#!! i left it sort of vague so you can pick whichever one of the boys but

[insidefantasy]

@oracle-venus there's a small smile worn upon her pink lips as she takes a sip of her butterbeer. "this is exactly what i needed. a day away from everything just to relax and spend time at hogsmeade. how did you know?" mariette sighs happily, allowing herself to slink back into her chair. "i know eventually we'll have to return to the real world outside these doors eventually, but for now let's just revel in this moment." head tilts to the side, laying on the other parties shoulders. "although, truth be told, i don't think i'll ever want to get leave. i know how ridiculous that sounds and i know we have responsibilities we need to take care of and we mustn't be lazy about it all--" she's stopped herself before she can ramble any further, shoulders shrugging. "but for now this is lovely. thank you."

[jessie-writes-things]

Ok….1. Yes please tag me in smut minis. And 2. I just adore the smutty idea of being in a sexy dress and the man being turned on all night he can’t help but take you someone private before whatever event is over….whichever Pedro boy suits your fancy.

Hey love! Sure, I'd be happy to tag you!

I bloody love this trope too! Saying that this kinda got away from me and I'm not too sure if I can count it as a weekly mini, but here it is anyway! 😅 I'll add it to the list as an extra bonus fic or something.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female reader

Words: 1.2k

Genre: smut

Warnings: talk of sex, dreaming of sex - female oral receiving, very vaguely Marcus knocking one out. Not sure if it counts as this but voyeurism?

Summary: Marcus is easily distracted.

Weekly minis masterlist

There were a lot of surprises that came with working for the FBI. Murder. Robberies. That one guy that broke out of jail the other week. So, yeah, Marcus was used to surprises.

But nothing compared to this.

You, stood by his office door in a dress that was by no means work appropriate. He vaguely remembers you making some statement about heading off on a date but honestly your voice sounded like it was underwater, all his brain power being taken up by the thought of how he shouldn’t look directly at your chest.

Not that you seemed to notice. Or maybe you did but were choosing to ignore the way he subtly shifted in his seat. And Marcus wasn’t religious by any means, but he sent a silent prayer to God when you slipped on your jacket, although now that he’s seen it he couldn’t get the image of how the tight fabric hugged you perfectly out of his head.

‘You alright?’ You smiled at him as you did up your coat.

It was a simple question, one that you asked him several times a day, but it still kicked the air out of his lungs, ‘Yeah just…tired. I've been working on this case since one.’

‘You should take a break.’ You were being kind and he knew that, but there was a certain edge to your voice, a slight authoritative tone and fuck if that didn’t make his brain go feral, ‘Just dump whatever you don’t finish on my desk and I’ll sort it out tomorrow.’

Yes, ma’am.

‘Alright.’ Marcus smiled politely and nodded as you bid him goodnight, hand on the doorhandle about to leave when he called your name without thinking, ‘You look really good, by the way.’

‘Thank you.’ The light in your eyes was bright enough to blind a poor man, ‘Don’t work yourself too hard.’

And then he was alone again, falling into silence sans the clock that ticked on the wall. The automatic lights in the Bullpen shut off, leaving just the soft glow of his office lamp and the stay car that passed on the quiet street outside.

There were so many papers left to get through, splayed out across his desk in a somewhat organised mess. But every time he picked up a new page, giving his brain a brief second to shut off, all he could think about was having you spread across the table instead, that fucking press hiked up around your waist with your legs spread, waiting for him.

His dick was strained against his hand, fully aware of the cameras that were dotted about the building, but the pressure was getting too much for Marcus to handle. Not like anyone was going to see, he thought, hissing quietly as he unzipped his fly, the desk would hide it anyway and it had to be dark enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up.

It was so easy for him to imagine it, so God damn vivid in his mind as Marcus fell to his knees in front of you, legs draped over his broad shoulders and he’d pull you closer until your hanging off the edge, taking his time to explore every inch of your bare thigh with his mouth. And you would moan his name so sweetly, your fingers messing up his hair while his own made slow work of your underwear, savouring every last second, every tremor of your legs and your shaky breath until you were begging for him to let you cum.

The office door swung open, the harsh light from outside blinding him.

You froze. Marcus froze.

Your eyes wandered down to his hand then quickly to the wall behind him.

A good ten seconds passed before he broke the silence, ‘You’re back?’

‘The guy cancelled. I came to see if you needed any help…’ your voice trailed off and if Marcus hadn’t been so intensely aware of everything going on, he might have missed the slight catch of your breath towards the end. ‘…with the papers.’

He nodded like an idiot, not knowing what else to do because of all the damn people and all the damn things, ‘I’m sorry about your date.’

‘It’s fine. He was just some guy from Tinder.’ Strength seemed to find you again, knocking you out of your daze, ‘Does this have anything to do with…’

Not knowing how else to describe it, you gesture down at your dress then at Marcus with a flurry of hand movements that he would’ve laughed at under any other circumstance.

What does someone say in this situation? Was he meant to lie? Pretend it didn’t happen?

Marcus swallowed, throat dry and his chest felt tight as he fought to push down the panic, ‘What would be the correct answer?’

Not that.

You didn’t answer at first, didn’t move and it was another few seconds before you nodded. Marcus’s heart pounded in his ears, watching as you turned on your heels, debating how quickly he could shove his still painfully hard cock back in his pants because there was no way he could let you leave like this.

The door closed with a soft click, quickly followed by the flick of the lock and you doubled checked the blinds were down over the windows just on the off chance someone else decided to pop by for some late night work.

Marcus’s brain was fried from the whole situation, barely understanding what was going on even as you walked around his desk and turned his chair to face you. At any other time, he would have felt a fool, mouth gaped open, frozen with his hand still wrapped around his cock, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care because you were in front of him, in that stupidly tight dress.

You unravelled his fingers slowly, moving his hands to your waist and Marcus was internally screaming as you slipped onto his lap. It was overbearing, everything about you was so warm and soft against him, sucking in a sharp breath when your lips pressed to his ear.

‘Tell me you weren’t thinking about me and I’ll stop.’

Fuck that.

Something came over him, something very raw and primal that shot red hot pain through his body at the mention of you disappearing because you were finally there in front of him, on him, willing and to fucking hell if Marcus was going to let this dream slip away from him.

Gripping onto your waist hard enough to cause bruises, which he’d no doubt apologise for in the morning, he pushed out of his chair, kicking it to the side flipping you onto a table with such fluency he knew you knew he must have thought about it before.

A small gasp escaped your parted lips, bear back pressed against the cold wood of his desk, a stark contrast to your burning skin. He was positive your pulse was racing just as much as his, and Marcus ignored all the thoughts about CCTV or people who might accidentally walk by that ran through his mind, focusing purely on how you were panting, chest against chest, and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

[meat-husband]

Slashers first time doing it with their s/o ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° ?

I’ve been waiting for this ask lol thank u for stepping up anon, you’re braver than any US marine. 

Sorry this took forever to get out, I just had a hard time organizing my thoughts about these stinky boys. 

Brahms

Lots of really uncomfortable mask kisses. No, he’s not taking it off and yes, you are expected to smooch it. You get a lot of bruised, and possibly bloody, lips as a result. Way, way in the future, once he’s as certain about your loyalty as he can be, maybe he’ll take it off if you promise not to peek. 

Let's be honest here - he busts outta that wall with his dick hard. He is the human embodiment of DTF, so the literal moment you’re ready for it, he’s already taking his pants off. 

He thinks he knows what to do, but once there is a real chance at getting laid, his mind is blank. Probably just ends up sort of awkwardly humping you until you put a stop to it, but don’t laugh otherwise he’s going to have a tantrum like you’ve never seen before. 

Anyone who tells you that he wouldn’t nut before the clothes even come off is lying. And he’s not super concerned with your lack of release, either, so you have to somehow get off before he does or wait for him to stop being a brat, neither of which are very likely. 

Speaking of that, he’s going to make a mess and yes, you are expected to clean him up afterwards. No, he’s not getting out of bed to take a shower, it doesn’t matter if that would be easier. 

Absolutely no technique. He grabs everything too hard, bites where he  shouldn’t, and is overall just clueless about what to do and when. Way too eager, so he tends to just try and blow past foreplay completely. 

He’s fine with you teaching him or showing him what to do, but don’t expect him to catch on to the parts that aren’t about him very quickly. The goal is for him to get what he wants, and if he’s feeling generous then you won’t be left hanging. 

Eventually he’ll come around to the idea that pleasing a partner is just as much fun as being pleased. He’s still going to be selfish and bratty about it, and more often than not he’s still going to be the one who cums first, but he’ll quickly learn to enjoy it once he sees how desperate it makes you. 

Unbelievably smug afterwards. Somehow very, very proud of himself and the ego boost is just insufferable. On the upside, you’ve got a few days with him as well behaved as he’s ever going to get, so enjoy the calm while you can. 

You’re not going to have a second alone though, because he’s going to be feeling that clingy, cuddly afterglow for a while. Wants lots of affection and attention, so you’d better be ready to drop everything and coo over him on command. 

Michael

He’s got the general idea down, but not really any of the details. He’s not about to let you sit him down and teach him though, he’s just going to do what he wants. He may not understand exactly how it works, but he’s not going to take it slow either. 

You can try and direct him, but he’s just going to ignore you. He’s pretty much ready to get right to it straight away, and he doesn’t take suggestions. There’s no romance or affection to it when he approaches you. 

The mask stays on. He’s probably never going to be comfortable taking it off during something so intimate, maybe pulling it up just enough so he can bite. He won’t go in for a kiss on his own, but he won’t complain if you kiss him, just so long as you realize that the mask is going to be more involved in it than he is. 

Way, way too rough. He digs his nails into you everywhere he squeezes and he’s got no idea how to be gentle with someone else. He doesn’t pin your wrists, but rather holds you to the bed by your hair, so you can still squirm around without being able to go anywhere. 

If you’ve got a dick of your own there is a special danger that comes with this experience - he’s masturbated before and it’s not a slow, gentle process when he does it. The first time he gets his hands on you, his grip is bruisingly firm and not at all pleasurable. 

He’s very physically dominant and he’s going to pretty much do what he wants, putting you where he wants you and deciding what’s going to happen. His goal the first time is simple, so he’s not going to try out anything too complicated. 

There’s a lot of build up and expectations going into it, mostly on your side, but it’s over quicker than you had anticipated. To be fair, it’s likely his first time with another person involved, and he isn’t entirely comfortable being around people, or you, yet. 

He’s probably not going to stick around for cuddles afterwards. If he doesn’t just get up and leave, you can get away with curling up against his side, maybe putting an arm or leg over him, but don’t expect him to stay there for long. 

Prepare to be woken up in the middle of the night, because he isn’t going to wait until morning for round two. After the first few times he’s more open to suggestions, but you’re going to have to outright ask for anything you want, there’s no room to be shy about it when he probably has no idea what you’re subtly hinting at. 

It might not be noticeable to you, but he’s much more possessive afterwards, following you around and keeping a closer eye on the people you spend time with. This is the point of no return, and after this you pretty much straight out belong to him in his mind. 

Bubba

He’s got a little bit of an idea about what’s expected of him, but it’s vague and only what he’s picked up from being on the farm and hearing his brothers talk. He’s seen the animals in the pastures, so that’s about his only reference for how sex works. 

He falls in love pretty quick and he’s ready for sex just as quickly. He might not really know what he wants exactly, but if you happen to ever share a bed at some point, it’s pretty easy to figure out for yourself. 

You can set the pace, because he doesn’t really have any idea on how to start things, and he wouldn’t want to push you anyways. He isn’t going to pick up on anything subtle though, so you’ve pretty much got to just come out and say it. 

Later on down the line, you can maybe talk him into removing the mask when you’re alone, but he’s not comfortable with it just yet. He’s happy to switch to whichever face you like the best, though. 

You’re going to have to guide him through everything, but so long as you provide a lot of praise, he’s happy to let you take charge. It’s a big relief to have you making the decisions with this, because he would just be a worried mess otherwise. 

He’s very, very eager and that makes him more than a little clumsy even though he’s trying so hard to be gentle. It’s more awkward than painful, but as long as you gently correct him, he’ll figure it out. 

He wants you to tell him what to do, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely submissive about it. He’ll still pick you up and hold you down if he’s on top, or use his size to keep you still when you start squirming. 

It’s going to take a few tries before you actually get to penetrative sex, because he is a big fan of foreplay. He likes being the one to make you feel good and having you call out for him, so he’ll spend the whole time focusing on you if you let him. 

He will stay in bed for cuddles as long as he can, but you both probably have work to get back to. If there’s time, he wants a snack because all that work has made him hungry. 

Good luck handling him after, because anything as simple as prolonged eye contact is going to get him going. Now that you’ve shown him what to do, he’s going to be more confident seeking you out. 

Thomas

He’s rather shy when it comes to affection or romantic things in general, but that does not extend to this. You might think you’re safe to tease him and then act innocent, but that’s probably what pushes him over the edge. He might be a little hesitant to start with, but once you get him riled up any nervousness goes away real fast. 

The family never really thought he’d find anyone in the first place, so there’s not much education when it comes to this. He’s heard the men talk and picked some things up from that, and once you come around they go into overdrive catching him up on what he ‘needs to know’, but he’s given a lot of information all at once about things he’s never heard about before. Please take a moment to explain that anything that Hoyt has ever told him about this subject should not be trusted. 

This is a no smooching zone, but feel free to put your lips anywhere other than his face. As he gets more comfortable, small kisses will be allowed, but never without the mask on. 

He’s not used to having to be gentle with people, so even though he doesn’t mean to, he’s more than a little rough. Even if you happen to like being manhandled, you’ve got to be careful that he doesn’t go too far, and there will most likely be some bruises at the least. 

Probably going to happen in the basement, because although he doesn’t really know enough to be shy about it, that’s just where he’s most comfortable. In the future you will have to try and get him to understand that, no, he cannot just bend you over the nearest piece of furniture whenever he feels like it. 

You need to slow him down unless you just wanna skip straight to the main event, because he has no idea what foreplay is at all. He’s not going to want to slow it down either, so he’ll be eager to hurry up and get to it. 

He’ll do whatever you tell him you want, but if you don’t speak up, he’s just going on instinct. He’s impatient when you stop to explain things to him, he’d rather just figure it out as he goes. 

Falls asleep almost immediately afterwards, and good luck getting out of bed when he’s holding you down. Everyone else has a pretty decent idea of what’s going down, so you have to endure a lot of raised eyebrows and vulgar jokes, as well as some not so subtle encouragement to get started on grandbabies. 

He has a pretty loose concept of marriage, but this definitely counts as something similar in his mind. He was territorial before, but he’s much more possessive afterwards. 

He’s a little bossier afterwards, stepping in more to help you around the house and keeping a closer eye on you in general. You’re his now, and that means he’s responsible for you. 

Jason

You might think that you’ll have a lot of issues about sex to help him get over, but good news! He’s already got a loophole - Jason is a good boy, and good boys get to do whatever they want. He’s special, so it’s not bad when he does it. 

Despite catching more than a few people going at it, he’s got no idea what to do. Besides the lack of knowledge, you’ve also got to get that strength under control because he can get carried away really quickly when he’s excited. 

He’s not shy about it at all, and is open to whatever you want to try with him. There’s no hesitation when you want him to get undressed, and he’s more than eager to get your clothes off as well. 

Absolutely wants the first time to be with you sitting on his lap. Even if he didn’t make that preference known, it was probably going to happen that way regardless, because it’s where you are most of the time anyways. 

Big boy is big, and you’re going to feel like you deserve a medal once you’re fully seated. There’s got to be some kind of award for perseverance that you qualify for now. 

Kisses are a must. He’ll take the mask off, or leave it on depending on what you prefer, but one way or another, he's getting his mouth on you. 

You’re going to have to teach him pretty much everything, but he catches on easily and is quick to let you know what he likes the best. 

He really tries to be gentle with you, but he can’t always stop himself from getting rough. He tends to move you around himself if you’re not where he wants you, picking you up and tossing you around. 

You’re getting cuddles, whether you actually want them or not. Maybe you’re sweaty and dirty, but you’re not getting out of his arms until he’s satisfied that you’ve been properly snuggled for as long as he can get away with. 

He was always physically affectionate, but it goes through the roof now. You’re constantly being followed, one hand in his, as you go around the house, and frequent stops for kisses are required. 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader

Title: Throuple

Notes:

Granny Boone is bisexual and you can’t change my mind. 

This is way too long I’m sorry. My excuse? Its self indulgent that's why and I wrote it over the course of 2 days, both at night time so... 

Pick whichever Buckman you like best. 

Plot: 

Boone and Buckman just care a lot about you! A looooooot, a lot. Like, so much. A colossal amount, really- but you’ve never heard of a ‘throuple’ before.

Warnings: Uhh, polyamory? Sexual harassment, hint towards rape (Not of you or any known characters but still), 2001 Maniacs craziness? Reader might also have a mental illness, I don't know. Its not explicitly stated and I’m just the writer so how would I know? But she is really tired. Laziness in the last written sentence. I haven't edited the last half, so it might be illegible... In the morning I probably will edit. 

~~~

SET: Before the massacre, so everyone is alive except the 2001 Maniacs victims who have yet to be born because this is 1860

“Hey Y/N!” One of the men from table three - was it William or was it Lawrence? I don’t know, whoever-it-is’ voice is too slurred at this point for me to figure. Turning away from the table I was wiping off, I tuck the washcloth into the waistband of my apron and raise an eyebrow vaguely towards the table. “Come over here a moment, wouldja?”

“Why?” Now, usually, I would go over; No question. But its nearly closing time now, and its dark, and men like to get rowdy at this time, and I’ve been burned by that shtick before. Resting my working hands, course and strong, on my hips, I raise my eyebrows.

Put on a cold front and they’ll lose interest. Uh, usually.

“Just wanna get a betta look atcha! Larry here says you got a flat ass, but I got 3 coins on yer plump bottom. Y’ wouldn’t want me losin’ coin, would you?? Come on, now, just stand over here and lemme ‘ave a look-see. Wont even touch!” William, as I can now see, shows off his grotty yellow teeth in a wide grin.

He honestly think’s that crap will fly? He really, truly believes I’ll just submissively walk over to them and bend the fuck over?

What the hell do they take me for? I’m a waitress, not a prostitute.

Instead of snapping at them though I merely sigh, and clap my hands in a finished manner. “Come on boys, time to go home. It’s closing time and my snuggly warm bed’s calling out t’ me. Aren’t yours’? Come on, then!”

Groans and protests are my response, but the long drunk and tired men - they’re here after a long day of work in some mines, - get up and head for the exit to my building despite their complaints. I know neither of them are staying in any of the hotel rooms above, so that’s where they’ll go and that’s where I herd them. Out the saloon doors and down the street. I shoo them all the way, curbing their complaints with ‘Think about lovely dreams’, and ‘You can come back tomorrow for breakfast!’. Once we’ve gotten to the door, I wave them off, dish cloth in hand. “Goodnight boys, see you in the morn- Ah!” A high-pitched shriek comes out of me and is released into the cold night-time air in a puff of visible gas in the lamp light as I whip around. Someone pinched my-

“Theodore.” I gasp, eyebrows furrowed as I use my fists to cover my ass as I look up defensively at the tall, roguish looking man. I thought he left hours ago!

How dare he-

“Definitely plump / flat, boys!” He calls out to the two that are heading down the street, receiving raised hands in goodbye and laughs in response. Probably disgusting comments, too, but the mix of how far away their retreating backs are becoming, and the alcohol in their systems making their words blur together like flour and eggs mean that I thankfully don’t hear them with any sort of clarity. Theodore looks back down at me and smirks. “You said something about a warm snuggly bed, Miss?”

“Yes. Yours is a couple blocks from here. Be free to go forth, right now.” I roll my eyes, slipping around him so he’s closer to the door. He twists around and runs a hand through his greasy hair that’s far too long, and would be fair if he ever let water touch it. Good lord man, go see Al the barber and maybe you’ll learn some manners along the way.

“Aw, are you mad at me now Y/N?”

“Just cross.”

“I know a fun way we could work through those passionate feelin’s together, darlin’- “

Another voice joins the fray, just as I’m worrying if Theodore will ever actually leave, or more seriously- If he will ever actually pull through with the comments like that that he always makes towards me. “Oh, what’s that?”

Theodore and I look out to the street immediately to see who’s interrupted him. Who, with such a high and feminine voice, has had the audacity. Who, has become simultaneously his annoyance, and my saving grace.

My eyes land on Boone, and a grin makes its way over my lips. She looks cross herself, hands on her hips, shoulders anchored towards Theodore in a way a mother might look at her son when she is…

Totally pissed off.

I waive my dish cloth at her from behind Theodore. “Good evening, Boone!”

She doesn’t so much as say anything back, just glances at me and then back at the problem- Theodore. Oh man, if I were him I’d be backing off now. Boone scares everyone, me included. Not that I have to worry, she’s made it clear that she cares about me.  

… A little too much, but still. That’s neither here nor there right now. I’m glad she’s here!

“I think I heard some unsanitary comments comin’ from you, Mr Miller. At least I hope they were just comments. Why don’t you go on and apologise to our deserving waitress Miss L/N, before I let the Mayor know what you’re up to here. I believe he warned your ass last time we caught you cornering her.” Boone’s eyes darken on him and I wonder if I could slip off to the side and clean off the last table; the one William and Lawrence were at previously, so I can retire sooner. She’s got this all under control, if I know her.

But then Theodore just rolls his shoulders back, and the air around him seems to still. “You know, Miss Boone, I never see either you or our esteemed mayor every kickin’ up such a damn fuss over anyone else in this town. I mean, shit. I had some devilish fun with Miss Lyla the other day and you didn’t do nothin’!” A smirk slowly rolls over his mouth as he looks back at me for a moment, caging me in those dark, weaselly eyes for a moment. Oh, crap.

Boone, though, doesn’t even bat an eye.

But before she can say another word, yet another familiar voice calls from the shadows. I look down the path the way Boone was headed down before she heard Theodore and I and stopped by, to see Buckman walking down towards her. What are these two doing taking walks at 11 at night for, anyway? Why aren’t they together?? Seems a bit choreographed, to me. Let me just add that to all the reasons they creep me out.

Now, our Mayor is shorter than Theodore, who is much like a weasel in that he’s skinny, smelly and long, but that doesn’t make him an any less intimidating presence against him. Even with cheer in his eyes and his hands carefully in his pockets, its always been clear from the get-go, that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Its something about the way he holds all of his emotions inside, I’ve always thought. Mixed with the knowledge that he’s fought in a war.

It’s why we voted for him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Mayor.” Theodore swallows down a gulp of spit, stepping forward out of my saloon, finally. “Sir!” I take a deep breath and let it out, relieved, going straight to the doors and wedging myself between them; blocking him from coming back in and ready to shut the doors again as soon as I can. I don’t want Theodore coming back in, but I also don’t want to be left alone with either of these two nutters’, either.

Oh, by ‘nutters’, I mean ‘pillars of the community’… Mostly, I mean that. Uh, half.

Okay fine, they’re nuts.

“Mayor,” I greet, inclining my head for a moment politely.

“Evenin’ Y/N! I hope you’re not having too much trouble with this one.” Buckman immediately flashes me a bright, election winning smile. A real one. Like he always does when he see’s me.

“Well, he was. But I think Boones got it covered.” I grin back, unable to help it. He’s very charismatic!

Boone’s expression softens a bit and she relaxes her stance, giving me a little smile. “Thank you dear.”

“I’m sure she does.” Buckman agrees, and then they share a smile between them, and I look down at Theodore on the bottom step that leads to my saloon. Oh Jesus Christ, if he had suspicions before, then they are just growing now. This is just what I need!

I haven’t done anything, Theodore!! I promise!

Which is not to say I haven’t received countless offers, but I don’t need to be even thinking about that. Seeing as I declined. 

“Now, why don’t you head on home Theodore.” Buckman drops his nose to look up at Theodore with a little bit more menace and severity. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Good night sir! Boone, Y/N.” Finally, Theodore looks back over his shoulder at me, and then makes a break for it down the road past Boone. She gives him a stink eye for as long as she can before losing interest.  

And then its just me, Boone and Buckman in the stillness of the night.

And I wish I’d run off like Theodore.

“Well! Good night ya’ll! I got an early day tomorrow, so- “ I try to escape by weaving an excuse and locking the doors behind me, but it it’s not 2 minutes later when the only other set of key’s for this building stick into the lock, turn, and they walk on into my saloon. I sigh, now behind the counter washing cups.

Of course. He’s the mayor. Of course, they have keys.

Looking up at the ceiling, I pray for an easy time of it tonight. Please, let them be tired from their daily duties and they’ll go home soon.

I continue to wash glasses and plates and put them away, but I don’t get too far before Boone’s gone right ahead and helped herself to my special ‘only me’ area -behind the counter of my saloon,- and turns me around by the shoulders to look at me. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

I sigh, and tell her. “No. I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry for me.” She really shouldn’t, not in the way she does. She has a husband.

The part where he didn’t touch me is obviously incorrect, but I better not mention that to these two.

“Even so, we do worry darlin’. Come on, sit down for a bit. Give us some peace of mind, at least.” Buckman, immediately on the other side of the counter, asks and I sigh. I’ve learnt, that if I don’t comply, then they’ll never leave. And besides, the things they ask of me are never bad. Just, sit down and talk with them. Play cards. Have a drink. Generally, just lovely things like that.

It’s the intent behind them that concerns me.

“Yes. I’ll go and get you some water.” Boone says with a No-‘If’s’-or-‘Buts’-about-it kind of tone, and I try to open my mouth and protest against that, but she’s already guiding me around the bench. When we reach the end, she deposits me with her mayoral husband, and he leads me the rest of the way to a table. I sit down, sighing simultaneously and he sits down next to me. “I’ll wash the glass; Don’t you worry about that!”

“That’s… “I blow air into one of my cheeks and blow out gradually. “… Not what I’m worried about… “

“Now, he didn’t do anything nasty, did he? He certainly had the intention.”

I shake my head and set my hands in my lap. I want to tell them what he did, I really do. I don’t know why, but I always want to tell them things.

But I retain the believe that I can’t. I shouldn’t be that close with either of them. “No, sir, I’m fine, really! That’s not even as bad as some other men get at this time of night, anyway. I could have handled- “A moment after I’ve admitted the fact that other men have been worse than what Theodore just suggested to me, I pause. And peer guiltily up at Boone instead of Buckman as she hands me the water she promised and then sits down on the other side of me. “… I haven’t helped my case, have I?”

“No.” She laughs.

Maybe I do need this water.

I take a sip and look at neither of them, instead settling my focus on this glass of water and the far wall. I really need to repaint that wall…

While I do this, and they talk to each other about their day, I ponder my situation.

Now, I… I don’t consider myself a judgemental person. I don’t care what any folks do behind closed doors, in their bedrooms. Man and woman, woman and woman, man and man. But I am damn sure that it is only supposed to include 2 people. I’ve never heard of couples that are more then that, unless you count cults and I don’t.

So, it’s not that I don’t care for them both. Not at all. Its that I can’t be with them both, like they’ve asked, like they want. I can’t.

I’d like to be that open minded, I would, but… I just can’t picture it.

___TIME SKIP: Modern Day___

Since they arrived, I’ve been peering a little too long to be polite at a few of the newest group of victims. I’m a little worried that they’ve noticed, but I’m also really curious. I just can’t tell who is a couple and who isn’t. There is a particular group of 3, that’s throwing me off. I definitely saw the blonde one kiss the ginger one, but then I also swear saw the ginger one and the brunette ones holding hands. Could that just be a friendly thing? It had a pretty intimate feel, to me.

Now, I stand on the porch of my saloon, leaning my forearms onto the railing as I watch them. Buckman’s still with them, along with half- no, the rest of the town, remaining town I should say, inviting to the annual ‘guts and glory jubilee’. At this point, I really don’t get why any of these kids stay. Maybe it’s just because I know what going to happen to them.

Or maybe, its because this generation of kids are morons.

‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’? I mean, really? At first it was clever, but it was only a temporary name for the trap. And now its been a hundred years and its still called the same thing, and my saloon’s always full with disrespectful modern teenagers and my friends acting like loons to keep them there, and the kids aren’t getting any brighter. Too blinded by the way us Pleasant Valley women dress, and the inviting way we all -men and women alike, - smile, and laugh. They’re none the wiser to our plot.

Like I said, Morons.

As I’m watching the usual show on Buckman explaining with bright theatrics what a fun time it’ll be and how they should stay, as our honoured guests, I catch the eye of one of those guests. The blonde one from before, that kissed the ginger one. They smile through the awkward, accidental eye contact, and I paste on a smile back- too old and too tired to care about the awkwardness. I keep the contact until the moment they look away, honestly too tired to look away first.

I just want to go.

Where everyone else did. My parents, my fiancé, my… god, even my fucking cat… Where they went. Before we were massacred. Heaven, or hell, or wherever the hell we go after real, no consciousness death. Where we can’t, until 2001 of these dumbass teenagers die.

I just have to hold on a little longer.

A little while later, they agreed to stay and I went off into my saloon, ready to great them and serve them drinks. And clean tables, and fight off bastards trying to get a drunken feel, and snap back at rude ass, degrading miscreants who think I’ll just stand by and let them call me names.

Which is what I’m busy with now, as I dry off a now clean glass, ready to be filled with my sub-par rum again. A loud, brutish call of ‘Hey, any fucking rum left? Waitress!’ interrupts my quieter, calmer thoughts of fantasising about seeing my family again right after the saloon doors absolutely slam open. I whip around and am ready to have Jonathon, the only man in this saloon that I even remotely enjoy the company of and my only employee, kick the bastard out when my voice escapes me. Instead, I roll my eyes in utter frustrated and groan. This is just what I need.

“Theodore, what have I told you about calling me waitress?! You know my name.” I exclaim through grit teeth, throwing my now damp dishcloth onto the bench with vigour, causing a couple boys at the bar to reel back with a few irritating, obnoxious ‘Oooh’s. Theodore slowly smirks in that easy way that he does, and drops down in the bench across from where I’m standing. “Yes, we have the revolting drink you love. You know, we have rum. You basically live here!” I throw him a greasy with my eyes. “Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you; Do you have a home?? Because I’d be happy to send you off with a weeks’ worth of rum if it means I’ll get some peace and quiet from you for that time!”

“Naw, baby, I come here for your company. If you came home with me for a week, that’d be a different story. I’d stay away easy! Just stay… in bed… with you.” He winks.  

Dropping the ferocity in my body language for a moment, I just deadpan at him. “You disgust me.”

“In the best way.” Theodore grins, then leans into the bar, evidently done with teasing me for now, if his serious expression tells me anything. “Anyway,” He starts, sounding exhausted now as his hair droops around his face and the smile officially leaves his eyes. “Drink?”

Because it’s my job, and because standing near a quiet Theodore is a welcome alternative then trying to make conversation with the teenage boys down the left side of the bar who ‘Ooh’ed me earlier, I pat the bar and grumpily head off for the rum and a glass. “Coming right up.”

While I do that, Boone and Buckman; The nutters, the pillars of the community, the mayoral couple and the banes of my existence, come into the saloon and take the table by the door. I ignore them though, pulling my own stool out from under my side of the bench and sitting down across from Theodore, pouring him his drink and sliding it to him. Jonathon can handle the rush for a few tiny minutes, while I sit for a second. “Thank you, darlin’.”

I don’t say anything back, because I don’t like to extend pleasantries to him of all people. Instead, I look around the room and do my usual assessment. The room’s loud, and full of people -Boone and Buckman took the last unoccupied table, and Theodore took the last stool, -, acting loud and having butt loads of fake fun. I don’t really care about that though; all I care about is that in a moment I’m going to have to get up and ask around for any more orders and clean some more cups and plates. For a second, I let my shoulders relax and I rest my hands on the bar in front of me. Strong, work woman’s hands.

“You noticed the ‘throuple’ in the new group?”

Oh, Theodore is still talking to me.

Joy.

“Huh?” I look up from my hands to meet his eyes momentarily, raising my eyebrows at him. What did he say?

“The throuple, that’s what they called it when I asked ‘em.” He smirks for a moment. “It’s a relationship between 3 people.”

“Why do I care? That sounds like their business.” I sniff, then wipe under my nose a moment and then move to fixing my apron over my chest. It had slid to the side while I was working, it seems.

For a glorious moment, he doesn’t respond. He just stays quiet, and I think how lovely his company is when he’s on the other side of the bar and is quiet.

Then I look up at him, still with my eyebrows up my forehead, and see he’s looking straight into my soul. A knowing, mischievous grin on his lips. Its as if he ironed it in that way, all creases and wrinkles on his face from smiling so much in his life.

But I know what he’s insinuating.

It’s a different world out there now, that’s apparently allowed. It happens. Romantic relationships between more then 2 people. Maybe I should reconsider my answer, to Boone and Buckman. Maybe it would work.

That’s what Theodore is saying with this look that is so annoyingly painted on his face.

And to that, I say fuck off.

Or I would, if I wasn’t a good, Christian lady.

Instead I shrug my shoulders at him and head off to check the tables. “It’s a whole new world out there!” I call back, successfully, hopefully, ending the conversation.

Where does he even get off making suggestions like that to me- he shouldn’t even be that sure of what was happening -what they were, or are still, trying to make happen, - to mention it to me in such a forward manner. I definitely didn’t tell anyone except my mirror, and my… bathroom sometimes… but I certainly didn’t say it above a whisper! He couldn’t have heard, even if he was snooping around like the creep he is.

And the other two definitely wouldn’t have said anything. They despise Theodore Miller even more then I do.

He must just be smart.

… huh.

Who knew? Theodore has a brain and not just a penis under that grease, sweat and soot covered flesh.

Like a coward, I hit every other table in the room before I get the one by the door. They obviously can tell that I’m trying to avoid them, because saloon procedure is obvious to get to the table that was most recently filled as soon as possible before any others, but I don’t really care. If Theodore and I noticed the, uh, ‘throuple’, then the mayor and his wife, definitely, did. And I’m dreading the conversation that is about to occur.

When I do, finally, start heading towards Boone and Buckman’s table, I notice Theodore turning around in his seat to drink and watch the scene.

With his knees spread wide like a heathen. Ugh! Not in my establishment. Before I get to the table, I show him my middle finger and he turns around, chuckling to himself.

Okay. I take a deep breath, and stop at the dreaded table.

“Good afternoon, Mr Mayor. Mrs Mayor.” I beam, a pasted smile that’s obviously fake. Luckily, because I don’t think I could handle any more embarrassment and pressure right now, and unluckily because I think anyone else’s attention might actually be preferred then these two’s right at any time, no one else is paying attention to see such a grin. “What’ll it be? Today we have beans and bread as the special- like always. “I take out my notepad and pen.

Not because I need them to remember orders, of course. Just to have something to focus on.  

“Good afternoon Y/N, why don’t you sit here with us for a bit? You look bone tired from takin’ care of this lot! It’s a full house today.” Boone asks, even going as far as using her foot to push out the other chair at the table that isn’t taken, for me to prospectively take.

Absolutely not.

“I am exhausted.” I find myself sitting down, instead of leaving like I should have. Immediately on feeling the tension leave my legs, I feel like collapsing onto this table and falling asleep. “Thank you.”

Leaning into my hands for a moment with my eyes closed will have to do. A feel a comforting hand pat my shoulder and it does feel better. “Why don’t you let Jonathon handle business for a little bit- we actually happened to have a talk the other day about him wanting more opportunities to advance. This would be a perfect opportunity for him! And you look warn, sweetheart.”

He shouldn’t call me that.

But it does sound good. Especially coming from Buckman. And with Boone looking so worried about me, too. It feels too nice a place to be, with them, to be wrong. “Uh, well, maybe… “

Then I look up, past Boone’s head and, by complete chance, on the blonde, brunette and ginger that have been the topic of the day…

And all of a sudden, momentary blind panic tears through me.

I jump up from my seat, the chair toppling down onto its back as I stand back on to my exhausted legs. it barely interrupts the volume of the room, so no one else really notices. But I do catch sight of Boone and Buckman’s faces, even more worried and a little bit hurt, before I stutter through an apology and an excuse about having to work, and I rush off back to the safety of my bar. Of course, Boone has been back here before, but I choose to ignore that little fact.

Theodore watches me with wide eyes, as all the tension in my person just grew to level a thousand intensity, as I call Jonathon over and ask him to take his lunch break now.

I don’t need any excuses to go and take my break. One of them, or both of them, might come and ask me if I’m okay. And I’m starting to forget why that’s such a bad thing, but I know there is a reason, and… Jesus Christ, I’ve never been so conflicted.

Because yes, the world outside of Pleasant Valley has come far. Like I said to Theodore, it’s a ‘whole new world’ compared to what it was when we were alive a century and a half ago.

But we’re in Pleasant Valley. And you only have to look around and see how different we dress and talk and move compared to these new present time people and you know; We aren’t part of that whole new world. Boone, Buckman and I don’t fit here.

Maybe if things were different.

Definitely if things were different, actually. I know, if they were, I would be there. I would be all in.

But I’m not and things aren’t different.

___

An hour later, and I’ve calmed down at this point. I still feel exhausted, now because I work so much and because of emotional baggage, but I don’t feel the racing heartbeat that made me sick before or the adrenaline that caused me to run away. So, it’s better… Stable again, at least.

I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t look their way. I can become numb again to the feelings they make in me. Its an idiotic notion, but its kind of the only thing keeping me still right now.

Merciless God, grant me a break. Amen.

The saloon is starting to quieten down for the night, as the light goes away outside and visitors disappear to their rooms -some with a partner they’ve only just met, some alone, some with friends they came with. It’s a big group this time, - upstairs in the hotel part of my building. I’m sitting back down in my stool behind the bench by the time the ‘throuple’-I’m still not sure about that word, - finally, FINALLY, decides to retire up to their room. I bid Jonathon a good night as he went home too, a little earlier to his wife and son, and waived shortly when Theodore pushed drunkenly off the bar and hobbled out the doors.

I lean heavily onto the bar myself, and watch the three go up the stairs together. The brunette’s holding the ginger’s hand now, and the blonde walks ahead of them and holds the key to their room.

After they disappear onto the second floor, I turn to look at who else I need to wait to leave, so I can go to bed myself. Mmm, I’ll take a long hot bath first, and light some candles to go with it. Most importantly, I’ll let my hair out of his too bloody tight ponytail!

“Ah, that’s sounds good.” I mutter, already imagining it as I push off the bench and go collect some plates and glasses that are left out on the tables and wipe them down for the last time today.

“Miss Y/N?” A familiar voice, Boone, calls the softest that I’ve ever heard it from the door. I look around quickly, ribbing the back of my aching neck to see no one else around. Huh, I hadn’t noticed I was alone.

It was nice.

Still, I flash her a tired, half smile. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. We should know at this point not to go so hard on you. You work all day harder than anyone, even Buckman but don’t tell him I said that.” She pauses, walking fully into my saloon and as if it were choreographed, we both sit down together at a table. “Actually, go ahead and tell him. Its true.” I grin despite myself, rolling my shoulders back and then leaning back in the chair- entirely taken over by exhaustion. I don’t even have energy to put up walls. Boone looks at me again and gives me a soft smile. “We want you to know always, that we care deeply for you, and whenever you’re ready you can join us. But… we also don’t want to stress you so much anymore. So, we’ll pull back- a little. If that pussy Miller tries anything on you again he will be dealt with.”

I nod, sighing. But, then again, why doesn’t that make me feel better? They’re going to leave me a bit more alone! I should feel relieved… but I do not. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I hate to see you so pent up.” A devious smirk touches her lips and her eyes. “I mean, I would like to help you with that in a different way then leaving you alone… But I will. Because I love you.”

I take a quick, deep breath. There it is. I never actually thought those actual three words would leave her lips aimed at me. But it’s the most natural thing in the world, tell her. “I love you too.” A wicked beam is my response from her at that.

“Can I hold yer hand?” Boone asks, offering her daintier hand across the table. Trying hard not to glance around for onlookers but failing, I take her hand.

It feels so nice, relieving, to hold it finally.

I take a deep breath, and whisper the next words. I want them out, I want to confide in someone. I’m sick of keeping everything to myself, I’m sick of being all alone. It’s by my own will, of course, but… it still hurts, all the same. “Boone, I-I’m just so… so weary, of everythi- “

Buckman interrupts me, turning up at the door. “Howdy, what’s going on in here?”

Boone ignore him, gathers up her skirts and gets to her feet. When she rounds the table to me, she drops them to the ground in favour of cupping my face in her hands instead. “I know. Why don’t you let go of one thing? Let us hold some of the load, sugar. Please.”

Finally, I can’t tell myself no. And I absolutely can’t tell her no. I glance from her to Buckman who has apparently read the atmosphere and now stands beside Boone. He smiles, like he always does at me. Like he feels it.

God, I want to feel a smile again.

And I lose the strength to do this all on my own anymore. I shakily get up from my seat and throw my arms around (You choose one or both, because I’m lazy and its bedtime for me).

[soulangel]

Dance Partner

Summary: Since Angel had joined AOMG officially, Jay has her working endlessly to make sure she was ready to debut properly. To help her along he asks someone for help who ends up being a good friend to her for the long run. And who’s the guy he’s talking about hanging out with? 

Group: Angel x AOMG, Angel x BM from K.A.R.D

Genre: Mild angst, hopefully some comedy, dorkiness

Warnings: Talk of depression and Angel’s incident with her mother in the states, crackhead dorkiness (this is probably a continuous theme for Angel ngl)

Word Count: 1,985

Angel’s Masterlist          Angel’s Practice Outfit     Main Masterlist

    For the 10th time in the 30 minutes she’d started dancing, Róisín finally fell to the floor in defeat and groaned out loud. “Jay it’s impossible! I can’t do this!” She yelled out after finally feeling the frustration reach it’s limit.     The elder of the two sighed and shook his head. “You can’t just give up now Ro-Ro. You’re so close! I think I have an idea to help you.” He replied, giving her a grin while he pulled out his phone to possibly get a hold of someone.     She just glared at him after he got out the nickname she hated the most. “I swear Jay if you’re calling up Simon to make fun of me again..” She hissed before he started talking happily and loudly to the person on the other line.     After he finished the conversation in hushed and very fast Korean that she couldn’t understand, he turned back to her with a smirk and clapped his hands together, rubbing them a moment until he walked up to the stereo one last time to play the song over. “Try it one more time and the thing I just called will be on the way to you in 15 minutes.” He bargained in the hopes of getting her to try the dance one more time.     Hoping it was food, Róisín sighed and groaned softly to herself. “It’s weird dancing with you like this though....you’re my brother.” She whined out loud.     Jay sighed and nodded his head. “That’s very true. But would you rather have me dancing with you.....or Simon?” He asked her, knowing exactly what he was doing when he threatened her with that specific name.     She gasped and pointed at him wide eyed, her other hand slapping across her mouth. “You promised you wouldn’t use that against me, TRAITOR!” She screeched at the guy, earning a laugh from him.     She started chasing him around the room in frustration to the point the song played over a good three times without their knowing, Jay being too busy running and cackling like a maniac and Róisín trying her hardest to make the elder of the two fall on his face-or his butt, she had no preference anymore as long as he STOPPED RUNNING.

    “FINE I GIVE UP!” She cried out, falling to the ground childishly as she crossed her arms and pouted her full lips up at him.     He grinned at her and did a weird wave like dance move side to side before he sat down in front of her and slapped her knee a couple times. “Come ooonnn where’d that energy go?” He asked her with a smirk.     She glared at him, not wanting to play around anymore since she knew he would somehow get her to exert more energy than she wanted. “I will kill you in your sleep and convince Kunst-Oppa to take your spot...somehow...” She hissed out, vaguely hearing movement outside the door.     A familiar head popped in with a grin on his face at being named from the redhead. “Awwww are you two bonding? Cute. Jay, your package is here?” He said quickly, confusedly looking from Jay to whatever was outside the door.     Jay clapped his hands happily and motioned with his hands to bring the thing in, which just made Code Kunst open the door wider to allow the thing into the studio. Róisín stared at the giant silhouette standing in the doorway beside Code Kunst and had to tilt her head in confusion, not understand what was going on. “ Jay...” She asked him finally, getting the guy to stare at her with a smile.     He stood up and held a hand out for her to take, waiting patiently for her to take his hand. When she did, he pulled her to her feet and dragged her over to the newcomer, making sure to keep her hand in his in case she decided to run away from them. “Rose, meet BM. Or just Mathew?” He said, ending it in more of a question than anything.     The tall guy just shrugged his shoulders and held out a hand for her to shake. “Nice to officially meet you Red. You can call me BM or Mathew. Whichever is fine. I’m here to help you with Korean and dance.” He grinned, seeing her face go from confused to frightened.      The two watched her freak out for a couple minutes before Jay’s grin turned devilish. “Oh did I also mention you’re going to be performing with him in a couple months? Better start practicing.” He told her evilly, stepping out of the room before she could throw something at his head again; he was still healing from the last object she threw at him...

          xXx

    What seemed like hours later to Jay but a few minutes to Róisín, the two in the studio were finally able to sit down on the ground panting in exhaustion but grinning from their accomplishments. “You got moves girl! It’s only day one!” He laughed a little in surprise as she laid backward and flopped herself onto the ground with a large groan.     She could practically hear the gears turning in the giant’s head as he thought about something for quite a while. As if he was debating on something very serious. “You were born in 96 right?” He asked her suddenly, earning a very strange look from the redhead.     She tilted her head and stared at him a moment, wondering why he could possibly be asking a question like that before nodding her head finally. “Y-Yeah? I’m only 19 right now. Or is it 20 here? I just moved here a couple months ago thanks to Jay.” She replied hesitantly, hearing her slight accent on certain words thanks to living with her Mimi for a year.     She winced at the small sound of her voice and managed to pull her knees up into her chest where she wrapped her arms around them as a security blanket. Mathew, at sensing the tense emotions rolling off her person, frowned a little at how small she looked in that moment. And he couldn't help feeling a protective sense as she continued to be lost in her thoughts, maybe about home? He opened his mouth to say something when her self-proclaimed big brother waltzed through the door with food and drink for the two. “Oh you’re already taking a break? Perfect! Here you go!” He said happily, sitting down next to the redhead to hand her the drink and piece of dinner he bought her.     Mathew stared at the two for a moment as he thought about how the elder of the two sitting next to each other seemed to stay beside her as if she needed some sort of stability. Róisín almost didn’t realize her phone went off until Jay was nudging her arm with his and motioned to the object vibrating up a storm beside her. “If it’s Maeve and she sees you not answering she’ll be coming for my head. Pick it up.” He said gently, smiling at the teen as she numbly looked toward her phone.     She stood up after she looked at who it was and quietly excused herself to take the phone call. “Morning Mimi. I’m okay. Yes I was just eating with Jay and a new partner of mine. Yes it’s a boy. Mimi!” The two males could hear a one sided talk as she left the room and closed the door behind her.     Jay sighed softly and looked up to the concerned face of Mathew. “She looks like hell Hyung. Is she okay to be doing this?” He asked finally, noting the elder wouldn’t say anything until Mathew did first.     Jay smiled bitterly and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I managed to get her to go to therapy for now just to help make sure she’s still capable of training. But there was a terrible incident that happened with her family before she was supposed to leave America. I bought her an international line so her family can always get ahold of her without worrying about price.” He mumbled, trying to explain without giving away details.     Mathew nodded his head as he listened, trying to understand what he was being told. “And you convinced me to do this because...?” He finally asked out.     Jay stared at him with a look that said he knew something. “You’ve already felt that pull toward her. That feeling where you just want to protect her, right? She needs all the support and friends she can out here. And since you’re from LA, I thought maybe you could help her transition to Korea better. Also that new friend of yours, what’s his name? Taehyung? Didn’t you say he’s just a comic? I was hoping we could all help her out of this depression she’s fallen into.” He explained to the brunet.     Mathew thought about the words a bit and nodded his head slowly. “She needs support. That’s understandable. She looks like she’s about to break by just touching her.” He mumbled as he frowned a little, remembering how she seemed when she danced and then when they both stopped and she talked about her home.      Róisín stepped back into the room a couple minutes later with a smile on her face before rushing up to Jay to tackle him into a hug. “Ashtin’s birthday is coming up soon!” She squealed at the guy who just barely managed to catch her frame before she soared passed him in her excitement.     The two guys blinked at each other while Jay just hugged the teen as she giggled and bounced around. “Ashtin is your nephew right? How old is he gonna be? We should go visit him.” Jay said happily, glancing over at Mathew who nodded his head silently, agreeing to what Jay was talking about earlier.     He then stood up and opened his arms for the redhead. “Hey come here Red! I want a hug too!” He called out, waiting patiently for the girl to look up at him in surprise.     She then smiled and stood up to hug him. “Thanks for the lessons today! You really helped me out. When do you want to practice next?” She responded as her arms wrapped around the guy.     He hugged her tight to his body and stared spinning around with her, making her squeal and laugh. “Noooo!” She laughed out until he finally stopped and set her right on her feet.     He then tilted his head as he thought about it. “Wanna go out with me and a friend tonight? I think you’ll enjoy it.” He asked her, watching as she thought about it for a couple seconds.     She turned to Jay who only nodded his head at her, telling her he agrees with whatever she’d decide. “Okay...but I still can’t go into bars. Not old enough yet.” She pouted once Mathew started chuckling.     He shook his head and wrapped an arm around her neck. “Don’t you worry about that Red. We’re not going out to bars. This is just two guys and a girl chilling and playing games.” He said simply, making sure she knew what she was getting herself into.     She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. I’ll smoke your ass at video games, that’s fine by me.” She replied before rushing out of the room, yelling back at them that she was going to change real quick.     Jay was about to follow her out when they head a familiar voice boom through the floor, “Why do you keep running into me?! Do you just enjoy my embrace that much?!” At which Jay groaned and shook his head. “That damn Simon....always got to make her blush doesn’t he?” He sighed.     Mathew laughed out loud. “Aw does Red have a crush on the rapper?���      “SHUT UP MATHEW NO ONE ASKED YOU!”

[ecto-american]

Like Father Like Daughter

Summary: "I don't wanna!" Maddie's heart stopped as her granddaughter's annoyed, narrowed eyes flashed a brilliant glowing green at her before the girl returned her attention back to the TV. "Sweetheart, what was that?"

Rating: K+

Inspiration: It's just a plot bunny I had for a while.

Pairings: JackxMaddie, JazzxOC, DannyxWhoever. I had a specific ship in mind, but I left it purposefully vague so you can picture him as being with whichever DP lady you'd like.

Warnings: Contains fanchild OCs for JazzxOC and DannyxWhoever

Other Notes: It’s originally on AO3, along with a second chapter that I’ll post at another time, but I wanna go ahead and just begin crossposting some stuff. I’m planning a companion piece of sorts to this so might as well spam it everywhere I can.

Other Notes: I'm not really all that good with kids. Dawn's age is just kind of vague, but she's not in school yet. Probably around 4ish? I think you start kindergarten at 5. But also to be specifically clear, Danny's wife in this fanfiction DOES know his secret.

Maddie heard the child making car noises to herself as she moved the toy car along the carpet. She smiled, glancing up from the invention she was tinkering with, a relatively harmless little gadget, just a new and improved version of a ghost detector, to see Dawn crawling a bit on her knees to reach another toy from the toy box in the living room. She opened the lid, reaching deep inside.

"What are you getting into, sunshine?" Maddie teasingly asked. The little girl glanced behind her to flash a grin at her grandmother, black hair sticking out every which way. This was despite the girl's mother having dropped her off earlier with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She still had the ponytail, but her hair just seemed to want to constantly stand up on end in a permanent cow lick.

"Vroom vroom," she replied, and she held up a toy airplane that she had retrieved.

She sunk to her knees again, making soft engine noises to herself as she 'drove' the plane around on the floor. Maddie smiled, and she began to eagerly screw the last bit of the ghost gadget together before standing up. She moved to put it on a shelf, out of reach of curious little hands. The invention was essentially done anyway, just in need of some testing, which would wait. Maddie sat down on the floor.

Dawn's bright eyes lit up in excitement, and she eagerly made the plane take off, hurriedly crawling towards her grandmother. Maddie opened her arms and allowed for the girl to 'crash' into her in an explosion of giggles, happily settling in on her lap.

"Uh oh, crash landing," Maddie told her, and she picked up a fire truck. "Here comes the fire department to help!"

"Grandpa would help!" Dawn added, and she wiggled to grab another toy car, one Jack had made of the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle. Maddie smiled.

"Yup, grandpa would come to make sure ghosts didn't crash the plane," Maddie replied. Dawn wiggled out of her lap and onto the floor, reaching to grab another car to come assist with the plane crash. The home was pleasantly silent as the two played.

Wednesday mornings were a special time for Maddie, where she got to be alone with Dawn, and she cherished them. On Wednesday mornings, Maddie would never understand quite how it even began, Jack would go golfing with Vlad before picking up their youngest grandson from morning kindergarten, who would join them until the other grandsons trickled in from their various after school activities. The Fenton grandparents often had a full house until their children came to pick up the grandkids. Dawn wasn't due to be enrolled in school until next year, nor eligible for any activities just yet. Had he been home, the Jack would be on the floor with her and Dawn, playing with their only granddaughter and Danny's only child.

Maddie gave a small chuckle to herself at Jazz's brief jealousy when Danny and his wife found out that they were having a little girl. Jazz had five very energetic boys, and Maddie knew this energy had no limits first-handed. One of the best perks of working from home was the luxury of being able to spend a lot of quality time with her children growing up, and now, she got to watch her grandchildren grow up first hand. Well, Jazz's boys anyway.

"Mom, I'm just not sure," Danny had said defensively. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea Maddie had proposed.

"She wants to go back to work in the future, and we already keep the boys," Maddie replied with a frown. "Danny, it's not any problem to leave Dawn with us while you two work. We don't mind."

"It's not that," Danny was so hesitant. Her son was resting in his living room, laying down on the couch, a four month old Dawn sleeping happily on his chest while Maddie sat in the armchair nearby. "I-I-I, just, you know. It may not be safe for her. You and dad are so active in the lab, what if you accidentally spill something on her?"

Maddie tried to not take it too personally. She remembered life as a first time parent. Danny had already grown incredibly overprotective of his little girl. Even now, he kept a protective hand on Dawn's back to keep her in place, as if the infant was going to suddenly float away.

"We wash our hands religiously, and what would it matter anyway? She's human, even if, somehow, something got onto her, she'd be perfectly fine. Any and all chemicals and liquids and gadgets we have only target and harm ghosts," Maddie lightly argued. Danny flinched, and she noticed that Danny's hand gripped Dawn's onesie, anxiously. "Danny we'd never let her into the lab anyway, and we've been keeping everything down there anyway. You know how nosy the boys are. They get into everything."

"Uh...just...let me think about it. And we both have to talk about it, ya know?"

Maddie shook her head, giving a light eyeroll at the memory. Danny was so overprotective of Dawn. It was endearing, but honestly. She dreaded to see him when Dawn became a teenager. It had taken nearly two years, much convincing and a lot of promises before Danny and his wife caved, allowing Grandpa and Grandma Fenton to keep Dawn while her parents went to work during the day. It hurt a little that Danny seemed so hesitant to let his own parents keep Dawn, especially when there was not nearly as much of a fuss when the other side of Dawn's family got to see and keep her. Jack had assured her that Danny was just worried because they had such a dangerous profession, while Danny's in-laws had a much more relaxed job. Maddie had agreed, despite her heart and gut telling her it was something else.

She forced herself to put aside those thoughts as she noticed Dawn going to grab another toy from the box, this time a spaceship toy. The girl seemed to take intense fascination over it, and she sat down next to the toy box to intensely inspect the toy. It was a new addition to the toy box, Danny's when he was a kid, and Maddie gave a soft smile. She was definitely Danny's little girl.

From the couch, Maddie heard a familiar text tone. She reached out to grab her cellphone with her fingertips, pulling it closer to view the message that she was already so accustomed to getting. A message from Danny, on his lunch break, asking her how Dawn was doing. Could her son be more over-protective?

Sure enough, there it was. Hey mom, love you. How's Dawn? Maddie rolled her eyes, and she sent back the same old, same old text. Hey sweetie, Dawn's doing good. Love you too, have a good day.

She put her phone on the coffee table, glancing at Dawn.

"Your daddy's silly," she informed her, earning giggles from Dawn.

"Daddy fell out of a tree yesterday," Dawn told her. Maddie frowned. This never came up in conversation with Danny.

"Is he okay?" Dawn stared blankly at her. "Did Daddy get hurt?"

"No," she replied. "He missed the ground."

Maddie thought little of the statement. Dawn often said odd things. She brought it up to Jazz, who was quick to say that sometimes kids just said weird stuff that didn't make sense. Dawn's mother defended the words. Maddie had a few memories of Jazz and Danny saying odd things, as well as some of their childhood playmates, and so she brushed it off. Dawn had quite the active imagination as it stood.

She spoke often of a ghost that haunted their home, describing her as a white haired ghost that was Danny Phantom's cloned cousin. Whenever Maddie or Jack showed discomfort, Dawn was always quick to clarify that she was a good ghost, and that she played fun games with Dawn. There was also a ghost puppy that Dawn often spoke of that protected her when she felt scared by becoming a huge dog like Clifford the big red dog only he was green, as well as a giant white, fuzzy ghost with a really, really cold ice hand that often made it snow just for her. There was a pretty princess ghost that turned into a dragon that would take her and her dad on magical trips to really, really old timey-times and who let her be a princess for a day once, trying on her crown and letting her sit in the royal chair. Another fuzzy ghost, this time black that she couldn't quite understand, but who was always very sweet to her and let her pet him. Dawn often reported that he was soft, and while he had sharp claws, he had never cut her, not even on accident.

Danny and his wife insisted it was the overactive imagination, and the grandparents soon agreed. A very active, if odd, imagination. It worried Maddie that Dawn seemed to think so positively of ghosts.

"Why was he in a tree?" she asked. Dawn giggled.

"Hiding from Mommy!" Maddie let out a small chuckle herself. That sounded about right. She glanced at the clock. 11:20am.

"Crash Nebula will be on in ten minutes," Maddie told her. "If you'd like to watch it, you need to pick up the toys you played with today."

Dawn's nose scrunched up, lower lip sticking out in annoyance at the idea of cleaning up, the expression being almost an identical mirror to Danny when he was her age. She looked around at all the toys she had dragged out over the course of the morning.

"I don't wanna," she whined.

"Too bad," Maddie's voice became firm. "If you'd like to switch activities, you have to clean up from your last one."

"Can I do it after?" Her lower lip stuck out further, and Dawn's eyes grew sad. A puppy dog attack, and Maddie gave a small smile.

"Then it'll never get done," she replied, tone light. She was used to the age old game of dealing with kids, and she stood up. "I'm going to go to the lab to put my own activity away." Maddie gestured to the invention she had put on the shelf. "When I come back, I expect to see all the toys put away."

Maddie picked up her invention, and she went down into the lab, closing the door behind her to prevent Dawn from wandering down. She began to put away the tools she had brought upstairs with her, as well as the invention in a proper place. Maddie picked up an ecto-gun Jack had been working on earlier, examining it to see the progress. She'd love to bring it upstairs and show Dawn, but she knew Danny would lose his mind. He had been very insistent on Dawn staying out of the lab, her daughter-in-law too.

She'd never understand that. Jazz's boys came into the lab regularly, with Jack or Maddie supervising of course. The boys had even helped with simple invention tweaking and tinkering. The Fenton grandparents even had the absolute cutest photo that Danny, ironically, had taken of Jazz's oldest mimicking Jack exactly. Jack was working on the Specter Speeder, using a wrench to tighten a bolt, and his oldest grandson was using a plastic toy wrench on his toy Specter Speeder (again, another toy Jack had created for the grandkids).

Maddie was a bit heartbroken that Danny wanted to deny Dawn the precious gift of science, engineering and family ghost hunting secrets that she and Jack had to offer. Her daughter-in-law seemed conflicted, wanting Dawn to have the experiences but also heavily mirroring Danny's worries, incredibly concerned when Jack had initially brought up that he was going to get the simple blueprints together to begin a small ghost tracker building project with Dawn, just like he had with all of Jazz's boys. Nothing they hadn't done before with a grandchild. But it freaked the parents out.

She sighed. Maybe when Dawn was a bit older. Or maybe at the next family dinner, she'd bring it up to Danny. There was nothing in the lab for him to be afraid of Dawn getting. Everything down there effected ghosts, and only ghosts. Anything that would be harmful to a human, such as some of the chemicals and gasses needed for some of the more biological side of ghost hunting and testing, was always locked away under key in a cabinet. Always had, always was. No exceptions. It was a safety rule Jack and Maddie took seriously.

Hell, Danny himself grew up practically being an active participant in the lab. Yes, as he hit his teen years, some of the inventions began to target him. They were just glitches in the system, and they only ever targeted their son. Maybe he was afraid of a similar malfunction? But he was never in any true danger. The inventions, the lab, the OP center, it'd only harm ghosts. Danny knew this by heart.

Perhaps if she could get Dawn excited about it, Danny would cave. He did nearly anything and everything to make his special little sunshine happy. Maddie clearly remembered her son swearing up and down a storm as he struggled to put a background playground set of sorts together (with Ryuu, Jazz's husband, and Tucker's eventual help). Dawn was always so eager to play helper whenever Jack or Maddie needed a hand repairing the kitchen sink or the TV, an electronic toy or the Fenton RV. With her imagination focused on ghosts and the interest in repairing, she had the Fenton ghost hunting spirit in her. Maddie could just feel it.

The idea cheered her up, and Maddie finished tidying up before going upstairs to check on Dawn. She heard the TV playing, the familiar cartoon theme song playing. She entered the living room, frowning.

"Dawn," Maddie scolded, putting her hands on her hips. Dawn glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother in annoyance, scowling. "I thought I asked you to put away the toys before you began watching TV?"

"I don't wanna!" Maddie's heart stopped as her granddaughter's annoyed, narrowed eyes flashed a brilliant glowing green at her before the girl returned her attention back to the TV.

"Sweetheart, what was that?"

Dawn's head snapped towards her with wide, thankfully baby blue, eyes. Maddie wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. She was getting a bit up there in age-no. No. She knew what she saw.

"What?" Dawn asked.

"Your eyes," Maddie said. Her entire demeanor shifted, and she was puzzled. Dawn looked guilty, as if she was caught stealing some of Jack's fudge (again).

"I'm watching Crash Nebula," was all Dawn said, and she turned her attention to the TV. Maddie shook herself out of her shock. Eye color change or not, Dawn still did not do as asked. Maddie strolled over to the TV, pressing the power button. Dawn's eyes grew wide. "Grandma!"

"Dawn, I asked you to pick up the toys ten minutes ago," Maddie reminded her. Dawn's eyes narrowed at her, giving an angry grumble. Maddie's heart skipped a beat as the girl's eyes flashed green again in her frustration. The look on her face was so familiar, but it wasn't an expression she ever remembered Danny giving her. It was eerily familiar yet not.

"I wanna watch Crash Nebula!" she argued. Maddie frowned.

"You may watch it after you clean up," she told her. Dawn's face scrunched up again, and her lower lip trembled. Maddie gave a soft sigh, anticipating the temper tantrum to follow.

As expected, the ghost hunter soon had an angry, tearful grandchild laying on the floor face down, screaming and crying. Maddie paid it no attention, simply sitting on the couch and waiting. Surprisingly, Jazz was the one almost infamous for her temper tantrums, and Maddie always found that letting it pass worked best. She sat back, watching Dawn cry and kick her legs angrily at the air. Her hands were clenched in fists, but she held them still as she bawled. Maddie squinted. Was...she glowing?

Dawn was. She had a faint glow to her, and Maddie sat up straighter, leaning in. Was it a glow, or was it just the lighting? She did have the curtains open wide to let in light. Maddie couldn't tell, and she stood up to walk over. Dawn had calmed down by now, and there was no glow, assuming one had been present to begin with. The girl simply laid on the ground now, sniffling unhappily.

"Are you finished?" Maddie asked. Dawn just nodded. "Are you ready to pick up your toys?" Dawn shook her head no. "Then I think it's time out time." Dawn's lower lip trembled, and more tears poured. Maddie used her hand to lightly nudge her into standing up, which Dawn did very slowly and reluctantly.

Maddie gestured to the small step stool in the corner that had been unceremoniously placed there years ago when the first grandchild temper tantrum had happened, and never removed. Dawn dragged herself over to it, and as soon as she sat down, she began to cry again. Maddie sighed sympathetically. She hated punishing any of the grandkids.

"I'm going to go get started on lunch," she told Dawn. Dawn sniffled, giving a nod. Maddie stole a glance as she went to the kitchen.

From her spot at the counter, she could see Dawn. The girl was sitting still, sniffling and beginning to get upset hiccups. Lunch was just going to be a simple sandwich and chips, and Maddie broke out the needed ingredients, keeping Dawn within eye and earshot. She tore her eyes away from Dawn for less than a second, to assure she was scraping jelly properly from the jar, but she froze when she saw...an empty step stool.

"Dawn?" Maddie called out, both as a warning but also initial panic beginning to set in.

"Yes?" her voice came from the living room. It sounded like she was still in the corner, but Maddie didn't see her.

"Dawn, where are you?"

"I'm sitting!"

Maddie frowned.

"I don't see you!"

"I'm sitting!" the voice was desperate and whining, louder and more insistent.

"Where are you sitting?" Maddie asked. She tried to keep her voice calm and level, but inside, she was angry and confused. Where was she?

"On the stool!" Dawn insisted.

Maddie's eyes scanned for any signs that Dawn had gotten up and moved. Her eyes drifted over to the couch and chair, and they went back to the stool. She jumped when she saw a familiar, teary-eyed girl sitting on the stool. She put her hand to her chest. Her heart was going crazy. Maddie knew for a fact that Dawn was not sitting in the stool a few moments ago.

"Honey, what happened?" Maddie tried to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice, and she did, but she knew she sounded a bit panicked.

"I didn't move!" Dawn cried out, lower lip trembling.

Dawn was never a liar. She was almost honest to a fault, and she had never, to Maddie's knowledge anyway, lied to her before. She was a good kid, a very sweet kid. Maddie didn't know what to believe. She knew she didn't see Dawn just a moment ago. She was almost afraid to leave Dawn alone in the living room again.

"Sunshine, why don't you come help me finish making lunch?" she asked. Dawn seemed to brighten up at the idea of leaving time out early.

"Okay!" she agreed, and the girl's sour mood seemed to lift.

Maddie kept a close eye on Dawn, but nothing else happened. As normal, lunch was served and ate. As normal, Dawn offered to help clean up. As normal, Maddie got the message that Jack had finished his golf game (having lost by a long shot but as normal, he had fun hanging out with his best friend and was on his way home soon with Dawn's cousin). It was too normal now, and Maddie couldn't help but wonder what happened in the living room.

After cleaning up from lunch, Dawn was finally willing to pick up and put away the toys.

"Do you want to watch Crash Nebula on Netflix now?" Maddie offered, and Dawn's eyes lit up, thankfully still blue.

"Yes please!" she chirped, and Maddie handed her the remote. She already knew how to work Netflix, and within moments, Dawn found the familiar icon of her favorite show and began an episode. Maddie smiled, leaning over to kiss her temple, earning a small giggle.

"Grandma's going to go get something from the lab real quick," Maddie spoke up. Dawn just nodded in response, already engrossed in her activity.

Maddie disappeared down into the lab, heart and head pounding anxiously as she tried to process what exactly happened. She knew Dawn was there. But then she wasn't. Of course, it would be logical to just assume that her granddaughter had gotten up and out of time out. Kids did that all the time. But to disappear from view and return as quickly and suddenly as she had...Maddie wasn't buying it.

She shook her head, picking up the detector she had been working on earlier, also plucking a few small tools before bringing it upstairs with her. Maddie didn't want to be blind to the obvious. Her granddaughter simply had discovered lying and was doing so to do. She couldn't get caught up in the nonsensical details.

Maddie returned to see her granddaughter in the exact same spot on the floor as she had left, eyes glued to the TV.

She settled into her seat, glancing at the clock. Jack would be home in less than a half hour or so. Maddie hummed lightly to herself, turning on the invention to begin testing. The display lit up, and it began to slowly load. Soon, the main menu popped up, and Maddie began to fiddle with the options and controls she had programmed. For now, she just wanted to assure that the controls worked at the basic level, that the options all showed up and that the settings could be adjusted, that the screens lit up and that the mapping system worked as needed.

She frowned as she noticed that it was detecting a nearby ghost, as indicated by the dark green outline that was designed to alert if a ghost was within a selected radius, the default being a ten foot. Was it glitching already? How could a ghost be nearby without her noticing?

Curiosity caused her to go into an option that gave the exact location of the ghost in question. The device should be able to scan a ghost and read their ectoplasmic signature, which would give the quick answers one would need if a ghost was nearby. Was it safe, how dangerous, who was it, etc.

Her heart froze, and she sat up straight as it told her a ghost was very, very close to her, barely three feet away. Which meant it was close to her granddaughter. It had to be a malfunction. It couldn't be within three feet of her without her noticing. Maddie went to check the information the device picked up on the supposed ghost.

Name: Unknown

Age: Unknown, est existence: 1wk

Pwr lvl: ERROR 412

Misc: ERROR 412

Maddie's breath caught in her throat. Error 412 simply meant that there was a lack of ectoplasmic sampling to get a proper reading. But with a ghost supposedly so close? She was on high alert, and she put her hand on her hip, where an ectogun was always there, just in case. As well as the Fenton lipstick. With one hand searching for the exact pinpointed location, she stared at it in disbelief as it told her that the ghost was two point six feet in front of her, sitting in the same spot as her granddaughter.

"Dawn?" Maddie spoke up, voice almost trembling a bit in worry. Dawn scowled, twisting to look at her, and for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Maddie's heart skipped a beat.

"What!?" came the cranky voice of her granddaughter, who was glaring at her with annoyed, bright green and glowing eyes. Maddie recognized the scowl. It was the same kind of scowl and glare she saw Phantom wear all the time towards her, and those eyes were a perfectly replica of his.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Unholy Wrap-Up

I have spent far too much time thinking about this lesbian vampire fanfiction. Here’s several walls of text about it.

I would advise reading the fic if you want any of this to make sense. 

Breakdown

(Rough) Alliteration Count: 185

Least Favourite Chapter to Write: 12 (Do you know how long I spent trying to find a picture of an 80s heart monitor? Too long. That, and it’s hard for a character to wield their new-found confidence and inner strength when they’re stuck in a hospital bed, but that’s on me.)

Favourite Chapter to Write: 8 (It turns into a fucked up Scooby Doo mystery a third of the way through, and that’s great. Also, something fluffy happens to warm the reader’s (and my) heart, because I was going to rip it out next chapter.)

Favourite Line: “Fuck off, Dracula”

Least Favourite Line: “Fuck off, Dracula”

 Notes from Chapters that didn’t get their own post

Chapter 2:

The correct answer to Chandler’s question of “How many people are at that table?” is two, not one. Hi, Betty.

Chapter 4:

Chandler was originally going to put her fist through her mirror as a reference to a scene in the film, but I decided that she’s already broken one glass item of furniture, better not do that again. Besides, why take out your anger on your possessions when there’s a perfectly good person to use instead?

Chapter 6:

Hi, Betty.

Jason Dean is involved in the plot again. Everyone welcome back this well-intentioned murderer.

Chapter 7:

This chapter exists for two reasons: to establish Betty is dead, and for the Fuckbois to disappear. And so Ram’s pick-up line has some payoff. Three reasons, actually.

Duke made Veronica cry, so she takes V’s place in the ‘no-killing’ experiment. Still fucked up, but slightly less fucked up than straight up killing her. Or moreso, depending on your opinion.

Chapter 8:

Duke overheard something about about the expedition, and brought Chandler along with her so she could get V and H.Mac in trouble (and maybe distract everyone from how badly she fucked up).

I left it deliberately vague on what H.Mac and V were being chased by because I hadn’t finalised Kurt and Ram’s look yet.

Hi, Betty.

Chapter 9:

“Heather is done for come 3 P.M.” HA HA HA HA HA.

I chant, I pray, but God’s not there/so Steve, I’m ending our affair

 Meta

There was a conscious effort to blend the worlds of the movie and the musical. Doing that opened up a few more avenues for minor characters and certain elements of characterisation (Duke not being completely unsympathetic, for one). The prime example of this is Schrodinger’s Betty – she either appears for a short time to provide insight into Veronica’s character, or is removed from reality and her personality incorporated into Martha Dunnstock. I had it so she did exist in the world, but wasn’t around for whatever reason.

The fic was originally called ‘Renfield’, with the tagline ‘real life sucks losers dry’. It’s still sort of present in the earlier references to Veronica’s questionable mental stability (“A record of her spiral into insanity”, “Clearly, she was going crazy”), but using either would have given away the first major twist. For this reason, puns on the phrases ‘this sucks’ or ‘this bites’ were also out. I went with ‘Unholy’ instead, and stuck some vague religious references in there to justify the decision to myself.

I was deliberately vague about whether or not this was set in the modern day or in 1989. You would not believe how happy I was when I found out Halloween was on a Tuesday in both 1989 and 2017. Pick whichever time period suits you.

There’s a lot of threes in this work. I have a habit of listing three things (adjectives or events), Veronica is accepted by her third college preference (Harvard, Duke or Brown) and I tried to have it so something significant happened every three chapters (3: HC kills a man, 6: HC and V start their relationship, 9: HC dies, 12: the two are reunited, and Betty appears). 

I am from a country that uses British English. I cannot convince Microsoft Word that this is the case. No matter how many times I change the default language, it switches back to US English when I’m not looking. It doesn’t pick up Grey/Gray, however, and that’s why it’s spelt with an ‘e’ all the time.

 The Curious Case of Heather Chandler

I was picking and choosing different parts of vampire mythos, like many authors do, but I took primary inspiration from Victorian vampire fiction. Ya boi Dracula is certainly there, but most of it was from works that predated Bram Stoker’s.

One of the more important sources is Varney the Vampire, who is one of the first examples of a sympathetic bloodsucker (still the antagonist, though). He isn’t weakened by sunlight, rather, he is strengthened by moonlight. He has no aversion to garlic or religious symbols, and tends not to react well to normal food and drink.

The no sleeping thing was mostly me, though. It’s possible you’ve read or heard the phrase “Sleep is like death without the commitment”. Well, if you can’t die, you can’t sleep either. Them’s the rules.

The next issue was to justify to myself how exactly she was turned in the first place. The most likely culprit, goth boy Jason Dean, was out, because 1) it would mess with the whole vampire hunter vibe I was planning for him later on, and 2) because he has absolutely no reason to. Since Eastern European folklore indicates that anyone who dies an unnatural death is at risk of rising again, so I went with a combination of Romanian ancestry and the fact Heather Chandler technically committed suicide. That keeps that theme of the original work in there. Sort of.

The Players

Colour symbolism is getting its own section.

The key here was character motivation. Since the story is primarily character-driven, knowing why the characters do what they do is paramount. The main motive for everyone is as follows:

Chandler wants to be in control of herself, the school, and everyone in it. This is abandoned after she gets shot, and she suffers an identity crisis for some time afterwards.

Veronica wants to help people. This shifts over time to helping Chandler specifically.

Duke wants to be in Chandler’s position, or at least out from under her thumb.

JD wants to be with Veronica, and for the bad influences in both of their lives to be gone. In his defence, he tries to do this non-fatally after chapter 6, but gives up pretty easily.

McNamara wants everyone she cares about to be safe. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

Martha wants people to go back to like they were in kindergarten – when everyone was friends with everyone.

Betty wants to help Veronica and Martha. The question with her was how she could achieve that goal, when one of the two couldn’t see or hear her.

Everyone else’s characterisations were taken primarily from the lunchtime poll section of the movie. I love that story device like my firstborn child.

 It is important to remember one thing – ALL of the characters are intended to be sympathetic to some degree. Chandler obviously gets the most attention in this regard, but both JD’s and Duke’s actions are well-intentioned, if nothing else. JD wanted to free people from the influence of a vampire, and Duke wanted an end to Chandler’s bullying. JD’s decision to solve his problems with blackmail and murder, and Duke’s decision to frame Chandler, is what puts them firmly in antagonist territory.

In the same vein, all of the characters have flaws. There is no purity in Heathers – Betty is self-sacrificing to a fault and has a nasty passive-aggressive streak, and Martha is living in a dream for most of the fic. Almost all of them get better (or die), with one notable exception.

 Colour-coding

Tumblr user deanesque has already done a pretty good guide to most of the colours present in the film, so I’m including a link to their post on the matter. Since there are some shades that aren’t included in that list, here’s a comprehensive guide.

 Chandler – Red (passion, confidence, leadership), changes to grey (anonymity, lack of emotion, loss), then purple (nobility, creativity, magic, mystery, red and blue combined).

Veronica – Blue (intelligence, trust, stability, intuition), changes to red.

Duke – Green (wealth, ambition, growth, illness), changes to blue.

Martha – Pink (femininity, naivete, passiveness, tenderness), changes to white (purity, hope, peace, detachment)

JD – Black (secrets, intimidation, power, death).

McNamara – Yellow (happiness, caution, enthusiasm, loyalty).

Betty – White and grey.

That’s probably the last of it. If anyone has any specific questions, you are encouraged to send asks. 

[secretschuylersister]

(You Turn Me Into) Somebody Loved: Connor/Reader Soulmate AU

Summary: All things considered, you’re probably not the first person to find your soulmate after spotting their signature on somebody’s cast. The magic of that moment doesn’t fix everything, but it fixes enough.

Word Count: 6616

You had pictured the first day of your senior year more times than you could count. You envisioned making the familiar drive, walking into a school you knew like the back of your hand, and finishing high school with the same people you started it with. The beginning of a year full of stress and fun and college applications and parties.

None of those visions looked like this: sitting in your car outside of a new school half an hour before the first bell, your thighs sticking to the seat while you tried to work up the nerve to walk inside. Your nails scratched at the leather of the steering wheel while you took a few deep breaths and let yourself run the numbers again. You ghosted your hand over the name scrawled just under your collarbone, the one that had appeared like clockwork on your sixteenth birthday. The one that belonged to your soulmate.

Connor.

According to the (probably inaccurate) website you had found, there were currently 1,627 people in the country named Connor. 28 of them lived in your state. 1 of them could be found in your town.

The odds of that Connor being your Connor was small. Infinitesimal, really. There was a Connor who worked at the grocery store near your old house and another who went to the same camp as you every summer since you were ten. Neither of those people were your soulmate and there was no reason to believe this one would be, either. Your soulmate might not even live in the same country as you, and how could you possibly work out those numbers? It was a comforting thought, though. That someone was waiting for you to make this all a little less intimidating, more of a journey than a punishment. And wasn’t there something that felt a little different today, in some quiet way you couldn’t pin down? Still…your soulmate was probably miles and years away.

You heaved another sigh and looked out across the parking lot. Other people would start showing up soon, you knew, and a crowd wasn’t going to make this any easier. With that thought, you grabbed your bag and swung open your car door, narrowly missing a jumpy looking kid in a blue shirt.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all and–oh hey, you live across the street from me, right?” you asked, vaguely recognizing the boy with his arm in a cast.

“No, no, it’s completely fine! You didn’t even hit me, so, it’s fine! And I think so, too! I definitely recognize you. I’m Evan,” the boy in question blurted out all at once, speaking a mile a minute and extending his good hand to shake yours.

You smiled inwardly, thinking he seemed nice and somehow even more nervous than you were. You introduced yourself and asked him if he would point you in the direction of the office so you could pick up your schedule. You hoped you had a class or two with him, it would be nice to have a sort-of-friend already.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that you saw Evan again. You had just left the school’s main office after dropping off your signed schedule to prove you had managed to find your way to all your classrooms, and the sweet secretary had held you up for a few minutes asking all about your first day. By the time you started to make your way out of the building, most of the school had emptied out and the hallways were clear, which only served to make a tall boy you hadn’t seen before nearly knocking you over in his haste to get out of the computer lab seem all the more dramatic.

You absently wondered where he was going in such a hurry when Evan slammed right into you, calling after whoever had just marched out of the room.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” you tried to joke, steadying your neighbor who seemed borderline distraught. “Hey, are you okay?”

Evan shook his head and gestured down the hallway with his broken arm, sputtering something about a letter. It was then that your eyes zeroed in on his cast. There was a name scrawled across it and though it was larger and more rushed than the letters currently etched on your skin, there was no mistaking the handwriting. Whoever wrote that, whichever Connor wrote that, was your soulmate.

“Evan, who signed your cast?” you interrupted. You knew you were being awful and rude and completely insensitive to this kid who was spiraling himself, but something in your gut made you feel frantic. You had to get to Connor.

“You’ve already met him,” he answered, the sarcasm in his voice clearly surprising you both. “He just took off.”

Of course it was the boy who was currently storming out of the building because why wouldn’t the universe want you to have to break into a dead sprint to catch up with him? You yelled some sort of apology (you hoped) at Evan and ran off down the hallway, praying Connor would still be in sight. Luck or fate or Connor’s surprisingly slow speed was on your side that afternoon because you could make out his form across the student lot.

“Connor! Connor, wait up!”

You let out a sigh of relief when he paused at his name. He turned to look at you and stayed in place as you awkwardly jogged the rest of the way to where he stood. He narrowed his eyes, probably trying to figure out who the lunatic who knew his name was.

“Who are you and how do you know my name?” he asked and you started to laugh. Maybe this soulmate stuff ran deeper than you thought. Could you read his mind?

His face changed from slightly suspicious to completely closed off in a nanosecond and you paled as he turned on his heel to walk away. You really didn’t want to blow this whole relationship before you even introduced yourself.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you!” you promised, putting your hand on his arm to stop him. “I just…well, I know you because you’re kind of my soulmate. I’m pretty sure. Positive, actually. I saw your name on Evan’s cast, so unless Evan was lying…well, I’m your gal.”

You cringed at yourself as soon as you heard the words leaving your mouth. You’re his “gal”? Jesus, this was not your smoothest moment. You would have been relieved when Connor moved on without commenting on your weird introduction if he hadn’t looked so angry.

“Look, I don’t even fucking know you, so whoever the hell put you up to this-”

“Put me up to what?” you interjected. You had no idea where this guy’s hostility was coming from but the last thing you needed was him thinking this was some kind of prank. You tugged your shirt down to show him your soulmark. “Look.”

His eyes shot down to your collarbone and jumped back up to your face, the shock written all over his expression.

“I know, right? Kind of trippy. Can I see my name? Or is it somewhere weird?” you asked with a grin, relief lifting your heart when you saw him give the smallest of smiles in return. He was beautiful, a little.

The smile didn’t last long, his mouth returning to a tight line and his shoulders tensing. He started rifling through his battered messenger bag until he found what he was looking for: a notebook and a pen.

“Write down your name,” he instructed, shoving the items he held in your direction.

He really seemed to believe this was all an elaborate joke at his expense and the realization kind of broke your heart. What happened to this kid to make him so sure a complete stranger was out to humiliate him? You took the pen and did as he asked, noting the way his eyes widened when he saw your name written in your own handwriting. He snapped the notebook closed and stuffed it back in his bag, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his hands on the strap across his chest. His gaze focused for a brief moment on your still-exposed soulmark before he forced it away, looking at your face but not meeting your eyes.

“You should cover that up,” he said. He was trying to sound harsh, you could tell, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Nobody needs to see it and you can avoid all the shit you’ll get for being cosmically assigned to the school psycho.”

That explained all the skepticism and anger, you figured. He had problems at school. Well, now he’d have you, at least. Even if he didn’t want you.

“I don’t really care what anyone thinks about my soulmark,” you shrugged, and found that you really meant it. “Anybody but you, I guess. Can I see your mark now? It’s okay if you don’t want to show me, I’m just…I’m just curious, I guess.”

Connor furrowed his brow, more surprised than annoyed, and took off a black cuff that he wore around his wrist. There was your signature, right above his hand. You reached out to trace the lines of your name, and the sudden goosebumps on Connor’s arm made you smile.

“Nice,” you teased. “Very visible. More effective than any wedding band could be.”

“Yours isn’t exactly subtle either,” he smirked, his amusement fully reaching his eyes for the first time since you started talking. He looked like a different person.

“You’re cute,” you told him and smiled wider as his face flushed. “And getting cuter. Do you have a ride home?”

“Nah, my sister drove this morning and she’s already gone. I’m just going to walk.”

“I have a car. I could give you a ride and we could get to know each other a bit. If you want, I mean. You don’t have to-”

“No! I mean, shit, yes. I do want that,” he answered, cutting you off mid-ramble with a ramble of his own. “A ride. I’d like a ride. That’d be good, thanks.”

Something that felt suspiciously like butterflies kicked up in your stomach as you watched Connor climb into the passenger seat of your car. You barely knew this boy, but every part of you was screaming “it’s him–we found him!”

“Are you new?” Connor asked. “I can’t remember ever seeing you before, and if I had…I don’t know. I’d remember it.”

“Yeah, today was my first day,” you smiled. “I only lived the next town over, though.”

“Your parents made you move like, two minutes away in your last year of high school? That’s shitty,” he said. “Fuck, sorry. I don’t mean to be…”

He trailed off and you filled the silence with a soft chuckle.

“It’s fine, Connor. It was shitty, but it’s whatever. Money stuff means a smaller house, and this is where that house is,” you shrugged and he nodded, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the car ride carried on in a similar fashion. Someone asked a question, the other person answered. Once the two of you stopped stuttering over every other word, the conversation came as easily as breathing. Connor was funny in a way you didn’t see coming and he kept you on your toes with unexpected questions. Every time one of your answers made him grin or smirk, it felt like you had won the best kind of prize. Eventually you turned onto his street and slowed to a stop in front of the house he pointed out, finding yourself wishing he lived further from the school so you could have talked longer.

“I guess I have to give you back now,” you teased.

“I’d rather stay in here with you, believe me.”

“Well, if you’re such a fan of my car, maybe you can visit it tomorrow morning. I can pick you up before school, you’re not that far from my house,” you lied. He lived across town, but you didn’t care. The early start was worth it.

He nodded and rubbed his hand roughly on the back of his neck.

“Cool, yeah.” Connor got out of your car and stopped himself before closing the door. “I’m more of a fan of the driver than the car. Just for the record.”

He didn’t look back after gently closing your car door and loping towards his house, which was definitely for the best. He didn’t need to see the goofy grin that had spread across your face.

You were outside of his place bright and early the next morning, and Connor was out the door almost as soon as your car came to a halt. He handed you coffee in a thermos and you had to bite your lip to fight off a repeat of yesterday’s dorky smile. You were going to offer to stop for coffee before school, but this was better (and the sight of Connor with a thermos? Adorable).

“You seem eager. Waiting for me at the window, huh?” you asked playfully, carefully watching his expression to make sure he knew you were just teasing.

“We didn’t exchange phone numbers, so unless you wanted to honk the horn at 6:30 in the morning, yeah. I had to wait.”

“Oh,” you said flatly, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“And this might be my way of asking for your number.”

“Oh,” you said again, and Connor actually laughed at the change in your tone. It was a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing more of.

You did give him your number, and that was the start of your near constant stream of Connor. You drove to school together, sat together at lunch (and snuck as many texts as you could get away with during the day), drove home together, and then talked on the phone until one of you fell asleep. For Connor’s part, he still found himself blindsided that someone was not only spending so much of their time with him (and voluntarily, no less) but seemed to enjoy doing it.

Connor had given plenty of thought to what it would be like when he eventually met you. Finding your soulmate sounded like such a big deal when his parents talked about it, like Christmas and the Fourth of July combined. As a little boy, he guessed there must be fireworks and parades involved to mark the occasion. The older he got, the more he figured it would just involve a very disappointed person with his name stamped somewhere on their body, if he got a name at all. Neither scenario he dreamed up came close to the reality of the situation, and he had never been so happy to be proven wrong. There were no fireworks when you met your soulmate, it turned out. It was more like an illuminated pointing arrow: Hey, you know all your shit? This is the person who’s going to stick it out with you. This is the one who wants to be there to make it easier.

When Connor heard your voice calling his name for the first time, he was so sure you were about to give him hell for shoving that Evan kid or for some other infraction he wasn’t even aware he had committed. You didn’t. Instead, you touched his arm and looked at him like he was made out of gold. He couldn’t remember anyone looking at him that way before and he was overcome with the desperate need to keep it, to deserve it. He still didn’t think he deserved it, but you were here and you were still looking at him like he was something special. He kept expecting that to wear off, but it hadn’t happened yet.

All things considered, the trust you had started to put in Connor might have been the thing he was most proud of. It made him feel like maybe you were getting something out of this relationship, too, and you weren’t just stuck with him thanks to some accident of fate. He hadn’t known you for long, but he spent enough time studying your face to pick up on your little signals, like how you’d press your lips together and look past him before telling him something that was important to you. It always stirred something in his chest when you did it, a feeling between protectiveness and affection, and he’d sit up a little straighter so you knew he was listening. He took it seriously because he took you seriously, and that wasn’t lost on you.

So when you did your lip-press-look-away thing that usually came before a long talk, Connor wasn’t expecting you to ask if he felt like going for a walk.

“Uh, alright. Why?” he asked, dragging out the last word.

“It’s not a trick question, Con,” you laughed. “I don’t know. It’s nice out and walking is good for you. I can show you my old house and stuff.”

The distance from Connor’s place to your old house wasn’t really all that far, but neither of you made much of an effort to get there in a hurry. You liked the way he’d roll his eyes but smile every time you called a detour down a back road or into a convenience store an “adventure” and he liked the way you genuinely did treat everything like it was an exciting new discovery. Really, it was just nice to be out together, enjoying one of the last warm days of the season.

As you walked, you pointed out your old school and the park where you had your first kiss back when you were in seventh grade, and finally found your way to your old house. You felt a little sad looking at it, but pushed that back and grinned at Connor.

“How are your fence jumping skills?” you asked him.

“Exemplary,” he deadpanned. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s something I want to show you, but it requires some light breaking and entering.”

“Well, if it’s only light breaking and entering.”

Behind your old house, there was a fenced off patch of woods where you spent most of your time playing as a kid. You thought it might have technically been town property, but that hadn’t stopped you before and you wanted Connor to see it, so fence jumping it was. Besides, you were pretty sure Connor Murphy wasn’t a complete stranger to rule breaking despite his scandalized tone.

You snuck into the woods unseen through the back of the property, and laughed when Connor kissed you after you made your jump. It wasn’t the first time he had kissed you, but it still hadn’t lost it’s novelty. He had been so hesitant to touch you at first that every time he initiated contact your heart soared.

“Come on,” you said, leading him towards what you brought him there to see.

When you made it to the tree that held the tree-house you had built back in elementary school, you had to laugh. It was falling apart after years of being rained and snowed on, and it hadn’t been very good to begin with. You told Connor the story of how you had dragged out wood and nails one summer and built what you considered a palace at the time.

“This is a pretty fucking poor showing, even for a ten year old,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side to soften the joke even further.

“I know,” you laughed, hip checking him. “It was supposed to be something my dad and I did together, but he never had the time. I wanted my own tree-house so badly that year. I got tired of waiting and tried to do it myself.”

You could feel the change in Connor instantly; the regret he felt about teasing you was palpable even though it clearly hadn’t upset you. He looked back at the tree-house and tilted his head.

“On second thought, it’s pretty spectacular.” You snorted and he quickly continued. “I mean, you did it all by yourself. That’s fucking impressive. And like, yeah, it’s a little roughed up now, but it’s still up there.”

Your lips twitched into a smile at his words. Here was this boy, mostly sharp edges and cutting remarks to everyone else, talking up a terrible childhood project to spare your feelings. You could love him, you realized, and not in any vague “well, he’s my soulmate so of course” kind of way. Something specific and concrete was building in your heart, feelings were growing and shifting and clearing room. Not for a concept, but a person. This person. Connor.

His eyes were still on the tree-house but you were looking at him. For maybe the first time since you met, he didn’t seem to be thinking ten steps ahead, ready to run or attack if it came to that. You hoped it was because he knew he’d never have to do either when he was with you.

“I’m glad I brought you here,” you said, cutting off his rambling compliments.

He looked at you, taken aback by the sincerity in your voice and how fondly you were looking at him. He swallowed and nodded, “Me too.”

Two weeks to the day, Connor was the one asking you to go for a walk. He wouldn’t tell you why he was bringing you back to your old neighborhood, but he had been nervously bouncing his leg all morning so you knew something was up. He helped you over the fence to your woods again, and you stopped short when you made it to your tree-house. Or what had been your tree-house, more accurately.

Connor had rebuilt the old structure from the floor up and turned it into something that was actually safe to climb into and big enough to hold two teenagers. It had windows and a door and an actual ladder and your heart felt so full that you were surprised you weren’t floating away.

“Why did you do all this?” you asked after he brought you up and pointed out where he salvaged some of the weathered wood to use for the windows, thinking you might like to keep a piece of your original attempt. You were curled up on the floor of the tree-house and your head was right on his chest, his faint heartbeat nearly lulling you to sleep.

“You said you had always wanted something like this and I wanted you to get it. I want you to get everything you want.” His voice was so quiet and honest that you could have cried.

“I really love you, Connor.”

You hadn’t exchanged I love yous before that moment and maybe you were rushing things, but you knew in your bones that it was true. You loved him and you wanted him to know it. Connor sat up, giving you just enough time to get nervous before he broke into a rare toothy smile.

“I really fucking love you, too,” he replied.

You burst out laughing, partially at what a Connor response that was and partially out of relief that he felt the same way.

“That’s settled then,” you said with a lazy grin and took his hand as he reached to pull you up.

“This is probably dumb because, like, the soulmark and everything, but I really want us to be a real thing. If that’s something you want?” he said, making a statement but handing it to you like a question.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Murphy? You’re not being very clear,” you said, not intending to make this easy on him.

Connor rolled his eyes and pulled you closer to him by your waist. “Yeah, that’s what I’m asking.”

“I don’t know. What kind of dowry are you offering here?”

“I didn’t realize we were medieval farmers, and the bride is the one who-”

You cut Connor off with a kiss, and you could feel him smile against your lips before pulling away.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll be your girlfriend,” you answered, crinkling your nose.

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Once you and Connor had official titles, it wasn’t long before you dragged him home to meet your family. He was fidgety but polite (your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you opened the door to find him holding flowers for your mom with his hair pulled back in a neat knot) and you could see he was trying hard to be the person it was so easy for him to be when you two were alone. Your parents liked him right away and you thought it meant a lot to him to have people welcome him into their lives without, like, the intervention of destiny or whatever it was that put your names on each other. Connor eventually introduced you to his family, too, but mostly he brought you upstairs to his room to listen to music or talk or just lounge around together away from his parents and sister.

Connor seemed to crave the companionship you had fallen into, and you were only too happy to give it to him. In some ways your relationship was fast, instant. One minute you didn’t know Connor and then you did. He showed up, angry and closed off, and now he was one of the most important people in your life. It was slow in the ways that mattered, though, and you were glad for it. Every day you learned a bit more about each other. He knew your favorite book, you knew he hated mushrooms, you both swapped weekly playlists and made fun of the other’s taste in music. And then there was the deeper stuff: the way he felt out of control sometimes. The strained relationship with his family and the unfair way he treated his sister. The scary thoughts he had when he was at his lowest points.

You couldn’t fix those things and he never asked you to, but you could help him find help. You put your arms around him and promised you’d figure something out together, and that’s exactly what you did. There were free groups he thought were stupid but attended anyway, you by his side and one of his hands held tightly between both of yours. There were dinners with his his mom and movie nights with Zoe. Both were awkward at first but slowly morphed into a routine you knew everyone involved grew to appreciate. There were things Connor figured out helped in small ways: sticking to a schedule, getting exercise, eating well. It wasn’t the only kind of help he needed and you both knew it, so it was a huge relief when a discussion with Zoe led to a discussion between them and their mom, and the combined efforts of both Murphy siblings were enough to finally get Connor the help he deserved.

There were setbacks, of course, but he had made such strides in the last few months. You had seen that progress with your own eyes, so when Connor started seeming a little distant as graduation approached, you were only the usual amount of concerned a girlfriend would be. Looking at your unanswered goodnight text, you didn’t let yourself blow it out of proportion. Maybe he had just fallen asleep, or maybe he needed a little space. Your hand drifted to where Connor’s name was inscribed on your skin, and knew that you’d be able to sense it if it was a catastrophe and not just another setback. It was fine and you’d see him tomorrow at school.

You didn’t see him tomorrow at school. You did see Zoe, however, which allowed you to breathe a little easier. She wouldn’t have been at school if there was anything seriously wrong. You nearly dropped your phone in relief when a text from Connor came in.

“Sorry, not feeling great. Talk later.”

It gave nothing away, but just hearing from him was like a hundred pounds of weight falling away.  You had resolved to give him the rest of that weekend to work out whatever he was feeling, but as you tossed and turned on Friday night, you were less and less sure that you were making the right call. By the time late Saturday afternoon rolled around, you couldn’t take it anymore and hopped into your car.

When you knocked on the Murphys’ front door, it was Zoe who answered.

“He’s not home,” she said, looking at you with a sympathetic frown. “He went out this morning and said he wouldn’t be home until later.”

You thanked her and turned to leave when she hesitantly called your name. “I know my brother has been better since he met you, but these last few days—he’s back to being…I don’t know what he is. He can be scary when he gets like this. I wouldn’t go looking for him.”

You nodded, understanding why she felt that way. You knew she had a tense relationship with her brother and things were still a little rocky there. Seeing the Murphys interact with Connor was usually uncomfortable and sometimes a little sad. It was so obvious to you that they loved him but had no idea what to make of him, and to Connor, that uncertainty had always felt like disdain. At some point a wall was built that they hadn’t yet figured out how to break down. For you, it was different. Meeting Connor was like finding yourself in a brand new country and realizing you somehow already spoke the language. Your choices were much simpler: Connor needed you, so you’d be there.

You had no idea what was going on with your boyfriend, but you had a good idea of where he might be. You got behind the wheel of your car and made the last minute decision to stop somewhere to buy him lunch. If he’d been gone all day, he almost certainly hadn’t eaten, and an empty stomach on top of everything else never helped anyone. Things were easier for Connor when he slept and ate regularly, you knew. You couldn’t do anything about the sleeping, but food you could handle.

It took you less time than usual to get to the tree-house and up the wooden ladder, and you smiled a bit when Connor was on his feet the second he saw you to help you get in. He seemed a little surprised at your arrival, and some part of you wondered if this was a test he didn’t know he was giving you. He wouldn’t have gone to your tree-house if he hadn’t truly wanted to be found and the way he hugged you made you think he wasn’t sure if you’d miss him enough to come looking. He should have known better than that. No matter how lost he got, you would always come find him. There was no question of that.

“I grabbed you a sandwich and some water,” you said, holding up the bag and you were glad when he thanked you and started eating without having to be pressed.

You gave him a minute to eat before you broke the silence.

“So, what’s going on?” you asked.

It was clear you were talking about more than just this afternoon and Connor fiddled with the wrapper on his bottle of water before he started to speak.

“Your life would be easier without me,” he blurts out and you pale, his statement just ambiguous enough to make your stomach sink. “No, I’m not talking about…I just mean if you were with someone else. You don’t have to be with me, there’s no law that says you have to stay with your soulmate. Soulmates actually split all the time. Things have gotten so much better since you came along, but I’m still me and I still have all my shit. Meeting you wasn’t a magic fix…I wanted it to be. For me, but for you, mostly. I’m still fucked up. I’m still going to do shitty things. I’m still doing shitty things.”

“Yeah,” you shrug and his eyes shoot up to meet yours. “You’re going to do shitty things and I’m going to like you anyway. I’m going to do shitty things and you’re going to like me anyway. Then we’ll say we’re sorry and work on being less shitty to each other next time.”

“But if you were with someone else, it wouldn’t have to be like that. You’d be happier. I don’t think anybody could be good enough for you,” he said, lightly rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “But you could get a hell of a lot closer than me.”

“Life wouldn’t be perfect no matter who I was with, Connor. And even if you created some imaginary flawless human, it still wouldn’t be what I would want, because that person wouldn’t be you.”

“And what’s so great about me?” he asked with a quiet, humorless laugh. “I’m the guy whose girlfriend has to track him down to make sure he hasn’t done anything stupid that day. Is that what you want the rest of your life to be? Taking care of a burden?”

“Is that really how you see yourself?” you ask. “Because that’s not who you are.”

Your mind started to go over the year you and Connor had spent together. When he said that meeting your soulmate wasn’t a magic fix, he was right. When you finally laid eyes on the boy with the chipped nail polish and beat up messenger bag, time didn’t stop. No choir started to sing and neither of your problems flew away on a breeze. But there was magic. It was in that moment of recognition: you’re my person, and you’re going to go on being my person for a long time. It was in every moment you tried to make the other’s baggage a little lighter by grabbing a side. And wasn’t that better? Having someone who saw you for exactly who you are and still wanted to stay?

You thought of one particularly rough night you had a few months ago and started talking.

“Do you remember that night when my grandma got really sick? And when I texted you about what was happening, you drove right to the hospital without me even having to ask? You stayed all night and in the morning, you went and bought breakfast for me and my mom because you knew neither of us would be leaving and you didn’t want us to have to eat gross hospital food. Does that sound like a burden to you?”

“No,” he reluctantly admitted.  “But that was just one night-”

“It wasn’t just one night, Connor. It’s not just one thing. You bring me coffee every morning. You’re the one who orders the food for us because you know I hate doing it. You ask me for my opinion on everything and you actually listen to what I’m saying. You’re the guy who tossed me a chapstick and said you noticed I was low so you bought me a new one. Because you pay attention. The details matter to you. I mean, Connor, you’re the boy who built me this tree-house. From the second I saw my name on your wrist, I haven’t felt alone even once. You make my life better in a million ways, big and small. I’m so lucky that the universe gave me you.”

He closed his eyes as you said that and you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. He slowly opened his eyes back up and kissed your forehead and then your cheek and then returned the kiss on your lips, making you laugh lightly.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t,” you replied as you tucked yourself under his arm, and your confidence in him made him relax his shoulders and tighten his grip on you all at once. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be alone when things are bad. You and I are sticking it out, long haul. Unfortunate for you, really, because I think when we get to our forties, I’m going to be a real brat.”

“You’re a brat now,” he quipped.  You could feel the laugh vibrate in Connor’s chest, and he enjoyed the lightened mood for a minute before getting a little serious again. “Could you see us being like this forever? Like, how we are right now?”

“In the tree-house? I mean, you’d need to insulate the walls and work on plumbing, but sure,” you teased.

Connor let out a loud laugh and tickled your sides, making you squirm and slap his chest.

“Not in the tree-house, but in some kind of house together. Or an apartment. After graduation, I mean.”

“Is this about me going away to college?” you asked carefully.

When your acceptance letters had started coming in, the reality of life after high school started sinking in for Connor for the first time. His grades had gone up exponentially in the last year (actually showing up for class would do that, apparently), but they weren’t going to get him into any of the schools you were applying to.  He was embarrassingly proud of you for getting into your first pick college and he honestly loved hearing you talk about what classes you were hoping to take, but the two of you danced around the fact that you’d be long distance when neither of you wanted to be. You were looking forward to meeting new people and having new experiences, but you wanted Connor right along for the ride.

“It’s about us going away to college,” he said nervously. “You know my plans were to go somewhere near town and get my grades up to transfer, but I did some research and there’s a community college not far from your school where I could do the same thing. And an off-campus apartment is actually cheaper than student housing, so I thought maybe we could find a place together. It’s completely up to you, of course. I genuinely wouldn’t be upset if you’re not into it.”

The fear that you wouldn’t want him tagging along with you dissipated as Connor saw you smile and your eyes light up as he explained his idea.

“Yes!” you answered without even having to think about it. “You’d really do that? Connor, our own apartment, I can’t wait! This makes me a million times more excited to graduate.”

Connor quickly pulled out his phone to show you some of the places he had bookmarked, and you were surprised to feel your eyes getting a little watery. Connor planning for any kind of future warmed you from the inside out, because you knew that hadn’t always been a given for him. The fact that he wanted you to be part of it was icing on the cake.

You rested your head on his shoulder as he flipped through pictures of little apartments with old kitchens and ugly carpets. You looked at the tree-house you were sitting in and remembered how Connor built something so beautiful out of nothing. He had a knack for that, you thought, turning your focus back to the boy next to you who was promising that a little paint and elbow grease would go a long way.

You couldn’t wait to see where the two of you would find yourselves next. You had a good feeling about it.

[knoxxed]

what light tastes like

( Los Angeles is Jeremy Knox’s frown of concern whenever Jean pushes himself to the point of strain, the delighted grin when Jean surprises him. It’s cat fur being one more reason to stop wearing black. 

 Los Angeles is joining a starting line including but not limited to a kitchen witch, a seer, and a werewolf. It’s Jean never once being asked to confirm or deny who or what he is. 

 Los Angeles takes some getting used to.)

(Urban Fantasy!AU) for Lilly, @crazy-like-a-f0x (it’s not letting me tag you properly, i’m sorry!) for @aftgexchange‘s Summer Exchange 

It comes to Jean in flashes, after.

The realization–Kengo Moriyama is dead. Riko’s hands on his neck, slamming his face into the floor, again, again, again. The white hot bite of a knife. The way his fingers slip on the keys of his cellphone typing out a single message to Renee. Renee. Her face hovering over his, voice gentle, firm, impossible, as she hefts him to his feet.

What he remembers most clearly is the panic in his chest as she guided him outside into the night, into Minyard’s car. The way he protested, begged, half-conscious from pain.

They have it–I can’t–still in there, please–can’t leave, please, Renee–

Renee disappeared from his side for hours, for seconds. When she returned there was a birdcage with no door cradled in her arms; inside was a snow white dove.

Jean clutched it to his aching ribs and sobbed.

Two weeks after Jean flees the Nest, Kevin makes a deal with Jeremy Knox. Three weeks after Jean flees the Nest, Jean is recovering in his bed at Abby’s house. He watches the Trojans lose against the Ravens, watches Knox announce their treason on national television.

Knox says, I spoke to Jean earlier this week, says, He just won’t be back in black, says, I think we have a lot to learn from each other.

Knox says, Next year is going to be amazing, and the world believes him.

Jean sleeps, and he dreams of darkness.

He dreams of birds with burning wings, of glinting knives, of cages submerged in water.

Jean wakes up gasping. The dove at his bedside is thrashing in its cage.

He doesn’t go back to sleep.

Jeremy Knox picks him up from LAX at four in the morning on a Sunday, looking sleep heavy and bundled up in a USC sweatshirt that has seen better days. He’s holding two to-go mugs, the steam swirling in the morning air, and his face lights up when he sees Jean approaching.

“Jean Moreau,” Knox greets, sounding fond for reasons Jean can’t fathom. Jean is reminded of the times he’d had Knox as a mark–the way he was an absolute nightmare to defend against paired with the way he’d smile and seek Jean out at the end of each match. He’s never understood Jeremy Knox, and he doesn’t think that’ll change now that they’re on the same team.  

(Not for the first time Jean thinks he’s made a mistake in coming to LA, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.)

“Knox,” is all Jean says, and follows his new captain out of the terminal.

“It’s good to have you here,” Knox says as they walk through the parking lot; Jean can’t find it in him to agree with him. “I brought you a drink,” he continues, nonplused by Jean’s silence, offering out a cup. Jean takes it automatically, then eyes it warily.

“What is it?”

“Just try it,” Knox says instead of answering, smiling vaguely and rubbing sleep from his eyes, “I think you’ll like it.”

Jean concedes without argument, absurdly figuring Jeremy Knox is near the bottom of the list of people who would willingly poison him.

It’s black tea. Strong but slightly sweet, cut with milk. It’s good, but more than that it’s familiar. A memory is there, edging at the back of his brain–salty air, the smell of baking bread, the sound of his mother humming along to the radio.

Jean is jolted from the memory as they reach Knox’s parking spot. He drives a rusting pickup truck. This, in itself, isn’t out of the ordinary. What’s out of the ordinary is the small cat peering up at Jean from the passenger’s seat.

“Cleo,” Knox scolds as he stores Jean’s bags. He climbs into the truck and reaches across the bench seat to scoop the animal into his arms. “We talked about this,” he mutters exasperatedly into her fur before letting her squirm away into the center seat, curling up against Knox’s thigh. She’s a tiny thing, dusty brown and striped, with large yellow eyes that stare back at Jean with an unnerving intelligence.

“Jean, this is Cleo. Cleo, Jean,” Knox introduces cheerfully when they’re settled, pulling out onto the freeway before abruptly frowning. “Shit. I hope you don’t mind cats.”

Knox confirms Jean’s growing suspicions unprompted a few weeks later.

“She’s my familiar,” Knox says, running a hand through mussed hair that’d be the same color as Cleo’s fur if not lightened by the sun.  

They’re the only two members of the team occupying the USC dorms over the summer, so the weeks leading up to the admission have been filled with getting to know both L.A. and Jeremy Knox–whether Jean likes it to not. The captain’s optimism is almost as overwhelming as his work ethic, and Jean is beginning to understand that once Knox sets his mind to something he doesn’t give up. Jean doesn’t know if he’s relieved or annoyed that this seems to be applied to him as well; Knox hasn’t left him alone, or even seemed like he really wanted to.

“Familiars are more or less supposed to act as guide and protector,” Knox explains between bites of pancake. They’re at a small diner around the block from the dorms, grabbing an early breakfast after their morning run. Jean tends to startle awake from nightmares before the sun even rises these days, and Knox is a naturally early riser (“I grew up on a farm–can’t shake the habit,” he’d explained). This combination had led to an unexpected amount of diner breakfasts with his captain “She mostly just helps with my anxiety, though.”

They’d left Cleo behind, napping in a sunspot on the living room floor. She’d barely twitched her tail when Knox passed a soft hand over her spine in goodbye before they’d left.

“Have you always had her?” Jean finds himself asking, and Knox visibly perks up at his contribution.

“Nah, I wish. I was eleven, I think?” He hums thoughtfully into his cup of tea. “She was just a kitten back then. She found me when I needed her–that’s usually how it works.”

Jean thinks its a bit absurd that a stray cat wandering into his life could have offered Knox any sort of guidance–but he’s not about to tell him that.

To Jean’s surprise, it’s Alvarez who corrects him on his assumption.

“She’s not a cat,” Alvarez snorts into her water bottle when they’re both on the bench, throwing him a judging stare. Her and Laila had come up to L.A. for the weekend, and the four of them had found their way to the practice courts. Jean is still begrudgingly under no-contact restriction, but he’d gotten in a good workout nonetheless. “Seriously, Moreau, haven’t had much exposure to magic, huh?”

Jean levels her a blank stare before turning back to watch Laila and Jeremy where they’re locked in a stalemate of shots and saves across the court. “You could say that.”

Alvarez hums, consideringly. “Okay, let me amend my previous statement: she’s not just a cat. I think the best way to put it is that she’s an extension of Jeremy? Like picture the universe reaching inside of him and taking out a part of his soul–it’s that part that manifested as Cleo.”

Jean doesn’t know what kind of expression is on his face–blank shock? Terror? It must not be too bad because Alvarez just laughs with a levity Jean can’t mirror.

“I know, weird right?” she grins at him, rolling her eyes. “From what I understand, Cleo is basically our beloved captain–plus some wisdom from the universe.” She shrugs. “I’ve kind of just accepted it at this point.”  

The apartment he shares with Knox is covered in plants. They’re lined on every windowsill, clustered in corners on the floor and the table. Knox cares for them all meticulously, watering them each at different intervals with differing amounts, talking quietly all the while. They seem to bloom a little brighter once he’s spoken to them. Knox seems to glow a little brighter once he’s spoken to them.

“You have to give them enough attention,” Knox explains when he catches Jean staring at him over the top of his book. “If they don’t know you believe in them, how can you expect them to grow?”

Jean doesn’t know what he expected his move to the Trojans to be like, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t an apartment filled with plants and sunlight. It wasn’t cups upon cups of tea, each somehow (magically? Jean really doesn’t know) always whichever kind Jean hadn’t known he’d wanted, but did. It wasn’t becoming familiar with Jeremy Knox, with his kindness, or the way that he often laughs at nothing in particular at all–it just happens sometimes, like all the light inside him bubbles over.

Jean didn’t expect these things, but he refuses to dwell on them long enough to discover if he minds.

“He’s a kitchen witch,” Jean admits to Renee a few months later, a declaration that’s met first with silence on the other end of their routine Skype call, and then– “What!”

A muffled bark of laughter and a scramble of feet. Onscreen Renee sighs, but it sounds amused, and suddenly Allison Reynolds is budging into frame.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the dealer says, sounding anything but. The smile on her face is near-predatory. “Did you just say that Jeremy Knox, USC’s patented Sunshine Boy, is, in fact, a kitchen witch?”

His roommate had never come out and said as much, but Jean had put together the pieces. He quirks an eyebrow at Renee and nods in confirmation.

Reynolds practically cackles at that, whipping out her phone. “Oh my god, Kevin’s going to die. It’s all his domestic fantasies come to life.” She stands, typing furiously as she walks offscreen. Jean hears a door shut, laughter fading, and then he and Renee are alone.

“You know,” Renee says after a moment, circumventing the tension that Kevin’s name tends to bring, “I had thought he’d be a werewolf. The Trojans always seemed to run like pack.”

“It was… unexpected,” Jean concedes. “Alvarez is the actual werewolf. There are others on the team as well, but Jeremy is still their alpha.” He sounds confused even to this own ears. (To be fair, it was very nontraditional. Alvarez’s explanation to Jean on the matter when she and Laila were on campus in July had consisted of a brusque, “It doesn’t matter that he’s not a wolf, Moreau, he’s our chosen alpha. We’re living in progressive times here, please.”)

“So he’s Jeremy, now?”

Of course that’s what Renee chose to parse from that explanation. She’s smiling at him, far too knowing, and Jean huffs. “You’re reaching, Walker.”

Renee hums thoughtfully, and it’s something that Jean appreciates: she listens, and when she chooses to reply each word has been fully considered. When she finally speaks it’s with a genuine smile.

“Los Angeles sounds like a wonderful place.”

Los Angeles is many things. Jean has been here six months, and that’s about all he’s been able to solidly conclude.

Los Angeles is no-contact play until mid-July as prescribed by the team physician, months longer than would have been allowed at the Nest. It’s weekly appointments with his therapist stipulated in his contract.

Los Angeles is Jeremy Knox’s frown of concern whenever Jean pushes himself to the point of strain, the delighted grin when Jean surprises him. It’s a shared apartment on the eighth floor, one that’s lined with large windows and filled with plants. It’s cat fur being one more reason to stop wearing black.

Los Angeles is joining a starting line including but not limited to a kitchen witch, a seer, and a werewolf. It’s Jean never once being asked to confirm or deny who or what he is.

Los Angeles takes some getting used to.

Jeremy gives him a cactus for Halloween.

He leaves it on Jean’s side table for him to find when he wakes up from his post-class, pre-practice nap (Because that’s a thing he does now. Naps.). It’s a tiny thing, maybe an inch and a half across, in a blue painted pot. He put a bow on it and everything. Jean squints at it and goes to find his roommate.

Jeremy is entrenched in his thesis work, glasses on, chewing distractedly on a pen–he barely notices Jean approaching until Jean sticks the plant practically under his nose.

“What is this?”

Jeremy blinks up at him owlishly. “A… cactus?” the confusion clears and he frowns. “Wait, don’t you like it?”

Jean sighs and sits on the other end of the couch. “Yes, I–thank you. I meant, why?”

Jeremy just blinks again. “It’s Samhain,” he says, as if that should be obvious.

“It’s what?”

“It’s Halloween!” Jeremy chirps, smiling now.

Jean frowns; he doesn’t think Jeremy is understanding his point. “Yes, but… do people usually give each other gifts on Halloween?” Not that Jean’s celebrated it, but from the way Laila and Alvarez had talked, it seemed like a children’s holiday–or an excuse to dress up in costume and party.

Jeremy leans back on the couch and looks across at Jean. “Not everybody… but we do in my family,” he shrugs. “It’s a bigger deal for some of them, but it’s not like I can really drop by to celebrate so–I dunno. Thought it’d be nice to celebrate with you too.” He smiles at Jean, backlit by the setting sun coming through the window, and he–Jean could swear he was glowing, radiating light.

Jean shakes his head, looking at the cactus in his lap instead. He cups his hands carefully around the pot. “Thank you,” he says, and Jeremy hums happily, turning back to his work.

Jean manages to make it until January without anyone finding out about him, which, honestly, is better than he’d let himself hope. But better doesn’t stop the panic that rises when Jeremy (because yes, he’s Jeremy now) stumbles into their bedroom unawares, back early from errands, breaking off his rant about grocery lines mid-sentence as he notices Jean on the floor.

Cradling a birdcage.

“Jean?” Jeremy asks cautiously, head tipped to the side in curiosity. His eyes are locked on the cage. “Is that–a bird?”

Jean’s mouth is suddenly dry, and he finds himself floundering for words. His grip on the cage goes white-knuckled.

“It’s a dove,” he manages, finally. Obviously. He wants to run but he’s frozen.

“A dove,” Jeremy repeats, leaning against the doorframe to their bedroom. He looks a bit bewildered, considering; Jean finds himself distracted by how Jeremy hasn’t tried to come any closer after finding him. Suddenly Jeremy straightens, a small grin growing on his face.

“Jean Moreau, have you been hiding a familiar?”

It’s said innocently, half in jest. Jean thinks he could take it as an out, thinks that might have been Jeremy’s intention. Jean knows his roommate well enough now to know that if Jean wanted to keep this secret, he could.

Which is why it’s all the more strange and terrifying that he finds himself spilling the truth.  

What he was was human. A cloverhand with the ability to see the fae, to see magic. To his family, this made him valuable. It made him a bartering piece.

What he became was collateral. A prisoner to the game and to the Nest, kept pet to the self-proclaimed Raven King. He was both guard and whipping boy. They broke him, again, again, and still they demanded more. They tore the soul from his body, trapped it in a cage. To instill obedience, they said. Perfect loyalty in a perfect court.

What he is is a gallowglass. Soulless. Even freedom couldn’t change that.

It’s awkward afterward. Of course it is. Jeremy is frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, hands clutched tight to his sleeves. Jean can’t blame him, because now Jeremy knows. Not everything, no details, but enough. He knows that Jean is soulless, because his soul is sitting in a cage on his lap in the middle of their bedroom.

“Okay,” Jeremy says finally, snapping out of his daze. “Okay.” Jean braces himself for judgement, and–

“This calls for tea.”

Jeremy flees the room for the kitchen, Cleo close on his heels. Jean blinks.

“What.”  

A result of living with a kitchen witch is the way the teakettle water seems to boil in no time at all as Jeremy flits around their small dining area, pulling herbs from various jars on various shelves, pinching and rolling them into two identical teabags.

“Do you want a cup?” Jeremy asks belatedly, distractedly when Jean stumbles into the kitchen after him. He doesn’t wait for Jean to answer before continuing, shaking his head. “No, of course I’ll make you a cup. Tea always makes things better.”

Jeremy doesn’t look at him until they’re seated across from each other at their tiny kitchen table,  knees almost knocking, their steaming, sweet-smelling mugs in hand.

“Okay,” Jeremy starts, taking a big breath. He holds it. Exhales. “Jean.”

Fuck, this is really happening. “Yes?”

“In the cage. That dove is your soul?”

Jean nods, staring down into his tea.

“Okay,” Jeremy repeats, then frowns. “Jean?”

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been hiding your soul stuffed under your bed in some box.”

Jean opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it again because that is exactly what he has been doing.

“Jean,” Jeremy cries, looking stricken. The teakettle begins to heat unbidden, sensing his distress. “The poor thing could’ve suffocated!”

Jean sighs. “It’s not a real bird, Jeremy, it doesn’t need–“

“Damn right it’s not a bird, Jean. That’s your soul! You’ve been keeping your soul stuffed under the bed!” Jeremy exclaims disbelievingly, surprisingly fierce.

Jean frowns. What is there to say? Once more, the perplexity of Jeremy Knox rears its head. It doesn’t take much to get him riled up–but it’s only ever defensive, on behalf of other people. He has no issue standing toe to toe with Jean, but only ever does it for the sake of protecting Jean from himself. So Jean just lowers his eyes and says nothing.

Seeing this, Jeremy deflates.

“Drink your tea, okay? It’ll get cold,” Jeremy says, voice gone gentle. His knee nudges Jean’s under the table.

Neither speaks again until their cups are near-empty.

“Why-” Jeremy starts, then snaps his mouth shut. He says instead, “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Jean is wary of what his question could be, but nods anyway.

“You said you got your soul back once Renee got you out of the Nest. You have it with you here, now. If that’s true, why haven’t you… put it back?” Jean is already shaking his head even as Jeremy continues, “I don’t really know how it works, but…”

“I can’t. I’ve tried,” Jean says.

The look on Jeremy’s face is all kinds of devastating, honestly, and Jean isn’t good with sympathy, never having been shown it; he looks away.

“There has to be a way,” Jeremy insists, but Jean just shakes his head again. He keeps his eyes on the row of succulents Jeremy has lined along the kitchen window instead of the kitchen witch himself.

“I’ve tried. Renee has tried,” Jean emphasizes, both of them knowing what a strong witch Renee Walker was known to be. He frowns, frustrated. “There are ways to make a gallowglass, but they can’t be unmade. It’s faerie magic–what’s done can’t simply be undone.”

“Faerie magic,” Jeremy mutters to himself, staring into his tea.

Jean waits for him to reach a verdict: at best, Jean is expecting to be asked to leave, to switch rooms. At worst, he’s expecting to be kicked off the team. The dread is just settling in his stomach when a fluffy bundle pounces into his lap. It turns in a neat circle once, curling up before settling in to nap.

“Cleo,” Jeremy scolds, but he’s half-hiding a smile behind the rim of his mug. The tension is broken and the dread lifts from Jean’s shoulders.

“It’s okay.” Jean surprises himself saying it, because it is. But then a thought strikes him. “Is-is it okay?”

Cleo is Jeremy’s familiar, an extension of himself. His mind makes the connections unbidden, the way it had all those month ago when Alvarez had spelled it out for him. Jeremy to Cleo to Jean to the dove. The cat is a part of Jeremy’s soul, warm and grounding and tucked against Jean’s stomach.

“Of course it’s okay,” Jeremy murmurs. “It’s you.” He’s looking at Jean with clear eyes, fiddling with a teaspoon. Something warm settles in Jean’s chest, a knot loosening as Jeremy smiles at him, gathering his mug and heading to the counter to fix another cup.

Of course, he says. It’s you.

As easy as that.

(“Don’t put it back in the dark,” Jeremy says that night, voice gentle as the touch at Jean’s elbow, anchoring him to their room, to this moment. Jean puts the cage on the dresser instead.

Much later, when nightmares more vicious than usual shatter him awake, Jean hears a dull thump and the patter of feet before Cleo is curling up on the bed next to him. She butts her head against his stomach, and Jean focuses on the way her tiny chest rises and falls with each breath as his shaking slowly subsides.

He lowers a hand to her head, gentles it down her back, and lets the quiet rumble of her purring piece him back to the present.)

Having his soul on display is… incredibly distracting. Which is to say that for the week following Jean can hardly keep his eyes off it when they’re in the same room. He’s self-conscious of it at first, before he notices Jeremy having a similar problem.

Cleo is the giveaway, of course. She’d been obviously curious the first couple days, but a few firm looks from Jeremy had kept her at a distance. Then Jean had come home from class on a Thursday to find Cleo on his dresser, budged right up to the cage and napping in the sunlight.

“She thinks it’s lovely,” Jeremy explains later when they’ve both settled into their beds. Tucked to Jeremy’s stomach, Cleo shifts in protest, letting out a soft chirping rumble. Jeremy rolls his eyes. “The loveliest thing,” he corrects. “I would say, ‘Her words, not mine,’ but I don’t think that excuse works in our case.”

Jeremy grins at him from across the space between their beds. The bedside lamp could be playing tricks on him, but Jean thinks he sees a flush dusting Jeremy’s cheeks.  

From the cage across the room there is a soft flutter of wings.

The thing is, Jeremy talks to the dove.

Jean doesn’t think he’s meant to find out, but he does. It’s an eerie reversal of the night Jeremy saw the dove, but this time it’s Jean almost walking into their room unannounced. He stops himself just in time when he hears Jeremy’s voice.

He’s sitting on the end of Jean’s bed, next to the birdcage… talking. Just talking, almost in the way he does with his plants.

He’s saying, I really want to win this season, for all of us, and I can’t imagine what this year would have been without him, you know?, and I wish you could tell me how to open this cage–I think that would make Jean very happy.

The moment feels soft. Fragile. Jean leaves quietly, before Jeremy can finish, and before he can hear any more.

They’re finishing some late night homework in the living room when Jeremy brings up the idea. Jean is laid across the couch with a lit reading, Cleo curled up by his knee, and Jeremy is sprawled across the floor surrounded by thesis work.

“Hey, what are you doing for Spring Break?” Jeremy asks out of the blue, and Jean cranes his head back to stare at him.

“You think I have plans?” Jean replies, turning back to his book. On the floor, Jeremy huffs a laugh, fidgets. Silence. Then–

“What if you visited Renee? I mentioned it to her, she’d love to see you.”

Jean files away those bits of information, that Jeremy and Renee talk, and that Jeremy and Renee talk about him.

“Okay,” is all he says, and Jeremy looks satisfied, turning back to his work. “I’ll text her.”

It’s no surprise to either of them when he’s on a flight to North Dakota two weeks later.

It’s a good week–Jean is surprised by how good. It’s relaxing, just Renee, Stephanie, and him. He gets daily updates from Laila and Alvarez on their trip to Arizona to see Laila’s family, and the Trojan group chat is as active as ever with everyone sharing whatever outlandish thing they’d done that week. The only oddity is Jeremy–or rather the lack of him.

It’s been complete radio silence from the captain since he’d said goodbye to Jean at the airport drop-off. At first Jean isn’t concerned; Jeremy hadn’t talked about his Spring Break plans, but Jean figures he’s plenty busy spending time with his family. But it’s still weird. Regardless of if Jean replies, Jeremy constantly blows up his phone with Snaps or texts or random links to pictures of cute dogs.

On Wednesday, Jean is watching a movie with Renee in the living room when he gets a text from Alvarez.

8:42 P.M.: have u talked to jer??? we havent heard from him all week

8:43 P.M.: and hes not answering his phone

8:43 P.M.: and like… now that im checking i cant feel him through the pack link?

8:44 P.M.: NOT IN A “HES DEAD” KINDA WAY

8:44 P.M: its just kinda fuzzy. like theres a blur where he should be

Jean feels cold all over, and then the dread start to pool disproportionately in the pit of his stomach. There’s no reason to be worried, Jean assures himself, Jeremy is just busy. And for some reason he’s blocking the pack link. It’s coincidence.

He pulls up Jeremy’s contact and presses call. Jean finds himself holding his breath, but the call doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to voicemail. Jeremy’s cheery answering recording chatters across the line, and Jean hangs up without leaving a message. There is a knot in his chest, tightening with each passing moment. His phone buzzes as Alvarez sends him another message.

8:45 P.M.: were lowkey freaking out jean

8:46 P.M.: jeremy doesnt do this kinda shit

“Jean?” Renee asks, and Jean jumps at her voice. From the open doorway to Jean’s guest room across the room the rattling of metal can be heard. The dove must be agitated, Jean observes absently.  “Jean, are you alright?”

“Alvarez texted,” he says, and a small part of him is surprised at how blank he sounds. “No one’s heard from Jeremy all break. His phone is dead, or off. They’re worried. She said–Alvarez can’t feel him over the pack bond.” His phone buzzes again.

8:49 P.M.: ANSWER YOUR PHONE MOREAU

8:51 P.M.: I haven’t heard from him. His phone went straight to voicemail.

When Jean looks up he expects worry from Renee–surprise, or words of assurance. She is fond of Jeremy Knox (who isn’t?). And when he looks over, the worry is there. But the surprise is suspiciously absent. The shock of that freezes him.

“What?” he chokes. “What do you know?”

Renee takes a deep breath and frowns, folding her hands in her lap as she turns to face Jean head on.

“He didn’t want you to find out,” she starts, and Jean stares at her.

“What did he do, Renee?” Jean repeats, a hollow desperation clawing at his insides like it hadn’t in months. “Where is he?”

“He didn’t say exactly where, but I assumed…”

“Renee.”

“If Alvarez can’t feel him, he’s probably in the Summer Court.”

The dread from before spills over; Jean’s world narrows to a point. He knows firsthand the cruelty of the faerie courts. Even the Summer Court, the most benevolent of them all, is the last place Jean would send Jeremy, and yet he’s gone, unasked, on Jean’s behalf. It’s suicide.

Renee is speaking to him again, but Jean can’t understand her. His phone is buzzing incessantly on his lap. Laila is calling him. He fumbles with it, but manages to answer.

“Jean! What the hell, where have you–“

“I know where he is.”

Staticky silence.

“Oh thank god, where is he?”    

Jean swallows and closes his eyes. “The Summer Court. He–planned it, or something. With Renee, I don’t know. He’s seeking audience with the Faerie Queen.” As soon as he says it he knows it’s true.

He hears Alvarez yelling over the line, and Laila is asking more questions Jean doesn’t know the answer to. As for one, as for why, well. There’s really only one reason it could be.

“He’s–so stupid.” Jean scrubs a hand over his eyes. He’s trembling. “He’s doing it for me, the fucking idiot, if I’d known I would have never…”

Never left California. Never let Jeremy risk this.

Beside him, Renee shifts and says softly, “Don’t you think that’s why he didn’t tell you?”

Jean digs his fingers into his thigh, grounding himself. “Stupid,” he repeats.

“Jeremy has the monopoly on stupidity, Jean,” Laila says, sounding calmer now despite her worry. “We knew that. He cares too much.”

Jean huffs a laugh, a slight choked thing.

“What do we do now?” he asks. Laila is quiet for a while.

“We trust that he knew what he was doing. We trust him. And we wait.”

Renee tells him that the conversation with Jeremy went something like this:

“Hey Renee–would it be okay if Jean came and stayed with you for Spring Break?”

“Of course, he’s always welcome. But, Jeremy–can I ask why you’re the one asking, not him? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry–didn’t mean to worry you. Jean’s doing really well actually. He seems… happier lately.”

“That’s good. Then why do you need to get him out of California?”

Of course Renee saw right through him. Jeremy was quiet for a long moment, then continued.

“There’s something I need to do. And I don’t think that Jean would approve of me doing it.”

“Will he be safe if you do it?”

“If I do it right, I think it’ll really help him. I just… need some answers.”

“And what about you?”

“Hm?”

“He won’t like it much if you get hurt, Jeremy.”

“Oh!” Jeremy had laughed. “Well I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Jean gets the call four days later.

It’s been six hours since he landed in L.A. It’s been forty-five minutes since a door appeared on the dove’s cage; Jean hasn’t been able to take his eyes off it. He hasn’t dared open it, merely brought it with him to the couch where they’ve been ever since.

The callerID flashes as his phone begins to buzz. Jean answers on the first ring.

“Knox,” Jean says, and he doesn’t want to imagine what he sounds like. Awed, angry, concerned, fond. Jeremy had done it. Somehow, he had.

“Jean,” Jeremy says, his voice warm, tired. Jean could collapse under the weight of it.

“You’re back then.” His fingers clutch at the phone, and he wills his voice to remain steady.

“I am.”

Jean wants to ask him, wants to say, What have you done? What did you give them? Nothing comes without a price. What comes out is: “Where are you?” Somehow that feels more important at the moment.

“Um… about an hour outside Fresno? I think. I’m looking for where I left the truck.”

Jean doesn’t reply, and the silence hangs on the line.

“Jean, I’m–“ Jeremy starts, and Jean cuts him off because he can’t hear apologies from Jeremy right now. Not about this.

“Is Cleo with you?” There’s a moment, and then Jeremy laughs. Jean can hear his exhaustion, but it still warms him to his core.

(He could have been dead, he could have been gone, but he’s here, he’s on the other end of the line– )

“Yeah, she’s here.” A soft of sort relief settles over Jean’s bones. “She’s missed you.”

There are many things that Jean wants to say in that moment.

(I missed her, too.

You’re such a fucking idiot.

Please tell me you’re alright.

I never expected anything like you.)

What he says is: “Come home.”

The first thing Jean does when Jeremy walks through the door is hand him a cup of tea. Jeremy blinks at him, then at the cup, eyes lidded with sleep. He takes it, smiling, and Jean can finally breathe again.

At his feet there is Cleo, rubbing up against his calf, butting her head against him, meowing impatiently until he picks her up. She settles instantly, tucked in the crook of his arm.

“What did you give them?” Jean asks, because in the end that’s what it comes down to. But Jeremy just shakes his head, dismissive.

“Did it work?” he counters, eyes wide, and Jean gestures to the living room.

“Go see for yourself.” Jeremy does.

“There’s a door,” he says, quietly, knelt in front of the cage. He looks up at Jean, elated. “There’s actually a door!”

“Did you think there wouldn’t be?” Jean asks, sitting on the couch; Cleo jumps out of his arms to curl up on a cushion. Jean knows if there was even a chance he hadn’t succeeded, Jeremy wouldn’t have come back.

Jeremy moves to sit next to him, the cage between them. “Well no, but… they weren’t very specific with the how of it. Just that it would.”

“Jeremy,” Jean says after a moment on silence. “Faeries only work in equal exchange. What did you give them?”

“Nothing.” Jeremy looks suddenly frustrated, shifting to face him. “Nothing, Jean, I didn’t give them anything because there was nothing to exchange. It’s your soul. It’s yours.” Jeremy breathes deeply to calm himself down, and slumps back against the couch. “I just reminded them who they were dealing with.”

Jean is still, blinking at Jeremy’s vehemence. Then the wording strikes him.

“Who–who they’re dealing with?” Jean looks at the boy next to him, eyes glinting, practically alight in his frustration, in the name of protecting Jean. “Who are they dealing with?”

Immediately Jeremy’s eyes widen and he looks away. “I…” He chews his lip then sighs a long breath, resigned. “I never really told you, did I…? What I am.”

“You’re a witch. A kitchen witch,” Jean says, but Jeremy is shaking his head. Jean frowns, not understanding. “But you have a familiar. And the tea, and your plants…” he trails off, watching Jeremy carefully.

“My gram,” Jeremy starts, staring resolutely across the room. “My great, great, great grandmother–was a cloverhand. Like you.” He pauses, lets that sink in. “She caught the eye of one of the daoine sídhe, the fae. He was disguised as human, under glamour probably, but she saw through him instantly. She chose to let him court her, met him every step of the way… and eventually she became one of them.

“He wasn’t the Summer King at the time, but… A couple hundred years later, and he was. And she is Queen. And all of this is to say,” Jeremy takes a deep breath, finally looking at Jean. “That I have faerie blood, and a claim to the Court if I ever wanted it.” Jean’s eyes widen at that, and Jeremy quickly continues, hands held placatingly. “I don’t! I don’t want that, I already have the Trojan Court.”

Jean is silent as his brain scrambles to process this new information. Jeremy isn’t a witch–he’d never been a witch, Jean had just assumed. Jeremy is part fae, with a claim to the Summer Court. He’d used that influence to give Jean a chance.

When Jean doesn’t say anything Jeremy begins to fidget nervously. “Look, you’re probably freaking out, or like–like reading too much into it? But honestly I didn’t do anything, I just told them what they should already fucking know, because it’s your soul, Jean, like what the fuck–“

“Jeremy,” Jean tries to interrupt before the other boy can get too worked up–he was well on his way already.

“Yeah?” Jeremy is looking at him, nervous, and Jean wants to ask him why. Jean wants a lot of things lately, more than he’d ever thought possible–he wonders when that happened.

“Thank you,” is what he says instead.

And Jeremy smiles.

Jean doesn’t open the cage that night, or the night after that, or anytime in the week following. When he finally does it feels almost… too normal. It’s after practice on a Friday; they have no game that weekend, so there’s two days free to themselves. It’s a novel concept, one he never could have foreseen a year ago.

Jeremy is napping on the couch, Cleo snoozing on his stomach. Jean had left them out there to do some work at his desk, but found himself too distracted to get much done. His eyes keep straying to the cage on his desk, on the door and the dove behind it.

Almost before he realizes it he’s crossed the room, fingers twisting the latch; the door springs free. The dove is watching him cautiously, wings fluttering. Jean reaches inside, his hands gently cupped around its wings as he pulls it from the cage. His heart is pounding in his ears. The dove is shaking in his hands, warm and vividly alive. He brings it to his chest and presses it close.

One moment the dove is there, the next Jean’s palms are pressed empty to his chest. He’s notices he’s gasping, knees trembling. It feels like the first breath of air you take when you step outside in winter, like falling back asleep in the morning when there’s nothing to call you out of bed. Jean feels overwhelmed, he feels light, he feels… happy.

“Jean?” he hears Jeremy call sleepily from the living room, and then padded footsteps approach. “I’m sorry,” Jeremy says, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, “I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation, didn’t I? Thesis is just kicking my ass, and with playoffs coming up…” he trails off, noticing the sight in front of him: Jean shaking, the cage open and empty in front of him.

“You did it,” Jeremy whispers, eyes wide. “You did it!” he cheers, rushing forward, throwing an arm across his shoulders, and then Jean is turning into him, hands gripping at his waist and they’re hugging, gripping each other tight. Jeremy is laughing in his ear, and Jean–

Jean holds on.

(on ao3 here)

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Camera Boy

JuminV Week Day 3 Prompt: Alternate Universes

Okay. So.

This is two AUs in one. It’s an AU of the main game in which Jumin is the MC and received the mysterious message instead of a stranger. 

This is also an AU where V route is a thing. There are some implied spoilers in regards to Rika, though nothing drastic.

3416 words and, since this chapter is not the full route and I made a lot of calls (in terms of JuMc and V route), there are notes at the end. You can also read it it on AO3

Jumin Han was not naive.

He graduated top of every class he had ever taken.

He spoke five languages and was in the process of studying a sixth.

For his 21st birthday, he took a class on fraud prevention.

He kindly reminded strangers of these facts as if treading the floorboards of an empty house, with no escape and only that singular fact to cling to. He spoke of his comprehension, rational mind and education on the same lines as he did his love for dry wine. He was not naive, as his Father proclaimed once that he surely must be.

When he received the mysterious message, Jumin questioned it, of course. He interrogated the stranger and demanded to know how they had gotten hold of his personal number. He did not know what sort of answer he expected from them, but he had spent the time in Rika’s apartment revisiting what few words they had actually offered. He sat there in silence for the most part, going over every single interaction he had had over the past few days and searching for a sign of duplicity. He was not overly trusting and quick to fall into traps and he was sure that if he thought about it for long enough he would see through the cracks and find a solution, whether it was a handshake that lasted fractionally too long or a comment made in passing that gained a new layer of meaning under his current circumstances.

Luciel had insisted he think twice about going to Rika’s apartment and V was in another province, otherwise he might have stopped him. Jumin supposed he understood his resignation on the matter. V had respected Rika’s privacy to greater degrees than most. Jumin too had hesitated before going inside, though only partially out of respect for the dead. He had recognised Rika's address on the messenger screen, though had never been privy to the password before and when he entered it was as much out of curiosity and a desire to know if the password would work than it was any genuine desire to go inside.

Jumin had always known that Rika played a far more complicated game than he; that she danced with the fate of the RFA along with her own, and for the past year he had wondered why it was that she had not reached out through one channel or another and found some way to liberate herself of such a terrible fate when it was clearly within her power to do so.

But this was not about power. Not anymore. He knew that as he entered the apartment.

Jumin remembered the apartment only vaguely from prior visits. To the best of his recollection, Rika had rarely invited anyone to visit but V and he glanced over the bare surfaces and empty walls, taking a seat on the couch to consider his situation. Perhaps it was just a prank, he thought at first. Mean spirited, but a prank nonetheless.

Perhaps it was because he had spent so little time there, but he found himself making a conscious effort to imagine Rika in every corner, even though he knew such things were irrational. The apartment had the stale smell of disuse and dust, but at the back of his mind, he could almost see her. Rika sitting at the desk. Rika switching on the television. Rika reaching into her purse, ready to leave. She was not there, but he could smell her perfume as clearly as the last time she had reached up to adjust his tie.

Later, over voicemail, he told V that there was no blame. No rhyme. No reason. She was gone and the only clue she had ever existed were the golden hairs left behind and embedded in her pillow.

V did not respond though and even Jumin found himself going back to the apartment. He retraced the steps of the Rika in his imagination, reassuring himself of his own cool, analytical mind. Perhaps he, who saw things for what they truly were regardless of personal feelings, might see something no one else had.

But he never did.

For three days, he drafted text after text in the empty apartment. Message after message detailing the same singular fact. He was an only child and had spent much of his youth in houses as empty as that one. Ones that rang out with the voices of women who were not his mother. He always had V, though; one singular constant in a sea of ever changing faces.

He wanted to say that the past few years had been the emptiest of his life; that he did not know how to grieve the living, but he wondered if he ought to. Beyond his height and weight, he did not believe himself to be any different to the Jumin Han first introduced to the camera boy all of those years ago and yet nothing about their situation remained the same.

Every time he saw the words, however, he deleted them. For one reason or another, they were never the right things to say.

On the fourth day, he received a call from Luciel to his desk phone as he pulled on his jacket.

“What is it?” He asked, almost lazily. “Did you learn something about the hackers?”

He had not told Luciel exactly how many times he had visited the apartment, but he knew that was a moot point. Luciel's job was discovering information and it was incredibly unlikely that he wasn't keeping a close eye on the security cameras.

“Right to the point, I see!” Luciel laughed. “There's been a development, though I'm not sure you'll like it.”

“Surprise me.”

Jumin held his phone to his ear as his left his office, paying little attention to whichever staff he passed. He took the stairs to avoid losing signal in the lift, though even in the echoey surroundings, he was able to pick up on the fact that Luciel was hesitant about telling him.

“Rika wanted extra security at her apartment-”

“Yes, I remember. Living alone as she did, she became concerned about intruders.”

“There was more to it than that. The measures she suggested were...extreme.”

“What is it you're not saying, Luciel?”

“Whoever led you to Rika's apartment...whoever hacked the door to the apartment….it seems they have hacked into the security interface as well.”

Jumin did not know exactly what he meant, but he knew enough of Luciel’s history to appreciate its potential severity. He took a deep breath as he headed to the exit to the C&R building, meaning to allow the news to sink in as he called Driver Kim.

“I'll call you back shortly,” he said.

It did not escape Jumin that going to the apartment was a fundamentally bad idea, but he needed to. He needed answers. He rejected each one of Luciel’s frantic incoming calls and took note that outside of the car window, it was starting to rain. He listened to the steady rhythm of each drop, remembering a winter many years ago.

He did not know why V climbed the tree outside of his bedroom window to tap at the glass, but Jumin’s stepmother had been on the phone for several hours in an attempt to persuade his father to come home and it was a welcome distraction from the obvious fact that it would take more than tears to convince him. It was raining even as he climbed out of the window and although he had on three pairs of socks, a sweater underneath his shirt, two pairs of gloves and a thick woollen coat, he had still shivered.

The pair of them sat in the tree for so long that eventually boredom won out and, since Jumin had a pack of playing cards at the desk near his window, settled on poker.

“Three Queens! I win again,” Jumin had said, lowering his cards. “Are you even trying, Jihyun?”

As the pair were all but nine, they could not exchange anything particularly valuable. Instead, Jihyun used the sweets in his pockets while Jumin used the crackers in his. Over the course of six matches, Jumin had gained a significant supply of plum candies, while his cracker supply remained somewhat intact.

Jihyun had reached into his pocket, laughing all of the while.

“My poker face isn’t as good as yours,” he had said, pulling out a candy. “How about we play blackjack?”

Jumin sighed at the memory, remembering the sweetness of the candy; how he had peeled off his gloves with his teeth and laughed at the prospect of playing blackjack. It was not his fault he was a better opponent, his hand freezing despite the extra layer, but if Jihyun wished to win back his honour then of course he would allow it.

Outside of the window, it was starting to rain and he listened to the steady rhythm of each drop. If he closed his eyes, he was back on that tree branch, shuffling the deck  and laughing, which only served to remind him that when he opened them he was alone.

When his phone began to ring again, he answered without checking the caller display.

“Luciel,” he said, “I-”

“It’s me.”

Jumin had not heard from V for days and his first thought was to ask if he remembered their game, but V had other ideas.

“Jumin...I heard from Luciel. Please. Promise me that you will not go to Rika's apartment until it is stabilised.”

There was something to his tone. Something that left Jumin turning away from the window and motioning for Driver Kim to pick up the speed.

“You never did have a very good poker face,” he said before hanging up, wondering what on earth he was about to find.

The apartment had become something of an obsession, only it was no longer Rika’s ghost he searched for.

Even without the warning from Luciel, it was immediately clear when he arrived that all was not as it should have been. He did not know how to describe it and he did not believe in sixth senses, but there was something different about it this time around. A change in the atmosphere, just like the strange, tentative silence that followed after bad news in the boardroom. Jumin did not believe in sixth senses, but even he could see the signs of forced entry.

“Hello?” He called out, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone with trembling hands. “This apartment is private property and you-”

“Are trespassing?”

They were close. Jumin turned to the source of the noise but he wasn't fast enough, for the stranger knocked his phone out of his hand and then proceeded to point a gun in his face.

It was a boy. Younger than him. Thin and pale haired, in dark clothes and grinning menacingly. For some reason, Jumin felt like he ought to have recognised him, though he knew without hesitation he had not met such a person before.

“Who are you?” He asked, taking on the formal tones of business to hide how he was actually feeling. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” said the stranger, pushing the barrel of the gun directly into his line of sight. “This is private property and you don’t live here either.”

For the first time in his life he wished he had listened to Luciel, though he never got the chance to reproach the stranger, for the moment he began to speak someone burst through the door. When he saw who it was, he froze on the spot.

“..V?” He gasped, taking in the way his old friend was visibly out of breath and clutching onto his walking stick, having presumably sprinted a distance.

For the briefest of instants, Jumin wondered if he had come to rescue him.

“Saeran,” said V, turning to the white haired boy. “The Saviour sent me.”

Jumin wondered which outcome suited him better. That V and the boy were honestly acquainted or that it was a hallucination.

“Why?”

The boy lowered his gun, but if anything he only seemed more angry.

“I am to take him to Magenta on her orders,” said V. “She chose me to be the one to bring him into Mint Eye.”

“You’re lying,” snarled the boy, who Jumin supposed answered to Saeran. “She would never choose you-she-”

Within seconds the fury that had so transformed his face dissolved into a grin.

“I don't like this,” he said, “if you try anything while my back is turned-”

“We won't,” said V, with an air of finality that left Jumin honestly curious.

“What...is going on?” He asked, glancing from V to Saeran. “I don't understand.”

“Shut the fuck up, trust fund,” said the one called Saeran, pushing the barrel of the gun into his spine. “Let's go.”

Jumin had no choice but to leave the apartment by his command, glancing at V out of the corner of his eye all of the while.

There was no way V knew this person.

The V that he knew cried over crushed beetles and studied the stars.

But as he left the apartment, the sound of his abandoned cell phone chiming through the open door, the realisation that this was not the V that he knew began to sink in.

“There's no way that she chose you,” said Saeran, turning left to take the stairs.

“Perhaps not,” said V, then lifting his walking stick. “We should take the lift.”

Saeran was not happy about it, but obliged, pressing the button to call the lift up to their floor. All of the while Jumin wondered what to do. Should he at the very least try to escape? What would happen if he did?

The lift arrived a moment or two later and V stepped inside.

“Is anyone on guard?” He asked, reaching out to press the button for the ground floor.

Saeran took a step backwards to check and Jumin took his chance. He had taken multiple classes in self defence, though had never had much cause to use them up until that moment. His movements were erratic as he hit the boy’s throat with the solid force of his elbow, but it was enough opportunity for him to wrench the gun from his hands and toss it halfway across the corridor.

As he launched himself into the lift and watched V slam his hand against the button for the doors, he could not help but notice Saeran catching his breath and realising the trick just as the doors closed behind them and he was left stranded.

He knew it was his chance for freedom and he ought to have felt relieved, but he hesitated, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

“Jumin,” said V. “We don't have much time. He’ll be following us.”

“What the hell is going on? Did you come here because of the hacker?”

V sighed, leaning into the wall of the lift.

“That’s...I,” he said. “No.”

When he looked up, there was genuine misery in his face.

“Jumin,” he said, “things are complicated.”

And Jumin, who prided himself in the fact that he did not fall for tricks and was not so easily swayed by the same foolhardiness that took over the masses, honestly came to question his own naïveté.

“Then simplify it for me,” he said.

“I can’t,” said V, tracing his fingers through his hair and sighing deeply. “I’m sorry, Jumin.”

“But after this is over?”

Jumin remembered whispered secrets on hazy afternoons. Secrets: like the time he screamed at his stepmother that he didn’t trust her and she looked at him afterwards like he’d unleashed the wrath of heaven. Children are supposed to trust their Mothers without question, but he had done the unforgivable and spoken out of turn. And even then he didn’t know why he bothered with explanations, for she was closed to the conversation the moment it began.

Closed, like the wing of an apple white butterfly Jumin clutched in his hand once, only to spend the rest of his life guilty because in his curiosity he stole away its flight. And he had always been so outspokenly proud of his crystal clear memory, but nobody who knew him would believe it to be true.

He was a dead man walking before he met the camera boy.

“Go back to C&R,” said V. “Go back to your office and forget you ever knew me. You...and the world...it's better that way.”

One moment he was laughing in despair at his friend’s hollow words. The next Jumin had him by the scruff of the neck, pushed against the wall of the elevator.

“Do you take me for a fool, Jihyun?”

“Jumin…”

“Whatever it is you’re hiding...whatever it is that haunts you...trust it to me.”

He was furious. He was devastated. He was a mixture of so many different things that he didn’t know how he felt and he rested his forehead against V’s to speak in a softer voice.

“If you disappear, I’ll only follow. Don’t treat my friendship-don’t treat me-as something to be cast aside and forgotten. Does it mean so little to you, even after all of this time?”

V paused. Rested his hand on the one of Jumin’s that rested on his shirt.

“Jumin, I know you must be angry.”

Jumin remembered the day of Mrs Kim’s funeral. More specifically, he remembered the way that Jihyun had vanished for weeks afterwards and the next time he saw him was sitting by the fire at one of his father’s parties.

There was something distasteful about the way the other guests came and went; some staying only briefly to admire Mr Kim’s paintings, while others chatted noisily about current events. No one passed comment on the boy sitting by the fire, but it was an image that Jumin could never forget.

The last guest to leave intended to do a little reading in the next room and switched the lights off, leaving the room so dark that when the door next opened and Jumin came back with food from the main atrium, it was bathed in firelight.

“You know,” he had said, approaching Jihyun. “You’re going to scare people if you sit in the dark like that.”

Jihyun had hugged his knees closer to his chest and sighed, glancing at the plate of sandwiches Jumin had placed on the table and scanning for his outline in the shadowy room.

“Say, Jumin?”

“Mmmm?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

As if in frustration, Jihyun had taken a brand and poked at the flames, watching as they unfurled before his eyes. He seemed surprised when Jumin took a seat next to him.

“How many fires have you made in your time, Jihyun?” He asked, ‘tsk’-ing in the manner he promised never to use when he grew older. He lifted a block of firewood from the bucket next to the fireplace and placed it on the pitiful flame, making a tent of sorts with the existing firewood. Satisfied with the growing warmth, he lifted a sandwich and leaned back on the knuckles of his other hand as he took a bite.

“At my Mother’s funeral,” Jihyun had said. “I couldn’t cry. Not a single tear. Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

“I’m not a therapist, you know.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Even then, Jumin remembered how the awkward silence that followed was only emphasised by the corridor outside, which was a buzz of voices, laughter and glasses tinkling over multiple toasts.

“I wish…” Jihyun’s eyes were welling with tears. “I wish that there was a place where nobody got hurt. Where no one was ever lost or forgotten or left behind. I wish there was a world without pain or heartache.”

And Jumin had smiled faintly at the naivety of such a dream, without letting on that with every new stepmother he had come to wonder the same thing, even if he was loathe to say so out loud.

He appreciated the irony on a brand new level as they reached the ground floor and the doors to the lift opened up.

“Jumin,” said V. “Please. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

He let go of V’s shirt and adjusted his tie, leaving him alone there with one singular thought circling his mind.

He was a fool for ever thinking he’d known the camera boy.

NOTES:-

I’m unsure if Jumin MC would have the party, so I haven’t alluded to it.

This chapter spans from day 1 to about day 5

This chapter marks the first branch. I think that if Jumin had not fought back against Saeran, he might have had the bad end

Since, for me, V route would be all about trust (and V is a red herring in the main game), the next chapter -if I did one haha- would involve Jumin going to see Seven and Seven freaking out over Saeran on the cams. 

Seven’s reaction and growing lack of trust (and the revelations) causes Jumin to question his own stance.

Jumin trusts him despite internal conflict and that’s what spurs the happy ending. (The Good End)

[rwby-rants-and-theories]

My problem is I see a lot of hate on Jaune and much of it is stupid or takes his flaws and makes them worse. Then there is the whole Pyrrha thing where its a series where Magic is made real we know Ozpin cheated death and we havent even got started learning the rules and people just go no she is dead period and I am like wut? Dont even get me started on the whole Jaune disrespected Pyrrha thing its like no one had ever heard of taking up another's sword before.

There most definitely is senseless Jaune hate. 

People who say Jaune should just die are haters who engage in pointless vitriol and aren’t really suggesting a good solution to what a is very real characterization and pacing issue. 

Jaune is here to stay because his is the story of the underdog who has glaring flaws and has made a dishonest action but also has the potential and drive to make things right. 

He’s the deuteragonist, meaning that his story is pivotal to the overall narrative, but is second in priority to the story of Team RWBY, the title characters. 

However, that doesn’t mean a very good job has been done with his characterization in the first few volumes, nor did he have an appropriate amount of focus in Volume 4. 

Jaune’s a genuinely good guy. He really is. He’s my boi. My son. I’m rooting for him. 

I just don’t like how his progress and growth is being handled. 

(Incoming RWDE, beware.)

See the BRNZ vs JNPR fight, where his leadership is reduced to a joke just to have a gag about team uncoordination, or how he shouts vague orders rather than be given serious delivery about his strategy-building when RNJR fought the Geist Grimm. Or how he told Ruby, Ren, and Nora to go in a circle when they were already doing that. 

In the first two cases, it’s not like there can’t be funny moments during a fight. But comedy shouldn’t come at the expense of a character’s development. Specially when said development is such a profound sign of progress. In the third case, that’s just a plain writing inconsistency. It’s one you might miss, for sure. But it shows that very little attention was put into it.

For more on that, I’d like to refer you to this post, where I explore the unwarranted amount of dialogue delivered by Jaune or centered around Jaune. 

I’d like to talk about Pyrrha dying and Ozpin’s ability to wander around without a body.

Ozpin’s spiritual being is something that is probably inherent to his powers, whichever those may be. Many, such as myself, believe that Ozpin received the powers of the Wizard, much like the powers of the Maidens are transferred from woman to woman. 

Obviously, that raises a lot of questions. One such being, “If the Wizard’s consciousness can transfer to the newest receiver of the Wizard’s power, can the same happen with Maidens?” 

Back to the matter at hand, however, you have a point in saying that if Magic is a thing in Remnant, how is it less likely for Pyrrha to survive than Ozpin? 

Well, you could argue that a power unique to Ozpin enabled his survival, and because Pyrrha does not possess it, her death is certain, or rather her return in any other form is unlikely. 

We’re still very early in the show’s timeline, however. That could be proven wrong down the line. Who knows? 

The issue is that it is very difficult to bring back a character from such a fate without it feeling like a cop-out. 

No doubt it can be done, but… it can only be done in a handful of ways, since you could end up contradicting rules you had previously established. Or you could disregard the poetic and thematic gravity of a moment. Character deaths are meant to be heavy and meaningful. If a character just comes back without the proper foreshadowing or a significant change in their personality, the return of said character fails to be genuine.

But I’m sure you know that, Anon. I just needed to make that statement for argument’s sake.

Again, I’m not saying it can’t happen. It absolutely can. It just wouldn’t feel right if not done properly.

But that’s something that’s way down the line. When it comes to RWBY, a lot of things can only be dealt with a wait-and-see approach. That’s why speculating can feel a bit pointless. 

But hey. It’s fun. We all do all sorts of things simply because it’s really fucking cool.

As far as that goes, I don’t disagree with you on that, Anon. But because I’ve deviated from my initial position, I’m kind of on the fence until I can collect more evidence and pick up on more and more foreshadowing. 

If said foreshadowing comes. 

I’m just the kind of person who’s gotta work on concrete evidence when it comes to stuff like this. 

Now, about Jaune taking Pyrrha’s metal and using it for upgrades… It is disrespectful. Not just to Pyrrha, but to her family. As far as we know, she only has a mom, but she’d still want to know how her daughter’s doing. She probably don’t even know Pyrrha’s dead.

And Jaune just… thinks it’s a good idea to keep what’s left of Pyrrha to bury to himself rather than look for her mom so she can have closure about Pyrrha’s fate? So she can decide what happens to Pyrrha’s former belongings? Pyrrha’s mom should get to decide whether those things should be part of the only burial Pyrrha might ever get or if Jaune should inherit them as a memento of his partner and the person who saved his life countless times.

Pyrrha being mostly only relevant to Jaune is yet another tiring and frustrating iteration of the “Girl-Exists-For-Boy-and-Only-For-Boy” trope that has crushed the agency of countless female characters since time immemorial. Pyrrha shouldn’t just exist for Jaune. Pyrrha should get to be her own person separate from Jaune. With other relationships that get to be explored in the show. 

That’s why Ruby’s reaction to Pyrrha’s death felt so… forced. Because there hadn’t been any true meaningful interactions between her and Pyrrha. Every single heart-to-heart conversation Pyrrha’s ever had has been with Jaune. Who’s Pyrrha to Ruby? Just this nice girl she’s hanged out with a few times and fought with that one time. 

“Well, they probably had a very close friendship off-screen!” you might say. And that’s a very flimsy argument, to be honest. Because that’s just pure conjecture that can’t be proved unless it is mentioned or shown in canon that such moments really did happen.  

In a show about strong female characters, you’d think you’d see other female characters bonding, other than the titular characters. Nora is the kind of person who’d adore Pyrrha and spend time with her and have fun. But we don’t get that. 

I’ve also been meaning to write meta about how there was a missed opportunity with Pyrrha and Weiss bonding over their foiling circumstances of privilege and solitude. Pyrrha in Weiss have so much in common. It’s absurd how similar they are. That could have been a great relationship. 

Don’t get me wrong, there’s good stuff about Jaune and Pyrrha. I’m absolute trash for Arkos. But Pyrrha’s character shouldn’t revolve around Jaune as much as it has. 

Volume 3 was refreshing because Pyrrha finally got a story arc of her own that was pivotal to the overall story. It was hers and hers alone. Jaune was a small part of that. It was much more different than Pyrrha being a big part of Jaune.

Those are my thoughts on that matter, Anon. I made it as thorough as I could. Feel free to add anything else.  

[mamoro2202]

Stolen Heritage 8

Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin

Rated explicit for sex and violence.

(Sorry or the skipped week, real life occasionally intrudes.)

"Kaoru-dono, this one is finished packing and we should also go to bed. The morning will come very early, so it will."

Kaoru brushed a hand against Kenji's cheek. "Yes, it will." She looked at him, her eyes shining in the dark room. "Come to bed, Kenshin."

Kenshin finished tying the knot of his hakama, and felt troubled as he watched his wife say goodbye to their son.

"Mama and Daddy will be back soon, Kenji-chan, and it will be fun here with you aunts." She stroked the little boy's red hair. "You'll be good?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Don't be naughty at bathtime."

"No baths."

Kaoru sighed. "Kenji-chan…"

Kenshin knelt down next to her. "Kaoru-dono," he said, touching her shoulder. "Are you certain you won't stay? This one would be fine."

Kaoru shook her head vehemently and when she looked up her eyes were angry and stubborn… and swimming with tears. "No, Kenshin. I am going."

Kenshin watched her for a moment and then looked at his sleepy son. "Omasu-dono and Misao-dono have both offered to let you sleep with them, so pick whichever you'd like. Be polite. Do not hit or pull hair."

"Yes, Daddy." Kenji's eyes were wide in the face of his father's unusual gravity. Kenshin smiled then, to let the little boy know that everything was okay. Kenji's response was to crawl into Kaoru's lap and snuggle his face into her neck, which caused Kaoru to make a distressed noise and cuddle him close for a few minutes, before laying him down and tucking him back into the blankets. Once Kenji was settled, they gathered their things and slipped silently down the hall. The household was still sleeping, but Kenshin knocked quietly at Omasu's door.

"You're leaving now, then?" Omasu's eyes were sleepy but kind.

"Yes, Omasu-dono. This one apologizes for waking you."

"No, no," she said, waving a hand. "It's my pleasure." She stepped out and shut the shoji behind her. "Kenji-chan should have the comfort of warm arms. Safe travels." Then she bowed and walked towards the guest bedroom.

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They slipped through Kyoto in the quiet grey of pre-dawn. Rather than exit the city immediately as he wished, Kenshin chose to walk east. Kaoru would surely appreciate even the small amount of extra smooth road – she was a strong woman, but city-bred. Kenshin doubted that she had spent many entire days wearing shoes, much less many hours walking over rocky, uneven paths.

During the walk through town, Kaoru was quiet at his side, lost in thoughts of her own. She'd left at least half of her heart at the Aoiya, and she was worried for her husband. Kenshin hated Kyoto; for him, being in the city was a discomfort to be endured. She suspected that visiting Otsu would likely leave him silent for hours, if not days, and he clearly had mixed feelings about visiting those little mountain villages. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Kaoru could say to help ease his stress; all she could do was be at his side and offer silent comfort.

They left the city just as the sun crested the horizon, and the farther they walked, the fewer travelers they met on the road, although there were more than Kaoru had expected. They ate while walking, Kenshin keeping a close eye on his wife. Walking evenly at his side, Kaoru kept her chin up and eyes sharp; it did heartened him a little, her steady presence and her stubborn strength at his side.

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They arrived in Otsu well before lunch. Kenshin stopped at a pleasant spot and gestured to a rather large boulder with a conveniently worn outcrop, the perfect place to sit.

"Kaoru-dono, please sit and rest while this one gathers some information."

Kaoru shook her head, unwilling to let Kenshin to wander around Otsu on his own.

Laying a hand on her shoulder, Kenshin offered her a tiny smile. "Kaoru-dono." His voice was soft, although they were well off the main road. "This place has changed so much since the Meiji era as to be barely recognizable. This one is fine, so I am." Kaoru blinked in surprise, blushing that he had so easily seen her worry. "Rest here, Kaoru-dono. Your feet will be sore by tonight." He walked away with his customary gait, steps shuffling softly against the ground. Kaoru watched until he was out of sight, then skirted behind the boulder, seating herself behind it and out of sight to pull off her shoes and groan quietly.

Sore by tonight, he says. Sore now, more like. Grimacing, she poked at her tender flesh. She'd worn nice, thick tabi to help pad her feet, as well as to stay warm, but the skin was still slightly chapped and burning. She fished a pair of soft, thin tabi out of her pack and put them on, then drew the heavy, warm pair over that, followed by her sandals. Wiggling her toes and rotating her ankles, she considered her handiwork. Bulky, but better. She slipped back around the boulder and seated herself on the spot where he'd left her, glad for the opportunity to rest. She'd be damned before he left her in Otsu.

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When Kenshin returned, he had learned little about the possibility of bandits in the mountains, just some very vague rumors that seemed to support the story. He smiled at the sight of Kaoru sitting in the sunshine.

"Kaoru-dono, are you well-rested?"

"I'm fine, Kenshin." She stood and shrugged into her pack. "Did you learn anything interesting?"

He shook his head. "Nothing of value, that I didn't." Kaoru briefly tangled her fingers with his, concealed by their sleeves. They left Otsu no better, but no worse, than when they'd arrived.

Several hours later, Kenshin tried to convince Kaoru to stop and rest for lunch. "We are making good time, Kaoru-dono. There is no reason to push yourself, that there isn't."

Kaoru frowned, her chin set at the stubborn angle that Kenshin knew so well. "I'm slowing you down enough already. We can walk and eat."

"Kaoru-dono-" Instead of answering him, Kaoru shoved a rice cracker into her mouth and chewed viciously, staring at the rather lovely scenery hard enough to start a grass fire. Kenshin was wise enough to drop the subject.

About an hour after lunch, Kaoru began to lag, and Kenshin chose not to comment. Instead, he merely matched her pace. An hour after that, he began lagging a little to encourage her to slow her pace further. Two hours later, her mouth pressed into a thin line, he noted Kaoru's subtle limp.

"Kaoru-dono, the road will only get steeper from here, and the wind colder. We should rest."

"You mean I should rest."

"As we travel further it is likely that it will become colder and the road rougher. It will also become dark earlier than you are used to, as we are in the shadow of the mountain. We will stop here and camp, so we will." Hiss tone warned that he was not going to yield, and though Kaoru's shoulders slumped, she nodded. Kenshin took her pack. "There should be a stream in a few minutes. We will stop there." Kenshin had no intention of telling her that they were only one ri from their destination, and that truly the road they had already traveled was both of a rather mild grade and moderately well maintained, as it skirted the base of the mountain. If her feet were in the state that he suspected they were, there was no question about traveling any further tonight. Besides, he would rather arrive in the village in full daylight.

Kenshin walked, and Kaoru limped, until a steeply arched and well-maintained bridge came into view.

"Why is the road so rough and that bridge so nice?!"

Mildly, Kenshin said, "It's likely that with the spring thaw, this little stream floods with the melted snow, that it is. It is only prudent to maintain the bridge; if it was damaged, the only road south would become impassable."

"Yes, you're right." Kaoru blushed at her own behaviour. "I'm sorry, Kenshin."

He brushed a hand over her shoulder. "It is alright, that it is. You do not feel well." They struck out east from the path, walking for several minutes down into the trees until Kenshin found a spot that he liked. He dragged a small log out from the underbrush. "Sit here and rest, Kaoru; this one will be back shortly, that I will. Please stay alert." He gathered water, sticks and dry grasses, and a likely-looking short log. The famous March wind of this area was brutal and cold, and even with their cold weather clothes, Kaoru must be feeling chilled. With efficiency born out of years of practice, Kenshin had a nice fire going after a few minutes and a sufficient camp established. There was no reason to leave Kaoru alone to gather ingredients for a meal, and not much grew here at this time of year anyway. He sorted through Kuro's generous gifts and selected several items, warming them as well as he could, while boiling the stream water in their only pot.

Kaoru ate slowly and Kenshin narrowed his eyes at her fatigue. "Let me see your feet, Kaoru." She grimaced at the very idea, then gingerly removed both shoes and tabi. Kenshin sucked a sympathetic breath through his teeth; they were just as bad as he had feared. The skin under the straps of her shoes was rubbed raw, and scattered wounds that looked as if blisters had burst and crusted.

"This one cannot protect you if you do not tell me when you are hurt, Kaoru," he scolded mildly, and Kaoru had the grace to look down and away. He washed her feet in silence and applied a salve that he knew from experience would sting. His stout-hearted wife never flinched. He wrapped them in bandages and a new set of tabi, then tucked her in the bedroll, with her extra clothes and jacket piled on top. She'd be warmer if he lay with her, but instead he simply sat between her and the wind.

"Kenshin? Aren't you going to lay down?"

"Perhaps later." Kaoru narrowed her eyes. Kenshin only smiled. "It is my honor to watch over you tonight, Kaoru."

"...You should sleep, Kenshin. If you wake me, I'll… stand watch for… few hours at least," she argued, already half asleep.

Kenshin stroked her bangs away from her face. "You are unused to such travel, that you are. Please rest." She was fully asleep in minutes, and Kenshin watched the rhythm of her even breaths. She had done well today, city raised as she was. To walk eight ri on country roads… four ri was mostly likely as much as she had ever walked in one day; endless hours of barefoot practice in a dojo with polished wooden floors would not have prepared her for this. He had not lied; watching over Kaoru today had been a welcome distraction. Despite his worry for her safety, her presence was always welcome.

He cast his senses wide and found reassuring nothingness, just the normal goings on of forest animals. Now with Kaoru well cared for, warm and asleep, he had nothing to distract himself from his thoughts, and they chased themselves across his mind in uncomfortable chaos. He sorted through his earliest memories again, as he had nearly every night since Manami's appearance but still, all he remembered was the usual jumble of affectionate blurs of half-remembered faces, and the impression of… safety, and contentment. Most of those people were dead and gone, but he could admit that it was likely that there were others alive... What if they were all dead or gone, those theoretical uncles and cousins and friends? What if they weren't?

He shivered from a particularly nasty gust of wind, tossed another piece of wood on the fire, and settled in for a long night.

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The next morning Kaoru woke cold, stiff, and sore. She grimaced and took a quick inventory of her body: her back was stiff from sleeping on the ground, her muscles chilled from the damnable wind, her feet were a mess that she'd rather not think about, and her breasts hurt. Although, the fire to her left was quite nice… She sat up carefully to find Kenshin quietly repacking their bags.

"Good morning, Kaoru. How are you feeling today?"

Kaoru briefly considered lying, but discarded the idea as pointless and likely to upset Kenshin, bedsides. She settled for brevity, "Sore." Now sitting upright, her breasts were miserably sore.

"Why don't you dress and have breakfast, and then this one will change the bandages on your feet."

Kaoru sighed at the idea of fully undressing on this cold mountain, but she went about doing so anyway, carefully rebinding her swollen breasts as quickly as possible. Dressed, and as close to the fire as safely possible, she ate a quick breakfast and then let Kenshin care for her feet.

After that, she shrugged into her pack and started walking again. Kaoru bit her chapped lips to suppress any complaints at the steadily worsening terrain and the increasing grade of the road. Depressingly, the road zigzagged upwards. Kaoru understood the reasoning, managing the grade of the road by working with the mountain and not against it, but the lengthening of the path was enough to make her want to curse. Twenty minutes later, every curse word she'd ever learned from years of training with men and listening to Sano's drunken songs were tumbling around her head. She walked with her head down, focused on her footing, ignoring her breasts and her feet. When Kenshin came to a rather abrupt halt, she almost ran into him.

She looked up and saw it, the first of the two little villages. It was picturesque, two neat rows of houses winding through two mountain ridges, still fallow fields on either side, as well as some terraced fields extending up the slope from the rear of the village.

"Which one is this?"

"Supposedly, the village this one is from, Akaida. Shiraiyama is still further north."

Kaoru stepped forward and rested a hand on his back. "Do you recognize anything?"

Kenshin was silent for a moment. "No." He sounded a little disappointed.

"You were only six. It's not surprising."

"No, it is not." Kenshin adjusted his hat over his tell-tale hair. "Are you ready, Kaoru?"

Kaoru smiled for him. "Always."

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The road led through the center of the village, houses clustered directly on either side, with small gardens behind that lead up to steeply sloped fields. The houses were of sturdy mountain make, well constructed with straight walls and windows.

As they neared the center of town, they were treated many mistrustful glances, and although he could feel Kaoru's tension, he was not disturbed by the suspicious eyes of the villagers. Actually, the wariness was reassuring; it was now even more likely that Manami's story about bandits in the area was true.

"Kenshin?" Kaoru's voice was quiet. "Have you noticed how many of these people have brown hair, not black?" From under his hat, Kenshin looked carefully over the people bustling about their business; there were an unusual number of people with light hair. Interesting… He filed the information away, keeping a watchful eye out for a shrine or guard post, or perhaps the headman's home, as they walked. He did not expect to be confronted by two rough-looking men holding crude cudgels.

"What are you doing here, strangers?" said the first. They were both clearly trying to be intimidating.

Kenshin tried playing the harmless rurouni. "Oro?"

"What business do you have here?" said the other. Interestingly, they were only a little taller than Kenshin.

"This one and my wife were merely passing through, that we were. Unfortunately, she has injured her foot. Perhaps you might have a healer or priest here?" Half-truths were always better than outright lies.

The men exchanged looks, clearly unprepared for a reasonable request for aid. "Okabe

would probably see you." Kenshin suppressed a twitch at the lack of an honorific for the priest a healer. These are very rude men…

They were walked further up the hill, flanked by the men. They both felt foul, brushing against his ki, a meanness and desire to dominate common to bullies. Kaoru certainly didn't like them; her energy behind him was alert and defensive. The men were making her terribly uncomfortable, and it was causing Kenshin to bristle.

There was a surprisingly large Shinto shrine to the right of the road, seemingly in good repair and quite neat. There was likely a resident priest here, and Kenshin was pleased. Priests knew everything in a village, and were often a good source of information. This could be used to his advantage.

"Old man!" Their escorts merely stood at the gate and shouted, one moving to stand too near for comfort. Kaoru actually stepped close enough for Kenshin to feel her breath on the back of his neck. "Old man, you've got strangers here who want to see you!"

A short and tidy priest walked out of the shrine, old and a touch stooped, with very intelligent dark eyes and an angry expression. "I know your mother raised you better than this, Hiroshi-kun! Take yourself and your bad manners elsewhere! And you, Shigeki-kun, come back when you can be polite. Off with you! These people don't need an armed escort; what kind of bandit travels with his wife?" He waved a hand as though dismissing children. The rude and burly men walked away with amusing speed – although once through the gate, the shorter of the pair spat on the ground. "Terrible!" The priest huffed, then turned his discerning eyes toward Kenshin and Kaoru.

"Would you care for tea? Or do you perhaps have some urgent business?" His speech and manner were calm and polite, and Kenshin felt his wife relax.

"It's not urgent. And tea would be perfect, that it would." The priest gave them both a friendly smile and ushered them into what were clearly his private living quarters. Kenshin calmly removed his hat to step inside, and the old priest paused, just barely, and then he prepared and poured tea while introductions were made. When Kenshin accepted his cup and took a polite sip, he blinked down at it in surprise; it was probably the best tea he had ever drunk.

"The tea is very good!" Kaoru's voice was awed, and then she blushed at her own bluntness.

The priest smiled. "The old haven't the time to waste being embarrassed, young lady. Thank you; tea is an important crop here. It does very well in the southern fields."

"You have a lovely home, Okabe-sensei." The priest's sharp eyes assessed Kenshin closely. Kenshin kept his expression innocent and his ki tranquil.

"Thank you very much. Even here in the country, as a traditionally Shinto shrine, we have benefitted from the new government's religious policies." Ah. That explains the obvious maintenance. They finished the astonishingly good tea in appreciative silence, while Kenshin and Okabe continued to quietly assess each other.

"Thank you for very much for the tea and the hospitality, Okabe-sensei... My wife is quite tired from travelling. Might you know of anyone in town who lodges travelers?"

"Hanari-san and his wife often rent their extra room to peddlers and traders. I do not see why tired travelers would not also be welcome. Tell them that I have referred you."

"...Forgive this one for saying so, but there seems to be greater than usual mistrust of outsiders here."

Okabe sighed. "Yes, well, the village is… in the midst of hard times. We have been beset by criminals since autumn. They raided us for the first time immediately after the harvest, and several times this winter. People are afraid, and hungrier than usual. Please excuse our poor manners." The priest gave a shallow bow, his expression troubled. "And you, young lady; do not walk alone."

"Your wariness is understandable, then, that it is." Kenshin was careful to maintain a rurouni's guilelessness. "We are strangers."

The priest's eyes wandered pointedly to Kenshin's hair, then down to his eyes. "Perhaps not so strange," he murmured.

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Not quite two ri away, a red-haired, brown-eyed woman hummed a familiar song as she made breakfast.

Also posted here if you would like to read back chapters.