#hear me out i want hardcover because i like using the book jacket as a bookmark but if i want to annotate it NEEDS to be a paperback

[daydreaming-optimist]

Tagged by @permanentreverie, @courageisneverforgotten, and @just-a-cup-of-anxietea (thank you lovelies <33333)

hardcover or paperback // bookstore or library // bookmark or receipt // stand alone or series // nonfiction or fiction // thriller or fantasy // under 300 pages or over 300 pages // children's or ya // friends to lovers or enemies to lovers // read in bed or read on the couch // read at night or read in the morning // keep pristine or markup // cracked spine or dog ear

Open tags :)

[fickleminder]

the years start coming and they don’t stop coming

In which Lilith’s return distorts her brothers’ perception of time.

Part 2 here

You’ve never seen the demon prince look so embarrassed.

“I can call for —”

“No, it’s okay. They deserve this.”

But you don’t, goes unspoken. You can see the pity in his eyes, feel the palpable disappointment in the air. Even Simeon and Luke make sure to hug you extra tight before stepping through the portal to the Celestial Realm, and Solomon promises to check up on you after you’ve returned home.

Thanking Lord Diavolo and Barbatos for their hospitality, you turn towards the final demon in the council room and put on the biggest grin your breaking heart can muster. “Hey, c’mere.”

Satan doesn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you. It’s almost like he’s trying to make up for his brothers’ absence, the way he crushes you to his chest and cradles the back of your head.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame them. As far as miracles go, this is a pretty big one. Lilith coming back to life is an unprecedented event, one not even Barbatos had seen coming. Nobody has any answers either. She’s definitely not a demon, not an angel, not human; just an immortal who knocked on the front door of the House of Lamentation three days ago.

Her brothers haven’t left her alone since. You’re happy for them, you really are, but a bitter part of you can’t help but wish her return had waited until after the exchange program ended. At least Lucifer had the courtesy to pull you aside and thank you on his family’s behalf (though you’re quite certain you had nothing to do with your ancestor’s sudden revival), in addition to making a pact with you as a token of his gratitude.

With that, you could have summoned all of them to send you off just as effectively as Lord Diavolo giving the order, but it won’t be the same and you know it. Your only saving grace is Satan, the one brother who’d kept his head and anchored you in the sea of loneliness you’d been set adrift in over the last few days.

“I’m gonna miss you, cat boy.”

“I miss you already,” Satan laughs softly, pulling back with a warm smile. “I’ll stay in touch, I promise.”

You squeeze his arms affectionately and glance past his shoulders at the closed doors. There’s the smallest shred of hope in you that thinks the others will come bursting through any moment now, scrambling for one final chance to see you. You give yourself five seconds, silently counting down to a pipe dream, before pressing a kiss to Satan’s cheek and releasing him.

“It might not seem like it now, but the Devildom will always be here for you,” Lord Diavolo says as the world around you fades to white. “Farewell.”

.

.

.

“Did you lose track of time at the library again? You missed dinner last night LOL.”

“Levi, be nice!”

Satan only hums quietly in response. He can’t be bothered to correct the assumption; it’s a convenient excuse for when his brothers actually notice he’s missing anyway.

The irony of Levi calling him out isn’t lost on him. While the otaku is still obsessed with his games and shows, he’s no longer as shut-in as he used to be, venturing outside the comforts of his sanctuary more often. Satan has passed by the common room on many occasions to find him and Lilith gaming or binging anime together, and the content expression on Levi’s face proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the void from his Henry’s departure has long been filled.

“Oh, but speaking of,” Lilith sets her cutlery down and smiles shyly at the fourth-born, “I haven’t had the chance to explore the libraries here yet. If it’s not too much trouble, can you show me around and recommend a few books?”

Shrugging non-committedly, Satan continues with his meal, not once looking her in the eye.

.

.

.

You’ve always wondered how someone with the Avatar of Lust for a brother can have such terrible fashion sense. It should be impossible to go wrong with dressing for a funeral, but you guess life (along with a certain eyesore of a tie) just loves to disappoint you. Still, you’re too glad to have Satan with you right now to care.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime.”

You lean into the demon’s side as he holds an umbrella over both of you. Your eyes are drawn to the flowers he’d placed on your mother’s grave, the only splash of color against the dull tombstone. For the longest time, all you can process is the pitter-patter of the afternoon rain on the plastic wrap of the bouquet, and the comforting weight of Satan’s arm across your shoulders.

“She was in a lot of pain,” you admit after a while, your voice slightly hoarse. “The doctors had to sedate her. She went in her sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Satan fidgets awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. He’s no stranger to death, but the loss of someone dear is unfamiliar to him. “Perhaps Simeon can find out if —”

“No, no it’s fine. I just — I need to —”

The umbrella is forgotten as Satan catches you, lowering you gently to the ground when your knees give way. You cling to him desperately, and it’s all he can do to draw you close as you start to wail.

.

.

.

Satan barely makes it three steps into the house before getting pounced on.

“How was it? Where did you go? Ooh you lucky demon, I want to hear all the details!”

“Oi, oi! What are you babbling on about?”

“Don’t act coy with me! Lilith saw you at the florist’s yesterday with the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers!”

“Yesterday? But —”

“How come you never told me someone caught your eye? I would have dolled you up, lent you some of my clothes —” Asmo gasps dramatically. “You didn’t wear that horrid jacket to your date, did you?”

Wrestling a hand free, Satan musses his younger brother’s hair. “None of your business,” he growls, walking away with a smirk when Asmo immediately releases him to fix his appearance. “Who do you take me for, anyway?”

“Aww come on, just give me a hint! Do I know them? Is it someone from RAD? Ooh, did you meet them at the library or —”

Ducking into the safety of his room, Satan shuts the door in Asmo’s face.

.

.

.

“Thank fuck. Who picked your outfit this time?”

“Barbatos. And shut up.”

You grab Satan’s arm with a laugh and lead him towards your table, politely introducing him as ‘Stan from work’ to any relatives who ask about the handsome young man accompanying you. Satan’s usual mask is in place, but there’s no mistaking the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he takes in his surroundings.

“Finally,” you sigh, sinking into your seat and grinning sheepishly at the blond. “Sorry about them. It’s just that they’ve never seen me with anyone, so they’re really curious about you.”

“Well, I’m glad you invited me along. I’ve never been to a wedding before.” The romantic in Satan is openly basking in the ambience of the reception. “You mentioned that your niece had gotten married?”

“Technically my first cousin once removed, but yeah.”

“And you’ve not been seeing anyone?”

“You would have been the first to know if I have,” you tease, nudging him playfully. “Apparently a lot of people are put off by the way I dress. Too modest, they say.”

But not without good reason. The pact marks on your body may be slightly faded from disuse, but they’re still discernable if stared at hard enough: Lucifer’s at the back of your neck; Mammon’s over your heart; Levi’s curled around your right calf; Satan’s circling your left arm; Asmo’s dangerously close to tramp stamp territory; Beel’s just under your navel; and Belphie’s on your ribs at the side you like to sleep on.

Passing them off as tattoos without attracting the wrong kind of attention is a little tricky, so you’d rather take a page from Solomon’s book and cover them up. Being called a prude is easier than dealing with cultists.

(It also helps you to keep your mind off of them, because some wounds continue to hurt even after they heal, so there’s that.)

Sensing the drop in your mood, Satan clears his throat to get your attention. It’s only then that you realize there’s music playing in the background, and couples moving from their tables to the floor.

Your companion stands up and offers you his hand, this time with a genuine smile on his face. “May I have this dance?”

.

.

.

Lucifer’s tone books no room for argument. “This will be a family event, so I expect your attendance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little escapades over the past few months.”

“Tch.”

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Satan has to resist the urge to hurl his hardcover at the back of Lucifer’s head when he takes his leave. That’s no way to treat a book, after all.

Beel’s Fangol team has an upcoming match and it’ll be Lilith’s first time watching him play. She’s been hyped up for weeks, so it comes as no surprise that Lucifer would use the opportunity to turn it into a family outing. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Gone is the stuffy first-born who can spend days in his office if left unchecked. Lucifer is still as strict as ever, still fulfills his duties to Lord Diavolo diligently, but it’s like he’s managed to master balancing work and play overnight. He makes more time for his siblings now, even if it’s to dole out punishments for their endless shenanigans, punishments that vary in severity depending on how cutely Lilith pleads on their behalf.

Lucifer has always doted on her, and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Belphie has even gone as far as corrupting her into pranking him, and she need only bat her eyelashes to get off scot-free.

Lilith was the catalyst for the Fall, her descendent the glue that brought her siblings back together, and her return the final piece in making their family whole again.

But you were family too, Satan thinks sourly, pulling out his D.D.D. to mark the date in his calendar.

.

.

.

When you invite Satan over to your apartment for tea, he never expected to be introduced to your new housemate: a handsome fellow with chestnut brown hair, sharp jade eyes, a runner’s body, and the softest-looking toe beans he has ever seen in his immortal life.

“Satan, meet Satan!” You hold out the tabby towards him with a shit-eating grin.

Both demon and cat blink owlishly at each other. The blond doesn’t know whether to feel endeared by the feline sharing his name or insulted that you would replace him so easily, but all it takes is a single bop on the nose with a curious paw for him to melt.

Satan the tabby, who normally prefers to scale your shelves and nap between your books, spends the entire day a purring puddle in Satan the demon’s arms, shamelessly relishing in pets and massages to the extent that at some point, you have a very real fear they might just end up absconding back to the Devildom together. Thankfully, some kibble and freshly baked treats help you separate the two for a while, at least long enough for you to get some decent conversation in.

You brew a pot of Earl Grey with the beautifully crafted tea set Barbatos gifted you when you had first moved in, and serve the scones you made earlier in the morning using the baking tools blessed by Luke during your housewarming. You don’t know if the little angel had actually imbued them with Celestial magic, but everything you cook somehow always lifts your spirits when consumed.

Satan has to catch himself in the middle of regaling you with Mammon’s latest half-baked scheme. The wistful look on your face is new; you’re usually eager to hear what his brothers have been up to, but something feels off today. He pours you more tea, slides another scone onto your plate, and waits.

“…Are they happy?” You ask after a while.

The demon knows better than to lie, even if it’s to spare you from the truth he suspects you’re already aware of. “Yes,” he admits grudgingly.

“I’m glad.”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

.

.

.

Lilith stands outside his room, holding a tray of tea and cakes.

“Hey, um, may I come in?” Her smile is both hopeful and uncertain. It’s a gamble, ambushing the fourth-born when he obviously has no interest in her. At best, he’ll make up an excuse to turn her away or just ignore her completely; at worst, well… she doesn’t really want to think about that. To her visible relief, he opens the door wider and steps aside.

Satan clears a space for her to set the tray down. There’s the briefest moment of hesitation before he drags your favorite armchair over and offers her a seat as well. He looks guarded but not openly hostile, a promising sign so far.

“You’ve been in and out of the house lately, so I haven’t had the chance to catch you. I thought we might sit down and talk,” Lilith says, pouring two cups of the hot beverage as she chooses her next words carefully. “The others told me about how you were born, but I understand that you are your own person. I’d like to get to know that person.”

A part of Satan is acutely aware of their one-sided relationship; he is familiar with her through Lucifer, but she has never met him. It makes sense for her to be curious about him, though Satan isn’t so sure he wants to return the favor. She reminds him too much of you in the way she prepares her tea, how she sits on your chair, her shy lopsided smile —

But she’s not you, and you’re not her, Satan has to remind himself lest he commits the same mistake his brothers nearly did after your lineage had been revealed. Now in a convoluted turn of events, it’s you who’s gone and Lilith here, and there’s no reason why he can’t give her a chance and treat her like the sister she could be to him.

It’s what you would have wanted.

Lilith tries not to let her shoulders slump too much when Satan quietly stands up and heads towards his door. She’s prepared to pack up and leave until she spots him grabbing several books from a nearby shelf.

“Have you ever read Mid-Fall Murders?” He asks, handing her a hardcover with a shy smile of his own.

.

.

.

“What’s it like?”

Satan’s grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t actually know,” he confesses, shuffling closer so that your shoulder and arm are pressed against his. It’s a strange sight, the two of you lying side by side on your bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

“Will it hurt?”

“No.”

You’ve never heard a single word hold so much promise, but you have no reason to doubt the demon’s sincerity. Satan wouldn’t take pity on you just because you’re —

A light knock on the door, and in pokes Simeon’s head. “Ah, little lamb! I’m glad we made it in time.”

“Not so little anymore, Simeon.” You laugh softly, greeting Luke and Solomon as they trail in behind him. Satan brushes his lips over your forehead before getting up to receive your guests.

The day is as ordinary as it can be. You talk and catch up with your friends, trading stories and laughter over cups of tea that neither grow cold nor go empty. When the session turns into a mini book club gathering halfway through, Luke helpfully retrieves the debated titles from the massive shelf in the living room. He takes a while to find them; you’ve accumulated plenty of works over the years: recommendations by Satan, literature published under Simeon’s pseudonym, and handwritten tomes from Solomon to keep you in touch with your magic. The shelf is practically jam-packed with books, the only exception being a corner on the topmost tier, housing a little space that’s empty save for a worn green collar with a rusted bell.

Come sundown the five of you are still neck-deep in discussion, but as with all good things, the get together eventually reaches an end.

“Thanks everyone, it’s been fun,” you say, reclining back in your bed as Satan wordlessly cleans up. You squeeze his hand when he returns to your side and bid the others goodbye. “Hopefully I’ll see you guys soon?”

“About that…” Solomon clears his throat, wearing the smug look that usually accompanies a trick being pulled out of his sleeve, but this time it’s tinged more with excitement than mischief. “Simeon has a little present for you first.”

The guileless smile on the angel’s face betrays nothing as he steps forward and reaches into a small pouch at his hip. “Solomon, Diavolo and I have a theory. Now, keep in mind that this is all very experimental, but if it works, you’ll have more options to choose from, should you so wish.”

And then he brings out a ring.

.

.

.

“Are you, uh, are you okay?”

“Not in the mood, Mammon.”

“Oi, I’m trying to be nice here! Who do you think covered for your sorry ass when you came back past curfew the other day, huh?”

“What the hell do you want?”

“You may think you’re all stealthy and shit, but your eyes were pretty red that night. I thought you were at a book club meeting. Did something happen?”

“None of your business.”

“Argh, fine then! This is the last time I try to be a good big brother.”

“…Mammon?”

“?”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, what are you — you can’t just say that and then run off! Get back here!”

.

.

.

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

Lilith’s countdown echoes along the deserted hallway, prompting Beel to nudge the deadweight on his back. “Belphie, go get your own hiding place.”

“Mmngh… zzz…”

“Come on, or she’ll win this round with a two for one. Again.”

“…Just dump me somewhere she won’t find me then.”

A tall order, especially since Lilith can easily track them down by listening out for Beel’s stomach and/or Belphie’s snores. Still, the sixth-born lumbers through the house as quietly as he can, doing a one-eighty whenever he hears Lilith’s cheerful hums coming from the opposite direction. Technically they can avoid being caught if they keep moving, but that would be cheating. They hid in the attic previously so that’s a no go, their room’s too obvious, the kitchen too tempting, the common room too exposed…

Maybe Levi’s room? The otaku had sound-proofed his walls to avoid distractions from the outside world when he’s gaming, so it’s an ideal location to hide. He can stash Belphie in the bathtub and run interference until time’s up.

Backtracking, Beel breaks into a light jog towards the other wing, keeping his ears open for their seeker. It’s only because of his heightened senses that he’s able to pick up the faintest traces of magic on one of the walls, causing him to pause in his steps.

“Hmm? Why’d you stop?” Slightly more awake now, Belphie rubs his eyes and slides off his twin, who’s studying the blank space intently. “What’s wrong, Beel?”

“There’s something here, something…”

“It’s just a wall —”

“No, don’t you feel it? I know you weren’t around then, but it’s the same glamor as that time Luke went missing and we —”

Beel goes white. He whispers a name, a name not spoken in the house for years, and a door flickers into view. One hand grabs Belphie’s in a death grip as the other twists the knob and pushes the door open, revealing an old yet familiar room.

The place is devoid of life. Most of the furniture are covered by sheets, resting under thick layers of dust. In the middle sits a tree, sagging with age and soft with rot. Sunken footprints mark the demons’ furtive venture into decrepit memory, and the creaking of floorboards with every step only tethers the growing nightmare closer to reality.

A photo frame crashes to the ground.

.

.

.

They deserve this.

Satan feels it the moment the spell concealing your room was broken. It had been his way of protecting your memory, ensuring that your sanctuary would only be accessible to those who made the effort to remember you. He cast it about a year after you had left the Devildom, after he realized that leaving your door in plain sight wasn’t doing you any favors.

Hidden away in an alcove at the back of the garden, curled up with a blanket and a thermos of hot tea, Satan slides a bookmark between the pages of his latest novel and leans his head back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

Even this far away from the house, he can hear the cacophony of screams and shouts, objects being flung and shattered into pieces, a muted bang suggesting that a wall has just collapsed. The fallout comes as no surprise; waking up after living the past hundred years or so in a daze will do that to a person – or in this case, demons.

Although the sounds of fighting call to the rage bubbling within him, the vindictive thoughts of his brothers getting their just desserts cool it to a simmer. He knows he’ll have to face them eventually, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

“Meow?”

Emerald eyes blink open. There’s a faint rustle from the nearby bushes as a tiny Calico wanders out of the foliage, peering around the garden curiously. Upon spotting the blond demon, it perks up and makes a beeline for him.

“Hm? You’re not Callie. Are you new here, little one?” His mood considerably improved, Satan extends a hand towards the kitten. It skips the finger sniffing step and goes straight to headbutting his palm, begging for attention.

“You’re an affectionate one, aren’t you?” Satan caves immediately and scritches away with a delighted chuckle. He examines the markings on its tri-colored fur, wanting to recognize the friendly feline if it comes back in the future. The Calico is mostly white with patches of brown and black splashed over the back of its neck, near the base of its tail, just under the side of its ribs, and several other spots that seem to collectively resemble a familiar pattern…

Satan’s hand stills. He whispers your name, trembling with hope, and the kitten practically leaps into his arms, nuzzling his chin with a happy purr.

[kikihargrove]

This gives best couple<3

Iris sat outside on the porch of her forest getaway house by the river that flows near Hawkins, when she hears rustling in the trees behind her. The blonde does not think much of it, i mean there are a lot of different animals around there so in reality it could be anything. And for all she cared it didn’t matter wether it was dangerous or not she just needed a moment of peace.

The red hardcover book ,which she held, had some black scribbles on the front and back, doodles you could call them. She didn’t want people to know this book was important so she decided doodles on the cover would make it seem like every other book. Nonetheless she opened the book reading her entry from the day before about how the new stupid basketball guy had called her a slut, and how she smacked him across the face because of it.

This book was essentially her life story, not to mention the other 3 or 4 she had hidden under her mattress which were older entries. “Fucking douchebag” She scoffed under her breath having the flash backs to the party, “He was kind of attractive though” she admitted to herself. She began to her rustling in the trees again and before she knew it someone picked her up by the waist making her drop her pen and book.

She screamed before the person covered her mouth and said close to her ear. “No need to scream just coming to pay a friendly visit, just thought you may need some company” She rolled her eyes realising she knew that voice, too well in fact. She got out of his grip and turned to look at him, Mr Billy Hargrove. “Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” She spoke pushing him away from her as she bend down to pick her pen and book up cleaning the dirt off of them. “If i wanted to kidnap you then i would have done it a long time ago but you’re not worth the effort” The taller guy said looking down at her.

The blonde pushed past him towards her car which was a Silver 1979 Rolls Royce, she opened the door qnd threw her stuff in the back seat. “Will you stop staring at me?” Iris spoke as she tried not to turn and look at him. “Oh come on blondie we both know you like it no need for you to be acting like you hate me” Billy said approaching her from behind and moving her blonde hair away from her neck. “Im not going to tell you twice Billy..” She said trying to keep her composure.

Billy chuckled and shook his head moving away from her, while fixing his shirt and jacket. “Let me take you on a drive, you may actually like spending time with me” He smiled as he tried to convince the smaller girl. “Over my dead body! Now if you don’t mind please leave my house or i will call Hopper to come get you,” Iris spoke walking closer to him, “I wouldn’t want to get you in any trouble so if i were you i would leave.” She smiled innocently looking at him.

The curly haired boy didn’t care much about it he placed his hand on her cheek pulling her closer to him and while looking into her eyes he said, “I will pick you up at 8pm at your house, i have a booking for us and then we can go for a drive. Dress up nicely doll!” He kissed her cheek and walked away to his car, he started up his engine and before driving off he looked at her giving her a smile and a wink.

“Stupid Hargrove” Iris said while she realised her cheeks had started to turn red and rolled her eyes at herself for being that weak for him. She took a deep breath and went over to the drivers seat but before she could get in she saw a paper on her windshield, she opened it. ‘8pm’ was what the paper had written followed by the boys signature and the smell of his cologne.

[mothandpidgeon]

THE SINS OF THE FATHER - a Molly York story

(gif by @pajamasecrets)

PROLOGUE

MASTERLIST

Characters: Dave York, Molly York (Carol and Alice, too)

Words: 1400

Rating: T

Warnings: character death (canon), loss of a parent, angst, training your daughter to be an assassin?

Summary: Dave York starts training his daughters young. One day Molly might have to put her training to good use...Grappling with the sudden death of her father, Molly York grows up trying to fill the gap he left in her life. And looks for answers.

a/n: So I wrote this drabble the other morning and it got stuck in my head and so here is a Molly York revenge story. I didn't mean for this to be a series but I think I will be posting this in 3 parts so stay tuned for the rest.

Thanks @purplepascal042 for reading this over and being so kind I almost cried!

“Molly, without turning around, how many people are sitting behind you,” Dave asks at the restaurant.

Molly pulls the straw of her milkshake away from her lips, her eyes sliding to their peripheries.

“I don’t remember,” she tells him.

“Sure you do. Trust your gut.”

She sighs and thinks hard, he can see it on her face, recalling the fat couple and the table of teenagers and the bald man sitting at the bar.

“Seven?”

Dave smiles. “Just checking how observant you are. Do you know what observant means?”

“Yeah, Dad,” Molly says, rolling her eyes. She turns around to check her work and Dave can see she’s satisfied with herself when she goes back to her milkshake.

Molly knew it was bullshit even before Capra. She could just feel it.

“An accident.” That’s what Mom had said when she sat Molly and Alice down to break the news to them. Their father, David York, was dead.

“Is he in the hospital?” Alice asked, confusion pulling at her little features.

Mom tried to hold back the fresh round of tears that the question elicited.

“No, baby. I’m sorry, baby,” she said.

Alice was too young to understand and Mom was too broken hearted to explain it. Molly didn’t ask any questions because she didn’t believe it. Dad didn’t have accidents. She’d never seen him trip or drop anything or even stumble over a word. A dark, slick feeling in the pit of her stomach told her something terrible had happened.

“He loved you both very much,” Mom said. And when Molly didn’t respond she asked, “Did you hear me?”

“We were going to play softball on Saturday,” Molly said.

She was lying even now that he was gone. They never played softball or went rollerblading or spent the afternoon at the air and space museum. They had their own adventures. That’s how Molly saw them. Dad sometimes called them missions. He liked to take her shooting on the weekends. Or they’d go hiking. Occasionally they would just go for a jog in the park and then Molly would practice her karate. She loved sharing these secrets with her dad. And if she kept on lying about their missions, maybe they didn’t have to be over.

Molly felt numb. She kept waiting for Dad to come back. But he never did.

“Where are you going, Daddy?” Molly asks on an afternoon together.

“On business, kiddo,” Dave tells her.

“Yeah but where?”

“I’m going to the beach.”

“Can I come?” she asks.

“No, baby, I’m going to be working,” he says and when she huffs he laughs.

Something comes over him, a bittersweet feeling. He has it often around the girls, when he remembers they won’t be so little forever. Just yesterday he was carrying Molly to the nursery in the hospital, small enough to fit in the crook of his arm. But this feels stronger than usual. He tries to memorize how she looks right now. He runs his hand over her long hair.

“Maybe next time,” he says. “Will you take care of Mommy and Alice when I’m gone?”

Molly promised she would. She made that her mission. She kept her grades up so that Mom never had to worry. She could tell when the weight of being a single mother was too much on Carol’s shoulders. If her mother’s eyes were ringed with red, the next day Molly would surprise her by doing all of the dishes before she got home from work.

She took care of Alice, too. When her sister was in the school play, Molly didn’t miss a single performance. She beat up one of the girls that bullied Alice. And, in high school, when she found out Alice’s boyfriend cheated on her, Molly filled his gas tank with sugar.

Molly went from karate to Krav Maga. She wanted to be able to take care of herself, too. She joined an archery team. She went on long runs when she felt lonely.

Years passed and Molly saw more and more of her father when she looked at herself in the mirror. She’d inherited his soft eyes and she had dimples in both of her cheeks. She’d also gotten his nose which she would have hated if it hadn’t reminded her of him.

Molly was packing for college, her 18th birthday on the horizon, when she found the note. She’d been worried about leaving home, leaving Mom and Alice on their own. But it had gotten harder here. Molly’s energy was more and more restless and some days she just wanted to disappear.

She ran her fingers nostalgically over the things she was leaving behind in her room. A music box, a medal, an ugly ceramic bowl she’d made in art class.

At the end of her bookshelf was a hardcover that hadn’t been touched in years. Dad had been reading Harriet the Spy with her. They’d never finished it and Molly had never been able to bring herself to open it again. Carefully, she lifted it off of the shelf, the dust jacket sticking slightly to the book beside it. Maybe she would take it with her and finish reading it. She flipped through the pages, admiring the little illustrations. The book fell open to the page they’d left off on, a little piece of note paper stuck in as a bookmark. Molly saw the handwriting on it and immediately recognized it.

It always shook Molly to see her father’s writing. She would turn over every scribble she found for secret meaning. This was just a phone number and the name Capra. Molly suddenly remembered her father giving it to her before he left on one of his business trips.

If anything happens and you can’t reach me, call this number.

She stared at it for a long time wondering what would’ve happened if she’d called that number all those years ago. Before she knew what she was doing, Molly was dialing it on her cell phone. It rang for a long time before someone answered.

“Yeah?”

It was a woman’s voice. For a second, Molly had an awful thought, her heart plummeting. But Dad wouldn’t have given her this woman’s phone number if something...like that was going on, right?

“Is this Capra?” Molly finally found her voice.

“Who is this?” the woman asked.

“I think you knew my dad. Dave York?” Molly said.

There was a pause and then, “You’ve got the wrong number.”

And she hung up.

“Molly Carolina, what are you doing in here?” Dave growls when he finds Molly in his study.

“I need a piece of paper,” she explains.

She’s got a file in her hand and Dave knows what’s inside of it. His whole body tenses. He keeps those things locked in a drawer, shreds them as soon as he’s finished with them. He’d just stepped out of the room for a minute.

“If you need something, ask for it,” he tells her. “What have I told you about privacy?”

Molly swallows.

“Would you like it if I went in your room and read your diary?”

Molly’s eyes flash with anxiety. “No.”

“May I have that?” Dave asks.

She hands over the file, whispers, “Sorry,” and scuttles out of the room.

It was so mysterious. Molly had dialed correctly. And she knew the woman on the other end was Capra. She felt it in her gut. Molly was about to dial again when her phone rang. Blocked.

“How did you get my number?” Capra asked.

“My, my dad gave it to me...when I was a kid,” Molly stammered.

“What do you want?” the woman asked.

Molly didn’t know. She hadn’t had a plan. Christ, had she called hoping this Capra person could turn back time?

“Did you know my dad?” Molly asked.

As the years went by, she’d realized there were pieces of him that she’d never gotten to see. Mom had filled in some blanks but Molly was never satisfied. If she’d shared missions with him, he must have had other secrets.

“I didn’t think I’d hear from you,” Capra sighed.

Capra offered a time and place to meet and quickly got off of the phone. Molly was dumbfounded but she had an old feeling creep over her– an excitement and eagerness that she felt on weekend adventures with Dad. She was going on a mission.

/ / / / / / / part 2

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[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter five: another notch on the belt

Belinda’s book had dropped, a thick, large tome filled with all of those photographs, all of them mastered and made beautiful and professional in appearance. Since Sam and Alex were friends to her, they had received the first hardcover pressings, straight off of the press before they were set to go: Belinda had told them that there was an error in the original pressing and thus, she and the publisher had to go back and fix things before the release date. She had said that the original date was New Year’s Eve, but because of the error, it had been pushed back to the fifteenth. She never elaborated as to why, either, that is until the two of them had received their hardcover copies. 

Given there were so many of them, and she had stories behind each of them, the whole book weighed down Sam’s arms as she carried it over to the table. 

Alex stood there across from her with his hands pressed onto his hips. The dark suede of the jacket had a bit more of a glimmer to it under the ceiling lights of the kitchen: if nothing else, he would keep it as an indoor coat when the snows came down on them for the time being. 

“Jesus, you could probably kill someone with that thing,” he remarked: the spine of the book was just shy of the width of her hand. 

“Almost a thousand pages!” Sam declared. “She wasn’t exaggerating in the least, Alex.” 

“And now I know why your mom was freaking out there,” he said with a chuckle. “Damn.” 

“Just yesterday, she finally told me that this was the error—that she’s going to release this thing in a trilogy,” she replied with a chuckle on her end. “One book is three hundred pages each—when my mom pointed it out to her, and she told her there is literally no way anybody can carry this thing and like, read it casually on the subway or whatever.” 

“No way I can carry it, either,” he pointed out. 

“When my mom showed it to her, she freaked the fuck out, too,” she added. “Like, my mom told her, ‘Belinda, there’s no way we can do it like this. This is too much even for me.’ And my mom’s written a book about this long, too.” 

“Did they publish it?” He raised his eyebrows at her: that was another thing that his short haircut had done for him, as well, and a detail she had missed the first time around until she caught herself looking on at his face more often after the cut. The focus had found its way onto his face and thus, whenever he even so much as raised his eyebrows, his whole entire face lit up. 

“Oh, yeah. It's the one that landed her a spot on the bestseller list, too, strangely enough. They had to knock out like four hundred pages worth of the manuscript, but they managed to do it.” 

“Wow. I think she told me about that, too, now that I remember it correctly. Like, it was back when you were out like a light and she told me about it. We got to talking about writing and she said she had to split her manuscript in half and then release it as a duology.” 

“Got to talking about writing and then your tongues wound up elsewhere,” she cracked, to which he burst out laughing. 

“Hey, it’s all behind us now,” she said. 

“It really is! By the way, what grade d’you get on this thing?” He fingered the collar of the jacket. 

“I’m still waiting to hear back from Miss Fisher,” she replied. “I hope it’s good. The tension is kind of killing me, too. I was the only one who made a coat, after all.” 

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he told her with a nod of his head. He then returned to the big tome on the table. “So, tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow’s the big day for her,” she replied. “She’s doing a book signing over in Manhattan and she invited the both of us over. It starts at—noon, I think is what she said?” 

“And when do you have class?” 

“Tomorrow’s my day off,” she corrected him. 

“Ah. Tomorrow's also the day I hear back from Mr. Manring, too.” 

“Oh, man. That's gonna be something.” 

“Yeah. I kind of want one of those ‘bricks’, those big fat phones that some people take places with them.” 

“Like the one that Marla has?” 

“Yeah. I know for a fact I'm gonna need one of those, too. If not sooner, than later.” 

Sam folded her arms over the top of the chair before her and she scanned the hard cover of the book, at the silhouette of the woman against the blue tapestry of a sky. 

“Do you think—” she started, and all the while, she chose her words with utmost care, “—that come the New Millennium, the year 2000, we’ll all have flying cars or the like?” 

Alex shook his head. “To be honest, who knows what’ll happen by then,” he confessed. “Especially if this past decade has taught me anything. The second the clock hits zero, we all go back to the start.” 

He sighed through his nose and Sam frowned at the look in his eye. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him. 

“Just kind of concerned right at the moment,” he confessed. “I don’t know if I got the part, and I don’t know if I’ve made it to school yet. My worst fear at the moment is that everything I've worked for will be for absolutely nothing.” He took one hand out of his pocket and rested it on his stomach. Sam put her arm around him and held him close to her. 

“You’ll be okay,” she assured him. “I promise.” 

“How am I supposed to know this, though? I'm stuck here all day long, and I've got no way out. I don’t even have a set of wheels on me.” 

“There’s the subway and the buses and the ubiquitous number of cabs,” she pointed out. A part of her wanted to take her other hand and stroke it over his stomach to ease the nervous feeling inside of him, but she stopped herself. “Take this from me, Alex: these things have a way of working out. Truth be known, a while back—during our first big blowout—I didn’t know if I was going to see you again.” 

“It’s funny, I thought the same thing, too,” he confessed. “Oh, when I found that journal with those really intimate drawings in it? I thought the exact same thing. When I was in the elevator and I was walking out of the building—I was literally on the brink of tears, Samantha.” 

“Wow,” she breathed out. 

“In fact, I remember lying in bed—back at my parents’ house—and I just wanted to close my eyes and never wake up. It was one of the few moments where I actually remember thinking to myself, ‘I want to fucking die. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again.’” 

“You? Of all people?” 

“Of all people, yeah. I'm a guy with a brain, Samantha—I overthink things. Smart people overthink things. I thought for sure I had lost you... so when you and I got to talking again, I was relieved by it. I was surprised, too—more than surprised by the fact that you still wanted to be around me after I was such a jerk to you.” 

She put her other arm around him to round out the hug. 

“You’re not a jerk,” she told him in a soft voice. “You’re a good guy. You're a good guy!” 

“I don’t feel like it some days, though,” he confessed. “I feel like I’m just a complete and total unlovable dickhead some days.” 

She then held back for a look into his face and his sad eyes. 

“If you were a complete and total unlovable dickhead, I wouldn’t call you my best guy friend,” she assured him. “Trust me on this, Alex.” She held him close to her again and he bowed his head to her shoulder. She closed her eyes and she stroked the back of his head. His hair was in fact losing a bit of its darkness at the top, but it was all still as soft as silk, soft with the health of youth. 

He looked on at thirty years of age that coming September, and yet he was still so very young. They both were still very young. And at that moment, right there in her arms, he confirmed that for her. He lifted his head for a shy little glimpse up at her. Almost thirty years old and still like a young boy. 

“I mean—look at you in this suede and this silk!” she declared with a stroke of his shoulders. “You did so good the other day. You know, even if I got a bad grade, I made this for you. I made this all for you so you can wear it wherever.” 

“Barring that the weather is nice, of course,” he pointed out. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. But—look at you, though. And not to mention, if you were unlovable, completely broken, a complete and total jerk like you said you were, I wouldn’t’ve hugged you just now. I promise you that, Alex. Come here—” She held him close to her body again and he bowed his head into her shoulder. She was willing to hold him all day long, but the sound of the front door opening caused her to let go, and she knew that her father had walked in right then with two cups of coffee and a bite to eat from the muffin shop across the street. 

When she showed him the hardcover copy of Belinda’s book, he almost fell right out of his chair. 

“Don’t worry, though,” she promised him. “This is just the prototype. The whole thing is being split into three.” 

“Oh, good! I was going to say—knowing your mom and how she worked with publishers, I don’t see her being okay with something as big and monolithic as this.” 

“Alex and I were just talking about that, as a matter of fact,” she told him with a gesture over to the couch. “We were joking about it and everything...” And yet, even as the words left her lips, she couldn’t help but see Alex on the other side of the room with his cup of coffee nestled in hand and a somber look on his face. Even after all of that, he still had his worries. 

She hoped that, by the time they were at the book shop with Belinda, his spirits would lift. It couldn’t be all that bad, and every single time she heard something in the vein of “everything is going to be okay”, it always wound up working out. But she couldn’t help but look at him and the fact that he sat there in the corner of the couch as if he was a wallflower at a party. His anxiety was palpable, even as they turned in for the night and he had lay down there on the couch with his legs outstretched before him and his hands rested upon his poor stomach. 

If only there was something she could do for him right then and there. If only. 

Indeed, the next morning, she saw that he hadn’t slept a wink that night. She had no other choice but to head out to Belinda’s book signing by herself. He had to sleep and he had to relax his poor body, especially if things turned out alright in the end: he had to be in good shape for the next round of playing in a band in the future. 

At least it had stopped snowing at some point over the course of the night. 

The whole cab ride down there with her cane propped right across her lap, she thought about the tears he had cried for her, right there in her lap. And then it hit her like a ton of bricks.  This was it for him: that day proved to be now or never for him. 

And as a result, she could feel the nerves on her end as well. 

She could feel the nerves even as she climbed out of the cab and thanked the driver before she walked into the bookshop. Alex was about to get the news if he was in and if he could have a future there in New York. 

It frightened her to think that it could potentially be all for naught by that afternoon as well. 

She bowed into the cozy bookshop and she flashed back on the shop in which she and Cliff had walked in all those years ago. That display shelf right in the middle of the floor made her think of that copy of Siddhartha that he had picked up and read to her: indeed, as she skirted around the rim of the table, she caught a glimpse of that familiar royal blue hard cover with the bronze statue of the Buddha right in the middle of it all, right there in the middle of the table underneath the black metallic sign and the indicative white piece of paper for the day. She had some money on her: maybe she could give Alex something that Cliff was unable to give to her all that time ago. 

If there was one regret she had with Cliff, other than the fact that she was never able to tell him goodbye or reconcile things with him before the accident, it was the fact that she and him never read more books together, especially that book in question. She figured that, once she was done with the short visit with Belinda on the other side of the room, she could buy Alex that copy. She had the money, and it was marked down for the time being: she could do it for him. Without a second thought, she scooped up the book and tucked it under her free arm as if to protect it from the cold, howling winds outside of the shop. She then followed the next sign and she hobbled towards the back of the building. 

Belinda’s table had been set up in the far corner of the shop, right in front of a blank glass display case and away from the window: by the time she reached her, that whole corner of the shop was toasty warm from the heater vent on the ceiling overhead. She sat there in the middle of the table with her blonde hair neatly combed and a finely tailored black velvet blazer over her body, and a pen in hand. She nodded her head at Sam as she sauntered on over to her. 

“Gosh, there’s nobody here,” she remarked. 

“You should’ve seen it a little while ago, though,” Belinda pointed out as she twirled the pen in her fingers. “I had this huge line right here in front of me—I couldn’t hardly keep up with it! It is lunchtime and it is freezing cold outside, too.” 

“Oh, yeah, give it time—they'll be back.” 

Belinda eyed the book under Sam’s arm. 

“What you got there?” 

“Siddhartha. It was a book that Cliff had showed me when he and I first met. It's about Buddha—I'm gonna get it for Alex.” 

“Aw! How's he doing, by the way? I know today is the day he hears if he’s got it or not.” 

“He’s a nervous wreck right now. Like, big time, too—he barely slept last night, he was so on edge with everything. When I left, he was still sound asleep, so I just let him nap and I hope, by the time I come back home, he’ll be in better shape.” 

Belinda shook her head at that. 

“Just do what you can,” she remarked as she folded her hands over the top of the table. 

“Absolutely,” Sam replied. “I already lost one friend to bad circumstances—it scares me to think what could happen to him.” 

Belinda squinted her eyes at her. 

“Sam, let me ask you something.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Do you—often find yourself thinking a certain way about Alex? I ask you because I find myself thinking a certain way about Eric all the time. I mean, I did tell you that there were times on my ride where I found myself thinking about him.” 

Sam shook her head. 

“I don’t understand,” she confessed, and Belinda bowed her head and swallowed. They were alone there in the bookshop and thus, she could better ask her about it. 

“Do you find yourself feeling—attracted to him? Like, really attracted? Like... you want to hold him and love on him in a way that isn’t in the realm of straight friendship? I just think about what you told me the other night about Eric, and I can’t help but wonder if you feel that very way about Alex.” 

Sam nibbled on her bottom lip, and Belinda gestured for her to move in closer to her. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” she told her in a low voice. “I won’t tell Marla; I won’t tell a soul.” 

“You won’t tell my mom?” 

“Hell, no. She told me about her and him, so I definitely won’t tell her about it. It's okay if you do.” 

She nibbled on her bottom lip again. 

“And it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me as if yet,” Belinda assured her. 

“I do feel some things sometimes,” Sam blurted out to her. “Like, yesterday, we were in the kitchen talking and at one point, I—had him in my arms and I was holding him close to me. I guess this whole thing is upsetting his stomach a great deal, too. Bel, a part of me wanted to put a hand on his stomach and soothe him.” 

“And did you?” 

Sam shook her head. 

“Oh, man,” Belinda proclaimed, and she leaned back in her chair with her hands rested upon the table before her. 

“There was a time—long ago, when we all met and we all started hanging out together, and he was still a teenage kid in high school—I actually thought of kissing him.” 

Belinda raised her eyebrows at that. 

“Holy shit, really?” she asked her in a hushed voice. 

“Yeah. But that was a long time ago, though—like I said, that was back when we were all fresh faces to each other, and there was no way I could act on it, either.” 

“Huh. So, no wonder why you said that to me. You do in fact feel that way about Alex.” 

“I won’t deny it,” Sam assured her with a wag of her finger. “Especially now. But I’m a little afraid to tell him about it, though.” 

“Why is that?” 

“I don’t really know. I feel like if I tell him how I really feel about him, he’ll shoot me down in some way. Like I’ll—” 

“You’ll end up like me,” Belinda finished her sentence for her. Sam stood there with her mouth agape and the book in her hands heavy, despite it being about the size of a cordless phone. 

Her mind went blank, and then she felt a tap on her shoulder. 

She turned around and she came face to face with a short man with short black hair and a slight goatee on his chin, and horn-rimmed glasses over his nose. The sight of him took her aback, but she looked into his eyes: she had only encountered him a few times in the past, but it took him a smile in her direction for her to recognize him. 

“My record player is still open for business,” he promised her in that Rockland County accent. 

“Oh, hey, Danny!” Sam declared. 

“Yeah, you think I forgot you? It's so good to see you here!” He put his strong, built arms around her for a hug. 

“Oh, my god—long time no see!” she continued. 

“I know, right? I feel like I haven’t seen you in like a million years—not since you got in that bad accident, either. How are you?” 

“I’ve been living since then,” Sam replied. “I’m back here in New York and I'm back in school—I'm studying fashion, believe it or not.” 

“Oh, that’s cool! You know, it's funny you say that, too, ‘cause I'm starting school in the fall—learning watch-making.” 

“Oof, have fun with that,” Sam told him. 

“Everyone’s going to school, it seems,” Belinda remarked as she leaned back in the chair once again. “Sam’s going, Alex wants to go, and now here we have Mr. Danny Boy here doing the exact same thing.” 

“Yeah, a couple of years back, the flavor of the month was the whole grunge thing,” Sam stated. 

“Funny how times change,” Dan noted with a little shake of the head. He then nodded at Belinda in the chair behind her. He then gestured to the stack of books next to her down on the floor, those thousand pages split across three volumes. 

“Wow,” he breathed out. 

“Impressed?” Belinda asked him with a chuckle as he stood before the trio of stacks next to her. 

“Impressed? Belinda, this is huge. This is like—dropping your debut record. Congrats!” 

“Why, thank you. It only took me two years.” 

“Hey, it took Anthrax the better part of three years before we found Joey and hit the ground runnin’. Don't sweat it.” He picked out a copy of each volume and cradled them in his arms as if he lugged in a fat stack of firewood, and then he turned to Sam again. “How is Joey, by the way? I haven’t seen or heard anything from him since he got fired.” 

“He got married and last I heard, he was doing his own thing,” Sam recalled, and it was right then that she began to think about Joey again. He was so far away, but she still thought about him regardless of the distance. “And that was—three years ago? I have no clue what they—him and his wife—are doing now.” 

“Wow. And by the way, did you hear that Dave—Dave Mustaine, from Megadeth—is having another kid?” 

“Aw! Good for him!” 

Dan then turned back to Belinda with a puzzled look on his face. 

“Alex is looking at going to school around here? Alex Skolnick, the boy from Testament?” 

“Yeah, he moved up here this past fall,” Belinda told him. “None of us have any idea if he’s going to get it, though.” 

“Seriously?” Dan chuckled. “God, I wish I was him sometimes. Being able to go out in the wilderness without a chip on his shoulder and everything.” He eyed the trio of books right before Belinda. 

“You want signed copies, don’t you?” she teased him. 

“If it’s not too much to ask,” he said with a shrug, and she chuckled at him. Like clockwork, she opened the covers and she signed the insides for him. She then handed him the stack again, one after the other. 

“You got it okay?” she asked him. 

“Look at his guns, Bel,” Sam pointed out. “He could probably pick up the nearest bookcase if he could.” Dan laughed at that. 

“Maybe we should get together again at some point?” he offered Sam. “I’m living alone now—maybe we can have a cup of coffee together or something?” 

“Sounds good by me,” she replied. 

“Count me in, too,” Belinda added. 

“Of course!” Dan declared. “Anyways, I’ll see you ladies later.” 

“See you later, Danny,” Sam called after him. Within a few minutes’ time, the two of them were alone once again there in the back of the shop. 

“You think Alex not having that suede jacket with him might have left him a little exposed?” Belinda asked her. 

“Probably. I mean, ever since the show, he hasn’t taken that thing off. He loves that jacket.” 

“Have you gotten your grade yet?” And Sam shook her head. 

“Damn! I remember when Marla and I were going to school, we got our grades literally the week after school let out. Makes me wonder what the hold-up is.” 

“Well, it’s because the show took place after the fall quarter,” Sam pointed out. “But it kind of makes me wonder as to why Miss Fisher never made note of it before then, though.” 

Another person walked into their corner of the room right then, followed by two more people. It was that moment that Sam decided to hang off to the side as she signed more books and asked a couple of questions. All the while, Sam wondered if the lack of the jacket had shot Alex’s confidence a bit, especially since she kept her gaze locked onto Belinda. She had done her hair all nice and she dolled herself up: surely, the look had to play a big role in the whole grand scheme of things. 

“Yeah, he’s real worried right now,” she told her in a hushed voice. “And part of me tells me it was because he didn’t have the jacket with him during his audition. But I’ve told him that he’s got this whole thing in the bag, though. I'm positive.” 

“Because he’s Alex,” Belinda added with a glimpse over at her. 

“Because he’s Alex, right!” she chuckled at that. Sam watched Belinda hand out another autographed book to another patron with a smile on her face when a woman in a fitted black leather jacket approached her. 

“Miss Grimes?” she gestured to Belinda. 

“That would be me!” And she took Belinda’s hand for a hearty shake. 

“I’m with the New York Times. I was floored by your memoir—by the photography and the stories behind it all. It almost felt as though I was right there with you.” 

“Oh, well—I just—did what I could,” Belinda assured her with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“I have no doubt that you will make the bestseller list, mind you.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s an honor,” Sam remarked. 

“I know, right?” 

“My mom’s made that list a couple of times—and it’s always a huge deal, especially for a small-fry author.” 

“When’s your break?” the woman asked Belinda. 

“About ten minutes, give or take,” she replied. 

“I was hoping that maybe you and I could have a cup of coffee together on your lunch break and discuss these things.” Belinda showed Sam an excited expression, and Sam nodded at her. 

“Take it! Take it!” she told her in a hushed voice. 

“Gladly!” Belinda declared with a tap of her pen on the table. “God, to think I was just on my bike not long ago and doing all of this.” She turned to Sam, complete with a twinkle in her eye. And all Sam could think about was what Mrs. Sanger told her when she saw the cane in her hand and her struggle in the desks. 

“I’ll leave you alone with her,” Sam told her with a wink of her eye. “You wanna come on over for dinner later?” 

“Uh, yeah! If I'm not too busy.” 

“Of course.” 

Sam then ducked away from there and back to the front of the shop with the book still underneath her arm. Everything was a whirlwind at the moment: things were really starting to look up for Belinda, and she hoped that the same would happen for Marla as well, that the whole auditing ordeal with the shop would come to pass soon enough and she could go forth with her craft once again. 

Once she had paid for the book, she returned outside and she raised her hand with it still nestled in between her fingers. The next cab rolled up to the curb and with her cane lain down on the seat next to her, she told the driver she was headed back home to Hell’s Kitchen. 

Another thirty minutes, and they rolled into that familiar neighborhood. At that point, the hazy afternoon sun shone over the sidewalk and the crown of soft black hair laced with that gray streak as he awaited her on the front step. She climbed out and he stood to his feet and straightened out the suede hem of his jacket when he recognized her cane. 

Nothing could deny the look of exhaustion on his face, but there was something else there. Something that told her a different story. 

“What’s going on?” she asked him once she came within earshot. 

“So, I got the part,” Alex announced, and she gasped at that. She threw her arms around him and he returned the favor. He pressed his hands to her lower back as if he was about to pick her up, but he never did. She raised her head and gazed right into his beaming face. 

“I had a feeling you did, ha!” she declared. 

“But I’m gonna tell you this right now,” he started again. “It’s not gonna last, though. Manring just signed me on for one record—mainly because I told him I have school to tend to.” 

“But at least you got into it, though,” she pointed out as she straightened herself out and set her cane flat on the sidewalk again. 

“Oh, absolutely,” he said with a nod of his head. 

“Wait a minute.” She paused right in her tracks, and she realized what he had just said right then. “What do you mean, you told him that you have school to tend to? You're not even in yet.” 

“Uh, yeah, I was—going to—tell you—once you got home.” He couldn’t resist the smile on his face and Sam gasped again, and she almost dropped the book she had bought for him. 

“Oh, my god, Alex!” she exclaimed. 

“Got the letter just this morning right after you left. I start one week before my thirtieth birthday, September twenty-first.” 

“Oh, my god!” She threw her arms around him and he returned the favor, complete with his head rested upon the crown of her own. All the times in which she heard that things would work out and she relayed it back to him out of sheer necessity, and it wound up working out for the both of them. 

She could feel the tears of elation in her eyes but she needn’t cry them out as of yet. 

“Apparently, there is another band that they suggested I play with once all of this is said and done,” he said as he held back again. 

“And what would that be?” 

“They’re called—Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I think is what he said? They're fairly new, they started just last year—the guys from Savatage actually play a couple of roles in it, believe it or not. Again, I'd have to audition—mainly because that’s like a huge project with lots of people behind it, even now so shortly after their inception.” 

“Trans-Siberian Orchestra, sounds really big and epic,” she said. 

“He described them as like Pink Floyd, The Who, Rush, and Yes doing Christmas music,” he told her. “It’s yet another thing I have to go and audition for. At least this time, I have the right thing to wear, though.” He fingered the collar of the jacket and flashed her a wink. 

“The right thing to wear and the right book to read, too,” she added as she handed him the book. 

“Siddhartha! I've heard of this book. I never read it, but I’ve definitely heard of it.” 

“Cliff introduced it to me,” she told him in a soft voice. 

“And now you’re passing it onto me,” he replied with another wink. “Both of us with new notches in our belts.” 

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Hey, everyone! I’ve been saying for a bit I want to get some fics from prompts I’ve written onto AO3 but...it’s so hard...ok it’s not hard, Executive Dysfunction is just kicking my butt. I’m going to post some of them to Tumblr today. If you want to help these babies get on AO3, they need: titles, tags, you pestering me in the comments. If you don’t think they’re good enough for AO3 - fair enough, just hit the little heart if they make you smile!

Prompt: Aziraphale reading to Crowley

(Requested by @zadusk and @lyricwritesprose)

“Sorry, can’t help you,” the innkeeper said, “just rented out our last room.”

“What?” Crowley crossed his arms, huffing through his nose. This was Bethlehem all over again. “This town is in the middle of nowhere, it has three inns, how can they all be sold out?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The innkeeper shut the ledger. “Everyone’s headed down to London, and we’re on the way. Now. I can offer you a hot meal, and for, let’s say, half the price of a room you can sleep in the stables. The hay loft is clean, apart from the mice—”

“Stablesss!” Crowley hissed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Do I look like someone who sleeps in stables?”

The innkeeper didn’t appear remotely impressed. “You look like someone who is going to be sleeping in a hedge. Looks like a storm tonight. Good evening.” And he spun away, calling out to the cook in the back room.

“Oi!” Crowley shouted. “Get back here, you—!”

“Crowley! Whatever are you doing here?” The familiar voice was half delighted, half scolding. Aziraphale appeared beside him, same white suit as the last time they’d met, top hat tucked under his arm. “I thought I made it clear we shouldn’t see each other so often. Since I opened the shop, it’s been—”

“Yes, I know.” Crowley waved a hand and turned away. “I’m not here for you, Angel, I have actual business in York.”

“Really?” Despite his words, Aziraphale trailed behind him. “How interesting. I’m just returning from York – oh, no, you don’t think they’ve sent you to undo all my work again, do you?”

Crowley snorted. “No bet.” He dropped his voice into a low whisper. “This is why we need to meet up more often. Look at all this time we’re wasting! And now I have to march through the bloody night in the rain because there’s no place to sleep—”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t dream of it. You can share my room.”

“Ngk?!” Crowley’s brain crashed into his skull with all the speed and grace of a train wreck. “Mf. Yk. No I can’t – Aziraphale!”

“Oh, my word – obviously, I’m not planning – that!” His voice dropped even lower and he tugged on Crowley’s elbow. “Don’t be crude, dear fellow. I have a room with a bed that I’m not intending to use. You can have it. I just need a chair to sit in while I read.”

“Jgk.” Crowley turned away, taking a deep breath through his nose. It made sense. He could sleep. Aziraphale could read. No getting soaked, or lost in the dark, or needing to fight off highwaymen or anything of the sort. “Fffine. We can. Er. Do that.”

“Jolly good.” He could practically hear the angel straightening his waistcoat. “Now that’s settled. I’ve already had my supper and was about to head up. Unless you’re hungry—”

“No, no, now is fine.” He still couldn’t quite meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Lead the way.”

The room, it turned out, was nearly as advertised.

A double-sized bed with a straw-tick and a quilt. A little stand with a pitcher of water and bowl for washing up. Windows that could be tightly shuttered to block out some of the city noise.

The only thing missing, really, was the chair.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers tapped on his book and he glanced around, as if a seat might be hiding in the corner. “Well, er…”

“It’s fine. I can leave.” Crowley turned on his heel and reached for the latch.

“Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it. You get settled and I’ll – ah – I’ll miracle in a chair.” He peered around the narrow room. “Somewhere.”

“Look, I can—”

“No. Miracle yourself a nightgown or whatever it is you need.”

“I—”

“Hush!”

Resigning himself, Crowley waved his clothes into something more comfortable for sleeping and crawled under the blanket. It was…slightly better than sleeping in the stables, he supposed. The straw was lumpy and the sheet covering it coarse, but the pillow was well-stuffed with goose-down, a luxury he could get used to. He shifted onto his back, trying to find a comfortable angle.

Instead, he found Aziraphale, standing beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall. “There…well…it would appear there isn’t room for a chair,” he confessed. “Not one that will fit my, er…my current corporation comfortably, that is.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling. He could sleep up there, but it would mean abandoning the pillow. Or. Or.

“Look, Angel,” he said as casually as he could. You can, um, you can sit on the bed. I’m not going to be offended or anything. It’s fine.”

“No, I couldn’t – couldn’t possibly—”

“Aziraphale. It’s really fine.”

The quilt tugged, folded back, and with a rustle of straw Aziraphale settled into the mattress. He sat straight, stiff, and so close to the edge he might topple off.

Even so, he was alarmingly close.

“You, um. You need the candle?”

“No, my own light will be sufficient, thank you.”

“Yeah. Obviously.” Crowley tossed his glasses onto the little table and waved a finger at the candle, which immediately snuffed out, leaving the room dark except for the soft glow of Aziraphale, gently illuminating his book.

Crowley closed his eyes and prepared to fall asleep.

He turned onto one side. No good, too close to the edge.

He turned the other way, or started to, freezing when he felt how close the angel’s warmth was.

Then he lay on his back again. The whole room fell very, very still.

“Bless it, Aziraphale, will you relax?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can practically hear your muscles creaking. How am I supposed to all asleep with all that – that tension barely six inches away!”

“I don’t know what you might be referring to. I am – am perfectly relaxed here, reading my book and you – you interrupt with these – these pointless accusations.”

Crowley gave up and turned on his side, facing Aziraphale, giving him as hard a stare as he could manage. “Your book is upside down, Angel.”

“Is it?” He swallowed. “I mean, of course it is. I am training myself to read upside-down text, a highly useful skill, which I’m sure—”

Crowley shut his eyes. “This was a terrible idea.” He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, Aziraphale, neither of us is actually comfortable with this. So I’m just going to head out. If I leave now, I might make it to the next town before the rain starts, and maybe they’ll have a room. You can have this one and—”

“Crowley,” he said, voice much softer than expected. “My dear fellow. I won’t be able to relax knowing you’re out there. I know you won’t be in – in any real danger but…I would rather know that you’re safe.”

He stared ahead, sitting perfectly still in the way that only beings who aren’t really alive can – no breath, no heartbeat, no tiny motions.

Then, slowly, Crowley pulled his legs back under the quilt and lay on his back.

“What’s this book about, anyway?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

“It’ll help. Trust me. What is it – poetry? Ancient epics about glorious wars? Not Hamlet again, I hope, that play is a gloomy mess of—”

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s…well, it’s a sort of love story.”

That didn’t sound too bad. “Sort of?”

“Well, yes, it’s more a – a study of the manners and traditions of courtship. Our heroine is the second of five sisters, and there’s a great deal riding on finding them suitable husbands, but her choices are, well…not especially appealing.”

“Does she tell them to go jump in a lake?”

“Not in so many words,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly. “But yes, she has so far turned down two proposals quite bitingly. Although I think she was a bit hasty in her judgement of one of the young men.”

“I like it.” Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale, and found the angel had relaxed, and moved just a little closer. “What’s it called, anyway?”

“Pride and Prejudice.” His fingers tapped against it. “Just released last year. I must try and find the author’s other work when I finish.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me how it ends.”

“Oh, are you…interested?”

“Hmm,” Crowley settled his head a little further into the pillow. “I do like a good drawing room drama. Perhaps I should pick out a few dresses and spend a year or two back in those circles.”

“As I recall, you were always deceitful and wicked and caused many a scandal.”

“I should hope so. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Aziraphale smiled down at him, and it made Crowley feel light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “Then I imagine you’ll be brilliant at it.” He suddenly turned away, looking at the shuttered window. “Oh! Do you hear that? The rain has started.” The first drops were tapping against the shutters fitfully.

“Good thing I didn’t go out.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale looked at the book again. “Er, would you like me to…to read it to you? Just the first part, until you fall asleep.”

“I…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, your voice puts me to sleep half the time anyway, so…”

“Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Let me just get the first volume.” He hopped out of bed and hurried over to his jacket, rummaging in the pocket to pull out another hardcover book. When he returned to the bed, it was with almost no self-consciousness, wriggling comfortably against his pillow only a few inches away from Crowley.

“Now, let’s see…yes, here. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’”

It was strange, seeing the angel from this angle, round face slightly lit by his own glow, little smile curving up his lips as the words bubbled out excitedly. His voice rose and fell as he read, trying to paint a picture of Longbourne and Netherfield and the lives of the Bennet sisters. Crowley could get used to it, the look, the sound, the soft familiarity of it all. Not that he was likely to have an opportunity.

He didn’t close his eyes. Not yet.

--

“‘But I can assure you,’ she added,” Aziraphale was quite enjoying the voice he had chosen for Mrs. Bennet, raising it now in slightly erratic excitement. “‘that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at all worth pleasing.’” He shifted again, raising his arm to better articulate the dialogue. “‘So high and so conceited that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with!’” He dropped his voice into a vicious hiss. “‘I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one of your set downs. I quite detest the man.’”

He glanced to his left, grinning, hoping to see Crowley’s reaction to his bit of acting, but the demon had at some point fallen asleep. He lay half on his back, still facing Aziraphale, shock of red hair across the white pillow. His mouth hung slightly open and something emerged that was almost a snore, but rather too small to really qualify. It was drowned out by the wind and rain outside, rattling the shutters. Now and then, in the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Well. I suppose…yes, you sleep now.” Aziraphale turned to put the book down, thinking to find the second volume and pick up where he’d left off.

“Nf.” Crowley turned onto his side, one arm flinging out towards Aziraphale’s waist. “D’n stp,” he mumbled. “Jus’ gettn gud.”

“Er, are you…awake?” The arm tightened slightly, and Crowley pulled closer, pressing himself against Aziraphale’s side. “Crowley, er, dear…you’re…”

“M’fine.” He sighed, not seeming aware of the world at all. “S’nice.”

For a long moment, Aziraphale stared at the demon who had – had invaded his space. Had settled against him in a most – most awkward and undignified way.

Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Aziraphale slid a little lower against the pillow, until he’d surrounded Crowley in the crook of his arm. “Is that better, dear?”

“St’ry.” But he settled into that space between Aziraphale’s side and his arm with a content sigh, arm now draped across the angel’s chest.

Oh, dear. This is not going to be easy to explain when he wakes up. But that wouldn’t be for several hours, at least, and right now, there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips.

“Well. Chapter four. ‘When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him…’”

--

Thanks for reading! Pride and Prejudice was initially published in three volumes, in 1813, attributed simply to “The Author of Sense and Sensibility.” I have no idea what was going on in York in 1814 - I mostly needed someplace they could walk to but would take several days - so feel free to attribute whatever historical events you can think of to these dummies! 

[mickeymouse-moshpit]

street lights, people

A/N: Hello, kind readers of this fic that I have taken entirely too long to update. I’m so sorry for the wait! And I also have to apologize because there is a whole first part of this that is stored on my computer, which is currently in the mail for repairs. I will post that part as well once it’s back, just please hold on and know that 1) there’s definitely context to being on Fennec’s bike in it and 2) there will be spicy things in the next part. Anyway, uh, if there’s typos I’m very sorry, and enjoy!

Description: Fennec and peds!Reader go on a date

Warnings: Some brief verbal harassment, brief description of dissociating, a little angst if you squint hard enough, Fennec and peds!Reader doing their thing 

Rating: T

Word count: 2.7K

January 24th 

Read part one here

You followed her out and down the lined path, hands sitting in the pockets of your jacket to keep warm. She threaded her arm through yours, and led you down the street to a book shop of all places.

“I remembered you telling me about that new series you wanted to read, something about gay witches? And you’re always talking about how much you want to go to the bookstore but you never do. So, go browse. I want to see what your process looks like.”

“Th—that’s really thoughtful. I don’t know that I really have a true process, but yeah let’s go look!” You opened the door for her, a light going on inside you as you got your first waft of bookstore smell: the paper, the ink. You got the first wave of the noise: the low music playing in the background, the people there talking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out any conversations happening, could barely hear that there were lyrics in the music. You stopped for a moment, scanning the layout of the room. Your eyes landed first on the display of bookmarks and postcards, making a mental note to get one or two of each to remember this little town so you could find it one day. But then your train of thought halted: could you come here alone?

Best not to dwell.

Your eyes resumed their scanning, noting the different sections. You wandered to the right, letting your gaze drift over the painting beside the door. It was line art of two bodies intertwined, splashed with color to resemble a galaxy where they met. The notecard below it gave the title and artist’s name. And a price. You were struck by how nice it would look on your art wall. But that was for another day.

You started your first pass through the stacks, letting your eyes skate over the spines of the books, pausing to read the note cards when they gave a recommendation from one of the workers. Your fingers started to take on a mind of their own, catching on books here and there, bringing them out for you to investigate. Every couple of them, you would open to the first page, let the author’s words try to entice you. You put most of them back, but a green paperback one with a bent cover stayed behind. You held it close as you continued on, pacing with no purpose at all. If someone didn’t know you, they would think you had a system, but really you were just letting yourself be on autopilot. That is, until you got to the section that housed the series you had read about and wanted.

“This is it!” You hoped your whisper would convey your excitement to Fennec. You had been watching book recommendation videos and this series had come up, promising both a love story and adventure. “I hope th—they do! They’ve got both!”

You plucked both the paperback and hardcover from the shelves, adding them to your little stash. Your small smile would not leave your face.

Fennec watched as you dragged yourself away from the section, mentally patting herself on the back for this idea. You looked so happy, at peace. If she was a part of that? She would consider herself both clever and immensely lucky. As she followed you back to one of the sections you had drifted through, she watched your perusing turn into a hunt. You furrowed your brow as you sank down to kneel and scan for what she wasn’t quite sure. She pulled two more books from the shelf.

“Have you read this one?” She held up a copy of a book called Circe.

“No, but someone at work was talking about it the other day.” She hoped you wouldn’t be disappointed, and wasn’t disappointed when you slid the book back into its place with a mischievous look. Fennec’s mind went straight into the gutter for a moment, imagining you in a very different situation but with the same look.

“Good, you’ll borrow my copy.” There was no arguing, it was a fact. She would.

You stood up again, still holding onto the other book. You were off again, and while she thought you clutching four books to your chest was possibly the cutest thing she had ever seen, you were going to drop one if you kept getting distracted. When you stopped again, she held her hands out.

“Here, let me carry them. You use your hands to browse.”

You nodded once and sank down again, grabbing one of the recommended titles and popping up again. You paused, before setting it on the pile Fennec was holding, warmth building in your face as she gave you one of her smiles.

You set off with one more stop in mind. The waiting room library at your office was lacking in chapter books as of late. You let your feet carry you to the children’s section.

“What are we doing here? I didn’t take you for the Warrior Cats type. “

“The selection of chapter books in my waiting room is looking a little sparse here lately. I want to see what the kids are into so I can update the wishlist.”

Fennec looked at you like you had suddenly turned purple with polka dots and sprouted antennae.

“I have a bookshelf in the waiting room, and I always make it clear to kids and parents that the books on it are meant to be read, cherished, read again, both while waiting and when they go home, with no expectation of return. The Little Golden Books usually do come back, just like most of the other books meant for the teeny-tinies. The chapter books get sparse and don’t tend to come back, but I like it that way. It means I’ve got another reader who gets to learn about the magic of words.”

“But where do the books come from?”

“Well, at first it was just me. There were some parents who made it very clear when I mentioned the shelf that they were perfectly capable of providing their kids with books and how dare I assume otherwise. There were others that you could tell were extremely grateful. There were also a few that had a problem with it but not for any good reason but I’m sure you know what kind of parents I’m getting at.”

She did.

“Then one day I was in the little shop in town and one of the little ones who had started on chapter books saw me and ran up, telling me all about how she had saved her allowance and she was able to get the sequel to the book she had gotten from me. The owner of the shop heard it, and when I went to buy the book I had picked out along with some chapter books for the waiting room, he told me he would let me start a wishlist and he would put it by the register for people to see and maybe buy one or two.”

“Do you usually get what you ask for?”

“It depends on the time of year. During the holidays people get more generous so it’s time to update the list. Hence the reading castle.” You gestured to the structure before you, an alcove that had a castle facade and was filled with still more books. “And the wall of chapter books.”

Before she could formulate a response, you had pulled out your phone and started making a list. Fennec watched you with an emotion she wasn’t sure how to name. The earnest way you took on your task had her pulling out her own phone while you weren’t watching to send a message to the garage group chat. When you had finished, you brushed a hand over her shoulder as you walked by.

You wandered to your last stop: the display at the front. You picked out a pack of bookmarks that were little magnetic trees before turning your attention to the display of postcards. You chose one that was a picture of the gazebo in the middle of town at night, surrounded by twinkle lights with “wish you were here” in small text at the bottom.

You walked up to the register and Fennec plopped your pile of finds on the counter.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The older salesperson behind the register had half a smirk on his face as he queried you. “I haven’t seen someone quite as methodical as you, even covered the section for children.”

You weren’t sure if the sarcastic tone was real or meant as a lighthearted joke, but either way you felt your cheeks warm again, and not in a good way. You wondered for a moment if the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You felt Fennec’s arm wrap its way around your torso again as the salesperson started ringing up the books.

“Being thorough is one of the best things about her. And this is just me, but I think it would be kind of nice if my kid’s pediatrician knew enough about what their media looked like to be able to talk to them at their level about things other than their health.”

“Oh so she’s a big kid is what you’re saying? What, does she play with dolls, or are toys more for the bedroom?” That definitely wasn’t meant in a kind way.

Fennec’s arm tightened around you before you got the chance to just slip away and out the door, as if she knew that was something you might do.

“I would stop talking about them if I were you.” Her voice was low, had taken on a dangerous edge that matched what others saw in her leather jacket.

He got the hint, hurrying up with the transaction. When the final total came up, you reached into your pocket, not really feeling anything for that moment or registering the number that flashed in your general direction. Before you could get your card liberated, Fennec was already sliding hers into the chip reader. You wanted to protest, wanted to tell her it was too much, but the interaction was a sea witch that had stolen your voice and you could only look on as the books and other small items were wrapped and put into a bag and Fennec was turning you in a circle to get you out of the shop.

You weren’t even aware that your feet had moved until you were in front of her bike and she had distributed the books into the two saddle bags. She faced you and put her hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You looked at her, answering her question with the question mark that had seemingly etched itself on your face.

“Hello? Earth to Doc? Are you in there?” She gave your shoulders a little shake, before she wrapped you in her arms. You finally felt like you could take a deep breath again as you rested your head in the crook of her neck, letting the pressure she was providing ground you again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the collar of her sweater.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He should be sorry. If he hadn’t stopped talking, I would have made him sorry.”

“I wanted to stop you from paying, it was too much.”

“No. I wanted to do that, it was the plan from the beginning.”

“Really?” You pulled back slightly, peeking at her, searching her face but not having much luck in the low light.

“Yes really. Now, I had something else planned, do you want to know what it is so you can decide if you still want to do it?”

You considered it, but the phantom hollow in your chest and the way your arms and legs still didn’t feel like they belonged to you gave you your answer.

“I want to know, but not yet. Keep it secret, show me next time. I’ve got my own idea though. Will you take me home? I want to show you the Books.”

***

You didn’t want to let go of her, but you needed to if you were going to go inside where it was warm. So you did. When she had taken the books out and put them back in their bag, you headed for the three steps that led up to the door of your half of the duplex. You unlocked the door, nearly dropping the keys because your hands were so cold. You caught them before Fennec could tease you about it.

You clicked on the light in the entryway, lighting the way as she took a few steps inside again. You took the bag from her, and nodded to your left. Behind the stairs to the loft, there was a doorway. You walked through it and to the right, knowing the room in the darkness. You stepped on the clicker for the floor lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow. You walked over to the electric fireplace that added some extra heat to the room, switching it on.

You went back to where she was standing in the doorway, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. You took them in yours and brought her in.

Her eyes widened as she took in the space.

The room screamed comfort. All four walls were covered by bookshelves that reached the ceiling, with two interruptions. The first was around the fireplace, if you could even call it that. There was a painting in front of it, but her eyes were too busy wandering to take it in just yet. Her gaze drifted to the window, where either you or the previous owners had built a seat large and plush enough to recline in. While that should have been the star of the room, it wasn’t.

In front of the fireplace was a massive sectional sofa. She was sure it had to have a pull out option you were taking advantage of because it looked more like a bed-sofa hybrid with the way the middle was seemingly filled to the brim with throw pillows and faux-fur blankets.

You stood watching her take it in, as she eventually started looking at the books lining the shelves, punctuated by the odd piece of memorabilia. There was such a variety, all alphabetized, with the only delineation by genre she could see being poetry and prose. As she browsed, you placed your books on the window seat, and from under it produced two stamps: one to mark the books as yours, and one to put a place for people who borrowed them to sign. Others always asked if it was to make sure they came back, but you always replied with no, it was to make sure people could see if they had borrowed them before. You put the books onto the rolling cart that already had a small pile to be put away. Some of them were new, some you had reread and needed to return.

Task complete, you perched on the back of the couch to watch her.

“I should start referring to you as a dragon. You’ve got quite the hoard, baby.” Her words were quiet, wrapped with kindness. “It’s impressive. Thank you for showing me this part of you.”

“I just really like them.” Your smile was growing as she got closer to you. You stood and wrapped yourself around her again. “Does that make you the maiden in need of rescue?”

“Oh, no, you can keep me here as long as you want. Besides, don’t you know the dragon needs saving too sometimes?”

“In that case…” You paused, stealing yourself. “Would you stay a while? I can make tea, we can read, if you’re okay with you could do that pressure thing again?”

“You mean will I hold you close, let you hide your face in my neck for a minute again? Let you whisper things you don’t think I’ll hear but I will anyway?”

You nodded once.

“In that case, I’ll do ‘that pressure thing’ for as long as you need me to. But you have to let me try out this couch nest thing because it looks amazing.”

“Of course, but the first rule of the dragon’s lair is this: no jackets.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More author’s notes: if you’re curious about what series peds!Reader was looking for, it’s These Witches Don’t Burn and its sequel by Isabel Sterling. She wants Fennec to read Circe by Madeline Miller, and she bought The Song of Achilles, also by Madeline Miller

Tagging: @phoenixhalliwell @promiscuoussatan @maybege @jangofctts 

[forever--darling]

not too far away - s.m. (part twelve)

a/n: where she goes and explains everything to everyone

warnings: 6.7k words of truth telling, text messages, and tears

XII. heaven’s not too far away pt. 1

him 

It was early in the morning, maybe around seven thirty or eight. Shawn wasn’t sure. He had gotten to the studio at six desperate to pull out his guitar and start putting together all of the loose lyrics that had been stuck in his head since he got to Canada then left again. Finally, he was able to let it all out. Everything he was feeling because of Y/N, finally he would be able to express it. 

Lounging in an office chair, back sinking into the cushions, he sat crossed leg with his guitar in his lap. He was plucking the strings, trying to find the right chord. His producers and other music writers were littered across the room, going through what they had gotten done already in the two-hour span that they had been at the studio. Finally, their attention was brought back to Shawn as his head fell back against the headrest of the chair and he let out a frustrated groan. His gaze moved from his guitar to each member of his staff.

“I think I’m going to take a break,” he announced, setting the guitar down next to the chair. He stood up shorts falling loosely around his hips. 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Teddy, one of Shawn’s music producers, replied standing up from where she was sat. 

Snatching his phone from a side table, Shawn bolted for the door to head into the hallway. He opened it up to his lock-screen and instantly smiled at the message that was displayed. “Hey superstar, don’t work yourself to death today. okay?” 

It was Y/N, because who else would it be. She was the first person, he called when his flight landed and then that night Facetimed her for three hours. He had been gone a whole twenty-four hours and was missing her like crazy. He was happy to be back in the studio and though trying to write hit singles was a long and frustrating process, he was relieved to be back to what he loved. That didn’t change though that the other part of him wanted to fly back to where his other love currently was. 

“No, promises, but I’ll try not too. What are you doing today?” he typed back. 

Dropping his arm, Shawn tapped his phone against his thigh impatiently and luckily within seconds his phone buzzed. There was an image and then a text. She had sent him a picture of her lounging on her couch, glasses on her nose, hair messy, and sat in one of his hoodies with a textbook in her hand. “This,” was the simple text. 

“All day?” he questioned. 

She was typing. The speech bubble was there and though they were only texting he still felt all giddy inside. “I don’t know, we’ll see what the day brings.” 

Quite the adventurer, Shawn thought to himself as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. “Whatever, happens I hope today is great. Facetime you later?” 

Buzz. “It’s a date. ;)” 

Sighing happily, he hugged his phone to his chest. He really had fallen and it never had felt like this before. Was this real? He felt like he should ask someone to pinch him because he felt like he was dreaming. Who knows maybe in a week or two, Andrew would let him go up to Canada for a weekend. If he was doing well in the studio and everything was in order, maybe no one would mind. He knew though that if that was going to happen, he needed to really push himself during the sessions. Try not to get too distracted and just focus on what sounds the best and most importantly what sounded like him. And if all else fails, the love that filled his heart would do the work for him. 

+

her

You can’t believe you just did that. You lied, again. There was no way you were going to be able to talk to Shawn later unless it was before six and being in Canada meant you were three hours ahead in time. I am a horrible person, you thought to yourself. Running your hands through your hair, you glanced down to the time on your phone. It was now eight. You should really get up and get going.  You had asked your boss for the day off a week ago when you scheduled the surgery and without a second to hesitate he obliged. Now, it would be a long day of visiting people and telling them about your situation. You only had until four before Demi would be picking you up to take you to the hospital to meet your family. 

From there the next two hours would be used for prep, for the surgery, and to calm the nerves that were currently bubbling in your stomach. Like you had been saying for days, a week, pretty much since you found out the cancer was back… you had a horrible feeling about the whole thing. You had been so lucky the first time and since leaving the hospital that day where you had been “cancer free” you had gained so many blessings. Shawn being the main one. He had appeared out of nowhere like a knight on a horse and didn’t only rescue your friendship but he rescued you. He might end up being the love of your life and he would never know because though you had been one of the lucky ones, now you were afraid that your luck was about to run out. 

You were beginning to scare yourself, your thoughts were turning against you and at this point, you were no longer feeling sane. So, with no other option, it was time. Time to get off your ass and reveal the truth so if the worst ended up to happen, those you loved could start their healing process. If things were to not go your way, you needed the truth to be lifted off your chest. Not only for you but everyone you cared about. They had the rest of their lives to live, and they couldn’t waste it grieving over how yours was cut short. You would never forgive yourself if you went to the grave without telling the people how much you loved them in person before it was too late. You had already done that once but came out lucky and you couldn’t have it happen again. 

So, you stood up from your couch and made your way to your bathroom. You took a long warm shower, using your favorite body wash, and then pulled on a pair of white jeans and a dark grey tank top. You paired it with a pair of white slip-on shoes, and a jean jacket. Straightening the short hair that you had, you pulled the back bits into a bun, pulling out a few pieces to frame the face. You even put in the effort to do your makeup, bronzed cheeks, tan lids, and a little bit of mascara. It was out of the ordinary for you but the simple action made you smile . 

A quarter from twelve, you packed up your car with everything you needed for the day and climbed into the driver’s seat, a pair of sunglasses resting on your nose. With the necklace Shawn gave you lying against your chest, you started the car and began to make your way towards the best book shop in the whole city. 

It was early, and you knew that Loretta had opened it up not too long ago. You parked in your normal parking spot near the door that never seemed to be taken. A bag was being carried in your left hand, as your car keys clinked in the other on the key-ring that also happened to have the key to Shawn’s apartment on it. Opening the old wooden door, the bell jingled above the door. Then came the door creaking as it slid against the floor and then the sweet smell of pumpkins. You would never get tired of that smell and the sound of that door. It was a place you wished you could be more often.

At the sound of the door, Loretta whipped around from behind the desk eyes going wide as they landed on you. She quickly emerged out and away from her chair that sat behind the desk and made her way towards you. Though your hands were full, she still pulled you into a tight hug. “Y/N, darling, what a nice surprise.” 

“Morning, Loretta,” you replied as the lady released you from her sometimes suffocating arms, and stroked your cheek like she often did when she saw you. 

“How have you been, my sweets? I wanted to tell you about how lovely your party was but didn’t get the chance before I left.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. There were just some things I needed to deal with.” you explained, hand self consciously tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. 

“It’s all good,” she sighed, hand rubbing your forearm gently, “I wanted to say that I’m proud of you and your father of course. What he did was in no way easy and I’m glad that you had told everyone what had happened.” 

You smiled, “Me too.” 

She smiled back as her eyes fell to the bag in your hand, obviously growing curious, “Oh, and what’s this?” 

“Well, I brought you something,” you said, moving over towards the desk to put the bag on top. 

Loretta still had a smile on her face but now was a little confused, “What for?” 

“I don’t know, just because,” you shrugged not finding it in yourself to admit it that second. 

Not able to take her curious eyes scanning you any longer, you turned and reached inside the bag pulling out the object which turned out to be a yellow hardcover book with some purple detailing on the front. Loretta’s eyes drew to it immediately. “Y/N, what is that?” 

A mischievous smile had formed on your lips as you handed her the book, “Well, it just so happens to be your favorite book but first edition.” 

At that, her mouth dropped and her eyes had widened. Tears were quickly forming as she glanced back and forth from the book in her hands to you. As she stared at you speechless, you could hear that familiar sound of four little feet bouncing off the floor. Looking towards where the sound was coming from, the first thing you noticed was the big floppy ears. Lou jumped towards you, the pads of his feet starting to paw at your legs. 

You chuckled as you bent down to the pet the mutt’s head, fingers then running over the soft fur that covered his ears. “Hi, Lou. Don’t you worry, buddy because I got you something too.” 

With that, you stood back up and reached into the bag again, pulling out a brown collar that had books printed on it. Loretta gasped again, this time louder as you handed her the collar. She had small tears falling down her round cheeks and she stared at you in disbelief and in happiness. “Y/N, where did you find this book?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you responded hands reaching out to cradle hers that were shaking. 

“Yes it does.” 

“It really is nothing,” you assured her as the smile on your face dropped a little as you stared at this woman that you cared so much about. 

She was someone you looked up too and often was envious of all the kindness that filled her soul. Her life hadn’t been a walk in the park and she deserved way more than she had been given and you were so happy that she turned it around and now was where she was. She was truly an extraordinary woman who was making a change in the world one book at a time, as corny as that sounded. 

Another tear rolled down her face, “It really does. This means everything. What made you want to do this?” 

At that question, you grew silent and you smiled at her sadly as if you weren’t able to get the words out. She was the first person on your list to tell and you didn’t even have to guts to do that. But within an instance, it seemed like you wouldn’t have to. Her smile had quickly faded and her tears had stopped for a mere second but at the realization, they began to fall again, this time faster. 

“Oh, honey,” she cried, gripping your hand, “Please tell me it isn’t true.” 

You held back the tears gathering in your eyes because you knew if you were going to make it through going to see everyone else you couldn’t cry. “We both know I can’t do that.” 

“How bad is it?” she asked timidly. 

“Not bad enough that I need chemo but still just as bad that I need to have surgery,” you mumbled, eyes locked onto her chocolate ones that were swimming with tears. 

It became silent for a second. “When?” 

You sighed squeezing her hands, “Tonight, and if it’s not too much to ask I would like you and Demetrius to come to the hospital right before. In case it goes long, you don’t need to stay but-” 

She cut you off, “Baby, we’ll be there.” 

You smiled thankfully as Loretta began to wipe at the tears on her face, “Thank you. Now, is Demetrius around so I can tell him what’s going on.” 

Loretta gained back that smile. The one on her face that was small but filled with so much kindness it could lift anyone's spirits on a bad day. “Yeah. He’s back in the corner. In that green velvet chair, you love so much.” 

That smile on your face got twice as large at the new found fact and with one more squeeze to Loretta’s palms you bolted towards the back, bag in your hand, and Lou chasing after your feet. You ventured back into the deep depths of the shelves and as you turned the corner, you set your eyes on a Demetrius Xavier sat tucked in your chair with To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf in his hands, that coral shaded bookmark you had left still sat within the page you had been reading the last time you were in the shop. 

Demetrius had always thought it was your favorite but it wasn’t. Sure, you read it maybe a hundred times but that’s only because they managed to sell out of the book that was your favorite and you always forgot to bring yours from home. So every single time you would settle with Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse.

“Well, look what we have here,” you joked as Demetrius’s head lifted at the sound of your voice, “You’re reading Virginia Woolf.” 

He smiled, it seemed different from when he usually smiled at you, but it was still a smile, “Yes, I am. I learned from one of the biggest book nerds that it’s a good read.” 

“Well, I would agree with that book nerd. She seems very smart,” you laughed, leaning against a nearby bookshelf as you all of a sudden could feel a small wet nose nudging at your ankle. 

It was Lou, not a surprise at all. 

“She is smart,” Demetrius replied, closing the book in his lap, thumb marking his page, “And beyond beautiful. All I can do is hope that she isn’t taken from us too soon.” 

Your smile dropped and all joking behavior was set aside. Biting onto your bottom lip, you began to fiddle with your fingers, nervousness showing in your actions. 

“I heard you,” he answered your unvoiced question, “It may be a long way back here but the shelves aren’t very thick and the voices carry through the long hallway.” 

“Oh,” it slipped. The very word that seemed to ruin every moment you had with someone. 

Demetrius frowned, “You're having surgery tonight and all you can say is ‘oh’?”

“Yes,” you admitted, gaze locking onto the books above his head not able to look at him, “There is no other way to deal with the fact that this might be the last time I see you.” 

He didn’t respond at first. Instead, the warmth of his hand slipping in yours was what caused your eyes to look back at him. He was standing in front of you, close, book forgotten on the chair. “It’s not going to be the last time.” 

His stare was intense like he was so sure that you would make it through to tomorrow. At first, you didn’t notice his eyes moving to your lips but once they did you knew that every gut feeling and everything Demi had said about Demetrius was true. He had some sort of feelings for you. Ones that you weren’t going to be able to give back to him. Glancing back to your eyes then down to your lips again, you knew that whatever he was about to do couldn’t happen. 

“I brought you something,” you exclaimed, suddenly, slipping out of where you were standing between him and the bookshelf. Grabbing the last item out of the bag, you looked back towards Demetrius with a smile gracing your lips, like you hadn’t noticed his lingering stare. “If you had to name my favorite book right now what would you say?” 

“Easy, To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf,” he said, sounding so sure of himself. 

“Wrong.” 

That’s when he became confused, “What, that’s totally your favorite book.” 

“It’s actually not,” you chuckled. 

“Then what is it?” Demetrius asked, arms crossing over his chest. You then took the item that was behind your back and handed it over to him. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.” 

“Yes,” you confirmed, “You see it’s such a popular book that Loretta never has it in stock so instead I just settle with Woolf because it’s not a problem. This though is my all time favorite book and I know that you have never read it. Any of them in fact, so I was hoping for me that you would.” 

A smile formed on his face, “For you, I would do anything.” 

It was sweet but it didn’t sound like something a friend would say to a friend. It felt like more and you needed to set the story straight. Eyes locking with your shoes on the floor, you asked before you changed your mind. “Demetrius, do you like me?” 

His face turned to one of confusion, “Of course I like you.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you whispered, head lifting to meet his eyes. 

You were calling him out and he didn’t look terrified one bit because he was sure of his feelings and that was something you could see on his face. “I know and I do. I shouldn’t because of how you feel about Shawn but I can’t help it.”

You felt relief wash over you, he wasn’t trying to do anything to get with you. He knew of what you wanted and simply was a man who couldn’t help what he was feeling. You pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping around his torso. “Please, promise me that you’ll find someone and stop holding onto what you feel about me. Demetrius, you deserve so much more. You deserve someone who feels the same way and I just need you to promise that you’ll try and to find that person.” 

It was a simple answer and though you were breaking a small piece of his heart, he answered like he knew this was going to happen all along and he was okay with it. “For you, anything.” 

+

After you had spent more time with Loretta and Demetrius, just talking about the surgery, you had bid a goodbye. You had hugged them both and got into your car, not daring to glance through the front store window, too scared to see the looks still enveloped on their faces. 

The next person you went to see was Demi. Though you were going to see her late so she could drive you, you felt like you needed to see her. Besides Shawn, she was the best friend that had been with you through thick and thin. She was one of your favorite people in the world and there was no one else that you felt as sure about being your friend as Demi. She was a light and on days in the hospital where it seemed completely unbearable, she was there to lift your spirits with her unique sense of humor and love and care that she had as a best friend. You were internally grateful for her existence and knew without her you maybe wouldn’t be where you are now, both emotionally and mentally. 

She was a catch, a queen, and the most beautiful woman you knew and if there was one thing you were sure about it was that if you didn’t make it and James does not treat her right, you’re older brother would be the first person you were going to haunt. 

Parking the car, you could already see Demi through the front window. She was working at a fashion store at the moment as she finished up her last few years of college, and you wouldn’t deny that one of the reasons you came to see her on her lunch break so often was because she gave a discount on the clothes. Instead of a bag this time, you were carrying a wooden box. One that was filled with so many memories, all that could never go forgotten... by anyone. 

There Demi was, sat on top of the counter with the cash register, not caring about her bosses rules because there were no customers at all in the store. She had a can of Coca-Cola next to her as she talked, hands moving in the air to her co-worker. That was your best friend alright, you thought to yourself as you walked in causing her to leap from the counter obviously thinking you were a customer but felt relieved when she saw you. That calmness though only lasted for about ten seconds before she started to freak out. 

“What are you doing here? What the fuck is wrong?” she crossed the room to get to you and then began to scan your body, knowing that if there was something wrong with you cancer wise she wouldn’t be able to see it, but she still looked anyways. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said. laughing lightly. 

She sighed, hand reaching up to clutch her chest, “Don’t scare me like that. Now, what’s up. I thought I’m not supposed to come get you until four.” 

“You’re not but I needed to come see you and I was hoping you could take your lunch break.” 

She was cautious with your words but still accepted your offer, “Yeah, of course.” 

As soon as she agreed with you, you led her out of the store and about a block away to a nearby park you had only been to once in your whole time of living in the city, and the whole walk there Demi whined. Which you knew she would. You found a bench and sat down on it with Demi following. She looked around the park before her gaze moved back to you. 

“You couldn’t just talk to me at work but instead bring me a whole block away to a park?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, I did,” you said gripping the box in your hand. 

“Okay,” she shrugged, taking her lunch box that she had brought with and unzipped it pulling out what she had packed for lunch. 

“Do you have to eat right now?” you asked giving her an irritated look. 

“Well this is my lunch break and I am fucking starving,” she argued, beginning to eat her strawberries. 

You sighed, “Dem, this will only take a minute, I promise.” 

She could see how important this clearly was and put the food aside. With that, you handed her the wooden box that was plain out the outside, not giving a clue of what was inside. She stared at it for a second in her lap before she looked back at you, “What is this?” 

“Just open it,” you said, impatiently. 

And without another word spoken, she did. Under the top was a picture of you and her at your birthday party. You both had your bodies facing each other as you looked at the camera. Hands that were closest to the camera were intertwined with each other while your other arms were wrapped around the other. Your smiles were so bright and so happy like they always were when you were together, and it warmed your heart that you had had such a strong friendship with someone. 

Around the picture were golden stars that you had glued on along with little pieces of gold confetti. Within the box though was a bunch of different stuff. From your favorite pair of comfy socks that she always stole when you were over, to the one movie you watched over and over again since you heard you had cancer, The Fault in Our Stars. You also threw in Just Friends with Ryan Reynolds in case it was too depressing to keep watching The Fault in Our Stars over and over again. Scattered around the inside, there were multiple pictures of your friendship over the year, one from Prom that had your corsage taped to the bottom because that night Demi had treated you better than your own date. There was another of you and her at a fancy restaurant eating some kind of exotic cake for her birthday.

You also added in her favorite perfume and lastly a charm bracelet. There were multiple charms to represent the crazy adventures you had, like a boat, for the time you had let her drove one on the lake and almost crashed it. You also added a wand for both of your obsessions for Harry Potter. But though those all meant something none of them were like the plastic pink butterfly in the middle. 

The rest were silver and you had bought for the bracelet, but that butterfly you had added. Crazy enough it used to be on this thick plastic pink chain you had gotten for your sixth birthday from Demi. You had loved that necklace so much that you wore it every day for three whole years before you lost it. You eventually found it again and after that you swore you never would lose it again. 

 “Y/N/N,” she was speechless and the only thing that could come from her mouth was your name. 

You gave her the biggest smile you could muster because she was one of the only people that could make you smile that big, “Demi, I just wanted to say that I love you. A lot. You’re my best friend, and don’t say anything about Shawn, because though he has always had the title so do you. You have been by my side through everything and even when I had gotten sick you had made time for me. You brought a kind of support and friendship to my life that I could never repay you for. There’s a chance that things might not work out but this is how I want you to remember me,  always. You truly are one of the most important people in my life and I did this so you know how much I love you and how blessed I am to have you in my life.” 

There it was. The tears. Those Demi tears that didn’t make a showing for many people. She was sniffling too and you knew that she wasn’t going to be able to say anything back after the speech of gratitude you just pulled out. So, instead, she hugged you. Hugged you, the way a friend does. She poured all of her feelings out in the way she held you and you knew that you would never find a better partner in crime than here. 

“And there’s one more thing,” you mumbled, moving back to look at her tear stained cheeks, “I want you to know that you can date my brother. I’m giving you permission.” 

Her eyes moved away from your gaze like she was scared to admit that. Scared to tell you of her feelings for James but you both had an idea that you already knew because just like the back of your hand you knew Demi. 

“You don’t have to deny it because I see everything that’s been going on since the night of my birthday to the secret texts and the dates that you are going on but claim are with some guy who is into marketing. I just want you to know that though it’s a little weird, I don’t mind because I am not going to stand in the way of what makes you two happy.” 

More tears fell from her brown eyes and because you were sure her throat was closing up due to her trying to hold back more tears, she just grabbed you for another hug instead of struggling to find her words. This was fine with you because you knew what she was trying to say.

+

This was going to be the hardest. You knew that as you walked into that restaurant to see the three of them sat at that table. Happy and smiling. You knew you could turn around, not tell them, and pretend that everything was fine but then you thought about your parents, you thought about Shawn. It was the right thing to do. Which is why you sucked it up.There was no more time to be scared, so you walked over to the table and took a seat in that fourth chair. 

“Y/N, dear, how are you?” Karen asked, hand reaching out to touch your arm. 

You smiled, “I’m okay. And you?” 

“Lovely, thank you for asking,” she replied. 

“Nice to see you, kid,” Manny said from across the table to which you nodded in reply. 

Then there was Aaliyah. Sweet, funny Aaliyah. Fifteen years old, not much older than when you first found out about your sickness. She was going to take it the hardest you knew that. She was smiling at you and you couldn’t imagine the look that would be on her face after this lunch. 

“I know you’re probably all wondering why I made you drive all the way to the city,” you started, hands fiddling with the black frame in your lap. 

Karen could see the anxiety that was forming and grasped your hand in hers, “Whatever it is, just take a deep breath and tell us.” 

You did as she said, you took a deep breath, and handed them the frame. It was a picture, taken in the summer at a lake house your families had gotten together. Both your family and the Mendes family were stood on the dock in front of the sunset. You were standing in between Shawn and Aaliyah and next to her was James. Both sets of parents stood behind the four of you and nothing but smiles were present on everyone's faces. It was funny because right after that picture, Shawn tried to push you in the lake but the joke was on him because you ended up taking him with you. 

Karen, Manny, and Aaliyah stared at the picture then glanced at you. They were smiling at the fond memory but weren’t sure with what your point was with the picture. You took another deep breath, “As long as I can remember, your family has been there with mine. You all have done so much for me and James and my parents. I wanted to say thank you.”

“Y/N, we are happy that you feel this way but hun what else is going on to make you feel like you have to say this?” Karen asked, eyes locked onto you. 

You sighed, fingers tapping against the table, “At my birthday party, you all got to know the truth of what I had gone through and my dad had never been so relieved to announce that his daughter was cancer free which it turns out I’m not anymore. I went to the hospital a little bit ago and there are new Mets.” 

Their faces dropped and all traces of happiness from moments ago were gone because of you. You knew this would be the result of today, you were telling people something they feared for you but it was what you were supposed to do. You had to rip the band-aid off because the sooner you do that the sooner the pain will start to go away. It was a healing process. 

“To remove the cancer cells, I am having surgery tonight at around six o’clock and if you could, I would really like you to be there before I go. You all are so important to me and it would just mean a lot if you were there. I am sorry it’s so last minute.”

That’s when Manny nodded, “Yeah, of course, we’ll go.” 

It brought a smile to your face, “Thank you so much.” 

“Of course, we are going to be here for you every step of the way,” Karen spoke a sad smile on her face. 

The only one who hadn’t talked was Aaliyah. She was staring at with you such large, sad eyes while she bit on her lip to hold in her emotions. You looked towards her hoping she would say something and as her eyes locked with yours, her mouth opened but what came out was something you never expected. 

“Shawn?” she questioned, “What about Shawn?” 

That drew both Manny and Karen’s attention too because for a few minutes they forgot about their son who was in LA recording songs for his next album at the moment. “He doesn’t know,” you admitted. 

You had never seen Karen and Manny look so conflicted before. They probably wanted to tell him but also didn’t want to upset you. You knew that by the way, they were looking at you, they were a little lost with what do to. You had to say it, you needed to assure them of all of their doubts and worries. 

“I need you to know,” you paused, trying to catch your breath, “That I’m in love with your son, so completely. And it hurts me to not have him here, trust me it does but I think that it would break him if he had to watch me go through this. He needs to stay in LA and sing and just get back to being Shawn Mendes. It’s just something I had to say because I do, I love him.” 

“Thank you.” Karen replied tears in her eyes, “I know that he holds a special place in his heart for you.” 

“I’m going to tell him. I promise. He is going to know by tonight,” you confirmed, glancing back and forth between the three members of the Mendes family that stood in front of you. 

They didn’t say much else, you knew that they wanted to but held back for you. You were going through something that they couldn’t even imagine and though they may have not agreed with your decisions, they accepted them for the time being and that’s all anyone could ever ask for. 

+

You had one more place to stop at before you had to head back to your apartment and then leave with Demi for the hospital. It should be a quick spot because you knew that there was no possible way this person could stand having you around for more than a few minutes. That or they might not even see you at all which, either way, it didn’t matter because you had things to say and they were going to be heard. You parked the car a street down, away from the building. It was tall and made of windows. Expensive and chic. Everything that successful men and women got to see every day when they worked there. That was a life that you were maybe never going to see but that wasn’t such a bad thing. 

Going in through the revolving door, you asked around until you found which floor was the place you needed to go which took at least ten minutes to get the information. The floor was used for the higher staff who worked at the magazine company. There were writers, editors, assistants to the writers and editors. It was a place that was full of important people who probably wished to not spend their important time on you. You had taken the elevator and as soon as you walked off and onto the floor, you came face to face with a receptionist sitting at her desk. She had a headset on her head and was scribbling down notes like crazy. It took you almost two minutes to get her attention. 

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find a Lauren Arendse,” you politely asked which didn’t change the uptight face that was on the receptionist. 

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, snobbishly. 

“Uh, no but I’m an old friend of hers from school and I really needed to see her,” you said pleadingly. 

She stared at you for around twenty seconds like she was trying to see if you were telling the truth. She blinked and just pulled her ponytail tighter on her head as she began to dial on a phone. “What’s your name?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you replied watching as the receptionist leaned back in her chair as the phone rang before she finally began to talk into the phone, meaning someone had clearly picked it up. “Ms. Arendse, there is a Y/N Y/L/N here to see you, claims that she went to school with you. Do you want me to send her to your office.” 

There was a moment of silence, signaling that Lauren was talking on the other side of the phone and just as it was starting to feel like forever, the receptionist hung up and turned back towards you. “I’m sorry but Ms. Arendse is in a bit of a crisis right now.” 

“Oh, okay,” you said, voice sounding disappointment as you fiddled with a white envelope in your hand, “I understand. In that case, do you think you could give this to her, for me? It’s important.” 

The receptionist could see how desperate you looked and for those last few seconds didn’t seem like a total witch, “Sure.” 

She took the envelope from you and put it down on her desk just as you turned to make your way back into the elevator. You weren’t surprised at all, that Lauren didn’t want to see you. That was the whole point of the letter because you knew this was going to happen and she still needed to hear what you had to say; about your cancer, Shawn, and the old friendship you used to have with her.

You told her of the importance of what it was like to live in the moment and to forget about everything that had happened in the past. Because when you're constantly thinking about yesterday how can you ever plan for tomorrow? It was quite simple; laugh like it’s the only thing that can cure a broken heart and love like it will all be gone tomorrow. You only have so much time, before it runs out and there’s no point wasting it on someone and something that is no longer a part of your life, or matters to who you are. 

Everyone dies at one point and if they were right about anything it was that forgiveness sets you free. If there was a chance you were going to make it to whatever afterlife there was, you couldn’t have extra weight on your shoulders weighing you down. This was your life, the one you had to deal with, and now you had told everyone. They all knew and the truth was heartbreaking. It wasn’t hard a thing to do, just sad, but now… now, it was time to go and deal with the real hard stuff.

next part

[chelsfic]

Magic Words - Donald Pierce x Reader - Logan/X-Men fanfic

Part One (Loving Mourners Be)

A/N: This is a sequel to Loving Mourners Be. More self-indulgent Boyd fic. The relationship that’s portrayed here? It’s not healthy. Don’t...don’t do this, please. No one should use my fics as relationship advice, lol. 

Summary: The reader is a mutant prisoner in a relationship with her captor, Donald Pierce. 

Warnings: Unhealthy/abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut, Praise Kink, Angst Ahoyyy! Donnie wakes with the memory of your kiss on his lips. He’s been dreaming about the last night you spent together at his apartment. Holding you after you make love and lazily claiming your mouth with open mouthed kisses. You taste like ketchup and love and fear. Your soft little body curls up next to his; he could crush you if he wanted. Crumple you up and throw you away like the other mutants he hunts. But he’d never. In his dream he hears your voice. Your words. I love you. I love you. I love you.

In his dream he says them back.

---

He finds you in the medical wing, being escorted by a nurse out of an exam room. He stalks toward you like a predatory cat hunting its dinner. His blue eyes are dark and wild with suppressed desire. He’s been itching with the memory of the dream all day. If he doesn’t sink himself inside you soon he’s going to snap. 

He swoops in and takes you by the arm, waving the nurse away, “I’ll take her from here.”

Transigen’s Chief of Security doesn’t answer to anyone except Zander Rice. The nurse demurs, backing away without meeting Donald’s eyes. He propels you further down the hall, his long strides forcing you to skip along beside him to keep up. Finally, he reaches his destination: a supply closet. He opens the door and practically shoves you inside. 

Once the door clicks shut, Donnie is on you, his hand slipping under the thin cotton fabric of your t-shirt, beneath the drawstring waistband of your hospital pants and cupping your hot core. His fingers dip inside your panties, stroking your already wet folds as he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. 

“Been thinkin’ about you since I woke up this morning, baby,” he whispers into your kiss.

You bring your hands up to his collar, impatiently pushing the heavy jacket off his shoulders before working on the column of buttons separating your hands from his muscled chest. Your lips respond to his, frantically returning the kiss. Everything is rushed, frenzied. You never have enough time--not here. When you’re out on a mission? When Donnie is feeling generous and horny? Sure. But within these walls your time together is always fleeting. 

“I think about you all the time,” you admit, tugging at his belt. He gets the message and takes his hands from you to undo his belt and shove his pants down. You discard your own pants--nothing more than pajamas, really--and in one swift motion he’s pinning your hips to the wall and sinking inside you with a deep growl of pleasure. 

“You think about me all the time, baby? I’m flattered…,” he huffs as he starts rocking his hips, slamming into you. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head so you won’t hit it against the wall. He uses the robotic arm to support your bottom. 

“Not much--ah! Not much else to...think about in here. Nothing good, anyway,” you respond between gasps of pleasure. You bury your face into the crook of Donnie’s neck, digging your teeth into the soft flesh to muffle your cries. 

“Thatta girl, baby. You’re so good for me. So, you think I’m something good, huh?” he asks breathlessly, his voice lilting in a self deprecating tone. Before you can reply he jerks his hips at a new angle, hitting you just right until you feel like you’ll either come or burst at the seams.

You raise your head from his neck, tasting copper on your tongue as you keen into his ear, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Donnie tumbles into his own orgasm, his arms tightening around you like he’s trying to absorb you into his being. Or like he’s trying to say something with his body that he can’t with his words. 

“Donnie,” you whisper as he slowly sets you back down on your wobbly legs. “I don’t know if you’re good. But you’re very good at that.”

---

The kid’s screams are still ringing in Donald’s ears as he strides purposely down the sterile hallways toward the adult wing. Dr. Rice wanted to test the limits of the specimen’s healing abilities. The experiment went on for hours until the kid hung limp in the chair with open wounds that wouldn’t close. Rice looked on with cold eyes, taking down careful notes on his tablet. And Donald stood by, too, watching the torture session with a bored expression. 

His head aches and he feels like shit. He should go home, get some rest. But his footsteps automatically lead him in the direction of your cell. He tries not to make it a habit--visiting you between jobs. He doesn’t want to spoil you...put ideas in your head. So he holds out as long as possible. It’s been weeks since the supply closet. He knows what the long days of monotony are like for you. He checks the video feed from your room every day, sees you staring listless into space, pacing the tiny room, cringing whenever the door opens to admit an orderly. He tells himself it’s good for you to be reminded of your place, despite the special treatment he gives you. You’re still a mutant. He can’t let you forget that. He can’t let himself forget either.

Before he gets to your door he takes out his phone and remotely turns off the camera in your room. Your “relationship” is an open secret and Dr. Rice tolerates it because you’ve improved the team’s efficiency in tracking down assets. But there’s no point in being reckless.

He punches in the security code and lets himself in, finding you seated on your little twin bed, bent over a hardcover book in your lap. When you look up at his entrance your face is tense with anxiety, but it melts away when you see who it is. 

“Hey, baby,” he grunts, stomping over to collapse next to you on the bed. He really is exhausted. “What are you readin’?”

You watch him for a moment before you answer. Cautious. He looks like shit. Tired. Irritable. Something in the back of your mind warns you this is going to be a bad night. Still, you flip the book over to show him the cover of a generic looking spy thriller, “One of the nurses brought in a bunch of books this morning. Gabriela. She’s nice.”

You feel Donald stiffen beside you and he rolls his eyes as he responds, “She’s too nice for her own good. She should know better by now.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at his words. Donnie truly doesn’t seem to understand how his attitude affects you. He cares for you--you know he does even if he’s never admitted it out loud--and yet he disdains what you are. How can he separate those things in his head?

“You don’t want me to have something to read?” you ask, your voice brittle and softer than you’d like. You shove the book at him and scoot further away on the bed, “Fine. Take it.”

Donnie let’s out an annoyed sigh, “C’mon, darlin’ that’s not what I meant--”

“Why shouldn’t she be nice to us, Donald? We’re people...we’re human beings. I’m human,” your voice is thick with emotion and tears spill over your cheeks. Fuck, you’re ruining everything. Why can’t you just shut up and let him give you what he’s willing to give? It’s so much easier that way…

You can already see him shutting down, his eyes going cold and his handsome features twisting into a grimace of rage.

“You know what? No. This is not what I need right now,” he stands up to leave and you feel a flash of panic. You might be angry and hurt, but you’ve been isolated for weeks and you don’t want him to leave you behind again.

“Donnie, wait!” you cry out, following him to the door and putting your arm on his elbow to stop him. He turns to look down at you, his expression still stormy and dark. “Don’t leave me here, Donnie,” you plead.

He shakes his head, the pain in his temples slowing down his thought process, “You know I can’t take you with me unless there’s a hunt--”

“That’s not…” you falter for a second, losing your nerve. Are you really asking him this? Now? “That’s not what I mean, Donald. Please. I’m dying in here. Slowly. If you get me out of here I can still--I can still help the team…”

The words dry up on your tongue as you see the look on his face. If he was angry before, he’s positively furious now. He raises his robotic hand and wraps the fingers around your throat, tightening his grip threateningly, but not enough to cut off your airway. His blue eyes blaze with fury as he leans down inches from your face and hisses, “You fuckin’ mutie. I should have known. You’ve been playing a long game, huh? You think just because I’m fuckin’ you that I’ll betray the mission? For you? A genetic fuck up? That’s not how this works. You lose.”

He lets go abruptly, dropping you on weak legs that collapse beneath you leaving you sprawled on the floor. You watch him storm out without a backward glance. You stagger back to your bed, curling up under the thin blanket and pressing your face into your pillow so you can cry without making a sound.

---

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Time to earn your keep.”

You haven’t seen Donnie since the fight but it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten. His eyes are closed off as he shakes you awake, grabbing your arm and practically dragging you from bed. Your sleepy eyes widen as he secures the heavy cuffs around your wrists. It’s not that Donnie is usually soft or sentimental during a job. But he hasn’t felt the need to cuff you since the early days after your capture. You know what this is. He’s punishing you. Reminding you of your status. Like you need reminding. 

His silence is oppressive as he leads you through Transigen’s labyrinth of hallways. You look up at him, admiring his profile despite yourself. His pouty lips, his long, elfin nose, his bold eyebrows. You love every part of him. Even the grotesque skull and crossbones tattooed to his throat. Even the cruelty that falls from his lips like his native language. The prospect of spending the rest of your days locked away here without even the relief of your lover’s touch is too much to bear.

“Donnie, I-- I won’t ask you that again, okay?”

He spares you a quick glance before returning his gaze straight ahead, “Not the time, darlin’.”

Your shoulders slump at his clipped words.

“I just want--” What do you want? Too much…but right now you’d settle for a return to the status quo.

Donnie rounds on you, pressing you up against the wall and crowding you with his much bigger frame. The fact of Donnie’s physical strength is never far from your thoughts. He’s a big, powerful man. He can make you feel safe and protected or hunted depending on his mood. 

He dips his head until you’re cheek to cheek and rumbles into your ear, “Yeah, well, baby--It don’t matter what we want, does it?”

---

“Do your thing.”

You’re pulled over on the side of an empty two-lane highway. Acres of corn field hug the road on either side. It’s just you and Donnie standing in the scraggly grass. You’re scouting ahead while the rest of the team, with their armored vehicles and heavy equipment, follow a few miles behind. Donnie unlocks the cuffs from your wrists and hands you a grainy photograph. It’s a still shot of security footage showing a young woman with dark hair crossing the street in front of a bank. You can’t make out much detail in her features, but you don’t need much. Just a signature, a feeling to lock onto. 

You place your palm on the photo and close your eyes, expecting a faint trace, a hint of a direction, but the rush of immediacy that floods your brain is shocking.

“She’s here somewhere! I feel her close, Donnie, maybe within a hundred yards…”

Donnie’s hand goes to his side arm automatically, he moves to stand in front of you, effectively shielding you from any danger that might be coming from the...rows and rows of corn that surround your vehicle. 

“Where the fuck--?”

“I don’t know! I can’t get more specific…Definitely...yeah, this side of the road, for sure.”

Donnie turns and opens up the passenger door of the SUV, “Get in. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

You pause getting into the car, “Shouldn’t you wait for back up?”

“Just wait here,” he grinds out and vanishes into the cornstalks.

You sit back in the leather seat and pop the lock on the door for good measure. The trace of the mutant’s presence still lingers in your mind and you strain your eyes staring into the impenetrable rows of corn trying to pinpoint the exact location. It’s useless, though, and you give up after a few minutes. The empty silence unnerves you and you feel yourself automatically reaching out for Donnie, as if you could track him like you can other mutants. Please be okay.

Your eyes roam over the interior of the SUV and are suddenly arrested by the sight of the key fob sitting on the center console. Your breath catches in your throat and you immediately whip your head around, expecting to be caught out by yourself with the means of your escape. But the road is deserted, Donnie is nowhere in sight...and you could leave. Right now. Drive until you find some place safe. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. This is it. Your chance. 

The silence is suddenly shattered by an ear splitting howl. You watch as a trail of cornstalks snap with the fury of a hurricane force wind and Donnie flies through the air like a rag doll landing in a heap on the road in front of the SUV. His body is limp and unmoving. Without any conscious thought you leap from the vehicle and sprint toward him. Your eyes scan the field, but there’s no sign of the hostile mutant. You fall to your knees on the hard cement and lift your lover’s head into your lap.

“Donnie! Oh my god--Donnie, wake up!” 

You brush your fingers through his hair and they come away bloody. There’s a wound at the back of his head that’s pouring buckets of blood. Your vision swims as panic clenches a cold fist around your heart. He can’t die. You know...god, you should want him dead. But you love him. Fuck. 

“Please, wake up,” you whisper tearfully, gently stroking his cheeks. It feels like hours but it must be only a minute later than this eyelids flutter open and you feel relief flood through you at the sight of those beautiful blue eyes. “Donnie? Can you hear me?”

He’s already trying to sit up, but a wave of dizziness sends him crashing back into your lap. His vision swims and his head feels like it’s going through a god damn meat grinder. He looks up and you’re looking down at him with a watery smile and red-rimmed eyes. The target’s gone. Back up is miles down the road. He’s injured. And you’re...you’re still here.

“What...what are you doin’, baby? This is your chance,” he grunts against the pain, settling his head more firmly in your lap and shutting his eyes as your cool palms come to rest on his cheeks. 

“Don’t try to talk, Donnie. The reavers will be here soon and they’ll...they’ll bring you back to Transigen and get you fixed up.”

Donnie opens his eyes to squint up at you in confusion, “What are you talking about, Y/N? Why aren’t you running?”

You stare down into your lovers eyes, asking yourself the same question. You know the answer. You’re just not particularly proud of it.

“I won’t leave you, Donnie... I love you,” you admit. It’s the first time you’ve said the words to him outside the context of sex. He stares up at you wide-eyed, like you’ve just sprouted feathers. You shut your eyes to the truth, letting tears fall and land on his stupid, handsome face as the sound of screeching tires and crunching gravel alert you to the arrival of the rest of the team. 

“Hey,” Donnie’s voice is strained against the pain. You open your eyes to find him looking up at you with a look you’ve never seen before. He looks...afraid. 

“I love you, too,” he says and then falls unconscious.

Boyd Holbrook Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy​ @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook 

[nomadmilk]

Why the God Isn’t Bored on Midgard - Loki x F!Reader Drabble - 7

Summary: With Ragnarok decimating Asgard, Thor and Loki and their people return to Earth searching for refuge. Everyone else has seemed to settle, except for Loki - the God of Mischief and Chaos - who isn’t willing to live the domesticated Midgard life, and getting utterly bored out of his mind... Until he discovered you.

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Rated M/18+. The return of the jerk ex. Mentions of sex, and sex things.

Author’s Note: I’m stuck inside reading, playing Animal Crossing, and writing this :) Let me know what you think, and enjoy <3 Hoping to get more parts up soon!

Here are the other parts to the series: Part 1     Part 2 Part 3     Part 4 Part 5     Part 6 Part 7     Part 8 (First Half)     Part 8.5 (Second Half) Part 9

It seemed like you hadn’t come to terms as to what happened at Stark’s party. Loki assumed you were too stubborn and shy to actually say anything, and resorted to your usual plan in being distracted; working.

You did the tasks; helping women with recommending lingerie, funny gifts that might actually get the ball rolling for couples, and even did the boring stuff like keeping count of stock and if there was anything that needed to be delivered. You were even able to talk and gossip with your new colleagues. Over folding and hanging pieces and products, you talked briefly about past work employers, a little about family, and little specs of each other’s lives. You admit, you don’t say much, probably because you’re still the new kid in the store, but you listen intently as you and a colleague stack some new boxed lube on a shelf.

“So, I actually tried this with my boyfriend.” She says, inspecting the box before placing it on the row you had made. “And, oh my god, it does wonders. You have no idea how big he is.”

Your eyebrows raise as you nod along. It wasn’t what you were expecting on hearing. Although, it didn’t make you startled in any way; you had just been dealing with a guy who wanted to know what gag was best with a unicorn outfit.

“I mean, they say size doesn’t matter – like, yeah, I totally agree. “ She continues. “But it’s like they took the Karma Sutra, and somehow made it a thousand times better… I mean, technically they’re, like, thousands of years old, so they must have had the reading and practice-”

“Or they were really bored.” You chime, nervous about the jokey input. The colleague chuckles.

The shift wasn’t too bad at all-

“Wait.” You say, stopping your hands and turning to her. “You-… Asgardian?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend’s Asgardian.”

“And you said he-“

“Yes. They all have big dicks.”

-----

“Uh. Who the hell are you?”

Loki has had his fair share of ugly welcomes, and he also had his fair share of countering them. The temptation to do so was high, but Loki moves the conversation along. “Can I help you?”

The Prince stares t the stranger, who is in the meantime, blinking at his stature. It seemed like he wasn’t expecting Loki at all to answer the door, so Loki had to assume he was looking for someone else.

He prompts him again. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“Yeah, uh, Y/N?” The man blunders. “Does she still live here?”

“I’m sorry, but she’s not here at the moment.” Loki answers, assessing the man’s language. “Can I pass on a message?”

The man completely ignores the offer. “She said there’s a box of my stuff left over. Can I come in?”

Hesitant in a reply and beginning to glare, Loki wasn’t comfortable with his presence at all. Here he was in the apartment, head buried in books and student papers, until this guy comes along and bombards the serenity of it.

Over a box of stuff.

You never said there was going to be a visitor today. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to Loki since Tony Stark’s party. He smirks to himself; with your job occupying all of your time, you must be pent up more than ever.

“Listen, I’ll just grab it and go, is that alright?” The man says, hurriedly this time.

Loki opens the door wider, and the man immediately steps into the flat. As he closed the door, he turns around to see the man in awe of the room. “When’d she renovate this place?”

“Since I moved in.” Loki proceeds to your room to pick up said box, passing the man by. “You said-“

He grabs Loki by the arm. Loki stills. For a second, the god almost relinquishes a blade into hi hand, but he stops himself. If this guy ended up in the news as  murder victim, Fury would be breathing down his neck constantly. And he’d have to wish his little bit of freedom and sanctuary gone.

Loki sighs; it was a reflex. He didn’t know why he needed a weapon to maim a human when he can actually just use his strength or cunning to actually do more so. But the extra threat made it guarantee that the man didn’t retaliate.

Not that the guy stood a chance.

On the other hand, Loki didn’t know why he felt a little agitated by this stranger.

“Who are you?” His grip was not loosening. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“I’m just someone who lives with her.” Loki says, the reply is satisfactory enough for Loki’s arm to be returned. His jaw clenches; this guy was too curious. “You never introduced yourself either.”

“Just someone concerned about her well-being.” He squares Loki, not reaching the same height, though. “Wait a minute… Your voice… She was with you…”

Loki surveys him, the man’s expression changing. What was he talking about? Was he a spy? A stalker? It was difficult to read him because Loki had little to work on. All he could pinpoint was that anything related to you, or just you, were definitely his buttons to push. You’ve never mentioned this man at any point in your interactions. The only man Loki had heard, who he had never met, who you barely noted upon was-

Then it struck him; it was if you were here to slap him. Again.

So, this was the so-called Ex? The guy phoning you at Stark’s party.

“You were with her that night.” The Ex resumes. It seems like he’s making a few revelations in his head as well. “What were you doing with her?”

It was like spite and pride had invited themselves to spread the smile onto Loki’s face. And before he could get a word in play, you had entered the apartment.

You promptly recognise The Ex in your home, and Loki steps back as your face crumples in confusion and ferocity. And he knew the next few minutes was going to be better than what he had originally planned.

You weren’t hiding your disbelief of your Ex just barging into your place, and you unleashed your rage by interrogating on why he was here in the first place. Although, The Ex, battling against you, stood no match against you.

As the scene plays out, it reminds him of when he saw you in the apartment for the first time… Your anger was volatile when it was pushed, and maybe that’s why Loki has never tested it, even though the allurement to mess with you some more was attractive.

Your eyes are fierce, and your cheeks have that glowering complexion that made Loki freeze in an unnatural way.

“Get out.” You demand, pointing to the open door.

“You’re not serious?” The Ex fumes. “And really? Him? Who the hell is he?”

“What? He’s just-“

“Oh! You’re really oblivious, y’know! You don’t even recognise it! You never fucking do!” The Ex stomps towards the exit.

“You never noticed anything I did!” You yell some more. “And I finally fucking realise that!”

The door slams shut.

Loki lets you breathe for a minute. You slip off your heels, easily coming off due to your stockings. You remove your jacket, and hang your handbag along with it.

You lock eyes with him, and for some reason Loki is left breathless by the sight of you; as you take off the band that made your ponytail, your hair beautifully flows and frames your face. Your uniform was an ill-fitting polo shirt and skirt, but it accompanied your body charmingly.

However, whilst Loki was staring at you, awaiting a word or for you to just walk by, you were looking at him back.

Although, when he was checking where your irises were wondering, they seemed to be… They seemed to be looking low… It looks like you were looking low at his…

“Sorry you had to see that.” You utter suddenly, eyes darting away. Your cheeks fade from the glower in replacement of a pink hue. You exhale. “This day has been exhausting. So, uh, I’ll be relieving myself to my bed.”

Loki frowns in amusement; you blush even harder.

“To sleep!” You add quickly. “I’m going to relieve myself by sleeping, is what I meant.”

You pace pass him, not knowing why you felt the need to hide your face.

Loki puts his hands in his pockets. “Enjoy yourself.”

-----

The pillows comfort your head as you lay. Your room was starting to dim with violet and orange as the sun outside your window was lowering from the sky. You roll over, glancing at where the rays hit your chest of drawers. It was like the universe was being perverse with its humour because the sunset shone directly as to where you hid your sex toys. You get flashbacks of work, and the personal conversations that your colleagues spilled you with, and all the dildos you displayed, and all the vibrators you pressed buttons on to demonstrate their strengths.

Cuddling a pillow, you thought about Loki and pondered about what he was doing; he seems pretty calm, as per usual, and probably busy with some work from his students at the university. Shutting your eyes, he comes to life in your mind. Your memory makes the room vivid as it remembers the walls of hardcover novels and encyclopaedias, and his deep brown varnished desk in the middle of it all. He sits behind it, his low-lidded eyes concentrating on a page in front of him. You internally whine; you can’t see his eyes properly but they’re green and glinting. Watching his hands, you see him write; they’re large, agile and slender. His fingers touch his face in contemplation, and you see him take a small bite of his bottom lip…

A pool of wetness began dripping from your folds as your minds lets you relive the touch of his hands on your body, and his lips against yours. You can smell a scent; a citrus and oak fragrance that familiarised the God of Mischief to you…

God, you were horny, and the added detail that the colleague gave you, was making your body shift in need of alleviation.

Nothing was going to relieve you like Loki did. It was infuriating as to how good he could make you feel. Since then, no dildo, no toy had satisfied you the way he did. Even he put your own hands to shame; they knew how to do it, but Loki seemed to be more attentive, and intimate, and clever…

With the time you had been taking to evade and distance yourself from him, the more you understood that your body wanted him, and to accept that fact was getting easier and easier.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Always (Kuroro) #1

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Previous 

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“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.”

You stood out on the balcony of your hotel room, the cold wind rustling your hair as your dull eyes scanned over the beautiful view of the city below. You were on one of the top floors of the hotel but the lights of the nearby buildings still shined as bright as stars against the black velvet sky. Your ears could just faintly pick up the sound of the traffic down below.

The hotel door opened and closed behind you, but you were too wrapped up in the serene view to notice. Only when hands rested on your shoulders did you realize you weren’t alone. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne and feel the aura that could only belong to Kuroro Lucifer.

“You shouldn’t be standing out here without a coat. You’re going to catch a cold.” He spoke softly, his hands rubbing your bare arms, cold to the touch.

You glanced at him before quickly looking away. “I don’t get sick easily.”

He shook his head, grip tightening as he forced you back into the room, closing the glass doors behind him. “I won’t let you take that chance. You’re not to go outside without a jacket.”

You sat on the side of the bed and scowled, eyes narrowed at the older male. Your voice dripped with sarcasm as you spoke, “Forgive me, mother, I won’t do it again.”

Kuroro’s gaze hardened, his tone strict. “Don’t be a smartass. I meant what I said, Y/N.”

“Che. Like it matters.”  You folded your arms and closed your eyes. “You aren’t around more than a couple days. You know damn well I’m gonna go out after you leave just to spite you because you told me not to.”

He moved forward gracefully, grabbing your chin. Your eyes snapped open, locking with his dark ones. “You won’t defy me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You could hear your own voice crack and it made you feel like a helpless child. That’s all you were in his eyes; a child for him to control. You always found yourself wondering why he chose someone nine years younger. Why not someone his own age? The question plagued your mind more often than not, but you never voiced it. He wouldn’t answer you, anyway. You could only assume that you were easier to control than someone his own age.

Kuroro leaned closer, his voice low and soft as if he truly was talking to a scared little child. “Because I’m all you have. Without me you have nothing and you would never do anything if it carried the risk of losing me.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” You snapped, narrowing your eyes in anger.

“Then stop acting like one.” He responded in a dangerously low tone, letting go of your chin and heading towards the bathroom. The shower was turned on a few minutes later.

You could only glare angrily at the carpeted floor.

Where did he get off, treating you like that?

You fell back onto the bed with an exasperated sigh, staring up at the white ceiling. You couldn’t deny the fact that what he had said was indeed true and that fact angered you more than anything. You had never been a helpless or vulnerable person and you never used to bite your tongue, either. If you had something to say, they can bet your ass you would have said it to their face without a problem.

But things were different with him. You’d always bite your tongue and keep your colorful words to yourself.

It was painful to admit, but you were afraid that you’d piss him off and lose him forever. Where would you be, then?

The shower shut off and a few minutes of silence passed before Kuroro exited the bathroom with nothing but a short towel tied around his waist. You ignored him, still staring at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing you had ever laid your eyes upon.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him set a black bag on the end of the bed before unzipping it. The suit he took out only meant that he was about to leave for another job. Whenever he would go undercover, he always felt the need to wear the same dark blue suit, as if it were his uniform.

‘I guess in a way it is’, you mused.

Kuroro returned to the bathroom, this time leaving the door open. You watched him curiously, head leaned back at an almost uncomfortable angle. Even though the view was upside down, you could see what he was doing clearly.

He grabbed the pair of scissors from the side of the sink and began to cut his hair. It was about an inch he removed, maybe even less than that, but you could still see the difference. He looked fine, so why the hell did he need to cut his hair?

Kuroro once again returned to the bed, dropping his towel and getting dressed. By that point, you started ignoring him again, mind wrapped around the non-existent reason for his hair cutting.

“Y/N,” his voice had returned to normal, calm gaze watching you closely. He knew that you had drifted off into your own world. It was something you did often to cope and he had gotten used to it by now.

Only when he moved to stand in front of you, his legs brushing against your own, did you snap out of it. Your expression wasn’t exactly friendly, but most of your anger had fizzled out by now.

You didn’t need to question him about what he wanted, seeing his outstretched hand that held a long and thin white bandage. It wasn’t that he couldn’t put it on himself (he had done it many times), it was the fact that he wanted to annoy you by having you do it for him.

You rolled your eyes and got off the bed, watching as Kuroro took your place. After handing the bandage over to you, he rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwining with each other.

Putting one of your knees between his legs, you leaned closer and slipped the bandage underneath his damp bangs, lying it flat over his forehead before tying it at the back. While you did this, the black haired male sat in content with his eyes closed. It was the only moment of peace his day offered him.

Annoying you was not the real reason he made you wrap the bandage every time, believe it or not. Of course, the real reason was something he planned to take to his grave.

“There,” you muttered, backing away so he could stand.

“I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.” He didn’t spare you a glance as he exited the room.

“If I did, I’d never get any damn sleep.”

You scoffed, grabbing his bag and throwing it into the white chair that sat beside the balcony doors. Something inside caught your attention and you reached in, pulling out a hardcover book. It was one of many from his vast collection, which you still could not figure out where he kept.

You bounced back onto the bed, your back against the headboard. Flipping the book open, you began to read the contents, hoping that the printed words would reach out and grab you, taking you far away from Kuroro.

It was about three in the morning when Kuroro returned to the hotel room. He wasn’t surprised to see the lights still on. You were a stubborn one and odds were that you would do the complete opposite of whatever he had told you to do. You hated to be bossed around and be told what to do. Most people would believe it was because you were just being a rebellious teenager, but he knew better than anyone that it was not the reason.

Kuroro’s eyes softened when they landed on you.

You were on your back, arm sprawled out and curled towards the pillow. Your left hand was resting on the back of the large book that lay open on your stomach. You had obviously fallen asleep reading it, but considering you had gotten more than halfway through, he was curious as to when exactly you had drifted off.

Kuroro took the book and set it on the nightstand before sitting on the side of the bed. At first, he just watched you sleep, but then he reached out and brushed a few strands of hair out of your face.

You whispered his name in your sleep and he found himself smiling despite himself.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Teeth Marks, Empty Nest, Picking Ritual | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote a Moth Work writing update, and so here we are again for the final countdown! Today’s post will be covering everything related to chapter 12, 13, and 14. Let’s start with Teeth Marks, which I wrote probably sometime in February.

Teeth Marks marks the third part of Moth Work, called Wings, and the first chapter back in Harrison’s POV. I honestly can’t remember much of the writing process as it’s been a while, so let’s dive straight into the scene breakdown!

Scene A: 

We start in the doorway of Eliza’s apartment where Harrison stands shook because a) his boi Lonan has answered it (scandal) and his mother, who he has been estranged from for the last four years, is also in this apartment (EXTRA scandal). Eliza ushers Harrison inside (and this is probably the only *nice* interaction they ever have, spoiler alert!)

Harrison is very shook, and also a little angry, and also a little confused! He doesn’t know why his mother is here, and doesn't understand why Lonan wouldn’t contact him to tell him she is here.

Him and Eliza get into a bit of a scuffle where Eliza is protective of Lonan and is like “who are you mate” and Harrison’s like hahahHA pardON. This leads to Lonan kicking them both out even tho this ain’t even his house!

Scene B:

We now move to the stairwell right outside Eliza’s apartment where she and Harrison have been sitting in awkward silence! Harrison notices she’s wearing his guardian angel necklace (which Lonan mistakenly took back in chapter 6).

This scene is instrumental in setting up how these two interact, which in short, is not! fun! for! either! They try to be civil but can’t help but be protective over Lonan for different reasons. Eliza because they are now sort of in a relationship, and Harrison because hahaha he’s been there, and also because Eliza is Lonan’s father’s ex! Why!

Lonan interrupts this conversation and him and Harrison have a lil private moment even tho Eliza is standing right there aahaha. Eliza leaves which prompts Lonan to go after her, and we end with Harrison all alone in the stairwell like a proper sad boi.

Excerpts:

I previously wrote some mean things about this chapter and am editing it out cuz we tryna be positive! Here’s some tender romance because why not! For context, Harrison has asked Eliza how much she knows about the nature of the boys’ relationship (she knows nothing!!)

He could tell her the truth. About the polaroids left back in Boston. What it felt like to kiss him underwater. What it felt like to dance with him, his clumsy instep. What it felt like to trace each notch of his ribs in the off moments he’d sleep and how wonderful it was, to touch the places his hunger would go. 

Some more romance because yesss:

He pretends they’re alone at the cabin, somewhere on the water, sharing a sleeve of crackers, looking at the moon like it’s the other’s iris, somewhere where constellations read less like hieroglyphics and more like sonnets. 

Let us move onto chapter 13, Empty Nest!

Scene A:

Harrison sits alone at the dinner table watching a TV show in a language he doesn’t speak. His mother interrupts this *chillin* and they get into a heated conversation.

This ends badly for Harrison, to which Lonan (who is presumably arguing with Eliza in her bedroom) comforts him and yeets the two of them outta that apartment! Knight in shining armour babyyyy

Scene B:

Lonan takes Harrison to chapter nine’s beautiful place (the cove).

They chat about their (fallen) relationship and Lonan + Eliza’s relationship that is apparently now flourishing (hahah it actually isn’t)

This turns romantical very fast!!! I am guilty of self-indulgence!!

Excerpts:

EDIT: I originally had an edit in here saying I didn’t have the mental spoons to edit this chapter which is why I wouldn’t share a lot of excerpts! This was very true haha, as I was amidst the worst mental health week I’ve had in years, but guess! who! tried! to! edit! anyway! This obviously was not the best idea and I pushed myself too hard. This led to me doing some crying and beyond that, a decision to take a few days off of writing (despite the fact that I didn’t want to). I’m feeling great now which I’m so grateful for, but just a note! Anyhow!!

This excerpt makes me laugh because it gives me “lonely man sitting on his porch in the prairies” vibe:

No one eats together. Lonan and Suzanna have already taken their pick, and Eliza eats in her room. Harrison hasn’t seen Lonan since he followed Eliza’s empty trail back into the apartment, and he hears him now, between the drone of infomercials and advertisements on the Spanish TV station he doesn’t even understand. Coming from her room, he can picture him, the way Lonan argues, competitive like he’s trying to win something. Suzanna sits on the balcony, maybe hiding a smoke, or something more ridiculous, new age, like an essential oil pen. Ribbons of grey luminescing in the neon lights. Maybe it’s more accurate to say Harrison eats alone. 

This is the excerpt that I had a breakdown editing lmaooo I think it’s cute tho!!

Somewhere better is a beach. Hidden in a cove, the stones arched over seafoam. In the moonlight, sand glitters, water trills, a night owl in the distance wails. Lonan leads him to the cove’s heart, a bullet of clearing that reveals constellations neither recognize. Lonan’s brought a basket with him, unfolds the checked blanket across the shore. Harrison sits first, and observes as Lonan travels the cove’s perimeter, collecting driftwood as he goes. He stacks them into a pyramid at the shore’s lip, pulls out a lighter.

He starts the fire easily, cups the flame like it’s a jittering organism, coaxes it until it expands. The flame tints his jaw gold, glares in his eyes so they look like blue fire. The night halos around ­Lonan, burnishes the cove walls, turns the sand into a mirage. As Lonan nurses the fire, Harrison traces his face, the violet impasto around his eye. Lonan has always looked like a masterpiece to him, damp black hair that almost looks navy blue, a smile so subtle, it’s almost acquired. He holds the fire so it toasts his chin, his focus a delicate, paternal thing.

Picking Ritual is chapter 14 of the book! I wrote this during reading break, and it’s one of my faves a) because of the title and b) because Harrison and Eliza FIGHT (I’m here for the tea).

Scene A:

Lonan and Harrison get back from their self-care-gone-romantical escapade to drunk Eliza creepily sitting in the dark!! Harrison’s mother has left, which Eliza uses as cruel ammo (don’t we love her)!

This is where we really get to see Eliza’s other side as she gets gaslighty as a response to Harrison’s very true callouts

Scene B:

Later, Eliza may or may not purposefully leave her bedroom door open while mildly unholy matters occur that’s all I’m gonna say about that!!!

Scene C:

Eliza leaves her room to “get some orange juice” (she’s trying to get a rise out of Harrison, which works). They roast each other endlessly until Harrison asks her to play a game with him.

Scene D:

This game is a game of cards, which is actually Harrison choosing four cards (king of spades = Lonan’s father, queen of hearts = Eliza, the joker = Lonan, and a jack = Harrison) so he can learn more about each one he chooses for her.

This is where the chapter title comes from!

Excerpts:

The following is a self-roast because my house does all the following (besides magnets on ALL four corners of dishcloths, there’s currently just one. ;) Lonan in this scene is Fiona in that scene in Shrek 2 where Shrek and King Harold are arguing over dinner (CW: there’s a description here that could be potentially triggering for self-harm!).

Suzanna is gone when they get back to Eliza’s apartment. No jacket on the coat hook. No shoes on Eliza’s straw-woven welcome mat. The kitchen has been picked over, each plate, fork, back in its strangely correct place. Eliza keeps her cutlery in jars, and her pans in the oven, her dish cloths magnetted to the fridge by all four corners, a pristineness that feels chemical.

Just as he’s about to comment on it, a light from the living area flicks on, and underneath sits Eliza, paging through a book in the dark. Spots like wine stains on her cheeks shine glassy under the harsh lightbulb.

“She has a place twenty minutes from here. By the public gardens,” she says, running her fingernail against the ribbed spine of the hardcover. Harrison can’t make out the title. When he stares blankly at her, examining the patches on her skin until he’s memorized of their surface area, she clears her throat and shuts the book. “Your mother?”

“I know,” he says.

“That your mother has a place twenty minutes from here?”

“That you were referring to my mother.”

“So you didn’t know?”

ugh I love Harrison and Eliza arguing it’s my fave dynamic:

Eliza stands, and smooths the silk of her night dress, though one crease continues to bunch. She folds her hand into a fist, and brings it to her mouth, biting on her knuckles as she paces. Harrison and Lonan watch her, and Lonan’s about to step toward her when she nods and directs her gaze straight at Harrison. “Did that upset you?” she asks, peeling a sliver of skin up between her teeth, letting it snap back. “The way I spoke of your mother.”

“I don’t care about anything you have to say.”

Oof oof tensions be RISING:

Lonan knocks on Eliza’s door a half hour later and doesn’t come back out. Harrison watches the shut door like he can break through it from the couch, how heavy it sits in its frame like they’ve taken turns smearing caulking in its seams.

The nightglow decolours his chin, his eyes, and he stares at the stars as he did an hour ago with Lonan. He touches his lips, hoping something divine will reappear on his fingers, something divine enough to anoint himself with. Nothing does, of course, but he tries, dappling each groove of his mouth. 

Here’s some Eliza being Eliza :)

He should tell her to buy some curtains. The sliding door’s glass opens to her balcony where his mother stood, pouring onto the busy street below her apartment complex. He can almost perfectly replicate the image of his mother with just his fingertip, a familiarity of her unknown, but unconsciously memorized by him. Suzanna has traded her only pair of shoes—a dingy set of floral flip-flops—for boots with silver zippers, steel toes, heels perfected by a designer she has a connection to. He thinks of his mother with sour precision, a sugary glumness that makes his mouth heavy.

He still wears the angel Lonan re-fastened around his neck and examines it against the belly of the two-seater Lonan once slept on.

She’s lost a stone from where he threw it, almost unnoticeably in the corner where her wings meet her back. He runs his finger over the empty spot, a nearly undetectable groove, and wonders how difficult it would be to find it in the tooth of Eliza’s hardwood.

Just as he’s prepared to get up and find out, the heavy door jars open. Wider than he’s expecting, so he can see Lonan from the couch. Arranged against a pillow, his hair disappearing into the dark wood of Eliza’s bedhead. His eyes closed, a tremor that rocks through his forehead every few seconds. And then quickly, Eliza shuffling through the opening. She wears a kimono patterned with koi fish, the fabric rustling against her bare thighs as she enters the kitchen.

Harrison watches her through his eyelashes, her half-up hairdo falling toward her face, the flash of skin pale, like the peel of the moon.

She grabs a glass he washed and fills it from the sink. Once a bulb forms across the surface, she tips it to her lips, and swallows deliberately.

Harrison watches as she checks the sink for unwashed dishes she knows aren’t there. As she adjusts a placement on her table that doesn’t need adjusting. As she spins herself on her toes around the kitchen island, her kimono splaying so he sees flashes of her thighs again. She dances like this back to her bedroom, where she sets her water glass on the dresser, and keeps the door wide open. 

I can’t not share this part I apologize there is some spice but also Harrison’s iconic Gay (TM) takedown at the end brings me so much joy:

Eliza exits the room a half hour later, except this time, doesn’t dance. Still, she steps carefully, her toes taut as she patters against the floorboards. Harrison watches her with his arms crossed, and stays like that, even when they make eye contact.

She startles and re-adjusts her kimono, so the clip of her skin disappears. She’s combed her hair since she and Lonan finished, and it sits gauzy over her forehead.

“Have you ever thought of buying a deadbolt?” he says, watching carefully as she turns and grabs a glass from a cabinet.

The refrigerator thrills when she opens it, a wash of gaudy tungsten yellowing her face. She sucks on her lip as she pulls out a bottle of orange juice, glugging a cupful into her mouth first, and then into a glass. 

“A deadbolt,” she says, a lightness in her voice—false innocence. “Why?”

“I’ve heard good things. Security. Privacy. You live alone, don’t you?”

She juts the orange juice to her lip fast, her chin bucking like she’s taking a shot. “I do.”

“You’re planning on keeping it that way?”

Eliza drains the last of the orange juice and rests the glass in the sink. She flicks on the tap so a stream splashes into its mouth like somersaults, diluting the juice until the glass cleans.

“There must be someone,” Harrison elaborates. He shifts, so his legs hang off the couch’s edge. The hardwood is cold, and for a moment, he feels like he’s stepping on water. “You’re seeing people, aren’t you? You live in Las Vegas. Good job. Decent apartment.”

Eliza shakes off the wet glass and sets it on the drying rack. “Are you interested?”

“I’m gay, but thanks. How does that work, anyway? Dating you. Would I send in an application? Self-addressed stamped envelope and all? Email?”

ugh more iconic Harrison I love him:

Harrison’s eyes focus on the lip balm and he imagines Lonan putting it there, his finger moving across her mouth and then down, like an anointment. “Isn’t that such a coincidence, then? You’re so selective, yet you manage to date two members of the same family.”

Her smile fades. Eliza clucks her tongue and wipes her mouth quickly with the back of her hand. Thoughtlessly, she refills the clean glass with more orange juice, and only realizes her mistake after the liquid sits precisely at the rim of the cup.

“Shit,” she says, wringing her hand out. “Shit.”

“I’ll drink it,” he says, and is already up and at the kitchen island before she puts another hand on the glass. Eliza almost scowls, but chews on her gums when she catches herself. She slides the glass across the granite, and a blip of orange juice jitters onto the surface. Harrison dabs his pinky in it and sucks it into his mouth. “I want to ask you a favour.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

He puts a hand against the fridge before she can move past him, and Eliza sighs, weaves her arms haughtily over her chest. “Cards.” The fridge rumbles to life under his fingertips, and Eliza jumps. “Play a game with me,” he says.

Sharing because of Harrison’s roast at the end, it’s really just one of those days:

Eliza’s a good shuffler. Easily, she dices the cards, the hard split of their edges when he usually shuffles almost non-existent. He’s only ever met one other person who can shuffle like her—his mother.

Harrison sips the orange juice as she shuffles the deck. In all truth, he doesn’t need the cards to be shuffled—he knows exactly which ones he needs. But her ease intrigues him, and he can’t help but feel mesmerized with each flitter of the deck.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asks after another long pull of juice.

She cuts the deck and continues. “My father.”

“I didn’t know you had parents.”

“I didn’t know your mother had children.”  

“I don’t think she knows either.”

Eliza rests the shuffled deck onto the countertop and nudges it toward him. He hasn’t told her what game they’re going to play, and as Harrison searches for his necessary cards, the prickle of her gaze deadens. He keeps at task, combing each card and pulling out the needed.             

“I would’ve liked to know.” Eliza says this nimbly. “You look like her.”        

Another pick. “Every son wants to look like their mother. What a dream.”      

“I meant that as a good thing.”

“And I meant what I said as a bad thing.” 

What a way to end this update lol! 

I’ll be back soon with an update for the final chapter in this book! I hope y’all have been okay in these times, I know it’s not easy. Let me know what you’re working on!

--Rachel

[middlearthmerchant95]

like hell; ch1

“You’re crazy...”

“So are you sweetheart”.

Jerome Valeska x OC

Summary: The Maniacs of Gotham, a load of bullshit in Grace’s eyes. That is until she’s one of them. But what peace can she find among monsters just like herself? A monster she wishes she wasn’t. But a monster that someone loves..

Word count: 3,667

Rating: Teen/Mature

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing, Arkham in general (insanity kind of stuff)

A/N: This story is literally 2 years in the making and I’m finally starting to post the chapters. I know everyone is all into Jeremiah now (love him) but this story was started a long time ago and I know we all still love Jerome so. I hope everyone reads it and enjoys it, my writing has really improved and I’m so proud of this, I hope you all like and reblog it. It’ll be an ongoing story so be ready. XOXO

Good behavior. That’s what this was. Staring down at a silver square plate that consisted of brown mush, saltines, and room temperature tap. This was my reward for good behavior. After months of complying, taking my meds, and staying quiet when I wanted to scream, I was written off for having this so called “good behavior”. But the more that phrase crossed my mind the more unreal of a term it really seemed. Like all things in my life I guess.

But despite the less appetizing and probably unedible meal before me, I was happy. Happy because my meal wasn’t slid under the door in the pitch black, happy because when I heard a voice nearby it wasn’t the sad realization of it just being in my head. Because this was the goal on my slow and lethargic mission to good behavior: being released from solitary confinement. And as I sipped on my stale water with the rim of the thin paper cup almost soggy against my lips, I couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with my accomplishments.

“No, no! Shut up, n-not now!”

I turned to my left at the voice beside me, a frown forming on my face as I overlooked the lanky man as he tried desperately to cover his ears.

“Bunny, keep it down. If the guards hear you yelling at the voices they’re gonna throw you back in, you know what happened last time..” I explained to him gently.

He shuddered in his seat, scratching at his arms while he looked at me with wide worried eyes. “I-I know, I know G-Gracey.. They just keep talking and, I-I dunno” he stuttered out. I watched him while he rocked back and forth on the bench, peering over his shoulder every now and then to get a glance at the guards. If he got any more anxious then it wasn’t going to turn out well for him.

“Hey, cut it out. Sit still freak”.

A guards first warning. Which meant the next one wasn’t gonna be any nicer.

“I said sit still freak!”

“P-please! Leave me alone please! I c-can’t help it!” Bunny wailed, his body now violently rocking back and forth. The guard came out of nowhere in the corner of my eye, appearing behind Bunny, and the moment my eye caught a glance at the taser in his hand I turned my head as quick as I could. But when the taser reached Bunny there was nothing I could do to not know it was happening, the sounds of his screams and the zap from the taser was just enough as the guards dragged him away.

Closing my eyes for a moment I let everything slide away, letting out a slow breath as the moment evaporated like swallowing a dry pill; slowly and painfully. I dropped my face into my hands while I looked down at my half empty cup of water. Even if things started out good, it would always turn out bad some way. This place was a perfect example of that. When I came in they wouldn’t stop preaching about there being hope, that no one was excluded from it and help was always going to be available to us. But it didn’t take long to learn that it was all just bullshit. There was no hope. At all. We’re all just as insane as when we came in, lots of us even worse. And now look at Bunny, a good morning and a good afternoon just for it to end with more pain and suffering. No one to soothe his cries, no one to dull his pain, just a straight jacket and some drugs to aid in all of his problems. And somehow, my cup looked even emptier…

I wanna leave.

Stop. Not now I don’t wanna hear it.

I shoved the thought away as quick as it came and as hard as it tried to linger. The one thing these drugs couldn’t fucking get rid of. And for someone who’s been here 5 years you’d wonder why I had those thoughts anyways.

Pushing the thought even further back I finished off the last of the mush and crackers on my plate and swiftly slid off of the bench; it was probably best for me to be somewhere else now, somewhere where my thoughts couldn’t bug me..

My rested legs took me where I needed to be, walking down the long, cold, guard lined hallway away from the rec room and into somewhere much more warmer and a lot more appealing. At least to me. The one inmate who visited it.

The Arkham Asylum Library. Well, more or less. It could easily be, Arkham’s Book Cupboard, but it was something. And I appreciated it nonetheless.

It’s only been established for 3 years, but still, it seemed to be my only salvation in this hell hole. The one place where I could reach out beyond the confines of these walls and into somewhere better, somewhere where I wasn’t insane, or angry or scared. It was a salvation to me. And today as I looked it over while I stood in the doorway, it seemed to look a bit brighter.

The walls were the same: cold, gray and dank. The six book shelves were draped in a fine blanket of dust that was still unbothered, but there were tiny details I could spot that told me things were different, better in a way. But I was the only one who came here anyways so of course I noticed. Tucked into the far corner of the room now sat a soft worn in leather chair, and next to it a dark green reading lamp, its glow making the chair look even warmer than it should be. And while these both added to the otherwise dull environment, it’s not what caught my eye in the first place. I walked till I stood right before the book shelf, the dust mixed with the old book smell heavy with my senses. Then my gaze found it, six brand new books settled right in front of me on the middle shelf where it was once empty.

I reached out to run my fingers down the spine of one book when a soft voice called out and stopped me in my tracks.

“I see you’ve found our new arrivals already”.

My hand dropped and I turned to the doorway, Ms.Claire the librarian standing there with her small arms wrapped around a book and the peek of a smile on her face. “Anything peak your interest?” She asked coyly.

“Mm.. I’m not too sure yet” I replied.

Her eyes turned down to the book she held then looked up at me with a confident smile. “Well, maybe this one will”. She came over to me briskly, her eyes down at the book, uncaring of my own actions like most of the staff here. All of them are slow and careful walking up to me, eyes trained onto me like a guard dog. But not her, she’s the only one not scared of me. I couldn’t thank her enough for that alone.

“Open your hands” she said. “And close your eyes”. I did what she said, and before I knew it a heavy book was placed in my hand; a hardcover, I could feel it, so it was even heavier than it looked. “Now open and look down”.

What happiness I could have I was feeling right now. An abnormal warmness in my heart that thrummed gently, only stopping for a moment as I took in the book in my hands. It was big of course, and the hardcover looked brand new. And in large beautiful shiny words along the top it read: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The fourth book in the series, and the one I haven’t read yet..

I couldn’t think of anything to say, I really couldn’t, it all seemed lost in the moment. This was a book I wanted to read for so long, it almost feels like a past life with how long it’s been. I was supposed to have read this book long time ago… “I.. I don’t know how to thank you” I muttered softly.

“You don’t have to Grace” Ms.Claire told me sweetly. “I know how much you liked all of the fantasy books we have and.. Well I thought maybe this one might be your favorite in the end”. She smiled brightly at me and gave me a soft pat on my shoulder before peering over her shoulder, a guard lingering in the hallway like a hawk. She turned to me and sighed “well, I guess I better get back to work before they think I’m trying to help you escape”.

Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.

“But why don’t you get started on that book okay? And I’ll see you later Grace”. As softly as I could I smiled back at her as she left, the guard taking one last glance at me before leaving with Ms.Claire down the hallway. I sighed. Alone again.

Forget about me?

Shut it. It’s time for me to actually have some peace and read this book. Get my mind away from you and this place.

K.. But I’ll be here when you need me.

With a huff I fell into the leather chair and opened up my book, it’s crisp edges calling me to a different world. Oh, and I don’t need you.

* * * * * * *

Some things you never forget how to do, like riding a bike. For me it was two things: using a gun and falling into the story of a book.

Really, for Harry Potter it wasn’t all that hard, the story was so easy and fun to follow that it felt like I was reading it for hours. But I think it was only one.

“Ay, that’s him right? That one that killed his mom in the circus? Crazy, spoiled ass brat”.

“I’d shut up if I were you rookie. That kid hears you talking about him like that, and you’ll be mangled up in a heartbeat. Don’t underestimate the inmates here. You give em the wrong look and you’re done”.

I craned my neck back to look at the hallway, seeing if I could get a look at who those guards were talking about, but nothing. They must’ve been closer to the rec room. Which means whoever they were talking about was in the rec room. Killed his mom in the circus? Hm. Whoever it was, I didn’t know them. Must be someone new.

“Fine whateva’. But he better watch out for me” continued the first guard.

“Yeah, sure” scoffed the second one.

Averting my attention back to my book I tried to drown out the rest of the conversation and outside noise. I wasn’t that much in the mood to hear gossip about some psycho kid.

You’re one to talk.

“Ms. Porter, it’s time for checkup”.

I snapped my attention to the doorway to find Hanson there, one of the regular guards around here who often took me back and forth to my room. He wasn’t too bad I guess. But on the days when I had checkup.. I really did hate him. He was like the bearer of bad fucking news. And as much as I didn’t wanna put my book down, I knew I had to. I was good remember?

“Sorry Grace, I gotta take ya over to the doc today. I know you don’t like it” he said with a frown.

Damn, it’s like he read my mind.

But I just shrugged and put my book away, moving towards him with my wrists raised as if on cue. “Nah it’s alright kid, I don’t gotta handcuff you today. Doc’s orders” he told me. I raised a brow at him but didn’t question it, I wasn’t gonna argue about not being handcuffed. But at the same time, I guess the feeling was the same as having your last meal before you go to the electric chair; a nice gesture for something so fucking awful.

The walk there was dreadful but familiar. Always the same. Cold and expectant. But the walk back.. Always different, and always a little piece of me gone as I came back.

Hanson left me with a pat to my shoulder though I barely felt it as I stood in front of the cold metal door before me. It was like my unconscious was getting my body ready for the numb pain that was about to proceed upon walking through the door. God, how many times I just wanted to run away from this… The only thing keeping me here was what they told me. That I was doing good, ‘good progress’ they said…. Somehow I was almost starting to believe them.

*Beep Beep Beep*

The door unlocked with a click and the doorknob turned and opened, but I kept my eyes down, like always.

“Hi Grace, come on in”.

I looked up under my lashes like I always did at my doctor; hesitant and compliant. And my doctor stood there with her clipboard in hand and her brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, looking like an angel of death or something. She always looked so innocent and kind, but with the way she opened up old wounds, it was like she held a scalpel instead of a pen and paper.

I took my usual seat across from her desk and waited for her to start. The anticipation was always the worst part. Or maybe that’s just how I felt every time I was in here.

“So. How are you feeling today Grace? Are you having a good day?”

I shrugged, trying to relax at the same time. “Yeah”.

She smiled then jotted something on her paper and continued. “And how have you been sleeping?”

“Fine.. Not too bad”.

Again she jotted something down. “And have you been dreaming?”

This time my answer didn’t come quick, I was silent. And she pressed on. “Any nightmares Grace?”

I bit my lip and let my eyes travel around the room, knowing I had to answer the question but doing anything to avoid resurfacing the shit I had to see in my sleep.

“Yes” I finally muttered.

She nodded and wrote something down, her face careful and considerate. “It’s been a while since you’ve had any huh? That’s good”.

All those damn drugs is why.

Not now.

I nodded, knowing exactly where this was going. And like usual, never ready for it.

“Okay Grace. I want you to do your best and tell me everything you can remember from it. Just take your time. We’ll get through this..”

What a bullshit lie. Here we go..

“Was it about your father?”

Gracey, it’s okay honey.. It’s okay. Daddy’s okay, Daddy’s gonna be okay…

My head felt like it took a beating from a metal pipe as I made my way out of the room, everything thudding and booming around me. It felt like I was half awake, the nightmares still looming in and out of my head while my vision tried to focus in on the ground in case I tripped over myself. Fuck it was really bad this time…

Maybe they should give us some drugs for after those mind fuck sessions.

The only thing you’re right about..

I’m right about a lot of things actually. If only you’d let me have some control some times then-

Fuck you. The day I let you out is the day I’m really fucked.

Is that really so bad? Do you really wanna be so normal?

“Whoa, whoa, Grace. Hey, kid you okay?”

My vision came back into focus of the hallway and found Hanson crouching to my level, his expression slightly worried as he looked me over. Did I look that bad?

“You look like you’re gonna fall over, maybe you should get some rest?” He asked, but was quick to answer for me. “Yeah, let’s get you to your cell kid”.

I nodded as best as I could, feeling more fucked up than anything else, but still attempted to thank Hanson for being so kind.

The new set up in Arkham, and a pointless one at that, was that inmates had to constantly be signed in and signed out of the rec room or wherever if they weren’t in their cells. And the process was ridiculous with how many fucking inmates there were. But it was made worse when I saw who it was signing people in and out, the only bitch whose sole purpose of this job was to flirt with Hanson at any given moment. So lucky for me, I’d be waiting here a while.

“Hey Hanson, working hard huh? I wish they’d give you a break hon”. Here we go. Just like I thought. Fucking bitch.

Five minutes passed and I was still standing there. Still listening to this bitch’s terrible attempt at flirting while she slowly paged through the list of names. And all the while I could feel myself getting more pissed off.

Ooh, you haven’t been angry in a while.

I know I haven’t. It was probably that fucking doctor making me worse. Or… No. I can’t think like that. It’s just the after effect… That’s what she said, it’s.. Normal.

Whatever you say. But I say, you act on it. Shouldn’t be keeping things bottled up..

Again, I’m not taking advice from you. The last thing I need is someone fucked up giving me advice to do bad things. Remember? I’m not that person anymore.

Oh but you could be…

“Hahahaha! Wow Richard, I had no idea you were so funny!”.

Jesus Christ, who’s fucking obnoxious laugh is that? I spun around on my heel to face the rest of the rec room, my knuckles whitening as I did so. With how shitty my head felt I really wasn’t in the mood to listen to some bitch cackling…

Me either. Maybe you should fix that..

I was expecting to turn around and find some bitch sitting at the bench behind me laughing  in my ear just to annoy me, it wouldn’t have been the first time. But the entire rec room was empty, all except for one little group smack in the middle of the room, all closely sat together, minding their own business… What the hell?

For all the weird and abnormal bullshit that happened here in Arkham, sitting with people together as a group, actually conversing with them was probably the weirdest. No one here willingly spoke to someone else, let alone sit in a group with them. Most inmates were too far gone to even give a shit. Some of them just too far gone.. It was just so… Odd.

Another horrible laugh rang out then, the same one; loud, proud, and obnoxious. My eyes darted to the direction of the group it came from and landed on a head of wild blonde curls, her head tilting back as she laughed again while she gripped onto the smiling man next to her. He looked pleased with himself, smiling smugly at the giggling blonde girl beside him. God did she sound annoying… Though from the looks of everyone else in their group they didn’t feel that way, all eyes on them like they were their leaders or some shit. It seemed ridiculous considering the setting we were all in, there wasn’t much point in looking up to someone just as crazy as you.

Couldn’t that just be it though?

*Sigh*. Couldn’t what be it?

Maybe they’re not looking up to them because they’re just as crazy… Maybe they’re looking up to them because they’re even more crazy. I mean, it doesn’t seem that weird. Not in our case anyhow…

Whatever. We’re all fucked up. I just hate the idea of followers; no independence, no strength, always being someone else’s puppy.. I mean, just look at this fucking group. All of their eyes on them like they owned this place, it was so-

Hm. Not all of them after all… Interesting.

I thought for a moment, if there was ever a time in my life that I could remember when the feeling of someone watching ever creeped me out…

It didn’t.

So when I found a pair of eyes on me the feeling I got wasn’t from fear or worry, it was different, and I couldn’t explain it.. And that pissed me off.

He’s young… Guess you’re not the only wacked out kid in here.

He was young.. My age even. Pale with red hair. God his hair is red… With green eyes. Eyes that never left me, or at least… Didn’t want to. What’s his fuckin problem?

I tilted my head to the side, beginning to not like the idea of him staring.

Well then maybe you should stop checking him out and go ask what his fucking problem is.

Fuck off, like that’s what I’m doing. It’s not my fault he can’t stop staring… But now it started to feel like a competition, both of us not giving up on this bullshit little staring contest. He was enjoying it I could tell, the little glint in his eyes gave it away. But enjoying what I wonder.

“Alright Grace c’mon, sorry for the wait”.

Hanson appeared then, keys in hand, his body now blocking my view of the boy. Good riddance, I thought. He adjusted the gun holster around his waist then glanced back over his shoulder, right at the group. “They giving ya trouble Grace?” He asked.

Hanson moved his body just enough to where I could see the boy again. He looked at Hanson, just briefly, then looked right back at me. A smile peaking at his lips. I just glared back, and his smile grew.

I thought of Hanson’s question and answered as honestly as I could, another chill running up my spine.

“Not yet”.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

a language of its own - Day 6

“And the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own.”

All the ways Rey and Ben say “I love you”.

Hello, friends! It’s Day 6 of my 12-day Valentine’s collection, which means we’ve officially hit the halfway mark! Today’s prompt is an “I gotta kiss you before you leave” kind of love, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

12 Days of Valentine’s Also available on AO3 Psst, you can also find me on Twitter and Ko-fi!

Rey moves in on the first Sunday of August.

The day itself goes off without a hitch; she’s never been one to have a ton of material possessions, and Ben’s been making space for her ever since she gave him her final answer two weeks ago. It takes less than two hours for her to unpack and put away her measly five boxes of belongings, and after that she and Ben just take a minute to admire the sight of her bargain bin work shirts hung up next to his suits, her plants lining their windowsills, and her one box of books joining his shelves.

“I like it,” Ben assures her when Rey worries that her plants are taking up too much space, when she points out how out of place her worn paperbacks look next to his clothbound hardcovers. “It’s perfect, Rey. This is perfect.”

After they go grocery shopping for their household, and they make dinner in their kitchen, and at the end of the day Rey climbs into their bed and falls asleep in Ben’s arms feeling more at home than ever before.

Maybe Ben feels that way too, because that’s the only reason she can think of for both of them somehow sleeping through two alarms and the sunrise the next morning.

“Shit,” Rey gasps when she finally peels back one heavy eyelid to get a look at the small clock on Ben’s nightstand. “Shit, shit, shit!” She bolts upright immediately, flinging Ben’s arms off her as she blinks away the last lingering bits of sleep. “Ben, wake up! We’re late!”

“It’s late,” he mumbles in agreement, only to try and pull her back down without opening his eyes. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

Rey bats his hands away and shakes him awake. “We got too much sleep, babe. Come on, you’re gonna be late for work.”

That works like a charm. “Work?” Ben asks sharply, and almost pushes her off the bed when he suddenly shoots up and nearly hits his head against the headboard as he turns to look at the time. “Fuck. Fuck!” He’s full-on panicking now, stumbling out of bed and ripping off his clothes without so much as another word as he blindly makes his way towards the bathroom. It’s only once he’s turned on the lights and stepped onto the cold tiled floor that he’s properly yanked back into reality.

“Wait,” he says, poking his head out of the bathroom with a sheepish little look. “Did you want to go first?”

“It’s okay.” Rey slips past him and into the shower to grab her toiletries. “You go first, I’ll use the other bathroom. Just let me grab my stuff.”

He curls one hand around her forearm before she leaves. “You sure? I don’t mind–”

“Go, Ben,” she tells him, nudging him with her hip. “Your hair takes longer than mine. Hurry up.”

“Only because you put it up while it’s still dripping wet,” Ben points out, softening his words with a quick kiss to her temple before he gets into the shower and Rey makes her way to Poe’s old bathroom. As predicted, Ben’s still in their bathroom by the time she’s done with her shower and the bowl of cereal she wolves down while her hair sits in a towel, and Rey takes a moment to set out breakfast for him before she gets dressed. It’s just a bowl and a spoon left on the counter along with some cereal, but she’s pretty sure even Ben would have done the same given the time constraint they’re working with.

He’s half-dressed by the time she gets to their room, scooping up his pants and jacket to take with him when Rey mentions breakfast.

“This is not how your first morning here was supposed to go,” Ben tells her apologetically when she shows up in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed and ready for work. “I was going to make you a proper breakfast and everything.”

Rey shakes her head at him with a smile as she gathers up her things. “It’s hardly my first morning here, Ben,” she points out in an effort to cheer him up; his day is off to a bad enough start as it is, now that he’s going to get to work just in time rather than Snoke’s preferred thirty minutes early. “And you did make me breakfast when it was. Now come on, we can deal with the dishes when we get home.”

That coaxes a smile out of him. “I like the sound of that,” Ben says as they put on their shoes and do a final check for phones, keys, and wallets. “You calling this place home,” he clarifies when Rey turns to him with a questioning look.

“Feels like it,” Rey shrugs, taking one last look at the place before Ben closes the door behind them and guides her to the elevator. “Are you going to be okay today?” she asks quietly, reluctant to bring it up and ruin their brief moment of peace but needing to know.

Ben knows exactly what she’s talking about. “He won’t be happy, but I doubt he’ll say anything about it,” he assures her as they step out into the lobby. The building is nice enough for one and new enough for underground parking, which Ben prefers to access from the stairs on the other end of the lobby rather than the elevator. He takes the opportunity to walk her to the door while he’s at it, and Rey bites back the urge to tell him that he doesn’t need to, that he should be sprinting to his car and getting to work as soon as possible. If his rotting corpse of a boss is going to be pissed anyway, she might as well let Ben take his time.

“Bye, baby,” she tells him when they reach the front door, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek as she lets go of his hand. “I’ll see you tonight–” But Ben pulls her in by her waist before she can begin to walk away, and kisses her slow and soft in full view of the few other tenants milling about the lobby at this hour.

They’re both smiling when he finally lets go of her, so at least there’s that. “What was that for?” Rey asks, masking her breathlessness with a little laugh as she smooths down his lapels before she steps back.

“Just wanted to kiss you goodbye,” Ben shrugs, still wearing a small grin as he tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “Have a good day at work, sweetheart.”

Her heart overflows with a sudden rush of affection for him, and Rey realizes… she could say it now. Eight months isn’t too soon. The first morning of living together isn’t too soon. Right after he’s kissed her goodbye and wished her a good day at work like something out of a domestic fantasy isn’t at all too soon.

But the words get stuck in her throat as she looks at him, all bright eyes and boyish grin while he steps away from her, and Rey has no idea what to do because she’s always just assumed they’d tumble past her lips as soon as she’s ready, as soon as the time is right.

Instead there’s a pregnant pause between them, one she scrambles to fill before it turns into dead air. “You too, babe,” Rey says, and stretches up on her tiptoes to give him one last peck before she turns on her heel and hurries out of the building.

She’ll worry about this some other time, when she isn’t flat out sprinting to catch the bus.

This is nearly three hundred words over the limit, mainly because I wanted to address the matter of Snoke being Ben’s boss as well as what appears to be everyone’s most pressing question: why haven’t they said “I love you” yet??? 

We’ve only got six more days to go, friends, so worry not: everything will be resolved soon. And it’ll all work out, I promise. So in the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the fluff while you still can!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it! As always, please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment; hearing from you guys really does make my day. <3

[sampagnereads]

Hi, lovelies! In July 2019, I’ll be hosting my first ever readathon, which is the DND Readathon, Race Edition! Basically, an edition of this readathon will take place about every two months (they won’t all be one-month long, though), and the main goal is to build up a DND character based on knowledge that can be found in the Fifth Edition Player’s Handbook! If you don’t have access to that, though, this website has a lot of information about DND that can be helpful. For more information on the readathon itself, I recommend following its twitter account right here! And just in case, here’s the thread that explains everything, and to which information will be slowly added throughout the month of June!

Basically, for this readathon, you need to complete all three challenges associated to a race for your character to be part of that race. You can try to complete as many challenges as possible, though, so that you have more options. Plus, if you read at least one book for a race, you’ll have an advantage when it comes to choosing your companions’ races! But, yes! Enough explaining! Let’s talk about my TBR now! I’m going to try to complete four races altogether, which are dragonborn, gnome, half-orc and tiefling! I’ll also be doing my best to read at least one book for all the other races. And so, below the cut, you can find all that I plan on reading for the readathon during the month of July!

DRAGONBORN

INVOLVES DRAGONS.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Shatter the Sky, by Rebecca Kim Wells. To put this summary really simply, it’s about a girl who plans on stealing one of the empire’s dragons to save her girlfriend, and basically, it sounds right up my alley. I was lucky enough to receive an eArc of it through Netgalley, and I honestly cannot wait to get to it. Obviously, there are dragons, or at least one dragon in this story, and so it fits perfectly for this challenge!

RECOMMENDED BY A PARENT/GUARDIAN/MENTOR.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Le Roi de fer, by Maurice Druon. This is called The Iron King in English, and is the first book in Les Rois maudits series (The Accursed Kings). It’s about a line of kings descending from a king who killed templars, and on whose family was placed a curse by one of those templars. It’s historical fiction, very much romanticized, and I’m oh so excited to read it. My mother has been trying to get me to read it for years now, and I’m so excited for us to be able to talk about it together. 

BUDDY-READ.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Girls With Sharp Sticks, by Suzanne Young. This is a book about girls who go to this academy where they’re taught to be docile, obedient, and not have any opinions of their own, until one day they realize there’s more going on than they had originally realized. As for the buddy-read, I’ll be buddy-reading this book with two of my favourite people, aka Sage ( sageshelves ) and Kat ( stardustreviews )! 

DWARF

FOIL ON THE COVER. 

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Mirage, by Somaiya Daud. This is a moroccan-inspired sci-fi fantasy about a girl who’s forced to become the body double of a princess who’s very much so hated by her subjects. Problem is, the main character starts to get used to life at court. This has foil both on the dusk jacket and underneath it (as I have the Owlcrate exclusive edition), so I think it’s a perfect fit for this challenge!

ELF

UNDER 200 PAGES.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Giant Days, Vol. 5, by John Allison & more. This comic series follows three young women who became fast friends in university, and I’ve been loving it so far. It’s a lot more interesting than the premise leads you to believe, and I cannot wait to get to the fifth volume! It’s only 112 pages, too, so that works perfectly for this challenge!

GNOME

BRIGHT COVER.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Prince Charming, by Rachel Hawkins. This follows an american teenage girl whose older sister is marrying the fictional prince of England, and who has a temperament that could lead her into some trouble, hence why the crown appoints a guy to help her like, chill! I don’t know if everyone would consider this cover to be bright, but I do, so! Yes!

5-STAR PREDICTION. 

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Captain Marvel, Vol. 3: Alis Volat Propriis, by Kelly Sue DeConnick & David López. This is the last volume in this particular run of Captain Marvel, who’s a superhero who mostly helps out in space. She’s my favourite superhero, and though I have given the first two volumes only four stars, I have a feeling like the third volume will get a higher rating than that!

CALLED UNDERHYPED AND/OR UNDERRATED. 

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Wild Savage Stars, by Kristina Pérez. This is the sequel to Sweet Black Waves, which is a retelling of Tristan and Iseult told through Branwen’s perspective, who happens to be Iseult’s lady in waiting, cousin and best friend. The first book is my favour of all time, and it is way too underhyped, in my opinion. I was lucky enough to get an arc of the second book, Wild Savage Stars, and so I’ll be reading it in July!

HALF-ELF

ONLY ONE POV. 

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling. It is definitely at least 99% told from one POV, so it definitely counts. I’ve decided to re-read the Harry Potter books physically this year, and so I’m planning on reading two of them in July! One of which you’ll hear about a bit later on in this list. 

HALF-ORC

THAT ISN’T IN PRISTINE CONDITION. 

For this challenge, I’ll be reading The Collapsing Empire, by John Scalzi. This is an adult sci-fi novel about three people who are trying to salvage what they can from an empire on the brink of collapse. It comes highly recommended, and I cannot wait to get to it. It fits this challenge due to the fact that there’s a tear in the hardcover; I got it from BookOutlet and so I didn’t fuss about it, which worked out well for me since I can now use it for this challenge!

WITH A MORALLY GREY PROTAGONIST.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Sadie, by Courtney Summers. It’s a book about a girl who sets out on a revenge quest after her younger sister has been killed, and a podcast that talks about her and what happened. I heard a few people describe the main character of this book as morally grey, considering what she’s doing, and so I’ll be counting it for this challenge!

OVER 500 PAGES.

For this challenge, I’m either going to read Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon OR A Clash of Kings, by George R.R. Martin. Both are well over 500 pages long, and I know I’ll go for one of the two for this challenge. I’m currently reading A Game of Thrones, and so I feel like I might want to read the sequel next month, but also, I’m super excited for Priory, so! We’ll see!

HALFLING

WITH A POV THAT DIFFERS FROM YOUR OWN. 

For this challenge, I’m going to be reading Blanca & Roja, by Anna-Marie McLemore. This follows latinx characters, and as I’m not latinx myself, it works perfectly for this challenge! Basically, this book follows two sisters who come from a family where, out of every two girls born to a woman, one will eventually be turned into a swan. Anna-Marie McLemore’s one of my favourite authors of all time, and I can’t believe I haven’t read this yet!

HUMAN

BORROWED AT THE LIBRARY.

This might change depending on whether or not it’s available at the library, but if it is, I’ll be borrowing I Hate Fairyland, Vol. 2: Fluff My Life for this challenge. This is an adult comic that will also work for The Book Junkie Trials, a readathon I’m also reading in July and for which I’ll post a tbr asap!

TIEFLING

BANNED BOOK.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, by J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter is one of the most banned series in the world, and so I feel like it will work perfectly for this challenge! I’m not reading the first book in July, though, because I read it just a few months ago. However, I am counting this as the start of my physical re-read of Harry Potter in English! 

FOLLOWS A HUMANOID (BUT NOT FULLY HUMAN) CHARACTER.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading Unnatural, Vol. 1: Awakening, by Mirka Andolfo. I’m not exactly sure what this is about, as I think it’s nice to go into some comics without knowing too much, but I do know that it follows a pig girl, and therefore a humanoid, but not fully human character, which is perfect for this challenge!

RECOMMENDED TO YOU BY SOMEONE YOU TRUST.

For this challenge, I’ll be reading La Reine étranglée (The Strangled Queen in English), by Maurice Druon. This is the second book in Les Rois maudits (The Accursed Kings in English), a series of historical fiction novels that are heavily romanticized. It comes highly recommended from my mother, and as I’m already reading the first book of this series for the readathon, and I’ve heard that I’ll want to continue straight away, I decided to add this book to July’s tbr!

[lafiametta]

@graduatedpillowmonster wanted to hear more about how Henry and John’s dinner date went! (Does it count as a spoiler if I tell you right now that the coq au vin turned out perfectly?)

It was dark by the time he pulled up next to the house, which looked almost exactly as he had imagined it would: neat and modestly sized, tucked a little way back from the street, a pair of leafy oaks framing the stone path that led up to the front porch. Light spilled from the front windows, warm gold beacons shining into the night.

Henry grabbed the gift from the passenger seat and stepped out into the cool of the evening air. His stomach fluttered unsteadily – it had been doing that for most of the day – and as he made his way along the path he tried to take several deep breaths to calm himself. It was only John, he told himself. It was just like dropping by the bookstore, which he did all the time. But it wasn’t really, not if he was being honest, because he had never once walked into that bookstore thinking that he was likely to end up kissing John Bridgens or – in what was now looking like a distinct possibility – spending the night in his bed. Still, he knew it would be foolish to go in with any kind of expectations of what might happen; if John wanted to take this slow, which could easily be the case, he was more than willing to wait. 

And then he remembered the feeling of John’s mouth, so warm and eager as it coaxed against his, which only caused his heart to dance more skittishly against the tight confines of his ribs. 

He pressed the doorbell and then ran a quick hand over his hair, glancing down at himself for a moment to make sure he was halfway presentable. (Not that there was much to be done if he wasn’t, he realized.) 

The door swung open to reveal John, looking sharply handsome in a white slim-fitting button-down and dark jeans, a chef’s apron tied around his waist. He smiled warmly, his hand reaching out to clasp Henry’s shoulder as he leaned in to give him a small welcoming kiss upon his cheek. 

“Please, come in.” He stepped back to invite Henry inside, and it was only then that Henry remembered the bouquet he was holding in his hand.

“Lovely,” John said as Henry offered it to him, looking a bit surprised but accepting it with a gesture of practiced grace. 

(At first, Henry hadn’t really known what to bring: wine was pretty much out of the question, as John knew so much more about it than he did, and buying a bottle of liquor was also tricky, mostly because he didn’t know what kind John preferred – although he suspected his taste ran towards the higher end of things. It was only after several other failed ideas that he hit upon the notion of flowers, which was, admittedly, a rather unconventional thing to give a man, but he thought John of all people would appreciate the sentiment. At the florist’s he had spent some time looking over all his options, finally deciding on a combination of gardenias, lilac-colored dahlias, and peonies so dark and velvety purple they looked almost black. “Lucky girl,” the florist had said. Henry had just smiled, saying nothing in return.)

John took his jacket and then excused himself for a moment so that he could find something to put the flowers in. “Would you like wine?” he asked before he disappeared into the kitchen. “I’ve got both red and white.”

“Whatever’s open,” Henry answered back.

While John was gone, he took the opportunity to have a look around: the space felt warm and lived-in, with touches of forest green and navy mixed with dark wood accents. A fireplace took up part of one side of the living room, the mantle topped with decorative antiques, but the prominent feature, which covered two walls nearly floor to ceiling, were the books. There seemed to be just about every kind imaginable: slim paperbacks and hardcovers with worn-edged dust jackets and even a few leather-bound volumes with gold-stamped titles written across the spine. Henry stopped himself from examining them too closely – he wasn’t at the bookstore, after all – and instead allowed himself to think about what such a collection might represent, a lifetime of words hand-picked and arranged with care, waiting patiently along the shelves like so many old, familiar friends. 

Music was playing softly from a set of speakers in the corner, what sounded to his ears like old-time piano jazz, and he quickly spotted a turntable just nearby, a red-labeled vinyl record spinning underneath the plexiglass cover. It shouldn’t have surprised him – it wasn’t as if he had imagined John making Spotify playlists or asking Alexa to play his favorite album – but still he smiled, slightly charmed by his discovery. 

John reappeared with two glasses of white wine and offered one to Henry. “Cheers,” he said, holding out his glass, and Henry raised his own drink to tap against it, the tiny crystal note left to vibrate in the air.

The wine, he was certain, was delicious, but it was hard to focus on the taste when all he could think about was how close John was standing and how completely delectable his arms looked with his shirt sleeves casually cuffed up to the elbow. His breath began to turn heavy, charged by their unacknowledged proximity. Still, he knew he couldn’t just keep standing there silently holding his glass; he needed to say something interesting, or just anything at all. 

“It smells wonderful,” Henry finally said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. He wasn’t exaggerating; he could catch the scent of rosemary and garlic as well as something rich and savory he could only hope was bacon.  

John shrugged. “Not much to it, really. You throw everything in the pot and let the ingredients do most of the work.”

They made their way towards the kitchen, where the mouthwatering aroma only intensified, and Henry heard his stomach growl a little in response. The room itself was warmly-lit, with gray cabinets and white-tile countertops, all of it looking remarkably neat and tidy despite the work going on. A cast iron pot sat on the stove simmering away and there was a large leafy salad on the central island. John grabbed a thick dishcloth and pulled a pan of herb-roasted potatoes from the oven, quickly scooping the contents into a serving dish. 

Henry leaned against the counter, gently setting his wine glass down. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“Would you mind taking the salad and potatoes to the table? The wine and bread are already there.” John turned his attention to the pot, grabbing a spoon and giving it a quick stir. “The coq au vin’s nearly done, so I’ll be right behind you.”

As Henry walked in, he noticed that the lights in the dining room had been dimmed lower, while a trio of candles flickered in the center of the table, casting a golden glow over their surroundings. Henry’s flowers were there as well, splayed open to fullness in a porcelain vase, looking darkly beautiful and perfect, as if they had somehow been arranged to match the room. The long rectangular dining table was already set for two, but rather than being placed across from each other, John had put the settings along the adjacent sides of a corner, a subtle gesture that struck Henry as a touch suggestive in its intimacy. (Of course, he had never been invited for dinner like this before, so it was entirely possible he was overthinking things.)

He glanced out the wide windows into the back yard; it was quiet and still, the moonlight softly illuminating a pair of patio chaises and the raised bed of a small kitchen garden.

True to his word, John followed soon after him, carrying the pot with both hands and depositing it carefully on the table, a dishcloth wrapped around the handles to protect him from the heat. He served them both, first by pulling out the larger pieces of chicken thigh with a set of tongs and then by ladling out the dark-colored broth, which was filled with mushrooms, carrots, and chunks of bacon. They helped themselves to the side dishes and to thick slices of bread, and John made sure Henry’s wine glass was filled once more before he topped off his own.  

“I’m glad you came,” he said, catching Henry’s eye over the rim of his glass, and then he smiled, tiny fragments of candle light reflecting in his gaze. 

“Me too,” Henry replied, his face growing warm under such gentle scrutiny. 

The food, naturally, was amazing, which he told John over and over again, and it was all Henry could do not to want to wolf it down as quickly as possible. But he soon found himself following John’s lead, slowing down and pausing so he could savor each bite, each flavor, each sip of wine, enjoying himself in the moment rather than rushing towards some unseen finish. The conversation began to flow easily, any lingering nerves or awkwardness smoothed over, aided, perhaps, by the pouring of more wine. They talked about themselves in ways they hadn’t ever really been able to at the bookstore, in ways that were more personal and real than Henry was completely used to, but it wasn’t hard to talk that way with John, not at all. They talked about books, too – it was almost an inalterable habit at this point – and for a while went back and forth about the depiction of female characters in the first few chapters of The Age of Innocence, which Henry was nearly half-way through, before finally deciding that they would simply have to agree to disagree when it came to the works of Edith Wharton.

John surprised him with the news that he had also prepared dessert, quickly heading back to the kitchen and returning with two small dishes of crème brûlée, their sugared tops scorched to a golden brown. He showed Henry how to tap the caramelized surface with the back of his spoon so that it cracked evenly enough for him pick up tiny bits of it with each bite of the custard. 

Perhaps it was the combination of the food and the company and the late-growing hour, but they soon found themselves talking about past relationships – or at least Henry found himself talking about his past relationships – and then he realized he didn’t know that much about John, at least not about that side of him. And there was something he wanted to know, something that had gnawed at him for some time. He hadn’t said anything before, but now, his inhibitions lowered just enough by the wine, he gave in to the desire to ask. 

“It’s just…” He paused, before finally finding some of the words he had been searching for. “You’re a catch, to be honest. Handsome. Educated. You own your own business, your own home. I guess I don’t understand why you’re still…” He didn’t quite want to say it, not when it was going to sound so blunt. 

“Alone?” John offered. 

Henry nodded. 

“You remember the man I told you about, the one I ran the store with?”

Of course Henry remembered. John had never provided much beyond the barest outlines, but from the way he spoke about him, Henry could sense that their relationship had meant a great deal to John and that the impact of his death had been profound.

“Michael was my partner, in every way imaginable,” he continued. “I was young when I met him, like you, but even then we knew that it was something special. We bought the store together, we bought this house together, and after he died, I… well, I wasn’t really looking. I needed time.”

“And now… you’re looking?”

“You could say that.” He smiled softly, his eyes downcast, and then raised them to meet Henry’s gaze. “But from where I’m sitting, I don’t know that I need to look much further.”

They sat there for a moment, neither of them speaking, the air around them charged with something powerful and heavy, something that curled itself around Henry’s throat and pricked hot along his skin. He understood everything John was saying and the invitation that was being laid out before him. A few months ago he would have immediately taken it up and enjoyed what he had been offered, but for some reason he felt the urge to wait, if only for a little while, now understanding that the pleasure to be had in the anticipation was sometimes as great as that to be had in the act itself.

So he cleared his throat, temporarily letting the spell break, and then stood and made an offer to start on the dishes, which was only fair, he said, considering that John did all the cooking. John protested a little – Henry was a guest, he didn’t need to be cleaning up his messes – but eventually gave in, but only with the compromise that he do the drying if Henry insisted on the washing. 

They stood side by side at the sink, each plate and glass scrubbed clean and handed over to be dried, until there was nothing left, and Henry turned off the faucet, the kitchen returning to a steady hum of silence. Saying nothing, he turned a little towards John and reached out to slide a hand along his waist, feeling the warmth of him underneath the fabric of his shirt. He took a step closer until their bodies came up against each other, until they were nearly face to face. But instead of kissing him, he turned so he could graze his nose along John’s cheek, his touch featherlight as he breathed in deeply. 

“Are you sure, Henry?” There was a rough strain in John’s voice, and he smiled a little to think he was the cause for it. 

“Completely,” he murmured.

John’s hand quickly found his, their fingers lacing together with ease, as if simply returning to where they were meant to be all along. 

“Shall we go upstairs, then?”