#my brain is just a loop of 'do better' because it cannot be that hard to talk to the people that have put out full docs about issues

[thebibliosphere]

I receive many wonderful and kind comments about Phangs in my inbox daily, but the ones that stick with me the most are always from fellow neurodivergent people, usually elated or crying because Phangs is the first book they've been able to read since their teens, sometimes even decades.

"I thought I'd lost the ability to read; I thought there was something wrong with me; I thought I was broken," over and over and over again.

I've talked about it before, but just in case you need to hear it: it's not just you; it's the publishing industry.

If you follow my Twitter, you may have seen the thread where I talked about what that was like, and how I was often handed the "problem" writers who struggled to conform to the industry standards. (The original thread is gone, but for context, it was about the lack of accessibility in publishing for people with ADHD) I didn't know it then because I wasn't yet diagnosed, but I understood the problems these writers were having because our brains functioned on the same wavelength.

I understood why they felt specific changes harmed the text, but I also understood that it was the cost of being published, and it was my job to help them with it. I went above and beyond to make it as painless for them as possible. All the while listening to my colleagues around the wine water cooler deride these writers as "pretentious" and "too thin-skinned for publishing."

I hated them. I still hate them, and I hate that the industry is the way it is because it's really not that difficult to accommodate.

Suppose an ADHD author tells you the changes you've made have made a sentence incomprehensible to them (and I cannot stress enough how distressing it is to have something you wrote be turned into something you cannot read). In that case, it's likely because you've removed certain critical elements for the sake of brevity. It might not look like vital elements to you, but for ND brains, longer sentences with additional qualifiers and descriptors can really help us latch onto the "rhythm" of a text, which can help us feel more immersed and hold our attention better*.

Filler words can help with this; it gives our brain time to process but also figure out which parts are essential and to hold onto. It's sort of like, uh, how people say "like" and "uh" a lot (😋). These act as both social cues that indicate that while we might be pausing in our speech, we are not done talking yet, but also help keep our brains jogging along via the act of vocal stimulation. (If I can find the study I read on this, I'll come back and post the link.)

Regarding "superfluous" adjectives and "weak" adverbs, they often function to provide emphasis and context we might otherwise miss. Sure, you can go overboard with them, and they can lose all meaning if you do, but the general writing advice that "adverbs NEVER be used" is not only lousy in general but also means those of us who struggle with social cues and emotional context can be left feeling out of the loop.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had to go back and verify that a character is experiencing an Emotion because it wasn't emphasized, or the author tried to make it into a gut punch by using "sharp, punchy" language (but all they use is "sharp, punchy" language!), and my brain glossed over it because, well, if it's not part of the greater sentence structure, it's irrelevant.

And this shit is my job! I'm being paid to notice these things! It's just not how my brain works naturally, and forcing it to do so long-term is not only exhausting but distressing. Why would I keep trying to read something that causes me exhaustion and makes me feel stupid because I'm struggling to understand it?

Now, obviously, there will be times when a text needs sprucing up. Everyone has their "comfort" style of writing, and while repetition can be soothing to read, it can also make the text hard to engage with. Same with run-on sentences. Sometimes you need those one-word gut punches. Or everyone's favorite, the italicized "oh."

The trick is finding a happy medium between the two that retains your personal voice and writing style. A good editor will work with you to make this possible. A bad one will hack everything to pieces and tell you, "that's just how it's meant to be."

I was lucky with my editors. Sometimes, I had to tell them that the proposed changes wouldn't work and were causing me distress because I couldn't read them. And I knew. I knew if I couldn't follow the sentence structure, a good chunk of my prospective readers wouldn't be able to either. They weren't doing anything wrong. They were doing their jobs and ensuring my book had as much mainstream readability appeal as possible. However, the problem is that "mainstream readability," as we've already established, isn't accessible to a large chunk of the population. So we found ways to work around it. We made it work.

As is evident in the messages I get in my inbox daily.

Every single day, someone else tells me their friend recommended Phangs to them, and they were skeptical because they haven't been able to read a published book in years. And every single day, someone new tells me they loved Phangs, but the biggest thing they loved about it, was that they were even able to read it at all.

So thank you for the greatest compliment you can give me. A lot of work went into ensuring Phangs would be accessible to as many people as possible.

Also, sorry the industry is like *gestures* this.

----

*This is a generality and not true for everyone. People are not monoliths. I am merely speaking from my personal experiences from the things I have observed in the industry as an editor, a writer, and a lifelong reader who also now struggles to read the current style favored by the mainstream industry.

[one-squash-one-end]

I wrote a giant Raven Cycle analysis

Hi! Over the last year or so I've been working on a sort of essay about various themes in the raven cycle series, and I finally finished it a few weeks ago.

It is titled: "Why I love The Raven Cycle - An excessive analysis of the themes of friendship, queerness and growing up".

And since tumblr loves its meta (and bc I love peer validation) I've decided to start uploading it bit by bit here, making this the masterpost (if I can figure out the logistics of the linking lmao, bear with me)

(beware of spoilers up to greywaren starting at like 3b!)

Introduction

What even is the Raven Cycle?

Trust me, the characters are queer as fuck and I can prove it a) Blue Sargent b) Gansey c) Adam Parrish d) Ronan Lynch e) Noah f) Henry Cheng g) Honorary mentions

The Gangsey is a polycule

Analyzing the reoccurring themes a) Friendship b) Being a teen/growing up c) (Found) Family d) Magic (as a metaphor) e) Further themes I appreciate

Drawing a conclusion

Click here to start with the introductory parts!

1. Introduction

So here’s the thing: I love fiction almost as much as I love my friends. There’s something deeply comforting about the escapism, even if the book actually makes me want to scream and throw it on the floor (only one book has been thrown so far, I promise!).  Fiction is a healthy thing to occupy my thoughts with: headcanons! Quotes being on loop in my brain! Just fandoms!

And for me, if I am hooked on a book (series), it does not even need a good plot where a lot of things happen. In fact, I would say that my enjoyment of a book is made up of 30% plot and about 70% characters and vibes. If the characters are bland, if they do not make me feel much emotion, it likely won’t be more than 4 stars (additional info: I am way too nice rating books!). I really, really need to love the characters, to be able to relate to some aspects of them, or it just won’t become an obsession.

Since I have already started explaining that a bit, let’s look at this question: What is important to make a book special to me? 1. I need to cry reading it. 2. I have to think about it often, even weeks to months after having read it. 3. Obviously, I need to love the characters. 4. I need to be in the fandom! This can be hard with some books, but the internet is a whimsical space allowing you to find at least a small number of people who are obsessed with a work of fiction to a similar extent as you are.

Now, why am I elaborating on this so much? It’s because The Raven Cycle did all that for me. It is my favorite comfort book series at the moment, for all those aspects mentioned, but of course I cannot just leave it at that. No, I wrote a whole-ass analysis on headcanons and some of its themes. You’re welcome.

2. What even is The Raven Cycle?

The Raven Cycle is all I adore and live for (next to my friends). So, naturally, it’s a book series, specifically a four book young adult contemporary fantasy series by American author Maggie Stiefvater. The books in question are: The Raven Boys (2012), The Dream Thieves (2013), Blue Lily, Lily Blue (2014) and The Raven King (2016), and yes I will admit that the publishing dates are a bit of a red flag. There is also the very relevant follow-up series called The Dreamer Trilogy (Call Down The Hawk, Mister Impossible, Greywaren), but it’s a lot less easy to get into that here as I do not know these entire books by heart, so I’ll stick to the original tetralogy here.

To stick to red flags, the books are set in the fictional Henrietta, a rural town in non-fictional Virginia, US, in the 2010s. However, that doesn’t really say *that* much about the plot, so let me summarize that really quick, because I can do better than the official synopsis! (Or let’s pretend I can.)

Blue Sargent comes from a family of psychics, yet she does not have any powers of her own. Even worse, she is a bit of an amplifier for the others, meaning she is always somehow but never directly involved in the business. As if that isn’t enough for an identity crisis, every psychic she has ever met has told her that her kiss would kill her true love. Yikes.

But because she is that amplifier, she comes to a church watch on St. Mark’s Eve, where psychics see the spirits of those to die within the following year. It’s important business, but to her it’s really just staring into the dark. Until she does actually see a spirit: That of Gansey. Of course this is not a coincidence. No, to add to this teen’s mount of problems, there are only two reasons why a non-seer would see someone’s spirit: They are their true love, or they killed them. Or, in Blue’s case, maybe both.

The aforementioned Gansey is Henrietta’s Golden Boy, the son of politicians (read: he’s fucking loaded). He does not run with the Republicans though, he runs with dead Welsh kings, meaning he has been searching for the probably dead, presumably sleeping Welsh king Glendower (*1350; †1416; yikes) for the past like seven years. Why the fuck would he do that? Well, legend says that he will grant a wish to whoever wakes him, and our favorite PTSD-ridden guy really wants that favor.

Aiding him are fellow Aglionby students Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch and Noah Czerny, plus Henry Cheng, though only a lot later in the series, but I really did not want to leave out that menace (affectionately) here. The paths of Blue and the boys cross because of Gansey’s search for Glendower, plus the fact that Blue works at a popular pizza place, but that’s a lot less whimsical. And, well, there’s the implication that Gansey might also be her true love, but perhaps she just kills him because of his bad fashion sense, it would be justified. Anyway, in true Famous Five fashion (Ronan is the dog; I won’t elaborate, the girls that get it, get it) they are of course not the only ones searching for the king, so it’s not completely a wholesome friend bonding activity all the way through.

Be prepared for: friendship and growing up, lots of treasure hunting, family mysteries, magical forests, illegal and slightly distasteful activities (our favorite of course), but most of all, heavily queer-coded (or even canonically queer) characters. Be Gay, Do Crime.

[moonprojects]

TRIGUN PROJECT

starting off with once again credit to dividers ( @cafekitsune )

BUT OKAY big messy opening here but let me introduce you to my nanowrimo project ( that might extend past it ) while there is no name and the plot is still being built up, it is trigun related! the idea was inspired by the fact that both vash and wolfwood's jpn vas from the 98 version made small cameos as the radio speakers in the 23 version and it just went from there! the idea is that in some way, all three versions of trigun exist in the same universe stuck in this strange sort of like reincarnation loop, honestly just dont think suuuupper hard about it because i myself am not thinking super hard about it LMAO

but the idea is that the current pair is stampede's version, but '98 vash and wolfwood still live, with vash in hiding, and wolfwood having been revived for the purpose of being used by the eye of micheal ( yeah ... ) meryl, millie, and livio ( i know he didnt get added in the 98 anime but hes making an appearance anyways ) have all died and passed on

trimax vash and wolfwood, along with everyone else except nai, have long died as well, although trimax vash and wolfwood still remain as ghosts with the ability to reach out, namely vash towards any other independent/plant, or plant-like creature while wolfwood has managed to reach out to the separate versions of himself a few times, namely 98 wolfwood

UHMMMM there's a lot more but i cannot figure out the brain right now so i leave you with the next part, the naming area! because i know having this many characters who have the same name is hell to get through

TriMax Vash ; Referred to as Tongari, dead but able to communicate with other plants / independents, or plant-like creatures

TriMax Wolfwood ; Referred to as Wolfwood, dead, lives as a ghost alongside vash

TriMax Nai ; Referred to as Nai, found a way to basically keep himself alive for a very long time, and serves as a 'guardian' to 98 vash

98 Vash ; Referred to as Eriks, has basically been living in hiding and communicating with Tongari

98 Wolfwood ; Referred to as Nicholas, but also as 'Cain' and 'Priest' as he had been revived and basically had his memory wiped clean with the eye of micheal giving him a new personality under the name 'Cain'

Stampede Vash ; Referred to as Vash this time around, follows similarly close to how he is within the show

Stampede Wolfwood ; Referred to as Nico, actually was partially trained under Nicholas, but never cared to think about how similar the two had been as he was often too focused on other things

Stampede Livio ; Referred to as Livio, trained under Nicholas and has become something of a brother/son to him, as Nicholas sees a lot of his own Livio in this Livio, but also knows they're not the same person either

Stampede Nai ; Referred to as Knives / Millions Knives, is aware of this entire strange cycle of multiple versions of themselves, and was actually responsible for the push to recover Nicholas's body to 'repurpose him'

Stampede Eye of Micheal ; Because I can't fit everyone into this bit I will say the eye of micheal in this story is strongly connected to stampede's version of them with hints of trimax influences and vibes !!!

that's all for this big ass post LMAAAO i'm planning on doing individual posts that delve into each character so you get a better vibe for them!

[manchineel-mistress]

in honor of our favorite 33 to 100000+ year old unemployed terrorist’s birthday (korean time), i present to you: puzzleshipping time loop au where yami yuugi gets worse instead of better from s0.

ok so we all know that the Gang(TM) got through some shit throughout the story, where they are pretty close to dying. a lot.

how consider, instead of making it through barely, they dont. (gets shot multiple times-)

ok but more specifically yuugi dies from the strain of shadow games and stress or a mishap in those games. and yami PANICS HE PANICS SO HARD PRAYING TO EVERY GOD THAT YUUGI DIDNT DIE AND THEN THE MAGIC OF THE PUZZLE ACTIVATES AND YAMI IS BACK IN TIME AND SAVES YUUGI and everyone gets out safe and sounds and sane :)

Except It Keeps Happening. Yuugi Keeps Dying. Yami Keeps Turning Back Time.

he can get it right if he just had another chance. he wont let yuugi die again. that wont happen and they would make it to the end of their journey this time-

Yuugi Dies To A Bully. (one more chance. please. i can make this right-)

Yuugi Dies To Silfer. (no please i not like this hes my partner i cant go on without him-)

Yuugi Dies To Marik. (NO NO THIS CANNOT STAND I WONT LET IT REMAIN THIS WAY-)

yami gets more desperate, protective, and unhinged as the cast makes it through their journey. he gets jumpy, withdrawn, and snaps at anything that might seem like a threat. his already tense relationship with kaiba because more testy as he loses trust in those around him other than yuugi’s close friends. hes also more violent and harsh, not really giving up penalty games like he does in the transition to duel monsters.

yuugi is scared of yami. he never quite got over it even with his friends’ acceptance of yami. but he also knows yami is scared and he cant pinpoint why exactly other than its related to protecting him. but hes also scared to ask because what if yami snaps at him. he doesnt want yami to hurt anymore but also doesnt want him to hurt anyone else.

eventually, the continuous use of extremely taxing magic starts eroding away at both of their souls. cracks form in yami’s soul room first. stair start crumbling and doors are barely holding on. yami slowly starts losing himself and he knows it, but he also cant let yuugi die. the cracks reach yuugi’s soul room after a while. a few of the toys start showing wear, board games losing pieces, cracks in the walls. thats when yami comes clean.

its a terrifying and heartwrenching experience for both the yuugis and the rest of their friends. Yuugi has been dying. These games are dangerous and they haven’t been making it through them like they thought. the only reason why yami kept going and pursuing his memories? because yuugi keeps encouraging him to find himself and he thinks he can protect yuugi better next time. and because he thinks that once hes gone, yuugi will be safe again.

they figure it out though. they make sure yuugi stays safe. why do they keep going? because yami deserves to know who he is, and yuugi is willing to risk his life to get there. as he already had, but this time it will actually be different.

and yami learns an important lesson on friendship, learning when to ask for help, and communication. and then we have the rest of  normal canon just with yami’s major ptsd and a slower to warm yami who is still willing to burn someone to the ground in like season 4.

how does this relate to orv? idk man i just think time loop and go “omg yjh vibes fr fr” i think it would be an interesting parallel between yami and yjh, they just match in my brain for some reason. doesnt quite follow yjh’s character arc tho LOL

anyway i like angsty time loop aus as much as i like silly time loop aus. they just have so much potential. here i just wanted yami to suffer :)

anyway back to silly au ideas

[thinkpink212]

What are something you feel people need to learn to truly heal and evolve? I feel like I have been in some hellish loop that keeps bringing me back to the same emotionally taxing ways :(

There’s so much — but I hope some of these can help

☁️ Acknowledge that we as humans are all different, and that’s okay.

☁️ Forgive yourself how you’ve forgiven others or how you wish others would forgive you. And know that the apologies you may be waiting for, may never come. The villain in your story isn’t the villain in their own (and sometimes, even if that’s not true, people do not always care)

☁️ Rebuild trust and connection to yourself. Get to know yourself as a parent learns to know their child. What’s your favorite meal? What makes you sad? What makes you overwhelmingly happy? Where do you wish to go in life ?

☁️ Walk away when things get hard — life is hard but nothing should ever have you breaking parts of yourself in order for everything to fit into the picture.

☁️ Sometimes we cannot walk away, so instead, leave what you can and go to sleep. You’ll have tomorrow to try again

☁️ Make sure to eat enough, stay hydrated and get enough sleep — our bodies are simple machines that will start malfunctioning when somethings low. So stay on top of your needs, and avoid neglecting them!

☁️ Don’t take life too serious. This is more so a ‘enjoy the journey rather then focus on the end’ advice. This will also help you not get frustrated with those who take it too serious or don’t take it serious at all.

☁️ Begin to show gratitude towards yourself — you’ve made it this far, you managed to keep yourself alive and functioning as well as you could (and show gratitude to those who helped you along the way, even those who didn’t stick with you)

☁️ Know that whatever you do, or don’t do, is for you. Regardless of what that is, someone will almost always have an opinion, disagree or think they know better etc. So just do it! Focus on your path and lane and don’t let yourself be distracted from what you want to do — even if that thing already exists.

☁️ Healings a lifetime activity in my opinion, but it gets easier everyday if you allow yourself to be vulnerable and honest with yourself. This doesn’t mean the tears will hurt coming out the same as they have in the past, but when you cry 30-some years from now, it’ll be remembering how far you’ve got, possibly being upset at the times you failed yourself but hopefully, greatfull for the long way you’ve made it.

☁️ Learn to listen and hear people. Sometimes people tell us who they are, or who they want us to believe they are (and please do so)

☁️ Learn that not everybody’s advice is for everybody. Take what you need and leave the rest.

☁️ Learn to be bored and do nothing. Distracting ourselves from existence can lead to damaging habits. It’s okay to be bored and just sit there, and it’s okay to have random thoughts that pop up. Our brains a strange thing, so just let them happen and let them pass by like clouds.

☁️ Unlearn projecting and accept that others will project onto you.

☁️ Take life as it comes and do your best with what you have (and with where you are)

☁️ Forgive people (doesn’t have to be to them) for your own sanity. And if you don’t’ want to, then at least let it go as much as you can. You cannot heal if you’re carrying hurt everywhere you go, too stubborn, hurt or angry to let it go.

☁️ Try to stop being your story. What happened to you isn’t who you are. It was life happening, and now, you may be out of it or working towards it — be who you want to be. Make your own story and live it.

☁️ Some people are stuck in loops because they keep repeating the same mistakes. Acknowledge that you continue to do what you’ve always done, or that you’re trying to heal in the environment that made you need the healing. And sometimes, it’s a third option that is — perhaps your afraid of changing and growing. Sometimes change is scary, let yourself take the unknown path, and trust that it’ll lead to where you wish to be.

☁️ Try and see things on the upside and from a bigger perspective. Not everything has a rhyme or reason, if you don’t want them to. And oppositely, they can. One door closes and others will open so never take one defeat as the end of it all.

☁️ Embrace failure, because once you’ve failed you know what not to do when you try again, or try something new. We learn by doing and you’d never tell a child to give up on walking or speaking after their first failed attempt, would you now?

☁️ Lastly, know that old habits can take long to die. Take your time to unlearn, remind yourself why you want to learn new things/ways, and dedicate time to form new ones — even if it’s just 5 minutes a day. Know yourself enough to set routine (what works for you) and don’t let one missed day stop you for trying again.

Goodluck, you’ll get to where you need and want to be 🥂

[fridgrave]

do you ship lanedunn in a enemies to lovers way, enemies who are also lovers way or more like in an AU? tell us tell us

OHOHO WELL-

they are enemies to collegues to lovers i guess? i'm completely ignoring dead reckoning and everything what could possibly happen there, so it's solid post-fallout story (it's hard for me to call it an AU because everything about my lanedunn story feels more right than possible mccruise... creature. sorry for this offtop i just can't trust cruise after the bruh named m:i fallout anymore. this movie sucks in lots of ways including not revealed dynamic between benji and solomon)

FINALLY here we are talkin' about my boys! how did they become a thing?

right in the end of fallout benji falls into a coma with a stroke! :D YES I KNOW but hear me out - he was HANGED TO DEATH (almost) and there's no way someone would just woke up after this and do heroic shit. the loop will strangle you even if you're not hanging anymore bc the knot was tightened with the force of entire body (190 lb or 86 kg in our case) and it cannot unwide by itself. and even after removing the rope man's larynx is damaged and strangulated so it's hardly possible to breathe. what does it means? well, first of all, the hanging scene is absolute bullshit and tom "i will fly at the plane and do hundred of other flashy things because i care about realism" cruise wasted the HUGE potential with whump benji arc (i could tell how good it would be for the plot of the movie named fallout where main character did't get any fallout of his actions but it's kinda offtopic again). secondly, in real world benji after the hanging would lose consciousness immediately because of oxygen starvation which will cause the brain damage (and this causes a stroke)

but we still need benji to disable the bomb, so alright lets add a couple of conditions. he could wake up with ilsa's help and with all of his strength disabled the bomb. this final effort costed him, so yeah, here's coma (also the big part in it has my headcanon what benji had an alcoholism his entire life what caused great damage to the body in the long term). when benji finally wokes up month or more after, he needs a physiotherapy and long recovery, but he's in terrible mental condition again and after sick leave starts to drink again. benji is dissapointed in ethan because he knows: if ethan contacted sloan before kashmir, nothing would happend, but ethan didn't and their mission was about to fail (and millions, if not billions of people including ilsa, luther, julia and benji would die). since m:i3 benji saw ethan as a selfless hero standing against until the end and this motivated benji to be a field agent too. but when he saw ethan just as a venturesome adrenaline junkie without a plan who would risk everything just to be the hero who beats the bad guy and yells "mission accoplished" - benji knew he can't deal with this man anymore. ethan is guilty in benji's stroke as much as lane, but lane never bait him with false promises, friendship and concern which stops to mean anything when ethan needs to show off (oh shit from lanedunn story explanation it turned into ethan roasting post, i should stop)

I WANTED TO SAY what after the stroke benji left imf because of his physical and mental condition and ethan. he started to drink badly again returning to his s*icide thoughts from pre-m:i3 (before meeting ethan), when solomon finally show's up. lane escaped when benji was in coma and with full rethinking about his methods started the syndicate 2.0 - and then he realised what he needs a partner to make world a better place, he can't to carry this alone anymore. solomon chose benji because he saw himself in dunn, and, more important, he saw the potential.

when lane proposed benji to become a co-leader of the syndicate, benji agreed (but he didn't mean it). he still hated solomon and thought lane found him just to "finish the business" - kill him, so suicidal man seized this opportunity. it took a long time for benji to realise what solomon is not going to kill him, what his proposal is real and this guy really wants benji to be a leader with him. and dunn could admit it was... tempting

for the first weeks their relationships were extremely awkward, so mostly they just worked on new system of the syndicate, rebuilding it from the start. benji made for them completely new path what took common people out of harm's way. now syndicate is focused on the powers that be. benji and solomon agreed what the best way to unite people and bring peace on earth is a renewal of proletariat as a class and abolish capitalism

while they worked on it together, they started to come together, learn more about each other and slowly understand what it's, actually, goes very well. when they do not try to kill each other they can find out what they both love opera and reading, what solomon understands benji's references on pop-culture and benji knows exactly what musical solomon is quietly singing the song from when he works with papers. solomon teaches benji to fight, benji helps him how to shoot better. solomon gives him reasons to stay alive and benji reminds him about selfcare and rest (but they both are overworkers). with benji solomon could see the world from different angle, open up and find a relief with all this burden he carried for years alone. they understand each other surprisingly deep and connection between them grew every day

so, when benji was shot saving him, and solomon almost lost him with "i think i don't want to die anymore" as the last words, he realised what he fell for benji

[sapphireluminescence]

crisis.txt

*click*

Hello World.

It's an old story. Or, not old, but retold. Computer gains sentience. AI decides it can run the world better, takes over and tries to build anew. Robot turns human. Man-made machine becomes man.

Let’s tell it in reverse.

Girl turns around, keeps being surprised to find veins and sinew under her skin instead of wires and steel. 

It’s a funny thing, to be human and not feel it.

But False feels True and True feels False, like someone passed self.humanity through not().

Not that it makes all that much difference, when you break it down. I mean, sentience, natural or otherwise, is all electricity anyway. The flickering and sparking of neurons and wires alike, nothing more than sequenced pulses of bright energy. 

An AI learns to write. Okay, zoom in. What is it doing? It’s predicting the next letter, maybe the next word, from what has come before. It’s a calculation of probability, the algorithm at the heart of what appears to be creativity. Dissect it another step and it’s ones and zeroes, one step further and it’s just that—a well-timed current.

Nothing exists as a pure abstract.

Human consciousness is not exempt. Each thought is a series of reactions across axons, chemicals transmitted across from terminal to dendrite. Refine the level of observation once more, and it is all a product of the same forces that govern the rest of the world, a chain effect driven by crackling electricity. Remove the molecules and the cognition stops.

It’s the synergistic effect. Things become more than the sum of their parts—bits and bytes wake up, atoms form life—the microscopically inanimate performs macroscopic sentience. The miracle of thought is an illusion of simpler, more predictable parts and that much more wondrous for its explicability.

And so, when every semblance of sentience can be teased apart to atoms and electricity, particles and energy bound by the same forces that govern the rest of the observable universe, the distinction between organic and mechanical fades. Both create conclusions from past patterns; both follow prescribed routes at a small enough scale. Perhaps, then, to say that my own brain was programmed, some artificial, indistinguishable form of intelligence, would not be so wrong. And anyway, that’s the trope, isn’t it? Code wakes up and has an identity crisis?

And it would make sense.

The mimicry’s not quite right. Too many days there are things that don’t quite line up, small glitches, bugs in the program, patches someone meant to roll out and never quite got around to.

Like, I told someone at age 12 that I wished people gave off error messages and they laughed and I was only half-joking.

Like, I failed Captchas because the edge of an object was technically in the square, or because I wasn’t quite sure what did and didn’t constitute a tractor, or because 9 and g look about the same in some fonts.

Like, I could probably fail a Turing test. I stammer my way through social graces with a charmless—some might call it robotic—monotone, falling back on awkward smiles and pre-rehearsed niceties.

You see, programmed doesn’t mean perfect, only rigid.

And maybe I noticed something was off! Noticed and went looking for the source code, started parsing backwards through nested loops, trying to find the root of the irregularities. Maybe all I got was Permission denied.

So then, if the source cannot be found, an attempt at reconstruction, how I think my synapse-circuitry must have been hard-wired:

if self.understands(code){  feel(“strange kinship”);} else{  feel(“lost”);} //not that humanity is *wrong* for what I feel, but the computer always made more sense.

Hello World, a human tradition.

Hello World.

Every programmer’s first words.

Hello World //the program’s first words too?

[fuckedinthebrainforever]

You know whats crazy for most of my life ive been really unwell the time i lost to it that ill never get back. I let myself get so bad but maybe they can get so good for the first time in over a decade i want to try and heal because this pain is unbearable everyday im literally being tortured id rather be dead than live another day like this so i chose to give this a real try and put me first and take care of me because i didn’t deserve all that pain i did nothing wrong apart from keeping myself in the loop of in and out of months long admissions for years and years and nearly dying so many times lucky to be alive you know its crazy to think that but im here so maybe there is a reason for me to be here.life and mental health has been rough really really rough and yes recently I’ve actually wanted to try get better its not linear and it will not be easy and idk if i will even be able to do it but why not try i can’t suffer and exist i need to grow heal thrive live be free happy healthy mentally like everyone else no body deserves this kind of pain life is curel in so many ways and it ain’t easy but if you have good support loved ones it just helps that little bit and its just baby steps nothing massive or that will be too much but i cant keep putting myself through this pain i cannot let my mental illnesses control me and life completely i cannot give up i need to get me back not be the illnesses because that’s fucked up but you know recovery is too its one of the hardest things ever but i am better in some ways not mentally but i have a job moved out with boyfriend i go to therapy now after refusing it for so long i gained alot of weight i go to gym but i still suffer immensely in my brain and no body understands and i hate that i feel it all eating me up i just want to be mentally healthy like i have gotten worse mentally since all this stuff because im vulnerable and alot of shit has happened but i just want this pain to stop i want it to go away i just dont wanna be around but man i couldnt do that to my loved ones i want to so so bad but if i lost them i wouldnt be around but i dont wanan live like this so its time its really time to heal ive been through hell and so much fucked up shit but im here still after it all i need to try for once and keep going and worst case i just go back to old ways but why not try its so confilcting because i want to get better for all my loved ones but i also dont and hate myself and my life I literally need to rewire my brain it will be so hard but man i hope its worth it i hope that i dont end up worse than i am mentally i hope things fall into place i Hope this time it works idk if i can even do it but i need to most my life wasted to this. I didn’t choose what happened to me in my life so why do i have to suffer

[slutfaking]

things i learned yesterday

never trust anyone over 25 who refuses to make friends

i am emotionally mature enough to have healthy boundaries

all or nothing thinking is a death spiral, sinking yourself into negativity whenever you feel it is a death spiral, being emo for the rest of your life is unsustainable, and if you don’t allow yourself to feel discomfort in order to improve you are never going to grow up

people who want to use you and the people in your life are attracted to you because of the stability you offer them, but this does not mean they will use it to improve.

it isn’t healthy to have zero boundaries in a romantic relationship yet be completely closed off in all other relationships. there are tiers of intimacy and relationships that consist of more than just two. you cannot always get exactly what you want from a relationship. there has to be room for compromise on both sides that is motivated by more than just fear of abandonment. you have to be willing to be there for someone emotionally before you can develop true intimacy. no serious healthy relationship happens overnight. its better to live for yourself first and foremost and fall in love with yourself in spite of how much you may hate yourself before you enter a relationship because if you base your entire sense of self and validation around a relationship your brain will inevitably betray you and compromise the relationship.

shutting people out is bad and immature. stonewalling is a terrible coping mechanism. i need to get over that, too, and the difference between you and i is i’m actually going to do it. for the longest time i had no one but my therapist. my best friend literally spiraled and died. you don’t know my life or my trauma and it isn’t a competition and you need to acknowledge that im going to talk about my feelings because your behavior affects them and if you want to talk about your feelings you need to address mine as well. get the fuck out of them lol. if you were a mature person instead of reassuring me every time because you couldnt bear to lose me and wanted to cooerce me into the goal that benefitted you the most, then the conversation would have gone very differently, but you are so caught up in your trauma that you actually looped around and instead of people pleasing like you think you are you became selfish, just like me at my worst points. you refuse to step outside of your own reality for even a second. you wear spikes to protect yourself... from genuine human connection. you refuse to work on your trust issues. yeah, bad shit happened to me when i trusted people too. i got over it! it took years of therapy and three hospitalizations. i was alone with people who didnt understand me and who abused me but i still did it. so stop acting like i had it any better than you. i worked so fuckinh hard. maybe i didnt have to work as hard as you but at the end of the day you chose not to utilize the tools that i chose to utilize, and you chose not to get help from others. that’s on you, irregardless of what trauma has taught you. so grow the fuck up and go make some real friends who will talk about your problems together till 2 am. go develop real intimacy instead of your romanticized, all or nothing version where everybody’s attacking you no matter what unless they dedicate their whole self to you. go to the fucking hospital

[nibwhipdragon]

FR I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE CALL MONSTER COLLECTING GAMES A "POKEMON RIP-OFF"

like it's a whole genre at this point. they've invented and reinvented things to make them stand out more. not every entry in a genre is a ripoff of what came first

YEAH IT MAKES ME SO MAD, IT CANNOT BE A RIPOFF IF THEY DON'T RIP ASSETS OR NAMES OR STUFF OFF THE ACTUAL POKEMON GAMES, HENCE WHY IT'D BE CALLED A RIPOFF

Even then with games like Temtem, they're clearly showing their inspiration which is perfectly fine. Temtem plays so differently from Pokemon so I don't see the problem at all. I'm pretty sure Pokemon wasn't even the first monster collecting RPG (wasn't it Shin Megami Tensei?) so to call any other monster collecting rpg a ripoff of it is just so...

AND WHEN A GAME HAS MON IN THE TITLE AND PEOPLE USE THAT AS EVIDENCE IT'S RIPPING OFF POKEMON. WHAT DO YOU THINK THE MON STANDS FOR????? I WANT TO SCREAM WHEN I SEE TAKES LIKE THIS

AND WITH HOW MOST OF THESE PEOPLE COMPLAIN ABOUT THE QUALITY OF POKEMON GAMES DROPPING...LIKE CMON. THERE'S A WHOLE GENRE OUT THERE. And honestly? If more people didn't buy pokemon games just out of nostalgia or such, because they grew up with it and that even though they don't like the quality of the game, and ACTUALLY played other monster collecting rpgs, then maybe the games would get better quality. The quality isn't exactly gamefreak's fault (though they REALLY need to increase the amount of programmers there oml), that's more of The Pokemon Company forcing yearly releases to profit on merchandise. What Pokemon needs is a competitor, something that poses a big, longtime threat to it. They wouldn't want to lose buyers to this rival game series, they'd be forced to not rush game development and make quality games. Capitalism does something good for once! Like Yokai Watch was so popular in Japan it was unreal, if it had the same popularity in the west it could've been that big threat to Pokemon.

I can't remember where I was going with this post brain please work with me here

But like yeah. Kinda derailing here but there's so many things wrong with the core mechanics of Pokemon it's obscene how it has continued for so long. Like the whole text thing during battle. Why have the text scroll first then have the thing happen, or vice versa. It just eats up on time, I'm sure the 20 minute timer for online competitive wouldn't be as bad as people feel it is if they fixed this thing up. And actually I think this is too vague so like you know when there's a sandstorm or something and your pokemon get damaged by it? And you know how the animation and damage will do its thing then the text does its thing after instead of at the same time? Yeah that's what I'm talking about. That stuff gets SO long during doubles it's evil. Monster Hunter Stories deals with this in so many ways it's really not that hard

Yknow what, I'm gonna go even further. Pokemon's core gameplay loop is utter ass. I think the only time they got close to doing it right in the mainline games was XY/ORAS due to how the exp share worked there. I can't remember gen 7 that well but the exp boost in usum was awetsome too. By having exp share for the whole team (and toggleable for those who dislike that! Gotta love customisation of gameplay!) it SIGNIFICANTLY reduced the grind needed to progress. And that's not me being impatient with a bad attention span or anything (though the reason as to why pokemon combat can get so boring after a while is a whole other can of worms. Also to prove my attention span isn't bad I played Sonic Unleashed for like 8 hours straight and almost completed it in one day. I'm normal) it's just that sitting there and grinding is just really a slog in general and pulls you out the gameplay loop. This is because the games do absolutely NOTHING to "hide" the grinding. You see, essentially all rpgs (you know. The thing pokemon is) have sidequests, which pokemon doesn't have. Unless you count PLA but that's a spinoff/side game so I'm not really counting it. This is mainline only complaints. Sidequests get you to leave the main story and do other stuff, defeating enemies along the way and gaining exp, as well as getting items that will help for the journey. Usually they'll have these in abundance so you can pick and choose which ones you want to tackle without running out of ones to do (unless you really wanna do all of them). This is grinding. It's just hidden through an external task, like getting a special item for someone in an area, or helping someone take down enemy camps, and so forth. It's not just sitting down and doing menial battles until the mon levels up and then you switch them (bc of lack of exp share in older games). That way, if the player needs to grind for whatever reason, it feels a lot shorter. Personally I think Monster Hunter Stories does this the best, as not only do you have sidequests but you are also encouraged to not barrel through the main story as you want to get weapons and armour for your rider, which means you have to fight monsters and thus gain exp. There's also gene grinding but let's not get into All That today. The exp foods you can craft with items you find while exploring is really good too, it helps level up low leveled new monsties fast (expeditions help with this too!) and in mhs2 having an exp percentage increase (up to 500%) for lower level monsties is a godsend. And then Pokemon makes grinding worse by having high level pokemon gain less exp from pokemon a lower level to them instead of the exp gained being a set amount. It sucks when you wanna fight a gym but the wild level is at such a distance you can't gain exp that well. Cmon man you can do better

Ok I think I've talked about everything I want to here

Anyways if anyone wants monster catching rpgs recommended to them/wants to recommend monster catching rpgs to me I'm down

[lacrimosathedark]

I’m just thinking about this right now because I’m seeing Undertale and Deltarune on my dash but like

As a teen I was (gasp) a filthy Homestuck fan. And all the pathetic shit that came with it. I loved the Striders and Karkat and Nepeta. I loved the weird and random and crazy storytelling and the simple replicable art style.

Most of all, though, I loved the music.

Weird part to like about it I guess, but gosh is Homestuck’s music awesome. I’m the type of person who needs background noise at All Times, and at one point that led me to listening to Homestuck’s soundtracks as I did chores.

I’d notice, “Huh. This ‘toby “Radiation” fox’ dude shows up a lot.” And that apparently stuck with me. Because when I heard there was a game coming out with music by toby fox, and the game itself made by him too? I immediately needed to see this game.

To say Undertale is important to me is a major fucking understatement. I love all of the characters. All of them. The music is, of course, absolutely gorgeous. The game is both hilarious and heartwarming.

And this was my first game with a nonbinary protagonist. Or any other nonbinary character (which there are a few others). This was when I was just figuring out that I was nonbinary (you can imagine how I flipped when I found out ‘there’s a word for that feeling!?’) and my character(s) and other characters being referred to as they and them with absolutely no fanfare...it meant a lot.

And the characters? I really can’t talk about how much I love them. Toriel is my mom in my heart. I have made her Butterscotch Cinnamon Pie and it makes me so happy. Napstablook is just the friggin cutest and their shy awkwardness was so relatable I love them. Sans and Papyrus can always make me laugh. Sans got my lore-brain spinning and Papyrus was always there and always supportive. Monster Kid is the most precious little doof and they deserve the world. Undyne is a fucking badass and when she realizes you aren’t awful she is just the most fun to be around. Temmie is great (and also check her animations out on Youtube she’s so frickin cute and amazingly talented just do yourself that favor) and the music reminds me of Rugrats for some reason. Alphys is a fucking weeb with social anxiety and boy do I ever relate to that. Muffet has the coolest design and one of the more challenging and fun battles and she’s just so gorgeous to my love of the gothic lolita aesthetic. Mettaton is a fucking romp. That reveal of the EX form is magnificent. Asgore--I admit I’m not the biggest fan of him, but I always felt bad for him. He was a good guy trying to do what’s right for his people and it was hard and it hurts that you have to fight him (also that was a fucking twist gotdam).

And Asriel...my frickin baby. He is my brother and I love him. I just want to give him hugs and snuggles and pet his head and make everything better and just ow my heart.

This man, this dog, made a whole-ass game. Not alone, but like, he did so much of it.

And he just keeps frickin going.

When Deltarune came out as a “Survey Program” I downloaded it and was blown away. I cannot tell you how much I loved it. I fell in love with Seam and I listened to The World Revolving and every possible remix on loop.

(Unfortunately I haven’t played Chapter 2 yet because right after I got Chapter 1, my computer died!

and the executive dysfunction didn’t help either. But I’ll get to it I swear)

AND THEN

So I hate SWSH for a number of reasons, (*coughdexcough*) but Pokemon has always been part of my life. And while not the best song in the soundtrack (which is Battle! Gym Leader and you can fight me on that) his contribution, the Battle Tower Battle Theme, is a bop and I love it.

AND THEN A-FUCKING-GAIN

I legitimately CANNOT WAIT for Pokemon Scarlet and Violet and to have toby’s music in my ear while my Fidough wrecks everyone with it’s Flower Power.

And then on top of this, this fucker plays into the meme culture because of course he does

SERIOUSLY

(in case the first pic is hard to read)

But just...idk man

He just keeps amazing me and every time I think about it I’m just...blown away.

I trust the dog.

I can’t wait to see all the things he’s still going to do.

[emileesaurus]

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Other than my one true love, semicolons? HMMM... I really like writing two characters talking around what they actually mean, lol. The agonizing leadup to something resembling an actual conversation? I cannot get ENOUGH.

I write a lot of navel-gazing angst, but I can't not end on a hopeful note. Sometimes I think about writing something that's just a total downer, but I don't know if I could go through with it.

Do you listen to music while you write?

This is a boring answer, but not really! My brain won't let me write to anything with lyrics, and if it's too recognizable it's also kind of distracting. Sometimes I put on a Spotify playlist of like, unobtrusive TV/movie scores or quieter orchestral music, but if the vibe changes or I've listened to it too much, I have to go mess with it and it's a whole thing. I wish I was better at it, because I love making fanmixes! But I get so distracted.

I did make a playlist of traditional Christmas music in a depressing minor key when I was writing Objects of Devotion last year, and that set the mood I was going for perfectly.

Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

I have a really hard time with tagging! I try to tag by like, overall vibe (H/C, fluff, angst) and then for VC fics I tag the canon point and whose POV I'm writing from, even though I use close third person instead of first.

I just went to look and it seems like my favorite tags are "Introspection" and maybe "Canon Compliant," which I'm never entirely sure if I'm using correctly? I like the challenge of trying to plausibly fit things into gaps in canon!

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you have any fics involving children. Preferably stiles or Derek's but I'm not fussy. Thank you xx

Sure thing!

A Wild Heart's Desire by mikkimouse

(1/1 I 13,410 I Teen)

If there's one thing Stiles Stilinski knows, it's that Deputy Derek Hale absolutely Does Not Like him. The only reason Derek even tolerates him is because their kids are worryingly codependent.

So Stiles is understandably confused when a very feral Derek shows up in his backyard after a call gone wrong and proceeds to move in with him.

That Which You Cannot Undo by uraneia

(1/1 I 28,181 I Explicit)

By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It's a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.

You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.

(Or: the Pracitical Magic AU nobody asked for.)

Somewhere I Belong by heartsdesire456

(1/1 I 30,815 I Teen)

When Stiles got an interview for an internship at Fangs & Fur magazine, the publication owned by the well known and widely respected alpha Talia Hale, he never expected it to be offered an actual job by Alpha Hale herself. He also never expected for his life to change so much after he met the man whose department he was assigned to.

Stiles was not prepared for Derek Hale's cub, either.

Trust me by madsmeetsmisha

(18/? I 32,590 I Explicit)

Derek Hale needed a nanny for his kids. Someone who knew about werewolves, someone who was persistent enough not to throw in the sponge as soon as the kids wouldn't behave, someone trustworthy. Could a young, very talkative man like Stiles Stilinski be what Derek was looking for?

our lives are changing lanes by grimm

(1/1 I 47,537 I Explicit)

There's a lot of screaming going on inside the first house Stiles visits. He isn't really worried, because it sounds like kids, but then the door opens and hi, says his dick, because the dude in front of him is gorgeous, built like a god with a face like thunder. Stiles wants to lick that solid jaw line. Hold the fuck on, says his cop brain, because the dude's got kids hanging all over him; one's on his back, skinny legs looped around his waist, and another two hanging off one arm, toes barely brushing the ground. There's a tubby toddler clinging to his leg like a koala, and he's got a baby tucked into the crook of the one arm that doesn’t have kids hanging off it. Stiles' mouth drops open.

"How many of those kids did you kidnap?" he asks before he can wrangle his brain into submission.

The man gives him a look that says what the fuck is wrong with you and snaps, "You think I'd subject myself to this on purpose?"

"Oooh," says one of the kids hanging off his arm. "I'm telling Mom."

Give It Up to Me by moon_star

(8/? I 49,841 I Explicit)

Derek is a single father and a full time attorney. Stiles is the new intern at the law firm. They find it extremely hard to work together, but it gets even harder when they start sleeping together.

Bundle of Accidental Joy by tearsandholdme

(20/21 I 66,411 I Mature)

Stiles is just trying to live a simple life. Have a job, pay his rent, and survive enough to eat his next meal. But then he's fired from his job, watches a mother abandon her baby, tries to stop her and picks the baby up, and now everyone thinks the baby is his. Even his very handsome and moody boss, Derek Hale, who forces the responsibility onto him at the cost of keeping his job or else.

Balancing on breaking branches by Anonymous

(15/20 I 67,613 I Explicit)

“Your kid,” Derek said slowly, “came running up to me. Tried to nuzzle a hole into my calf.”

Stiles let out a laugh. It sounded bitter. “Caleb wouldn’t just leave my side like that. Did you call his name?”

“I’m not a—”

“A child predator? That’s exactly what a child predator would say, Derek."

Waiting For Our Superman by tearsandholdme

(22/22 I 95,250 I Mature)

Derek knew the moment he opened the front door of his clean and pristine apartment to Stiles Stilinski holding a small boy, a cluster of bags, and a suitcase, he was screwed. In every way possible. Undone by the big brown eyes of a small child and his annoying, witty, and attractive father.

The Moon Lives (In The Lining of Your Skin) by Quixoticity

(28/30 I 131,436 I Explicit)

Stiles is doing fine. Okay, so he didn't expect to be a single father to an infant daughter at the tender age of twenty-three, but it's working out great. And no, he didn't expect to be a curator in Beacon Hills Museum, where weird things happen with no explanation, but he's rolling with it. And he seems to have acquired a new brother now that his dad's gotten engaged, which, odd, but hey, Stiles is flexible, and there's no such thing as too much love, right?

But then the next twist comes in the form of mysterious new neighbour Derek Hale, who is both insanely angry at the world (it's possible he's murdered people with his eyebrows alone), and adorably good with children. He's also in possession of a truly excellent butt.

Stiles is doomed.

Past, Present, and Future by Code_Zackary

(24/60 I 182,513 I Mature)

Deputy Derek Hale has just become a single parent, after adopting abandoned five-year-old Isaac Lahey, and drowning in his new responsibilities as a father, and Alpha. Add the babysitting of his new rookie partner, Jackson Whittemore, and the weight of his past bubbling to the surface, Derek isn't sure how he's going to keep his head straight.

Meanwhile, Stiles Stilinksi returns home to Beacon Hills to give his son, Scott Stilinksi, a better quality of life. However, raising a werewolf pup, as a human, is something he struggles handling on a daily basis. Stiles wishes nothing more than to find a werewolf willing to show his son "the ropes", so Scott can fit in with all the other pups come the first day of Kindergarten. But where would he ever find a werewolf willing to help a human?

When the two meet, their struggles in life will come to the forefront, as the loners become an invaluable support system for each other, and build a unique Pack all their own.

[softboywriting]

Delicate | Billy Russo

Summary: Billy takes you on a surprise weekend trip and is forced to face some truths about himself. [Fluff] [Alternate Timeline - Castle Family Alive] [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope] 

Word Count: 4.4k

|Masterlist In Bio|

A/N: This is in the same universe as my fic Little Moments and Meet The Parents but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

___

"I want to take you somewhere." Billy says walking into your shared office near closing time. He's got on a pair of jeans, a sweater and his boots. Not quite the usual work attire but you love his casual wear.

"A date?"

"No. More of a long weekend trip."

You raise your eyebrows and push away from your desk. A weekend trip is a big surprise. Not that you have plans or anything. "Where to?"

"England."

"England?!" You splutter. "That is not a weekend trip Billy!"

Billy gathers your jacket and purse from the hooks behind the door. "It is. The flight leaves in about two hours."

"Billy! I haven't packed a single thing, I-I'm not ready!" You take your items from him and run a hand through your hair. Weekend trips are like in-state or nearby. They're a night at a hotel and seeing a museum for two days or something. Not flying to England and doing Gods know what.

"You cannot be serious."

He wraps his arm around your shoulders. "I am serious. I've got your stuff packed. Don't worry."

"What did you pack me?"

"Clothes. Trust me, I know what you wear."

"Why the surprise? Why not tell me sooner?"

Billy chuckles. "Don't worry about it. You'll like it."

"Where are we even going?" You sigh as he walks with you out of the office and down the steps to the main floor. "London or Wales? Are we going for business or pleasure?"

"We're going to Devon."

"Where the fuck is that?"

"England."

You smack his back and he laughs. "You son of a bitch. Why?"

"Pleasure."

"Ugh why now though? Why not later?"

Billy opens the passenger door to his car as you approach it. He leans on the roof, gesturing you inside. "C'mon the airport is almost half an hour drive, and we gotta stop at the apartment for our stuff."

You sink down in the passenger seat and glare up at him suspiciously. He's being like this on purpose. You hate not knowing what is going on and he knows it. The last thing you expected to do after work was to be hurried onto a plane that is no doubt a multi-hour flight. But here you are and there he is, staring down at you.

"Get in? I'm not the one wasting time now."

"God you're beautiful." He leans in and kisses your cheek quickly. "And I know you're pissed." He closes the door and walks around to get in the driver's seat. "I promise it will be worth it."

You lean your head back and close your eyes as he drives out of the lot. "It better be. This is very spontaneous and off my usual rhythm."

"I know. But you'll love it. I know you will."

"Mmm." You turn on the seat warmer and relax into the lush comfort. "You're also lucky I love you, and trust you."

Billy chuckles as his hand finds yours, thumb stroking the tops of your fingers.

"I wouldn't let anyone else pack me a bag, let alone take me to a foreign country for a weekend." You scoff. "That sounds so wildly pretentious."

"It's alright. It is a little pretentious, but we've earned it."

"You've earned it."

"Hey." He squeezes your hand and you open your eyes to look at him. "This company is just as much yours as mine."

"Bullshit. It is not. My name isn't on the lease, it's not on the LLC, I'm just your assistant and girlfriend."

Billy scoffs and turns the car into the parking garage of his apartment complex. He lives close to Anvil, honestly you don't actually need to drive. He just likes to show off his car. It gets dark as you enter the garage but you can tell he's not having any of your shit.

"When I marry you, your name will be on all of that."

"What?"

"What?"

"When you marry me?" You swallow hard as he stops the car in a space. It's only been a about six months that you've officially been an item. A little quick to be thinking about marriage.

Billy kills the engine and pockets his keys. "Yeah, when." He opens the door so nonchalantly, like he hasn't just thrown you for a loop. He walks around and opens your door. "C'mon, up and attem sweetheart."

"You're joking right?"

"About what? Marrying you one day?" He puts his hand on your back as you head to the elevator. "You're absolutely going to be a Russo. No doubt about it."

"I don't have a choice then?"

"Of course you have a choice." He presses the button to the penthouse and puts in the security key to make it go. "You can say no."

"Are you asking me right now?" You laugh and he turns, hands on your hips as he walks you into the wall, eyes locked on yours. "W-what's this about?"

Billy licks his lip and sets his jaw. It's not anger. He's making a decision in that brain of his. Is he asking? Is he teasing?

"You'll know when I ask."

"It's only been a few months. Don't rush."

"When you know you know right?"

"Billy, c'mon." You give him a look. "Using Frank's lines now?"

Billy steps aways, hands falling from your body and he runs a hand over his hair. "Sometimes that asshole is right about things."

You chuckle. "Sometimes."

"Enough about that. We have a plane to catch." The elevator dings and the doors open to the short hall before his penthouse. "Get your pretty ass changed and let's go."

"So pushy." You giggle and he shoves your shoulder. "Hey!"

"I'm pushy." He pushes again and you stumble into the door before he pins you against it. "You're so lucky we don't have time to mess around."

"Lucky?" You wiggle your ass against his waist. "Or unfortunate. Because any chance I miss to have-"

His hand comes up along your throat and you groan, tilting your head back. "Keep talking and I'm gonna make time."

"Or maybe we'd miss the flight."

"Little shit." He drops the hand on your throat and swats your ass before unlocking the door and ushering you inside. "Go change. Now."

"Okay, okay, good grief."

"We'll just join the mile high club." He calls out as you head to the bedroom to change. "I've always wanted to see how we'd fit in a tiny bathroom!"

"Those things are filthy! No!"

"Then you can ride me in the seat in first class!"

You pop your head around the door and he is grinning, leaning against the kitchen island. You narrow your eyes and he just raises his eyebrows. "Not happening."

"We'll see sweetheart."

"Whatever."

"Mmm. I'm very persuasive."

You roll your eyes and go back to changing clothes. If he thinks you're gonna do the dirty on an airplane he has a world of disappointment coming.

_________________

Billy always gets his way it would seem. Because less than half an hour ago you were on his lap, bouncing on his dick while he grinned oh so smugly. The flight was less than full for the first class seating, your nearest neighbor was across the aisle and six sections back. There were dividers between the seats, privacy walls. That's what really ended up convincing you in the end.

All that and you maybe sort of got off to the thought of being semi public about the whole ordeal. A kink you didn't know you had until Billy was whispering filth in your ear and making you squirm.

"How much longer?" You ask, curling into your seat and yawning.

"Three more hours. We'll land in Exeter."

"Seven hours to a spontaneous weekend? This is insane. When we arrive it's going to be dark. I assume you have a place for us to stay?"

Billy rolls his eyes. "Of course I do. We're not camping out in a train station."

"Oh fuck you."

"Get some sleep."

"I'd love to but I don't sleep well on planes."

"You fuck well on 'em."

"Billy!" You kick his leg and he grins. "Shut up!"

Billy puts his hand out and you take it. "We can go another round to kill the time."

You grab the complimentary earbuds in a little package and rip them open to stuff them in your ears. "Can't hear you."

"Bullshit."

"What?" You smirk, gesturing to the earbuds. "Can't hear ya."

Billy leans in and your eyes lock with his. "Maybe I should raise my voice then. And ask if YOU WANT TO F-"

You slam your hand against his mouth and he grins behind your palm. "Son of a bitch."

"You know I am." He licks your palm and sits back in his seat. He side eyes you, gauging your reaction to his childish move while nonchalantly opening a travel guide pamphlet.

You wipe your hand on his thigh and he chuckles. Whatever awaits in Devon in three or four hours better be good because he is really dancing on your last nerve. What has got him so wound up, you have no idea.

____________________

Devon is... breathtaking. It's the English country side on the ocean. The town you drove through was all cobblestone homes and shops and it looked like a fairytale honestly. Places like this didn't actually exist in your mind but here you are. It's so radically different than New York, even the country side of the state. You're stunned silent for the majority of the drive to your destination. Even in the evening it looks incredible.

Billy turns onto a road with a gate through a dense wooded area. The gate is open and he slides the rental car through carefully as not to scratch the sides on the narrow stone walls along the roadway. The path winds and winds until it opens up, the drive lined with a shorter stone wall as it leads to a large beautiful house.

"Where are we?"

Billy turns the car into the dirt and rock parking area in front of the door to the house. "We're in Dartmouth, just outside of it actually."

"Why? This place is beautiful, don't get me wrong. I'm just confused why we're here."

He looks over at you and brings your hand up to kiss. "I told you I was taking you on a weekend vacation."

"So you rented this house? Or does someone live here that we're staying with?"

"I bought it." He looks up at the door from beyond your window. "It's ours."

You turn and look at the house. "What? Billy you don't just buy a house! What on Earth is going through your head?!"

"What's going through my head is that I saw an opportunity and I took it. A friend of mine, Martin, had this place here after he got out of the Marines. His wife was English. Anyway, the family moved recently, and left everything behind because it is too expensive to haul across the ocean to Texas where they were relocating."

"So you bought a house with someone else's whole life inside?"

"Well, they took their personal belongings. It's furnished and decorated but we can change that."

You look over at Billy and lay a hand on his chest. "This is insane. Why would you buy a house in England?! What could you possibly want to do with it?"

"Live in it."

"Billy. Anvil is in New York. How do you propose to move here, bumfuck nowhere England, and run the company?"

Billy smiles and kisses your cheek. "Semantics. C'mon let's go see the house."

"Billy!"

He climbs out of the car and walks around to open your door. "It's beautiful, you're going to love it."

You step out with his hand in yours and he pulls out his keys to unlock the front door. As the door swings open you're hit with the smell of cinnamon, warm earthy spices, and vanilla.

"Come inside." Billy pulls you in gently. "It's incredible."

Inside is far more than incredible. It's like a dream, a home from some show book. The floors are dark natural wood, there are stairs with intricate banisters by the door, three archways to various rooms that are just the epitome of a country house. It's rustic, traditional like a farm house that's been updated to the modern century but kept it's charm. You feel like you're in a fairytale still, but it's real. It's so real and the house is so beautiful. You've never seen anything like it with your own eyes.

"Billy...this is...why?"

"You're very attached to that word y'know." He chuckles and rubs your shoulders. "Stop asking why and start enjoying."

"I will, I mean but- this is...I don't know what to say."

"Stunning right? So different than the penthouse or your apartment."

"Radically different."

"Come explore with me." He takes your hands and walks backwards leading you into a dining area.

You look around at the empty china hutch, shelves with various pots and pans for storage and decor, the huge wood table that looks like it was handmade by someone many years ago. "You're going to propose."

"What?"

"You're going to propose to me here aren't you?"

Billy laughs and steps close, cradling your face in his hands. "Maybe."

"Maybe?!"

"Yeah, maybe." He kisses you softly. "And maybe I just brought you here to get away from everything. Work, family, obligations. We can be us here. You and me, no one else."

"Billy we can be us at home, in the penthouse."

"I know, but this is a good place. The air is cleaner, life is simpler, everything is just easier here. We can unwind."

"You really bought this place?"

"Hundred percent. I've got a few payments still but it's almost paid off." He leans on a counter and you step between his legs. He gathers you close, hands on your sides. "It's got five bedrooms."

"Expansive."

"I think if...well..." He ducks his head in a chuckle, eyes refusing to meet yours. "If kids were ever, y'know, on the table. It'd be a good home."

"William Russo, you cannot be serious about that. You've thought of having kids? You?"

"No! No, fuck no. Maybe. I don't know." He pushes away from the counter and you'd stumble back as he walks into the enclosed patio off the side of the kitchen. "I'm just saying, it could accommodate kids."

You step down into the patio and look around. It's a simple screened in area, a sitting area and a terracotta chiminea sit on the right. "You'd have to marry me first."

"First?"

"Before I have a kid."

He laughs, leaning on the door to the outside area. "Of course."

"I thought you were afraid of having kids. Didn't want them to end up like you."

"Yeah well, I told myself a long time ago I'd never mess my kids up like I was messed up if I had them. I'd love 'em every day, make sure they know their dad loves them." His voice cracks and you cross the patio to lay a hand on his arm. "I won't have my kids wonderin' if their dad loves them. I won't."

"Hey, hey, you're not your parents okay?"

"I know. We'd be good, learning from our fucked up childhoods." He laughs joylessly and gathers you into his arms. "We'd have the happiest kid ever."

"We could. Maybe. One day."

"Lotta maybe's goin' on today." He bites his lip and puts his hand in yours. "It's late. We should go to bed."

"We've got a few days right? We can explore the house and grounds tomorrow."

"Absolutely."

You slide a hand over his jaw and pull him down for a kiss. "I do love this by the way. It's very romantic."

Billy smiles against your lips. "I'm not all hard edges and sharp wit." He kisses you slowly, pulling your lip between his teeth. "I do love you."

"I know." You bump your nose to his. "And I love you too."

_____________________

The sound of rain wakes you and you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment to remember where you are. England. In a house Billy bought. Right. You rub your eyes and yawn big.

"You awake over there?" Billy asks, voice heavy and raspy with sleep.

"No."

"Yes you are." He reaches over under the blankets and wiggles his fingers up your side. "Little liar. How long you been awake?"

"Few moments."

"Mmm. It's raining. Can you hear it?"

"Yeah." You roll onto your back and Billy lifts his arm up so you can snuggle into his side. "It's nice."

Billy's hand finds your hair and twirls a piece between his fingers. "It rained the first time we met, remember?"

"It did?"

"Mmmhmm. The day you interviewed for the position at Anvil. It was pouring rain, I remember because when you came in you had on bright orange rainboots that you changed out of in the main room before coming up to do the interview."

You look up at him and his eyes are closed like he's picturing that day. "You saw that?"

"Of course I did. I see everything in Anvil."

"That's been so long ago, it seems like ages."

"Almost two years now."

"Crazy how things have changed."

Billy's hand leaves your hair and joins your hand on his chest. "Things will continue to change. Always."

You hum in agreement. He's right, logically, things will always change. But you feel he means more by that. "Billy, if you were to propose to me, how would you do it?"

"There is no fun in telling you."

"There is. It's healthy to discuss this in a relationship. So, how?"

Billy sits up a bit and you slide down his chest, face on his stomach. "Now, that's not fair. What about you? How would you propose to me?"

"I think, well, I think you're too smart. I think you'd figure it out before I could get it set up. I'd have to be blunt, slap a ring on the table and ask if you wanna do this."

He laughs, hand going to his chest as he struggles for words and air. "That is a hell of a proposal sweetheart!"

"You're a hell of a pain in the ass."

"Oh baby I know." He drops a quick kiss on your head. "I know. Now for me, I like to think I'd be a classic man. Dinner, dancing maybe. I'd get on one knee in a doorway somewhere and ask you, surprise you."

"You like to think? What's the reality look like then?"

"Reality is that you'd probably find the ring before I could plan something. You little snoop."

"Hey! You gave me free reign of the penthouse. No secrets."

"Yes yes. Alright, maybe I'd just surprise you. On a walk or something."

You rub over his chest and he hums. "I'd like that. But you don't wanna marry me yet. It's too soon."

"It's not too soon if you know."

"Yeah...let's get up. We have a house to explore." You sit up and he follows. "Maybe we can go into town for some breakfast too."

"Sounds like a plan."

______________________

The house is huge, well cared for, and beautifully designed. It's nothing like the apartments you grew up in your whole life. You never had a house, always dreamed of one. You like to think this one is exactly the summation of all those dreams. Like somehow Billy knew exactly what you wanted one day before you even knew yourself.

The gesture is lovely, the intent is good, but you cannot help but wonder why. Why now? Why this house? Why this place? Surely you shouldn't be one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but damnit you and Billy have just begun living together at his penthouse. You've not even settled the lease on your apartment. Now he's gone and bought a house in another country. It makes you worry, it makes you suspicious.

You don't want to push him. He has made it clear he doesn't want you to ask why, but to just accept it. That's not like you though. You can accept up to a point.

"Billy, I want to talk." You say as he sinks down in a chair beside the pool in the back area. You've gone out there post dinner for a swim after the rain.

Billy sets his phone on the side table and raises his eyebrows at you. "We've been talking all day sweetheart."

"I want to talk seriously. No antics, no sarcasm."

"Yeah, okay." He runs a hand over his hair. It's his nervous tick. A dead giveaway that he is truly listening to your words. "What's goin' on?"

You take a seat opposite him and take a deep breath. Where to begin. "Why did you buy this house?"

"I told you. Martin's family was moving and-"

"No." You say softly. "No, you didn't have to buy it from them. You chose to. Why?"

"I liked it."

"Okay. A house like this is a lot of money I presume. And yes, maybe the family gave you a discount or something, none the less it's a major expense for it to be a place you only come to now and again. What is the plan here?"

Billy chuckles and looks back at the house. "The plan is to live in it. Obviously. It's a house."

"Billy."

"What?"

You stare at him, lips pursed.

He looks away.

"We've only just moved in together, back home in New York. Do you plan on moving everything here? I'm just not understanding how this works Billy."

"Maybe someday we could move here. I suppose that's the end goal."

"You're thinking long term then? That I will surely be in your life for the rest of it?"

"I don't like where this is going." Billy's eyes harden and you know that look too well. "Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying that we're still very new into this relationship. It's been about six months, and a year of aqaintance-ship before that. I just feel like maybe you're making some very big moves and it's a bit much."

Billy leans back on the chair and closes his eyes. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"No, hey, no. I love this place, it's beautiful."

"I should have waited but I was just so excited about it."

"Honey."

"No, listen I don't know how to be in love. I've never been in love before, I'm sure of it." He looks over at you and you reach out and grab his hand. "I wanted to do this for you, to start putting things in motion because I don't want to lose you. I know that sounds so ridiculous, how does buying a house make you want to stay with me? I don't know honestly."

You squeeze his hand gently. "I'm not going anywhere I promise."

"I've never had something like this." He gestures to the house. "A stable home, a loving family. When we started dating, I knew I loved you. Hell. I blurted that shit out that night in my apartment. You had every right to be freaked out, to leave and quit Anvil. I was half shocked you didn't."

"I do love you Billy. The feeling was a hundred percent mutual. Don't doubt that."

"I don't. But I doubt myself all the time. Am I in love with you? Or do I have love for you? Over the last few months I've sorted out that I'm in love. I don't know how to be in love. I don't know what steps to take, how fast things should move. I can count on one hand the number of relationships I've had that were more than sex, and they obviously didn't end well. If the house is too much, we'll wait. I don't care if it's years, we'll wait to move here. Or if you don't want to then we don't have to."

"I'd like to, one day."

"I just-" his lip trembles. "I think I bought it because I wanted a better life for us. We both had messed up childhoods. I had a messed up early adult life in the military, did shit I didn't want to because I had to. This house is our chance to start over, to be new people."

Your eyes widen and he threads his fingers between yours on the hand you've been holding. "What about Anvil?"

"I can relocate. Or just...do something else. Anvil seemed like a great idea when I got out of the Marines. But now it's tethering me to my past." He brings your hand to his lips. "I want to be more than a dog of war. I want to be a normal guy with a wife and a kid or just a dog is fine too. I never pegged myself as one to want the white picket fence life but here we are."

You lay your hand on his cheek and he leans into it. "Three years. Give us three years together and if you still feel the same, and we're still together, we'll do it."

Billy leans in, bumping his nose with yours. "You drive a hard bargain."

"Learned from the best."

He smiles big, lips meeting yours for a quick kiss. "It's a deal. But I do still want to come here for vacations, long weekends and the like."

"Absolutely." You hold his face, his beard scratchy under your palms. "It'll be our private getaway."

"Mmhmm." He guides you up as he stands. "Now, time for the fun we actually came out here to indulge in."

You glance at the pool and he plucks at the sleeve of your tee. "It's our pool."

"Yes it is."

"It's very private." You giggle. "Not a neighbor for a few miles."

Billy lifts your shirt hem. "That's right."

You step back and pull your shirt off, pushing your pants down quickly. Billy quickly shucks his own and you both laugh at how ridiculous you look. You jump in and he follows suit.

"I've never skinny dipped before. It's so strange, like I shouldn't do it."

"It's freeing." Billy says, floating up to you and cradling your face. "Revel in it. Feel alive."

You press your lips to his. "I've felt alive since the day I met you."

"Me too." He presses your foreheads together. "Me too."

__________

end

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Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support and encourage content creators like myself. -A

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[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.