m not.

November 1936

Dearest Job,

Our daughter’s gone missing again, this time less dramatically. I’d decided to try to reach her by writing to her and had Manby mail my correspondence to her last known address, but all my letters were returned unopened, and she and Jim haven’t returned my calls. I guess I can’t blame them. I hope they’re okay. When I asked Fanny about her sister, she said that she’s too busy exploring the world with Jim to write. She told Fanny that she needed space from the family. Maybe permanently. She’s safe, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve missed something. Fanny’s all but dropped out of contact as well. She and Johnny Mitchell have married and left for Seattle. Johnny opened a branch office there. Why does everyone want to go away? I love being home. But I don’t like being left behind. Now Fanny and her sister are the ones going ahead. They’re not afraid. I can’t be brave like them. Is it true, Job? Am I a horrible mother? Both of our daughters hate me. They don’t even want to see me. It’s just that… Well, I suppose I wish both of my daughters luck. I don’t know what else to say this time. I wish I could go back and do things differently. I’m ashamed for not even trying to be a good wife. Oh, Job. Poor Job. I didn’t make you happy. I didn’t even try. You’d always been so kind and generous and I never showed any appreciation. You deserved better. You would’ve known what to do. I wish you’d come home.

I hope you’ll be all right and that it isn’t too late for us. I want a chance to make it all up to you. You should have everything. I can’t give you back your vigor and wholeness, but I can and will give you the means of having yourself cared for and mended. Give you? No, not give; restore what had always really been yours. Everything should go back to you. I will only ask for just enough to live on, hidden away somewhere in the country, where no one who used to know me will see me, and where I can, at long last, apply myself to that wisdom and that getting of understanding which Lanks, in the days of his waning devotion, used to recommend as desirable. The great, resounding house should go back, complete with its contents. Except for Manby, the servants should go back too, including Soames.

Truly the ways of providence were admirable, thought Fanny, struck by its thoroughness, by its attention to the smallest detail—here, for instance, was Soames going to be removed from her life legitimately, smoothly, and happily.

But suppose you are— suppose you are— No. I mustn’t think such a thing.

Thinking of you,

Fanny xxx

April 1937

My darling daughter,

Your birthday is coming up. I haven’t heard from you in nearly a year. Where are you? This is unlike you. And the house has been…quiet. You haven’t written or called me. Nobody has, in fact. Except your Uncle George. Oh, I’m certainly trying to keep busy. You should see how tidy my stitching has become. But I need more! I’m not the putter-around type, you know. When you come back, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.

Love,

Your mother

June 1937

My darling daughter,

When I allowed your father to take you and Fanny with him to Europe, when I arranged that marriage between you and Sir John Talbot, I had only your best interests at heart. I only wanted what was best for you, but I realize too late that you already had it with Jim Masters. I wasted so much time, so many years, thinking only of myself. So, yes, I’ve been a bad mother. I pushed you away. I made up reasons for stuff you did and believed them, as if you ever could have had a mean intention. That was never you. So our falling out, my coldness, my spite... it’s bad wiring in my brain I’m fighting. At least now I know, at least there’s a chance for something better. So, I can say hand on heart I deserve this, that I have thoroughly earned your disdain, but do you suppose it’s too late for me to be a real mother to you now? I’m willing to try. And if you won’t let me be a mother to you now, would you want to be my friend? Because I want to learn how to be yours. If I help, if I’m kind, I might start to like myself and that would be a start to something better. It takes bravery to let it in, to allow the self to be loved by another. I think to let it be solid, lasting, good, I need to love me too and that’s been so brutally hard. And they say you have to have someone else love you first, so isn’t that a vicious cycle?

Love,

Your mother

October 1939

My darling daughter,

When Fanny said she got a letter from you that said you went East and were not of a mind to ever return, I had hoped that that wasn’t the truth because I missed you something awful. I still do. I haven’t heard from you in nearly four years. Do you remember the Harrison’s Yellow which Dwight brought over from California? It looked right dead to me, but you planted it out back and gave it some water and already it looked to be on the mend. You said it was your favorite flower in the world. It’s just a pile of brown sticks now. I don’t know how to look after delicate things like that so it is my fault that it died. This house feels empty now, and all I can think about is you. I tell people you are on your way home but, when I look in my heart, I know this is a lie. You will never come back to New York and it is my fault and I will just have to find a way to live with it. Spoilt, selfish, unforgivable behavior. What can I do to make up? Nothing, I well know; and I well know that I’ve seen the last of you. Life in New York is a jar filled with bittersweet candies. Not exactly tasteful, but I have to learn to enjoy it. Nevertheless, it’s where my heart lies.

Love,

Your mother

The next few lines had been smudged out.

You MUST return.

More angry smudging followed.

She opened her little notebook to a fresh page and began to write for the first time in half a year.

April 1940

My darling daughter,

I love you more than you ever know. Sweetheart, I miss you so much. I just want you to come home. The sunset light in this house is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I just want to sleep but, last time I fell asleep in the attic, in your old spot, I dreamed that I missed the first two calls, and I just barely caught the third one before Manby or Soames or Clinton got it and it was YOU on a PAYPHONE. You and Jim had been on a bus in Massachusetts and you said you couldn’t—you couldn’t think of anything but ME, and US, and that you couldn’t go through with it, with cutting all ties with the family, and being apart and ALL of it, that you got off the bus in SALEM. You said, “Mother, since we last spoke, I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and what I said...” You’re not gone. I know you’re not gone. I simply don’t believe it. You are right here, with me. And we are sitting under the stars with your father and Fanny and everything is perfect. That’s where we are and where we will remain. I’m not in denial or delusional, I’m just promising you. I’m just promising you that the perfect world is still out there. Somewhere. In my heart I’m there, and I hope you’re there too.

Love,

Your mother

April 1940

My darling daughter,

When I’m in the attic, it almost feels like you could still be here... You’re just downstairs... I’m just waiting to hear you pull down the hatch and come running up. Maybe I’ll go up to the attic... and wait... I cannot wait for you to return. I will sit here by the window every day – I will imagine your smile and your perfect hands. I expect your knock on the door any day! Do you remember the attic, which your father converted into your old art studio? Well, I spend most of my free time there now, reading or writing. It helps me relax. It helps me at least feel close to you. Sometimes I’ll think of you, and how we spent our time apart rather than together like we should’ve done. I’m not sure if you ever realized how much I thought about you. I should’ve done more, should’ve been a better mother to you. Since you left, I keep writing these letters, but I never mail them. And, to be honest, it’s because I don’t have a clue where you may be staying at the moment. I copied the most recent address Fanny gave me into my address book, erasing an earlier one that had not been good for very long. No address of Jim’s or yours is good for very long and the paper in my address book where his and your address is written is thin and soft from being erased so often. There is never a good return address. I don’t know how Fanny and George ever got their letters to you. I haven’t gotten any letters since you left. Not that I expected any at first, but it’s been years. I hope you’re still doing okay. I’m sad I can never write you back, especially because you and Jim don’t stay in one place forever. At the same time, writing to you has made me feel that we are still close to one another. Well, it was easy enough to like being alone when you were a child, I said to myself, for the memories were all distant, and harmless and unhurtful. How different from the ones which have wrung my heart since you have gone away!

You haven’t been here for years and years. Today almost marks the fourth year that you left New York. Nearly four years…no. Nearly FOUR YEARS have passed and the world around me is still the same. Well, except for me, I look like a mummified corpse. It feels like years since I have been warm. What would you say if you saw me again? You left home the moment you broke off your engagement. I know now why you left. To follow your own path, to follow your dreams. Since then, I could only rely on my memories of you to keep on going. I wonder if it was the same for you too, while you were looking for Jim. Your heart…understood Jim’s. In the depth of the fragrant night, he listened with ravished soul, to your beloved voice. His heart understood yours. George told me that when you love someone, their whole existence just gets etched into your brain. So no matter how much you change, I will always know it’s you. But…will you do the same for me? I know Jim hates me a lot too but, unlike him, you were not the most likely person to remember stuff. Considering how long four years felt for me, it’s possible you did forget about me… Or am I giving you too little credit? So here comes the big question: Will you remember me? Will you remember my voice? Who am I kidding? It’s you, my darling daughter, we’re talking about. We didn’t have the most perfect relationship, but you won’t just dump your memory of me down the drain or something…will you? No. You’re too much of a tender heart for that. And don’t forget wise beyond your years. I just hope our time together was meaningful enough for you. Enough to make you cherish even the darkest ones. Speaking of cherishable memories, after you left, the attic has become my favorite place, because it was your favorite place to begin with. For it was here that you spent each day after finishing your homework. And on Saturdays and Sundays you’d sleep and have all your meals, even breakfast, in your little nest of blankets and pillows in that upstairs room at the top of a ladder that acted as a wooden staircase. Vividly, and for no reason that I could discover, the memory of that brief, acutely happy tune came back to me.

Will you say “Hello” to me again? Did time already ruin our moments? I just want to say hello every time the phone rings, hoping you’ll call me. But what I WANT to do and CAN do are two different things (as always). Just enjoying your presence on the other side of the phone would be satisfying, too, in a way, though. I eagerly wait to hear something other than my own breath. I do not expect you to write. I just need to know that you think of me from time to time. I wish I could sneak into people’s minds, look beyond their eyes just by staring. If I had that power, maybe I would have known how to connect with you. Will you remember the moment you came back into my life after being gone for eight years? For me, it’s as clear as the moment you left again. So clear that the downfall of our relationship still cuts deep into my heart. Why did you have to break my heart? Maybe you thought you were too good for New York…and me. To you, I was just a figure, doomed to fade into the background of your life, unimportant and overlooked, much like the silhouetted figures in the background in your pictures, your paintings...Out of focus, lacking any sort of detail or distinct features that make them stand out like the subjects in the foreground. An afterthought.

Maybe that’s it… That’s why you wanted to leave even after I told you we wouldn’t see each other ever again. Your cruel words cut me and, in pain, I am ashamed that I retaliated. You, my darling daughter, had just left. You told me to get out of the way... You took the car, a suitcase, your big duffle bag and were gone. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, not even Fanny. You wouldn’t say anything to me anymore and said you never would again. You ran off and now you and Jim are both gone and neither of you said anything about where you went. You got what you wanted in the end… You left New York again, this time for good, as soon as you were given the chance. But the weight of what I had done hadn’t immediately set in. I thought you would forget Jim and, when you did, you would come home because you were a smart girl and would figure out that I did what I done for you.

One of your old paintings leans against the wall, dusty and unloved. The painting, leaning on an easel, has a certain mesmerizing gloom that seems to call out to me. Telling me l am needed for something important. I run a finger along the edge, my pink nail polish almost purple in the half-light, and it comes away dirty. In the grime that must have taken years to form there is now a streak of gold paint. I hold it up. With the light that struggles to make it through the grime on the window the colors are subdued, but I can already tell it’s a country scene. The hills roll green, interwoven with the golds of autumn. I feel myself falling into the painting, only being brought back by Soames thrusting an address into my hand and telling me it’s your last known location. How could this beautiful landscape have lain here in the dark for so long without my knowing? I move slowly down the attic stairs, one hand on the rungs, one on the painting. It’s time for it to have pride of place...

Nothing matters anymore. I’m just crawling through life. I just want to be happy. What’s wrong with that? Am I destined to be alone? I have written you another letter. This letter will be my last. This letter, like the others, will never be sent. All I want to say is, I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry, of course, but that doesn’t mean much, does it? It sounds like you’re having fun out there. Meeting new people, trying new things. Just…please take care. Just take care of yourself, wherever you are. One day, I hope to see you again. Despite everything that’s happened, I still love you. I will love you always, even if you don’t believe me.

Love,

Your mother

Fanny was reflecting on these things in bed. It was an icy, foggy morning outside, but inside, in her bedroom, all was rosy and warm. Wrapped in a rose-colored bedgown—when she was younger her bed arrangements had been sea-green, but it was curious, she herself noticed, how regularly the beds of older women turned pink, the shaded, rose-colored lights doing their best for her, and a most beautiful wood fire bathing the room in a rosy glow, she ate, or tried to eat, her breakfast. Cold, sour stuff to begin a spring day on, she thought, giving up and pushing the tray aside. The idea was to keep slender; but suppose she did keep slender—and nobody, since her illness, could possibly be more slender—what was the good of it if she had no hair? One went to Henri’s, of course, and bought some, but to buy hair, to buy hair, when one had had such heaps of it till only a few years ago, did seem most dreadful. And it put a stop to so many things, too, once one had got something on one’s head that didn’t really belong. For instance, poor Dwight, the latest, wasn’t able to touch it reverently anymore, as she used sometimes to allow him when he had been extra sweet and patient. If he did, the most awful things might’ve happened; the most awful things must’ve happened.

Fanny, who had two daughters, and a little over three and a half years ago, for reasons she considered compelling, all but disinherited you, after not having given you a thought for years when you were a child, began, to her surprise, to think of you a great deal. If she shut her eyes, she could see you behind the fish-dish at breakfast; and presently, even if she didn’t shut her eyes, she could see you behind almost anything. Fanny rose out of bed and sat in her chair at the window, hoping for some sunlight to pierce through the fog and warm her skin. It was not the most comfortable chair in the house, it was wicker with a floral cushion that was none too thick.

Manby, who seemed able to see through walls, knew she had opened her eyes, and slid in. She came in sideways, taking up as little space as possible in the doorway, so as not to cause draughts, and carrying the morning letters on a tray. “Here’s your mail, Mrs. Skeffington.”

A lot of letters, but they all looked dull. Queer how uninteresting her letters and telephone messages had been since she came back from the rest home. What had happened to everybody? Hardly ever did a nice man’s voice come through on the telephone now. Relations rang up, and women friends, but the men, like her hair, seemed to have dropped off. She had stayed in the countryside for several months, slowly recovering and, when she got back, New York and the people in it might almost have been a different place and race—so apathetic; so dull. While as for the way one’s friends had lately taken to dying. She oughtn’t to have stayed away so long. One’s tracks got very quickly covered up, if one did. In the general scramble, it appeared one easily was forgotten, though it was too fantastic to suppose that she of all people— She turned her head and looked at the tray of letters, none of which were from you or Jim. Her hands clasped around her drawn-up knees and, though a part of her didn’t want to, she opened the first letter her hand grabbed, desperate for a distraction from her thoughts of you. Unfortunately, it was from Janie Clarkson, of all people.

April 1940

Dear Fanny,

I hope this letter finds you well. I haven’t heard from you in a while! All this new house business for me has been quite the adventure! Remember when we were young and miserable, fantasizing about our dream homes? I always said I wanted a mansion, you said you just wanted to stay in your family house in the city... Look who got both! Somebody up there likes you! I could use some of that magic. Seriously! But I shouldn’t be complaining about this good old split-level we’ve had since my husband got transferred to New Hampshire. We just got new vinyl siding. Jealous yet? Let me know if you ever want to trade places! Speaking of jealous… Oh, honey, let me tell you, l understand how you feel. My son, Jeremy, and I have had our down periods. It’s become a bit of a way of life, actually… When they’re little, you get used to each other, you live your own lives in the same house. When the kids grow up, they go away… Your great big house on Charles Street must be lonely with you there alone. Oh, silly me! Of course, you’re not alone anymore! Job is back, but… Have you heard from your daughters recently? I wish I could be there, but my husband’s work here at the shipyards is vital to the war effort. According to the stories my husband hears at the shipyards, the way captured individuals are treated sounds like a fate worse than death. I prayed every night for Mr. Skeffington. If he were to have died over there… I’m not sure if you could’ve handled it. With Mr. Skeffington in Germany that big house must’ve been so difficult for you to maintain. I’m so relieved to hear he’s come home, though I was saddened to hear about his blindness. I hope you and he have been adjusting to your new normal all right. Indications are this will be a long war, but take comfort in your husband and wonderful home.

I’m sorry, this isn’t helping, is it?! So how are the girls doing? Has your daughter returned from her big cross-country adventure yet? Don’t worry, okay? Your daughter will get over whatever’s distracting her. She’ll come back as soon as she runs out of money and things will go back to normal. And as for her being distant? That’s a young adult who’s just grown out of being a teenager for you. My Jeremy was the same way. Nothing to worry about. In the meantime though, this “controlled burn” that happened in the woods - that sounds like quite the adventure! But let’s cut to the chase! This new ranger they sent, THAT’S what I want to hear about! “Ranger Rick?” You have to be kidding me! You HAVE to tell me everything...and send pictures! I want the whole package! Wait, that sounded wrong! Keep your chin up until your daughter is out of her slump. And in the meantime, write more letters to your old friend, Janie! She adores them! I’ll keep my ears open, okay? I’ll tell you if I hear anything. Write back soon! I miss you!

- Janie

Fanny quickly slammed the letter back on the tray. She had half a mind to discard it in the waste bin or throw it in the fireplace. So much for a distraction. She and Janie never liked each other and always kept each other at arm’s length. But some folks seem to have nothing better to do than to pry into other folks’ business, and Janie was one of them. Janie loved to live vicariously through others, always desperate for the next piece of gossip to grasp onto to fill her boring, dull life with the illusion of excitement. All the letters Janie wrote and sent, all the lunch dates she tried to set up, it was all part of her schemes to fish for dirty little secrets and drama that she could spread around her circle of gossipy ladies and bored housewives in a vain attempt at filling a void in their lives. A void which was insatiable, always hungry for more, more, more. Even when she wasn’t invited someplace or physically present, her bad influence often seeped through the cracks in the walls and infected other women’s behavior. Janie Clarkson was there like a shadow until you needed her, then suddenly she was unavailable. Her ready smile was only for those who gave freely and didn’t require any help in return. Once the personal crisis was over she’d reemerge from the crowds and reinsert herself into the group, cracking the jokes everyone loved and paying them for their company in her favorite “currency” - gossip. She knew the dirt on everyone, including you.

~

“That Skeffington daughter, she ran away from home.”

“Again?! Didn’t she leave last month too!?”

“This time she emptied her closet, though. What if she’s gone for good?”

“If that’s the case, good riddance! She’s so spoiled, she didn’t know how good she had it. She can look for the family she deserves elsewhere!”

“You shouldn’t say that! I feel for the Skeffingtons. They must be going through a lot, with those two daughters and an absent ex-husband and father that may or may not be dead.”

“Let’s leave Fanny alone, Janie. I don’t think she knows anything about her daughter.”

“She’s a Skeffington! If that girl runs away from home, it’s our duty to help Fanny find her!”

~

And if you weren’t her buddy, she’d be free with that information to whoever her new friends were. With her or against her, that’s how it was. Fanny chose to hate her and keep her closer than a lover; the best friend she’d choose to eat first in any survival situation. The last time Fanny attended any social gathering and witnessed Janie’s meddling in action was the February before her illness. By the time Fanny arrived on a Saturday afternoon to a dinner party hosted by Jim Conderley and his wife, Audrey—it was to be the shortest form of weekend— Mrs. Conderley knew everything about Fanny that she was to know; not all that there was to know, but all that she was to know; and her husband, Jim, calm again, and much surprised that he should have been so angry, had amply reflected on the extent to which the wife of one’s bosom is really shut out of it. She knew who Fanny’s father was, she knew her only brother had been killed in the war, she knew she had married a Jew, she knew she had been divorced, and finally she knew, having looked it up in Debrett, that she would be fifty next month, on the twelfth of March; she knew no more. Lady Frances had never married again, Conderley told her, who, without the least intending it, gave the impression that since parting from her husband, Fanny had lived an austere single life, suggesting vestal virgins to Audrey, in Charles Street, taken care of by a devoted maid, who would no doubt end in the columns of The Times, under the heading Faithful Service. What interested her most, though, was the divorce. She couldn’t leave off talking about it. She harped. Of these things, however, Jim said no word to his wife. They were the single fly in his happy home ointment, and he wasn’t going to trouble her by letting her know how much, sometimes, he minded them. And when at last he remonstrated with her for this persistence, she explained she had never yet consciously met a divorcée, let alone had to entertain one, and felt as if it were going to be rather a landmark in her life. No matter how many times Jim corrected her and told her that it was Fanny who divorced Job, and that she must really get it right, Audrey thought it was the same thing, even if indeed it was not. Janie had gotten to her.

After staying with friends, it is sometimes a comfort to go home. Fanny, having said her last words, and smiled her last smile, and kissed and been kissed by the penitent Audrey, and having also, in that desire for a good curtain which so frequently overtakes those who part, warmly invited nearly everybody to come and stay with her in Charles Street, felt this comfort acutely. Even though she wasn’t going home really. Even though she was only going to The Red Fern Gardens, what used to be one of your favorite places. The great thing was to get away. Accordingly, no sooner had the steps, and the lights, and the waving Conderleys and Cookhams slipped behind into darkness, than she fell back on the cushions, shut her eyes, and gave thanks. How precious were the negations—the not seeing, not hearing, not talking, not being with anybody. Even Manby couldn’t get at her. Sitting next to the new chauffeur, safely separated by the glass partition, she couldn’t even ask her whether her feet were warm, and would she like another rug. The new chauffeur was coming along, Fanny supposed. She admitted to herself that he wasn’t as good as Masters, but she thought with a little practice he’d improve. He was adequate at the technical aspect of his job but lacked in the social aspect, not nearly as talkative or personable as Masters was. Masters was quiet when she asked for silence or otherwise made it clear she was in no mood for on the road chitchat, but she only realized after he was dismissed that she enjoyed listening to his stories. They made the long, boring car rides much more bearable than she thought, and she took them, took him for granted.

Oh, blessed, blessed, thought Fanny, to be alone, to be in the dark, to be out of reach, not to be in Manhattan anymore. But when a guest departs feeling like this, and when the hosts are left with a distinct sensation of smarting, the visit can’t really be called a success. Nobody, however, dreamed of calling it that. Audrey had been sure it wouldn’t be one, Conderley had had the gravest doubts, all now justified, and Fanny saw clearly, and roundly told herself, that she was a fool. A fool to imagine that poor Jim, twenty years older, hopelessly settled down, and she a mere ghost in his memory, could be any sort of refuge for her. How much happier for poor Jim was it to have married Audrey; how infinitely lucky he was to have got Audrey instead of herself— that nice, smooth little wife, years younger than he was, yet content to live the life liked by a man years older. And Audrey, too, was lucky, for marrying him she had been rescued from some clergyman. Everything about Audrey suggested, to Fanny, pews. She could see her being devout in pews, and attentive at the feet of pulpits.

Perched there by the window, Fanny observed the passersby and reminisced about how she used to make comments about whatever exciting thing she thought they were off to do. Fanny was like Janie and Audrey too, once. She lived vicariously through these random strangers who would never know her. Until she saw the toll it took on the people she loved most. Now, however, she was done wasting her life away trying to live through others. Now, however, perhaps for the first time in her life during a weekend in the country, there was no party, and from the look of things you wouldn’t think Mrs. Skeffington ever had one. If she had married Jim Conderley—how often had he implored her to fancy; poor old Jim—she supposed the beautiful William and Mary house would have rocked with parties, for in those days they seemed to collect about her. Wherever she went, there at once sprang up a party. It was Monday morning. And wasn't everybody, nearly, by the Sunday evening of a weekend party, bored and tired? And hadn’t most of the guests by that time said something bound to rouse somebody? But other guests, more decent than herself, didn’t go away and ruin their hostess’s dinner plans; other guests didn’t go off, simply because they were afraid they would have to sit next to Major Cookham. For you, that night, had been quite unbearably lively. You might’ve been nothing but a figment, but she had to say you did her imagination great credit, so vivid you were, so actual, so much on the spot. Up to then, you had only molested her in the day-time, sat at meals with her, met her in the library, attended her in the drawing-room; but the evening before, the evening, that is, which she discovered from Fanny was the same day on which you had married Jim, when she came in late from a party—not in very good spirits because everybody had been so dull—you were waiting for her in the hall, and had taken her hand, or she felt as if you had taken it, and gone upstairs with her just as you had done three or so years ago, the last time you had dinner with her in her room. Dreadful to have a figment eating one’s food, thought Fanny, opening her eyes with a shudder, and jerking herself upright in the chair.

Her maid observed her attitude, removed the tray without disturbing her, and slid silently out again. So that’s how we are this morning, is it, thought her maid, whose name was Manby. She came back not two minutes later and opened her mistress’s wardrobe. “Well, how would you like to wear your beige? Or better still, your black and old rose?”

Fanny answered the question with a question. “Have there been any calls for me this morning?”

“Mr. Trellis called and he wanted to know—”

“He wanted to know how I was feeling.”

“Yes.”

“No one else?”

“No. No one. Will you wear your gray or your brown this morning, m’lady? Or should I put out your black?” she inquired.

Fanny, again, ignored the question. “Why hasn’t Job been in to see me?”

“He’s tied up in his study at the moment, but he wanted me to ask you if you’d like to go for a walk in the park this afternoon, once he’s finished with whatever’s holding him. It’s a foggy morning, but it’s supposed to clear up. And there’s no snow or ice on the ground, only a slight breeze. Just right for a nice walk in the park. Will your ladyship wear—” another small pause, during which, with an almost superhuman effort, she recovered her usual respectful impassiveness— “should I put out the beige, or the black?”

For an instant Fanny’s head drooped; for an instant she made odd, uncertain movements with her hand, trailing it backwards and forwards on the rug, her face hidden.

“There’s nothing wrong with you that fresh air, exercise and hard work won’t cure. Why don’t you take Dr. Melton’s advice and try it for two weeks and if you don't feel better—”

Manby’s well-meaning suggestion of going for a walk in the park reminded Fanny of the last time she went on a similar outing with Dwight, her youngest, but more importantly, her last admirer.

~

A girl showed herself as a dumpy little thing, very round in a yellow knitted jumper, tight-skinned indeed, thought Fanny, who, beholding her straightened out and unfolded, was sorrier than ever for Dwight. How much that poor boy must have suffered from her own exiguousness, and her marked avoidance of letting him come too close—no closer, in fact, than sometimes, before her illness, when there was still enough of it, being allowed to touch her hair. This little plump thing, bursting with young ripeness through her jumper, was real substantial flesh and blood, intensely alive, almost audibly crackling with vigor; and Fanny, looking at her, felt as if her own bones were hardly covered enough for decency, and that she was nothing but a pale ghost wandered from the rapidly cooling past, strayed into a richly warm generation to which she in no way belonged. Nor did she, confronted by the girl’s abounding youth, even resent being taken for Dwight’s mother. She easily might have been his mother. It would be the natural conclusion for that evidently lively young brain to come to. Besides, she was too completely sorry for him, standing there defenseless, all his fine words and eloquence silenced, to resent anything. But she hadn’t a notion what to do next. Dwight evidently hadn’t a notion either. In the face of what she had seen, and they both knew she had seen, conversation on ordinary lines would be a mockery. Graciousness, too, on her part, could only further prostrate poor Dwight; while as for suggesting everyday things, such as their coming and having tea with her at the Mitre or somewhere, to sit having tea with him under the circumstances would be a mockery, and a most subtle torture for the unhappy young man.

It was the girl who solved the problem. Not liking the look on either of their faces, and having no mind to be mixed up in a row just when she had been enjoying herself so much, she stooped quickly, snatched her cap, clapped it on her head with the gay indifference of a child as to whether it were straight or crooked, and said, “Well, so long. I must be trotting home to get tea for mother—” and nodding a “Good afternoon, Mrs. Skeff,” to Fanny, and to Dwight a jaunty “See you this evening, p’raps—” Then there was handshaking the girl goodbye. With bounding little footsteps, buttoning her jacket as she went, she hurried away. Without her, though it couldn’t be said there was relief, there was at least change, the situation, however, still remaining in the category of that which must be worse before it can be better.

“I’m so sorry, Dwight,” was all Fanny could think of to say, after a painful silence, as they walked slowly back the way she had come. “I mean—” But what did she mean? She meant, she supposed, for interrupting, for blundering in on him.

Dwight, who such a few minutes before had been one enormous throb of very delicious and satisfactory love, now had only a single wish, and that was never to feel, see, think of, or hear about love again. “That’s all right,” he said, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, his feet sulkily kicking up the gravel at the edge of the path. An inadequate reply. Still, was there any reply, she asked herself, the unfortunate boy could make which would be adequate?

“You needn’t come with me, you know,” she said, after another painful silence. “Not if you’d rather—if there’s anything else—” But as everything she began to say at once landed her in fresh difficulties, she stopped.

“That’s all right,” he said a second time; again inadequate, and again sulkily kicking up the gravel. Alas, poor Dwight—all his eloquent words gone dumb, at the very moment when she, for the first time in his company, wasn’t absent-minded.

~

“Thank you, Manby. You’ve been such a help to me. But I can’t. I-I have the quinsy.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

“Oh, it isn’t contagious. I can- I can have visitors. I don’t know anyone, though.”

“Well, you know Mr. Skeffington. Would you care to come out and keep him company?”

“I would, but l don’t like wa...” Something caught the corner of her eye. Something Manby couldn’t see. But whatever it was, it changed Fanny’s mind immediately. “Actually, that sounds like a nice idea after all. Tell Job I’d love to go with him on a walk this afternoon.”

“I’ll be glad to! Will you wear your gray or your brown, m’lady? Or have you decided if you’ll wear the beige or the black? Or should I—”

“Oh, bother,” snapped Fanny, finally exasperated by the persistent current of interruption—adding instantly with quick penitence, “I’m sorry, Manby. I didn’t mean to be cross. Manby, don’t ask me that question again. I’m sure you must find me very irritable this morning.”

“I understand. It’s the weather,” said Manby, placidly. “All these fogs.”

For many days, outside the fog was thick yellow, and it was bitter cold; inside was the warm Fanny, so apparently enviable. But in fact she wasn’t enviable. She was warm, and as carefully lit up as an Old Master, but far from being enviable she was a mass of twinging nerves after a wakeful and peculiarly unpleasant night, which the grapefruit, sour and comfortless inside her, did nothing to soothe.

“Manby, Do you think I’m crosser than I used to be?” Fanny asked, looking at her anxiously and dropping the unopened letters she was holding onto on the side table. Manby had been with her so many years that she had witnessed all her stages, from the Really Young and Exquisite one, through the Lovely as Ever one, to the one she was now in, which was called, by her friends, Wonderful.

“Darling, you really are wonderful—” that’s what they said now, whenever she appeared; and she didn’t like it one little bit.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say crosser, m’lady,” said Manby, cautiously.

Then it was true. She was crosser. Else Manby wouldn’t be so cautious. Ah, but how lamentable to get crosser as one got older! A person going to have a fifty-fourth birthday should know better than that. Such a person ought at least by then have learned how to behave herself, and not snap at servants. Serenity, not crossness, was what the years should bring. Old age, serene, and calm, and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night. that was the sort of finish-up poor Jim Conderley, who was fond of quoting and knew an immense lot of things to quote, had prophesied hers would be, one day when she was saying how awful it must be to be old— Not that she had reached the Lapland night condition yet; it was only quite lately that she had got into the Wonderful class, and in it, she supposed, she would stay some time. It came as a relief to many wives that their husbands could no longer throw Fanny up to them. When she got sick, she looked every day her fifty. Or the women would let Fanny say, “half a hundred.” It sounded so much more wonderful. Unpleasant as it was to be called wonderful, and dripping with horrid implications, it was better than being a Lapland night, which, however serene and calm and even lovely it might be, would be sure to be cold. Let her keep out of the cold as long as she could, she thought, shivering a little. On the whole, perhaps, she ought to be thankful that her friends would probably go on saying for some time yet, though a little more stoutly, of course, each year, “Darling, you’re a perfect marvel.” Imagine having reached the consolation prizes of life, to be called a perfect marvel. She crossed to the dressing-table, and stared at herself in the same glass which only such a little while ago, so it seemed, had shone with the triumphant reflection of her lovely youth. A marvel. Wonderful. What did such words mean except, considering your age, my dear, or, in spite of everything, you poor darling?

Perhaps, she said to herself, eyeing the remains of her breakfast with distaste, in a chilly, gray spring, and while she still hadn’t quite picked up after her illness, she ought to have something hot for breakfast, something more nourishing, like a little fish. And instantly, at the word, there you were again. She had been fending you off so carefully, and now, at a single word, there you were; and she seemed no longer to be in her bedroom, but with you on a sailboat, Jim behind the silver wheel, you opposite him on top of a stack of crates; just as you had sat through so many cruises during the precious years of your lovely, very first youth. And Jim was looking at you adoringly, and saying, with brimming possessive pride, “And how is my little mermaid this fine morning?” —even if it wasn’t a fine morning, but pouring cats and dogs; even if, a few hours before, on his proposing you join him in his voyage, she had vehemently assured him you would never, never be his little mermaid again. For Jim Masters was of an undefeatably optimistic disposition when it came to women, and very affectionate. Overcome, she laid back on her pillows, shut her eyes, and gave herself up to gloom. She had had a dreadful night; she had been doing her best to forget it; and this was the last straw. As Fanny looked off to the side, the teacup she was holding in her hand rattled as her hand shook. You were standing by the window, watching her. Your gaze was filled with disappointment and contempt.

“When you’re feeling better, Mother, maybe we can go out on walks together again. Just like we used to. Oh, wait. We never went on walks. You were always too busy.”

“Not just after breakfast, darling!”

“What did you say, Mrs. Skeffington?”

“It’s my daughter again.”

“Oh, dear. Again?”

She knew you were nothing but a figment of her brain, but it was precisely this that made your appearances so shattering. To go off one’s head after fifty seemed a poor finish to a glorious career. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t done what she could, and reasoned with herself, and tried to be sensible and detached. Everything she could think of she had done, even to ordering your chair to be removed from the dining room, even to taking cold baths. She had soon found out, though, that these measures were no good. The cold baths made her shiver for the rest of the day, and as for the chair, being only a figment, not having one didn’t stop your sitting down. Figments were like that, she had to acknowledge. They could sit on anything, even if it wasn’t there. Well, something would have to be done about it. She couldn’t go on much longer, without having a real breakdown. After the night she had just been through, which she was trying so hard to forget by thinking of Job, by thinking of the way her hair had practically all gone, by thinking of anything that came into her head that wasn’t you, however much she disliked the idea of messing about with doctors, she would certainly have to see one.

“I must do something about her, Manby. She pops up more and more all the time. And she always makes her appearance at a moment when I’m most depressed. Not even,” Fanny was saying to herself, her eyes shut tight, her head thrown back in the pillows, her face blindly upturned to the ceiling, “not even to be able to mention fish, in an entirely separate connection, without being reminded of the dreams I’ve been having, of her at once thrusting herself forward!”

Fanny, whose spirits usually rose on fine mornings, was quite surprised, and almost hurt, to find this image of you should afflict her to the point of depression. Really, though, you were getting past a joke. It being April, the month of your birthday, oughtn’t to have stirred you up like this, for there had been other Aprils since you left, and in none of them had you so much as crossed her mind. Tucked away you had lain, good and quiet, in what she had supposed was the finality of the past. Now, here you were at every turn. You must, somehow, be put a stop to. It did begin to look as if she would have to go to a doctor again, who of course, the first thing, would ask her how old she was; and when she told him truthfully, for it was no use not being truthful with doctors, would start talking odious phrase of her time of life. She would go out with Job and walk in the sun. She would be sensible, and shake herself free of melancholy; or, if she couldn’t shake herself free of it, at least rejoice that, being a still unmarried but attached woman, she could be as melancholy as she liked in peace, without involving her children in her ill humor—helpless persons who couldn’t get away, and were bound to suffer when the wife or mother had a fit of the glooms.

Yes, she would go for a brisk walk with Job, and plan what to say to you next time she got you, as she was determined to get you, alone. Except at the end of a love affair, when everything was so bleak and miserable, and no light anywhere, she never cried. What was there to cry about, in her happy life? Happy herself, except on the above occasions, till her illness and your departure she had made everybody around her happy too. So that tears were as good as unknown to her. But this, now—this thrusting up of her daughter out of the decent quiet of a buried past, this kind of horrible regurgitation, preventing her sleeping, making her repulsive to look at and unbearable to be with, was enough to make anybody cry. And what could one do about it? How could one stop you? It was such a hopeless business, trying to stop somebody who wasn’t there. The sound of her own violent weeping appalled both herself and Manby. Neither of them had had an idea she had so much noise in her. Manby, who had brought water, who had brought an aspirin, who had poked the fire, telephoned down for brandy, and done all that mortal maid could do, was now completely nonplussed. Should she ring up a doctor? she asked at last, at her wits’ end. Fanny very nearly went to a doctor about you before, but never having been much disposed to go to doctors she thought she would wait a little first. The last time she consulted a doctor, it had been a horrid experience.

“I don’t want to go to Dr. Byles again. All I got out of him was insults.”

~

Sir Stilton Byles, however, the eminent nerve-and-women’s-diseases specialist. He was an outspoken man of thirty-eight, without a shred of bedside manner, nor any of such nonsense as sympathy. He didn’t sympathize. Why should he waste time sympathizing with all these idle women, and the self-indulgent ways by which they had come by their diseases? And why should he pretend he did? His business was to cure them, or anyhow to get them to believe they were cured.

“Well, there’s nothing urgent about you,” he said, when, catching hold of her wrist, he had counted her pulse, while he glanced a second time at what she had scribbled on her card.

“Oh, but isn’t there!” exclaimed Fanny; and began to tell him about Mr. Skeffington. Ten minutes later she was out in the hall again, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, her head held high. “Call my car, please,” she commanded; as different a person as possible from the person who had smiled so charmingly at the nurse when she arrived.

“He’s done it again,” said the nurse proudly, hurrying to open the door; and she couldn't help saying: “Wonderful, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s God’s own wonder!” was the answer, flashed around at her; an answer which almost seemed—only this, of course, was impossible—angry. It was, though, angry, and Fanny’s eyes were shining, not with the fresh lease of life her friends acquired from Sir Stilton’s bracing talk, but with rage. She hadn’t been so angry since the discovery of Mr. Skeffington’s first lapse. Those friends of hers, who crowded to him, could be nothing but a lot of masochists.

~

“No, I don’t want to go to a psychoanalyst again. Not that kind of doctor. I need a specialist. Perhaps I should call on Dr. Jaquith? No, no— Yes, I want Dr. Jaquith, he’s a specialist—the only specialist who can help. I’ll get dressed and write to him at once—”

“Will you wear your gray or your—”

“Oh, Manby, please don’t say that anymore!” Fanny implored, seizing a handkerchief and pressing it on each swollen eye in turn. “It’s that that set me off being so—so cross, and so—so sorry—”

“Then should I put out your black, m’lady?”

“I’ll send a telegram to Dr. Jaquith,” sobbed Fanny. “Yes—I will, I will. This very morning. Or maybe a cable would be faster? I’ll send both. I’d put in a long distance call to him, but I’d get too choked up just telling the operator the name and number. I’ll tell him I’m an urgent case and to get the next train. Hopefully he’ll be here by tea time the day after tomorrow.”

Last time she saw you, that night, your talk had been a wretched business. The talk she was going to have with Dr. Jaquith should be really natural, really sensible, really helpful. But Fanny was older and wiser, and she knew that just because something should be a certain way doesn’t mean it will be. But when it came to you, once more she was desperate. Once more Dr. Jaquith was her last hope.

Never, Manby told the secretary, Miss Cartwright, later in the afternoon, when her poor lady had at last quietened sufficiently to be dressed and sent out into the sunshine with her ex-husband, never could she have believed she would give way as she did, as she kept on doing. Relapses. Every time she, Manby, said anything. And what was so alarming was that it all seemed really to have something to do with—she put her hand to her mouth, and looked around fearfully before saying it, under her breath—Miss Skeffington.

“Not young Fanny—?” Miss Cartwright asked, also under her breath. She stared. She had only been in the house six weeks, but a secretary can learn much in less time than that.

Manby nodded. “That’s right.” she said. “‘er. The ot’er daug’ter.” For even now, in moments of emotion, her h’s were apt to fail her.

An hour or two after they left the house, Fanny and Job were walking slowly back, hand in hand. There was comfort in being hand in hand; besides, they were both tired, having gone further, in the absorption of their talk, than they realized. Once, they rested on a fallen tree trunk beside the path, but not for long, because it was so hard. Everything that Fanny sat on these days seemed hard, so thin had she become; while as for Job, he found it difficult enough to let himself down so low, and almost impossible to get up again. Poor darling Job, she thought, so this was what he was like underneath the whole time, only now it had worked its way through. Dreadful, the exposures of time. Nevertheless, when he helped her up so shakily off the tree trunk, and she said, “We two poor old things,” with a smile, as he shakily, having somehow struggled onto his own, helped her to her feet. He protested that it was ridiculous to talk like that about herself, about him, about them, and assured her she and he, they both had years and years before them, of—

“Usefulness,” provided Fanny, as he seemed to be searching for a word.

“Well, why not?” he said, taking her hand again as they continued on their way. “One has got to do something. One can’t go on always being—”

“Ornamental,” provided Fanny again.

“That isn’t what I was going to say.”

“Isn't it, darling?” She was calling him darling now, when she never used to. For the entirety of their marriage, she had never once addressed him by any term of endearment, only his name. But calling him things like Darling, Honey, and Dear came so naturally to her now. So natural had she become, and she wondered whether you—

“Never mind. Go on. If one can’t be—whatever it is you weren’t going to say—one can at least be useful. Will you tell me exactly how, if you were me, you would set about it? Being useful, I mean. At the eleventh hour of my life managing to prevent its being a failure. Because that’s really what I came here to find out from you.” She was suddenly humble, and said, “We’re cozy now, aren’t we?”

Cozy. Poor Fanny’s favorite word. He had hardly ever heard anyone else use it. Even in the heyday of her beauty she would talk wistfully of coziness, she seemed to long to be just cozy, to curl up, to be taken care of, not to have to respond to any violence of love.

“What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Ah. Well, I’m not sure I have the right.”

“Tell me what you were going to say, Job.”

As he spoke, Fanny found herself only half-listening. Her mind drifted once again to you, whether she wanted it to or not. What could she do? Mend her ways? Yes, she would seriously try to do that; and meanwhile how pleasant it was walking along what she called their path, with Job. It was a perfect moment of the afternoon. She was brought back to the present moment when Job said,

“I’d be interested to know...if you’ve ever thought of us marrying again.”

[tradetobest]

dee's february 2024 fic recs

once again i am late with this but. here's this months recs. narrowing this down was SUPER hard but i hope yall like them :)

(fic roulette 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8)

Blow What's Left of My Right Mind by eyeslikeonyx

pairing: tyler seguin/jamie benn rating: E words: 14k summary: Jamie stares at his phone, reading over the article that Jordie sent him just moments ago as he walks through the woods on the outskirts of his hometown. It’s early in the morning, and he’s finished his daily run, and he’s not entirely sure if he’s reading the headline right. Seguin, Eriksson Swapped in Seven-Player Trade.

VAMPIRES! WEREWOLVES! TENDER LOVE AND CARE! i love a great different species fic like.... loved it sm

my mouth is filled with honey by notthequiettype

pairing: tyler seguin/jamie benn rating: E words: 2.3k summary: Tyler likes Jamie's body so much. Tyler likes Jamie, so much, too.

usually i prefer reading "getting together" but "established relationship" is rlly compelling to me when done rlly well and i think this fic is a phenomenal version of that... like its so good. oughhh...bennguin,,,,..... ohhhhh

if i'm not what you hoped by winglavender

pairing: leon draisaitl/connor mcdavid rating: E words: 10k summary: "Heard the Leafs lost tonight." "Yeah." Mitch pulls an exaggerated face. "Leading the whole game and then Connor's guy ties it up with a disgusting pass, absolutely filthy, and then scored the overtime winner." "That's rough. You want another one?" The bartender tips her head at Connor's half-empty glass; he shakes his head. "Who's your guy?" "Draisaitl, obviously." Mitch taps the rainbow-patterned 29 on Connor's arm for emphasis. "He's not my guy," Connor says.

ask anyone and they will tell you i am an absolute sucker for player/nonplayer,,, its just so good always and it is just as good here... fun dialogue, good tropes..... what else could u want

tightly wound so breathlessly by supras

pairing: leon draisaitl/connor mcdavid rating: E words: 2.3k summary: “Laugh about you not being hard? That’s okay, sometimes it can take a bit, I’ll get you there.” Connor finishes speaking with a determined smirk and Leon just loves him so much, he wants to kiss it from his lips. But Connor is wrong, Leon is hard, so hard he’s dizzy with it.

small dick leon..... ough..... trust guys read this one.... TRUST

two strangers in the red light by notthequiettype

pairing: leon draisaitl/connor mcdavid rating: E words: 14k summary: Connor looks up, derailed only momentarily by how good-looking the guy is, slacks and a button-down open at the top like his pictures, and a nice wool coat. Connor clears his throat. "Is it better if I tell you I didn't request it, at least?" "And ruin the fantasy that I just found out that Connor McDavid's an absolute freak? No way."

again, i am the BIGGEST sucker for player/nonplayer. this concept is so fun and like. the cutest sort of meetcute. awee we met on grindr and you booked a kink sex hotel room 🥺🥺🥺 now fall in love. amazing.

Where You Lead by Linsky

pairing: nico hischier/jack hughes rating: E words: 42k summary: There are no subs in the NHL. So Jack isn’t one, obviously.

ive been waiting for this fic to be done so i could rec it and oh my god was it worth it. im also a big sucker for a bdsm au, and w these two you can just.... do so much..... its so good,,,, hurt/comfort my beloved.....

like one of your girls by Idday

pairing: jack eichel/connor mcdavid rating: E words: 13k summary: “I’m not a girl,” Connor blurts, all at once. Jack doesn’t even flinch. “I know that,” he says. “But you want to be my girl. Don’t you.” 

i forced myself to pick only one idday fic this month and while i loved them both... this one... oughhhh... the "Connor just wants to be a 1950s housewife" tag sold me so hard and i am a happy customer. 100% would purchase again....

no but really (an unserious au tumblr primer) by snowinthestars

pairing: jack eichel/connor mcdavid rating: T words: 2.6k summary: Connor McDavid is definitely dating the Oilers in-arena host Jack Eichel. Just let me show you my proof! [A fake Tumblr-style ship primer for an AU where Jack works for the Oilers' broadcast instead of playing.]

i love sort of meta-esque fics like this theyre so FUN to me!!! this one is like. a perfect example of that and what i mean.... likeee RAHH i would EAT up this primer in this universe... so great