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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

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Need for Speed: New York - Chapter 3 (NC17)

Summary: It's been years since high school graduation, and Kurt and Blaine are living the lives of their dreams in New York City alongside their best friends, Nick and Jeff. Car racing behind them, they're working towards the future - Kurt and Jeff at NYADA, Blaine and Nick at NYU. But soon after moving from their tiny apartments to a bigger loft, bits and pieces of Ohio start to weed their way in to their lives - along with some New York grown angst, causing rifts that hopping behind the wheel of a Mustang might not be able to solve.

Read on AO3.

“Kurt? Are you doing all right over there?” Nick asked, straining under the weight of their new sofa - the sofa Kurt picked out and was infinitely proud to have found on clearance. The guys had decided collectively to give Kurt carte blanche with regards to decorating the communal rooms of the loft because - they had to face it - interior decorating was more his forte than theirs. If he didn’t become a Broadway star, he would definitely end up a designer.

Kurt’s eye for detail was exceptional.

If Blaine had his way, he’d bathe the entire place in leather and chrome. He’d even suggested it to Kurt once while he was sitting in bed mulling over fabric swatches. Kurt scolded him, told him to excel beyond his stereotype.

Blaine accused Kurt of being a philistine.

And then they fucked.

Jeff, on the other hand, would forgo the stress of furniture altogether in favor of maintaining the empty space. He wasn’t opposed to eating on the floor and often said that all he really needed to be comfortable was a bed and his boyfriend … and the bed was negotiable.

So with that and the chili pepper lights he bought for his and Nick’s room, he considered himself set.

If given the chance to decorate, Nick would probably end up making their loft look like Dalton Academy. Not on purpose. That’s what he was raised with, what home looked like - hard wood everything; tartan fabrics declaring fake provenance; fine China and collectible figurines locked behind glass; anything soft and comforting, like the couches and recliners, wrapped in plastic. Sanitized.

Protected from human touch.

Besides, between Blaine, Nick, and Jeff, not a one of them had the time nor the patience. So they pooled their money together, gave it to Kurt, and told him to have at it.

And he did.

Kurt ordered the sofa first because he said it would be the heart of the room - the thing that would bring all other design elements together. But placement was key. He’d already had Nick help him move it twice. He wanted it in the spot that got the most mid-afternoon sun, and seeing as it was delivered at eight in the morning, the movers put it in the wrong place.

Before the rest of the living room furniture arrived, this needed to be rectified.

“I’m alright,” Kurt replied, nudging his end forward, signaling Nick to move his end a little more to the left.

“Then what in the world are you grinning at?” After a third consecutive peek over at his friend, Nick noticed Kurt beaming at him like a proud parent watching their kid star as a tooth in a middle school play.

“Oh, nothing,” Kurt sang in that way that indicated it definitely was something. “It’s just nice to see you guys come up for air after violating our new loft for the past three days.”

Nick grunted, prepared to drop his end and call it quits if Kurt insisted on poking fun at him all day long. He’d made a comment when he woke up (Look who finally decided to join the land of the living!), before breakfast (Now tell me, before I plate, do I have to bleach the table first?), after breakfast (Must be nice eating something other than tube steak for once …), then just before his shower (I considered putting a black light light bulb in there, but I haven’t had the chance to steam clean and I’m afraid the place would light up like a Christmas tree!). It was all in good fun, Nick knew. He’d done the same to Kurt about a hundred times when they’d spend the night over at their place. He just … wasn’t in the mood.

He couldn’t say that to Kurt, though. He’d be walking right into the remark that would follow and would have no one to blame but himself.

But in a blink, Kurt’s smile dipped, and he became serious.

“Out of curiosity, in between all the screwing that was going on here, did you guys ever get the chance to talk about what’s been bothering you?”

Kurt stopped walking and lowered his end, and Nick took that as his cue to put his side down. He sighed in exhaustion. Not from moving the sofa. The sofa wasn’t that heavy. But this conversation might be. “Not exactly.”

“Nick …”

“There never seemed to be a right time.”

“Of course there’s never going to be a right time if you use sex to stall! Jeff takes his cues from you, and you know he’ll choose jumping on you like a trampoline over a heart-to-heart if that’s what he thinks you want!”

“It’s … it’s not just that.” Nick side-eyed the sofa, missing a few minutes ago when he was lugging it around and didn’t have to talk about this. “It’s that … I know what I’m feeling is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Nick.”

“Yes, it is!” Nick flopped onto the closest cushion, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands. “The things that I’m feeling, they’re more about how I see myself than about how Jeff sees me! I know that! But I can’t stop myself! Even before we started going out, I was always afraid I’d lose him to someone smarter … more talented … better looking ...” Nick’s eyes darted Kurt’s way after each superlative and Kurt felt them tug at his heart. There was a time after Kurt and Jeff became friends when Nick assumed Jeff liked Kurt. Like liked Kurt. Kurt knew that, felt guilty about it, and for a while, he was sure they might never become friends because of it. But look at them now. “And I’m afraid that if I talk to him about it, he’ll think I’m having doubts about him. A-about us. But it’s not about him or us. It’s about me. My sucky internship and my boring-ass classes and how absolutely uninspired and stuck I feel. I mean, that right there is the height of stupidity! Who the hell feels stuck in New York City? It’s the city of dreams! New York is supposed to be the place where anything can happen! It’s happening for you and for Blaine, and definitely for Jeff. So why isn’t it happening for me?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Kurt said, sitting on the sofa beside his friend. “And I wish I could be more help. But I do know that Jeff loves you. All he wants to do is make you happy. It’s what he lives for! He talks about you like you’re the smartest, kindest, hottest thing on two legs!”

“Really?” Nick chuckled. He knew that Jeff did already, but he still found it difficult to believe.

“Yeah. And it’s super annoying!”

“Thanks.”

“I also know that if he found out that you’ve been harboring fears and doubts that you’re not talking to him about, he’d be hurt.”

“I know, I know. I owe it to him. That doesn’t make it any easier.”

Kurt put a hand on Nick’s knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m not trying to pressure you. Think it over, then talk to him when you’re ready. And I know it’s hard, but please, don’t make him wait too long. You might think you’re stealthy at keeping secrets, but I can’t help feeling he knows something’s up.”

And there it was. The thing Nick had been trying to avoid. But Kurt saw it, which meant Jeff had to have. If Nick could get his self-absorbed head out of his ass, he could put this to rest once and for all. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, putting a hand over Kurt’s and holding it. “Soon. I promise.”

***

“Settle down, settle down! Ladies! Gentlemen! We have a lot of ground to cover today so … shut up!”

The dancers laughed as Madame Dufraine marched into the room, the square heels of her dance shoes clicking against the smooth floor.

“We need to discuss semester projects!” she continued, shrugging out of her coat and handing it to her TA. She didn’t look before she let it go, knowing he’d be there to catch it before it hit the ground … or else. “Chester, Chad, Lonnie, Michael, and Jeff are our contestants today. Let’s shake things up and start from the end.” She peered into the wall-length mirror, tucked a stray brown curl underneath her plum turban. Then she turned to her class, tapped the floor with her cane, and announced, “Jeff? Darling? You’re up.”

“Okay.” Jeff popped to his feet straight from his seat on the floor and took the teacher’s place at the front of the class. He clapped his hands in front of him, pausing to get his thoughts in order. The smile glowing on his face was distracting. It earned him several giggles from the girls who knew who that smile belonged to. “My semester project is very special to me,” he began, voice quivering with excitement. “It’s a modern take on a classic pas de deux. I’ve been planning this for a while, and I was originally hoping to dance it with Kevin.” Jeff paused to shoot a look at the man sitting on the only chair in the room, his left leg locked in a cast that ran from his foot up to mid-thigh. “But he took himself out of the running when he broke his leg.”

“More like a Dodge Charger took me out of the running, my man.”

“If that’s the story you’re going with,” Jeff teased. The giggling returned. “Anyway, my semester project isn’t only about dance and what it brings to us in this room. It’s about how dance influences life, how it brings people together.” Jeff’s cheeks turned red as he approached the meat of the matter. “My project wasn’t choreographed by me alone. It was choreographed by me and my best friend while we were in high school - my boyfriend Nick.”

A chorus of ooo’s accompanied his revelation, and his cheeks got redder.

“Dance didn’t necessarily bring us together, but it’s always been a huge part of our lives. Even now, while he’s studying to become a lawyer, he helps me practice.” He bit his lower lip thinking about dancing with Nick, dressed in their pajama pants and t-shirts, taking a turn around their living room wrapped in each other’s arms. “He doesn’t need to study dance to be a dancer. No one does. He’s a dancer because a love of dance lives inside of him. And to be honest … his love inspires me. I wanna use this project to show him how much.”

The dancers in the classroom awww’d in unison, then clapped in support of his plan … all except for one man hunkered down in the corner of the room, out of sight, rolling blue eyes.

***

Nick wrapped his coat tight around his body and bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting outside NYADA for his boyfriend to appear. Students dribbled through the doors dressed in stylish clothes, talking excitedly about art and music and theater. All of the beautiful people seemed to reside in NYADA’s halls and his own wickedly talented boyfriend was among them.

One of the elite.

Nick was just Nick - law student. Nick, with mousy brown hair and wearing sensible shoes. Nick … soft and meek and utterly uninteresting.

His heart stuttered when he saw Jeff walk out the doors, blending seamlessly with the other ballet gods and goddesses, almost all of them with an eye for his man. And why not? If Jeff was stunning as a teenager, he had grown into an absolute dream. His body had become even more defined through hours of practice and working out and discipline. He had more strength in his forearms alone than Nick had in his whole body, or so Nick imagined. With his innate charm and natural grace, no one would ever guess that Jeff was anything other than a New York socialite instead of coming from a working class family in Ohio.

Nick came from a much better-to-do family in Ohio, but the difference was that, regardless of having more money than Jeff’s family, Nick looked like he came from Ohio.

He and Jeff no longer matched, and Nick didn’t know how to fix that.

Jeff stopped outside with a pack of ballerinas, and one particularly friendly man sporting a black up-sweep and piercing blue eyes, whose fingers seemed to find a way to brush along Jeff’s arm no matter where he moved; whose lips lingered around his ear a little too long. Nick didn’t interrupt even though the urge to strut over and wedge his way between them overwhelmed him.

That’s what Kurt would do. He’d part them like the Red Sea, declare his superiority, and have everyone bowing at his feet.

But Nick couldn’t, no matter how much sass of his own Jeff claimed Nick had.

Maybe Jeff belonged with them. And Nick … well, Nick should find somewhere else to call home.

***

“Can you believe how many times Erik fell during that jazz combination? I thought Ms. July was going to put him through a window!”

“Now there’s a man with two left feet! And he’s a contemporary dance major! I can’t imagine what his knees are going to look like tonight!”

“The same way they look every night, I imagine.”

“Keisha! Don’t say that! That’s rude!”

“What? If you don’t think that man doesn’t spend every night on his knees, then you’re delusional!”

“And so what if he does? Have you seen his boyfriend? I don’t think Erik’s getting the short end of the stick by any means.”

Jeff laughed politely when the other dancers did. Man but the ballerinas at NYADA gossiped more than Kurt, and they didn’t pull any punches. Most of the time it was amusing to listen to whether he agreed with it or not, but today he was eager to get home. He hadn’t been this excited since he graduated high school. He felt like everything in his life was starting anew - new semester, new classes, new loft, and his project which, if he played his cards right, might lead to something else new.

Something he’d wanted for a long time.

He just needed to find the man that would make that happen.

His man.

He lifted his eyes and glanced around, searching the crowd impatiently for his boyfriend.

It took only a single sweep of his eyes to find him.

As if Nick had called out his name, Jeff spotted him standing awkwardly off to the side, looking oddly uncomfortable. Jeff smiled, breaking through the crowd of dancers mid-sentence to greet his adorably clueless man.

Nick, with the sharpest wit of any person Jeff had ever met.

Nick, always so oblivious to how amazing he was.

Nick, the man Jeff swore he would someday marry.

Jeff greeted Nick the way he always did, by grabbing him around the waist and lifting him in the air, spinning him and kissing him breathless. It didn’t matter that they were on a busy street in the middle of the afternoon. It didn’t matter that a whole gaggle of people stared at them. Either way, whenever Jeff laid eyes on Nick, the rest of the world melted away until the only person that mattered was in Jeff’s arms.

“So, Mr. Handsome Law Student Extraordinaire,” he said, taking Nick’s hand and sticking it in his own jacket pocket, “how was your day?”

“Same old, same old,” Nick replied, staring down at his shoes as he walked through the slush.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. And it got me thinking …” Nick swallowed hard “… actually, I may have been thinking about this off and on for a while now …” He didn’t enjoy broaching the subject of moving, especially when those plans didn’t necessarily include Jeff. Not that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with Jeff. He could see himself easily giving up law and spending the rest of his life traveling the country with Jeff, driving from one end of the continent to the other in Jeff’s 300ZX, concerned with nothing more pressing than where they would eat and what sites they would see. But he couldn’t ask Jeff to leave his life in New York. He loved Jeff, more than he loved himself. Asking Jeff to uproot his whole life just for him? That wasn’t something he could do. “You know, I … I don’t think I’m doing so well here.”

Jeff looked at Nick, eyes wide with surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked, guiding Nick through a crowd heading toward the subway.

“I don’t know … school kind of sucks, my internship is worse, and most of the time, I don’t feel like I fit in.”

“But I thought you were doing great in school.” Jeff led the way down the steep steps to the subway, paying their fare as they walked through the turnstile. “And didn’t Mr. Ryerson say you were one of his best interns?”

“Yeah, because I can walk five cups of coffee from the elevator to his office without spilling anything.”

Jeff found a bench and sat on it, pulling Nick into his lap. Nick looked around, self-conscious of who might be watching, but no one seemed to notice them.

“If they don’t appreciate you, fuck ‘em. Their loss.” Jeff took both of Nick’s hands in his and kissed them, warming Nick’s skin with his breath. “So if you don’t want to stay in New York, where should we go, Nicky?”

Nick stared at his boyfriend in disbelief, so nonchalant in the face of a total life change. “Wh-what do you mean ‘we’?”

“Well, if you’re moving away, I’m going with you.”

“But you have a life here,” Nick argued. “You’re top of your class. You’re making a name for yourself.”

“Nicky …” Jeff looked at Nick with hurt and confused eyes, his boyfriend clearly missing the obvious “… I chose a life here because you’re here. I can dance anywhere. There’s only one Nick.”

Nick’s gaze drifted slowly to their linked hands. “But … what if we weren’t meant to be together?” he said, remembering the dancers gathered around Jeff, the statuesque women, straight out of a Degas painting … and that one handsome man. “You and I, we’ve become so different really. I think that maybe, sometimes, we’re a little too different.”

Nick was afraid Jeff would get mad. Jeff didn’t usually get mad about anything. He had the heart of a pacifist. Still, Nick half-expected it. But Jeff looked at him calmly, ready to impart his sage Jeff wisdom that somehow managed to keep Nick sane during times of incredible self-doubt.

“Nicky, we’ve known each other since elementary school, and you’ve always been my best friend.”

“I know,” Nick said, giving in and resting his head against Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff held Nick tighter against him. “Have you ever wondered why?”

“Wondered why what?”

“We barely ever fight, we always see eye to eye, we like the same stuff, we’re really hot in bed together …”

Nick blushed red to the roots of his hair but he couldn’t disagree. “I … guess I never really gave it any thought.”

“Because you belong with me, Nicky,” Jeff said, rocking his boyfriend in his arms. “You always have. And I belong with you. There isn’t anyone on heaven or earth who can do anything about that. So, if you’re leaving New York, I’m going with you. Got it? Unless …”

“Unless …?”

“Unless you … you don’t love me …” Jeff’s voice went hoarse, the words a struggle to say, his heart lodging itself in his throat to keep him from finishing “… and you don’t know how to tell me?”

Nick jerked up so quickly, he nearly knocked Jeff on the chin with his forehead. “No! Oh, Jeff! God, no! I’ve loved you since forever! Since before forever! And I always will! That’s not what this is about! I swear! Please don’t think for one minute …”

“Okay …” Jeff put gentle fingers to his boyfriend’s lips to stop his anxiety-fueled explaining. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Nick nodded, smiling as Jeff leaned in for a kiss, chaste and sweet. But when Jeff’s tongue slipped between Nick’s lips and the hard metal ball of his piercing danced against Nick’s tongue, he moaned.

That sound of bliss might have turned a head or two, but Nick didn’t notice.

“So,” Jeff said, “why don’t we head back to the loft and see how many times we can get our new neighbors to call the cops?”

Nick grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

***

“So, no lab partner yet?” Blaine slid onto the bench at the lunch table Sebastian occupied alone, every book he needed for the semester spread out in front of him as he worked at playing catch up.

“Nah. Seems like the class is all evens and I’m the odd man out.”

“What are you going to do? That lab is half the grade.”

“It’s no biggie. Professor is going to let me be my own lab partner for now. Sort of academic masturbation.” Sebastian moved his plate closer to Blaine when he noticed him coveting his sweet potato fries. “Here. Have at it, tiger. I don’t need you drooling all over my homework. I don’t think I get extra credit for that.”

“Thanks.” Blaine wasted no time snagging a fry and dipping it in ketchup. “Well, that’s good. About the lab partner thing. It’d be awful to have your grade cut in half in the first few days after you lucked out with late admission and all. It’d be like they set you up to fail.”

“Yup. And I would have paid thousands for the privilege.”

“Brutal. So, are we on for Friday night?”

“Yup.” Sebastian snickered. “You and Kurt both texted me about the party at the same time. Now I know how he must have felt in high school – caught between two devastatingly handsome men.”

Blaine frowned at Sebastian’s attempt at humor. “Funny. That might not be the way he remembers it.”

Sebastian nodded to himself - a private note to start curbing his tongue … if he can remember. “I’m sure he doesn’t. I don’t either.”

Blaine picked up another fry, tapping it absentmindedly in the pool of ketchup on the plate. “And just so you know … I invited the study group.”

Sebastian arced an eyebrow his way. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Because I may have noticed that you and Paul don’t exactly get along.”

“Was it that obvious? Because I was really trying to be subtle.”

“You may have missed the mark on that one by an inch or two.”

“Pity.” Sebastian grabbed a fry, deciding to join Blaine in the feeding frenzy to give his hands something to do. “Hey, just a question but have you ever told Kurt about Captain Pincushion?”

Blaine shrugged. “I must have.” He stopped munching a moment to give it some genuine thought. “Huh …”

“What do you mean huh?” Sebastian asked, squirreling another fry away before Blaine could lick the plate clean.

“To be honest, I don’t think he ever came up.”

“That’s convenient.”

“It’s not like that, man. We’re the leave work and school at the door types. That way we don’t spend the whole night rehashing the stress of the day. We just focus on each other.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sebastian said, fidgeting his pen as the remainder of the fries made a hasty retreat into Blaine’s mouth. “But you guys do talk eventually, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” Blaine said, looking only mildly offended. “We don’t keep secrets. Never have.”

“Well, I really think you should.”

Blaine’s head snapped up so quickly, Sebastian heard something crack. “You really think I should keep secrets from Kurt?”

“Tell Kurt about your lab partner!” Sebastian groaned.

“Okay, but I don’t know what you think there is to tell.”

“For one thing, that man has some serious eyes for you. He’s going to make a play for you, if he hasn’t already.”

“Paul?” Blaine snorted, the thought ludicrous. “What makes you think that?”

“Because …” Sebastian paused, managing to swipe the last stunted, overcooked fry, narrowly missing having his fingers bitten off “… it takes an asshole to know an asshole.”

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine

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erivan-khan · 4 years ago

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ANNEX

Fandom: Countryhumans Characters: Prussia, Russian Empire, Ottoman Empire, Armenia, Matvey (Original Character - created/owned by ch_robots), Erivan (Original Character - created/owned by me) Warnings: Graphic Violence. Re-enactment of Historical Events that include colonization, war, and genocide

This story contains the following parts:

ANNEX part 1 - the Russian Empire annexes Erivan ANNEX part 2 - Congress of Berlin 1878 ANNEX part 3 - Matvey and Erivan

ANNEX pt 1

On the day of the surrender, snow fell on the mountain. All movement in and out of the fortress ceased as heavy white flakes covered up the mounds of dead men and horses all lost in the repeated sieges of his town. A tall khan stood alone on the white stone wall. He looked like a black fir tree, cloaked head to foot in black sheep skin. A huge round hat protected his head and brow, and his long coat bunched up around his face, leaving only his eyes visible: golden and piercing like a lion’s. The fortress was his to protect. The Sublime State of Persia had created him half a century ago for this sole purpose.

For years, the mighty Russian Empire to the north had funneled soldiers to their deaths in the Caucasus Mountains. There were others like him, also created by Persia, but only Erivan had lasted this long. Now it was over.

He had been prepared to outlast the siege but his commanders had recalled him for their own protection when the Empire pressed past the surrendered bodies of the other khanates. The moment Erivan went to save them, Russia pounced upon him like a pack of wolves, having finally driven him into the open. The imperial eagle had swept down with wings unfettered by mountain winds. Surprisingly, its claws did not rend him to bits. Still, Erivan fully expected revenge for the Russian soldiers he’d repelled, left to starve and freeze to death in his mountains. After all, the Empire had bayoneted the other Persian survivors. Why would he be treated differently?

He mused on this as he waited by the white wall. The sun rose over the plateaus in a cloudy gray sky. Although the falling snow muffled their arrival, Erivan could hear the echo of the marching army approaching. They came forward in a snake-like column that wound up the zigzag corridors that led to the top to the plateau. The banner of the tsar waved violently in the mountain air. The column marched seemingly unmoved by the body parts by the wayside. They did not stop, but stomped past the stock-still man and his white walls, inside the ancient Armenian fortress where his soldiers stood beside their guns placed on the ground. The Russians gave no notice of them either and marched until they had all filed in. At the end walked two more bannermen, one holding a tri-colored flag and the other holding a gold flag with the tsar’s eagle in the center. Horses paraded slowly behind the bannermen. Their riders all wore eagle helms and black uniforms with golden trim and white gloves. Their heads simultaneously shifted to stare at Erivan as they approached. With sharp claps of hooves, the horses stopped, tossing their heads at the snow icing their manes.

“Salute!” The clarion sounded. In the horseman’s free hand, he held aloft Persia’s official seal, proof that the Sublime State had surrendered their lands and cities in the Caucasus to the Russian Empire. “From this moment henceforth, the Persian Empire has been defeated. All khanates are ordered to hereby surrender.”

The horseman held the seal above his head, so that all could gaze upon it and know its veracity. Erivan did not doubt it, for he felt the seal's hold over him thrumming within his chest. The horseman lowered the seal and reverently handed it to the centermost of all riders. Four of the five horsemen dismounted at the same time, and the one holding the seal now stayed put. Erivan saw now that this rider’s gauntlets possessed jeweled rings on all fingers. The rider slipped the seal under their uniform coat.

The announcing horseman raised his voice again. “Kneel! Show obeisance to your new master, the Emperor of all Russia!” In a well-practiced motion, the horsemen all turned to face the last rider who slowly dismounted, boots crunching on snow. Inside the wall, all of the Russian column pivoted to form a great row across from Erivan’s men, who uneasily shifted in place before gradually falling to their knees beside their wet rifles.

Erivan studied the footsteps of the conqueror approaching him. Their boots ground the snow flat with each heavy step, a familiar gait, considering he’d fought this person face-to-face four times already.

“It’s you…” A voice husked through the closed helmet. “You have eluded my grasp until now. The Persians have wasted your potential keeping you here, don’t you agree?”

Erivan’s eyes moved up from the boots to the pressed pants and thick sable coat. He let the Empire’s question linger in the air between them. He took a moment to translate his reply from his native tongue to the Empire’s language. “My strengths are here, Imperial Majesty. I can still defend the Caucasus,” he answered finally.

“No, no, no, you are too much of a gem for me to leave unmined,” the Empire chuckled, rubbing a large golden ring around the gauntlet’s thumb.

“You… will not kill me?” Erivan ventured to ask.

The Russian Empire threw back their head and laughed. “After throwing so many men at you, you would have me leave empty-handed? No. Now, look at me,” they snarled in a sudden raspier voice. Abruptly, the gauntlets forced off the black helmet.

Erivan dared to look upon the imperial visage. With his seal in the Empire’s possession, he could not defy a direct order. He glanced at the other riders and they had all looked to the side to avoid meeting the conqueror’s gaze. Erivan’s golden eyes, the pupils slitted like a cat’s, stared boldly at the Empire’s face.

“Ohhh such forceful eyes, just like my willful son’s,” the Empire chuckled slowly. “Yes… you will do.” Grasping one glove with the other, they tugged it off and pointed to the ground just in front of their feet. The bare hand was nothing like a human’s. The thick forearm was white, the wide palm blue, and curled clawed fingers red as blood.

Erivan took a step forward and knelt down to the snow with his sheep-skin coat as a barrier to the cold. He slowly removed his papaha from his head and released his hair in a deluge of curls down his cheeks and neck. The Russian Empire’s cold hand palmed his forehead. Those claws carded through his scalp.

In a flash, Erivan’s eyes widened to moons, pupils eclipsing all color. His lips slackened as the Empire’s authority flooded through his mind. The gold and red of Persia bled away at the approach of this massive hand penetrating him. Erivan’s eyes squeezed shut, and suddenly the Russian’s hand hit an invisible wall within him. The hand dragged sideways without pause, trying to find an opening, but there was none. The Empire pressed harder, boring into him mentally while their mortal bodies remained transfixed in silence.

“What is this?” the Russian’s voice thrummed with a power that vibrated Erivan’s bones. When he didn’t answer immediately, he felt the seal hum as the Russian spoke again. “Tell me.”

“Armenia,” he wheezed. Within him dwelled a glass orb, and within it slept a fragment of a country, a shell of an empire long destroyed, and now separated between the current world powers. Erivan guarded her, kept her protected within his own body as if she was his own child. “Please… have mercy,” he begged for her life.

If the autocrat wished, they could absorb every conquered mind into their own and keep them silent by authority alone. Such was the power of an imperial Countryhuman. Erivan’s fortress had been captured and Persia surrendered, panicked by the loss of his finest domain. The seals of each land gained bound their loyalty to their new liege-lord.

A second hand phased out of the darkness to join the other, and together they cupped the glass case with the gentleness of holding a bird’s egg. “You would trade your life... for this? If I gave this remnant your body, you really would die for it...willingly?” the Russian scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes,” Erivan answered without hesitation.

The hands clenched, taken aback by his quick response. “Speak the truth.” The Russian’s words vibrated violently.

“I would die for her.”

They were silent for a time, seemingly to think, leaving Erivan floating in limbo until finally those hands uncurled from around the fragment. “... I understand.” Erivan couldn’t see it, but he could hear the Empire’s smirk. “Now I know I have made the right decision.”

Erivan wondered what that meant. What plans did the empire have for their newly annexed khanates?

"This entire region will be reorganized according to my vision. I will see to Armenia's investiture. You will come with me."

The Empire's claws closed around the sphere. A great stone of sleepiness dropped on Erivan's chest, and he fought the urge to succumb.

"What… what are you going to do to her?" he demanded.

"She will become part of my empire. The other khanates disappointed me; she will replace them," the Empire replied, sounding almost indulgent.

Erivan knew this was an honor, all things considered. He just had to trust that Russia wasn't lying. Unlike the Empire, he could not use a geas to enforce their truthfulness. He was at a complete disadvantage.

"If I go with you, I must have a way to keep in contact with her. She must be safe," he said.

"I will arrange it thus. This is the last time you make demands of me, Erivan. Surrender."

Erivan's eyes rolled unwillingly into his head, and he seemed to fall down an endless mineshaft, groping helplessly for the glass ball held higher above him in tricolored hands. Outside their battle of wills, Russia stood fixed before him as light beamed out from between their fingers. Blue coated the unconscious man's former flag as the empire forced his face and colors to change, to annex him wholly. Russia's golden eyes became bloodshot with the effort of transfiguring this willful man, and they squinted as the light pouring out turned unbearably bright.

It seemed like an hour passed when the Empire finally yanked their hand away and barely kept from staggering backward. They straightened their spine, primly slicking back the sides of their head. In their right palm rested an opaque milky glass. Erivan, unsupported, toppled to the side, all traces of the Persian coat of arms removed from him and replaced with a Russian cross.

"Put him on my horse," the Empire ordered.

Two of the closest riders rushed to Erivan's side and picked him up roughly. One shoved his hat back on his head without brushing the snow off him, although they were delicate with the Empire's mount. They strapped the annexed khan to the saddle and fit his feet into the stirrups.

Secreting the sphere away with Erivan's seal, Russia walked slowly to their horse. "I will reside here in this fortress until I have made Persia sign the last treaties. This one is mine to command. Keep him alive and unharmed," the Empire ordered, pointing at Erivan. Sharp teeth bared at the soldiers just before they replaced the eagle helm upon their royal head, and their voice echoed ominously within the enclosed helmet.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" came the loud answer.

ANNEX pt 2

On the day of the first congress session, sweat fell from everyone's brows. It was June, hardly deep into summer, but as it was a meeting of the era's great powers in Europe, everyone was dressed to the nines, in layers of uniforms and gowns.

Prussia led the Congress of Berlin, naturally, with Prinz Matvey at his left and the German Empire at his right. Erivan and the other royal guards marched in perfect time together, but not as well-orchestrated as father and son. Erivan stared at their feathered backs with a faint sense of longing. His eyes tore away from them to flit side to side cautiously. If anyone attempted an assassination, this would be the perfect time with so many Countryhumans in one place. He had to be careful in this place; the castle vibrated with the power of so many supernatural beings concentrated in one spot.

On either side of him, the royal guards winced. Erivan's brows pinched together. He was the first to step through the entryway but he didn't dare pause for the others to get over their uneasiness and catch up. He quickened his pace until he was three paces behind the prince. Matvey and Prussia gave no notice to him, not that he thought they would, of course. A guard was meant to be seen, not heard, meant to do his duties and return immediately.

Decades had passed since the Russian Empire had annexed his land and charged him with orders to go to Europe and be their son's "manservant". In truth, Erivan was much more than that, but he prided himself on being the prince's majordomo first and foremost. Still, he took an interest to Russian affairs as well, especially with the Empire being a great power. Their news was everyone's news. Erivan would be a fool not to take note of it.

He knew now that when the Empire had been fighting his creator, Persia, they had also come to blows with an empire on Persia's other side: the Ottomans. Battles stopped and started. Truces made and broken. The two heads of the eagle had faced enemies all around. This last war resulted in the defeat of the Ottoman Empire. Pride surged through Erivan at his liege's victory. More land and access to the sea meant more wealth, more trade, and more resources. With the Ottomans out of the way, his ward, Russian Armenia, could cross through Georgia and use the Black Sea without tariffs. Most importantly, not being forced to cross the mountains would speed up the process of an Armenian reunion. Erivan looked forward to sitting with his kin, for a Western Armenian delegation had come to the congress with the Ottoman and Balkan representatives.

Per his liegelord's command, Erivan was a retainer in the Prussian household, but politically, he and his neighboring lands belonged to the Russian Empire. Imperial gains had swelled with the Ottomans' defeat. He could feel the other fragments of Armenia calling out to him in distant echoes now that Russia had occupied all of the Black Sea. Erivan clutched his chest through his uniform. It didn't matter that Russia had taken his protected remnant out of him. He heard the others even in his sleep. Now that there were more Armenians within temporary Russian borders, the cries had become louder.

“Tch.”

Prussia’s hiss brought Erivan out of his thoughts. He brought his hand up to his dagger instinctively, but he only saw several other countries at the far end of the hallway approaching the host and his son. Prussia crossed his arms in the middle of the hall. To his left, manservants opened up the double doors to the massive ballroom that would serve as their conference hall. Prussia’s lip curled at the sight of the Russian Empire at the head of the pack. The triumphant ruler was resplendent in a black and gold military uniform. A half-cape of white and gold hung off Russia’s left shoulder, reaching the back of their thigh. At their left side strode Great Britain and the newly-formed dual monarchy Austria-Hungary. On their right, Russia listened with great interest to a small country who was clearly having trouble keeping up with the empire’s massive strides.

Russia glanced up at them, and their haughty expression briefly changed to something unrecognizable. Erivan couldn’t study it long enough to find out. He bowed his head, hearing feathers rustle and whip the air in front of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A wave of overwhelming malice choked the hallway, and Erivan chanced an upward glance, peering past Matvey and Prussia’s curtain of wings. He glimpsed Russia’s boots turning sharply and disappearing in a flurry with all of the other countries around them.

“I already regret inviting this lot into my house,” Prussia snarled. “Come, Matvey, let’s get this over with.”

Erivan straightened as his master moved silently after his father. As they passed through the double doors together, he pivoted on his heel, keeping his back to the doors and his hand upon his dagger hilt. Inside, the powers of Europe would discuss what to do with the post-war state of the Balkans. His duty was to stand guard at Matvey’s side. A minor governorate like him couldn’t expect to be a part of the negotiating table. If this was in St. Petersburg, perhaps. Only if Russia was feeling indulgent.

So, he waited. He pulled out some straw tucked inside his pockets and idled his hands by weaving the cords together. Occasionally he glanced down the hallway, checking every footfall, every movement out of the corner of his eye. He heard the clocks chime every half-hour. The tall one in the hallway was hard-carved. At every hour, a miniature figurine of Prussia goose-stepped out of a tiny door on a rotating disc. A musical box version of Preußens Gloria chimed until the soldier vanished behind the closing door.

Five Prussian marches later, the door groaned open, and Erivan jerked around to look face-to-face with a skinny waif of a Countryhuman. She looked up at him startled, pulling her veil over the white crescent-shaped scar around her eye. Her eyes were wet, but she looked as if she was crying in frustration not sadness. Erivan held his closed fist over his heart as he respectfully bowed backward out of her way. She sniffled and grabbed the front of her skirts, running away from him.

“W-wait!” he called, reaching out.

Stunned, Erivan glanced inside the luxurious room she’d just left. Disturbingly, the Ottoman Empire stared at him through the slowly closing gap. The Turk bared his teeth in a smile just as the door clicked shut.

The empire’s smile dunked him in cold water and left him frozen in place. Erivan pressed his lips together, shaking off his aura of utter malignance, and ran down the hall after the woman. He knew he shouldn’t leave his post--Prussia could have him shot--but he was certain that she was Armenia. A fragment, anyway, just like the little lady he wrote letters to back home. Their flags were different, obviously, but there was no denying the fragment’s pull. They all wanted to unite and form an Armenia together.

“Wait! Armenia?” he called out again, following the lure that connected him, as their protector, to all the remnants. He spoke in Russian at first, then changed to their mutual tongue. “Armenia, please. You can trust me.”

Erivan stopped at the corner of the castle where a spiral staircase wound up a tower. He hesitated at the bottom step, staring up into the dimly lit hallway. He didn’t want to scare her or chase her if she didn’t want to be chased. Slowly, he walked up the tight spiral until he finally came across her hugging her knees, face buried. She pulled her veil down so that he could not see her face as she lifted her head off her knees.

“You don’t look like one of us, dressed like that.” Her bony fingers flapped up down at his German uniform. “But you speak it so well. What are you doing here?”

“At Imperial Russia’s command, I serve the tsarevich in Berlin.”

“Him?! Doesn’t he frighten you?”

“I have a healthy respect for his capabilities,” Erivan said, his eyes flitting away from her face briefly. He knelt down to one knee and held out his hand. “Why did you leave?”

Western Armenia bit her lower lip and jerked away from his gaze, staring at the porthole window where a tiny beam of light shone on her red skin. “They… they’re not letting Russia have us!” she choked out. She burst into sobs, gripping the sides of her tricolored veil and pulling it over her eyes. “I hate it. Russia demanded us in the treaty. We could have had ri-rights and freedoms, but no, that goddamned Great Britain!” She made the sign of the evil eye and seemed ready to spit, but thought better in Erivan’s presence, seeing his eyes widen at her vehemence. “May all his colonies mine dust! He spoke up against it because Imperial Russia was gaining too much territory!”

“But that is the empire’s prerogative! They won the war,” Erivan replied incredulously. Was Great Britain allied with the Ottomans, trying to leverage their loss of land into a break-even situation?

“And then that father of your princeling agreed with him, but I could tell it had nothing to do with us,” she snarled. “He didn’t even let us speak on our own behalf. He glared at the Russian Empire the entire time they were discussing land concessions and control over the Black Sea. All they cared about was keeping Russia back. Nobody cared about what the Ottomans had done, not even when Bulgaria was sitting right next to me bandaged up.” She cupped her hands in her face. “Nothing’s going to change. I’ll never be with the others…”

Erivan touched his knuckles to hers. “This is only the first day of negotiations. The Empire will not take such hobbling terms without argument. They could be doing so right now,” he consoled her.

“You don’t understand. I live in a nightmare everyday with him. We’re censored. We’re monitored. We disappear. I thought they would take things seriously after they saw the wounds… We mean nothing to those colonizers, uncle. ” Armenia clutched Erivan’s hand with both of hers and her orange eyes met his. “We will meet the same fate as Bulgaria, locked inside a burning schoolhouse and left to die.”

Erivan’s eyes focused rigidly on the mortar lines in the wall. Every excruciating detail stood out: the gray ridges of the stone, the fine cracks, the faint claw marks. His pupils shrank to pinpoints. He stood there, shoulders shaking, but he stayed quiet. The weight of his grief sewed his lips together. When he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to register the atrocities he’d just heard, he saw Russian Armenia in flames, churning in an abyss of red.

“I will plead on your behalf. I’m sorry I don’t have the power to annex you myself,” he murmured.

Western Armenia pressed her forehead against his hand. “Bless you. Bless you,” she whispered.

“Did I not say that language is not permitted to be spoken?” an icy voice of malice echoed up the staircase. A shadow stretched ominously up the steps. Looking down over his shoulder, Erivan saw a blood-red hand splay on the stone. Whipping around, he spread his arms the width of the staircase. The Ottoman Empire mounted the steps with deliberate slowness, his smile cutting a second crescent into his face.

“T'urk'ahayastan,” he said in a sing-song voice, and Armenia shuddered against Erivan’s back. “I asked you a question. Answer it.” Erivan could not feel the compulsion, but he knew the geas over the small territory was being called upon.

Armenia stiffened as if dead, and her lips barely moved as she choked out, “You-You said it.”

“Your fate is being decided upon in the congress and you’re here? Go back!” Erivan growled.

“A little khanate like you thinks to roar at me? I defeated the Sassanid Persia before, and I won’t hesitate to do it again,” Ottoman Empire hissed through thin lips. He ran a forked tongue across his teeth, sneering even as he craned his head up at Erivan. The tension between them vibrated the air; they stared at each other for several seconds and suddenly daggers echoed loudly in the stairwell as metal clashed in between the two.

Armenia screamed, “Go to hell!” Crouching, she tried to duck low and crawl between their legs to escape. She kicked off the stairs, and the Ottoman Empire’s eyes flashed like an eagle’s. Erivan saw the empire’s shadow leap the full length of the staircase. Without warning, a second figure ascended from the floor and loomed over her, curling his green fingers. The Ottoman Empire he fought seemed to shrink a little but not his focus. Fiercely, he stomped on the hem of Armenia’s dress while his eyes bored into Erivan’s.

Erivan pressed the attack, smashing Ottoman’s dagger to the left against the wall. His foe dragged the edge of his weapon down the stone and then stabbed forward. Erivan narrowly parried. The two traded blows with their daggers, the sound of steel rattling through the whole stairwell.

Armenia reached back and forcefully tore her gown away from under the Ottoman’s heel. The doppleganger with the green crescent and star grabbed her shoulders. “I won’t go quietly, you goat!” she yelled, swinging her head forward into his forehead. She reeled at the collision against his skull, but retained enough breadth of mind to kick him away.

“Get the tsarevich! Now!” Erivan yelled in Armenian.

The red Ottoman twisted to yank her back, but his fingers swished through air. He snarled, “What blasphemous power did you give to that witch?” Despite his anger at Armenia, the Ottoman Empire maintained a cool high-speed pace, blows flying against Erivan’s assault. The green Ottoman leapt after the scrambling Armenia. “Useless fool! Get back here!” the red spat at his double. The instant the shadow joined the original, Ottoman’s hand swung out to clutch Erivan by the throat.

Erivan’s eyes widened. Quickly, he stabbed sideways, trying to pierce the offending wrist, but the Ottoman, no longer split, knocked his weapon away. The dagger clanged loudly on the stone step. In that moment of sudden fury, the empire abandoned his knife too and took Erivan by the throat with both hands. Erivan clutched Ottoman’s forearms, but before he could kick the empire in the stomach, Ottoman bashed the back of his head against the stone. All the lights went out. Erivan’s head lolled with a groan. Ottoman hit him again for good measure, holding him tightly to the wall.

“You filthy infidel. You thought you could beat me, an empire? How dare you approach my property and speak illicitly. You incite a rebellion and think I wouldn’t notice?” the Ottoman spoke unctuously against Erivan’s ear, keeping him upright despite his body slumping and slipping against blood trickling down the wall. The Ottoman’s rough thumbs pressed hard against his carotid artery and sensuously dragged the nails up to Erivan’s chin. “One man will not be missed,” the brute whispered. “One less of your kind in the world. You’ll lead me right to Russia’s pet if I annex you here and now.”

The Ottoman’s palm pressed flat against Erivan’s brow. Pain lanced through his forehead, knocking him out of his semi-conscious state with a sharp gasp. No! Nooo! Erivan’s limbs convulsed under the mental assault. Instead of the calm, self-assured manner in which the Russian Empire had annexed him, the Ottoman’s attempts were pure brute force.

“You… will… never… find… them…,” Erivan croaked.

“I will, eventually. I root out every rat from the shingles and floorboards. Beg, little rat, beg for your life,” Ottoman purred.

Erivan’s eyes rolled back into his head. Red bled from the Ottoman’s hand down Erivan’s face and chin, spilling over the cross and stones of his flag like spilled paint. It gathered along his long eyelashes and streamed down his cheeks like tears. It burned like acid, eating away not only at his face but his identity. He steeled himself with makeshift mental walls, trying to hide his memories and his language before the Turk drilled too deeply. Within the black void, he threw up his arms and built a glass sphere brick by brick, outpacing the long-armed red hand extending to his inner self. Without the seal in Russia’s possession, Ottoman could not compel him to yield, but the pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Erivan grasped his heritage tightly and wildly pulled every memory deeper, behind doors and curtains and orbs. He pushed all knowledge of his Armenia into the recesses of his mind. With trembling fingers, he pressed his attachments to Prince Matvey hard against his chest, lest the Ottoman use the memory against him somehow.

Before I fail in my duty, know that… know that I have loved… and my love is my revenge...

Erivan pulled the emotions welling from within and forced them against the walls of his glass sphere. Golden light shot up and down from his fingertips, and blue spilled and arced in every direction. Upon his face, the two colors formed stitches over the intrusive red, covering up where the Ottoman had besmirched.

“No!” the empire snarled. “Give it to me!”

Enraged, Ottoman threw Erivan to the ground where he crumpled down the staircase, his eyes lifeless and dull like cloudy amber. Ottoman stalked after him and straddled him at the foot of the stairs, fingers digging into his coat. He hauled Erivan’s dead weight with greedy hands.

“If I can’t have you, no one c--” A violent choking sound cut off the threat.

A set of black claws clapped firmly onto the top of Ottoman’s head. Blearily, Erivan stared past his attacker to the pitch-black creature looming tall as a tree. Its eye was a white boiling sun burning in an abyss of shadow. Erivan’s head spun, and his gaze refused to focus. Wings, maybe a pair or perhaps six, stretched ominously in all directions. The golden speckles and tinge on them seemed like eyes, all of them pointed down at the sinner bent over him.

“Deliver me from evil, O Lord,” Erivan whispered. His hand tremblingly lifted toward the divine creature, and suddenly he felt hot liquid spurt onto his fingers.

The angel with its thousand-and-one eyes and multitude of wings dug into the devil’s skull and tore backward as one would open a tin can of sardines. The red Ottoman spilled forward while the green double was peeled from his back and thrown aside. Ferocity incarnate stepped over the doppelganger sacrificed to save the original. Ottoman scrambled over Erivan’s body, kicking wildly in an attempt to run. With a hand as quick as a snake bite, those claws wrapped around Ottoman’s ankle and slammed him to the beautiful floor.

"In my own house… you dare steal from me…" A deadly deep voice resonated from behind the creature's bared fangs.

Military boots squeaked on the bloodied tile beside Erivan. His half-lidded eyes glimpsed sheepskin and bootlaces dripping blood, but the boots did not hesitate long beside him. They marched in slow excruciating precision into another room, the Ottoman being dragged behind him, breaking fingernails in his attempt to claw the doorframe and floor to kick away.

“Oh… Osmanen…,” the voice uttered, cold as the Baltic.

“I’ll tell them all you attacked me in cold blood!” the Ottoman hissed. “Unhand me!”

A guttural laugh. "No."

Ottoman's bloodshot eyes widened; he seemed to realize he was waist-deep in a riptide and being swept out to sea. "You! You would sacrifice your father’s advantages at the negotiating table for one piece of filth?!" he protested.

"FILTH?" With an eagle's scream of fury, a table with an expensive Peking vase was upended. Shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, and Ottoman was dragged through it, further into the room, which had become more of a monster's lair in that instant than a parlor. "Filth like you dares to lecture me? You should be groveling at my feet!" He briefly let the Ottoman go just to leap the distance between them and land hard on his back. His boots and all his weight crashed on Ottoman's spine. The empire choked on blood which forced itself from his throat.

“You have no power inside this house,” whispered the angel of death. "When I have scraped the last piece of red off your face…."

The door slammed shut mid-scream, and there was a loud thump within, followed by the mad pounding of hands and muffled pleas.

Wincing, Erivan reached out around him, grabbing for the wall or anything to stabilize himself. His hand planted firmly in the twitching green-skinned shade on the ground. He recoiled in horror. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying to focus, Erivan managed to wipe his hand on the gurgling Ottoman double's clothes. It was probably wishing it were dead. He crawled slowly away from it, back toward that awful staircase, and there he recovered his dagger. The Ottoman's weapon was also there but he left it where it was.

Erivan climbed to his feet, stumbling, dizzy from the blows he'd taken. Blood dribbled over his lips. His attempts at feeling rage just made his head spin. He slumped backward, palms flat against the wall as he tried to keep himself from falling.

Ahead, the long fanciful hallway swarmed with noise and multi-colored figures running toward him and the bloodied green Ottoman on the floor. It was all a blur. Then, he heard Prussia's thunderous voice quaking him. "What the hell is this?"

Erivan wet his lips as he tried to find the words to speak. "Annexed… us…," he managed, gesturing to the twitching doppelganger on the floor.

"Move!" the Russian Empire commanded everyone out of their way, and stomped past Prussia to approach their beaten khanate. "He lost our war and tries this?" The empire tried to keep their voice from trembling in rage but failed.

Erivan felt that strong palm cup his head and warmth poured through him. He let out a long ragged breath as the pain ebbed away.

"Annexing? In my own fucking house?!" Prussia erupted. A faint smile tilted Erivan's lips at how alike father and son were. "Where is he?" Prussia made a ripping gesture with his clenched claws.

The yells and crashing answered the king. Erivan, Russia, and Prussia all moved simultaneously toward the door. Despite being sluggish, Erivan got to the door before the two emperors, who had paused to glare at each other, neither one willing to yield a step before the other.

"Your Highness! Your parents have arrived," Erivan croaked behind the door.

Silence suddenly prevailed. The door cracked open slowly, and a shadow blockaded the gap. Erivan's eyes softened. "Your hair's come undone, my lord, and your hands are a mess," he gently chastised the prince. He reached up to smooth Matvey's hair back into place, which felt very much like petting a griffin that could turn aside and rip him asunder at any second.

"You're still alive…," the prince rasped.

"Thanks to you."

Lines slowly left the prince's face. Carefully, Erivan adjusted his large eyepatch, wiping away sweat and hair from under the black fabric. The door opened the rest of the way with a bloody handprint on the knob. Matvey loomed out of the frame as Erivan backed away in a bow to make way for his master. Prussia's eyes widened briefly before narrowing in a smirk. Russia looked livid as a bear, both at their cub's safety as well as the once-defeated threat that now laid on the floor in a pool of blood and ruined furniture.

"Someone remove him," Russia ordered, pointing imperiously at the two Ottomans.

"This. Is. My. House," Prussia bit through each word, incensed that the Russian Empire was giving the orders that had been on his very tongue.

Matvey grimaced at the two of them and pivoted away from this corner of the castle. Erivan glanced back at the crowd gathering around the corridor and stairs. He saw Armenia standing there looking at him, and the two placed their hands over their hearts. If she hadn't fought off the Ottoman's double and gone for Matvey, Erivan was sure he'd be worse off right now, perhaps even a Turkish puppet. He bowed his head gratefully.

"Come, Erivan," Matvey ordered, waiting three paces ahead.

Erivan hurried after him quickly. As he reached Matvey's right side, one of the prince's wings spread behind him, mostly shielding him from view. Matvey said nothing, but then again, nothing needed to be said. He sighed at the mess on his prince's face, claws, and boots. All of that… for him. The prince had risked it all for him. Erivan had no idea what political consequences this event would hold, but he could only hope the truth would reign.

ANNEX pt 3.

The prince shepherded him through the castle, up winding steps and through halls and doors Erivan had never seen before. He had never been to this wing, although he knew they were in the eastern tower. Matvey had him carry an enamel washbowl and jug all the way to the top. The prince fished an old brass key from around his neck and turned it with a groaning clank from the mechanism. The door was heavy oak and bore no decorations.

To his surprise, the prince silently motioned him in first, indicating the table for the washbowl. The heavy door creaked shut with a force that blew dust along the ground.

"Where are we?" Erivan asked, gazing around the large circular room. Sheets covered the furniture and portrait frames stacked carefully on one half of the room, tucked away in storage. By the tall window, however, stood a bookshelf, desk, and chair. A couch was at the window's left side. None of these were as dusty as the floor.

"It's a second study. Father taught me how to fly from that window," Matvey remarked.

"That sounds… paternal," Erivan replied with uncertainty.

"He walked on me gazing at Russia's full-length portrait." The prince tilted his head at the largest of the covered frames.

"Sounds like your father…"

Matvey loomed over Erivan's shoulder and studied his blue skin where it purpled from the bruises and aftermath of it all. He reached over and grabbed Erivan's chin, forcing him to face the prince.

"Tell me how he did this to you," Matvey growled with barely restrained rage.

Erivan caught a glimpse of raw concern behind the cracked mask of composure. "Western Armenia told me what Ottoman did to Bulgaria in the war. He overheard us using our language in the stairwell. Then… he attacked me, because I put myself between them."

"What were you thinking?" Matvey snapped.

The cinders in Erivan's eyes hit flashpoint. Bright gold engulfed his slit pupils, and he wheeled on Matvey. "Armenia means everything to me," Erivan bit back. "Before the war, a fragment was all I had, sleeping inside me." He pounded his chest. He stood his ground even as Matvey's wings began to swell on either side of him. "We will never be whole until all of the ancestral lands are returned. You, of all people, should know the depths of what I'll do to protect someone I love!" Erivan blurted out. Against his better judgment, he pointed in the prince's face. The finger curled back as he realized what he'd said and saw the furious lines on Matvey's face where blood was already drying. God, the Ottoman's attack had really rid him of his usual restraint, hadn't it?

Matvey snatched his wrist vehemently. The force staggered Erivan against the bookshelf. With his teeth two inches from Erivan's face, the prince snarled, "So you went derelict in your duties to chase after a remnant out of our jurisdiction?"

"I did." Erivan met his eye without flinching. "Execute me here and now for disobedience, sir." He tilted his head, baring his throat to those fangs.

Matvey's pupil shrank at the purplish-black handprints around Erivan's throat. "Save your reckless shit!" The prince lunged at the junction of Erivan's jaw and ear. He sank his teeth into skin, and his retainer jolted, gasping sharply and exhaling his name. The smell of blood made his thoughts swim. Erivan trembled in Matvey's clutches. "There. I've punished you," the prince snapped.

The pressure left Erivan's neck, and he cracked open his eyes to peer up at his master. He licked his tongue and watched Matvey's lips wistfully as the prince pulled away from the bite. Matvey caught his glance, and the two hesitated only for a second before crashing their lips together. Immediately, their pace became frantic, warm and metallic tongues seeking each other as their mouths opened. They groaned and growled into their mouths. Erivan nearly dared to cup Matvey's cheeks in his hands but thought better of it, digging his fingers into the prince's uniform instead.

Like a wild man, Matvey flung aside everything upon his desk and pushed Erivan down onto it, nipping his lips, pressing him down under the force of his kisses. He did not waste time with words. He crowded over Erivan possessively, claiming him tooth and nail. Erivan reached up, but before he could hold onto anything, Matvey pinned his wrists hard to the wood, growling against his mouth.

"You're mine! Don't you ever stray from me again."

Erivan's stomach leapt up to his chest at the barely-contained fury, hurt, and fear in Matvey's voice. "You have me, every piece. I was always yours. I was annexed to be yours. I follow your commands, my lord but I was created to protect those lands. Please…" He tried not to cry out or whimper in longing, but he felt the wave coming to shore, how Matvey would soon break over him and drag every grain of him back out to sea. The weight of him pulled a soft groan from Erivan's lips. "Please… forgive me for this conflict in my heart, Your Highness."

This encounter with Ottoman would not be the only one. There may very well come a time when Erivan would fail in his duties again. But they thought nothing of that now, not when Matvey bit his neck again and made his hips grind against the prince's thigh in lust. He struggled against his pinned wrists to meet him, drinking him in despite his bitten lips. Finally the prince let him go. Erivan surged against his chest the same way he met him in combat. He kissed his chin, his jaw, his heated black and white skin and every constellation of gold. The bloodrush made his head throb, yet he couldn't let Matvey go. Each kiss dragged him underwater, numbing his pain, making it hard for him to come up for air. Each fevered kiss was a claim on him in revenge for what Ottoman had done.

Heaving a breathy snarl, Matvey pulled off him, both of them panting heavily and gazing heatedly at each other. Erivan jerked his chin in the direction of the washbowl Matvey had made him carry up there in the first place.

"May I wash the taint off you?" Erivan asked reverently.

Matvey took a deep breath and pushed strands of hair back into place. "Yes," he said, finally calm again, and he allowed Erivan off the desk. With a sigh, he threw himself into the chair and held out his hands, waiting.

Erivan took the jug out of the ceramic washbasin first, setting everything on the desk prim and proper as befitting a prince's valet. With an unfurling snap of the handtowel, he folded it to use it better and dipped it into the jug of water. He turned toward Matvey and wiped his face slowly, meeting his gaze the entire time and finally, that trademark smirk began to split the prince's lips.

"You know, I was busy trying to keep conscious when you appeared. I thought I was hallucinating." Erivan leaned into Matvey's right ear, whispering rough gravel on his blind side, "A god descended and smote the devil. Let me worship you." He stroked the towel across the dried blood splatter. Kneeling before that hungry eye, Erivan placed both of Matvey's hands into the basin. He poured water over them, watching it turn rusty as he scrubbed the skin and under the sharp claws. While he knelt, he saw the absolute state of Matvey's boots, bloodstained and now dusty.

"I don't know if these can be salvaged. I still have your measurements from last time so I will make you a new pair," he reassured.

"No. Remeasure me. I will not tolerate an improper fit."

"Of course, sir." Erivan switched the hand towel around so that the dry side faced forward, and he wiped off his master's hands. "Perfect."

"Dump that mess out of the window before it stinks."

Pulling up the pane required more strength than Erivan expected. He yanked it until it screeched and sputtered through layers of dust, sending motes everywhere. Quickly he tossed the contents outside and forced the window back down again.

"If I may ask, my lord, why did we come up here?"

"We needed to be in the room furthest from the epicenter. You saw how my parents were acting," Matvey tsked. "Father has the only other key to this room but he won't go in here. Too many memories covered up." He waved dismissively at the sheets. "Besides, if I so much as smell that Ottoman's breath, I am liable to actually kill him this time." An icy eye fixed on Erivan. "Especially after he put his hands on what's mine."

Erivan sucked in a deep breath through his nose, closing golden eyes to keep from showing Matvey how much restraint it took not to get into the chair with him. He bowed his head, golden curls tumbling past his cheeks.

Matvey inhaled sharply and stood up, the chair scraping backward on the floor. "You need to be seen by a physician now."

Erivan tapped at his face and patted his sides for any stab wounds. "Am I bleeding somewhere?"

"The back of your head. Come on."

Matvey grabbed the front of Erivan's uniform remorselessly. Without any effort, the prince hauled him at the knees and lower back, flying off with him through the palace corridors and halls. The main routes were, of course, wide enough to accommodate their winged masters. Erivan stared wide-eyed, clinging helplessly to his shirt collar.

"At least you have the good sense not to scream," Matvey smirked. "Father told me Russia wailed the first time they were on the wing together."

"It takes a lot more than this to get me to scream," Erivan told him.

"Oh, I know." Matvey's lip curled knowingly, letting out a mischievous chuckle as he whisked his retainer away to be properly cared for.

#meta #countryhumans #countryhumans oc #erivan #matvey #matveri #writings #countryhumans russian empire #countryhumans prussia #countryhumans armenia #countryhumans ottoman empire

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stateofknowledge · 4 years ago

Text

I wrote this.

It’s “interestingly” formatted, it may not actually be good, but it’s mine. I wrote it with the intent to make it read like a comic book without actual dialogue, that’s the why for the formatting.

Also, there’s some not PG-13 stuff, so read at your own risk.

Two confident guys in their late 20s chat in the facility while suiting up for their biggest adventure yet. A soft voice from the speaker on the wall tells them to hurry up and get into the lab.

Everything is nice and calm. People are at a time of peace, adventuring whenever they feel like it, each day has a romantic beauty to it. – Peace.

The men arrive in the laboratory, where the main attraction stands - a machine to conquer time itself.

The people handling it

The two trained men step in, and it takes them 200 years into the future. The ride is thrilling, their adrenaline levels in the skies, nothing can stop them.

And they arrive into the future. A future that is not as nice and calm. It's a world after destruction, slowly rebuilding itself. On first sight, nothing is alive. But they don’t know that. They hope for the best. But it’s dark around them. - ?

The next moment, the strange, amorphous, black and purple blob engulfing the time machine starts shifting above them.

In a moment of silent tension, it grows a spike and stabs it through one of the traveler’s head. - ?!!

The head rots away in an instant, leaving a lifeless skull with gray skin. – What?!!

The other guy manages to jump out of the machine, as the blob opens up on a part after moving body mass into the spike, letting minimal light in from outside.

But there's no hope, the door is locked, and no key or swipe card to be found.

Then he glances back to see the spike has broken off of the main body, as the blob had no energy to maintain it.

The blob slides down from the glass and metal junk that is now the time machine, and shrinks to the size of a puddle on the ground, but the spike remains stuck. - Huh?

He goes back, and after a moment of loud silence, yanks the spike out of his friend's head.

Jamming his new weapon into the lock of the door, he leaves to search the room and after about 3 hours, the lock melts away, and the door slowly slides ajar. Under this time, he tries to contact the guys back in the past, but unfortunately, to no use.

He notices the light coming from the door while rummaging through the lab for anything. – Hm? Oh.

He then stuffs a lab coat full of small tools and a coffee brewer.

Before leaving, he stops at the door, looks back at the puddle, and thinks for a moment. - Wait.

He turns back, grabs a small plasma cutter, and tries it on the small blob.

The blob reacts aggressively to the heat, and after a couple seconds of being vengefully cut, it stops, leaving him to his thoughts.

The time traveler eventually makes his way out of the facility, avoiding same looking blobs in the process.

The site around the building is empty, aside from whatever garbage was left there. – Where now?

But there's hope, he knows the way into the outskirts of the city, he can make it before sunset.

FASTFORWARD 3-4 HOURS

He arrives into the outskirts. There's not a lot to look at. No life, no humanity, only what it left behind.

And something that moves and shifts like nothing he’s seen before. – Whats that?

That something looks to be made out of the spikes the blob grew Seems like it walks on all fours, but does so strangely.

The things detects the young adventurer, and turns towards him with ill intent.

It charges. Fast. – FUCK!

It leaves the asphalt of the road slightly melting with each long step it takes.

The traveler notices his gloves falling apart from touching the spike, and it starts to burn his hands. – Oh no!

He has to let go. But then he has no way to defend. – What now?

The beast is getting closer. Fast.

No time to think, run!

But there’s one quick thought, born from instinct: "Impale it."

The lone explorer leaps forward, dropping his collection of items, grabbing the spike with both hands, which are now in immense paint and are steaming acidic gas and blood. The beast leaps too, being confident in its ability to hunt.

The two meet mid-air, and the monster is pierced through the head and into its torso. Its slain. But at what cost? A couple of thorns from whatever this was made their way into his shoulder.

Standing next to the corpse of the horror that is the spiked beast, the loner looks at his hands, one hand burnt to the flesh, the other barely usable, and his shoulder in great pain.

The monster melts into a puddle, and starts shifting slowly. The horror movie protagonist runs back to the pile of tools stuffed in the lab coat, and grabs the same plasma cutter as before.

FASTWORWARD 1-2 HOURS

The traveler's going through the different aisles of a local drugstore, looking for bandages, painkillers, whatever can help. He stuffs the coat even more, which is now full of mechanic's tools, syringes and rags.

He puts some more bottles of pills in the plastic bags behind the counter, and goes on his way.

Exiting, he notices that plants started to grow onto the buildings, Mother Nature is taking over. – Maybe this is Her doing?

FASTFORWARD 1 YEAR

The time traveler sits at a table of a completely barricaded house, with his arm broken, his only incident the past year.

He's eating some canned food that's most likely expired. But his stomach can take it, it must, there's not much else.

FASTFORWARD 5 YEARS

There was a couple of encounters with similar life-forms, with similar outcomes as the first.

The time-traveler turned survival movie protagonist is now writing a diary, so as to not go totally mad. He writes down jokes that come to mind every once in a while alongside lists of things need to gather, and draws little 2 page cartoons for himself, mostly knock-offs of real cartoon characters.

Eventually he runs out of paper and empty notebooks. - What now?

The library! It's 3 streets from here, not too far.

On the way to getting books and paper, nothing really happens, but he is on the lookout. Any weird noise makes him more and more paranoid, even if he knows it's just the wind.

The library's main entrance is locked, and who knows where the key is. He goes around, looking for a window to break, and he finds one already in pieces. - Another burglar?

In the library, there isn't anything surprising other than the sheer number of books. There's a printer at the checkout desk, full of paper, and some pens scattered on the ground. – Exactly what I need.

The other burglar must've looked for something else. Maybe shelter for some time.

He picks the stuff up, puts them in one of his backpacks, and starts looking for some new books.

He goes upstairs, only to find something out of place: blood stains everywhere. – The burglar?

The dried spots of blood on the ground lead to a reading room, but looking back, it's weird how he didn't see it under the window coming in.

In front of the door, he can smell something that's unfamiliar, but at the back of his mind, knows what it is. It's the smell of death.

He opens the large, dark brown door, touching dry blood on the handle. The horrible smell is now unbearably strong.

And there it is. The burglar. But he's not alone. He has someone he must've been close to. That little someone is in rotten pieces, and the burglar's torso is pierced through by a familiar looking spike. And in his hand, there's something shining. A pistol, with 'that one bullet' now in the burglar's head. - I’m so sorry!

After gasping, putting his hand in front of his face, trying to be discreet, quickly turns back, exits the room and closes the door behind him.

With the smell now mostly gone, the adventurer clears his mind, or at least he thinks he does.

He goes around in the library, snatches some books off of the shelves, and fills his other backpack.

He finds a key to the entrance, broken into two pieces. – Useless. – Takes it anyway, it might be fixable.

FASTFORWARD 1 YEAR

One monster found in the last year, but there wasn’t a fight. The apocalypse series protagonist has learned how to avoid them.

He has also learned cooking plants found in the wild. The nearby forest is confirmed to be empty of monsters.

He’s making some fried mushroom with snake meat, there’s nothing else.

FASTFORWARD ~20 YEARS

The ex-time traveler turned 50 years old. Maybe. Maybe 49, or 52. Who knows. – who knows?

He’s starting to get a little weaker than he was, his legs are in pain every now and then.

In the last 20 years, he has fought off more of those monsters than he could count. There was an around 5 year period when 1-2 monsters showed up in town every month, sometimes more. But for the last 2 months, no monsters, and no fights. Maybe he fought off all of them? – i wish

He doesn’t completely feel his left arm and lower torso from all the damage from the acidic beasts. It’s starting to really take a toll on him. – fuck this.

But he has to go out again, to get food.

And as good as his luck has been, he encounters another one of them. Not equipped with anything, save for an empty backpack and a knife. He has become sloppy, and this is the punishment.

RUN!

There’s nothing else he can do. No weapon, no hiding spot nearby. – oh fuck.

He’s running as fast as a fit 50 year old can run, but that’s not enough. He doesn’t have what it takes to outrun the monster.

But he can think. Think fast like he did when he killed the first one. – come on, think!

But what? There’s no weapon in hand. – hand…

If it comes down to this, then so be it.

Punches will not do anything, but break his wrists and burn his knuckles while not hurting the monster. Can’t grapple either.

An old man fighting an otherworldly creature above his weight class is not an everyday sight, and not one the average old man would win.

In the span of 4 seconds, the tiger-sized beast gets closer and closer, almost reaching him At the last second he turns back, kicks it in the face, and both fall to the ground.

In a rush of adrenaline, the survivor jumps up, leaps next to the monster, picks it up, and smashes in on the ground as hard as he can. His hands now hurting more than ever before.

It turns into a puddle, just like the rest of them. But there’s no plasma cutter.

leave it!

no! bury it

no fucking leave it

His thoughts now start getting blurred. Panicking about what to do, he slowly backs away.

He has to go back home to treat his wounds, but then he has no time before dark to get food. – fuck

Whatever he does, the feeling of not doing the right thing, the fear of making another big mistake, like going anywhere without a weapon, is consuming him. He’s becoming more and more paranoid, as seconds go by.

FASTFORWARD ~20 YEARS

In the last two decades, he’s gone completely insane. His diary now full of random markings and lines of ink, that are incomprehensible, if they even have a meaning. Some pages burnt, some scattered around the house. -…

His left arm went totally numb, no control over it. His legs are giving up, and his back hurts. - enough

All activities are instinctual. Getting food, cooking it, nothing else really matters, not even if he dies. At least then he won’t have to do anything.

He hasn’t shaved in a long time. When he looks in the mirror all he sees is gray hair around two lost eyes. Then he remembers his first day in the future. Great depression overwhelms him every time. Then he forgets all of it as soon as he leaves the mirror.

He’s living in his little world he created. Nothing else exists outside, nothing he’s aware of at a given time exists.

In the last two decades he’s been slowly moving his stuff back to the facility. He often confuses his old room in the city with the lab he decorated.

At night he lies on the mattress and scratches the floor, as he thinks of nothing, and everything.

On one night, as he’s about to fall asleep, he suddenly hears voices. Human voices. – insane…

Then he hears faint ruffling and the sound of steps getting closer and closer. – insane…

Something touches his shoulder, and he quickly turns around, his heart rate jumping unhealthily high. - ?!!!!!

He sees the same suit he wore when arriving in the future almost 50 years ago. – crazy…

The helmet opens up, and a familiar face looks back at him. It’s one of the guys he trained with. He can’t believe it. There’s no way. Impossible.

The two newcomers seem to be older than how the survivor remembered. It’s strange. - ?

Over the next two weeks, they fix the time machine on this side of time, and finally get back where the new two came from.

When they get into the still untouched by monsters lab, the old survivor gets overwhelmed with fond memories. Then he remembers his lost friend. Everything’s quiet now.

The first thing he does is ask for a phone. This old man’s badly wounded hands are shaking as he’s handed a phone. - shit

He looks his family up on social media, only to find that he’s forgotten about. - ?!

He starts crying, tear drops fall on the profile picture of his now ex-wife on the phone’s screen, and since it’s sensitive, it opens the picture up. There they are, a happy family with some rando in his place, next to his daughter.

He quickly wipes the tear off the phone, but to no avail. One by one, tears drop down on the phone, covering the screen.

He’s been left behind. He went through all of that, only to become a blurry memory in the eyes of his family and friends. Only remembered by the people now standing around him.

He stops for a moment, thinks about what he could’ve done to avoid all of this. There’s no one to say sorry to him, and he has no one to say sorry to, but himself.

I’m sorry.

________________

So, i’m not good at writing dialogue, so I didn’t. The stuff in bold after at the end of some lines is something I imagined to be like thought boxes in comic books.

I also couldn’t think of any names, so there are only nameless people.

#writing #short_novel #what_tags_should_I_use?#whatever_these_ones_i_guess #is_there_a_typo?

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Shy Chapter 3

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - Paige goes to Tom’s for dinner and discussions, leading to more. (No Smut)

Tag, @wolfsmom1 @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

anyone else who wishes to be added to the tags, just ask :)

If Paige thought that Tom would delay in discussing the role, she was wrong, a mere forty-eight hours later, she was on his doorstep, holding a bottle of wine and wondering why she agreed to this.

She didn’t mind talking about her past with him, she was completely past Derek and his bullshit and when someone so dedicated to their work wanted assistance, she was only too happy to help. Sophie and Ben trusted him, he was Ben’s groomsmen, he had been in the Bridal Party, he seemed incredibly nice, someone that was no Bullshit and that was a person she was happy to be around. She loathed the pretentious and the pretenders, Tom seemed to just be Tom and Ben and Sophie seemed to confirm that too. Inhaling deeply, she knocked on the door and waited.

It was only a moment later she heard a peculiar sound behind the door of a small scratching noise before recalling Tom mentioning his beloved dog. Sure enough, the next noise was a bark before a muffled human voice before a blatant curse word and the door opening. “Paige, I am so sorry, I never heard you knock.” Were the first words out of Tom’s mouth. It was clear from the way he was standing, he was attempting to stop the dog from rushing out. “Are you alright with dogs? I didn’t think to put him in his crate.”

“I love dogs, actually. I just don’t have time for one with work and juggling everything.” She walked in and handed him the wine as Tom kissed her cheek politely before she turned to see an excited chocolate silky-haired dog in front of her. “How do you want me to act with him?” She asked, indicated to Bobby.

“Not until we are sorted and he has his butt on the floor,” Tom explained. “You’re actually one of the very few people to ask me. Usually, people play with him first.”

“I have been to too many homes to know never to assume what is acceptable in them.” Tom gave her a confused look. “When I write, I tend to go to the areas I am referencing and speak with the people in them, that has led to so many cups of tea in random living rooms when people realise you want to capture their world correctly. In that time, I have met countless pets also and have had everything from a snake chill on my shoulders, to cats hissing at me across the room, to cats not letting me get up as they sleep on me, dogs barking at me, jumping on me, sitting on me, humping my leg, that’s happened more than once, so you learn to check.”

Tom chortled at the experiences she had endured before looking at Bobby who was still smelling her with intrigue. “Well, this boy is fixed so hopefully no humping, it would be the first case for him if he did.” He explained. “Please, here, may I take your coat?”

“Thank you, though I am not sure if it will fit your shoulders.” She jested playfully as she followed him through the house. “Sorry, that was terrible.”

Tom felt more at ease every moment in her company. Paige was relaxed, everything she said was not forced or an attempt to impress. Her joke had literally just been something she thought funny and decided to share and he liked that, she truly was just being herself. “Actually, it is quite good, and yes, my frame is far bigger, it’s true. Please, make yourself comfortable, the food will be another ten minutes or so.” He indicated to the island worktop in the centre of his kitchen and the seats there as Bobby, deciding that Paige was not going to give him the attention he wanted, went to his crate and relaxed in his bed with the door open.

“Your home is incredibly beautiful. Did you have it designed recently, it seems new?”

“About a year ago,” Tom confirmed.

“You have impeccable taste, Mr Hiddleston,” Paige commended as he poured them both a glass of wine. “Now, tell me, what are the plans for this evening? What is the itinerary?”

Tom had to laugh at her efficiency. Sophie and Ben had mentioned more than once of Paige’s need for organisation. “Well, I was thinking about some relaxed chatting now and whilst we eat, and after that, we discuss how I can improve the character by adding to it, if that is alright with you?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Paige raised her glass. “I have to say, whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

“It’s Duck a l’orange.” Tom gave a proud smile as he recalled her comment to Sophie at the wedding about how she loved the duck and Sophie had stated they had thought of her specifically when it was an option for the menu.

“I...That’s terribly fancy.”

“Well, considering how I am hoping you can assist me with this very particular request, it is the very least I can do.” Tom kept his tone casual, not wanting to speak too much of the matter pre-dinner, so he decided to keep things light. “What is your next book about, may I ask?”

“I was actually thinking about that very topic today. At this moment, I am unsure, I am terribly worn from the film and everything related to the last book. I suppose I wait and see if it is to standard then get into talks about another again. I was told I am being requested for another tour.” She sounded more bored than anything at the idea. “I hate that side of things. I love meeting people, talking to them about what they thought of my work, but the travelling…”

“Preaching to the choir, I fear.” Tom nodded. “What is the tour about?”

“Why, are you trying to fall asleep?”

“I have read all your work actually. I went to Fiji a few years ago and I brought one as my relaxing read, long story short, my vacation was reading that and ordering the next one online and wanting to go home and get it. You are incredibly talented.”

“You are too kind, sir.”

Tom smiled again at her tone. He could see clearly why Ben had embraced her more than a few of Sophie’s other friends. “Now, I better get this food plated.”

“How can I assist?”

“You are my guest, please, stay seated and relax.” Tom urged. He walked around and did as required to get them their food. In that time, Bobby came over to see if Paige would give him some attention. She got off her stool and knelt down to scratch his ear as Tom watched. “Be careful, he’ll be begging for that for the rest of this evening.”

“It’s fine. We had a golden one when I was growing up. They’re a great breed.”

A few moments later, the food was on the table and the pair discussed some more light topics.

“So, how long have you known Sophie?”

“She was involved in some drama work with Oxford after her graduation. A few of the alumni were there and she was of course, more a fan of running things, I was the scriptwriter, so she came and spoke with me and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“You studied in Oxford?”

“I did, how I got in, I am still trying to ascertain but yes, I did. You?”

“Cambridge.”

“Ah, rivals.” She smiled.

“Don’t hold it against me.”

“I’ll try not to, no promises.”

Tom could not help but smile, enjoying the playful manner in which Paige acted, though it was clear she was not being flirtatious, it was the same manner she had when they were at the Cumberbatch’s, funny and relaxed.

After the meal, and compliments on such by Paige, Tom made a pot of tea and the pair made their way to his living area to discuss the matter at hand.

“I truly appreciate you doing this. I keep telling myself that I should never have even asked such an absurd thing of you but clearly, by your demeanour, I feel as though you would give the bluntest and most honest answers and you are by no means still hurting from the situation.”

“That, I am most certainly not.” Paige concurred.

“I also feel you would simply tell me to 'Fuck myself' if I was out of line.”

“I feel like you actually know me some bit.” Paige nodded. “So, Mr Hiddleston, how can I assist.”

“Well, as you know from reading the play, you know it goes in reverse chronological order. We start with Robert knowing about Emma and Jerry’s affair and work backwards. His confrontation with them.”

“Yes.” Paige nodded. “I can tell you a lot of the emotions, but I have to admit, I ended it the moment it happened or very close to it. I suppose the best I can do is tell you what happened to me and we see how we can assist your characterisation of Robert with it?”

“Yes, that could work.” Tom was unsure how to deal with being told this woman’s story, but she seemed more confident about it than he would probably be, so he let her call how it would take place. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

“Well, let’s see.” She sat back. “I came home from a hellish two weeks dealing with the movie, the final book was due to be published during filming so they needed the ending from that to complete the story, so I was there discussing that. Derek, my ex, was a man that worked odd hours, so I was not too shocked to see that there was little sign of him there when I arrived back. I didn’t give exact dates for my return, just a general few days, merely that I would be home for a party we were due to go to a fortnight later, a month after my leaving. So I arrive in, I am hungry, so I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave, I think nothing of it all really. I went to get a wine glass and realised two were missing. I looked into my dining area to find them, one with lipstick and two sets of plates looking at me, as well as a beautiful coat I myself had admired from A/Wear not long before, I made a decision to buy it on my return actually whilst I was away.” She explained. “I became almost numb. But before that, I felt this horrible sensation, as though a heavy weight dropped in my stomach. My heart pounded in my chest, it was almost like my ‘fight or flight’ had activated. But then the numbness came, it only lasted a few minutes, my hunger was forgotten. I could not even hear the microwave any longer. Anger ensued. You know, you think about all the effort you put into something. The sacrifices you willing made, you accepted them because you were so sure you were doing that for a good reason, you know? I gave up a lot for Derek but I did it because I was so sure it was for the right reasons. I had actually planned on taking more time between books, but he needed to finish college and we had plans that as soon as he did, he would work in his field and I would take time from writing to have children but as he would only be starting his career, his pay would be less than the cost of living in London, so we needed a good nest egg for that, that is where my working my ass off came in. I sacrificed going to my brother’s graduation, he went to Yale for his Masters, I was due to go but I said no, I was on a roll with the book and knew that would not have a deadline that would guarantee us more money for when I needed it to come. So I did it and I lost out for it. Derek’s actions...they showed me how much I invested in it and he just obliterated them, like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I could not imagine.” Tom shook his head. “I loved my girlfriend from when I was becoming famous but it was becoming strenuous, so after talking, as much as it hurt, we decided we were on different roads and bade farewell to everything.”

“That is a level of maturity I can only commend you for. It hurt you, yes, but there were no lies, no deceit, you were honest with yourselves and one another,” Paige raised her teacup as though toasting him. “I waited, downstairs, I could hear them upstairs but I waited. I don’t think I could have handled going up there and seeing the act of betrayal in itself, so for a short time, I thought over the action. She was not a friend of mine as Jerry was Robert’s in the play but at that moment, I did not know that and it didn’t matter as much as the man who asked me to marry him to do such a thing. Anger and sadness grew in the time I sat there, I thought of the situation, my options, I even thought it was my fault, that I had my part in it. I was so busy, did he feel unloved, maybe if we talked it through, we could move forward, I would be a better partner...that died a quick death, the “needy” part of me thought that; the part that was trying to hold onto the love and work I put it. The logical part was already planning what new bed to buy and how I would get back some of the money I had paid for the wedding.”

“That is not a pleasant feeling.”

“It was not. I decided I needed tea, so I made some and waited. She came downstairs, he told her I was his sister. She had seen pictures of me with him and his brother, some with just him and I and made up that I was his sister. So anything female in the house was actually mine but you know, it was only because his sister left stuff there.”

“That was ingenuitive,” Tom scoffed. “What about your personal attire like underwear?”

“He relocated the majority of my clothes to the spare room, I found that out when I went upstairs again after. He had been seeing her for eight months, his ‘night shifts’ were not night shifts, he admitted. I lay in my bed thinking that he was working, instead, he had a whole other relationship with this woman. She was as shocked as I was, though they were only eight months to my three and a half years of investment in the farce. He admitted she was not the first either.”

“I am so sorry he did that to you.”

“I will say to you what I did to her, you owe me no apologies, the man that owed me one never gave it.” Paige gave a sad smile. “So, I told him to pack his things and leave. I spoke with his little play toy while he did. She felt so terrible, I felt sorry for her.”

“You didn’t blame her?”

“How was it her fault?”

“So many would, she was the other woman.”

“She thought she was the only woman, she didn’t know, she was hurt too. In the long run, she was hurt far worse than I was. Unlike Robert and Emma, Derek and I did not have children. I was not forced to have this permanent connection to him. Nicola and I spoke afterwards, I dropped her back to her home. She and I spoke more, I think we looked to each other somewhat to heal from the shared experience. We knew the pain the other was experiencing. But after four weeks, she came to me and cried. I thought at first, since she mentioned his name, that Derek had come to her and she made a terrible decision and slept with him again in her loneliness but no, through the cries, she told me. She was pregnant, and it was Derek’s. The friend who’s daughter was sick I went to help the other night? That was Nicola and her daughter Alannah. Derek’s daughter. She told him and he said that babies were not something he wanted, that it would get in the way of his study and that he didn’t want to have to “fork out” for his child.” That was the only time in her retelling her experience that Paige gave off even a hint of anger. “She is battling him for maintenance now, he tried to sue me for not paying any more of his fees, he failed, needless to say, but he is making life hard for Nicola. I help however I can, she is just a single mum that suffered two bad low blows and it’s not hers or Alannah’s faults. Most people, Sophie and Ben included, cannot understand how I do it. But I cannot leave them to suffer his actions.”

“You are bonded by the experience, you said that yourself. Nicola knows exactly how you feel and that is understandable, but as I stated, many would feel anger and resentment for her part and that is understandable too.” Tom explained.

“Yes, I know it’s not the usual approach,” Paige acknowledged. “So, how can we use my shitfest of a relationship to assist you?”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Yes, a few times, mostly to do with the legal stuff. He had the audacity to try and ‘make it easier’ for me by taking me to the side to just offer me the chance to just pay it and be done with it and not risk my name. I felt anger but mostly insulted. I mean, it was a huge slap in the face. He put the blame for his cheating firmly on me. I was too boring, the sex was boring, my interests were too boring, he needed more and yet, as, with the relationship, he was there for the money.”

“That really is a slap in the face.” Tom agreed. “That also surely causes long term effects in you, trust wise?”

“Probably. Everything we do, however mundane, affects us in some manner.” Paige agreed. “No doubt it would affect the character of Robert also.”

“You’re right, it would. Can I ask for more details on the emotions you had, if not, I understand.”

“What more do you want to know?”

It was close to midnight when they ceased talking. Tom asked specific questions relevant to the role but from time to time they got sidetracked by interesting things they were learning about one another also.

When Tom looked at his watch, he cursed. “I am so sorry to have kept you this long.”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t mind. I have stayed up far later.” Paige brought her teacup to the sink. “I will ring a cab and be home quick enough.”

“Good, I will be back to you in a moment.” Tom smiled before going up the stairs to the bathroom.

Paige took out her phone and went to ring the cab company. Her call was immediately rendered obsolete after the cab office asked one question, ‘Postcode.’ She swore and told them she would ring back in a moment. She had grabbed a cab in the street to get to Tom’s and gave the address, booking one was slightly more strict and she had no idea of the postcode so she decided to check with Tom on his return to the living room and try again. As she waited, she looked at the different titles that graced his bookshelf. When she sensed his presence in the room again, she smiled. “You have the most eclectic variety of books I have ever seen outside of my own.”

“I am not sure if that is a compliment or an insult.” Tom jested, having seen throughout the evening that Paige had that sort of sense of humour.

“Nor do I,” She laughed. “I forgot to ask your postcode, the cab company need it.”

“Of course, how silly of me.” Tom self-scolded before looking at her and biting his lip. through the evening, he had become somewhat aroused by her alluring personality. “If I may be so bold…?” He hoped she would not reject him, but prepared for if she did.

Her brow furrowed as he leant forward, realising that he was seeking permission to kiss her. A moment later, without really considering she pressed her lips to his and allowed herself to ignore her thoughts on why it was not a good idea.

Tom, between fevored kisses, led them up the stairs and to his room. He had thought nothing of the consequences of these actions, like Paige, he was caught up in the moment as they both pulled the other’s clothes off until they were on the bed in only their underwear, neither fully sure how they got there.

For a moment, Paige’s thoughts went to Derek’s comments of her lack of ability in bed, she felt herself become self-conscious but as Tom rubbed against her in a manner that caused her to gasp and lean into his touch, she thought of the severe lack of intimacy she had since Derek and allowed herself to enjoy his attention. When she started to enjoy herself and reciprocate on Tom’s actions, he moaned lustfully, Paige could not help but think that perhaps the issue had not been her.

#tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #Once Bitten Twice Shy #chapter 2

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michams · 5 years ago

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VIXX “Scentist” analysis based on “Perfume”, by P. Suskind PART I - The MV (2/2)

“Scentist” is definitely one of my favorite songs/ music videos/ concepts in kpop so last year, when I got to know it was based on a book, I went after and read it. Since then I’ve been wanting to share an analysis focused on more direct references to Suskind’s story.

* This is the continuation of a two part analysis of Vixx’s “Scentist” MV; you can find the first part here. *

THIRD PART The third part is about the period Grenouille spends in Grasse – pretty much a capital of the aroma’s industry. Going over to the residential area, his attention was for some reason caught by one of the houses. He realizes it was a scent extremely similar to the one he smelled that night in Paris, but not the same. It was even better this time. The girl was a child and he knew that in 2 years she would have completely matured. This time he wished to properly extract and take this scent for himself. He had to expand his knowledge and technique, as he waited for the blossoming.

[Image 26 - 1:37 min] I think by now we can work with the concept of Grenouille’s more sophisticated way of dealing with smell and creating fragrances inside himself. The way I see it, here we can divide the scene in some parts: first, on the right, Hongbin and Hyuk would be in charge of the experimenting; at the center, where N, Ravi and Ken stand, would be the storage for the smells (also previously described as a “beverage cellar”) and on the left side, Leo would be responsible for the “special” creations (the harmonization).

Grenouille is hired at an atelier. He is taught a very efficient process of extraction. He gained more and more experience, and stayed all day long in the laboratory making experiments. He creates more “humane perfumes” for different occasions. Once again, he tries capturing the objects aromas (rock, metal, glass, wood…) and soon begins experimenting with living beings.

[Image 27 - 0:57 sec] [Image 28 - 1:52 min] [Image 29 - 0:54 sec] [Image 30 - 1:56] Grenouille catches some animals to test if he can extract their odors. Here N and Hongbin illustrate those experiments – the book doesn’t specify any lizard or snake, though.

After a year had passed, one night he is taken by the fear of losing the scent; despite some hesitation, he plans to make a base of other aromas to help in conserving hers. This is when the murders start taking place. Every week the citizens would find a girl; all of them followed a similar pattern. Even when taking measures he couldn’t be stopped.

Laure Richis was the girl whose scent Grenouille wants. Even after her father’s attempt of taking her away secretly, he follows their trace. He manages to get inside her room, to kill her and extract the scent.

“He didn’t even once look at the girl’s face; her material existence wasn’t important to him, it was only the Laure in form of scent that existed, as a perfect smell.”

[Image 31 - 0:35 sec] [Image 32 - 2:09 min] The bags containing roses actually represent each one of the girls Grenouille kills when he is in Grasse. Red roses are associated to beauty and perfection and, most popularly, to profound love. In the book, he specifically says he wants to capture the special fragrances from people, those that inspired love.

[Image 33 - 2:49 min] [Image 34 - 3:03 min] In total, he makes 25 victims, considering the last one, Laure, the special scent he had as a goal. As I pointed out in yellow, there are around 20 bags hanging in the MV.

After some investigation the police gets to Grenouille. He is arrested and sentenced to death. He arrived in the police carriage at the square; it was the first time someone to be executed came in such class. He was finely dressed and looked like a free man. By this moment he had already applied the perfume. Suddenly, all those people believed he wasn’t guilty and loved him. They all fell on their knees. An utter state of hysteria took place; everywhere the citizens where filled with admiration and intense desire.

[Image 35 - 2:38 min] [Image 36 - 2:42 min] I associate this other scene involving a car with Grenouille arrival to the execution venue. Grenouille uses of the effect of the perfume to get taken there by carriage. Hongbin's angle to the camera in the first scene also conveys the idea of power over the viewer. In the book he stands by the door for several minutes and also wears a long blue coat.

[Image 37 - 2:11 min] [Image 38 - 2:13 min] This could be a representation of the perfume taking over the crowd like a gas bomb in the same scenario. However Grenouille is immune to it, as Ravi shows by wearing the protection mask.

At first, he thought he had achieved his goal, but he couldn’t feel any joy from that. Again he was disgusted by those people. He understood that love wouldn’t make him blissful. However, the more he hated them, the more they loved him, as they saw him through his divine aromatic mask. Again the mist filled him, like his dream in the cave; but this time the real world was the dream, and there was no place where to escape.

[Image 39 - 1:17 min] I believe this represents the boy’s realization at the square. Now the mist originates from the car that, according to the previous association, is connected to the place where Greouille feels suffocated by it for the second time.

After passing out and being aided by the girl’s father himself, he goes away.

* * * FOURTH PART Grenouille walked at night again. Feeling the bottle in his pocket, he reflects on how he had power enough to dominate the world if he wanted. But he didn’t know who he was if he couldn’t smell himself; everything else was insignificant. In the end, he was the only one able to be fascinated and not controlled by the perfume. He gets to Paris in a day as hot as the day of his birth. At night, near by a fire where some people gathered, he sprays all of his body with the rest of the liquid.

* * * Other commentaries: The MV was a really interesting interpretation of the story. Definitively, it fit Vixx’s dark concepts perfectly, which I’m not sure if it’s that clear by watching it out of context.

I like how throughout the video they work with blue and red, which mixed result in purple – the color Grenouille’s castle is described as. I also thought it was interesting how they introduced music to the story (mainly related to those scenes of Leo by the piano); I feel like the book doesn’t do any kind of comparision to other senses, specially because the important point is exactly the main character’s special way of interacting with the world.

There were also some things that made me confused and I decided to keep them out of the list, such as:

[Image 40 - 0:39 sec] - That tool the boys look through. Although I used a similar scene before, I was really curious to know the real meaning of this.

[Image 41 - 2:02 min]- The boy feeling divided (?). I considered this would be associated to Grenouille’s feelings – hate and the wish to be loved at the same time.

[Image 42 and 43 - 2:55 min] - The gun. I thought that was a representation of the character’s indifference to the fact that he had to kill his victims; the book literally says that didn’t matter to him. The first one would be the younger Grenouille experiencing that for the first time as a way of getting to the scent, and then the older version of himself actively killing the girls to make the perfume.

Concluding… Again, this is a great concept and a great book. Make sure to support Vixx and the author’s work the way you can.

I plan on continuing with this and analyze the other promotions related to “EAU de VIXX”, so please wait for it!

Thank you for reading this!

References used: - Book: Perfume, the story of a murderer; by P. Suskind (2007 ed., Editora Record). - 빅스(VIXX) - '향 (Scentist)' Official M/V (YouTube). - Film: Perfume, the story of a murderer (2006).

#빅스 #vixx #scentist #eaudevixx #kpop #analysis

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mooleche · 5 years ago

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A Tale of Ink and Venom

A/N - All I gotta say is I’m so sorry to mobile users for this lmao This is a long chapter so I’m posting it at 4AM to try and save people from it’s length.

If you’d like to be tagged for the upcoming chapters lemme know!

Also another big thank you to @leo-writer for reading beforehand. I super, super appreciate it and appreciate YOU!

Chapter Two: Heart to Heart

“No no no, I’m so late!”

I shot out of my room like a bat out of hell, a jumble of keys in one hand and helmet in the other as I took to the morning bustle of the college sidewalks. Outside the scenery was a mixture of many things; remnants of winter slush that spring was finally beginning squash with a faint warm breeze. Not to mention the familiar scent of Brooklynn streets containing the disappointing waft of piss and alcohol it was so well known for. Or maybe I had just grown used to it in the year I had been here.

I stopped abruptly at a covered up bundle and ripped the cover off hastily to reveal a shiny black Vespa beneath and beamed. Her name was Queen of the Night, Queenie for short, and what she lacked in speed she made up for in aesthetic. She was the last thing my parents had gifted me before I had started college. A way for them to feel at ease about me being on my own, or so they said. I think they just didn’t want me to use door dash on every little thing I needed at all hours of the night. Regardless, she was my pride, my joy, and I was finally able to ride her again after the harsh winter months had kept us separated for so long.

My thoughts wandered as I got my belongings situated to head to work. About Bambi’s words, the news article, but also the strange group text Bambi’s sister had sent out as I had left:

‘There’s a big bad out. Stay safe.’

I wish I could say that wasn’t a normal occurrence for her, but Benni Banks had a knack of sending things just ominous enough to make you extremely suspicious of whatever she was saying. The only thing more suspicious was when she would walk with a startling pace out of our dorm with laptop in arms saying ‘This is fine, this is absolutely fine ’ on repeat. If you knew Benni like we did that usually meant one of her cockamamie hacking attempts had backfired and things were certainly not fine. Despite this, we loved her, even down to the cryptic warnings she sent us while submitting to her insomnia sleeping habits that left us more curious than cautious.

A villain like that could have meant anything. Hell, we had just seen Lizardman take on the town before he stopped on his own accord. A malfunction with the machine he used to keep himself human, or something to that degree. And not a single hero came to help during that situation. I slumped forward at a red light and sighed. Despite New York being a hot zone for superheroes and villains alike, it was apparent that the villains were just becoming too much for them to handle. But that was something I couldn’t begin to think about, because I had arrived to work and there were more pressing matters at hand.

Like how I was about to be reamed for being 20 minutes late.

I stopped in front of an ordinary-looking business building not far off from the campus itself and removed my helmet. My hair fell in loose lazy curls around my face as the braid I had made was all but destroyed. Flecks of blue and black melded over my face as I tried to hastily tie it back into its original style, but failed miserably. Giving up I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets, listening to the leather of my gloves squeak with discomfort before fishing out a flashy looking access card for the entrance. On one hand, I didn't know why I or anyone else needed one of these. Most of the sections inside of the building were offices doing god knows what. On the other hand, the lower levels were a different story entirely. I waited 3 seconds for the light to flash green before I stepped in, immediately greeted by a security guard I knew simply as Barry who nodded curtly to me as I took to the steps nearby.

“A little late today, Miss Knight,” I heard him chuckle, fading away as I entered the basement. This was where all of the action happened, a steady hum of electronics and murmurs of people lost in conversations of studies they were working on. Some made brief pleasantries with me as I zipped through the small groups of lab coats huddling to discuss, while others seemed to eye me with disapproval.

They didn’t matter though. The only person that mattered currently stood hunched over one of many counters in his lab as I watched from the glass window that separated us. I pressed my face against the glass to try to get his attention but he ignored me, making my nerves rise as I stepped within the sliding doors and opened my mouth to apologize.

“You’re late, Knight,”

I closed my mouth and puffed my cheeks out. He always had a knack of catching me off guard.

His name was Professor H. D. Renato, a man who I suspect would not reveal his initials to anyone until he was on his death bed. Even then that was being generous. He was a man of science and cleanliness, and the two coincided together nicely in his lab that he kept in pristine shape. It was ordinary for the most part. No colorful beakers, no boiling concoctions of evil ooze to take over the world with. Just a man with incredible dreads hunched over his desk studying something intensely.

I don’t know how our strange relationship came to be, especially when our first encounter involved him walking in on me attempting to delete student debts with my powers. I was lucky enough at the time that despite the criminal act I was committing he was intrigued by my mutation and wanted to work with me on the promise that I never try a stunt like that again. I was even luckier that I had somehow gotten a job out of it instead of making a call to my parents from the Deans office explaining how I got kicked out of college for trying to show up Robin Hood.

He now turned as if sensing me studying him and folded his arms, dark eyes studying me back with amusement.

“What’s your excuse this time then?”

“Would you believe traffic?”

“I would not,”

“How about saving kids from a burning building?”

“Try again,”

“Fine,” I rolled my eyes, setting my bag down on one of the empty tables taking up the majority of the room. “I got side-tracked talking to the girls,” I admitted before joining him behind his desk to get a glimpse of what his attention had been so caught up on. “Seems I’m not the only one distracted today though, huh?”

“You know me, I always have to see what fresh hell is destroying Brooklynn,” he muttered before turning the laptop to me. “You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?”

“Oh, no. Benni mentioned it before I got here but...” I whispered as I joined him in looking at the screen. The shots of whoever, or whatever it was were blurry. Though, it wasn’t hard to see the giant black humanoid looking creature completely demolishing a group of police vehicles like they were children's toys before the reporter I had seen so many times appeared on the screen. She had the same tense face on as always. Not that I could blame her, I’d look the same way if I were placed in a somewhat dangerous situation like this. And yet, she spoke in a strangely calm tone to give what little information she had on the matter:

" ...suspect is assumed to be a high-level threat that was one of few said to be lost in the recent events of the Ice Box criminal transfer after destruction hit- "

"Hang on, that was months ago. They still haven't found the convicts that escaped?" I asked in surprise. He shook his head in response.

"Apparently not. The majority were assumed dead at the scene of the crime but…” he motioned to the screen again as we watched another brief blurry clip of the creature climb onto one of the surrounding buildings as heavily armored police got involved.

I whistled in response.

“I really don’t think you should go out on deliveries today, Nina…” he admitted after a short pause as he turned to me, folding his arms like he always did when faced with a tough subject. I could only roll my eyes in response.

“Don’t think I’m capable of holding my own?”

“Really? You’re asking me this in a ‘Hangover Hoodie’?”

“Huh?” I asked with a confused frown but realized all too quickly what he was talking about. In my hurry to leave this morning I had shoved a blind hand into my wardrobe and picked out whatever hoodie I could find. Renato now stared at me with disappointed disapproval and sighed. It was no wonder his peers looked at me how they did now.

“I have always had the utmost faith in you, it’s your health I’m concerned about. You know this,”

“How could I forget when that’s all anyone ever talks about?” I answered shortly, watching his expression quickly fade to guilt. I knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, after all, it wasn’t his fault that my body was the frail shell of what it used to be. Like I said, I tried the vigilante lifestyle once. It hit me harder than what I was ready for and now I paid the price.

The result left me unable to use my powers without intense strain on my body, and a group of family and friends treating me like I was made of glass as a result.

He hovered his hand over my shoulder before reluctantly pulling back. Renato might have been a genius but his social cues were lacking in the compassion department. Or any social department in general for that matter. Instead, he did what he did every time there was an awkward situation and began furiously cleaning his glasses that had been sitting neatly on top of his head.

“I just...you know I worry. And with your parent's trusting me-”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. But also, I’m almost 24, dude. Avoir une certaine foi,” I added with an innocent smile. He was not so taken with it

“You know I don’t speak French,”

“Have some faith,”

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to be the one to deliver the news if something happens,” he responded shortly, striking my own guilt in response. Renato, despite his eagerness to take me under his wing, was still a cautious man. So cautious in fact that he had contacted my parents before solidifying his offer to work with me. They weren’t bad people, probably the farthest thing from that, they were just so overprotective. I couldn’t blame them after the chaotic introduction into parenthood I had given them, especially after being the first mutant in our family. There was just a point where it was too much.

There was a heavy silence between us as we both struggled to find something to say before he sighed and directed my gaze to the packages resting beside the counter.

“Alright, I’m trusting you with this, Nina. You’re lucky we have such a backlog to get through otherwise-”

“Otherwise you wouldn’t allow this, yes I know,” I called as I carefully scooped the boxes up and inspected them curiously as if the blank outer packaging would reveal their secrets.

They did not.

“Be careful with those. I put fragile on there for a reason,” he added as he tapped the large black font with a stern look. As part of his side job he was always cooking up interesting concoctions for his clients, considered the mutant savant by many because of how serious he was to learn how to help us function in everyday society. I had never seen a regular human so dedicated to helping our cause and I wasn’t about to make him regret hiring me to help with it.

Especially when it meant one day he could help me be myself again.

I scoffed at his words and tiptoed carefully to the exit to avoid more of his harping while I could. “I got it, I got it. Shoot me the addresses?”

“Already in your phone, make sure you get all of the signatures this time, Knight.”

“Yes, dad,” I mocked before shuffling out of the lab, careful to avoid any collisions with anyone out in the hall. Barry held the door open for me like he did every time I came up packed to the gills with boxes and we shared our usual polite nod to one another.

Ten frustrating minutes of getting everything bundled up tight on Queenie and I was finally off to do the real work of the day.

Being a courier was a fairly easy job. Renato excelled in helping mutants with noticeable mutations by creating temporary serums and little do-dads to aid in his search of making us feel more welcomed in society. Since the clients themselves didn’t usually want to be seen by people other than their kind it was often a quick in and out job. The hardest part was getting to them. Renato may have been science savvy but where he excelled in knowledge he lacked in direction, and it made me ever so thankful for GPS as I rounded the same corner I had been through multiple times in the last 15 minutes.

Thank god these weren’t timed deliveries.

Most of the stops weren’t an issue, usually consisting of an out of the ordinary mutant that just needed some basic supplies. My favorite was a man with red skin and facial hair that rivaled Jack Sparrows. He was charming and straight to the point, and yet his tips were always more than accommodating. His name started with an A but the scribbled signature never revealed the rest.

Others however were... strange. Some left specific instructions in order for me to get confirmation signatures; knock two times on the door to wait for someone to knock back, more than a few required me to face the other way so I couldn’t see them but when I looked back the papers were signed, sometimes tip attached, sometimes other odds and ends. I once received a large quill-like spike as a tip for my efforts. It still sat on my desk to this day.

Before I knew it my final client had come and I rode lazily in the familiar streets of Brooklyn to find the location. His was always my favorite to go to, settled in a small suburb area with people that always seemed to be out and enjoying life without a care in the world. I parked in a vacant area up the street and started towards a cozy-looking home that had seen better days. Not that it was in bad shape, it was just old and in need of some serious case of TLC that its owner was unable to give.

I stopped at the sun stained red door and rang the buzzer once.

No response.

Twice.

Nothing.

“Mr. Lee?” I called, pressing my ear against the door to hear if he was making his way to answer. I was greeted with silence.

I began a hail mary of mashing the buzzer in a last desperate attempt until a soft chuckle interrupted me and I turned. An older man in dark shades sat at a bench nearby and waved to me, beckoning me towards him and I followed.

"Hey! Buongiorno!" he called merrily from his peaceful-looking seat and I laughed softly.

"That's Italian, Mr. Lee. But bonus points for trying,"

"Ah, can't win 'em all I suppose." he chuckled before patting the seat next to him and I obliged, holding his delivery patiently in hand before he smiled warmly and stared forward.

"Relax a little, something on your mind, kiddo? You seem tense!"

Mr. Lee always had a knack for sensing these types of things. He was one of Renato's oldest clients, and he wasn't even a mutant. Renato just enjoyed this old man's zest for life so much that he helped him with simple tasks and now the occasional french tutoring on the side that I gave him during my trips.

"Ah, no. I mean, kind of..."

"Go on then, I've got some time," he chuckled as he nudged me playfully.

I sighed sheepishly in response. I couldn’t exactly tell him my life story. He knew bits and pieces of it, but I was still on the fence about revealing my mutation. Instead, I tried to word it rather poorly, tugging at my gloved hands as I struggled to find proper words.

“I just...I want to be something more, y’know? I worked so hard for this...thing when I was younger and now I’m just this...this burnout of a courier wasting away at college!” I started, unable to control the flood of commentary that was spilling out. “I wanted to be like...like Spiderman! Or the Avengers! Something! I have a gift, my friends tell me every day that I have the means to overcome this... this fear of breaking myself again but I know deep down my body can’t take it...that I can’t be this person they think I can be. And now everyone’s just waiting for me to break again like I’m glass! I hate it!”

There was a heavy silence and I snapped out of my stupor, now standing with hands held over my head in what was once frustration. I didn’t even know where all of it had come from. Like I said, Mr. Lee had a strange gift.

I shot them down sheepishly and took to sitting back to a quiet Mr. Lee who’s bushy white mustache seemed to wiggle with thought.

“I’m sorry…” I quietly apologized before he turned to me, brows wrinkling under his shades with a frown plastered on his face.

“Don’t you ever apologize for expressing yourself,” he ordered gently, resting a hand on my shoulder with a small squeeze. “Life is never completely without its challenges. But that’s what keeps it interesting.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Listen, kid. I think you should do what your heart is telling you to do, 'cause deep down it knows that you'll do the right thing.”

“You think so?"

“I know so. I've been in the industry long enough to know a hero when I see one." he chuckled, a warm encouraging smile spreading across his face now. “You can't force these feelings out, kid. It’s got to come from inside of you,” he said while poking his chest proudly.

"Inside me..." I whispered, looking down at my hands in wonder. I knew what he meant, but what could someone like me feel when I wanted to do these things but couldn't? I knew in my heart of hearts what I wanted.

But would that be enough?

Before I could ponder more he stood and stretched his back, resting his weight on his cane. “Give it some thought, you’ve got time,”

“You’re leaving?”

“You’re not?” he teased before he pointed up to the sky and beamed. “I got a date with the universe soon, kiddo. Can’t keep her waiting.”

“Uh-huh…” was all I could muster as I stood and extended my hand out to him. I didn’t know if he was trying to be funny about his days being numbered or if he genuinely was expecting to travel the universe. Events in Brooklynn made it hard to shoot down either idea and Mr. Lee had a look so believable that for a second I actually believed him. “Well, if I don’t see you for a while...J'espère que tu trouveras ton aventure parmi les étoiles.”

“Oh?”

“It means ‘I hope you find your adventure among the stars,’”

“Ah! Mer...mer...merci!” he stammered before taking my hand in his and beaming at me, a feeling of pride radiating off of him at his accomplishment.

“You hang in there, kid. Your own adventure is going to find you soon enough! Remember,” he added, pointing to his chest once more before pointing to me. I nodded and smiled like some solemn promise had just been made between us and in some strange way, it had.

We said our goodbyes shortly after, a broken ‘au revoir’ from Mr. Lee as he sauntered into his home with delivery in hand while I took to Queenie with a little less weight on my shoulders. I was well over the time allotted for the drop-off, but I knew Renato would understand. It was why I always kept his deliveries for last after all, to have deep conversations that always kicked me back on track to the path I truly wanted to be on.

The path that would set things in motion not even an hour later.

#long post #oc shit #marvelsona #oc x colossus

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echoinghowls · 6 years ago

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Never Again

Day 2 on @ghosstkid ‘s Horror-A-Day challenge: Candy!

I didn’t originally post this because I wasn’t very proud of it. However, my sister insisted I post it so here we are!

Hope you enjoy!

(2,680 words)

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Tall grey buildings towered over a black landscape, white lights illuminating pale gray faces and darker gray cars. A white moon slept in a black sky with faint gray stars glittering her bed. The greyscale city glowed silver, self-driving cars filling the skies as men drove from their hologram-sorting jobs back to identical houses. All their wives greeted them at the door as sons and daughters ran up to hug their father. All was the same. There were no discrepancies in the colorless world.

Except for the slums. The run-down, rat-filled, muddy trenches that the rest of society chose to ignore was the only place not run by AI. The only place not served by robots. The ghettos were where people worked the jobs civilization said only a computer should run. That's how they got the name Uncustomaries.

The Uncustomaries were what remained of the old humanity: drugs and alcohol, tattoos and piercings. Tattered jeans, baggy shirts, and dyed hair. However, they were still locked in the grey world. Living a life without color and a life without emotion.

Unless you could pay for it.

Figures walked the cracked sidewalks, ancient cars that have been fixed up hundreds of times trudging the crumbling streets. One man walked with his fedora low, his trenchcoat nearly dragging behind him. A vape was held carefully between his fingers, the smoke without flavor, smell, or color as he released the plume to the air. He hated the vacancy. He hated the void-like numbness that came with everyday life.

Taking another drag on his vape, the man paused outside a small bar. The white neon lights read, "Wishes". Looking over his shoulder, the man entered the building.

Inside was nearly empty, only a bartender and a few figures hunkered over in the far corners of the seating area. At first glance, the figures looked almost real. The man walked toward the bartender, leaning against the counter. "What can I get you?" The bartender asked, his gaze sidelong as he scrolled through his phone. The man read the nametag of the one behind the counter, then said, "Hey Brian, I think I'm feeling a glass of milk." Brian paused on his phone, then sighed and pressed a button under the counter. One of the paintings that were peeling from its canvas clicked before slowly rolling open, revealing an elevator. The man tipped his hat to Brian before entering the elevator behind the painting, the secret door sliding shut behind him.

As soon as the door shut, the elevator descended, the buttons for the floors rubbed away to blankness. Even before the door opened he could hear the pounding of music. As the door slid open, flashing white lights filled the man’s vision, and hundreds of people dancing to the bass-heavy dubstep made the ground feel like it was vibrating to the beat of the song. He forgot how loud the speakeasies were compared to the musicless outside. Every person had grayed-out sunglasses on, including the people behind the counter. The man quickly made his way to the bar, the bartender glancing at him with a wide smile. "Evan! Nice to see you again. Like our new location?" Evan grinned, sitting down at one of the few open barstools. "Anthony, have I ever been disappointed?" “If you have been you never told me,” Anthony said with a joyous laugh. A bowl of yellow candies sat behind him. Evan let out an empty chuckle with him, then asked, “So, you still have those color-glasses?” Anthony scoffed, pulling out a pair of black glasses with distorted gray lenses. “These will never leave, the people love them too much.” Evan nodded, then reached for the glasses. However, Anthony stopped him. “Psh! You don’t want these,” He said, throwing the pair behind him. “Smitty has been hard at work and got these prototypes in.” Anthony said, leaning closer to Evan. He ducked under the counter and pulled out a small gray box, sliding it toward the man in the fedora and trenchcoat. “Two words: color contacts.” Anthony said with a smirk as Evan picked up the box. Evan lifted an eyebrow. “How do they work?” The bartender shrugged. “Like normal contacts. But this means you can wear them outside and nobody would know!” The bigger man giggled, and Evan’s smile grew. “Alright. I’m definitely trying these out.” Evan promised. “But first, you still got my room?” Anthony smirked, fishing a key from his pocket. “Like I wouldn’t make sure my best customer kept his VIP room.” He handed the key to Evan, then pointed toward a sign that said “VIP” above a hallway. A man in all black stood beside the entryway, guarding the hallway against non-VIPs. “Just head down there. You know Tyler.” Evan nodded, unable to see Tyler’s bright eyes behind the color glasses. “Room service?” Evan asked, glancing back at Anthony. “Only the best.” Anthony winked, Evan nodded, heading toward the VIP hall. When he managed to get to the curtained hallway without getting crushed by the excited crowd, he gave Tyler a friendly jab. Tyler scoffed, giving him a nod before opening the curtain. Evan slipped through, following the hall as other private rooms branched off.

His door was at the end, decorated in what he could only assume was gold. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it, the door clicking open. The lights flickered on as he entered, the speakers beginning to play the melody of the latest song he had written. Evan smiled, then glanced at the bathroom to his right. He tossed the key on the counter and opened the contact case, seeing two black contacts sitting in a crystal white solution.

Let’s hope these prototypes work. He thought to himself, picking up the first one. He pressed it to his right eye, then blinked several times. When the contact settled, he heard a quiet whirring as colors started filtering into his right eye.

“Smitty, you damn genius!” He said with a wide grin. He quickly pressed the left contact in, then took in his reflection. His trench coat was a dark maroon color, his fedora black. He stepped out of his bathroom, seeing the crimson walls of his room and the black leather couches with glittering gold pillows. The floor was black tile, a dark contrast to the pristine white bathroom.

Man, Anthony knows how to decorate. Evan thought, hanging his coat and hat on the coat hanger before collapsing onto the couches in front of a tv. Usually he’d have a group of friends to lounge about with, but for today he was taking it slow. He wanted to feel out the new location since the old one got found out and burned to the ground.

He turned to see a tablet resting on the table in front of the couches, a menu beside it. “Don’t mind if I do,” Evan cooed, picking up the menu.

There was the usual: weed, vodka, tattoos, piercings, everything they weren’t supposed to have that the government had stopped caring about years ago. Then, there was the special side. The side of the menu nobody outside of the Uncustomaries knew about.

Scent plugs, taste spray, and Evan’s favorite, emotion candies. The government may believe they have taken their humanity, but the Uncustomaries, with the help of Smitty and Kryoz, had been able to find a way to turn a few senses back on, if only for a limited time. However, they were also very pricey. For good reason in Evan’s opinion.

Evan picked up the tablet, the device scanning his face before unlocking. “Welcome, Evan. What would you like today?” The device asked, the same menu appearing on the screen. He quickly selected the Secret Menu and everything on it, making sure to get the longest duration for all of his senses. With his emotion candies, he chose Mixed Feelings, wanting to go for a variety bowl that he could blindly pick from.

When he hit order he put the tablet down, standing up and wandering the room as he waited for his things to arrive. It didn’t take long for there to be a knock on the door.

Evan opened the door to see Ohm, the man’s color glasses emitting a soft orange glow. “Nice to see you back here Evan,” He said as he pushed the cart of sensory foods into the room. “It’s nice to be back. I missed feeling alive.” Evan said, reaching for the mixed bowl of different colored candies. He pulled out a yellow candy, reading the word “Happy” on it. He popped the candy in his mouth, letting it dissolve as warmth and energy began flowing through his body.

“Aw, yes!” He said with a giggle. “Thank you, Ohm!” He called, humming a new tune as Ohm left with a chuckle.

Evan smirked as he strummed his blue and white guitar, the notes being recorded onto an ancient PC. The Motivation candy he had taken was beginning to wear off, so he paused the recording software and sat the guitar back in its stand.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the strong vanilla scent that billowed from the candle that burned on the table. He picked up a piece of chocolate, letting it melt on his tongue like the candies. However, instead of an emotion, the sweet cocoa seemed to flood his mind. After relishing in the taste of his chocolate, Evan reached for the bowl of emotions. He picked up a black candy, not caring enough to read the emotion before dropping it on his tongue. The candies didn’t hold a taste, but the rush was enough to make Evan feel addicted. The candy melted, and Evan could feel his heart begin to pound faster, and thoughts grow quicker. Scrunching his eyebrows, he looked back at the bowl. He dug through the small candies until he found another black one, reading the name. "Anxiety.”

“Shit,” Evan spat. The last time he had eaten an Anxiety had been with Jonathan, and his friend had needed to practically hold Evan down.

I should tell Anthony.

He told himself. However, as he picked up his phone he froze. But what if he takes away my candies? Evan frowned, then slowly lowered his phone. He’d be fine. He could ride this one out, it would only last 15 minutes. But what if it lasts longer? Evan bit his bottom lip. Maybe I should call Anthony? No, he won’t believe me.

Evan groaned, pulling at his hair as he collapsed onto the couch. “This is fine,” He told himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. “I’ll be fine.” Evan pressed his palms to his temples, staring at the tile underfoot. “Oh my god, how long has it been?” He glanced at his wrist, flicking himself when he remembered he didn’t have a watch. “I’m not going to know when, but it will wear off. It always does.” Evan said out loud. The more stimulus he could get the better it would be. Maybe.

Evan rocked back and forth on the couch. His hair was frazzled and his eyes darted back and forth across the room. The golden pillows had been thrown to the ground and all the lights were on. A song played on the speakers, but Evan wasn’t listening to it. He had tried starting up a game on the tv but quickly decided against it.

He checked his phone, seeing the time at the top of the screen. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to find the small clock, but it had been 4 minutes since he had found it. He sighed, resting his head on his knees. He was fine. He was fine. He was....not. He was not fine. He was not fine. He was not fine not fine not fine not fine.

“AGH!” Evan screamed, trying to crush his skull. He couldn’t do it. Everything was too much. “Just stop it!” He yelled. “Stop it stop it stop it!” He stood and grabbed a pillow off the ground to scream into. He was shaking. He paused a moment to hold his hand in front of him, watching each finger tremble like a dying leaf. He felt like he was dying. Evan heaved and emptied a stomach full of drained emotions and chocolates. This was it. This was his end. He whimpered, tears now falling down his cheeks. He just wanted it to stop. Just. Stop. He slapped the couch as hard as he could, then began punching and kicking the furniture. “WHY WON’T IT END?” He screeched to the ceiling. He ran into a wall, his body feeling temporary pain before being engulfed in the panic again. He checked his phone. It had been 2 minutes since he last checked it. He let out another blood-curdling scream, then tried to stumble toward the bathroom as his stomach flipped. However, he tripped over his own shoes and slammed his head against the corner of the table. He whimpered, sitting up and putting a hand to the wound. When he pulled his hand away, scarlet dripped down his fingers.

“Oh god...” He wheezed, using the other hand to wipe at the deep cut. He wobbly stood up and used the couches to shakily walk to the bathroom.

As he gripped the counter, he looked at his reflection. A dark crimson gash stretched from above his right eye to above his right ear. Blood was smeared across his face, and more dripped down like demonic tears.

I’m going to die. He realized, touching the wound where it stretched across his temple.

I’m going to die. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the tub. He caught himself, his hands shaking again at the thought of falling.

Never again. He managed to waddle back toward the main room, staring at the bowl of emotions. Never again. He took slow steps toward the glass bowl, the multicolor candies shining tantalizingly in the neon white light. Never again. He picked up the bowl, then threw it as hard as he could onto the floor. Thousands of emotions littered the floor. Never again. He could feel his anxiety wearing off. It was over. Never again.

Evan grabbed his tailcoat and fedora off the coat hanger, wincing as the pain of his wound began settling in. Never again. Evan took a step toward the door before his feet were forced out from under him, and he landed hard on his back.

Sharp pricks of pain covered his arms and legs. He slowly sat up, then lifted his arm. Several shards of glass from the bowl stuck out of his arm, blood welling up and dripping down his arm. The slimmest shard went through his wrist.

“Fuck,” He whispered. He slowly used the armrest of a couch to pull himself to his feet, a large shard sticking out of his calf. Evan grimaced, then trudged toward the door. Never again. He avoided the candies. Never again. He pulled out a few shards from his arm, scarlet soaking his tailcoat. He was getting dizzy. Never again. He opened the door, the music from the dance floor hammering its way into his skull. Never again. He took faster steps out of the hallway. Never again. The music grew faster, preparing for a drop. Never again. Evan pushed through the curtain, a pause before Tyler called out, “Evan? What happened?” Evan glared at him. Never again. He turned away, forcing his way through the crowd. Nobody seemed to notice the pricks of glass as they got ready to jump and scream. The music grew faster. Never again. There were screams as the world spun. Never again. The music grew faster. “Evan? Evan, can you hear me?” Evan was on the ground. How long had he been there? Never... The beat dropped.

#Echofics #really long #sorry #hope it was good #this was actually my sisters favorite of all of them so far #so...#oh well

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firesofdainix · 6 years ago

Text

Long Road to Success (Part III)

Chapter 3: Countdown

Final Chapter.

Ten days before the auditions Kokichi was awake. He was always awake, even at night. His sleeping schedules were now all messed up. It was probably from those dreams he kept having. He blinked. Those dreams. They weren't just dreams. They were the future. Like the hydraulic press. He was going to die in Momota's hands. Why did they work together anyway? ~~~ Amami cried. He cried and cried until he had no more tears in the day. Tsumugi would occassionally bring him breakfast, lunch and dinner, but he only eats little pieces. The room was dark. So dark. The only light source was from the window, which only shines during the day. But never at night. He doesn't have a bed to sleep in. He was chained to one of the bed's legs. He only slept sideways. So uncomfortable. He wished he had never signed up for this show. Amami never spoke to Tsumugi. He just wanted to go home. To his family. To his friends. To Kokichi. ~~~ Tsumugi was sitting on a bench, waiting for Keebo to arrive. She wrote on her notebook, wondering what personality she should give Keebo in his time in the virtual world. Since he wanted to be a robot (he told her before they met today), maybe he wants to fit in and try to be a real human? Maybe he'd even make a new kind of phobia? Tsumugi tapped her pencil, and, stifling a laugh, wrote Robophobia. She's going to make one of the most hilarious characters ever. ~~~ Momota was staring into space. Again. It was his obsessive hobby, to keep all the negative thoughts he had today. He sighed to himself. The stars are beautiful tonight. Would it be just easier to look at them, than to look at yourself? ~~~ Keebo covered his neck with a scarf. It was scratched (well, Ouma strangled him) and he did't want Tsumugi to panic. The scars looked like red blemishes. He hopped on Angie's car, and they drove. Keebo told her the directions along the way. To the expressway. Turn left. Right. Straight. Two hours later, Keebo saw the familiar blue hair and eyes on a mansion's porch. His mother's as rich as his father. He wondered why they divorced, though. ~~~ Harukawa inhaled and exhaled, and braided an orphan girl's hair. She loved braiding people's hair. She just doesn't want anyone to braid her own hair, though. Her delicate fingers delicately making tails of braids, and the girl clapping happily. Was she ready? To leave her normal, peaceful life, then replace it with a killing game? She sighed to herself. Maki can finally be a part of Danganronpa. ~~~ "Hi, Keebo!", Tsumugi said, waving at the blonde in the car. Keebo got out of the car and ran to Tsumugi, hugging her. "I missed you", Keebo said. "Oh, and this is my friend-and roommate- Angie." He gestured to the silver-haired girl walking towards them. "Both of you must be tired", Tsumugi cooed. "Don't worry, I'll ask the maids to prepare us dinner." The dinner in the Shirogane house was delightful. Keebo smiled at the smell of the scent of his dinner. So pleasing. "Here are some updates in Danganronpa", Tsumugi said, eating a doughnut. "There will be no breaks." "No breaks?", Keebo repeated, drinking his lattè. "Wouldn't that damage our memory and our way of thinking?" Tsumugi shrugged. "The longer you are living in the virtual world, the less you'll remember who you are in the real world." Angie ate her dinner silently. She listened to the siblings' conversation. Sometimes, she saw Tsumugi looking at her. She wondered why. "Angie, can you please tell me why you want to join Danganronpa?", Tsumugi asked. Suddenly the conversation is about her now. Angie bit on her sausage before she spoke. "I work at a casino-" "And why would someone as young as you would work at a casino?" "My parents were Christians. I came out as bi, they disowned me. End of story." Tsumugi nodded, thinking hard. Angie would make a fine, religious character, to contrast with her views in the real world. She would be dependent on her god, and will also form a student council by brainwashing students. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?", Angie asked. Tsumugi blinked and realized she was staring at Angie a little too much. "Oh, sorry, I just love your hair", Tsumugi lied. Angie mumbled a thank you and they go back to eating their dinner. ~~~ Kokichi should apologize to Keebo. No. He deserved it. He walked in circles, not minding the noise of children and mothers and cars, and just minding his own business. A ball was thrown at him. He didn't flinch. He just stood there, staring at a ball until a child picks it up. He went back to walking, not minding everyone. So boring. Nine days before the auditions Angie met Keebo's sister yesterday. She was a nice person, but the same time all strange. Especially the whole consequences of the Danganronpa show too. Tsumugi also kept staring at her direction. She wondered why. Angie twirled her silver hair as she drew random sketches in her sketcbook. She ended up sketching all her friends. Angie wondered on how they were waiting for the auditions. ~~~ Shuichi was excited. What if he became the Ultimate Detective? Then he'd be like Kirigiri in the past. He can also kill people and leave no evidences. Then they'll vote the wrong person. But if Shuichi got found out, he gets executed. Oh, he can't wait to get executed. He wrote on his notebook in bold letters: Ways to get executed. He just hoped Team Danganronpa would approve of this. ~~~ Tsumugi transferred Rantaro in the basement of her mansion. No one knew about it except her. Maybe Amami knew that he was transferred. Amami woke up, rubbing his eyes. There was a huge glass door on his left. This doesn't look like the room he was imprisoned in. Wait. He blinked. A glass door. He ran toward it, only to be pulled back by a longer chain. Hey, at least he can move better now. There was a bed in the middle of the room. He lied down on it. So fluffy. So comfortable. He closed his eyes. He hoped he can get enough sleep. "Here's your breakfast, Rantaro!", the sweet, familiar voice filled his ears. His eyes shot open. ~~~ Keebo was just minding his own business, studying the garden. The flowers in their garden were beautiful, unlike his garden. Their garden was so big, it looked like a forest. He sat on a vacant bench, staring at what Mother Nature had offered to him. Then something caught his eye. Tsumugi was carrying a tray filled with dessert and breakfast. There were also a few drinks in that tray. Keebo, curious to whom that's for, followed Tsumugi stealthily. He followed his sister until Tsumugi was in front of a door. Tsumugi looked around, and, took a key from her pocket, unlocking the door. She went inside the room. Keebo followed her, and saw that there were stairs leading to the basement. He descended down the steps. Upon reaching the final steps, he heard Tsumugi's voice echo through the walls. "Here's your breakfast, Rantaro!" Keebo blinked. He followed her voice and came across the middle of the room, where he found Tsumugi. In front of her was a boy with green hair chained up on one of the bed's legs, and his eyes red upon seeing Tsumugi. "Where am I?", he asked. That voice. He knew that voice. But from where? "Just in my house, Rantaro", Tsumugi replied. "I transferred you here." "Then you didn't let me escape?", Amami said, his voice toxic. His eyes wandered around the room, until his eyes were locked with Keebo's metallic blue eyes. "And who the fuck is that?" Amami pointed at Keebo's direction. Tsumugi's eyes widened. "Keebo, what are you doing here?", she asked, concern in her voice. "Not now", Keebo said, then looked at Amami. "Tell me why he's here. In your house." ~~~ Amami bowed his head, tuning Tsumugi and Keebo's voices out. Who the hell is that? The boy was wearing a trench coat and a cap that obscured his eyes, but he can see spiky platimum blonde hair and metallic blue eyes. Tsumugi turned and looked at Amami with a smile. He groaned inwardly. That smile was sickening. He remained silent, not wanting to intrude. "This is my brother, Keebo", Tsumugi said, finally talking to Amami. "Nice to meet you", his voice was monotone, almost like he rehearsed that line in his head. "I don't care." Keebo flinched, and looked at Tsumugi with a blaming stare. "Tsumugi, let him go." His voice sounds demanding, and all at the same time calm. Was he really Tsumugi's sibling? Then again, maybe he just needed some rest. Or maybe little food. He's stomach was rumbling. "Give me my damn food Shirogane", he said harshly. Tsumugi looked at him with a stunned look on her face. Then she lightly smiled. "Oh? Demanding the food now?", she teased lightly, and Amami responded with a growl. Tsumugi stepped back until she gave him the tray filled with food. The food was heavenly. He hadn't eaten much in a while. That must be why he was so thin and his eyes sunk. The scones were delicious. The lattès were tasteable. Everything was tasty. He didn't want to get full. He took a bite from a buttered toast, taking in its savory contents. He didn't care if the others were looking at him like an animal. He was hungry as fuck. ~~~ Kokichi gasped, out of breath. He had another nightmare again. This time with the shot put ball stained red-or maybe pink?-. Whatever the case, he breathed heavily. A body was sprawled across the floor, face obscured from view. The dream was a blur anyway. No count in remembering everything that's happened. He checked his clock. It was seven-thirty in the morning. The sun's ray were lighting up his room, so he immediately went downstairs, to be greeted by his parents. Kokichi forced a smile, though his eyes say otherwise. His face got uglier as time goes on. He had shadows on his eyes, an empty gaze and disheveled hair. He didn't bother listening to everyone. These nightmares were telling him something. The future. Was it dangerous to join Danganronpa? Well, there's no way in backing out now. He sat on his chair and ate the breakfast given to him. His parents were already doing their work, no use to make contact with them. He wondered if they really cared about him. I mean, sure, they provided him basically everything he needs, but the way they accepted that he was going to audition for Danganronpa... Kokichi finished his food and cleaned his plate. He put on a checkered jacket (even though it's hot) and walked out of the house, taking one step at a time. The sun was warm. It was always warm, especially on summer. It was always one of the things that made Kokichi smile, but... it didn't make him smile after the dreams started. He just stared blankly around him, even complaining about the sun's light. He sighed to himself as he walked down the familiar, boring street. He was looking down the whole time. Why? To look depressed or homeless? He doesn't know. Kokichi found the orphanage, specifically, the orphanage where Maki lives in. He gasped for breath, his legs tired. Just how long did he walk? He was already in the middle of the city. Kokichi shrugged. He wanted to visit Maki, so he knocked on the door. Luckily, Maki was the one who answered. "Yes?" Her eyes then lit up when she saw Kokichi. "Oh, hey Kokichi. Haven't seen you in a while." "That's because you avoided me." Ouma's tone was sharp, curt. It made Maki flinch a little, especially seeing the look on his face. There was nothing readable on his face. "So, um, Kokichi, what are you doing here?", Maki asked the obvious question. Ouma shrugged. "I dunno. I was just walking and I'm suddenly here. In your place." "Um, you can come in." Maki widened the open door so Kokichi can come in. ~~~ Tsumugi left. But Keebo didn't. Amami wondered why he's still here, sitting down beside him. Amami couldn't care less. "Go away." Keebo shook his head. "No." Amami's eyes widened, but closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. "I want to sleep", he announced, and hopped on the bed, chains clinking. "Of course." Keebo stood up. "Have a good rest then, Amami." Have a good rest. Amami shook his head. He can't have a good rest. Amami's mind wandered to his dreams. He dreamed again. A blonde haired girl with a pink vest and skirt. Along with her was a boy with black hair and black cap with a striped suit. And is that mascara on his eyes? But somewhere, Amami knew them. He just can't remember. ~~~ Kokichi ignored the noise of the children. All he wanted was to talk to Maki. Maki walked, and Kokichi followed. They passed by children that are younger than them. He doesn't care. Maki finally stopped. He looked up and saw Maki standing in front of a door. It must be her room. She turned the knob and opened it. Her room. It was small, as small as a closet. There was a pile of blankets and pillows in a corner, and a small table and chair with a bag on top of it. "I was one of the people that were granted rooms by themselves", Maki explained. Kokichi nodded. He sat down on the cracked floor tiles while waiting for Maki to clean up. He heard a voice from downstairs, calling for Maki. Maki groaned. "I'm coming!", she shouted. Then, she turned to Kokichi, sighing. "Damn it, those children need to learn how to fucking take care of themselves." She dropped the things she was holding and left the room. Kokichi can hear her stomping. ~~~ Tsumugi was in her room, crafting out ideas and personalities that she would be in use for. She mentioned that she was the mastermind of the new show. Oh, she can't wait. She needs to not be found out in the start of the chapter. She must frame someone else. But who would she frame? Who would she kill? Eight days before the auditions Kokichi screamed. He woke Maki up, who was sleeping beside him. He thought having someone with him can make him stop having nightmares, but looks like he was wrong. "Kokichi, what the fuck was that?", Maki groaned, rubbing her head. "We were supposed to have a peaceful sleepover. Kokichi didn't answer immediately. He needed to stop breathing loudly. He calmed himself down before speaking. "Yeah, sorry." Maki grunted and turned her body away from Kokichi, probably going back to sleep. But Kokichi was still awake. "Hey, Maki?" A grunt in response. "Where's the kitchen?" "Downstairs to the right. Don't make any noise. Pretty sure you woke some people up." "Okay." Kokichi untangles himself from the covers, and stood up. The floor was cold if he stepped on it with his bare feet. He also felt the cracks. It was uncomfortable sleeping on the bare floor. His back hurts. A lot. How was he able to sleep? He stepped quietly out of the room, careful not to make a sound. As he walked, he tried to remember the dream he had. It was about the shot put ball. It was in the library. With the corpse. The corpse. He stopped walking. The corpse had green hair. It can't be. It can't be Rantaro, can it? He shook his head, trying to walk again. Slowly, he made it to the kitchen. He started to prepare his coffee, since he doesn't care about sleeping anymore. He looked at the clock near the kitchen. It was just four-sixteen. Almost morning. No point in sleeping anymore. The kettle whistled and Kokichi turned it off before it made any more noise. He poured the hot water on a cup, and opened the cupboards to find a teabag. He finally found one, and dipped it in the cup with water. Tasting it to see if it actually tastes like caffeine, he started to drink it. It was complete darkness inside the house, except for the light in the kitchen. He sipped more of his coffee. He didn't go back to Maki's room. Kokichi just unlocked the door, closed it, then walked out. It was a cold morning, even though it was summer. Lampposts were everywhere, lighting up surroundings. He wore his jacket tighter, and walked away from the direction of the orphanage. He walked and walked. He walked until his legs can't carry him anymore. He was tired, and he looked up. Fortunately, he was looking at his own house. Kokichi didn't say goodbye to his parents when they went to work, probably because he wasn't there. He was in the orphanage. He also didn't ask his parents if he can sleep in his friend's house. But who the fuck cares? He didn't bother knocking. He just sat on the porch, waiting for morning. The caffeine kicked in, and he can't sleep, no matter how he tried. Hey, at least he won't dream about someone dying. ~~~ The class trial weighed heavy on his shoulders. He was now accused of the culprit, and all the people looked at him. With fear? With sadness? With anger? He can only laugh, saying how idiotic they all are. He was somewhat familiar in a sense. Who was he? He was what Shuichi wanted to be. He can only laugh. Just laugh, you monster. Shuichi woke up, with a smile on his face. His dreams were always making him feel euphoria. How good. Too bad that dream ended. He wanted more. He shrugged. Oh well. He reached for something in the darkness. He felt something thick and leathery, and he held it up. A knife. He smiled to himself as he cut himself. The pain stung, but he didn't mind. He can only laugh. Laugh at the feeling of pain. Enjoy the feeling of pain. He is, after all, a masochist. He already confirmed it. Oh, he just can't wait to audition for Danganronpa! Saihara finished, and licked the blood coming from his fingers. The copper taste filled his mouth. He moaned. Blood was his breakfast. He loved it so much. He moaned again. He licked his fingers again, until he can feel no more blood trickling down his fingers. He looked at his clock. It was still early in the morning, but he couldn't wait. He opened the light and took his notebook out of his bed. He opened to the page where he left off, him being brutally murdered and mutilated. Maybe he'd be the victim of the unsolvable Chapter Five. Saihara touched the graphite. He was a good artist, but only used it for... these purposes. He enclosed his fingers on a pencil, and started to draw. He can feel sweat between his fingers as he clenched the pencil more. He finished, then smiled at his work. It was beautiful, in a sick way. ~~~ The stars. They were just so hard to reach. But why? Kaito raised his hand to reach for the stars, but all he grasped was empty air. Nothing. Don't worry, he reassured himself. When you become famous, you'll reach the stars in no time. The galaxies are telling him to come to them. He wants to. That's why he's here, staying up all night, looking at the stars. The stars he can never reach, albeit with a rocketship. Kaito laughed. How cruel this world may be, he still kept his optimistic personality. The only problem is that he doesn't show it to anyone. ~~~ He touched the bookcase. It moved with his touch. A flash blinded his eyes. Confused, he looked to the way where he thought the flashlight was. Sure enough, there was a camera. He blinked. Why would there be a camera? He walked up to it. He tried to remove it, ignoring that overly annoying song. He didn't notice a shot put ball rolling through the vents. Through the books, which were arranged like a path. As he checked the camera, he didn't notice the shot put ball fall. It fell. And fell, until it was on the top of his head, ready to- Amami woke up, tears streaking his face. Just what the fuck did he just dream about? Was that him? It looks like him. Was he about to... get hit by that shot put ball? Why was he dreaming that? A prophetic dream? Well, he can't let himself die. He's the damn Ultimate Survivor. The fucking Ultimate Survivor. He can't die like that. The chain clinked as he sat up, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. It must be morning, or he woke up early again. "Rantaro! Breakfast!" Tsumugi's voice echoed from the stairs. Okay. He did wake up just in time. Tsumugi made her way to him, with a tray on her hands. Behind her was the boy-Keebo, he reminded himself- and he was staring at him. "What's he doing here?", Rantaro demanded. "I am here to take care of you." Wait. Did Amami hear that right? Someone wanted to care for him? "Okay, I have something to do", Tsumugi said, waving at them as she gave the tray to Keebo. "You guys have fun!" Now he was all alone. With this boy. What could possibly go wrong? Anything. Keebo inhaled and neared Amami. "Don't come near me", Amami warned. "Just slide the tray over to me." Keebo shook his head. "I'm not leaving you here." ~~~ Angie was lost. She just wondered around some parts of the mansion, and she got lost. She groaned to herself. She didn't know where her room is. She retraced her steps (well, tried to), and bumped into Tsumugi. "Oh, I'm really sorry, Miss Shirogane", Angie apologized. Tsumugi just smiled in response. "That's alright. Are you lost?" "Well, that's actually it." "Where do you want to go?" "Well..." Angie twirled her hair. "I want to go to the library." Tsumugi nodded. "The library's on the third floor. It's located between my mother's room and step-brother's. Don't worry about getting lost. There are also labels." She walked past Angie, her heels clacking over the marble tiles. Angie followed Tsumugi's imstructions, and found the library. She gasped as a marvelous sight unfolded her. ~~~ "I believe in Maki." He said, which made people question his beliefs. A boy with black hair and purple dye was sweating. "You... you can't be that idiotic, can you?", he said. "Our lives are at stake!" A girl with black hair and green eyes looked unamused. "Yep, pretty sure he's an idiot." He huffed. "Hey! Don't call me an idiot! It really hurts my feelings!" Kaito opened his eyes, then blinked. Was that him? It doesn't sound like something he would say. He was saying he believed in Maki. People contradicted his beliefs. Especially that boy with purple hair. Was that... "Nah, can't be that shit", Kaito said to himself, then jumped of his bed, the floors thudding. What the hell was that dream about? ~~~ Shuichi ignored his father's voice in his head. "You're just a worthless, piece of shit. Nobody wants you. Don't fucking join Danganronpa. You won't become famous." It's ironic, really. Considering that his father was Leon Kuwata, one of the cast of the first Danganronpa game, that was over a decade ago. He hadn't really seen his father's game, but it would be good not to. He lied on his bed, thinking on what he should do today. Suddenly his stomach rumbled. Maybe he was getting hungry. He sighed and got up from bed, and walked to his apartment's kitchen. He opened his cupboards to find nothing. He opened his fridge to find nothing. Fuck, he forgot to buy food. He groaned, then walked back to his room, and opened one of his desk drawers. He found his wallet, and checked if he had money. He had money. He looked at the clock. Wow. He slept really long. It was almost noon. He gathered up all his strength and went in the bathroom. After some minutes in the shower, he went to his room to dress. He looked at his clothes. What would he look like in a detective suit? Would he look good? Shuichi waited at the bus stop. He waited and waited, re-watching Danganronpa. So boring. He was eager to be in the next season already. "So, you're riding the bus too, huh?", a familiar voice asked. Shuichi dared to look up. Instead, he avoided the other one's gaze. "Oh, hey, Momota", Shuichi deadpanned. Momota just smiled, but there was no malice in it. It just looked like and ordinary smile. If he wasn't such an asshole, it'd be a perfect smile on his face. "Why don't we... talk to each other?", Momota said. "I don't want to talk to you." Momota scratched his head. "Fine, you don't want to talk to me. How 'bout I make you?" Shuichi winced at the sudden pain on his left arm. Momota was tightening his grip on it. "W-what do you want?", Shuichi asked, breathing as Momota let go of him. How can he be so strong? "Nothing", Momota said, leaning on the bench they both shared. "I just wondered why you're here, that's all." Shuichi groaned inside. "Grocery shopping." ~~~ "Kokichi? Where have you been?" His mother noticed he was gone? That must be impressive. For him. Kokichi looked up to meet his mother's eyes. "Went to one of my friend's house. That's about it." His mother then shook his head. "Well, come in, breakfast is ready." Kokichi obeyed and stood up, following his mother inside of his house. The smell of butter and caffeine filled the air, making Kokichi stop and savor the smell. His father was at the table, reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee on his hand. He looked up to see Kokichi, and his eyes widened. "Kokichi, you look terrible", he said. Kokichi remained silent as his mother gave hima plate with buttered toast and tea. "The pancakes will be cooked soon, don't worry", she assured him, as she went back to the kitchen. Kokichi picked up a piece of toast and took a bite from it. He savored the taste. It was so heavenly. The butter was slippery inside his mouth, but that's just one of its characteristics, right? His mother offered him a plate of pancakes, and he bit into it. He had his own tastes, and he loved sweets. But not with tea. "Mom, do we still have Panta?", he asked, eating his pancakes. "Oh, yes, we do still have some", his mother said, searching the fridge. She finally pulled out a can with a label that said Panta. Kokichi's eyes shone in delight. "Here you go." Kokichi sipped at it, savoring the tasty grape juice inside it. ~~~ Silence. It was silence in the basement. No one dared to speak. Amami finished his breakfast. He pushed the tray to the blonde, who received it, but didn't do anything. "Aren't you gonna leave?", Amami asked. "You're going to bring it to someone if it needs washing." "Yes, I do have a reason to leave", the other said. "Yet another part of me wish for you to have a friend." Amami blinked. A friend? Is he joking? Why would he think he needs a friend? He can't help but laugh. Just a short while until he stopped laughing. "What was so funny?", Keebo asked, tilting his head. Amami just shrugged. "Just come here." He motioned to Keebo to come forward. Keebo followed. The blonde was finally within Amami's reach. He reached for Keebo's neck. "Am-mami!", Keebo choked. "God damn it, not again!" What is he saying, not again? Did he get strangled in the past? No wonder why he was wearing a scarf. But Amami couldn't care less. "Amami! Stop!", Keebo shouted between gasps and heaves. Good. He's having trouble breathing. Amami dug into his skin. "You remind me of how Ouma strangled me!" Amami let go of Keebo's neck. His arms went slack beside his body. "What did you say?" Amami shook his head. Kokichi wouldn't do something like that, would he? "About Ouma...?", Keebo asked, a little far from Amami. Good. "Obviously." "Okay", Keebo exhaled, then began. "Someone blackmailed him into auditioning for Danganronpa." "What?", Amami couldn't believe his ears. Someone blackmailed his best friend into joining Danganronpa? He only knew a group of people who can do that. "And he agreed." Keebo continued. "It has something to do with me, so he got angry, and almost strangled me if Saihara hadn't slapped him." Amami just stared at him. Kokichi... wouldn't do something like that. Maybe he did do it. But that's not Kokichi. ~~~ "I need coffee packs." Shuichi read his grocery list aloud as Kaito pushed the cart. How did it end up like this? They were just being toxic to each other a minute ago and now they were shopping like the best of friends. Kaito grunted. "Do we need all of these, Saihara? We'll just leave it to rot in your house when you audition for Danganronpa." Shuichi shrugged. "I couldn't care less." "Well then." Kaito put one coffee pack in the cart. "What else?" Shuichi looked at the list. "I don't know for you, but I need loaf of bread." Kaito nodded. "Okay, then." ~~~ "Maki, I need you to clean the kitchen", she ordered, and Maki sighed. "Sure, Ma'am." She grabbed the broom and started sweeping the kitchen, whose floors were covered with shards of glass. Those kids never learn. She accidentally stepped on one and she cursed under her breath as throbbing pain made its way to her foot. She dropped the broom and limped her way to her room. She opened her drawers and found her first aid kit. She cleaned her wound and removed the glass shard stuck to it. She carefully bandaged the wound and threw the shard into a nearby trash can. "Maki! I don't think I see a clean kitchen!" A voice called below. "Yes! I'm coming!" Maki walked down the stairs to do her cleaning duty again. She sighed as she finally put the last piece of a glass shard in a garbage bag. She wiped her forehead, which was full of sweat. "Maki! Are you done? Clean every single room in the second floor!" Maki groaned. As she sweeped through the rooms, she wondered what life would be like in Danganronpa. She can be in control. She always wanted to be in control, to act as a leader. If she was in control, she could be the mastermind everyone wants to be. She can control people, and people will follow her. No one can control her ever again. ~~~ Dinner in the Momota house was very quiet, you can hear people chewing. That's basically Kaito's situation today. His grandparents were just eating, not addressing Kaito in some way. Did he do something wrong? "Are you sure?", his grandmother spoke up. Kaito looked up, chewing his food. "Sure of what?" "Of joining that... horrid game", his grandfather said. Kaito groaned. "I told you for how many times. I want to join the game. I need to." "That game is-" "I know what you'll say!" Kaito banged the table, making his grandparents flinch. Kaito realized what he'd done and retracted his hand from the table. He stood up. "I'm done eating."

He walked to his room, which was just across the dining room. Kaito opened the door and was met with the sight of space-themed walls and galaxy-themed ceilings. He sighed to himself, letting his aesthetics calm him down. He opened his window and set a foot on the window sill. He took a deep breath, and climbed. The cold, night air punched him in the face. How breezy the night is. He looked up to see the dots in the sky. The stars Kaito have always admired from afar. He steadied himself as he climbed up the roof, the slippery tiles making him slip once in a while. He goes to the rooftop to think. And also stargaze. Those stars always made him calm down. He lied down to get a better view of the stars. He sighs to himself. The stars were billions of light years away. It'd be impossible to reach them. But once he gets famous, he won't think it's impossible. Seven days before auditions A blood-stained tank. With piranhas swimming everywhere. Everyone looked at it, horrified. Himiko was nowhere to be found. Kokichi woke up. He didn't scream this time. Why would he when these dreams kept happening to him? He sighed and went to fix himself in the bathroom. He had gotten taller in a few weeks after summer. Probably taller than Keebo. He combed his messy hair. His black strands were invading the purple color, turning it to a messy, poorly-dyed hair. It also grew longer, but that's about it. His eyes, as he can see in the mirror, were devoid of life. He finished washing himself and opened his closet to look for fresh clothes. He picked a black polo shirt and pants to go along with it. He came downstairs to see his parents eating breakfast. They greeted him a good morning. Kokichi didn't respond. He just sat down and started eating what's on his plate. ~~~ "What are your hobbies, Amami?", Keebo asked, sipping a cup of tea as he waited for Amami to answer. Amami looked at him, but didn't say anything conceding. "Well, I like watching documentaries of adventurers traveling around the-" He went silent. That wasn't his hobby. That was the other Amami's hobby. He was, after all, the Ultimate Adventurer. Not him. Keebo continued, not noticing Amami's sudden stop. "What food do you like?" Amami thought for a moment, before clicking his tongue. "I love kinds of foreign food. They, of course would- ngh!" Amami pretended to clear his throat. Why? Why was he saying his virtual avatar's hobbies and favorite foods? He concentrated hard to remember what his favorite food in the real world was. He tried. But nothing popped inside his mind. Does that mean... he doesn't remember who he is in this world? Amami breathed heavily. Keebo looked at him with a concerned face. "Please eat your breakfast, Amami", he said politely. Amami looked down at his tray. It laid cold, untouched. Amami started to eat. "Ask another question", Amami demanded while eating. "Of course." Keebo looked through his 'conversation cards' to find what he was looking. "Ah! There it is!" Amami stopped eating to listen to Keebo. "What is your sexual orientation?", Amami thought for a moment, then shuddered to himself. His father had never accepted him when he came out. "I'm..." Amami hesitated. Keebo smiled. "It's alright, I won't judge." Amami breathed. "I'm a bisexual." Keebo smiled. "How did you come to know your own orientation?" "I... fell in love with him." ~~~ Kokichi sat on a bench, ignoring the children screaming. He dug his hands in his checkered jacket, and kept his head down. It was hot in summer, but that never bothered him. He doesn't care how sweaty he is right now. "Hey." He looked up to see Kaede. Oh fuck. He kept his head bowed and moved over, not acknowledging her. "Who the hell are you?" Oh good. She didn't recognize him. Kokichi stayed silent. Kaede didn't question any further. He and Kaede sat there for an excruciating amount of time, because when Kokichi looked up, he can see the sun right above him. "Oh, it's you." Now she finally noticed. Kokichi scoffed. "Yeah, took you like, two hours to notice", he taunted, liking the surprised look on Akamatsu's face. "Whatever", Akamatsu said, crossing her arms. ~~~ "What do you want from me, Kaito?", Shuichi asked, fiddling with his phone as Momota sat down beside him. "I dunno", the other replied, staring at whereever he was staring at. It was almost noon, and they were at the bus stop. Again. "No, seriously, what do you want?" "Just wanna hang out with someone." "You can always go to your friends, not me." "What are you waiting for again?" "A bus, obviously." "Yeah, it's obvious, but why are you waiting for the bus?" Shuichi sighed. "Just leave me alone." Just in time, the bus arrived, and Shuichi gathered up his things, leaving Momota behind. He should leave him behind. He's an asshole, after all. ~~~ Keebo was on his phone as he waited for Amami to move his chess piece. Amami had a thoughtful look on his face, concentrating very hard on the board. Keebo was winning. He won't let that happen. Keebo then got a message from Akamatsu, and, curiously, he opened it. He opened his mouth. Akamatsu had a picture she messaged to Keebo, with a text that read: Hope u rnt scared of hm rn. The picture was her and Kokichi. But it doesn't look like the Kokichi he knew. He was a lot taller in this picture, almost reaching up to Kaede's abdomen. He might probably taller than Keebo was. He was wearing a checkered jacket (who wears a jacket in summer?) and black pants. His hair was turning black, its purple dye dulling, but still visible. His hair was a little longer too. His eyes had shadows from lack of sleep. He had a blank look on his face, while Akamatsu was smiling as brightly as the sun. "What's that?", Amami asked, looking up from the chess board. "Um, well..." Keebo showed him the picture. Amami's eyes widened. "Is that... Kokichi?", Amami asked, looking at the picture with wide eyes. Keebo nodded. Amami blinked. He blinked again. Is this... Kokichi now? Kokichi after he left? He looked emptier. Devoid of life. If he was going to audition for Danganronpa, Amami would just walk in front of him and hug him. He really missed Kokichi. Keebo put his phone inside his pockets, then looked at the chess board and at Amami again. "So... have you made your move?" ~~~ "You'd look great in this, Angie!" Tsumugi dug into a pile of fabric and found an oversized yellow trenchcoat. "I'm just wearing a bikini top and a skirt", Angie deadpanned. "What do you even want to do with me?" "Just a little something", Tsumugi replied, throwing the trenchcoat to Angie. "Now wear this." "Um... sure." Tsumugi clapped. "You look absolutely great, Angie! You look like a Danganronpa character!" Angie blushed. "Really? Thanks." ~~~ "Shuichi... you can't do this!"; his victim screamed and shrieked as he cut off their arm. Shuichi just laughed, not minding the blood splattering on his clothes. He raised the saw and hacked off another part of his body. The victim screamed. Their screams filled Shuichi with nostalgia. His eyes opened. Shuichi whined silently. That was a really good dream. Why did it have to cut out like that? Well, whatever. He was already at Maki's orphanage. He hopped off the bus and knocked the door. It opened and Maki's head poked out the door. "It's just me, Saihara Shuichi." Shuichi said with a wave. "I know who you are", Maki said, smiling. "Come on inside, Shuichi." Maki closed the door, and after a few seconds of the door clinking and clacking, Maki reopened the door a lot wider this time. Shuichi followed behind her and passed orphan children on the living room. They finally reached a door and Maki opened it. This must be her room, obviously. "What do you want to talk about?", Shuichi asked, sitting on a stool as Maki sorted her living situation. "We're just gonna catch up." Maki finished cleaning, and sat beside Shuichi. Shuichi smiled. "That's it? I'm pretty sure I'm going to bore you..." "I... also want us to pretend we're already auditioning for Danganronpa", Maki cut in. "I... see." Shuichi put his hands on the small coffee table. It's really smart of Maki to do this. I mean, well, so they can be mentally and emotionally prepared for the questions that will be thrown at them. Maki cleared her throat. "So, I think interviews goes like this. What's your name and what's your reason to join Danganronpa?" Shuichi was silents as he gathered his thoughts. Just think of a proper way to say his name, think of a proper reason why he wanted to join Danganronpa. Think that Maki is really the one interviewing him, not just some person whom his friends with. "My name is Shuichi Saihara." That's a nice introduction. Though it is only a rehearsal, he's doing great, so far. "The reason why I want to join Danganronpa is because I want to be a someone, not a nobody. "I've always been a fan of Danganronpa since I ever saw it, so, I want to be a part of one! I can be in the side where hope is, or the side where despair is. It's all up to you to decide!" Maki smiled. "That was a good introduction. Okay, next question." Shuichi braced himself for another question. "If you're in the Danganronpa setting, what is your Ultimate Talent?" "I want to be the Ultimate Detective", he said with no hesitation. After all, that's what he wanted to be, right? "Why did you choose that talent?" Of course, Maki knew. Shuichi thought for a moment. He had loved the detectives in the past, but he never saw them commit murder. He's about to break that record. Hell, he's already planned his own execution. "I'm curious", Shuichi began, rehearsing his other sentences inside his head. "I want to see if I can commit a murder, and get away with it. I want to see if they can find out who the real killer is. And if they do, I'd be really eager to start my execution! I have a perfect execution for the Ultimate Detective." Maki nodded. "That was good. I like how you put your heart out on little things like this." Shuichi scoffed. "These aren't little things, Maki. These are big things." ~~~ "How do you win so easily?", Rantaro let out a frustrated growl as Keebo took his king piece. "Years of practice", Keebo said. "I have played chess with my father since I was young." They continued to converse and play board games, until Tsumugi came with Rantaro's lunch. "Here's your lunch, Rantaro!", she said happily. Tsumugi set the tray down between Rantaro and the chess board, then left rather hurriedly. Keebo looked back with a confused expression on his face. Rantaro didn't mind. He started to eat and drink as they both played chess. His lunch was seafood. For many rounds, Keebo obviously won. It made Rantaro frustrated. "Why?!", Rantaro let out a sigh as they played chess the fifty-second time. Keebo chuckled. "It's alright; it takes years of practice after all." ~~~ Kaito was watching the sunset. It was a beautiful sight, the orange, red and violet clashing together, as they make way for the night. He can already see the stars, calking for him, telling him to reach to them, so high. But he stopped watching. There was something grave happening in his house. He ran to the house in the distance, everything turning to a blur as he ran even faster. As he neared his house, he heard muffled crying from the household. Panicking, he forced open the door (even though it's unlocked) and saw his grandmother caressing his grandfather. Kaito looked at his grandfather with a horrified look. His grandfather suffered a lot of heart attacks. But he managed to live through it. Yet now, it doesn't look like he's breathing. "He's... dead." His grandmother spoke between tears. "I checked his heartbeat." Even though it was confirmed he was dead, Kaito, ran to his grandfather, also cradling him. Tears clouded his vision, as he looked at his grandfather's serene face. A tear ran down his cheek and dropped on his grandfather's. He cried. He didn't try to stop it. He cried loudly. He didn't care if people heard him. He lived with them through many years, from childhood to adolescence. He always had fights with them, and a bad relationship with his grandparents, but they were very passive about him. He remembered his last words to his grandfather. "Knock on my door before you enter, you moron." He cried even more. He wished these weren't the last words he spoke to him. Now he can't take that back. ~~~ "Well, it's past my bedtime." Keebo and Rantaro cleaned their dinner. Rantaro looked disappointed, since he'll be alone again. He was always alone. He loved Keebo's company. The sound of clacking heels filled the room as Tsumugi entered the basement with pillows and a blanket on her arms. Rantaro was confused as Tsumugi made his bed and Keebo helped too, adding the additional pillows. Keebo told Tsumugi he has to take a shower, so Tsumugi was alone with Rantaro. "What's with the bed?", Rantaro asked while hopping on the bed, his chain softly clinking. "Keebo offered to make the bed for you", Tsumugi replied. "He's also going to sleep with you tonight." Rantaro's eyes widened. "He's going to... what?" Suddenly, Rantaro felt self-conscious about himself. He hadn't thought about himself when he participated in Danganronpa, so he had never took a bath since then. "I'm here!" Keebo came to the basement with a fresh set of clothes. His hair wasn't spiky, instead, it lay wet below his neck. It was strange seeing him with his hair down, but he looked pretty. Rantaro looked at the set of clothes on his arms. "Whose is that?", Rantaro asked, pointing at the clothes. "Yours", Keebo said, handing it to Rantaro. "I believe those are the same clothes you had since first day?" Rantaro said nothing, but accepted the clothes Keebo gave him. ~~~ Kokichi went back to his house after that encounter with Kaede. It was almost dinnertime. He opened the door to his house to see his parents preparing the dinner on the dining table. Without addressing them, Kokichi sat on the chair across from them and started eating. "Kokichi?", his mother spoke up, her fork scraping her plate. "Yes, mother?" Kokichi didn't bother looking up. "We are both proud of you." Kokichi stopped chewing his food. "What?" Never heard a phrase like that from his parents' mouths. Of course, they did 'love' him, but he thinks it was just fake. "For what?" "We're proud that you want to join Danganronpa", his father said with a smile. "We will support you from then on." Kokichi faked a smile. "...Thanks." He lied awake at night, thinking about what his parents said. He doesn't care about their false words and misguided advice. Nothing is worth remembering anyways. He wanted a new life. If this simulation transforms him to a monster, then so be it. He closed his eyes, his breathing going even as he dreamed about. A blue haired girl watches from a room near the library. She waited for the ball to roll on top of Rantaro's head, but it didn't. Instead, it just fell right in front of him. Distracted, the girl made her move as she ran behind Rantaro and killed him with her own shot put ball. Blood was everywhere. ~~~ Rantaro was still awake. He heard Keebo sleeping beside him. He avoided Keebo's legs and arms as much as possible. It was difficult, since Keebo's a spooner in bed. The bed was comfy and soft, Rantaro can be able to sleep in it. If it wasn't for that hard chain that limits him from moving his legs on the bed. He slept, then dreamed. -it missed his head. Puzzled, he tried investigating where it came from when he heard the sound of clacking heels and- his whole world stopped spinning. Six days before the auditions Candle. She needed to look for a candle, to start the ritual. Come on, just find a room with a candle in it. She finally found the middle room, and open the door to see a person wearing a mask cutting a cross piece. She asked what the person was doing, but he lifted the floorboard he was carrying. With one single smack, she fell to the floor, unconscious. Angie laid on her bed, sweating. She recalled the dream she had. Was that her? It seemed like it. She took a walk downstairs to bump into Tsumugi. "Ah, sorry." Angie fixed her ruffled clothes and hair, appearing to not look like she had just got up from her bed. Tsumugi smiled. "It's alright. Come on, let's go to the dining hall." Angie followed the blue haired girl into the dining hall, and was surprised to see that Keebo was not here yet. He was the earliest to get up from bed and eat breakfast. "Keebo has some... things to do." Tsumugi sat down, and she patted the seat next to her. Angue sat down to the sit Tsumugi patted, and they started eating. What she didn't expect was a low voice calling her name. "Angie? What are you doing here?" Angie looked up from her breakfast to see Rantaro. After a year of not seeing him, he had changed. His vibrant green hair turned to a dull green, his eyes were filled with shadows, his body was thin and desperately needs more food. She almost dropped her spoon. "Rantaro?" Tsumugi looked at Keebo with a glare. ~~~ "I want to eat breakfast with you guys." His words shocked Keebo. "You'll just run away." "I have no faith in running from my destined life anymore." Keebo thought for a moment. "I see." He took a key from his pocket and unlocked Rantaro's legs from the metal chain. Instead of running away like Keebo expected, he stayed put. "It feels good to have that chain not wrapped around my leg." Rantaro sighed while smiling. "It was very heavy." "Now, let us go to the dining hall for breakfast." Rantaro followed Keebo out of the basement. The outside of the basement was like heaven in Rantaro's eyes. People walked left and right, paying no mind to Keebo and Rantaro at all. The hallways were long and winding, it might even be great exercise to their body. Keebo stopped at a large door granded with fake jewelries and silver. Keebo knocked and went in. Rantaro followed him. The dining hall was filled with the scent of breakfast in the air. Rantaro also found Tsumugi and another person, who was already eating. He stopped. That person... "Angie? What are you doing here?", he found himself saying. The girl looked up. It was Angie. She almost dropped her spoon. "Rantaro?" ~~~ "Kaede... did you steal my phone?", Shinguji looked at his bag to find no phone at all. Akamatsu giggled. "Nope!", she replied with a smile. "Not at all!" Shinguji calmly sighed. "Please don't tell me you threw it in the water." Iruma scoffed. "C'mon, Kiyo! You'd already know that this bitch likes throwing phones in the water!" Akamatsu chuckled. "Yeah, she's right." She pointed at the bathroom with a smug smile. "Basin. Bathroom." Shinguji groaned loudly. "Sister's going to be angry about this!" He ran to the bathroom while Akamatsu laughed. "Bitch!", Iruma shouted to Akamatsu. ~~~ "Keebo! Why did you let him out?!", Tsumugi demanded as they were alone in the dining hall. Angie and Rantaro went to speak to themselves alone. Keebo started fiddling with his fingers. "Well, he did say he has no faith in escaping, so... I let him eat breakfast with us." Tsumugi sighed, putting her head on her palms. "You're so naïve, Keebo. Stop falling for Rantaro. But that's too late, isn't it? You've fallen hard for him." Keebo shook his head. What is she saying? "I just had some sort of trust, Tsumugi, not because I fell hard for him. Whatever that means." Tsumugi glared at him, causing Keebo to flinch. "I'll keep a close eye on him if he does something fishy." Keebo just sat and ate his breakfast. Fell hard for Rantaro...? What does that mean? Well, yes, he is fascinated by him, but that doesn't mean he 'fell' for him. Whatever that word means. ~~~ Rantaro wanted to tell Angie what he's been through. He wanted to tell her that Danganronpa is not a game she should participate in. But she looked so happy talking about how she wanted to be in the world of Danganronpa. He forced a smile as they walked to the gardens. "What about Kokichi?", Rantaro asked her. Angie's smile wavered a bit. "I haven't really communicated with him the past week." "Why's that?" "Well, he strangled Keebo." Oh. This again. "I- okay then." They finally reached the gardens. The green-haired boy gasped at the sight of it. There were many blooming flowers and butterflies that sipped their nectar. There were trees that bear fruit. Some of the maids are already picking out a fruit from some trees. Angie looked at him and smiled. They sat on a white porcelain bench. "It's beautiful, isn't it?", Angie asked, staring at the bushes with flowers. "Yeah, it is", Rantaro agreed. They watched the beautiful sight of the garden. That garden was filled with beautiful flowers and foliage. It made them forget why they were there. It made them forget that the world wasn't a garden. Five days before the auditions Everything was the same. From five hundred years time, their routine was still the same. Kaito will mourn his grandfather's death, telling himself it's going to be okay. No. He's not okay. He was never okay. What was wrong with him? After his grandfather's death, he thought about how he acted. He shuddered. He was such an asshole. He had noticed that now. There's no chance in redeeming himself with his grandparents. He decided to force himself to redeem. To reform. To be a better person. He knocked on Saihara's apartment door. He scratched his head. This must be Saihara's place, right? A muffled voice came from the other side of the door. A few seconds later Saihara opened the door. Kaito stifled a laugh. Saihara blinked. "What's funny?" "Did you get out of bed?", Kaito joked. Saihara looked up and saw his disheveled hair. He blushed, embarrassed. "Um, yeah." He fixed his hair with his hands. "So, what are you doing here, Momota?" "I just wanna hang out with you", Kaito said, scratching his head. Saihara's eyes widened, then he opened his mouth. "I don't want to hang out with you." Kaito frowned. "Why not?" "Well", Shuichi said. "You're an asshole." Shuichi prepared for Kaito's strike. But it never happened. Instead, Kaito laughed. "Jeez, Shuichi!", Kaito laughed. This threw Shuichi off the wall. Kaito Momota... was laughing? Shuichi liked thus kind of laugh. Very carefree, optimistic sounding. Shuichi smiled a bit as he listened to Kaito's laugh more. Kaito stopped laughing, but was still smiling. "You look better when you smile, Shuichi." Shuichi went red. Kaito was also complimenting him? What is this? "Let's hang out." Kaito put an arm around Saihara. "You look really pale. You need more sunlight, Shuichi." "Don't call me by my first name", Shuichi said, removing Kaito's arm around his shoulders. "We're not that close." "What if I want to be close?" "What?" Shuichi was very confused. Why was Kaito... trying to be so nice to him? He's someone Kaito would pick on, and always will. People like them don't become friends with like him. So, why was he calling him by his first name? Only his friends called him by his first name. His parents never do. It made him feel like an outcast from his parents. That's why he was always with his uncle. Shuichi sighed. "Fine, I'll allow you to call me by my first name. But don't touch me." Kaito scratched his head. "Jeez, forbidding me to touch you? I won't do anything... weird." "...Shut up." ~~~ It was the hydraulic press again. But there was no blood beneath it. And it was open. There were two wounded people, one half-naked and the other without his jacket on him. The one without the jacket seemed to be holding the other's clothes. They went their separate ways. The one carrying the clothes went as far as possible from the hydraulic press, but the other went toward the press. The boy laid down, eyes closed. He was waiting for his end. Then again, Kokichi woke up before the boy was crushed alive. Before he was crushed alive. That was a brutal murder. Did he... orchestrate it? It seemed so. The boy was Kaito, he assumed. It had to be him. He looked out the window, which was covered by a dark curtain. Yet he can see rays of light spreading in his room. It's morning. He dressed in some of his casual clothes and went downstairs, expecting to see his mother and father on the dining hall. But nobody was there. He went to the fridge to get Panta juice, and that's where he saw it: a letter from his parents. He read it. Kokichi, We're sorry we have to leave so early. We're also sorry that we didn't make you breakfast. Don't worry, there's some money on the table. ~Your parents Kokichi blinked. He ripped the paper from the fridge and tore it apart. He didn't know why he did it, though. He found the money his parents had told him, and he took a small portion of it. He took the keys from the mat outside and locked the door to the house. He then put the keys in the mat, securing them. He put on his jacket and walked. Kokichi saw a coffee shop just two blocks away from his house. It was one of his favorite coffee shops. He went inside it, the doorbell tinkling. He was greeted with the scent of coffee in the air, with the mix of the desserts the coffee shops also sell. He made his way to the counter. "I'd like one cup of lattè, please", Kokichi said. "And a box of muffins." He waited for his order by sitting on a table alone. He took out his phone, which he had taken with him, to write. It always made him relax, even in hard times. "Heeey, Ouma", Akamatsu sat down next to him, giggling like an idiot she is. Kokichi groaned. Can't he just have some peace and quiet for one day? "Akamatsu", he said in a monotone manner. Akamatsu smiled and took his phone from him. Kokichi cursed, and begged to Akamatsu to give it back. "Nope!", Akamatsu said in an energetic manner. Akamatsu started scrolling in his phone, but then pouted. "Wow, no Danganronpa fan fictions. Wait, is this the Fate series' theme song?" "Give that back!", Kokichi said and once the blonde was caught off-guard, he grabbed his phone from her. Akamatsu just giggled. "So dense, Kokichi." "Yeah, I'm dense." Kokichi sat back down. The waitress then gave him what he ordered, and he paid her the proper amount. Akamatsu took a muffin from him, but he didn't object. He's just having a normal breakfast. ~~~ "Shuichi, have you ever played video games before?", Kaito asked, giving Shuichi a game controller. "No", Shuichi said, looking down. Kaito smiled. "I'll tell you everything you should know." Kaito taught Shuichi the basic controls, and now Kaito opened the play station. "We're playing Danganronpa, right?", Shuichi asked. Kaito laughed. "Obviously." They played Danganronpa until sundown. Shuichi leaned unto Kaito, and the boy gently patted him on the back. I think I'm starting to feel like a better person. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes. They will both be proud of me. Four days before the auditions "Well, Kaede, you're most certainly not boring." Ouma said with an unreadable face. He was fascinated by Akamatsu's ambition, to try and kill the mastermind. But that plan backfired, and the first kill was made. Poor Rantaro. Poor Kaede. Kokichi then looked back at Tsumugi, who had a smug grin on her face. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced with a teary eyed expression. There's another liar in this school. And this one is more complex. Kokichi looked at himself in the mirror. So much have changed about himself, and he hates it. He yawned loudly, and went downstairs to eat breakfast. Then again, his parents weren't present. He sighed. He went to the fridge to get Panta juice, then looked up the wall clock. It was already seven. In his dream, he suspected the mastermind to be the girl in the fifty-second game. Shirogane Tsumugi. She must've done something to Akamatsu and Rantaro. Akamatsu tried to kill the mastermind, but ended up killing Rantaro. Kokichi shuddrered at the thought of this. He decided to go to Maki's orphanage. ~~~ "Harukawa!", the owner of the orphanage shouted, making Maki woke up with a groan. She scratched her head. "I'll be down there in a minute", Maki said from the gap in her room. She dressed in her casual clothes and ran down the stairs, not minding the thuds she made as she went down. As she reached the last step of the stairs, she felt pain on her right cheek. "You're late, Harukawa", the owner of the orphanage said. "Sorry, Ms. Ikusaba", Maki apologized. Name sound familiar? Well, that's because Ms. Ikusaba, or Mukuro Ikusaba, was kinda a participant in the very first Danganronpa game. Was killed by her own sister in the world, but in real life, they were the best of friends. "Anyway", Ikusaba said. "I need you to cook everyone's breakfast. Then after that, clean everyone's rooms." She walked off to another direction. Maki sighed as she went to the kitchen, which was dirty. A lot of children needed breakfast, so she got to work immediately. She tied her hair so it won't bother her and make her work easy. After a hard day of cooking and cleaning, she actually felt proud of herself. She went back to her room and lied on her matress, sighing to herself. Four more days. Four more days before they audition for Danganronpa. What will she say? What should she do? Will she get accepted? She hoped so. Hope. Disgusting. She almost spat on the floor as she thought of that word. She was on the despair side of the fans, she just loved to see the main characters suffer. What will be her hope? What will be her despair? Four more days and time will tell. Three. Two. One. Nothing was ever the same. The last three remaining days had been a blur. Shuichi started to grow attached to Kaito, but then remembered that they won't remember their relationship in the virtual world. It made him feel sadder. He wanted to be friends with him, and he knows that something was bugging Kaito. He didn't press what was bugging him. He was trying to change. Shuichi can see that. Hell, Saihara wanted to forget about his masochism. How the hell did he even become so obsessed with blood anyway? He called his father, telling him he's not going to change his mind. His calm endeavor came crashing down as he heard his father's choked sobs from the end of the line. Shuichi gulped, as he had never heard his father break down before. Leon Kuwata was always so ill-tempered, but hearing him sob... breaks his heart. They just weren't the closest. Shuichi hung up on his father, not even giving him the time to say something. Just hearing him choke and sob was depressing him more. He walked back to his apartment, thinking about the time everything was so damn happy, eleven years ago. Before Danganronpa even became a thing. He thought of the times his father was very happy, even though he was married to Shuichi's mother so young. That was then. Now, he doesn't even look at his mother anymore. Leon and she had divorced, and Shuichi only thought it was Danganronpa. That must be the answer. So that's why he didn't bother to tell her. He's such an awful person. He took out a razor blade from the drawers and sliced his arm. He winced and moaned, both from pain and ecstasy. He was disgusted at himself, but that's him. ~~~ Kaito's grandfather's funeral was today. It was a sunny day, unlike those clichè movies where when there's a funeral the weather was dark and cold. But today was a bright and warm sunny day. It would be perfect for playing outside if it weren't for his grandfather's funeral. The weather sickened him. It felt like the day was disrespecting his grandfather. His parents were also there. Why the hell are they there? They did nothing to them. They didn't bother to visit their only child and parents. They were just so fucking busy with their astronaut shit. It made Kaito angry to see his parents here. And to prove his parents' insolence, he told them he was going to join Danganronpa. They ignored him, not looking at Kaito in the eye. They were always like that. They've never been a happy family. When he was a child, he just thought they were really busy with their work, but after the foot race, they just told him he'll be staying with his grandparents from now on. He just thought it was because they have business trips. No. That was the time his parents stopped loving him. He's going to join Danganronpa. He's going to join it not to make his parents proud, but to atone for his sins as a normal citizen. Make him someone he hates. Make him an Ultimate Astronaut, so he can look at his parents with their work. Make him an optimist. Make him an idiot. Make him believe in people easily. He doesn't care. As long as he can atone for his sins. As long as he can be a different person. Make him someone they love. ~~~ Maki Harukawa was abandoned five years ago by her bastard father. She almost died if it weren't for encountering Enoshima, the sister of Ikusaba. She became traumatized of dying, but was very discreet about it. There were times that she became so subtle about death. Like the times she had to climb the fence at the back of school. She was attached to the people in the orphanage, especially Ms. Ikusaba. Though she may be strict with her, she had a good heart. She even told her her experiences in Danganronpa. Though they were short, Maki found interest in the game. She was given a phone by Ms. Ikusaba, and searched up Danganronpa. She was very surprised that it was already in the twenty-fifth season. She became obsessed with its killing game, even though she was traumatized of death. She met Ouma in her first class, and she was the only one who knew of his hatred towards Danganronpa. Though Maki doesn't show it, she can get very angry at Ouma for not having the same preferences. But she shrugged that off since she knows Ouma needs a friend. She met the others in Ouma's study group. They talked about Danganronpa a lot and left Ouma out, but managed to let Ouma in. She has to ask herself why she wanted to join a game that can destroy her mentally and emotionally. To ask herself why she fell in love with a game whose concept was death. She asked herself that everyday. She doesn't know the answer. ~~~ Angie hated working. But it had to be her fault for getting disowned by her shit parents. She fortunately found an abandoned house. The owner took pity for her and gave her the house for free. She spent the entire year cleaning and making it look like home. She tried job applications. She wasn't even starting in high school yet but she got a job in a casino. In a damn casino, that's for eighteen-year-olds and above. She'd often be seen by customers as a small adult woman, making her uncomfortable around them all. Angie's manager, Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko, lets her drink whenever she wants to. If it doesn't affect her job of course. She drank on the second week of her job. She didn't care if she was underage. She just wanted to feel bliss. To feel ignorance. Angie drank two bottles the night before new year. It was a blur, and she asked Kuzuryuu about it. Kuzuryuu told Angie she was breaking down and sobbing on the casino floors, and was too drunk to even stand up. So he asked Pekoyama, his wife, to take her home. It was hilarious. Her parents told her she can be honest about her feelings, but then, when she comes out of the closet as a bisexual, they kick her out. She has to love their hypocrisy. She thought about those Christian extremists that were her parents and her sister, who wasn't really into their religion, and still talked to her. She has her contact number in her phone. But like stupid Christian extremists that ramble on about the bible, they also forbade her sister to talk to Angie, even on the phone. Angie feared that her sister would be brainwashed by those shit parents of theirs, but oh well. This is why she wanted to join Danganronpa. To let her sister see her again. Even if it's just on the screen or only for five minutes. Her sister can see her again. Her parents can kiss their fucking asses and beg for her mercy. She can have fame and fortune, even for just a little bit. She have to thank Keebo for that. ~~~ Himiko needed to tell Nanami about this. About joining the old game that scarred her for life. They were old friends, she and they. Himiko really liked Nanami, but she was about joining. Danganronpa, she just had to laugh. How the hell do people get obsessed with this shit game? She never sympathizes those who participates in this. She just had to pretend she's an innocent person in the auditions. No, she's already seen as an innocent person. Just why are people so idiotic? Himiko witnessed Momota blackmail Ouma into joining a game he doesn't like. Fuck them. They're such asses they can't even remember their names. Especially that bitch Akamatsu. Tormenting them just because they don't fit into this school? Bullshit. It's just a damn show. No need to force someone to go fucking join it. She felt bad for Ouma. She was the only person who knew the truth. Oh well. Nothing she can do about it now. Not like she cares. She wanted to join this accursed show so she can receive clear answers to why everyone likes Danganronpa. ~~~ Korekiyo just had enough of his home life. With a sister that seemed distant to him after participating in Danganronpa 51, a suicidal mother, and a coping father, he had had enough of this lifestyle. The reason he wore this mask was to not breathe the sickening air inside his house. He has to work for his family. No wonder he follows Kaito and his lackeys everywhere. Because they were the ones that bring him the jobs, and give him money. He wasn't interested in their victims, but he felt pity for them. Iruma was the only one who he befriended in Kaito's group. Though she cussed a lot, she can understand what Kiyo's been through. They meet up in the park whenever Kiyo has a hole in his schedule. He would tell her everything, and she lets Kiyo cry on her shoulder. What a good friend. No. More than just a friend. A best friend. Kiyo blinked. No. He fell in love with Iruma. How did that happen? Yes, she is part of his gang, but who cares? She may be... impulsive, but she is a pleasant company to have. A dirty person, but alright. He's going to confess to her before he and she joins Danganronpa. He wanted to have a family of his own, to leave his real family behind. All he had to do was confess to Iruma. No. That won't happen. Maybe she doesn't even like him that way. Maybe she'll stop talking to him after he confessed to her. Maybe she'll treat him the way she used to treat him. Kiyo removed a flower from his garden. His sister was in love with flowers. Maybe, if there's still enough time, he can confess his love to Iruma. What was his desire again? ~~~ Miu wanted to hold hands with Kiyo on the last day, before the auditions for Danganronpa. Why did she fall for the strange man anyway? He kept wearing that mask, which was making him intimidating. Miu remembered the first time they met. It wasn't such a romantic sight to begin with. She found Shinguji all beat up in the rooftop of the school. Miu decided to laugh at his misfortune, but ceased when she heard quiet sobbing. It made her reminisce the time she was in her abusive father's house. Miu felt pity for the boy and asked if he was okay. Of course, Shinguji was hostile with her, because of obvious reasons. So Miu distanced herself from Shinguji, until a school project forced them to work together. It was a rocky relationship at first. They'd bicker and fight over little things. One time she poured hot coffee onto Shinguji. This resulted to him getting burns and being rushed into the nurse's office. Miu, regretting what she did, went to the nurse and saw Shinguji talking to his family. Miu found out who Shinguji was. He was the sister of the old famous Keiko Shinguji, from Danganronpa 51. Keiko Shinguji was the Ultimate Illustrator. She survied up to the end with another girl named Shirogane Tsumugi. Keiko played a very important role in the first and fifth trial. Miu can say she was a big fan of Keiko. They formed a friendship who knows when. Miu can't remember how she fell for him. They walk to school together, eat together, even do Shinguji's work together. Miu never expected to fall in love with him. Why is she going to join Danganronpa? ~~~ Kaede, why are you so impulsive? Her mother's thoughts ran across her mind. When she was a child, she was mistreated for being an adopted child of two women. Kaede hated them for it. Kirigiri Kyoko and Ludenberg Celestia. Those were their damn names. She had a twin, named Kaguya Kirigiri, who took Kyoko's name. Kaede wanted nothing to do with her parents. That's why she named herself. She was a very impulsive child, she had to confess. She bullied others in her new school so she can defend herself. Kaede never let her parents pick her up from school. She would always walk home, with a cutter on her hand. She was very cautious. One time, she got caught by the police after stabbing a grown man on the shoulder. It was his fault, not hers. He tried to harass her. Why the hell was she in the police station when he did if first? She doesn't care if that asshole was injured. While waiting for her parents, she watched what was in the television. It was the ninth season of Danganronpa. She grew attached to the series. Kaede asked Kirigiri about this, and she didn't respond. She then asked Celestia. Celestia told her and Kaguya that Danganronpa was a killing game. Kaguya, like any sane person would do, stayed away from the show. But Kaede got hooked up with Danganronpa, and snuck merchandise from the outside. She got caught by Celestia, who showed the merchandise to Kyoko. Kaede wasn't banned from seeing the show, but was not allowed to get a cellphone. She decided not to tell her parents that she will join the show. If there's a contract, she can forge their signatures then. Then she can be able to join Danganronpa. If they select her. ~~~ Ryoma kept thinking a lot of his older brother in prison. He was arrested for mimicking a murder in Danganronpa. Such crime did not stop the world for loving the show. He was short, so he was always a target for taunting. That is, until he started to show that even though he was short, he can still do damage. His family's funds were dropping after his brother got arrested. His brother was the richest in the Hoshi family. Without him, the household started to waver. His mother worked morning and night shifts. She hadn't slept for days, until her untimely death, which was in her sleep. His father was an overseas worker, meaning he doesn't see Ryoma very much. This lead Ryoma to negotiating with Momota, and worked part-time jobs. He had a part-time job in the Amami house being a caregiver. He helped Tojo with her work. Ryoma doesn't like Momota and the other people in his gang of unruly assholes, but he does find sympathy in Shinguji and Iruma, who are nothing but sheep. He has always wanted to see his brother in prison. He's never seen him after the incident. He's going to joind Danganronpa, to let his brother be impressed by him, to see his potential in life. ~~~ Kirumi has to be the worst mistress ever. She was a tool used for cheating. She was just a highschool student. She shouldn't be doing this. A boy from her section asked her to get back at a girl named Harukawa. Apparently, said boy was Harukawa's ex. Sort of. Kirumi was a rich girl, she shouldn't even be doing this to herself. She has the luxury she wanted in her house. But not sexual urges. She kept her thrist a secret from the others, fearing they'd taunt her. Well, until the boy said it's okay to make their relationship public. She became the envy of the school. The boys that always liked her, will never have a chance to be with her since she's already in a 'relationship'. Girls envied her because she already had a boyfriend. Even Akamatsu taunts her in secret, saying she was just being used. She was right. The boy only used her to get back at Harukawa, who doesn't even show that she gives a fuck. To add what he's been doing to her, her forces Kirumi to fuck him, which was really messed up. Of course she hates it. But does she have a choice? The boy threatened her that if she tell anyone about this, the secret about them will surface through the school. It will ruin her reputation. She's going to join the show so she can escape every single one of her problems. Kirumi doesn't care if she gets traumatized. That'll be much better than being used as a toy. ~~~ Tenko is such a mess. She's messed up. No way is Yumeno going to fall in love with her. She's made of everything she hates. Oh well. She'll just stop caring anyway. She's going to go in the show and impress her. If they still remember. Obviously they won't. Tenko is sick of seeing herself messing people's lives. She can't fathom looking at herself on the mirror. It's not like she cared if she's pretty or not. But she would care on what Yumeno sees in her. She wants a new character. A new life. A new past. Because that's what she always wanted. Right? Wrong. Yes, she does want a new life, but it costs her health and emotions when she's in the show. She knows it's a virtual world but still. Virtual reality can make you mad. Like the time where a guy went on a killing spree and almost killed people by shooting just because he thought he was still in a game where you shoot people. That might be Danganronpa's virtual reality case as well. She had met a couple of those Danganronpa characters in a convention. She talked the most to Shinguji Korekiyo's sister, Keiko Shinguji. She fangirled so hard when she met her. "It's such an honor to meet someone like you!" "Really? I'm just here to get my money." They kept in touch afterwards, and that was why she let Shinguji Korekiyo in. Not because of his skills, but because of Keiko. The way Keiko said that she was there to get her money was empty. Tenko can see it in her eyes as well. Despair swirling in her eyes, the hope shining when she smiles... Like all Danganronpa characters, she was a mix of hope and despair. Nothing else. Tenko knew that was a side effect on staying in the virtual world too long. That's why Danganronpa took breaks. To let the characters rest for a little. Tenko hoped it would be like that too. ~~~ Gonta hates being the top of the class. He was getting tired of the lifestyle of being completely smart and praised. To be relied on. He wants to be treated like a person that has average smarts. He won't look like a god to them. Whenever Momota asks him to party with the others, he obliged. Momota was one of the people who treat him like he's a person, not a god. To prove this point, Momota never asks him about what he doesn't know. He also taunts him, like he's someone lower than him. Sometimes Gonta would break down in his room or in the bathroom, with pills in his hands. He vomitted and puked the remains of his stomach whenever he was alone. Nagisa Shingetsu, his housekeeper, always overheard him crying. Gonta knows that Shingetsu always hears him, but he doesn't care. If he joins Danganronpa, maybe he could forget everything that's happened in the real world. Maybe Danganronpa will turn him to another person. Someone unappreciated. Someone not bright. Someone who doesn't understand their surroundings. He smiled at the thought. He will be someone they'd never appreciate. ~~~ Rantaro is hiding everything from Angie with a smile. He can't tell anyone, since Shirogane threatened him not to. He remebered the times he had with everyone at home; especially Ouma. He didn't realized he fell for him after their fight, but after he joined Danganronpa. This was a feeling of despair. Or maybe of sadness? He wasn't use to saying any other word that deals with emotions, only hope and despair. He really hated those words. He remembered the times he was obsessed with Danganronpa, but not anymore, after what it had done to him and his comrades. He can't even call them friends. Who knows why. After the game, they lost contact with each other. Probably to live a better life. Now Rantaro really wants to see Kokichi again. Even if he's not himself. Because he also isn't himself either. He can't remember all his sisters'names. Their faces were fuzzy. All his memories before Danganronpa were fuzzy. And the most heartbreaking of them all, was that he can't remember his face. The face of the person he loves. Before he left his home. Rantari felt sick. He's becoming friends with Keebo. Even though he longed to have another friend, he felt guilty leaving Ouma behind. He felt guilty for leaving his life behind. ~~~ Tsumugi has to create the the best cast ever. Keebo told her that he had asked his father a favor. A favor about letting all of his friends participate in Danganronpa. He must've cared for them then. Tsumugi saw pictures of he and his friends, though they are not pleasant. Seriously, why were they bullying people? They're bad influence to her brother. How did Keebo even end up with them? Anyway, she was told by her father that she needed to participate in the game. Again. She told him for the past two games that she didn't want to participate. But no, her father never listens to his daughter. She ended up crying in her room, sobbing uncontrollably. Keebo always caught her crying, and goes to comfort her. It didn't work. There was her stepbrother that she fell in love with. Yet he was five years older than her, and acted like the older brother. She still hasn't confessed to them yet, which was disheartening. She was asked by her father to create a cast that everyone will either love or hate. Tsumugi was looking into their profiles, every single one. She can't make the whole cast yet. She still needs their audition tapes. It's hard working for Danganronpa. Especially when you're in charge of making the most irresistible batch of casts. ~~~ Keebo can wait until Danganronpa 53 started. Or, v3, since that's what Tsumugi calls the new series. He already told his father that he wanted his friends (and enemies) to be chosen as the Danganronpa characters. Of course, they still need to wait until their auditions. Keebo scratched his neck. It was still filled with Ouma's fingernails. Even though that was two weeks ago. It was healing rather fast, fortunately. He shouldn't have toyed with Ouma's emotions. Momota and the others were in the wrong, to be honest. They were at fault for what Ouma became. Tsumugi vaguely mentioned that he was also going in the virtual world to 'monitor' them. What does that even mean? Tsumugi's statement must be a clue to how he'll be playing in the cast. But why would he need to monitor others in the virtual world? They can do that themselves, right? Or maybe Tsumugi has something else planned. ~~~

Ouma breathed in and out. He was escorted into the car by two unknown men, claiming they're staff from Danganronpa. It's time for the auditions. He's ready, right? Ouma sat at the back of the car, far from anyone in the vehicle. He looked out the window. It was a blur of color, as the car moved faster. He can see the houses lining up the road, he looked at the rearview mirror. He can see his house that he's leaving behind. Along with his parents. "How far is the Team Danganronpa headquarters?", Ouma asked one of the staff. "About four hours away", one replied. Ouma stayed silent after that, not even bothering to start a conversation with anyone in the car in particular.

FIRST

I Learn to Live Half-Alive

#danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #fanfic #pre game #long road to success #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #rantaro amami #maki harukawa #shuichi saihara #k1-b0 #angie yonaga #himiko yumeno

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ikonislife · 7 years ago

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Cold No Longer.

- Chanwoo x Reader

- New year drabble

- Continuation of Cold.

Cr. Ikonis

Part 1: Cold

A full 2 years it has been since you last wander the streets of this quaint city, a full 2 years since you had seen him. In the long 730 days since you left, it had dawned upon you that the familiarities, the craving ignited in your heart to once again see the same shops lining the street and the old friendly faces, the nostalgia could easily be solve with a packed duffle bag and a train ticket. Never once did the enticing calls of the past had won, not even as you nurse the 3rd glass of wine, letting yourself wallowed in loneliness as the world in front of your eyes blurred from tears as your would be anniversary ticked by.

Partially because this place had always been bittersweet in your mind from the many lessons it provided in your the short period of time you since your existence on this Earth... Partially because it reminds you of him.

You know showing up to the place you once called home meant risking running into the person you both despise and love, wanting nothing more than to avoid till the day the Earth die but also needing, craving for just a glimpse to sooth your healing heart at the same time. So it’s as good a time as any to take utilize your holiday days off to once again roam this old haunt. At the very lease shall heartbreaks happen, the plentiful holiday decoration will soften the blow...

You had heard a year later from an old friend that Chanwoo had moved, graduated college and no longer the baby face freshman that was your boyfriend. He had gotten accepted into a fancy university and on track to become the man you always knew he could be had he not fallen into the wrong crowd in high school.

Yet funny enough, if he had been excelling academically, that would meant he would never needed your tutoring service and so your amazing relationship, albeit the painful parting, would’ve never came to be. You remember exactly the moment your breath was taken away by that cheeky grin and bright, big doe eyes of his as he sauntered into the tutor center as if he’s king of the damn place.

Such a simple decision in life, volunteering at your old high school to gain work experience, a simple decision that altered the course of your life so greatly. A soft sigh leaves your lips, eyes twinkle with the neon sign of that old coffee shop that used to get your heart hammered every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The money spent on coffee here nearly as much as your paycheck due to the sheer fact that the both of you had spent more time chatting afterward than the lesson itself. He offered to pay for it always but you couldn’t do that, not when you had thought this was nothing more than a dumb crush that would go nowhere. Little did you know, life had other plan.

In the two weeks spent in this old town, you had seen nearly everyone from friend to foe alike, and every old haunts you had missed. Yet the single person you secretly, deep within your heart wanting, praying to the stars above and all that’s miraculous of the holiday season to meet has failed to appear.

All hope was shattered after one particularly cold snowy night, after a man, a bit older than Chanwoo you had only seen with a few times and from what you had heard, the person who had been there for him after you were gone, informed you of your heart’s desire whereabout. Him recognizing you honestly in itself is a miracle, not even your favorite professor had realized who you were let alone someone you met a handful of time.

“Y/n, right?” The man had spoke up, cramped in between the sea of people awaiting their coffee to shield away from the frigidness of the night.

“Yea... You’re Chanwoo’s friend.” The sweetest relieved smile broke out on his lips, no doubt fearing your unfamiliarity of him. You didn’t know for how long nor how much money the both of you had spent on coffee but none of that matter. You had the realest conversation with a human being in months and with someone you hadn’t even think of. You found out his name is Jinhwan, and like both Chanwoo and yourself, he too had up and left this town so long ago but never could stay away.

“Me and the kid come back every chance we get. We both really appreciate the hospitality and warmth that comes from small town, you know. the big city, it sucks the life out of you sometimes. Chanwoo was suppose to be here already but big project came through. He’ll be back after the new year tho, if you’re around long enough.”

At the mention of Chanwoo, your eyes perked up with excitement, a small smile tugging at your lips even if you brain hadn’t realize. However, Jinhwan did and he took the chance.

“He still loves you, you know. Not so much lately but right after the break up, talked about you day an night. I got so sick of hearing your name at one point. He still got your picture in his room, just said it’s someone special to his heart whenever his friends ask.” His chuckle filled the air and in a way you were happy, happy to know that you weren’t just a bet after all even if it changes nothing. You and him just weren’t fated.

As your days spent grew longer than days remained, your heart anxious with regret that your wish won’t come true, your desire of seeing him one last time will be denied. You list of places has finally come to an end, the many lines of scribbles on your list crossed out and your heart fills with new memories of these places, all but one - the bridge.

You had considered crossing out the bridge, excluding it altogether on this mini adventure down memory lane of yours but your heart wouldn’t let you. It was too important, crucial player in your history that no matter what, you have to see it. And so you left the best for last as there was only 3 days left to this trip, your feet find their way back to the place where all the magic happened.

The last time you had seen it, the bridge was a bit more worn and drab, the path a bit darker, although the weather was much like today. As you draw your scarf closer, you question yourself if the management had really repainted it or it’s all a trick of mind to match the mood of your heart. After all, the last time you were here was the when your heart was shattered by the man you still love dearly.

As expected, even though the park filled with people awaiting the new year, not much traffic at this far side, a spot not many know about despite its perfect locale for watching the firework downtown... Well, not much traffic aside from a young man whom you hope would leave soon... You need your time alone with this place, to really soak in the reality of it all even though two whole years had past. With each step further onto the path that bear witness to the start and the end of your relationship, a strange sense of serenity mixing with anxiety filling your heart, flutter the wings of butterfly within your stomach, almost as if your heart anticipating the arrival of Chanwoo, as if he’d magically appear out of thin air to be with you this lonely new year eve.

Watch ticking 11:30, you wonder even with the new high rises blocking the distant horizon would you still be able to watch the fireworks as you did all those years ago under the warm embrace of Chanwoo. Funny how things had changed within a blink of an eye, one second you were just tutor and student, hoping for a better future than hanging about a useless bunch for a boy you barely knew. At that point you truly were just his ‘noona’, worrying about his potential even if it’s a bit comical taking into account the few years in between your ages. A goodbye dinner turned into weekly, then nearly daily, and before you had realized there was so much more behind the innocent of his lingering touches and sweet smiles. You doubted those charming grin and sweet words, the glances he’d exchanged with his friends and how never once he’d bothered introducing you to the group of boys. Yet that night when he had showed up with a bouquet of flower dressed in his best job interview outfit asking for a new year eve together, you just couldn’t say no.

It was adorable, the way he so shyly snaked his arm around your waist, tugging you closer under his giant coat. Keeping you warm he had said, you knew better but you were too far gone under the vice of the handsome boy to really do anything about it. Then as the countdown began, he uttered the sentence that forever intertwining yours and his fate together, “will you be my girlfriend”. By the time five had rang out in the distant from the excited crowd, you had nodded yes to the most mesmerizing smile you’ve seen from Chanwoo. As the fireworks lighted the night sky with its wonderment, your lips touched in a harmonious dance of new form love and anticipation of a new year.

Two years since you had last seen Chanwoo right on this bridge, so much memories and you had always hope at least some part of it was real. You couldn’t help but smile recalling the words of Jinhwan, how certain he was that your your present still very much prominent in Chanwoo’s heart. Yet in a way, it sadden you to see him still hanging onto the ghost of your past, unable to move on from the mistake of young age.

“He cut himself off from that group, did you know that? Not too long after you guys got together, Chanwoo said he wanted nothing to do with those troublesome kids, started to hang out around myself and the older boys more. All because he really did fell in love with you. ”

At least one good thing came out of all this heartbreak, you had always thought Chanwoo was so much better than those nonsensical kids loitering around the local businesses.

The river below coursing as strongly as you remembered, pitch black and seemingly sucking everything in its path. Leaning onto the railing you watch the many helicopters above buzzing about, covering news for the new year celebration. You mind floods with the good times spent here, the picnics, the kisses shared and unlike your prediction of pain, your body feel light, heart rather than aching, longing for future uncertain.

“I hope you’re well, wherever you are. Chanwoo.”

You couldn’t help but whisper his name, letting it linger in the air as it did so many times before except this time, he isn’t here to grace you with that cheeky smile of his or to pull you into his chest.

“Y/n?”

Or maybe he is? Were you so tired your mind thought up of the way your name sound so warm in his voice... No way. There was no one else on this bridge, just you and the young man in the black hoodie... Your eyes widen in shock, not really believing but not in disbelief either, just some sort of limbo dream state, not really to turn around when he calls out once more.

“Noona?”

Slowly but without any hesitation, you spin on your heels eyes closed fearing it all just a mirage of dream but there he stands, as real as the drumming of your heart, as handsome as you remember.

“Chanwoo...” His name once more slips from your lips, too dumbfounded to do anything else, you just call his name. Each and every time, he answers without fail.

“Yes, noona.”

“It’s really you.”

“I’m here.” With each replies, Chanwoo inches closer, cutting the gap in between your bodies until you could effortlessly poke his cheeks without much effort. A smile on his lips at your strange reaction, as if he had vanished and suddenly reappeared.

“But how, Jinhwan said you weren’t coming back till-”

“ After new year.” He cuts you off, “That was the plan but...”

“But?” With bated breath, you wholeheartedly anticipating his answers, praying it was you he’s here for.

“But I couldn’t miss our promise of being here every new year, to watch the firework...” His smile dulled, a bit of sadness tugging at the corner of his lips and he fights so hard to keep it from turning into a frown. For a split second, Chanwoo thought about lying, that his project had finished early instead of him pulling 3 all nighter in a row just to be here. You deserve better. He lied to you once and that cost him seemingly a whole life with you, he can’t make the same mistake, not again. “Sad, isn’t it... I still come here every year to think about old time. Even though you’re probably off somewhere better.” His gaze no longer on you, facing away, forlorn into the distant before his head hangs low. “Probably happier with someone else.”

For a moment, it’s just silent. Chanwoo confession stunned you, shocking your shivering heart back into the warmth of sunlight but before you could say anything, he faces you once more.

“I couldn’t let go... I kept hoping I’ll see you, even if you’re here with someone else, at least I’ll know you’re happy.”

Somewhere far in the distant, you could hear the elated cheer of the crowd getting ready for the countdown. You look back to see Chanwoo had once again staring in the direction of the horizon, a soft smile on his lips even though his eyes still very much carry the weight of his mistake, of how much he hurt you.

“10″ The crowd calls out and you move closer beside the man you still love very much.

“9″ Finger intertwining tightly with his, and before Chanwoo even had time to process what was happening, you had pulled his arm around your body.

“8″ With more vigor this time, the crowd screams out but Chanwoo couldn’t hear anyone else aside from your voice calling for him. “Jung Chanwoo,”

“7″ With the brightest smile you could conjure up under the freezing wind that probably does a better job than botox for your skin, your hands cupping tightly around his no longer chubby cheeks.

“6″ “Will you be my boyfriend.”

“5″ Before your heart gives out, you place your lips on his with the best effort in not falling over tiptoeing to match his height. Chanwoo finally caught his breath only to lose it again under the spell your spinning, drowning him in all the fantasy of simply getting to kiss you one more time. Neither of you could really hear the rest of the countdown nor did you bother too much with trying. Chanwoo tighten the grasp around your teetering self, securing you in the bear hug you had craved for two years before deepening the kiss so much further. Neither does the liven scream of the crowd nor the vibrancy of the flowers of lights above could compare to the way his lips feel against yours, moulding so perfectly as if no time had past.

“Baby, I’ve missed you.” He murmurs softly against your lips, breath heavy as was yours but neither of you mind it. Chanwoo went back for second then third, ignoring that the many couples who had found their way to the bridge, overflow from the crowd had stopped sharing their new year kiss long ago and were now redirecting their attention toward your way. Whispers of how excessive you both were in holding out your kiss for so long, and whispers of perhaps you both had never kiss before fills the air. Chanwoo ignores them all as he holds you like he had never had the chance before, kiss you as if he will never get the chance again because for now, it’s just you and him lost in the moment.

Tomorrow come you’ll have to figure out the long distant relationship or maybe not so long, who know, you don’t even know where he lives now nor what he does for a living. All you know is you’re being kiss, by Jung Chanwoo, the man you had dreamed of for 730 days and no longer counting.

“Yes.”

#ikon #ikon scenarios #ikon imagines #ikon drabbles #ikon chanwoo #ikon chan #chanwoo #chan #jung chanwoo #chanu #chanwoo scenarios #chanwoo imagines #chanwoo drabbles #chanwoo fanfic #ikon fanfic #ikonic #writing

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chaoscontrolstheworld · 7 years ago

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Six Shooter - Chapter 12: Making Plans in the Dark of the Night

A/N: I’ll put this one up now and then the other up later tonight. I’ll also do linking up tonight when I upload Chapter 13

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16

Pairings: Analogical and Royality (not yet implemented)

Word Count: 4800+

Thomas jerked awake at the sound of something tapping on the living room window. He scrunched up his face as light finally penetrated the darkness that lay behind his eyelids, sighing in annoyance as the tapping continued if slightly toned down. With heavy eyelids and a sneer to curdle dairy, the brown-haired man began to sit up. There was a soft moan from his chest and the outlaw boss realized he was no longer in his own house, rather he was in the Lilac house with the elder of the Lilac lads passed out on his chest, a soft frown marring his features at the sudden motion beneath him. It was…Thomas didn’t know what it was. Was it amazing? Was it enthralling? Was it eerie? Whatever it was it made his heart soften slightly, cracking the molded stone casing around his dead, lifeless cardiovascular muscle – or as dead and lifeless as the darn thing could be that is.

The tapping continued to annoy him and he found it forming into a niggling sensation on the inside of his skull. Practiced claws with painful accuracy digging into the soft material of his mind. Eventually he could no longer stand the pain and, though his heart ached at the motions, carefully slid Logan’s body off his own and onto the couch. It was relatively easy from there to take his leave from the room and enjoy the feeling of his numbed legs regaining blood flow – painful pins and needles jabbing at his only source of movement. With a rumbling sigh the outlaw boss shook his legs, attempting in vain to send more blood to his legs. Thomas frowned when the pain finally subsided enough for him to properly move, the front door of the Lilac property now within his reach. With the sort of annoyed aura, he usually reserved for his employees, the outlaw boss flung the door open, glaring towards the spot where the tapping was originating from.

A figure moved in the blinding light, slow enough to be human yet quick enough to be either an outlaw or a burglar. In this case, either was possible, Thomas reasoned, but he’d give them what for if they came at him.

“Boss”, the figure whispered and Thomas groaned internally, thankful for once it was one of his employees.

“Yes?”, Thomas asked at the figure neared and the sun’s blinding rays stopped cloaking the figure in shadows. A man presented himself, a little taller than his boss but equally as burly. “What have you come to me for? I thought I told all of you to leave Akers town alone, have you not learned your lesson?”, the smaller of the two threatened, wrapping a hand around the hilt of the pistol tucked away in the layers of clothing he wore.

“Sorry, boss. But I thought you should know. Virgil’s on his way here with back up. Roman’s closest to the town, but still a day or two away from here. His horse is a tired one, won’t be able to make it riding all the way here. He’ll have to rest it up along the way”, the man spoke, eyes darting to the hallway behind his employer, cautious and quiet as he tried to find any footsteps descending the stairs or any movement other than his and Thomas’ own.

“Thank you for this information. You will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts. How, pray tell, were you able to learn about all of this and come tell me before Virgil’s little friends and the hunter arrived?”, Thomas asked, curious about the man’s information. You could never be too careful.

“Note came by bird from Smithton. Said that a bloodied man and three others took up a night in one of the bars there. They recognized the four and when the hunter left they sent me a note. I came from Talyn’s right here to tell you. Have the note with me and everything if you want it”, the employee said, pulling out a small roll of paper from his coat pocket and handing it to Thomas with somewhat shaky hands.

Thomas glanced the paper over and nodded softly, “Good man. Leave me now. I have to propose to this devil and make sure the brother is out of the way before I can attend to Virgil and his party of misfits.”

The employee nodded, tucking his hands into his coat pockets and looking left and right before walking away from the house, early morning sun shining off the small metal objects that adorned his form. Thomas sighed as the man vanished down the hill, pulling out his pistol he fired one shot at the out of sight man. There was a caw from a bird a few miles away and the sound of something hitting the ground with a thud. Thomas twirled the pistol and walked down the hill to the body, kicking it gently with his foot before nudging it into the long grass beside the road. With Roman away and Logan confined to his house no one would find the body. Thomas chuckled softly and pocketed his pistol, tapping the metal as he wandered back up the hill. His no witnesses’ policy was a little bit poor, but he couldn’t have anyone in the town seeing the outlaw talking to him in such a casual manner. Thomas smirked a little as he stood by the door, looking out at the slowly waking world with a mix of bemusement and disdain. The outlaw boss took the moment of quiet to appreciate his own genius before turning on his heel and walking back inside. First thing’s first, he thought as he tucked the paper into his coat and safely out of the way of falling out – he couldn’t be found out at this point in time, not when he’d almost finished his plan – I need to take care of the younger Lilac, then I can move onto his brother.

“Are you sure about this?”, Joan mumbled as they clung to Patton in a futile attempt to keep themselves from falling off. So far, they had managed to stay upright and out of danger, but it was becoming increasingly difficult seeing as they had only had a few hours’ sleep and were still rather hungover from the previous ingestion of hard liquor.

“Certain, but if you’d rather walk, be my guest”, Patton mumbled half-heartedly, wondering if he had indeed made the correct decision to not only follow Virgil but to also follow his foolhardy crush into the scrum of battle against Thomas Saderson. Patton thought hunters were meant to be smart, not bull-headed morons. Yet here they were, two bartenders perched atop a saddled horse following an outlaw in the hopes of somehow making contact with Logan before the outlaw boss had a chance harm him and his younger brother.

Dust spat up at them as Patton pushed the horse further, faster, closer to Virgil and Di. The outlaw looked extremely determined, eyes hard and set upon the horizon of the dusty land even as the boulders and sun loomed over him on all sides. Dark against the sun-drenched land, a stark contrast that favoured his clothing and horse above all else. Black smudges against the beige, the duo raced across the desert, conquering the heat with thoughts of the Lilac and the Saderson. The flower that awaited its knight in shining black leather, his faithful dark steed by his side. A far contrast from the usual fairy tale, with their metal plated knights and white horses. Sword swapped for a pistol loaded with ammunition. Dragon swapped for an outlaw boss wanting a vendetta, needing to harm the flower Virgil was riding to save. The tower swapped for a town, the animals swapped for people. A real fairy tale, huh, Virgil thought bitterly as he rode on, pushing Di to move faster to their destination.

Patton wiped his brow as the sweltering heat penetrated the thick leather coat he wore, sweat drenching his shirt as he wondered just how long it would be before the group found themselves in Akers town. He wished it to be sooner rather than later as Joan adjusted themselves on the saddle behind him. With a jerk of his head, Patton pushed his glasses up not taking either hand off the reins of his horse. Joan, upon seeing this, moved one of their hands up to gently adjust both Patton’s hat and glasses.

“Thank you”, the man grunted softly, urging the horse closer to the outlaw's. Virgil seemed to slow, eyes planted on a dusty, dark brown boulder in the distance. The dark clad outlaw tilted his head a little as Di moved slowly towards the shape, the two bartenders coming up behind the dark duo and slowing to match.

“What’s wrong?”, Joan asked, eyes drawn to Virgil instead of the boulder-like shape.

“Is that a horse?”, Patton asked, his own eyes focused on the shape as it shuddered slightly. Virgil gave a single nod of confirmation before pulling out his pistol and dropping off Di to the ground. He prodded the metal softly into the beast’s stomach as the horse turned over a bit, large brown eyes blinking back at the outlaw. “Wait…wait, that’s- that’s Cameron”, Patton murmured, dismounting with Joan and pulling Joan’s horse along with him.

“Who names their horse Cameron?”, Virgil grunted out, finally speaking as he pushed the pistol back within the confines of his coat and dusting off the beast a little.

“Roman. Cameron is Roman’s horse”, Patton stated softly, bending down and handing the reins off to Joan as he ran a hand over the dusty strips of leather attached to his friend’s horse. Cameron lifted an eyelid, breath causing tiny clouds of dust to blow away from him as Patton rubbed his forehead gently.

“We can’t leave him here and if Roman left him, he’s probably coming back. He couldn’t get all the way to Akers town on foot and it’s more than likely that he’ll return for his horse once he’s gathered supplies and such”, Virgil mumbled, turning away from the slumbering beast and kicking a stone. “In any case, we can’t waste time here. I need to get to Akers and seeing as you, Patton, know this horse so well, I suggest you be the one to stay behind and take care of it”, the outlaw grumbled, attempting in vain to pull himself up onto his saddle. He grit his teeth and pushed himself up only to land on the ground and groan in pain as Joan rushed over to tend to the injury.

“You idiot. I thought you were supposed to be better at taking care of yourself than this”, Joan growled, glaring at their friend and pulling the outlaw’s arm over their shoulders. It took a little work and some small grunts of pain from Virgil, but eventually, the two bartenders were able to sit the outlaw against the sleeping horse.

“We can’t ride off and leave him like this”, Patton mumbled, pushing his hat up and running a hand through his hair. Joan nodded in agreement, grabbing their horse’s reins where they had been dropped and pulling the creature over to Di’s side and grabbing the other horse’s reins.

“But we also can’t let Thomas get away with whatever plan he’s got for your friend and his brother”, Joan mumbled as the handed the reins off to Patton and dug around in their horse’s saddle bag for some pegs and a hammer.

“We’ll have to wait for Roman then I guess… let’s just hope Logan can survive until then”, Patton murmured, as Joan positioned the pegs and swung the hammer down on top of them, the resounding sound of metal hitting metal filling their air.

The pair of bartenders were quiet as the sound bounded around them, filling the stale air with its repetitive sound. The dirt and dust that caked Cameron’s rich brown body fills the air, stirred up by Virgil’s hands as they grabbed at the hairs, pain torturing his side with boulder-sized needles. Rocks tumbled down the hill as Joan tied the reins of the two horses to the pegs, one peg per horse with little space between them. Di settled as the sun began to tinge the clouds above with streaks of orange and pink, coating them with color as they soaked up what little remained of the sun’s light. The clouds greedily swallowed the color while the three humans and horses waited patiently, hours ticking by as they stayed where they were.

The moon and stars filled the darkening sky, midnight blue setting into the once cobalt abyss above them. Glittering lights of silver and white dotted the inky blue like the many grains of sand and dust below the company’s feet. A crunching sound filled the cold air and two heads turned to gaze at the tired face and smoldering eyes of a one Roman King.

“What are you two doing here?”, Roman hissed at them, his small pile of kindling dropping to the ground as he wiped his dirty hands off on his breeches.

“Waiting for you”, Joan hissed back, seemingly just as grouchy as their long-lost comrade.

“We were worried and Virgil wasn’t well… we… we wanted to make sure you were okay, that Cameron was okay”, Patton tried to reason, standing and walking over to the hunter with an expression that neither hunter nor bartender could decipher.

“I didn’t ask you to come and find me”, Roman growled lowly, obviously agitated by the sudden appearance of the two bartenders and unconscious outlaw.

“You didn’t have to”, Patton replied in kind, a small frown inching its way onto his face as he spoke. The agitation of the man in front of him seemingly infecting him too as he straightened his posture and looked up at Roman.

Roman’s words were ice-like as he spoke, “Go back to Smithton. Akers town is still too far away from here. Virgil needs medical attention.”

“So does Cameron. Honestly Roman, I thought you knew better than to treat your horse like this.”

“I wasn’t the one who rode him ragged to Smithton.”

“Virgil needed medical attention.”

“Oh, sure he did. Just go back to Smithton, I’ll save Lo and Anthony and then I’ll send word to you guys.”

“I’m not leaving you to get yourself or anyone else killed by this maniac.”

“Well then you aren’t hearing me right”, Roman growled, standing up to his full height and narrowing his eyes at the other man. “Leave here now and let me go save Logan.”

“I’m not leaving you alone so you can get yourself murdered.”

“I won’t be alone, I’ll have Logan with me.”

Patton hesitated before opening his mouth to reply to the comment, “Well then I guess we both know what you’re really after with a statement like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Roman asked, growling a little and glaring down at the somewhat shorter male.

“You know perfectly well what I mean. I should have known you were after his money too. You’re just as bad as… as…”, Patton let out a small growl of his own, closing his eyes.

“Come on, I dare you to say it”, Roman murmured, body inching closer to the bartender.

“You’re as bad as Thomas”, Patton finally spat out, venom thick in his voice as his eyes open, ice like with obvious rage. Roman dared not speak, his eyes finding the ground and hands clasping each other behind his back. Patton’s feet shuffled away from him and he heard the tell-tale sound of dust rustling under leather boots as someone knelt on the rocky ground.

“Well…”, Roman began, words rushed through his head as he tried to form a coherent sentence to defend himself, “At least I’m not an emotional wreck.”

Silence filled the cool air, crickets chirping away quietly in the background. The bartenders didn’t move, Virgil remained asleep and Roman refused to make a sound. Di’s head and ears perked up at something in the distance that no human could catch. A rock rolled softly down the hill a few miles off and the mare’s heart rate quickened in tow with the revelation of rider and horse. The moon glinted off metal buckles and buttons, silver shining dimly in the dark. The rider reached into their coat, the suggestive click of a pistol quiet against the chirping of crickets and soft hooting of owls. Di stamped her hoof softly into the dirt and waited for Joan to look at her before rearing her head back a little. Joan’s eyes caught the movement in the dark, widening a little as they tried to remember how to breathe.

It truly was a terrifying sight to behold. An armed rider, shadowed by the darkness of the night on a dark steed. It was ghostly, almost supernatural with the way the pistol glinted in the dull light and the rider breathed in simultaneity with their horse. Chests filling and collapsing with twin breaths under coats of leather and hair. Joan was stuck between staring at the sight and letting the other two know of the mysterious rider in the night. They decided it better to let them know and rolled a rock over in the direction of the crouching Patton and sleeping, Virgil.

“Yes, Joan?”, Patton asked, sounding rather annoyed that Joan hadn’t spoken to him but had instead decided that tossing a small rock at his leg would be the best way of getting his attention. When Joan didn’t respond Patton turned his gaze from Virgil’s wound to the rock tossing bartender and gave them a soft glare. Joan tilted their head softly in the direction of the rider and made a shushing notion at Roman and Patton, who glanced towards the dark figures before looking at each other with twin impassive stares.

“I’ll get the fire started then”, Roman said, making his voice a little louder than it had been previously as he dropped to the ground and gathered the kindling he’d managed to find. He set up the fire between Joan, Patton, and Virgil with a little space either way. Joan’s eyes flicked towards the rider, staying on the dark clad figure for a moment before the sudden light drew them away.

Orange and white mixed together in a sensual dance, licking at the kindling and dancing over the darkening wood. Crackling filled the air as light illuminated the group with a pale orange glow. Heat poured forth from the construct as small embers dove from the flames into the abyss above. The beauty was lost on the group though as the sound of hooves on rocks drew closer, the quiet murmur of dust in the wind growing fainter as the thudding of three heartbeats drowned out all but the hooves. They each secretly hoped that the rider would pass them by, leave them alone, continue with their ride; but as each upturned, clattering rock and low, heavy hoof beat neared, they knew that wasn’t to be the case.

Logan awoke late that afternoon with Anthony snuggled up against his ribcage, heart beating softly against the squishy, human anatomy he held. His eyes were sore from either the sun’s bright rays or the tears – he didn’t know which. Speaking of the heavenly body that shone light upon the world, it was descending rapidly into the edges of the sky, beautiful celestial orange beauty tinting the sky with its saturating light. The now hydrangea blue sky, stained ever so slightly with the orange and peach of a rose, began to darken. Inky blue was slowly spilling in with hints of silver stars to dot the dark canvas. It would have been beautiful had it not been only a day since the sharp knife of mourning had wedged itself deep in Logan’s mind, heart and soul.

With a heavy heart and stomach full of lead, the elder Lilac shifted softly out from under his younger brother, running a hand gently through the unruly black strands of Anthony’s hair. His smile diminished as he freed himself, stretching a tad before going about his chores. Grief wouldn’t inhibit him from fulfilling his duties. The horses needed nourishment, the orchard needed to be tended to, the animals fed and given water. Many jobs quickly filled his mind and he set about doing them, fulfilling the mundane tasks as if his heart were not with his body. He moved around quickly, tending to the most pressing matters first before moving on and on, and so forth.

It was dark, the moon shining brightly in the ink-like abyss above before he realized that all had been taken care of. His thumb traced along his left clavicle, moving softly across the skin from the acromial end to the sternal end, he changed to his fore and middle finger before tapping softly against the skin covering his sternum. It was calming, in a strange way. An act he’d seen done before by another to another.

“Lo?”, a small voice asked, soft as a whisper and breathless as someone who’d run a day across the desert.

“Anthony?”, Logan asked back, slightly surprised to see his younger brother standing at the back door waiting for his return. Anthony rubbed at his eyes, obviously still sleepy, but attempting to appear not to be. “What are you doing up?”, the elder asked as he neared the younger, bending down as the dark-haired boy embraced his brother’s head and shoulders.

“Didn’t know where you’d gone. Got scared. Please don’t leave me like that again”, Anthony whispered softly and Logan’s heart broke at how sad and desperate the plea sounded. Logan wrapped his arms around Anthony’s stomach, pulling the boy closer to him and kissing his forehead softly.

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you anytime soon”, Logan muttered into his brother’s hair. Anthony’s hands tangled in his brother’s soft strands, the boys cried silently, tears pouring down their faces in anguish at having lost their father.

“Don’t leave me alone”, Anthony pleaded while Logan shushed his cries and cradled his head in his chest.

“I won’t. I won’t”, the elder promised, taking the time to pepper his brother’s scalp with kisses. They were gentle, barely there with how soft they were, how gently they were pressed to the mess of black hair. But they were appreciated greatly, returned tenfold by the younger who vehemently pressed his own quivering lips to his brother’s cheek. Tears mixed together, falling down soft cheeks as the silence built up. The night was near halfway when finally, the aching quiet was broken by a sob of remorse.

“You’ll leave though”, Anthony murmured, rolling his shoulders and pushing his body away from his brother’s chest, “You’ll leave, because you have to. You have to… to… to help people. You have to keep people safe.”

“And you will too. Now… now that… I can take you with me if you want”, Logan offered, voice small as he lifted a hand to Anthony’s cheek and wiped a trail of salt water from the round, brown orb.

“I… I want to, but…”, Anthony hesitated as the words he wanted to say left him, tears falling once more.

“But what? We can sell the house, sell the property, sell the fruit and the horses and you can travel with Roman and myself. You don’t have to fight… but I don’t want to leave you alone here… I don’t want to leave you alone ever again”, Logan said quietly, his own voice steady with suppressed sorrow.

“No… I don’t… I don’t want to sell this place off… but I don’t want you to leave me alone either”, Anthony mused gently, taking his brother’s unsteady hand in his own and pressing his face into the calloused flesh.

“Then… then I’ll stay. Roman can take care of the hunting business himself. I don’t want to sell this off either, so… I’ll stay”, Logan reasoned, moving his other hand up to wipe the second trail of tears from his brother’s face.

“You can’t do that. People need you”, Anthony cried softly, tears once more welling in his eyes, saline water dripping from the ducts and splashing down his cheeks.

“You need me more”, Logan muttered, pulling his brother’s head to his chest and hushing the boy as the soft hands clasped his shirt for dear life.

“I don’t, I swear. Other people need you more than I do”, Anthony cried, voice muffled by Logan’s once dry shirt.

“No, they don’t. Roman can handle it and I promised… I promised him I’d marry by the end of the month”, Logan murmured, chin finding Anthony’s head and resting atop it softly.

“You’re… you’re staying then?”, Anthony asked, voice filled with hope however muffled it sounded.

“Yes. Yes, I’m staying”, Logan confirmed as he closed his eyes, peace falling over the household as the two brothers held each other, harmony hanging heavy over their heads.

It took a while for the pair to calm enough to stand properly, holding hands as they entered the living room, standing and looking around in a daze before the younger tugged the elder up the stairs and to their rooms. Anthony pulled Logan into the small room and the pair huddled on the bed, laying down to hold each other through the night.

The moon cast an eerie glow through the window, illuminating the elder's features as he faced his brother. They lay in silence, breathing in tandem with one another while the stars twinkled overhead like several million eyes looking down upon the two, waiting for their next move.

“Logan?”, Anthony asked, voice echoing gently in the room. Logan shifted and blinked owlishly at the younger Lilac, light brown eyes meeting his brother’s dark ones.

“Yes?”, Logan asked, feeling a little sleepy as the night sky became dotted with sparse, thin clouds. The tinge of morning gracing the world, tinting the inky abyss and dissolving the stars with the light of the sun.

“Who are you choosing?”, Anthony questioned and Logan looked up and out of the window for a moment.

“Who am I choosing for what?”, the eldest Lilac asked, yawning slightly as sleep began to sink into his mind, clouding and fogging his sight and head.

“Who are you marrying?”, Anthony asked back, eyes stuck to his brother’s fluttering eyelids, sleep obviously trying to take over.

“I don’t know. Probably Thomas. Good night little Ant”, Logan muttered, pressing a soft kiss to Anthony’s temple as the light of the sun began to change the sky, navy changing to cobalt blue.

“Thomas… Saderson? Really? Logan? Logan?”, Anthony called, realising his brother was asleep before sighing and sitting up. His back bent as he looked over to his pistol’s hiding place, eyes trained on the glint of metal that the sun hit ever so slightly. Something was off about that man, he knew that for sure. He’d always been sure of that. What, he did not know. Why, he did not know. But he did know that Saderson was shady. The man had this lingering sense of death, that Logan couldn’t seem to pick up on. Maybe Anthony was better at sensing it, maybe his brother was numbed to it due to the man’s wiles and charms. But whatever the case, married or not, Thomas was a dead man if he stepped one toe out of line. Anthony promised himself that if Roman couldn’t take care of Logan and David couldn’t take care of Logan, then he’d take care of Logan.

Anthony placed a quivering hand to his cheek before pressing it over his mouth to quiet the small cry that escaped it. David… David was dead. The only father and family he’d ever had, apart from Logan, was dead. The only person who’d promised to always be there was dead. David Lilac was dead and there was no changing that. This day would forever be tainted with sadness and grief.

The younger glanced back at his brother, slumbering peacefully on his bed, face drawn out in calm lines. He looked so peaceful, so gentle and kind like this. As if he hadn’t just lost the only other member of his family. As if his father hadn’t just died. As if the man that Anthony had spent so much time alone with was still with them. It made Anthony angry. Angry that his brother could be so calm. Angry that his brother could sleep. Angry that his brother could lay there so happily. But the anger was gone in a second, because he couldn’t be mad at Logan. He could never hate, or despise, or be angry at his brother. Because Logan was Logan, and as many times as the hunter had left, as many times as he had sent himself into battle with little regard to his own safety, Anthony couldn’t be mad at him. They were brothers after all.

Acknowledgments/Thank you to: @xxtearfulchildxx ( @lowkeysalient ) and @sea-blue-child

As per usual asks, messages and notes to be put in Acknowledgments and thus notified

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #wild west AU #6shooterfic #analogical #royality

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marypsue · 7 years ago

Text

Death of the Author 2 / 3

I am, as ever, guilty of story bloat. My planned last chapter of this fic has had to be split into two. Hey, on the bright side: more fic!

I forgot to add a warning the first time around, but this chapter contains some prime examples of Gideon being his particular brand of awful towards Mabel. Tread carefully if that’ll affect you. Also, I owe all credit to @seiya234 for the golf cart.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

"Look at us. When'd we get so old?"

Ford looked over, meeting her brother's eyes in the mirror. "You look like Dad."

"Eugh, don't say that," Stan said, with an exaggerated shudder.

There was a moment of silence, peaceful, almost companionable. Ford was just beginning to wonder if this was the time to break it when Stan said, awkwardly, holding his own gaze in the mirror as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck; "So, you're a woman now."

"Actually -" It was probably the best she was going to get, Ford decided, biting back the words that gathered at the back of her throat. "Yes." There was nothing to be ashamed of, she knew, but her borrowed turtleneck still felt suddenly too large and filled with prickly heat.

Stan nodded, still not meeting Ford's eyes. "Gotta say, I wouldn'ta seen that one coming."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Nothing, I just -" Stan raised both hands defensively, still not looking Ford in the eye. "Knew some girls like that, back when I was living rough. Hell, I woulda died outside a bar in New Orleans in '76 if it weren't for a couple queens in evening gloves and tiaras. Just...never woulda pegged you as the type. I still gotta wrap my head around it. How'd you end up figuring that one out, anyway? I woulda thought after seventeen years living with Dad -"

"You don't need to understand, Stanley." Maybe it was unnecessarily rude, but then, her brother never had been one for subtleties, and Ford just needed him to stop before he strayed too close to the truth and the bitter memories she'd rather try to forget. "You just need to accept that this is the way things are. The way I am." So that we can all move on to more important things, Ford's brain supplied, the memory of the dollop of starry spacetime slowly undulating in a glass containment device in the basement below them rising once again to the forefront of her thoughts.

The last thing Ford expected Stan to do was give a sheepish chuckle. "You know, that's almost exactly what Mabel said?"

"What? When -"

"Night the kids got here. I mean, the parents explained a bit when they asked me to take 'em, but Mabel was the one to sit me down and give me the crash course." Stan huffed out a laugh. “Lotta things changed since the seventies.”

Ford's mind whirled, playing back all the many, many changes to her home dimension that she'd been forced to process immediately upon arrival. "Mabel? But I thought Dipper said he -"

"Yeah, yeah, Dip's the one who's transgender or whatever they're calling it now, but..." Stan fixed Ford with a look that made her feel not unlike the first time she'd stood up in front of the grant committee. "That kid's not usually as outgoing as he was with you, you know."

"Me? Why me? He doesn't know me from a - a hole in the ground."

"That's where you're wrong, poindexter. That kid's been hero-worshipping that damn journal of yours all summer." Stan's stare softened, almost imperceptibly, before it turned into a glare. "You're his hero. And so help me, if you let him down, if you hurt those kids, I'll break your stupid glasses. And your nose with 'em."

“What? You can’t honestly think I would ever -”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest, staring in the general direction of the mirror instead of turning to face Ford. “I’m just sayin’, last time I tried to help you we nearly both got sucked into that portal of yours. Just stay away from those kids. I don’t want them in danger.”

With great effort of will – and, she thought, impressive restraint – Ford managed to bite back the selection of choice words that threatened to slip from her lips. “Fine,” she snapped, instead, turning her back on her brother. “Then you’ll ensure that they stay out of my way.”

It might have been pure spite that made her turn back when she heard the shuffle of Stanley starting to move. “And Stanley? When the summer ends, so does this Mystery Shack nonsense. You give me my house back, you give me my life back -”

“Thought you didn’t want it anymore,” Stan said, coldly, and there was something wrong with his voice. It was just slightly...off, as though Ford had tried to reconstruct his tone and cadence from –

...memory...

“Stanley?” Ford asked, but her brother only went on, as though his voice was playing from a pre-recorded script.

“You’re not Stanford Pines anymore. I’m Stanford Pines! I’ve been Stanford Pines the last thirty years! And I’ve done a better job of it than you ever did. What’d you accomplish, anyway? Causin’ the end of the world?”

“Stop it,” Ford said shortly, and Stan gave a sort of half-laugh, half-snort that had no humour in it.

“Stop what? Telling the truth? You don’t belong here anymore. There’s no place for you to fill. Stanley Pines is dead, Stanford Pines is right here. And he sure as hell never had a sister.”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. This wasn’t – wasn’t how this conversation –

For the first time, Ford looked, not at her brother’s reflection in the glass, but at his face.

Yellow eyes glowed above a massive, wicked grin that looked much too much like the smile that Stanley wore as Mr. Mystery for comfort. Ford took a step back as the imposter turned to face her, still grinning, shoulders back, posture triumphant. Gloating.

“Bill,” Ford hissed, reaching into her coat for a weapon, only to come up empty-handed.

The imposter in front of her winked one slit-pupiled eye, pointing an index finger at her. “GOT IT IN ONE, KID! GOTTA SAY, YOU SURE DO TAKE A WHILE TO CATCH ON!”

“What are you doing here? This isn’t what -” Ford glanced around, a sudden uncertainty trailing chilly fingers up the back of her neck. “Isn’t how I remember it...”

“ISN’T IT, NOW?” Bill said, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy. “WOW, CAN’T IMAGINE WHY THAT MIGHT BE!”

“You. You did this, somehow you tampered with my memory -”

“OH, SIXER, I’M FLATTERED! BUT YOU’RE GIVING ME TOO MUCH CREDIT.” Bill waved one of Stanley’s hands dismissively, before snapping his fingers. The room around Ford suddenly burst into flame, a ring of yellow fire trapping her in close with Bill and the mirror. “NOPE, THAT PESKY BARRIER OF YOURS IS STILL DOING ITS JOB! FOR NOW.”

Ford tried to ignore the way Bill’s voice dropped into a register almost too low for human hearing to detect, the way it rumbled up her legs and thrummed in her lungs. She drew in a deep breath, trying to centre herself, control her fear. “So you’re just doing what you always do. Plaguing me with your ridiculous, pointless nightmares because there’s nothing you can do to touch me.”

Bill shrugged Stan’s shoulders, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling with a mocking grin. Ford glanced up as well, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The twisted, howling faces that emerged from the woodwork would be etched on her imagination for weeks. “HEY, YOU SAY NIGHTMARE, I SAY SNEAK PREVIEW!”

“Sneak...”

Bill’s gaze snapped back onto Ford, like a laser, focused and intent on burning a hole right through her. “REMEMBER HOW I GENEROUSLY WARNED YOU I WAS HAVING SOME FRIENDS OVER?”

Ford shook her head. The memory of the nightmare that had driven her to reveal the rift to Dipper and started this whole blasted chain of events in motion jumped immediately to mind, but she couldn’t quite string it together with what was happening around her now. “You got what you wanted. The rift is open, the world is your plaything, everything we know has changed - what could you possibly be warning me about?”

Bill’s smile, if it were possible, grew even wider, stretching Stan’s face in a way that Ford knew from painful personal experience would leave his jaw aching for days afterwards. She winced in sympathy, and that was when it struck her, like a thunderbolt.

“No,” she snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Bill. “Stanley would never, he’s - he’d see right through you! You have nothing to offer him! He’d never make a deal with you -”

“OH, IS THAT SO?” Bill let out an enormous belly laugh, and the faces on the ceiling howled in an unholy harmony. “IT’S BEEN THIRTY YEARS, SIXER! AND YOU’RE WALKING, TALKING PROOF THAT PEOPLE CHANGE.”

Ford swallowed, hard, past the lump that had appeared, unbidden, in her throat. “You keep your filthy two-dimensional hands off of my brother, or -”

“OR YOU’LL WHAT?” Bill took two steps forward, leering into Ford’s face. She tried to step back, but the ring of flames nipped at her heels, pushing her forward into Bill. “FACE IT, FORDSY, YOU’VE ALREADY LOST! THIS WORLD IS MINE NOW! I CALL THE SHOTS! AND IF I WANT YOUR BROTHER - AND, YANNO, I THINK I DO WANT YOUR BROTHER, HE SEEMS LIKE A FUN GUY! - THEN IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!”

Both of his slit-pupiled, yellow eyes suddenly turned to little clock faces, hands frantically whirring around the hours as he pressed even closer into Ford’s personal space.

“TICK TOCK, SIXER!” Bill shouted, brightly, with far too much glee.

Ford –

...

Ford jolted awake.

For a long moment, it felt like an impossible weight was pressing down on her chest, crushing the breath out of her. She clawed at her constricting turtleneck with one hand, pressing the other to her mouth even as she tried to drag in a lungful of air, as though she could physically stuff down the cry that was climbing up her throat.

Darkness had gathered around the Shack so gradually that Ford had barely noticed the red light draining from the sky. Now, it seemed as though night had fallen all at once, a blanket of pure dark dropped over the Shack, muffling the distant shrieks and roars from the town. The living room had, she realised, fallen almost silent, the warm dark full of the sounds of soft snores and sleepy mumbles. Nearly every person Dipper had spent the afternoon enthusiastically introducing her to as ‘the author of the Journals, my great-aunt!’ had either trickled out or found bedding somewhere and hunkered down to sleep. Even Dipper's head was bobbing forward, the bottom of his shirt falling out of his slack mouth, and Mabel was curled up wrapped in the STAN SAVIOUR SQUAD banner, passed out across her pig.

Ford’s lungs finally inflated, and she gasped in a huge gulp of air. She felt nearly boneless with relief, and yet, the darkness still pressed in on her. She could still see Bill’s clock-face eyes set in Stanley’s familiar face hovering before her, the hands racing. Could still hear his jeering voice promising - no. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Bill might be clever, and devious, and capable of slipping poisoned-honey words into a willing ear like no one Ford had ever met, but still, surely Stanley would never -

Tick tock.

Ford forced herself to take one long, deep breath, to let it out slowly, listening to her heart gradually calming from its frantic pace. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Bill was only trying to get to her again, get inside her head. If he’d really been able to get Stanley to join him, he wouldn’t be wasting time on dreams and visions. He would’ve just dragged Stan’s body back to the Shack to gloat. Stan would never fall for Bill’s lies, Stan was - was better than that, was smarter -

She must not have shouted in her sleep, if she hadn't woken the children. Either that, or they were so exhausted that they'd slept right through it.

Regardless, it was well past time they were in bed. Ford took a few more deep breaths before pushing herself to her feet, wincing at the sudden rush of blood from her head. The living room wobbled and flashed bright black and white at the corners of her vision for a moment before everything settled again.

Dipper shook awake the moment Ford put a hand on his shoulder, head snapping up and looking around like a startled deer. "I wasn't asleep!" he protested, dropping the volume of his voice when Mabel sighed and rolled over in her sleep. "I was...contemplating."

Ford couldn't help the smile that stole across her face. "Do you think you could contemplate better from the comfort of your own bed?"

"No, I can do this, I can -" Dipper stopped when Ford gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, sighing and looking down at the carpet by his feet. "I blew it, didn't I." It didn't come out as a question.

"What do you mean, my boy?"

"I don't know, I just -" Dipper threw his hands out helplessly. "It feels like there's something more I should be doing, but I just don't know what, or how, and now you're putting me to bed like a little kid."

Ford bit down on her lower lip, unsure of what to say. She knew exactly what Dipper meant - every second they spent not finding a way to get Stanley back felt like a second wasted. There had to be something that would make Dipper feel less like he was failing, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what that might be.

If she could, perhaps she’d be feeling a little more hopeful herself.

Finally, she let out a sigh, and lowered herself to sit on the floor beside Dipper, groaning at the stiffness in her knees. “Everyone else is already asleep, we won’t accomplish much by staying up and draining ourselves further. We’ll all need to be at our best to face Bill and whatever surprises he might throw at us tomorrow.” She did her best to swallow down the bitter, sick taste that rose in the back of her mouth at the thought of what those surprises might include.

“I know,” Dipper said dejectedly, rubbing his upper arm and staring down at the floor.

Ford looked down herself, her eyes wandering until they came to rest on the gentle rise and fall of Mabel’s chest under the banner she’d wrapped herself in.

“Why don’t you come help me get Mabel to bed,” she said, and Dipper seemed to perk up, just a little. “If you’re still not feeling like sleeping afterwards, we can reconvene here and see if we can find any flaw in the plan that we might have overlooked.”

“Okay,” Dipper conceded, and Ford noticed a small smile had stolen across his face as he watched Mabel and Waddles snoring, though there was still a little wrinkle of worry in his brow. Ford didn’t blame him - the last time they’d watched Mabel sleeping this peacefully, they hadn’t known whether she would ever wake up.

Bill. It all came back to him. Every single person in the Shack, from Fiddleford passed out with his blowtorch in hand over the giant robotic leg he was welding right on down to the plaidypus curled up with the cross-eyed gnome in the corner had lost something - if not everything - to Bill. If it weren’t for Bill, Mabel would never have been forced to see a world where everyone seemed happier without her. If it weren’t for Bill, Dipper wouldn’t have been made to doubt himself like this, wouldn’t be shouldering this burden of responsibility that should never have been his in the first place. (Not when it had been all Ford’s fault, right from the beginning, her folly and her arrogance and her pride -)

If it weren’t for Bill, Stanley would be here with them right now, probably cracking some awful joke and then laughing at his own lack of wit when no one else did. Stanley would be here, aggravating everyone as usual, putting on that showman’s smile to make the children feel better, treating the whole thing like one big joke. Stanley would be safe, and he wouldn’t be - and he would know what to say to make Dipper feel better, and -

None of this would be happening if it weren’t for Bill Cipher.

Ford’s hands clenched into fists without her input, nails digging into the heels of her hands. She tried not to listen to the traitorous little voice in the back of her mind that whispered none of this would be happening if you hadn’t let him in.

“We’re not going to defeat Bill tomorrow,” Ford said, slow, turning her gaze back to Mabel.

There was a quaver in Dipper’s voice. “We’re, uh, we’re not?”

“No.” Ford slammed one fist into the palm of her other hand. It felt like a river of lava was rising slow through her veins, the heat pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “We’re going to destroy him.”

...

Mabel woke up briefly as Ford carried her up the stairs, her enormous yawn audible even though her face was pressed against Ford’s shoulder. At twelve years old, the twins were almost too tall to comfortably carry, but Ford hadn’t wanted to wake the girl, not when she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. If Ford herself had been able to steal a fraction of that peace in the middle of Weirdmageddon, she wouldn’t have wanted it disturbed.

“Whzfl?” Mabel asked, sleepily, and Dipper piped up before Ford could say anything.

“It’s okay, Mabel, we’re just going up to bed. You fell asleep on Waddles.”

Mabel let out a sigh, her head falling back against Ford’s shoulder. “How late is it?” she asked, sounding a little more awake, though not much.

“Well, according to Bill, time is dead and meaning has no meaning, but I’d say it’s definitely past your bedtime,” Ford answered, drawing a little snort of laughter out of Mabel.

“That means you too, Dipper,” Mabel said, her voice muffled in Ford’s sweater. “I saw you gnawing your shirt.”

“Aw, Mabel,” Dipper protested, but he didn’t try to deny it.

And he didn’t try to resist when they made it up to the attic and Mabel slipped down out of Ford’s arms and pointed...well, pointedly at the bed across the attic from hers. “Bedtime, mister,” she said, and Dipper shook his head, but he was smiling.

“And that goes for you too!” Mabel added, rounding on Ford. “We’ve got an awesome giant robot house to pilot and an evil geometrical guy to fight tomorrow! You don’t wanna fall asleep in the middle of it! You’ll miss all the fun parts!”

Ford, despite herself, couldn’t help a soft laugh. “You’re right,” she said, nodding in Mabel’s direction. “I’ll leave you two to it, then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Mabel echoed, Dipper giving a sheepish wave as Ford stepped out of the attic room and pulled the door closed behind her, careful not to let it slam.

The Shack was eerily still as Ford made her way down the attic stairs. It was strange. She’d lived here, alone, for nearly a decade, and yet, after only a couple of months, it already felt wrong for the place to be so silent.

Ford paused on the second-floor landing, glancing down the hall towards her room before turning towards the stairs down to the main floor. She’d meant what she’d told Dipper. They all needed to be at their best tomorrow. Bill was cunning and vicious - he’d give no quarter, and they wouldn’t get any second chances. Ford knew she ought to try to get some sleep, to make sure that she herself was alert and sharp when their long-delayed confrontation finally came.

That, too, was strange. For years - thirty of them, to be exact - that thought had been Ford’s sole comfort. One day, she would come face-to-face with Bill Cipher for the last time. One day, she would put an end to this game of cat and mouse that they had played for so long, lay all her mistakes to rest, wipe her ledger clean. Even if it meant the end of her as well as Bill.

But now, for the first time, the thought of finally facing Bill filled Ford not with comfort, but with a sick, sinking dread.

All of her long, hard years of preparation, all of her plans, all of her strategy, it had all come to nothing in a snap of Bill’s fingers. Ford was running blind, while Bill held the upper hand - as, Ford now saw, he always had. The last time she’d prepared herself to face him, she’d been calm, confident. Certain. Now, all she could feel was jittery, buzzing with a nervous energy that bordered on frantic, a need to do something more, something better, something.

Ford knew why. Last time, she’d had a plan. Last time, she’d known what she was doing, what needed to be done. Last time, she’d known - she’d thought - she was equal to the task.

And the last time she’d prepared herself to face Bill, hers had been the only life on the line.

The silent dark of the Shack pressed in on Ford as she stared down the stairs towards the living room, like a smothering, heavy blanket. She tried not to see monsters rising out of the well of shadow at the foot of the stairs, not to hear sinister whispers in the soft snores from the living room. The unicorn-hair barrier should keep them safe, here. Unlike Stanley, who might - who must be facing unimaginable horrors even as Ford tucked the children safely into bed and settled down for the night herself.

The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing what awful things Bill might be doing to Stanley, yes, not knowing what Bill’s game was, why he might be taunting her with the threat of turning Stan against them, but worse, not knowing what to do. Mobilizing the Shack and its protective barrier had been a stroke of genius on Fiddleford's part, an ingenious solution to the problem of how to get to Bill’s pyramid, but what would they do if - when they got there? Ford still hadn’t been able to identify all the members of the prophecy wheel, and the news that Bill’s eyebats had been kidnapping people and turning them to stone meant that she could be missing vital pieces. She didn’t have enough information, didn’t know anything about the people of this town or how to go about learning enough about them to successfully place them on the wheel - if only Stanley were here, he could have sorted this out in a matter of hours, maybe only minutes, but he wasn’t and anything at all could be happening to him while Ford was busy battering her head against a problem that she had no idea how to even begin to think about solving, but which she still somehow had to solve, or else -

A vision of Stan’s face when Ford had stepped out of the portal, the shocked, disbelieving smile that had spread across it in the seconds before she’d punched him, floated to the surface of Ford’s memory. Her grip on the railing tightened, until she feared she’d give herself splinters.

No. She wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

...

Ford was digging through the hall closet, looking for blankets or pillows or some kind of bedding (and not for illegal fireworks, or a crate of Cuban cigars that, judging from the labels, had been there since the early eighties at the latest, or a painting of a sad clown on black velvet, honestly, Stan) when she heard the front door creak open.

It felt like someone had threaded a live wire down her spine. Ford was instantly awake, alert, listening hard for the slightest sound. The cold stillness of the closet suddenly seemed deathly, every shadow heavy with menace.

Heavy footsteps made the elderly boards of the porch complain softly, and Ford could hear lowered voices, murmuring in thrumming bass tones. She couldn't make out the words, but she hardly needed to. Anyone trying to sneak into the Shack undetected, at this hour, after everyone else was already asleep, couldn't be up to anything good.

Ford tried to ignore the jackhammer beat of her heart, keep her breathing quiet, slow, steady. She took a careful step closer to the door of the closet, scanning the hall before her before reaching up to tug the string to shut off the light.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, a moment that Ford spent watching, tense, for monsters to lunge out of the dark at her, watching afterimages swim in front of her eyes and trying not to mistake them for actual movement. The low mumble of voices from the entryway, thankfully, didn't so much as falter. They must not have noticed the light from the hall, then, to not have been concerned about its disappearance. That was good. That meant Ford still had the element of surprise on her side.

She crept forward, peering out around the closet door. Her night vision was slowly returning, enough so that she could catch a glimpse of movement in the entryway at the end of the hall. Ford sucked in a breath and ducked back behind the door, listening hard for footsteps stomping down the hall towards her hiding place.

Instead of the expected footsteps, though, Ford heard a voice that, despite the fact that she'd only known the speaker for a day, was instantly recognisable.

"And careful with Mabel! I don't want a hair on my marshmalla's head outta place!" Gideon's halfhearted attempt at a whisper turned dismissive as he added, "But if something were to...happen...to that meddlesome twin o' hers, why, well now, wouldn't that just be a shame." His tone made it very clear that he did not, in fact, think this was the case.

Ford bit back the curse she wanted to hurl. Dipper had been right. It had been a trap. And she'd walked right into it, as Bill must have known she'd do, unable to resist playing the hero.

This was no time for self-recriminations, though. The children were in danger. Ford drew her blaster as quickly as she dared, trying not to make a sound, and stepped quietly and deliberately out into the hall.

Every step she took felt like an eternity, every one of her senses screaming as she drew closer and closer to the entryway. The voices fell silent when she was about halfway there, replaced by the creaks and thumps of someone heavy trying to move quietly over the aging floorboards. Ford held her breath, pressing herself against the wall and edging closer to the corner that would let her out into the entry and finally bring her face to face with the intruders.

The thump of heavy footsteps took on a hollow quality, rising up the stairs towards the attic. Ford squeezed the handle of her blaster tight enough to make her knuckles ache, to keep her index finger from tightening on the trigger, and dared to steal a glimpse around the corner.

The entryway was thronged with - well, Ford hadn’t been in her home dimension for quite some time, but goons were pretty much the same the multiverse over. At least they all appeared to be human, though they also all seemed to be hanging on Gideon’s every word. That couldn’t bode well. It was difficult to tell in the low light just how many there were, but Ford was sure she was badly outnumbered, and, as she’d learned from long experience, charging in now with guns blazing would only take away the one advantage she still had.

“An’ Fishbait?” Gideon called down the stairs, and Ford had to remind herself to breathe quiet, slow, steady. She hadn’t been spotted yet. She wouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her, give away her element of surprise. But - if that little cretin so much as laid a hand on either Dipper or Mabel -

Breathe. Quiet. Slow. Steady.

“Yeah, boss?” a nasal voice from the foot of the stairs echoed back, and Ford froze, holding her breath. Whoever was talking was just around the corner she’d just peered around.

“Don’t you waste too much time on the townies. Just find that unicorn-hair barrier Bill told us about an’ take out a piece, he’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah, boss,” the voice agreed, and there was a soft shuffling. The door creaked open, then closed again. Heavy footsteps continued up the stairs, fading as they rose towards the second floor.

Ford drew in another long, steadying breath, clicked her blaster to ‘stun’, and stepped out around the corner.

The two thugs Gideon had left standing in the foyer, one hanging around by the door, one by the staircase, both jumped at Ford’s appearance. The reedier one by the door reached for something at his hip, and Ford lined up, squeezed her eyes shut, and fired a stunning bolt directly into the man’s chest. She opened her eyes just in time to see her target slumped against the wall and the man who had been standing by the stairs staggering backwards, a hand over his eyes, clearly blinded by afterimages from the flash of the stun bolt. Ford fired off another shot in his direction, then hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to charge straight up the stairs after Gideon and his cronies, but - if she let the barrier be broken, then there would be nowhere safe left in Gravity Falls.

Ford muttered a curse that maybe seven other people in this dimension had ever heard uttered aloud, and sprinted for the door.

...

The stairs felt a million miles high. Ford took them two at a time, even though her breath was starting to come hard and her legs burned with every step. Any thought she might have had of stealth or strategy had vanished, reduced to a single, overwhelming focus. All she could think, all she could see, were the terrible possibilities unspooling through her mind. Perhaps she’d stopped the objectively greater threat, for the moment, but she couldn’t tell that to the lump in her throat or the frantic thump of her heart.

She hadn’t made it to the top of the attic stairs before every last one of her fears burst to technicolour life at the sound of Mabel’s shout.

“Let go of me, you - you - you big gorilla!”

“You won’t get away with this, Gideon!” Dipper yelled, from somewhere at the top of the attic stairs. Ford hit the landing at a dead run, crossing it in two steps.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Dipper Pines,” Gideon’s smarmy voice echoed down the stairs that Ford was climbing, smug and triumphant. “I already have! Turns out that li’l ol’ barrier y’all were so proud of sure don’t work so well on humanfolk, does it? All I have to do is give the signal, and Bill’s eyebats’ll be all over this ol’ place like flies on a cowpat. And my oh my, but unicorn hair’s such a fragile material. Don’t you agree? Why, anythin’ could just...happen...to it.”

“You monster!” Mabel gasped, her voice muffled by the attic door.

“Scream all you want, sugarplum,” Gideon giggled. “Nobody’s comin’ to help you -”

“Wrong,” Ford said, flinging the attic door wide. Her head felt curiously light, but at least her aim was steady as she stepped into the room, pointing her blaster directly at the dead centre of Gideon’s head. “Put the children down. Carefully,” she added, when the pale-eyed goon carrying Dipper under one arm and Mabel under the other looked suspiciously like he was about to drop them both unceremoniously to the floor.

“Well, well,” Gideon said, turning slowly in place to face Ford. “Seems I spoke too soon. Evenin’, Stanford.”

“Just Ford,” Ford snapped. “I said, let Dipper and Mabel go.”

Gideon tapped a fat finger against his chin, his smile growing as he pantomimed thought. “Hm, no, I’m thinkin’ not.” He held up both hands and clapped them, twice, and Dipper’s shout came just a moment too late.

“Great-aunt Ford, look out -”

The blow collided with the back of Ford's head like a thunderclap. She barely had time to wonder which of Gideon’s cronies had snuck up behind her, and how, before the world went dark.

...

A low rumble was the first thing Ford was aware of, a deep bass buzz vibrating up through her bones and rattling her teeth. Slowly, the rumble solidified into engine roar and the rattle of wheels over gravel. The floor jolted and shivered underneath her, nearly knocking the air out of her lungs more than once.

Ford opened her eyes.

The sky overhead was reddening with early dawn light. Ford had seen some truly spectacular skies in her thirty years of wandering, but none quite like this. It looked like some particularly deranged - and tasteless - set designer had slapped it together for a Grand Guignol opera. The whole thing seemed awash in blood, save for the eye-searing pus-yellow shimmer of the rift hovering above the black pyramid. The whole sky glared like a gaping wound.

It was a little difficult to see properly, however, because of the bars and the roof of the cage obscuring her vision.

“A cage?” Ford sputtered, pushing herself up off of the bouncing metal floor to grab at the bars, in the faint hope that she might find one loose, or illusory, or discover some other means of escape. She had no such luck. All she got was a clear view of the rough ground bumping away behind her. Apparently the floor was rattling because it was, in fact, the bed of a heavily-modified pickup truck. A cage! There were many things Ford could name that would be more humiliating and demeaning, but with solid metal bars between her and the outside world, none sprang to mind.

“Yeah. I tried to tell Gideon it was kind of overkill,” Dipper’s voice said, and Ford let go of the bars to spin around. Her great-nephew was sitting slumped against the bars at the back of the cage, his hat tipped down to cover his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s...kind of a drama queen.”

So Gideon had them. Which meant that they were being delivered, gift-wrapped, to Bill Cipher.

Ford gripped the bars behind her for support, suddenly feeling as though all of her strength had bled right out of her in between breaths. For a moment, everything seemed to settle down on her, like layers of sediment, leaving her immobile, fossilised.

Ford reached down to draw her coat tighter around herself, only to discover that it wasn't there. A frantic search revealed that her weapons had been taken as well, even the small laser knife she kept strapped to her ankle. Certainly, it didn't actually leave her defenceless - she was perfectly capable of killing another being in hand-to-hand combat, if it came to it - but that didn't stop the firework-bursts of panic that slashed between her ribs and splashed against the back of her skull. Her own movements felt strange, disconnected, as though she'd been divorced from her body. As though she'd been forced out of it -

She drew in another breath, as long and deep as she dared with the thick dust and wafts of sulphur and cotton candy on the wind, feeling the roughness of the bars digging into her palms.

When she trusted her voice again, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Dipper shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t look up.

“Mabel...?” Ford asked, looking around the small enclosure, though she already knew what she’d find.

“She’s up front with him,” Dipper spat, raising his head for the first time as he jerked a thumb towards the narrow window a little ways above his head. “Gideon didn’t wanna let her out of his sight.”

Ford nodded. It felt like all she could do. She didn’t want to voice what she knew they both must be thinking.

The weight of their situation, the true depths of her failure, still threatened to fall on Ford, crushing her utterly, but just as she had so many times before, she managed to force it aside. No one else was coming to save them. There was no one to rely on but herself. She couldn’t let Dipper down. She couldn’t afford to break.

“All right,” Ford said, the gears of her mind slowly, ponderously grinding back into motion. “We need to get out of here, find some way to liberate Mabel -” A thought struck her, and she paused, before crossing the bed of the truck in two strides to peer in through its narrow back window. “Gideon mentioned something about Bill wanting us. It would only make sense that that would be where he’s delivering us. If we can take control of this vehicle, perhaps we can use it to enter Bill’s lair undetected.”

“That’s a great idea!” Dipper said, pushing back his hat as he looked up, the ghost of a smile slipping across his face. It vanished as he went on, though, along with the note of hope that had momentarily lit up his voice. “But I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here. I had a look around while you were unconscious, and this thing is locked up pretty tight. I think they welded these bars straight into the frame of the truck.”

Ford gave the back window a cautious push with the pads of her fingers. It felt as thick as it looked, solid, difficult to shatter without being able to get a good wind-up for fear of hitting the bars instead. There was no give in it to suggest that it might be, if not shattered, then popped out of its setting by a well-thrust elbow. And even if she could damage or remove the window somehow, she wouldn't be able to reach far enough across the back seat to get at the driver or Gideon in the front seat. If she only had some kind of weapon - !

“Ugh! Why can’t you just leave us alone!” Mabel’s voice rose, and Ford shifted her attention to the glowing purple thing in the backseat. She’d overlooked it before because it didn’t seem like anything that might help them escape, but now that she saw what it was, it took everything in her not to punch the glass despite knowing how little good it was likely to do.

Mabel was caged, too, locked up in an elegant, scrollwork birdcage just barely big enough for her to sit up in, a huge, triangular padlock marked with a shooting star sealing it closed. She was hugging her knees, her sweater stretched out over them. Ford couldn’t see her face, but she was certain it was a picture of misery.

Gideon spun as best he could in his carseat, pressing a hand against the lapel of his powder-blue suit with a look of put-upon patience. “Mabel, dumplin’, I’m doin’ this for us -”

“There is no us!” Mabel exploded, waving both arms through the bars of the cage so violently that it nearly slid off the backseat. “Gideon, I liked being your friend, but I don’t even want to be that anymore! This is, like, the third time you’ve tried to kill my whole entire family!”

“Fourth,” Dipper muttered, pushing himself to his feet and walking over to where Ford was standing, pulling himself up on tiptoes to peer into the cab of the truck.

Mabel plunged onwards, clearly unable to hear Dipper’s addition. “What made you think that hurting the people I care about would ever make me like you more?”

Gideon looked stunned, like Mabel had hit him across the face rather than just shouted at him. “They - they were comin’ between us -”

“The only thing ‘coming between us’ is you being a big, creepy jerk!” Mabel took a deep breath, her voice lowering in volume enough that Ford had to strain to hear her next words over the rumble of the truck’s engine and the rattle of the gravel underneath its wheel. What she lacked in volume, however, Mabel more than made up for in intensity. “And if you turn us over to Bill and stop us from rescuing Grunkle Stan - I will never stop hating you! Ever ever ever!”

“Mabel -”

“Ever!”

“Wow, go Mabel!” Dipper said, softly, and Ford looked down to see him beaming from ear to ear.

Gideon, for his part, looked almost at a loss for words. He reached carefully out towards Mabel, only for her to cross her arms over her chest and toss her head, turning away from him.

“Well...well,” Gideon started, weakly, sounding a little rattled, but growing in confidence with each word. “I’m certain we can do somethin’ about that. Bill is the master of the mind, after all.”

“What, so your response to her saying she doesn’t want anything to do with you because you’re a creepy jerk is to double down on being a creepy jerk?” Dipper spat, in apparent disbelief. “Cause, no offense, but that hasn’t exactly been a winning strategy for you so far.” He let out an enormous sigh, spinning to lean against the back wall of the truck and pressing the heels of both hands against his eyes. “Okay. We gotta do something, we gotta get Mabel out of there before -”

He cut his own sentence short. Ford looked up, peering past the bars. The floating black pyramid seemed closer, now, looming huge and menacing in the sky ahead.

For the first time, she turned her attention to their surroundings beyond the bars that held them in. Ford didn’t recognise the land they were driving through as part of the town or the surrounding forests - they seemed to have been abruptly transplanted to a red-dust desert scattered with the occasional ruins scrawled with ominous graffiti featuring Bill's single, watchful eye, the heat rising off of the barren ground stifling even from her position above it. Clouds of dust kicked up by the vehicles that flanked them made it difficult to see much, but it appeared that they were in the middle of a convoy of heavily-modified cars and trucks, covered in spikes and graffiti and a truly improbable array of weaponry. Ford thought she caught a glimpse of the water tower stalking on stilt-legs off to their left, but through the dust and the huge, multicoloured bubbles that hung heavy in the air, she couldn’t quite be sure.

The shattered, elliptical dome of a long building rose out of the dust on their right, and Dipper perked up, crossing the cage to look out between the bars at it. "Hey, that's the mall! Oh man, I didn't even recognise this part of town, Bill really did a number on -"

He stopped, mid-sentence, and nearly shoved his face in between the bars. "Did you see that?!"

Ford hurried over to Dipper's side, staring intently out at the wasteland. She didn't see anything beyond the clouds of dust, the slow roll of the giant bubbles, the single Jeep bristling, hedgehog-like, with spikes flanking them -

Ford blinked.

“Wasn’t there another vehicle -” she started, just as a slender, dark shape flew straight out of one of the enormous bubbles and landed in a crouch on top of the spiny Jeep. Ford watched in amazement as the figure grabbed the frame of the Jeep, kicked up into a handstand, spun 180 degrees, and swung down feet-first through the window, their feet colliding with the driver’s head. The Jeep swerved violently, veered right, then left, then -

“Look out!” Ford shouted, grabbing Dipper and dropping into a crouch just as the Jeep collided, heavily, with the side of the truck they were in. Long, wicked black spikes shot between the bars of the cage, one slicing through the air where, just seconds before, Dipper’s head had been. The truck shuddered at the impact, knocking Ford off her feet and onto the floor of the truckbed. She managed to pick herself back up just as the Jeep slammed into the truck again.

This time, she didn’t try to get back up.

Shouts from the cab and from the vehicles on their left told Ford that she and Dipper weren’t the only ones who’d noticed the strange figure that had hijacked the Jeep. There was a rumble and a squeal, and the truck slowed, the Jeep and the two flanking vehicles speeding past it as the driver braked, hard.

“Get us outta here!” Gideon squawked, from the front seat, his voice piercing even over the screech of tires and the shouts coming from the other vehicles. “We gotta get these three to Bill by any means necessary -”

“Way ahead of you, boss,” the driver rumbled, and the truck spun back in the direction it had come, throwing Ford and Dipper both up against the bars. The back of Ford’s head cracked against the metal, causing both to ring and stars to splash in front of her eyes for a second, the sharp smell of copper filling the back of her nose and mouth. She gingerly raised a hand to touch the back of her head, but there was thankfully no blood.

The truck shot back down the street the way it had come, thumping and rattling over the rough ground. Behind them, Ford watched, with a sinking feeling, as the two other vehicles from their little convoy - a police car with a sheriff’s star inscribed with Bill’s eye spray-painted over the legend on its side and a motorcycle with, somehow, seven wheels - boxed in the spiny Jeep. Whoever their strange assailant was, there seemed to be little doubt that Gideon’s henchmen would make short work of them.

She was just testing the bars that the Jeep had slammed up against for any sign of weakness when the truck suddenly jerked to a halt, right in the middle of the road. Dipper gasped, and then, did the last thing Ford would have expected.

He burst out laughing.

Ford straightened up, peering through the back window of the truck to look out the windshield and see what had forced them to stop. She had to blink several times, trying to make sure there wasn’t simply something in her eye. Even in an apocalyptic wildnerness of Bill’s creation, it still strained credulity to look up and see an enormous set of four wheels, taller than a man (had those come off a tractor?), and, perched on top of an equally hulking chassis like a tiara on the head of a Xenophorian thunderbeast, the body of a golf cart.

“What...?” she asked, and Dipper, beaming from ear to ear, jabbed a finger at the driver of the golf cart, a squat figure also all in black. As Ford watched, the figure unwrapped a scarf from around their face -

- and waved.

It wasn’t just any golf cart, Ford realised, belatedly. The red-and-yellow flags dangling from the roof and the huge, red question mark painted across the nose clearly marked it as the golf cart from the Mystery Shack.

“Soos?” she asked, at the same time as Gideon, from the front seat, let out a petulant whine.

“Am I supposed t’know who that is?”

“Soos!” Dipper yelled, jumping up and down and waving his arms, even though Ford doubted the handyman could see him from the angle he was looking down at the truck from. “We’re down here!”

There was no way that Soos could have heard them from all the way up in the golf cart, perched so high above the street, over the rumble and roar of engines, but still, Ford felt inexplicably warmed when he reached out and gave them a thumbs-up.

The golf cart started to roll, ponderously, forwards.

The truck lurched back into motion, screeching backwards away from the approaching golf cart, and executed a neat three-point turn before squealing away down the street. Or rather, it started to - but the street was barricaded by the cop car, flipped up onto its side to expose its undercarriage.

"Just go over it!" Gideon shouted, from the cab of the truck. "What's the use of havin' a monster truck if ya don't crush anythin' with it?!"

The driver didn’t move. A second later, Ford could see why.

The slim black figure that she’d seen take over the Jeep straightened up, balancing precariously on the upturned edge of the cop car. They planted their feet shoulder-width apart and their hands on their hips, head thrown back in obvious defiance, their whole being the physical embodiment of a challenge.

Behind them, the golf cart’s horn tooted, a sound that was honestly much more ominous than it had any right to be.

The truck’s engine growled, low and throaty, the floor under Ford’s feet thrumming like some great, caged beast eager to be set loose on some unsuspecting small herbivore. The dark figure stood still atop the cop car, unmoving. Apparently unafraid.

“Ghost Eyes!” Gideon snapped, and the truck roared to life, leaping forward.

The spiked grate on the front of the truck rammed into the cop car’s exposed undercarriage just as the figure in black jumped. They somersaulted in midair, landing with knees bent on the hood of the truck as it started to climb up and over the toppled cop car. One hand went to its waist, and pulled free a short-handled axe.

The figure in black gave the axe a quick spin in one hand before slamming it down on the windshield. The instant the axe struck against it, the windshield splintered, spiderweb cracks shooting crazily outwards from the point of impact. The driver jerked the wheel hard to the left, but the cop car underneath the truck kept it stuck in place.

Another blow, and the windshield shattered.

Gideon’s scream, Ford reflected, sounded remarkably like a stuck pig.

“Wendy!” Mabel yelled, throwing herself at the front of her cage, and the figure in black glanced up, waving through the windshield. The moment of distraction seemed to be enough, though, for the driver of the truck to reach through the windshield and punch the dark-clad figure in the side of the head. She toppled off the hood of the truck, vanishing behind the cop car.

“Go go go go go!” Gideon urged, and the driver obliged, stepping on the gas. The truck gave a furious whine, and Ford could feel the wheels spinning under her, but it didn’t move. Part of the cop car must have been wedged underneath it. "Get us outta here, before -"

A shadow fell over the back of the truck, blotting out the eerie red light, and Ford spun to see the golf cart, towering on its absurdly large wheels, bearing steadily down on them. She grabbed the bars of the cage behind her, shouting at Dipper, “Brace yourself!”

The crunch as the golf cart rammed into the back of the truck was nearly deafening. Ford could feel its reverberations through the soles of her feet, traveling up the bars she gripped. The whole truck rocked, wobbling precariously on its perch atop the upturned cop car.

“Soos! What’re you doing?!” Dipper yelled, waving his arms, as the golf cart drew back.

“Hang in there, doods,” Soos called back, over the rumble of engines and the grinding squeal of metal against metal, his rodent-like face set in an expression of grim determination as he revved the engine for another run up on the truck. “I’m gettin’ you outta there!”

Screaming from the cab behind her told Ford that Wendy had most likely gotten back up. Ford paid the sounds no attention.

“Hit it again!” she called up to Soos, who saluted and stomped on the gas. The golf cart jerked forward, bumping into the cage at the very back of the truck, and there was another screech of metal on metal as the bars visibly bowed inwards. One more blow, and one of the bars shot free with a distressing little metallic sigh.

It wasn’t the only thing dislodged by the golf cart, though. With one final, drawn-out scream of metal, the truck slid forward off of the cop car’s undercarriage, teetering for a moment before its front wheels touched ground. The truck shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow, only to lurch to a stop again a moment later, bouncing forward in fits and starts. Ford realised she’d lost track of how many times now she’d been knocked off her feet.

“Give - me - that - key!” Wendy yelled from the cab, punctuated by soft percussive sounds rather like a gloved hand hitting a sack full of water. Gideon’s shrieks sounded remarkably like Mabel’s pig when someone stepped on its tail, Ford reflected, as she helped Dipper out through the hole Soos had made in the cage and down off the bed of the truck.

“Wendy! Dood, we got ‘em!” Soos called, as Ford climbed down off the truck bed herself. She had to stop and cling onto the bars with all her might as the truck gave one last aborted leap forward, then ground to a stop, the engine chugging down. Ford cautiously lowered a foot to the asphalt below her, and then, when the truck didn’t drag her forwards again, hopped all the way down.

“Not yet!” Wendy shouted back, frustration clear in her voice. “Gideon’s got Mabel in an evil glowing birdcage, and he’s got the key somewhere.” Her voice dropped, and Ford assumed she was talking to the two in the front seat as she continued, “And this little creep is gonna tell me where it is. Right. Now.”

“No!” Gideon screeched, and Ford finally gave in to the temptation to circle around to the front of the truck, hoping for a better view of what was going on inside. The driver appeared to be out cold, probably felled by the blunt end of Wendy’s axe. Wendy herself had pulled off the dark hood she’d been wearing, revealing her face and her ginger hair, and was in the middle of - Ford blinked - giving Gideon a noogie. “I won this time! I won! Bill promised me -”

“Did he promise you Mabel’s heart?” Ford interjected, unable to help herself. “Because you should know that if he said that, he intends to drop the bloody organ in your hands after he removes it from her still-living body.”

Six pairs of eyes all fixed in Ford’s direction, identical perturbed expressions on each face. Ford managed, under the scrutiny, to shrug. “It’s his idea of a pun.”

She assumed the retching noise from the backseat of the truck was coming from Mabel.

Gideon struggled in Wendy’s grip, held as he was under one of her arms with her fist squashing his magnificent pompadour. “You’re a fool, Ford Pines,” he spat, pointing one finger like a brimstone-and-hellfire preacher passing judgement, though the effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that he was under four feet tall and currently being held like a small lapdog. “Bill Cipher coulda been a powerful friend to ya! But instead, you’ve made an even more powerful enemy.”

“What, you?” Dipper asked, sauntering over to Ford’s side. “Cause, uh, full offense, I saw you get taken down by a swarm of termites once.”

“Cursed termites!” Gideon wailed. “An’ I’ll unleash ‘em to plague you and your family even unto the seventh generation if you don’t tell this woman to get her hands off my hair!”

“Yeah, no such luck,” Wendy said, giving Gideon’s pompadour another vicious punch. It made a sad squeaking sound, and then slowly started to deflate, like a popped balloon. “Hand over that key!”

“No!” Gideon protested, kicking his little legs petulantly. “Mabel’s finally mine! You’re not takin’ her away from me again!”

“What? Nobody’s ‘taking’ me anywhere!” Mabel protested, from the back seat. “Ugh! As soon as I get out of this dum-dum cage, you’re in for a world of hurt, Gideon! And that’s a promise!”

“Yep,” Dipper said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his puffy vest and giving Gideon a look that was entirely too pleased with itself. “It definitely sounds like she’s madly in love with you."

“She’ll learn to love me!” Gideon yowled, and Wendy had to let go of the remnants of his pompadour to pin him with both arms so he couldn’t wriggle free. “She’ll have an eternity of captivity to come to her senses and see we’re meant to be -”

“It won’t be eternity,” Ford interjected, over the sharp inhale from Mabel and Dipper’s almost audible fuming. “This dimension has been doomed from the moment Bill Cipher opened that rift. I give it maybe a week - less if Bill keeps warping things, dragging things through from the Nightmare Realm, and widening the rift - before it grows too unstable to sustain its own existence and collapses, taking everyone and everything inside of it with it.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by a distant, inhuman screech.

“Bill didn’t mention that,” Gideon muttered.

“That’s because he’s a lying dirtbag who just says what he thinks you want to hear to get you to do stuff for him.” Dipper said. “Kinda like a dude on a dating website.”

“And it doesn’t matter anyway!” Mabel piped up, her voice high with righteous fury. “Because I don’t care how long you keep me stuck in a stupid cage, or a stupid dream, or a stupid fancy restaurant where they kill the lobsters in front of you, I am never ever ever gonna date you! I don’t know what part of this is so hard for you! Do I have to do an educational and inspiring musical number?”

“What do I have ta do!?” Gideon exploded right back at her, waving a fist. Wendy scowled halfway between annoyance and discomfort, trying to hold him in place. “I tried bein’ a gentleman! I courted you proper! I removed the obstacles your family placed in our path -”

“You mean you tried to steal my grunkle’s house and kill my brother!” Mabel shouted back.

Gideon ignored her, raising his own voice slightly as he ploughed onwards. “Why won’t you give me just one more chance? Mabel, I promise I’d be good ta you -”

“You put me in a cage! And not the cool kind you can dance in!”

“Just for now!” Gideon protested. “Just until ya love me!”

“I already told you, that is never happening!”

“What d’you want from me? I’ve tried everything!”

“You haven’t tried being a decent guy!” Ford had known Mabel long enough, now, to recognise the crack running through her anger, the dangerous wobble that meant she was close to tears. “You haven’t tried listening to me. I just want you to leave us alone! I just want you to leave me alone!”

The silence that followed felt like a shoe on the wrong foot, or a sixth finger squeezed into a five-fingered glove - awkward, uncomfortable, and only growing worse with time.

“Dude,” Wendy said, to Gideon, finally. “Key or no key, I am so tempted to just drop-kick you right now.”

“Mabel’s right,” Dipper said, and Ford noticed that the smug look had disappeared from his face, probably the moment Mabel’s voice had started to wobble. “Look. Gideon. You’ve tried everything you can think of to force Mabel to like you, and it’s always backfired. What’ve you got to lose by listening to her for once?”

“Wh- she wanted us to just be friends!” Gideon protested, and perhaps only Ford caught the way Dipper’s stare went hard.

“What, being Mabel’s friend is a bad thing?”

Gideon seemed to struggle for words for a moment, his face growing redder and redder. “Well...no, but -”

“I think Mabel’s a pretty good friend.” Dipper glanced up at Mabel’s cage, and smiled. “Scratch that. Mabel’s an awesome friend. You’d be lucky to have a friend like her. And if someday she decides she likes you as more than a friend?” He shrugged, with both hands still in his vest pocket. “That’s up to her, not you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that you can’t make somebody love you.”

Ford got the strangest impression that Dipper was looking a little over Gideon’s head, closer to Wendy’s face, when he said, “All you can do is try to be somebody worth loving.”

In the ensuing silence, the driver of the truck let out a soft grunt and twitched. Ford held her breath until the man stopped moving again.

“Well, my my, what a touchin’ speech,” Gideon said, but his usual sickly-sweet sarcasm seemed as deflated as his hair. His gaze turned in Mabel’s direction, and Mabel sighed heavily, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not going to start being your friend again just because you stop trying to murder my family and make me your queen or whatever. You were a major jerky-jerk-jerkface to me, and Grunkle Stan, and Dipper, and - and everybody!” She gave another deep, heavy sigh. “But, if you really do start listening to me, and treating people better, and stop being such a mean jerk...I guess maybe then I could reconsider.”

She raised a hand, one finger extended, like a judge passing down a very important sentencing, and the stars swimming in Gideon’s eyes abruptly shrank. “But! You better show me some rehabilitation first, mister!”

“So wait, am I drop-kicking this dude or what?” Wendy asked. “Cause it’s getting super weird to keep holding him like this.”

Dipper’s gaze flicked over to Gideon, as did Mabel’s. Ford could see sweat beginning to bead on Gideon’s forehead.

“I -” he started, and then hung his head, dangling limply from Wendy’s grip. His voice dropped in volume until it was nearly inaudible. “I’m in it deep with Bill. You don’t know what he’d do ta me -”

“Actually, we do,” Ford spoke up, and Gideon started, like he’d almost forgotten she was there. “Or at least, I do. I know how much this is to ask of you - I’ve been fighting Bill for the last thirty years.” She gestured ruefully at the wasteland around them, trying to tamp down the burn of the embarrassed flush that started to creep its way up her neck. “You can see how that turned out. But - it’s not too late. Help us send Bill back to his own forsaken realm, reverse the damage he’s done, and save our world.”

Gideon took another long, lingering look in Mabel’s direction.

“Also,” Ford added, folding her hands behind her back, unable to keep the echo of a smile from her face, “I have it on good authority that chicks dig heroes.”

Gideon didn’t look away from Mabel, until Mabel, visibly uncomfortable, tugged the turtleneck of her sweater up over her face.

“Y’all really think it’s not too late?” he asked, sounding, for the first time, like the child he was.

“To stop Bill? Not as long as I live and breathe,” Ford said, curling the fingers of her right hand so tightly into a fist that her nails bit painfully into the heel of her hand.

“No, I mean -” Gideon gave his head a little shake. “Well, for me. To change.”

Dipper shuffled his feet in the dirt, glancing up at Ford.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Ford said, shooting her great-nephew a smile before turning back to Gideon, “it’s that it’s never too late to change.”

Gideon drew in a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly, staring at the ground.

“All right,” he said, finally, thrusting his chin defiantly forwards. “Let’s go save the world!”

“Great,” Wendy said. “Now can I put him down?”

#gravity falls #grauntie ford #trans ford #this is mary's fic tag #in this chapter: the shit and the fan go on a nice blind date #long fic post

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