#And a screen that plays boring shows that you have to uncomfortably crane your neck to even see

[listenheresweaty]

they should make a therapy waiting room that doesn’t make your heart turn to liquid

[lcandothisallday]

I just thought of a cute scenario omg… so let’s say it’s Druski’s stream thing and you are friends with Jack and Urban. Jack is sitting on the stairs and sees Druski’s friends flirting with you and he gets all jealous and makes you sit on the stairs with him. Like him discreetly walking over and whispering to you and making you walk ahead of him to the stairs omg 🤣😭

I’m Yours - Jack Harlow x reader

You glance ahead of you, your eyes focused on the screen filled with the stream’s chat. You chuckle softly at some of the odd comments before you look away and pop a chip into your mouth. You were at the kitchen island snacking and grabbing a drink since Urban had went back to the hookah section which you weren’t necessary a fan of.

As uncomfortable as you were with the content of the stream and the concept of the blind dates, it was still fun to watch (as long as you weren’t the one in the chair).

Meanwhile, Jack was observing silently from the stairs, hidden away so that the stream doesn’t freak out as much and take away from Druski’s show.

As you stood behind the kitchen island, two men approach you, each with charming smiles as they visibly gave you a once over, definetly appreciating what they saw.

“Hey ma—don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this crowd before,” one of them muse, his eyes clearly focused on your chest area which made you a tad bit uncomortable but you were used to it considering most your interactions with men were like that. Not with Jack and Urban you noted.

You nod, closing off a bit at their lingering stare. “Yeah...I came with a few friends,” you explain.

The second man scoffed, a playful smile on his lips. “They don’t seem like good friends if they left your fine ass alone,” he pointed out. You can’t help but snort at that, your cheeks heating up slightly at the compliment as you force a small laugh.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack’s focus shifted from Druski’s show to watching your interaction with the two men, his heart sinking a bit at the fact that you were engaging with them, laughing and looking flustered even. 

He got up from his seat on the stairs, stepping down and discreetly slipping towards the back and making his way to where you stood.

“You planning on doing the blind date?” the shorter of the two men asked, his head gesturing to where the game was happening in the middle of the room. His question caused you to shake your head immediately and laugh softly. “Never in a million years...”

Your response was cut short when you felt someone reach for your hand, Jack being thankful that the kitchen island hid the small interaction from the stream. You look back to see who it was, smiling softly upon seeing Jack. “Hey,” you hum, your neck having to crane up slightly to make eye contact with him better since he was much taller than you.

“Come sit with me on the stairs,” he mumbled, his lips pouty which you thought was adorable. “M’ bored sitting alone,” he continued, his fingers playing with yours and sort of tugging to encourage you to start moving.

Jack took a step back and waited for you to start walking in front of him, choosing to glance over at the two guys and smirking cockily before he too began to follow. Once he knew you two were out of the camera’s shot, his hand rested on your lower back as he lead you up the stairs, the two of you taking your seats next to each other which proved to be a bit of a tighter squeeze but you both didn’t mind.

“How much longer do you think this is gonna take?” you whine to him him, your head resting on his shoulder. Jack only shrugged in response because he didn’t know. But frankly, his mind was plagued with other things-like the fact that there were two guys flirting with you being the main one.

“Were those guys bothering you?” he asked, trying to play it off as a concerned friend and not a jealous one. You thought about it before shrugging, “not really. I thought the shorter one was kinda cute,” you confess, your cheeks heating up momentarily.

Jack frowned and shifted a bit as he closed himself off. “Sorry for interrupting then,” he mumbled, but his response caused you to furrow your brows.

“Nah don’t apologize. You know I’d pick you over literally everyone,” you say with a grin. Jack smirks as he turns his head to look at you better. “So safe to assume I’m your favourite person then?” he asked, his brow raised.

You playfully and dramatically roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “I guess,” you groan, although the giggle leaving your lips betrays you.

You both shift your focus back on to the live, laughing and whispering to one another at the various questions and responses people shared. At one point, Jack had once again reached for one of your hands, subconsciously playing with your fingers and twisting around your rings.

“You know,” you begin, glancing over at Jack. “I think if I’m ever forced into one of those chairs, people would think I’m such a prude,” you state with a small chuckle.

Jack shook his head. “You’re not a prude for liking to be more reserved,” he pointed out, his hand leaving yours and moving up to tuck some hair behind your ear. “You shouldn’t feel bad for saving yourself,” he whispered, his thumb now stroking your cheek. Your breath got caught in your throat as you stared at his handsome face, his words making your heart melt and your cheeks to heat up.

You wanted to kiss him so bad. As you go to respond, flustered and all, you hear someone discreetly let out a cough, dropping in the word “camera” which caused Jack to practically flinch away from you and drop his hand. He stood up abruptly and leaned against the railing, pretending to be fully engaged with the stream as the camera panned to him.

The way he moved away from you so quickly made you clear your throat and truthfully hurt a bit. And Jack knew it made him look bad and he was beating himself up for it but he didn’t want fans to start speculating and freaking out over the stream.

He heard you shuffling behind him and he turned to glance at you. “Where you going?” he asked, biting his lip because he knew his actions might have hurt or offended you.

“Um...to hang out with Urb a bit,” you mumble, looking away from his intense gaze.

“Stay. I only got up cos of the camera and you know how people are gonna freak ou—”

“I get it, Jack. It’s whatever,” you shrug. Jack scoffed. “It’s not whatever though,” he sighed.

You run a hand through your hair and glance over at where the camera was now pointed which thankfully wasn’t at the stairs anymore. “Jack I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“No—you don’t get to make that decision,” he replies firmly and with a frown, grabbing your hand and pulling you up along the rest of the stairs, and entering an empty bedroom.

“Jack why are we in here?” you ask him with an annoyed tone as soon as the door was shut closed.

Jack looked at you with a raised brow. “To talk more in private.”

“Jack I already told you it’s fine,” you sigh. “I understand why you pulled away abruptly.”

Jack took the opportunity to cup your jaw, his beautiful blue eyes staring right into yours. “You need to understand that I didn’t want to pull away,” he stressed, his eyes shifting down to your plump lips.

You subconsciously lick your lips and look up at him through your lashes. “I didn’t want you to pull away either,” you confess, your cheeks heating up.

Jack can’t help but grin at that. “I’m gonna kiss you now okay? Then tomorrow I’m takin you out on a proper date and you’re gonna be my girlfriend and we’re gonna fall in love and get married and have really cute fucking babies,” he breathed out exaggeratedly, wiggling his eyes brows which causes you to giggle.

Finally, you lean in the rest of the way to smash your lips against his, your arms snaking around his neck to press yourself into him more. The kiss is intense, his tongue finding its way through your parted lips and fighting for dominance and obviously winning before he smirked and pulled away, beginning to kiss your jaw and down your neck.

“As bricked up as I am right now...” he began with a chuckle, panting softly as he smoothed down your hair lovingly. “I wanna do this right...and doin’ it in Druski’s bedroom just isn’t the motive,” he laughed.

You hum in agreement while nodding, looking up at him with such a love struck expression. “I’m yours, J. Whenever you want me—then I’m ready for you,” you whisper against his lips. “Just maybe not in Druski’s room like you said,” you giggle.

“Sounds like a plan, ma.”

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 4

The band in the Senator’s ballroom was playing a slow dirge-like version of “In the Good Old Summertime” and Buster had half a mind to kick the lead singer in the seat of the pants so he’d shut up. The head of the Chamber of Commerce was there, the mayor too, and he was pretty sure he’d met a few of the eponymous senators. He’d glad-handed for as long as he could stand it (about an hour) before slinking off into a protective circle of familiar faces. He used his stature to his advantage, concealing himself behind the screen that Joe, Fred, Sandy Roth, and other members of the company made. There was plenty to talk about; namely, the picture. And also, the picture. But now he was bored of talking about the picture and this positive funeral march that they were playing wasn’t helping matters. Although Sacramento was rumored to be open, the hotel was pretending tonight that it was dry and he regretted leaving his flask in his room, but they were feting Buster after all and it would have been rude not to be fully present for every single excruciating second.

Still.

“Think they’ll notice if their esteemed guest goes AWOL?” he said to Fred. 

Fred laughed. “Count on it.”

Buster pulled his packet of cigarettes out of his slacks pocket, pinched one out, struck a match, and lit it. He didn’t like crowds of people he didn’t know or being expected to care about Sacramento’s economic situation, whether Coolidge was to be president again, and what was to be done about the decline of morals in young people. He especially didn’t like airs and this crowd had plenty. The truth was, he’d been made to do very few things in his charmed life, fewer still as he’d become a bona fide star, and his tolerance for formalities was at an all-time low. They were much more Nate’s speed. With her at his side at these functions, he never had to do more than answer the usual stupid questions (“Do you ever smile?”; “Do your pratfalls hurt?”) before Nate filled the uncomfortable silence with gay chatter and put the questioner at their ease.

Unlike with The General , however, Natalie had expressed no desire to be on location during the filming of Steamboat . He liked to think it was because she couldn’t bear to be away from her magnificent Villa for very long, but he had a sneaking suspicion her absence had simply to do with the fact that she didn’t care to be around him any longer.

“At least one more hour,” Joe said. “Then you can go back to your room and cut loose if that’s what you want.”

Behind Sandy, Buster spotted a man and his wife encroaching. 

“Excuse me,” said the man, tapping Sandy on the shoulder. “My wife’s an awful big fan of Mr. Keaton and I was just wondering if we could introduce ourselves for a minute.”

Taking a deep drag from the cigarette and blowing the smoke out in such a way that it temporarily obscured his face, Buster looked at the woman and said, “I never smile and the pratfalls don’t hurt.” 

She looked shocked. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

  “Hi.”

Nelly startled just as badly as she had when Buster had crept up on her a few days prior. She knew the voice wasn’t his, though, even before she looked over her shoulder and found herself locking eyes with Tommy, the blonde-haired workman. 

“Hi yourself,” she said, turning around and smoothing down the skirt of her dress. She’d been going through a jumble of skeleton keys in one of the smaller rooms in the prop house. 

Tommy was extraordinarily tall, almost sequoia-sized. He leaned against shelves. “How’d you like to go to a blind tiger tonight?” he said, without preamble. “A few of the fellows and I are going. We invited Mr. Bert. Oh, and Buster too.”

Buster, she thought, accustomed as he was to rubbing elbows with the upper crust, was not going to attend this rustic soirée, but she didn’t want to puncture Tommy’s evident pride at the scheme. She had never been to a blind pig, a blind tiger, a blind anything. She and some girlfriends would pass around hooch some Saturday nights back in Evanston, but she’d never actually drunk alcohol in an establishment. So naturally she said, “What time?”

Tommy grinned. “Oh, we were thinking maybe seven o’clock or something.”

She knew that Sacramento wasn’t as dry as other cities, but she paused to consider whether this was such a good idea nonetheless. A brief flash of the place being raided by police and her getting carted off to jail and losing her gig on the film occurred. The sybaritic part of her threw the doubts aside. Her decision was only strengthened by Bert, who came through the prop house doors.

“This jackass bothering you?” he teased, craning his head to look up at Tommy. 

“I invited her to the party tonight,” Tommy said. 

“What makes you think she’d go with the likes of you? She has taste, y’know,” said Bert. 

“What makes you think I have taste?” Nelly said, making both men laugh. When the laughter died away, she said, “Sure. Where?”

Tommy told her it was on 2nd Avenue next to a Chinese laundry. By day, it masqueraded as a five- and ten-cent store. “One of the bricks is painted a sort of yellow,” he said. “Just the one, though. There’s a side door off the alley. Knock four times.”

It all sounded so alluring and mysterious that Nelly couldn’t wait. 

A quarter past the appointed hour, Joe dropped her off in front of the store. She expected it to have a dingy air, but it looked perfectly clean and presentable, not at all the sort of place that would draw attention. Joe waited for her as she crept into the alley, feeling her heart race with the illicitness of it all and the promise of seeing Tommy again. She gave three rhythmic knocks. A man in a tweed cap whom she vaguely recognized opened the door and she waved to Joe to let him know it was okay to drive off before she stepped into the tiger’s den. 

There were slightly more than a dozen men crowded into the place, which was an apartment at the back of the store consisting of one main room, a water closet, and a couple doors that appeared to belong to bedrooms or closets. Everything from the stove to the sofa was in the main room. An old gramophone in the corner played ragtime jazz. She knew at once that Buster would not be coming. The set-up and the company were far too humble and she wondered if she’d made an error in judgement showing up. She was the only girl in sight and overdressed in nylon stockings and her best black dress with the belt. She felt ill at ease until she saw Bert and Tommy. Bert was in conversation with one of the men who was frequently in and out of the prop house. Tommy was standing near a bar, behind which stood various libations. 

“Nelly!” he cried, striding toward her. His eyes crinkled and he looked ecstatic to see her. “C’mon, come pick your poison.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to the bar. Bottles lining the shelves behind it contained liquors of light ambers, deep browns, and clear silvers. There were even bottles of beer, not near beer, but real beer. She’d never seen so much booze in her life. She selected a bottle of beer. Tommy didn’t take his arm away immediately. It was heavy and he smelled good, woollen and mannish. She tilted the bottle back to her lips, feeling as though she was in good hands. It didn’t take long before she was warm and happy. 

Tommy conversed with the other men about the week’s events on the set—one man had nearly lost a finger sawing a board, another had given himself a good electric shock from a wire—and talked a good deal about a poker game he had recently won $100 in. She and Bert spoke for a while, mostly about work and what they expected shooting to look like next week. When her beer bottle was empty, Tommy slid a generous glass of bourbon into her hand. It stung going down in a way she didn’t quite care for, but as she got warmer still, she became used to it. About an hour or so into the party, Tommy’s hand crept around her waist and she didn’t mind a single bit. He talked to her about his childhood in Indiana and how he’d trap raccoons for fur to bring in money for the family. With his height and looks, she figured he was trying to break into pictures too, but it transpired that he thought he’d make his real fortune as a high-stakes poker player. The ambition seemed a little silly, but she wasn’t one to trod on other people’s dreams.

“Let’s dance,” he said, bending down to yell it in her ear over the conversation. The man who was in charge of the gramophone put on a song of medium speed in which a guitar plunked quietly in the background and a clarinet and trumpet took turns in the foreground. They danced in a small circle around the room and she had to crane her neck when he talked. 

They were three songs in when a workman in his fifties approached. He was missing several bottom front teeth. “Here.” He pushed a small glass of something clear in her hands.

“What is it?” she said, laughing.

“Gin.”

“I’ve never had gin before,” she said.

“Never had gin before?” Tommy said, holding her at arm’s length in mock incredulity.

She giggled and shook her head, trying to keep the glass steady as he pulled her back under her shoulder. She sipped and there was that sting again, this time tasting like Christmas trees. 

“No, you don’t sip it,” said the workman. “You swallow it down all at once.”

He and Tommy watched as she gamely tilted the drink to her lips and disappeared the gin down in one gulp. She gasped, wrinkling her nose as they laughed uproariously. “That was awful!”

“Try this one,” said another workman, younger and heavier. He extended a rocks glass containing a chestnut brown liquor. “Whiskey.”

She sipped and contorted her face. This was the worst one yet. “I��ll take my time,” she promised, setting it on a nearby table.

It didn’t take long before she was warmer and looser and gayer than she’d ever felt. Tommy passed her into the arms of the toothless workman. To her surprise, he was an incredible dancer and they did a foxtrot around the room to the next song, winning the applause of the other men. Bert took the next dance and they attempted a tango, but the music wasn’t the right tempo and they couldn’t stay in step. She was having the time of her life. She reached for the whiskey and barely noticed the sting as it went down. 

Tommy took her back and someone put “Steamboat Bill” on the Victrola, which caused everyone to erupt into laughter.

Oh, Steamboat Bill, steaming down the Mississippi.

Steamboat Bill, a mighty man was he.

Steamboat Bill, steaming down the Mississippi.

Going to beat the record of the Robert E. Lee!

She grinned, hot and breathless. Tommy’s big hand on her waist was beginning to feel more and more exhilarating. She began to entertain thoughts of asking him to slip out into the alley with her, but whenever a song ended, another workman was waiting with a drink or a request for a dance. At some point, the fat workman stole her away from Tommy and tried the Turkey Trot with her, but her feet were no longer cooperating. She was thirsty, but the only thing available to quench her thirst was beer.

She became dimly aware that her head and limbs had turned clumsy and heavy and she had completely lost track of time. It didn’t worry her. She was young and could dance and drink all night if she wanted.

(Image source.)

[delta-roseblr]

Felix and Kyle Visit an Adult Book Store: Part Two

Hello and Welcome back for part two!

Enjoy!

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

After a ninety-minute car ride that felt like it had been about four hours they finally arrived at their destination and what a fucking sight it was.

Jimmy’s Adult Toy Chest wasn’t the highest-rated adult store in Nashville. It wasn’t even the closest to their town. It was, however, pretty well known amongst pretty much everyone under the age of 18 as being extremely lax about IDing its patrons. Kyle had turned 18 in September so he didn’t have to worry about that, but Felix wouldn’t be 18 for another eight months. He had a fake ID, a really fucking expensive one actually, but it was for the state of Vermont. That wasn’t necessarily a problem, but Felix was pretty sure it would draw unwanted scrutiny. Jimmy’s Adult Toy Chest’s apparent apathy for looking at effect such things pretty much solved that problem.

Apparently, this also meant that Jimmy’s Adult Toy Chest was in the seediest part of town in the shiftiest looking building Felix had ever seen. It was pretty much just a one-story rectangular building dropped in the middle of a gravel parking lot surrounded by what looked like abandoned buildings. The building might have once been painted red, but the color had long since faded and was presently a weirdly muted and dingy looking pinkish purple color. It had a few windows that Felix could see but they didn’t give away any of the store’s secrets because they appeared to be covered with black paint. Felix felt like he was going to catch an STI just looking at the place.

One look at Kyle and Felix could tell that the place didn’t exactly live up to his expectations either. “Still think this is going to be fun?” Felix questioned with a grin.

Kyle looked at the building for another long minute before turning to Felix and obviously forcing a grin. “If we don’t get murdered,” he answered with fake cheer.

“Or kidnapped and sold on some black market,” Felix offered flatly at what he saw as a real alternative. The place kind of looked like a serial killer’s preferred killing room for fuck’s sake. He grinned humorlessly at Kyle before adding, “You know how there are all those jokes about red-headed step-children? What do you think happens to red-headed sex slaves?”

Kyle chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You are a fucking asshole.”

Felix just continued to grin at him. “You are not the first person to tell me that.”

Unfortunately, even though the place looked like it was going to be the site of a future murder Kyle still wasn’t deterred about going in. Felix knew it had been his idea to come in the first place, but the more he thought about it the more he wanted to get out of it.

The whole situation was just so stupid. The thing he wanted or at least wanted to look into was easily found online on dozens of websites, Felix was sure. Thing was, Felix was one hundred percent sure that his dad checked his internet history now. Felix knew how to scrub that. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to handle his dad’s prying eyes. He had done a little looking already and his dad didn’t seem to know about it. So he could have looked at home but buying anything was a complete no go. His dad would absolutely open any package that showed up at the house for him and Felix couldn’t guarantee he would be home in time to beat his dad home to get the mail every day with soccer practice. If Felix wanted to purchase anything he needed to go to a brick and mortar store except he didn’t have a fucking car. Felix was working on that, and he was so fucking close, but that didn’t actually help him at that moment. No car meant he needed a ride which is why he had ended up enlisting Kyle.

Great plan except that Kyle was just so fucking enthusiastic about it. It made Felix feel even more uncomfortable about the whole thing than he already did, and he was already about as uncomfortable as he could get about it. Not that Felix was ashamed of sex or liking sex, but this was a bit more than that.

His last opportunity to escape effectively squashed, Felix walked into the store with Kyle. The outside had prepared him for something dank and dirty and probably sleazy which wasn’t what they got at all. The place was well lit and looked clean and organized. That juxtaposition alone was enough to give Felix pause, but he was sure that the display of dick and boob shaped paraphernalia meant for things like bachelorette parties that were set up so they were the first thing you saw when you walked in didn’t help.

“Wow,” Felix exclaimed. He might have even taken a step back from the shock of all of it. “That’s a lot,” he admitted.

“It’s like sensory overload with sex toys!” Kyle agreed although he sounded more excited than surprised. When Felix looked over at him, Kyle was looking around like a fucking kid in a candy shop. “It’s Toys ’R Us for adults.”

I should have just risked it and bought what I wanted online, Felix thought to himself.

“You two are 18?” Someone asked. Felix looked in the direction of the voice to see a bored girl sitting behind the counter by the register. She looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties. She had more piercings on her face and in her ears than Felix dare try to count, and her hair was fire-engine red. Her phone was still in her hands and she was looking at them with an annoyed disinterest. It was pretty fucking clear they had interrupted her internet scrolling and she wasn’t fucking happy about it.

“Yeah,” Felix replied easily even though it was very much a lie. Considering his relative history of bad luck, Felix wouldn’t have been surprised if she asked to see their IDs but if she did he was prepared to deal with that.

“Yup,” Kyle also answered. Felix knew it was in his head, but he would have sworn Kyle sounded more sincere than he had. Dean could do that too and Felix blamed the southern accent. Kyle reached into his back pocket as he asked, “Do you need to see our IDs?”

The girl behind the counter actually seemed to think about it although it became clear pretty quickly she wasn’t going to take Kyle up on the offer. She just had to go through the motions for appearance's sake which Felix got even if he didn’t appreciate the stress.

“Nah,” she eventually dismissed and returned to looking at her phone like they didn’t even fucking exist.

Well, that was one hurdle dealt with, Felix guessed.

Felix went to take a step and Kyle caught his arm before leaning into his space to whisper. “Is that porn on the TV behind her?” he asked, and it was hard to tell if he was bewildered or horrified by the thought.

Felix almost asked what TV because he really hadn’t noticed one, but on a second glance, he saw the flat screen TV sitting on the shelves behind her. It took all of two seconds of looking to determine that the TV was, in fact, playing some good, old-fashioned porn. It wasn’t exactly a surprise considering porn was the place’s business, but Felix did find it a little amusing which was probably why he chuckled before answering, “Looks like.”

“Oh,” Kyle exclaimed, and he did sound surprised. How he could be surprised at that point Felix didn’t know because he had eyes and it was clearly porn, but it was Kyle. The guy could be shockingly innocent when it came to some things. “I guess that is on theme,” he commented sounding a little awkward about it.

Maybe he would have been more comfortable if it was gay porn. Or that could have made it worse. Felix really couldn’t tell so it was anyone’s guess.

Unfortunately, Kyle got over his discomfort quickly and went right back to being an excited puppy about the whole thing. He released Felix’s arm but turned to look at him curiously, “So what are you looking for?”

“None of your business,” Felix answered immediately. The thought of actually saying it out loud made Felix’s face burn. He was going to buy it which in its own way was embarrassing enough but he wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Dude,” Kyle laughed, “You know I’m going to see it when you check out, right?”

“Fuck,” Felix hissed, “I hadn’t really thought about that.”

How he had managed to not think about that Felix didn’t fucking know because it really was beyond obvious. He guessed he had been so hung up on actually going to the place that he didn’t think out all of the details as much as he should.

I should have just taken the risk and ordered one off the internet, Felix thought as the situation finally truly hit him.

“Well, now that you are aware why don’t you tell me so I can help look,” Kyle suggested as he started to crane his neck to look around the store curiously.

He was going to find out anyway, Felix realized and let out a sigh. It was stupid but he found himself looking around the store to make sure there was no one nearby to overhear. The girl behind the counter was already engrossed in her phone and Felix was pretty sure that he and Kyle were the only actual customers. “Um….,” Felix hummed. He was just going to admit it because it was going to come out eventually. He totally was until he thought about the horror of actually having to say it out loud really struck him and he couldn’t make the words come out.

“Let’s just start looking around,” he grumbled instead.

“You are literally the definition of a bisexual disaster,” Kyle exclaimed with a dramatic eye roll. It wasn’t the first time Kyle had called him that and Felix was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last. Felix couldn’t even be that mad about it because he wasn’t completely wrong. “Where would you like to start?” Kyle asked as he looked around the store again, “Lube? Sex games and other paraphernalia whatever that means? Bondage?” Kyle gasped at his own question and looked at Felix wide-eyed. “Oh, god, is that why we are here? Like to get a pair of handcuffs or something?”

“No,” Felix dismissed quickly. He liked to think he was a pretty flexible person and he was willing to try a lot in the bedroom but there was no way in fucking hell he would ever let Dean tie him up. Thankfully, Dean had never expressed an interest in that, and Felix couldn’t imagine Dean would want to be tied up either. Dean could barely handle laying back and let Felix pleasure him. He would probably have a fucking heart attack being tied up and completely out of control. “Just… come on.”

[bettersafethandicks]

hey i went digging in the landfill again and check it out its twince x reader

oh my god i did this too much i wrote too many word oh shit oh fuck im sorry

like a 75/25 split of troy : tyreen attention to the reader

a spiritual successor to my last troy/reader fic now that like, the games actually out.

contains: 0% sex

contains: CANNIBALISM yuck, nonsexual nudity on reader’s part, gender neutral reader, biting, blood stuff, drugging, kidnapping/getting a lil tied up, monster troy, getting touched n pampered like a nice spa day :), petstuff

5746 words jesus FUCK

It wasn’t the best job.  Sure, things could be worse; things could always be worse on Pandora, and one should count any second spent not prying their arm out of a skag’s mouth as a blessing.  Still, sitting up in a poorly-lit office perched over an eridium mine was so boring.

Officially, you were supposed to be here to oversee outgoing shipments and supply purchases; making sure the weight matched what was on paper …not that you knew what to do when it didn’t match.  That wasn’t your problem, though; you reported it in the daily logs and it was someone else’s corporate war after that.

“It’s time for our Flay of the Day!”

The little screen beside you cheered out in Tyreen Calypso’s energetic voice; the COV-sponsored ads had slowly begun to take over the Echonet recently.  They were always interesting, at least, certainly better than the Hyperion trash that was playing a few years ago.  Even if you didn’t tune into their dedicated channel, you didn’t mind the interruption of the background noise of Space Ghost Adventures.

You looked up from the spreadsheet to watch the short clip. Sometimes the Calypsos themselves would be on, usually if they had a recent raid or some ceremonial murders to show off.  Those were always the most entertaining, seeing the terrible, awesome power of the two of them; they were cool.  Tragically, today’s clip was user-submitted.  Bandits killing bandits- this was Pandora what else was new?

You turned back to your work, listening to the comical dubbed-in sound effects and Tyreen’s gleeful mocking.

Ear-splitting warning sirens jolted you upright.  You groaned, spinning around on your chair to the door.  Someone had pulled the stupid fucking alarm again and-

Screaming.  Yelling. Gunshots that weren’t coming from the screen.  Before you could even stand up to look out the window overlooking the mines, the door to your cramped office slammed open, and a burly, armor-covered bandit stomped toward you, gun drawn.

Your hands were in the air before you could even process it. Instead of the bullet between the eyes you were braced for, the guy was yelling at you to get the door to the safe; a second of hesitation to understand his words earned you a strike to the side of the head with the pistol.  After that you were at the safe, punching in codes and letting the tech scan your biometrics to disable the locks.  Shouting and gunfire was still audible from outside; you pressed your back to the wall of the little office as members of Pandora’s Official Welcome Committee filed in and emptied out the roomful of refined eridium and cash.  The bandit seemingly in charge kept his weapon trained on you, making sure you didn’t try to call in backup or reach for some hidden gun of your own.

It was stupid to think you’d get out of this, in hindsight.

A rather embarrassing yelp escaped you when the human wall holding you at gunpoint reached out to grab your arm.

“Take this one, too, ‘n be careful not to bang em up too much. The soft ones are great arena-bait.”  He grunted, handing you off to another bandit who yanked you effortlessly off your feet.

“Wait wait waitwaitwaitwait-“  You whined as you were dragged out of the room.  

Your begging fell on deaf ears; you looked at the mines as you were hauled off, seeing a few casualties on the ground, but not as many as you expected.  The workers had probably fled when the raid started, the lucky bastards.  Shackles were clamped onto your wrists before you were shoved roughly into the back of a technical with the rest of the loot, landing painfully on a brick of eridium.

The bumpy ride was lit by the soft purple glow of the alien mineral.  You knew you probably shouldn’t be this close to it, people got sick from this didn’t they? On second thought, eridium probably wasn’t the biggest threat to your health right now, you could worry about that later.  If you got a ‘later’.  

It was far too soon that the technical stopped, and the harsh light of the sun was blinding you again when the doors were yanked open. You were unceremoniously slung over some marauder’s shoulder and carried over to a cage and locked in without a word. The cages were stacked three high, and you were on the second ‘story’.  Not quite tall enough to stand up in, vertical bars, exposed on all sides, and generally as uncomfortable as possible; thankfully, the cages were in the shade, probably something they learned after finding some prisoners well-done in the Pandoran heat.  

“Hey!” You cried to the departing bandit “Wait!  I’m still- …” Your wrists were still bound; he was already back to unloading the technical.  With a huff, you slump against the bars.  

No one paid you much mind as they sorted through the spoils, which apparently included you.  Maybe someone nice would buy you.  Maybe one of them would have a change of heart and free you.  Maybe a rakk would fly over and start talking to you.

You had almost dozed off when the familiar sound of chaos started again.  Thugs rushed past you toward the gate of the camp, guns drawn and shouting to their fellow bandits to follow.  You stood as much as the cage would allow, craning your neck around to get a look at what was happening; you heard a psycho screaming before you saw anything-

“FOR THE GLORY OF THE TWIN GODS”

The Children of the Vault were here.

Everything slowed down.  Gunfire had started in earnest at this point; this was a real fight, unlike the sweeping takeover of the mine.  You’d never interacted with the cult in real life- you didn’t even know there was single a bandit clan on the planet still opposing them, nevermind that you’d get the shit luck to get kidnapped by one.  You weren’t really sure which side to root for- the bandit maniacs or the other bandit maniacs.

A stray bullet whistling past your ear snapped you out of it.  You sprang into action; namely collapsing to the floor of the cage and pretending the crossfire had hit true.  You played dead.  

The winning team was quickly apparent, with the COV’s terrible power quickly creeping through the camp.  A mixture of morbid curiosity and shock let you keep your eyes open, watching the carnage.  A feral cheer swelled among their ranks, but you didn’t dare sit up and look toward them to see why- not that it mattered, it was clear soon enough.

The Sirens.  

Your heart jumped.  Adrenaline rushed uselessly through your blood, catching a glimpse of the figures you had only ever seen executing heretics and raiders on screens. Tyreen was striding a path through the chaos, outstretching an arm and draining the life from those running away, and a few fools who tried to run toward her as well.  She laughed, called out taunts and praised her followers.  A cambot whirred behind her, swooping around to get the best angles of the dead and dying.  Seeing her in person, physically there only a few meters from you, leeching bandits into frozen husks in seconds; it was suddenly too real.  She was real and she was here she was devastating and she was enjoying it.

You were so transfixed by Tyreen you almost forgot to wonder; where was-

A screaming bandit slammed into the bars of your cage.

You couldn’t help but jolt- but he wasn’t facing you.  Troy Calypso was on him, huge prosthetic hand gripping the man’s head and bashing it against the bars a second time, stunning him. Troy’s face shifted.  You watched in primal fear as that arrogant smirk grew into a grin, and kept going.  Gold glinted on inhuman fangs, ever more revealed as his cheek cracked open along the lines on his face, metal clips coming undone.  His bottom lip split in the center, and all at once the rumors that Troy Calypso’s mods went further than just his arm were confirmed.

The jagged show of teeth disappeared as he jerked his head forward, sinking his fangs deep into the poor bastard’s throat.  You were frozen, lying there like a cornered rabbit, not even having the sense to shut your eyes.  Some primitive part of your brain was telling you if you didn’t move a muscle, you’d be okay, that moving would only attract the predator’s attention.  

Troy’s eyes were closed, blood pulsing out over his face; his nose wrinkled as he tightened his grip with a growl, something in the man’s throat giving way and letting those jaws slice deeper in.  He was inches from your face.  The poor bastard made a sickening gargling noise, and then was quiet.  For a few seconds, all you could hear was your own deafening heartbeat racing in your ears, the clamor of the vicious raid was so distant; unimportant.  

A wet, tearing, popping sound brought everything back as Troy pulled away, taking the mouthful of flesh with him.  His jaws flexed asymmetrically as he swallowed, letting the limp body collapse to the dirt, Troy’s face and chest coated in red.  The siren let out a pleased sigh, expression hazy as a too-long tongue lapped over the grotesque skag-like maw, doing next to nothing in his effort to clean the blood from it.

Icy blue eyes, suddenly lucid and striking and predatory snapped to yours.  

You stopped breathing.  Troy’s jaw slid together, enough that you could make out the sharp grin.  

“Ohh, playing dead, huh?”

You could barely hear the question.  

He leaned in, nose almost touching the bars, eyes searing into you.  

“Cleveeer.” He slurred; mouth still broken at the seams.

Troy winked at you, and turned to revel in the massacre with his twin.  

The rest of the fight passed by in a blur; all you could think about was Troy’s eyes, so blue against that mask of red, the blood falling from the edge of his jaw in slimy bright red strings and you could swear you could hear it patter on the ground, the way the alien tattoos flowing over his face gave off such enticing light-

Had you ever seen someone die so close before?  Sure, distantly, but it was always over there. You had dried blood on your cheek.

You hadn’t even realized the bullets had stopped flying.

“That one.”

“The dead one?”

“Yeah.  Bring it to me.”

No- nonononononono- no no Troy Calypso was not talking about you the heavy footsteps of a bandit fanatic were not getting closer he hadn’t just ordered you to be brought to him you’re dead you aren’t worth anyone’s time you’ve been dead this whole raid just leave just get out no no no please-

           You heard the lock crack under a sharp blow.

“Eww, what, you’re a scavenger now, Troy?  I thought you liked them kicking?”  Tyreen, her voice so clear when it wasn’t sent through a speaker, so close-

Your still-shackled hands were locked around the metal bars the moment the bandit took hold of your clothing, springing to life in a blind terror. You realized you were screaming, wailing for help you knew wasn’t out there; you were plucked from the cage, grip broken like it was nothing.  Tyreen and Troy got nearer with every step as you were hauled over to them, struggling and begging.  

Tears were stinging your eyes by the time the fanatic stopped in front of the sirens; you curled up in his grip, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself to be leeched or shot or something.

“Heh, y’see?  Already all wrapped up and everything.”  You cracked an eye open, heart in your throat.  Troy jerked a thumb toward a massive war technical.  “Put ‘em in the carrier, we’ll get shots at camp- better lighting n’ sound.”

Tyreen caught your eye as you passed by, head tilting and siren markings glowing softly; your blood ran cold when she gave you a deadly smirk. Tyreen smiling was the same level of bad news as Tyreen frowning; maybe worse.  

Still reeling, you were shoved into an empty barrel attached to the side of the technical. A metal grate had been fitted to the front on a hinge, and just like that you were in another cage.  The barrel titled back, rolling you to the closed end and you had no choice but to sit in the cramped little container while they finished raiding the camp.  

You couldn’t see much more than the darkening sky on the drive to…wherever you were going.  It felt like they had given the wheel to the most erratic psycho in the cult, and you were battered around the metal tube like a cocktail shaker.  By the time the vehicle pulled in to some kind of garage, you were positive you were going to vomit or pass out or both.  

Heavy bootsteps approached, and the barrel was tilted 180 degrees while the door was flung open, dumping you roughly to the ground.  You curled up, letting out a strained whine of pain.  

“Aaand here’s our new project!  Wanted to get some ‘before’ shots of it.”  Troy poked you with his boot, turning you over onto your back.  A cambot flitted around you, zooming in and out. “Grabbed this treat at the last heretic cleanse, you can see highlights of that party right here- “ He pointed up and to his right, where he’d presumably be editing in a link to the massacre you had just been a part of.  

On your back, wrists bound in front of you, bashed up and terrified, the sight of Troy Calypso towering over you made you certain you were about to die.  When he reached down with that brutal mechanical to grab your wrists you couldn’t help but shriek, trying your best to scrabble away from his touch.

Troy barked out a laugh, easily catching you and pulling you upright.

“Tch, aww, lookit this sad little stray.”  His tone was mocking, amused.   His normal hand wrapped around your jaw, firmly tilting your face this was and that for the camera.  You got a quick view of your surroundings, a massive technical bay, surprisingly organized for the chaotic exterior of the cult.  Devotees were scattered around, working on vehicles and otherwise giving Troy a wide, cautious radius.

“Yeah, this’ll be nice and fixed up.  You guys won’t even recognize them by the end of this one.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, and you realized you had been bleeding.  “Alright, that’s the end of introductions, I wanna get this thing started.  See you in a bit!”  

The cambot gave a chirp, and its red recording light blinked off at Troy’s cue.  Troy lifted his blood-smeared thumb to his mouth, and licked it.  

“Hoo, wow.”  Troy exhaled sharply. “Yeah, ah, get them goin’ for me, make it good.“  He motioned to two robed figures standing off to the side, seemingly waiting for this invitation.  “Mmh, behave for them, hm sweetheart?”  Troy gave you a flash of sharp teeth in a crooked smile.

Cultists guided you away in a fog.  By this point you had been through way too much for the past however-many hours, and you obediently stumbled along for them.  You just wanted to lie down and wake up.  The noise and bustle of the compound began to thin the deeper into the building you were led, and your chaperons weren’t exactly talkative. This was all probably very secret and important, and maybe you’d be looking around in wonder at the magnificent décor if you could keep your eyes focused.

Heavy, ornate doors pulled open at the end of a particularly holy looking hall; a tiled room, decorated in mosaic patterns of red and blue, twisting snakes and wide starburst eyes, designs leading off along the floor into different rooms.  The sound of water running came from somewhere, echoing off the tile.  The room smelled sweet, vaguely floral but not overpoweringly so, and the air was heavy and humid.  Now you were staring around in wonder, too much to even notice the additional attendants had begun to undo the buttons and straps of your clothing.  

You tripped back, yanking your shackles from the hands of an acolyte you hadn’t seen.

“Calm yourself, Lamb.”  A priest rasped; the first time you had heard one speak.  “No harm will come to you here, you are protected under the power of the godking.”

“W-what does that mean?”  Your voice cracked now that you had finally found it, and it struck you how thirsty you were.

A cultist took your hands once again, working at the mechanism on the shackles.  “You are being readied for Troy Calypso, as He has requested.  The cleansing process is not a painful one, simply relax.”

The lock jolted, and the heavy metal fell from your wrists with a thunk.  Another fanatic carried it off, and you realized just how many figures were bustling around the room.  You tensed up, jaw tightening as an attendant resumed undoing the many straps and laces of the clothing necessary for the desert planet.  A lump formed in your throat as you fought the urge to tear yourself away.

The discomfort must’ve been radiating from you, because one of them spoke up.  “You need not be so uneasy; we have no desires of our own, only to serve the Twin Gods.  To act out from their wishes would be deserving of an unholy death.”  Nodding and soft murmurs of agreement sounded out around the room.  

Literal and figurative armor was pulled from you, the warm air now more welcoming than stifling.  A white towel was wrapped around your body, and you got the feeling it was for your own benefit.  

“Are you familiar with washing?”  You’d feel offended if you were on any other planet; here it was a reasonable question.

“Uh, yes.”  

“Very well.  Come along, Lamb.”  

The room you were led into was even more warm and misty than the antechamber, a slight fog hanging in the air from heated water.  Opulent mosaics on the wall depicted the twin gods lounging in golden robes, light rays shining out from them.  A stonework shower was built into a corner, and you were guided toward it, a washcloth and pitch-black bar of unscented soap waiting in the hands of a cultist.  You hesitantly took the objects, and handed over your towel with some reluctance.  

A glass door provided some barrier between you and your audience, who thankfully really did seem uninterested.  Being exposed was not something you were used to on Pandora- or, at all really.  Two silver knobs in front of you were self-explanatory, and you turned on the water-

Hot water.  God, how long had it been since you had a hot shower?  You let out a gasp, shoulders slumping as you turned your face up to the stream.  You opened your mouth, filling it with water and swishing it around, drinking some when you realized it tasted clean.  It felt like pounds of dust was being rinsed off your skin, and you rubbed at your face, reveling in the stark difference between this and standing under a freezing hose for a few minutes.  

The black bar of soap lathered nicely, and you set to work scrubbing off your battered and dry skin.  Wisps of red swirled down the drain as you washed all the cuts and scrapes you had accumulated, as well as some blood that probably wasn’t even yours. You washed yourself less out of submission to the COV, and more because you just wanted to feel human again.

Reluctantly, you eventually stepped out of the shower, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to keep a bunch of vicious cultists waiting too long.  Instead of handing you a towel though, the robed acolyte took you toward a large clawfoot tub on the other side of the room.  You’d only ever seen those in movies- the edges curved out gracefully, and the bath was already filled; petals of a flower you couldn’t identify floated in the purple-tinted water.  The cultist held their hand out, offering you help getting in.  

Taking the hand, you dipped one foot in.  The water was hot, on the edge of being too hot, but not quite.  You slipped into the bath, sinking into the enveloping heat; you felt like you could drift off. Fingers wove into your hair, making you jump-

“Shhhhh, relax.”  The cultist soothed.  

You obeyed, figuring it was a little late to start resisting now. Gently, they worked the tangles out of your wet hair, brought on mostly by your recent experience as a twice-over prisoner.  More cultists appeared, pouring softly-scented liquids and powders into the bath, and you become aware of a not-unpleasant tingling feeling creeping over your skin.  You let your eyes slide shut, listening to the quiet shuffle of the cult members echoing on the tile and the low, (admittedly pretty) hymns playing from somewhere.

A depression in the bath’s edge provided a perfect fit for you to rest your head, feeling the hands working through your hair hanging over the edge, massaging your scalp and working some kind of shampoo into it.  A handheld sprayer rinsed the lather from your head, and you were released to fully recline in the tub.  You let your ears dip under the water, outside sounds gone, leaving you alone with your heartbeat.  Your body bounced ever so slightly in the water as you breathed, the bath large enough for you to float without touching the bottom or sides.  You could fall asleep here.

In fact, you did.  

You had no idea how long you had been unconscious, only that someone was pulling you from the bath, hooking their hands under your arms and lifting you out.  The water had cooled significantly, but it wasn’t yet room temperature.  You mumbled softly.

“Apologies Lamb, but we cannot allow you to soak any longer.” A cultist was at your side, wrapping a fluffy, deep red towel around you the moment you were out of the bath.  “The next step in the process awaits.”

Your legs felt heavy as you were led out of the bathing room and into another gorgeous space.  When they guided you to a cushioned, slightly reclined chair, you didn’t question it. If they wanted to treat you to some weird spa day before…whatever happened, then fine.  The small room was lit dimly, mostly with candles.

The dirt was scrubbed from under your nails, hands given a light massage once clean.  

“Eat, Lamb.”  You opened your eyes to a cultist offering you some kind of food.   They held the bite out to you from a fork, but didn’t object to you taking the plate yourself.

You had forgotten how hungry you were, after being kept for however many hours in the sun and rattled around in two separate bandit vehicles.  The food was…some kind of meat, you’d seen more suspicious.  You’d seen less suspicious too, but it smelled good and wasn’t burned to charcoal; it actually seemed seasoned and prepared, imagine that.

Eating with so many eyes on you would normally have made you uncomfortable, but you were too starved to care.  Almost immediately, a priest was there with another plate, this one carrying an assortment of fruits; some you had never seen before.  Normally you had to fight off scurvy with vitamin tablets, fruit was a rare luxury here, even when it was in season.  The COV must’ve had it imported in from off-planet…

You picked out a few grapes, not yet brave enough to try one of the glowy things.  A reddish tinted drink was given to you in a wine glass; you half expected some alcoholic burn, but it was cool and sweet and made your mouth feel a little fuzzy instead. Hands rubbed at your shoulders, slowly easing the knots out of your muscles, a cultist occasionally encouraging you to try another bit of fruit.  Eventually you were taken to a cushioned table and made to lie down, the towel removed and replaced with a warm blanket laid across you.  

Years-worth of aches and soreness was slowly worked out of your back, spine cracking in a satisfying way every so often.  Oils and lotions were rubbed into your skin, your joints being stretched gently by several hands at once, all the while you felt more and more dazed.  

After a soothing lifetime of being massaged and tended to, you were pulled to your feet.  You weren’t even concerned with being exposed anymore, and they led you back out into the main lobby of the area where an especially-holy-looking acolyte stood with a drape of shimmery fabric laid across her arms.  A lower-ranked cultist stood holding a smoking container of incense, and they approached you, mumbling some prayer you couldn’t pay attention to if you tried.  You obliged them, allowing the priest to pull the white shawl over your body.

Once the priest had finished muttering the praises and blessings or whatever she was doing, a particularly large cultist came forward and simply picked you up.  You limply allowed it, now just along for whatever ride they decided to take you on. You were carried down some halls; you couldn’t really pay attention to the surroundings anymore.  Eventually, you reached your destination, and they laid you out on an altar in the center of a temple-like room.  After a few more prayers and responses from your entourage, the cultists all left you, heavy doors creaking shut and leaving you in silence.

You felt distant, lying there on the chilly gilded altar.  No doubt due to the strange drugs that had been soaked and rubbed and fed to you, but…it felt okay.  You couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, this peaceful.  The now empty room was beautiful from what you could see, all stained glass and candles and regal draped fabric, the spicy scent of incense hanging in the air.  The silky robe the attendants had wrapped you in feeling so soft on your skin, yet another a luxury you’d never experienced before.

You couldn’t even find the care to pick up your head when you heard the huge doors open.  A cambot whirred into view, and you could hear Troy before you saw him.

“Leeet’s see the finished product!”  The siren came into view, towering over you, appraising his servants’ work.  “Ooh, goddamn would you look at that.” His fingertips grazed over your jaw, and you felt compelled to tilt your head to the side, letting him continue down the side of your throat.  “Aww, see? So obedient.  All that fear just-” he gestured with his mech hand, as if waving something away.  “-gone. So committed to your blessed purpose now.”

Troy leaned down, nudging his face under your chin, close enough that the tip of his nose ghosted over your skin.  You shivered a little at the touch, but had no instinct to recoil; he inhaled deeply, exhaling through parted lips.  A rumbling noise, something between a purr and a growl, buzzed ever so softly from his throat.  

 “Ah-“  He stood straight again, running a hand through his hair and visibly unfocused.  “Uh- heh, right, hang on I gotta get some shots for the unpaid version.”  

The cambot bobbed back around, and you shifted slightly, feeling almost sleepy under the gaze of this apex predator and his billions of followers.

Soon enough, it seemed Troy had gotten the shots he needed, and moved in again.  His hand, warm where the glowing siren tattoos snaked over it, slid the robe from your shoulder.  Troy nestled his head up to the exposed skin, and you gasped a little when the wet heat of his tongue slid over your collarbone.

Troy gripped your sides, and bit.

You twitched at his sharpened teeth sinking into your shoulder, but couldn’t muster more than that.  

A deep groan rumbled from the siren’s chest, his jaw tightening on you; curiously, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected.  Some pinching and a deal of pressure were there, but the drugs you were full of seemed to be keeping you nicely distant from your nervous system.  You could feel Troy’s jaw moving as he took blood, and he pulled away with a huff before licking over the wound.

“Gh, f-fuck-“  Troy’s face split open as he spit out the word.  

Troy was on the altar, hauling himself up to straddle you in one easy motion.  He looked down at you, arms caging you in on either side of your body; pupils blown huge, monstrous jaws hanging open.  All at once his head jerked downward, and he snapped his teeth into your torso with a wet cracking noise.

You body jumped a little at the impact, and you felt the crunch of bone vibrate through your chest.  Troy pulled back, jagged teeth raking through your flesh easily, and you could see broken shards of white in the gore he held between his fangs.  He snapped his jaws, getting a better grip on the meat to swallow it, barely a second passing before he was burying his face back in your ribs. Troy ripped and tore like a feral animal, panting for breath between mouthfuls of you; all the while you could do nothing but lay there, impassive; obedient.

“Weeeell look who’s having a good time!  Hope you Elpis-tier followers are enjoying my brother chowing down on this snackrifice we’ve got here today!”  Tyreen.  You tilted your head to the side, vision bouncing a little as Troy ate.  She was swaying in, speaking to the cambot that had pulled out to get a larger shot of her apparently-scripted entrance.  “Sometimes, you just want a break from the howls of agony- hard to believe, I know! But who doesn’t love options!  And really, who can argue with a sweet little offering who knows how to give their flesh so well?  I mean, just look at that!”

Tyreen strolled closer, giving you a smile; your muddled brain couldn’t tell if it was soft or mocking.  She put her hands on the altar, and Troy let out a snarl from somewhere inside your chest.

“How’re you doin, sweetie?”  She cooed, leaning over your face and ignoring her twin’s predatory growl. “Fuck you smell good.  Cut that last bit out Troy.”  

He gave an agreeing mutter in response, before pulling up, exhaling sharply.

“Ahh god Ty can you f-feel how much energy they’re gi-giving off?”  His speech was almost incomprehensibly slurred between the split jaws and the blood and muscle dripping from his mouth.  

“Mhh, yeah.  They’re from that stripped eridium mine, right?”  You could feel Tyreen probing at the deep bite in your shoulder.

You mumbled softly, unable to form words. She raised her fingertips to her mouth to lick your blood from them.

Troy’s too-long tongue slid over his left jaw, long enough to wrap around the edge.  He groaned quietly, a strange purring vibration to the sound.  “They gotta be.”  He dipped back down, unable to keep his fangs off you for too long.

Tyreen was leaning in too, eyes drifting shut.  Her lips made contact with the blood still pulsing from your shoulder in a soft kiss, before she too was running her tongue over your skin. Her fingertips met your chin, tilting your head to the side to give her some room.  Teeth, less sharpened than her brother’s but still capable of breaking skin, bit into an untouched spot with a satisfied hum.

“Hhhg, ffuckin get your own.”  Troy’s voice was muffled, barely lifting his head from your body.  

She didn’t respond, but they both seemed content to stop bickering and lose themselves in your blood.  You were drifting, detached.  It wasn’t how you thought you were going to end up dying, but all things considered, it could be a lot worse.  At least you got preened and pampered before being torn apart by some monstrous sirens.

The distinct pressure and sound of another rib crunching away brought you out of your musings.  It struck you how far up he was; how many bones he had already snapped through. You mustered enough strength to open your eyes and look down at the surreal sight of Troy, half his face buried in your cracked open chest.

His eyes, thin rings of pale blue around dilated pupils, met yours. He lifted himself, blood hanging in strings between his face and your torso.  

Troy spoke.  You couldn’t hear a word of it.  Just a muted drone of sound as your vision wavered in and out of focus.  You were so tired.  He reached to your face, running a hand over your cheek.  He was so warm. You couldn’t help but let your head flop to the side, into his touch.

Tyreen- you had just about forgotten she was there until she pulled away from you, feeling like she had always meant to be at your throat, draining the life from you so gently.  She said something.  Even so close to your ear, you couldn’t understand the deadly-sweet words.

You let your eyes close.  You let go.

  ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Awake.  You were awake.  You shouldn’t be awake.

You were lying down, on a…a bed.  You shifted around, shocked to find all your limbs attached and no gaping hole in your abdomen.  

“Ha!  Bet you’re surprised to be alive!  I try to keep the healing stuff on the down-low, don’t really want the whole fam asking me for favors.”  Tyreen’s voice made you bolt upright.  Something around your neck jingled.

You reached up, grabbing at the source of the noise-

“You like it?  Troy’s idea, thought it was cute.”  A little bell was hanging from the collar around your throat.

You brought your eyes up to Tyreen, almost scared to look directly at her.  You’d heard about how she liked to toy with people, how volatile she could be, and it felt like you were being tricked right now.

“You, uh, you aren’t gonna…kill me?”  You said something to her you spoke to this godlike siren-

Tyreen grinned.  She reached out to you, tattoos flaring light, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation of being drained to a crystalline husk in a second.  Instead, Tyreen Calypso booped your nose.

“You taste too way good to only have once, pet.”

[alexandralyman]

Could you write a one shot where Ethier killian or emma has to sing to one another because they have a nightmare? I have been trying to find a fic like this but I cant😞 Just a suggestion :)

Hey @liftinglovley - you sent me this a while ago and I finally sat down and wrote it out. I knew the song I wanted to use - a personal Disney fave that I think is underrated compared to the more famous ones but it perfect as a CS song - it just took some time to figure out the rest. What I came up with was this, 3,900 words, mostly of canon compliant, domestic CS.

Set at some point after 7x02 and before the finale, rated PG

Also posted on ff.net here as part of my Every Page series of one-shots

                                          candle on the water

Minnesota, 1991Children’s Group Home

“She’s faking it.”

Emma looked over Mrs. Cooper’s shoulder at Kayla, leaning against the doorway with her a sour look on her face. The thermometer jammed uncomfortably in Emma’s mouth kept her from sticking her tongue out at the other girl, Kayla had been nothing but a bitch since Emma had arrived at the group home and here she was again, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong.

“Kayla, you’re going to miss the bus,” Mrs. Cooper said without turning around, one hand pressed to Emma’s forehead. She took the thermometer and squinted at it, while Kayla craned her neck and tried to get a look at the number on the little screen. Emma hunched forward, the scratchy, donated pajamas were making her back itch again and felt damp and gross after a night of tossing and turning and barely making it to the bathroom down the hall before she threw up that morning.

“You’ve got a bit of a fever honey, it’s probably best if you stay home from school today.”

“What?” Kayle screeched, dropping her faux-fur backpack on the floor with a thump. “No way! If she’s sick then so am I, she probably gave it to me and I should get to stay home from school too!”

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Cooper snapped, getting up off of Emma’s bed and turning around to shoo Kayle out of the room. “You already skipped twice last week and now I’ve got to set up another meeting with your principal and your social worker to discuss your attendance issues, you are not sick and you are going to school today, young lady!”

Emma felt too crappy to tell Mrs. Cooper that Kayla had actually skipped school three times last week, not two, and had gone to the mall with two older boys to shoplift cassettes from the music store and had hidden them under her mattress. Besides, Emma wasn’t a snitch, even if Kayla deserved to be hauled off to juvie, snitches got their ass beat and their stuff messed with. Still, she smiled as Kayla angrily snatched up her backpack and went stomping down the stairs, followed a minute later by the loud slam of the front door. Mrs. Cooper sighed at the sound, shaking her head. Emma almost felt sorry for her, but she knew by now that the woman would probably be gone in a few months anyway and a new housemother would come in and change all the rules again, no one ever stayed for long working at the group home and there was no point in feeling bad for any of them. Even the nice ones.

Especially the nice ones, cause it always hurt the most when they left.

Mrs. Cooper was one of the okay ones. She told Emma that she had a lot of work to do and would be in her office most of the day, but Emma could watch TV if she wanted instead of having to stay in bed, as long as she didn’t make too much noise. Emma dug out her baby blanket from her own hiding place and brought it down with her to the TV room, since she knew it would be safe with all of the other kids at school until three. The older kids usually hogged the remote and never let anyone else pick what show to watch, so Emma didn’t even care that the saltines Mrs. Cooper brought from the locked pantry to help settle her stomach were the lame store-brand kind that always broke when you tried to take them out of the package and tasted like cardboard. She clutched the remote tight on her lap all through The Price is Right and when it was over and some dumb soap opera started she started flicking through all the channels, careful to keep the volume down so that Mrs. Cooper wouldn’t get all mad and make her go back to bed. Boring news shows, and even more boring M*A*S*H rerun, that was playing on two different channels for some reason, an infomercial for a cooking thing that could make breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert, and she changed channels again because the grilled cheese sandwich the lady was making in it looked good and was making her hungry. She wished the VCR wasn’t broken again or that they got one of the cool channels like MTV, burrowing a bit more into her blanket.

“And now back to the KSTP afternoon movie, Pete’s Dragon.”

Emma watched as the TV screen was filled with a little, old-fashioned looking town next to the ocean. She sort of knew this movie, it was one of those old Disney ones that had real people and cartoons all mixed together, like Mary Poppins. The older kids would call it a baby movie, especially Kayla, who hid makeup she wasn’t supposed to be wearing in her backpack, but the older kids and Kayla were all at school and Emma could watch whatever she wanted to without anyone making fun of her.

She leaned her head against one of the cushions as the movie played on. Pete was a boy, an orphan about the same age as her, but he had a dragon named Elliott who helped him escape from the bad people who’d bought him and together they made their way to the small town by the ocean. They met a lady named Nora, whose boyfriend died in a shipwreck, and her dad the lighthouse-keeper, and all the other townspeople, living happily with them until the bad people showed up and tried to capture Elliott. He got away, and used his breath to relight the fire at the top of the lighthouse after it went out, saving the life of Nora’s boyfriend, who wasn’t dead, he just had amnesia and forgot her until he got better and had come back on another ship. They invited Pete to stay and join their family, and he said goodbye Elliott, who flew away to look for another kid like Pete to help.

There was also a *lot* of singing. Emma didn’t like to sing, not anymore.

It was kind of a baby movie. Orphans like Pete didn’t just find new families like that. They ended up in foster care and their chances of adoption went down the older they got. The social workers called it statistics, Emma knew it meant that there wasn’t a happy, ready-made family out there waiting for her, or Kayla, or any of the other older kids. In real life Nora and her boyfriend would just have their own baby. And dragons definitely weren’t real.

The songs were okay though, and her favourite was the one Nora sang while looking out over the ocean from the lighthouse balcony when she was missing her boyfriend, even though it was the slow one.

“I’ll be your candle on the water,My love for you will always burn.I know you’re lost, and drifting,But the clouds are lifting.

Don’t give up, you have somewhere to turn.”

                                                      …..

Some Years LaterStorybrooke, Maine.

“How’s the morning sickness today, sweetheart?”

Emma held the phone to her ear with her shoulder, reaching up for the box of saltines in the cupboard.

“More like Killian-tired-to-bring-fresh-mackerel-in-the-house-sickness today,” she said to her mother with a wince. “The smell was just….ugh.”

Snow laughed softly. “Oh, I remember that. I had to bolt from a ball once when I was pregnant with you and they were passing around caviar hor d'oeuvres, your poor father found me throwing up in a decorative urn out on the balcony.”

“Yeah, pregnancy and fish just don’t seem to mix. Which is a little awkward when you’re married to a man who views it as an essential food group.”

“Guess it runs in the family,” Snow said, and Emma could practically see her mother’s smile even over the phone. “You do kind of have my chin.”

She started to nibble on one of the saltines while Snow chatted on, hoping Killian would be back soon with the ginger ale he’d gone out to get after discovering they were all out while she was puking her guts up in the bathroom. He felt terrible about the whole mackerel incident, quickly apologizing to both her and the baby for upsetting them before slamming the lid back on the cooler and taking it out onto the porch. Emma loved that he was teaching her little brother how to fish, but maybe the rather pungent fruits of their labour could stay on the Jolly Roger and out of her kitchen for right now.

“Oh! Before I forget, I got a letter from Ruby, after the baby shower she and Dorothy are going to finally take that road trip out to Kansas that they keep talking about before they go back to Oz.”

It was a little odd that the guest list for Emma’s upcoming baby shower included both the actual Wicked Witch of the West and Dorothy, but such was life in the small town of Storybrooke Maine, where almost everyone was a fairytale character, including Emma’s own husband and the father of her unborn child, the fearsome Captain Hook himself.

A very sheepish Captain Hook, when he returned home from the grocery store toting a reusable shopping bag stuffed with ginger ale, another box of saltines, the good kind and not the lame store brand that always broke as soon you tried to take one out of the sleeve and tasted like cardboard, a bouquet of roses and a scented candle.

Two scented candles.

Three scented candles.

Candles kept appearing from the bag until over half a dozen jars were crowded together on the kitchen table, cinnamon stick, eucalyptus, bayberry, fresh linen. Emma rested a hand on the swell of her stomach and raised an eyebrow at Killian, noting how the tips of his ears had gone red.

“I thought a candle might help if there was any lingering odor from the mackerel, but I wasn’t sure if there were any other scents you and the bean were particularly sensitive to right now so I thought I should get a backup, just in case, but then what if you didn’t like that one either so I procured a backup for the backup, and then-”

“A backup for that one too?” Emma finished, trying not to laugh.

“Aye, well. It seemed like a good idea at the market.”

She’d used Febreeze and a bit of magic to get rid of the icky fish smell once she’d come out of the bathroom, but she appreciated the effort nonetheless and she shuffled forward to wrap her arms around his neck while he shifted his hips to make room for the baby between them. Pregnancy was hard, and exhausting, she wasn’t seventeen this time around and morning sickness had teamed up with midnight heartburn to seriously kick her ass, but she had Killian and her parents and half the town on speed dial, ready to drop everything and come to the Saviour’s aid.

It had taken her years to find the home Neal had once talked about, and almost as long to accept that Storybrooke was, in fact, that place, but now that she had it was like a cloud had lifted and while her life would never be simple, she wasn’t living it alone.

They had takeout from Granny’s for dinner instead of fresh-caught mackerel - grilled cheese, with a side of sauerkraut, because Emma had a craving for it and Killian knew better than to ask why the smell of fish made her throw up but fermented cabbage was OK - and finished the movie she’d fallen asleep halfway through the night before. After their wedding, once things had finally quieted down in Storybrooke (not that they were ever completely calm in a town where Moby Dick might surface in the harbour on a random Sunday and a pair of actual dragons lived in a house down the street and threw weekly barbecues that had a tendency to set neighbouring cars on fire) they’d finally had time for what Henry dubbed Operation Pop Culture, a.k.a getting Killian more familiar with The Land Without Magic. Specifically, the movies, TV shows, books and music that everyone with curse memories was already aware of and even though Henry was off on his own adventure now, they still made time at least once a week to keep the operation going in his honour.

Star Wars. Back to the Future. Indiana Jones. Harry Potter. They made their way through several TV shows on Netflix and watched the animated Disney classics. Which was…interesting, to actually sit down and rewatch them all now that she knew the real stories behind the catchy songs and all the happily ever afters. They’d taken a bit of a break after Peter Pan, for obvious reasons, and Emma was sure watching it had been a huge mistake, but Killian said he wanted to see her frame of reference for all the people that now made up their family and friends, to understand why she had such a hard time reconciling that Mary Margaret and David really were Snow White and Prince Charming at first, or that magic was actually real.

It had been more difficult for the both of them than she’d expected, but just like letting her son follow his own path, sometimes difficult was necessary.

Now they were in the midst of what Emma described to Henry during their enchanted mirror Skype sessions as, “Disney Movies Starring People We Don’t Know and Aren’t Related To (We Think)” that had started after a bout of magic gone wrong had resulted in Killian and David switching bodies, literally on a Friday too, so naturally they had to watch Freaky Friday once the spell was undone and everyone was thankfully back where they belonged, which wasn’t Killian-in-David’s-body sleeping on their couch and David-in-Killian’s accidentally scratching the shit out of everything in the farmhouse with the hook until Snow finally took it away in exasperation.

Mary Poppins. Honey I Shrunk the Kids. The Parent Trap and Herbie the Love Bug (like with Freaky Friday, the originals only, not the Lindsay Lohan remakes) Pete’s Dragon. Escape to Witch Mountain. Emma had seen some of them before, some were new to her, and the easy, family-friendly movies with simple plots and happy endings were just the thing to relax with in the evenings, especially with their own family expanding literally day by day.

By the time David Freeman made it back to 1978 and his parents and brother after travelling through time in Flight of the Navigator, Emma was stifling her yawns, her head pillowed on Killian’s chest and his fingers playing gently with her hair. She was already in her pajamas, or more accurately, his, since the waistband on the flannel pants was still stretchy enough for her stomach and his T-shirts fit much better than hers right now, plus they were all soft and comfy. The baby was already asleep and Emma wasn’t that far behind, Killian took care of locking up and turning off the lights while she made her way upstairs and drowsily brushed her teeth.

“Goodnight, my love,” he said once they were settled in bed, spooned up behind her with his strong thighs warm against the backs of hers, bracing her against any possible storm brewing on the horizon, even if it was just midnight heartburn again. His hand drifted down to her stomach, as it did every night. “Goodnight, little bean.”

Ever since the pregnancy tracking app on her phone had compared the size of their then eight week old embryo to a jelly bean, Killian had called the baby their own magic bean and even though he or she (they were keeping it a surprise) was now supposedly the size of a papaya according to that same app, the “little bean” nickname had stuck.

“Night, Killian. Love you too.”

She was up again around two, thankfully not because of heartburn, but she needed to pee and she was hungry. Emma went downstairs after she’d used the bathroom, leaving Killian to sleep while she rooted around for something to nosh on. The house was dark, shadowed, the half-finished nursery stacked with boxes and Henry’s old room still had comic books on the shelves and photos tacked around the mirror.

Her children, both were with her in some ways, and absent in others.

The overhead light was too bright to deal with in the middle of the night so she flicked her fingers absently at one of the candles and it flared to life in an echo of the magic flaring under her skin. It illuminated just enough so she didn’t trip over the rolled-up bottoms of Killian’s pj pants or stub her toe on any of the kitchen chairs. She wasn’t sure which one it was exactly, but the smell was nice.

Emma started humming under her breath while she debated between what was left of the sauerkraut or throwing some poptarts in the toaster when a noise from upstairs made her freeze. A faint thump, and then another, and then a loud cry that had magic bursting alongside the adrenaline that flooded her when she heard her husband scream. Without thinking about it she teleported herself upstairs and as the smoke cleared she saw he was sitting up in bed, pillows thrown to the floor and the hook clutched in his hand. He had a more modern brace to attach it to now instead of the old contraption of leather straps and buckles, but he didn’t sleep with it on and it was usually left on the nightstand next to the phone charger. His phone was providing the bit of light in the room, Emma could see the picture of herself that he had set as his lockscreen smiling at her and then it turned off and the room was plunged into darkness, but not before she caught a glimpse of Killian’s face, eyes wide and terrified.

“Swan?”

His voice wavered and cracked while she climbed onto the bed, a bit awkwardly thanks to the extra weight she was carrying, plucking the hook from his unresisting fingers and setting it aside. He curled into her helplessly and she felt that his skin was damp, clammy, as if he’d just had a fever, but of course that wasn’t what it was.

“Nightmare?”

A shaky nod that she felt rather than saw, and a wave of her hand and a wish for light brought up the candle from the kitchen, it appeared on her dresser still lit and filled the room with a soft glow. It wasn’t the first time that one of them had had a bad dream, leaving the past and all its scars was still a bit of an ongoing project that, like the nursery, they were working on together.

“What was it this time?” Emma asked, although she had a good idea when his hand instantly found her stomach. After a beat Killian confirmed her suspicion with a single word, “Pan.”

Sometimes it was the Underworld, sometimes it was being the Dark One, sometimes it was something older, like his brother, or his father, but ever since the pregnancy test had turned positive Killian’s nightmares tended to revolve around Peter Pan.

“He came for our little bean through the window…and I couldn’t…Emma, I couldn’t stop him.”

Emma saw that the window had been left open a crack and the curtains were fluttering in the breeze, a small, simple thing, unless you were Captain Hook and your wife was pregnant with your child.

Killian Jones sagged into her side, his arms around her waist and his head on her chest. Peter Pan was dead, the Lost Boys had all grown up and that story was over. Emma dreamed about him too, sometimes, just like she also dreamed about the Underworld and her time as the Dark One as Killian did, and like him she also had her own old traumas making a reappearance. Getting arrested for something and having to give birth in shackles again, or having to leave Killian behind as she and their little bean were forced to leave Storybrooke and forgetting him as soon as she crossed the town line.

Weekly sessions with Archie helped, but in the middle of the night when it was just the two of them they didn’t talk much about the dreams themselves, they just held each other and found other ways to take shelter from storms made of memories and regrets.

She held Killian and hummed to him under her breath, softly at first, the same tune she’d once hummed into a cassette recorder as a forgotten child living in a shitty group home in Minnesota. The song was still in her heart and she drew on it again, but it wasn’t for herself this time, it was for her sailor, lost at sea and seeking his way back home.

“I’ll be your candle on the waterMy love for you will always burnI know you’re lost and driftingBut the clouds are lifting

Don’t give up, you have somewhere to turn.”

The flame flickered and bounced, light spilling across the bed as Killian’s shoulders started to relax and the lingering tension from his nightmare drained away while Emma sang a song she hadn’t quite remembered and never really forgotten.

“A cold and friendless tide has found you,Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down.I’ll paint a ray of hope around you,Circling in the air, lighted by a prayer.

“I’ll be your candle on the water,This flame inside of me will grow.Keep holding on, you’ll make it,Here’s my hand, so take it.

Look for me reaching out to show,As sure as rivers flow,

Killian joined in on the final verse, his forehead resting against hers as the magic that bound them let them share the song and their voices mixed together in a promise to each other and to their little bean, held between them and loved, so loved already.

I’ll never let you go,I’ll never let you go,ll never let you go.”

[ramirei]

Assertion of the Heart - preparation 5 + 6

Takamizawa Arisa is eager to make friends and fit into class at her junior high school. However, she doesn’t fit into the girl groups and the only person she talks to is Enomoto Kotarou who sits in the seat behind her. Though she feels close to Miura Karen, a fellow classmate who doesn’t fit in class, she was scared of being singled out by her peers. Shibasaki Ken, Kotarou’s friend, takes notice of the conflicted Arisa but – “It’s too boring to hate all the time.” What awaits Arisa as she takes a step forward in her own way!?

Find the masterlist with all the chapters here!

Please support Honeyworks by purchasing the novel here! (CDJapan is also a good alternative).

Both of these chapters are pretty short, but they cover some major stuff that happened in the MV that I’m sure everyone is curious about after all these years.

preparation 5

It was after school when Ken took his phone from his pocket as he walked down the empty hallway. Today, there were none of the persistent messages that usually filled his inbox.

He heard a coy voice together with laughter from inside the 8th grade classrooms as he headed towards them. She was still here after all.

Ahh, what the heck. So, this is what it was… There were two students with their faces pressed together in the corner of the classroom when he opened the door without hesitation. They looked back at him, startled.

There were no other students. The classroom, which had been previously filled with laughter, lapsed into an uncomfortable, heavy silence.

The male student with her was the first to speak, “Isn’t that guy the 7th grader you said you were toying with recently?” He smirked and pulled her shoulders towards him for show.

An unsettling color settled on her face as she shoved him aside. She didn’t look at Ken at all. She probably couldn’t meet his eyes. That was fact. “…He’s my boyfriend…” Her words were a blatant lie.

“Didn’t you say he was boring?”

“I didn’t say anything like that at all! You’re the one that suddenly hit on me in the first place.”

“What? You’re the one that asked me out!”

“I didn’t do anything like that!!”

Ken watched as they began to quarrel, eyes cold while he stood stock still. The male student raised his voice as he was drawn in by her emotional state. Ah… seriously, stop it. Shut up. Ken ran his fingers through his bangs, letting out a heavy sight. He kicked the door besides him, causing the two to close their mouths as they startled at the sound. “Senpai, I’m sorry.” Ken said with a smile on his face, the same smile that he had when he was confessed to, “Just now, I tried thinking of reasons to keep you, but…”

“…Huh?”

“I couldn’t think of anything at all.”

“What the hell does that mean…”

“I mean, it’s over. We should break up.” He bluntly told her, causing her expression to stiffen, as he turned around.

“Wh, wait a minute… why… you’re heartless!”

Heartless? You’re the one that betrayed me first.

Both the curses thrown at his back and the cries that could be heard from the hallways, all of it, was annoying and inevitable. The smile disappeared from Ken’s face as he walked into the hallway.

He stopped once he returned to the front of the 7th grade classrooms. He noticed the setting sun gently shining into the room as he looked at the windows. He had no such things as feelings from the start.

I guess I betrayed her, too… Ken turned away from the windows and began to walk away.

The first time he confessed to a girl was when he was in elementary school.

“I’m sorry…”

He had truthfully already forgotten the name of the girl who had said those words, troubled, in a small voice before she left. He probably wasn’t that serious about her in the first place since he now thought things like, “Why did I confess to her?”

Even so, when he thought back about the past, the reason he would sometimes feel a sting in his chest was because the courage that he had mustered together despite being a coward had easily been cast aside. He was probably disappointed in both himself and that girl. He had picked up a sparkling stone and valued it, convinced that it was a treasure. Then, one day, it was as if he had realized that that stone was just an ordinary pebble. His interest in the stone and its sparkle suddenly vanished and he no longer looked at it.

That sense of disappointment –

He had thought that he was doing better than he did before. But history repeated itself. He had disappointed both himself and his partner and abandoned it all with, “It’s over.” After all, he had given up again just like that. The romance he longed for did not exist in reality. Even if he confessed, even if he went out with them, something like mutual feelings has never happened.

It’s seriously so laughable…

He had nothing but terrible experiences.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

The sun began to set as he left the school and headed towards the station. Ken took out his phone as he leaned against the handrail of the pedestrian bridge. The cars stopped at the traffic light began to move all at once when the light changed.

Ken looked up at the night sky, the shadow of the moon dim in the sky, while he made a call, “Oh, hey? It’s me… what’re you up to now?” He asked in his usual light tone. The person on the other line replied back. He felt somehow relieved at their bothered voice, “…Me? I’m in front of the station. I juuust got some free time now.”

The wind that was blowing held various smells of the neighborhood. He slightly dropped the tone of his voice and held down his flapping hair with his hand, “Hey, hang out with me.”

Ken stuffed his phone into his pocket when the call ended. He slowly walked across the pedestrian bridge, sliding his hand against the handrail.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

There were tons of students on their home from school at the arcade they were in. Noise and laughter that were enough to make their heads hurt echoed in the arcade.

“Ahh, shit, I lost again!!” Kotarou yelled in a frustrated voice as he leaned back where he sat in the seat of the racing game.

Ken laughed, leaning against the handle next to Kotarou, “Kotarou, you’re last again!”

“I would’ve gotten to the goal first if you hadn’t thrown that banana peel when I was close to the finish line!”

“You totally ran over it and spun. You’re so hilarious, Kotarou.” He said, his stomach twisting in laughter. Koudai also let out a suppressed laugh from his seat next to Kotarou.

Both Kotarou and Koudai had just left school after finishing their activities with their clubs when he had called them at the pedestrian bridge. Inviting them out and going to the arcade dispelled a bit of the depression he felt.

“You’re too good at this, Koudai. Aren’t we no match for you!?” Kotarou spoke in a louder voice in response to the loud sound around them.

It was their fifth game, but their positions of Koudai in first place, Ken in second, and Kotarou in third stayed the same.

“Well… I didn’t feel like losing to you guys.” Koudai pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the words “YOU WIN!” displayed on his screen.

“How long have you been playing this game? You’d have a good game with Natsuki.” Kotarou said, amazed, while letting out a sight.

“Let’s do the coin games next!” Ken stood from his seat, picking up his bag that had been left at his side, and began to walk away.

“Shibaken, you give up way too fast!”

“No matter how many times we play, it won’t the change the fact that you’ll always be last, Kotarou.” He said, laughing, as he headed to the floor with the coin games. Both Koudai and Kotarou grabbed their bags and followed him. As Ken was walking, he yelled, “Oh!” and stopped in front of the crane machines. He was drawn by the extra-large Shirokuma plushies lined up inside the machine.

“What’re you doin’?” Kotarou peeked at the machine from besides him when Ken hadn’t moved away from them.

“Oh, sorry. Wait a sec.” Ken took his wallet from his back pocket and inserted a coin.

“It’s so freakin’ huge! This is too impossible, there’s no way you can get it.”

“They wouldn’t put something in that can’t be won from the machine.” Ken carefully moved the crane with the button. However, the crane only pinched the arm of the Shirokuma and didn’t give a sign of being lifted at all. The crane then returned back into position without ever grabbing anything and stopped moving. Ken and Kotarou, both having looked into the case the entire time, then exchanged looks.

Thirty minutes later…

“Shibaken, give up, just stop. Get a hold of yourself!” Kotarou desperately bound Ken’s arms behind his back as he tried to insert another coin.

“I’m definitely getting this Shirokuma! I’ll get it no matter what!”

“Don’t just watch, Koudai, help me do something!”

Koudai, who had been watching them indifferently, stepped forward at Kotarou’s cry for help. “Guess I have no choice.” He then inserted a coin from his own wallet.

“Wha, wait, Koudai?”

Koudai controlled the button with a tap next to Kotarou. The way he was moving his hands made it look like he was used to it. When the crane moved, it tightly grabbed onto Shirokuma’s neck and slowly rose. Shirokuma fell down the hatch to the opening right in front of Kotarou and Ken as they watched with bated breaths.

“O-O-OOOOOOOHHHH!!” Ken and Kotarou cheered loudly.

Koudai casually grabbed Shirokuma from where he had fallen and held it out to Ken with a, “Here.”

“Damn. I, just now… my heart might’ve just skipped a beat. I think I’m falling in love with you!” Ken hugged Shirokuma in his arms. It was as soft and felt as good to the touch as it looked.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine if you don’t. It’s just your imagination.”

“You’re amazing, Koudai. I definitely thought it was impossible.” Kotarou looked at Koudai with admiration.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to get it, normally?”

“No way!!” Kotarou and Ken both yelled at the same time before dissolving into laughter.

…Man, it’s fun. When I’m with these guys.

He didn’t have to think about unnecessary stuff if they just had funs like idiots. It was much easier that way.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

It had gotten completely dark by the time they left the arcade. The three of them walked side by side on the sidewalk as it was lit by the light of the store windows. The sound of the trains passing by could be heard from the station.

“Isn’t it embarrassing walking like that, Shibaken?” Kotarou asked with a lower voice than usual as he walked next to him.

“What do you mean? Ain’t it great since I can walk while showing it off like this?” Ken grinned with his large Shirokuma under his arms.

“That’s adorable!”

“Seriously. I’m jealous.”

He was trying to stand out as much as he could. They could hear girls commenting on the stuffed animal as they passed by.

“Kotarou, Koudai, let’s keep going and go to karaoke.”

“You still want to stay out!?”

“We have a two day holiday starting from tomorrow, right? It’s a waste to just go home now.” Ken called out to them with, “I’m going to leave you guys behind,” and quickly walked off.

“Koudai, what’re you gonna do?” Kotarou asked, looking back at Koudai as he slowly followed behind them.

“I’m going.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s a lot going on. For Shibaken, too.” Koudai patted Kotarou’s shoulder with a tap, “If you have something going on, then you don’t have to push yourself to go.”

“Ugh, guess I have no choice…” Kotarou scratched his head as he and Koudai followed behind Ken side by side.

Koudai chuckled at seeing Kotarou like this, “What a great friendship.”

“Ain’t that you?”

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

“Shibaken, I heard you broke up with your 8th grade girlfriend?”

“How about going out with me this time?”

The girls in Ken’s class came up to him while talking noisily just after the holidays.

Who the hell did they hear this from…

Ken headed to his classroom with the girls while fed up with them. There was still time left before morning homeroom started, so both the classrooms and hallways were noisy.

“Y’know what? Can you not be so amused by someone else’s problem? Despite being like this, I’m still pretty heartbroken.”

“Huh? Don’t tell me you were dumped?”

“You were cheated on, weren’t you? I feel so bad.”

His face twitched slightly as their relentless sputtering hit him. I wasn’t dumped. I’m the one that dumped her. He quickened his steps as he began to lose his temper at their squealing laughter.

On his way to his classroom, he passed by girls from Kotarou’s class. “Ugh, that girl is seriously so annoying.”

“Y’know, the other day during PE…”

“Oh my god, that is the worst!”

They must be getting riled up while gossiping behind someone’s back. The person that was walking in the very back of the group was the girl he passed by at the shrine.

“Hey, Arisa, don’t you think so, too?”

The girl, who had been quiet while looking down the entire time, jerked her head up in surprise at suddenly being brought into the conversation. A forced smile appeared on her face as she responded appropriately with, “I know, right…”

The other girls no longer tried to invite her into the conversation as if unamused by her response. There was too much of a cold atmosphere around them for them to be considered friends.

Her name’s Arisa…

The girl immediately looked down once more, the smile vanishing from her face, as she followed behind them with heavy steps.

She had seemed so happy when he had passed by her on the steps to the shrine. Now, her face was dull with no traces of any joy. She was keeping up appearances with a smile to match the opinions of others. She should stop going along with them rather than be on the verge of tears.

“…She can’t, can she?” A bitter smile broke through as he whispered this.

Everyone was desperate to protect the small place they could belong in. To do that, they pretended to be someone they didn’t enjoy being.

Even he was like that.

   preparation 6

 It happened the next day after PE.

The air was different from usual when Arisa returned slightly late to the classroom after changing in the locker room. It was noisy and somehow heavy. Arisa entered the classroom, wondering what had happened, and happened to look at Karen sitting at her desk. The moment she did, she almost let out a “Ah.”

Tasteless scribbles were drawn all over Karen’s desk as she faced her head downwards. Tears were also dripping down Karen’s cheeks. She desperately bit her lips to hold back the urge to yell and cry.

“How cruel. Who did this?” The girls gathered in the back of the classroom giggled in response to the person that asked this question out loud.

The boys commented, “This is cruel,” but all they did was gather around her in a circle and stare at her.

Karen…

Arisa stepped forward and tried to call out to her, “Hey…”

“Arisa, what are you doing? We’re moving classes next.” She jerked at the sound of a girl’s voice scolding her. The hand that was reaching out towards Karen froze. When she lifted her head, Yui and the others were staring hard at Arisa.

If I talk to her, I’ll also… Arisa forcefully swallowed back the words on the tip of her tongue and stepped back from Karen. Is it okay like this? She kept hearing the voice in her head criticize her. I mean, I can’t do anything. There’s nothing I can do. She desperately repeated convenient excuses to herself.

“She got too conceited just because she’s a little cute.”

“Right? Don’t you think so, too, Arisa?” They all simultaneously turned their gazes to the silent Arisa.

It was stifling, almost as if her throat was being squeezed. “Right…” Arisa forced a smile and made this comment in a small voice.

It was then that it happened.

“What are you trying to say that I’ve done!? Just stop it already… stop it!!” Karen loudly screamed in her seat. It was as if her patience had snapped.

Arisa froze at her voice.

The girls around Karen looked at her with cold eyes, saying, “What is she doing?” as Karen broke down crying while covering her face with both hands.

“It’s almost as if she’s saying we’re bullying her?”

“That’s horrible to say when you don’t have proof.” Yui and the others said as they exited out of the classroom in laughter.

The sounds of Karen’s sobs and an awkward atmosphere lingered in the air for some time in the classroom.

I have to talk to her… but, what do I say? She couldn’t do something like insincerely ask her if she was okay after having talked bad about her to fit in with what the other girls were saying. It would be the same as hurting her. Nothing would change. Even so, to put up a sympathetic act after what happened… She acted as if she didn’t know anything because she was scared of becoming a target.

Until when would she continue doing these kinds of things? Until when should she continue doing these kinds of things? Despite the fact that she had hurt Karen, she was still trying to protect herself.

I don’t like the kind of person I am now. I don’t like it, all of it, I don’t like it. I hate it. Enough already…

Why was she this weak?

Coward.

Wimp.

You’re deceitful… Thinking only about yourself.

You’re weak, you’re afraid… you’re running away.

Arisa ran like the wind and rushed out of the classroom. She wanted to scream out loud as if her heart was breaking.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

She rushed up the stairs to the rooftop, opened the door, and stepped outside. She rushed up to the fence and clutched it in her hands. Arisa yelled at the top of her lungs, “You’re the worse… I’m the worse!!”

Why couldn’t I say it?

Up until now, she had had tons of opportunities to talk to Karen. During lunch, she should’ve asked her, “Let’s eat together.”

She should’ve asked her, “Let’s be friends,” sooner.

Even earlier, she should’ve told everyone, “Stop doing these things to her.”

She hadn’t been brave and all of it, all of it, she had swallowed back. If only she had said something, even just one word, she might’ve been able to change the situation. She might’ve been able to resolve the situation without it becoming like it did. She looked down while grasping onto the fence, her tears spilling and making water stains on the concrete.

She had hated the thought of being alone. She had wanted friends.

That had been all she wanted.

How much pain must she overcome to become an adult? Her kindness was breaking down into fallen tears.

Hey… someone.

Tell me.

♦     ♦     ღ     ♦     ♦

The view on top of the rooftop’s water tower was great. It was the ideal place to spend the lunch break on a clear day like today. As a result, recently, Ken would often invite Koudai and Kotarou to come with him to the rooftop when it was lunch break.

“My afternoon classes make me sleepy…” Kotarou leaned back near the edge while Koudai was quietly looked through the manga magazine that had just gone on sale today. Next to them, Ken was meaninglessly fiddling with his phone.

“Actually, why did we get together again?”

“Isn’t it cause we had free time?” Koudai honestly answered in response to Kotarou’s grumbling.

“I feel kinda unproductive. Ahh, I want to run…”

“I don’t think you’ll be liked by Setoguchi even if you put on some muscle.” Ken teased while looking at his phone.

Kotarou immediately reddened, “Like I’ve mentioned so many times before, why does Hina come up!”

“Now, now, Kotarou. It’s because Shibaken is sulking with a broken heart. Let him off.” Koudai said while tapping Kotarou on the shoulder.

“What, seriously!? Wait a minute, there was a girl you were going out with, Shibaken!?”

“Koudai, you shit. It’s been decided, I’m seeing you in the bathroom later.”

Why does even Koudai know about it in the first place?

Ken suddenly lifted his head from his phone. At that very moment, the door to the rooftop was slammed open and someone ran out. “Hey… isn’t that girl in the same class as Kotarou?”

“Hm?” Koudai said.

Kotarou turned to look behind him, caught in their conversation, then looked down. When he did, the person that was standing there was Arisa, “Oh, what the heck… it’s Takamizawa.”

It seemed like she thought there was no one else on the rooftop. She rushed to the fence and sobbed. Her voice echoed even more in their surroundings in proportion to how quiet it was around them.

“Heeey, wha…”

“You’re being insensitive. Stuuuuupid.” Ken interrupted Kotarou just as he was about to call out to her. Even his chest felt like it was throbbing at her yells, almost as if she were piercing herself in the chest with a knife, as she called herself the worst.

Everyone had times when they wanted to vent all their almost bursting emotions until they emptied into the air.

The cries that they continued to hear for some time, too, gradually began to lessen. Arisa looked up to the sky, tired from crying, and then turned back towards the door after wiping her cheeks. A strange, uncomfortable silence lingered in the air on the rooftop for some time even after she was no longer there.

“Kotarou, that girl is in the same class as you, right? Properly look after her, will you?”

“Huh!? Why should I… What the heck are you looking at me for?”

“Anyway, I’m counting on you.”

“Shibaken, you’re nice to girls. I’d be nice if you were nicer to me, too…”

Ken’s eyes went wide at Koudai’s words, saying, “What the heck are you saying!?” and returned the atmosphere into a light mood. “Aren’t we all best friends!!” Ken brought their shoulders together.

The expressions of the other two turned weird, as if to express, “You’re saying those kinds of things without being serious again.”

If only things could be more easygoing. It was just school and getting along with your friends. It would be alright if they could spend that time while happily laughing.

Why is something that simple this hard…

[charlottemaunqmal-blog]

The Ranch

Charlotte strides across the Chantry of Secrets, the heels of her sprung leather boots clocking against the stone floor. She means business.

She heads straight to whatever part of the cave holds the records.

Fabia has no trouble keeping up, with her huge, bear-like strides. Her tail was stiff and ears low--still uncomfortable around so many uniformed agents, being new as she was.

"Swefred Cutteridge," Charlotte says shortly to the person minding the records desk.

The asura at the desk looks Charlotte up and down. "You look more like a Jessica to me."

Charlotte gives him an "are you shitting me" look. "I want the records. On Swefred Cutteridge."

The desk guy turns, hiding his smirk--he thought he was funny--and used a hologlove to flip through digital files on a screen. "You want a hard copy?" he asked as he reached the C section.

Charlotte thinks for a moment. "Hard copy."

The desk guy pulled up a file marked "Cutteridge-A-S" and tapped the holoscreen a few times. A printing press nearby clattered to life and began to print out some pages.

"Here are the rudiments," the desk guy said. "We got some classified intelligence in here, so if you want that you'll have to bring a permit from a Lightbringer with a level 6 or higher pass."

Fabia quirked a fuzzy brow and looked at Charlotte.

Charlotte scowls but doesn't look very surprised. She takes the pages off the machine and skims them. "Well this is useless."

Fabia points at a sheet with a big meaty claw. "Says Queensdale there. That helps."

Charlotte takes a second look at what Fabia is pointing at."That's his ranch. But he wouldn't just... go home and not report in. I suppose we can go see if he drank himself to death or something."

Fabia sneers at the paper. "Can we save the Sum for last? I hate using the damn doors in that place."

Charlotte smirks a little and looks up, scanning the faces in the Chantry. She tosses a disinterested "thanks" over her shoulder at the desk asura and shoves the Fred papers into the pocket of her coat. She indicates to Fabia with a jerk of her head that she wants to leave before she says anything further.

Fabia falls in line behind her senior, silent and skulky.

Charlotte pauses at an unoccupied desk--its usual attendant presumably on an errand or maybe a pee break--and rummages until she finds a piece of blank paper and a quill. She jots something quickly, folds it into thirds, and continues on her way before anyone asks her what she's doing there.

Outside M's office, the desk is attended. A young man is bent over some papers with furrowed brow. Charlotte tosses the folded note into his in-basket without slowing and heads for the exit.

Fabia ducks her head before the secretary can make eye contact with her. She bores her eyes into the back of Charlotte's head. Cats and curiosity, you know.

Charlotte strides through the asura gate without slowing until she comes out the other side in Lion's Arch.

She takes the papers back out of her pocket and peruses them again while she waits for Fabia to catch up.

Fabia's shadow looms over Charlotte within moments. "So..."

"I wanted to get out of there before M saw me," Charlotte says, not looking up from the papers.

Fabia growls briefly in acknowledgement. "What are you thinkin'...?" she asks, with a bit of excitement sneaking though at the idea of a new mission, glancing around at passersby.

Charlotte bites her lower lip pensively. "This isn't much to go on, but if M intended to let me know what Fred was up to before he disappeared, the file would have been flagged. So I guess we have to start with the low-hanging fruit." She looks up. "Let's go to Queensdale."

Fabia snickers under her breath at something.

Charlotte arches an eyebrow. "What's funny?"

Fabia clears her throat with a growl. "Nothing," she says, stonefaced as usual again.

Charlotte gives her an I-don't-believe-you look but lets it go. She shoves the papers back into her pocket. She's off and heading towards the next asura gate.

***

The first building to come into view over the hills, riverbeds, and patches of trees, is a great wooden barn, with paddocks stretching off in every direction. Beyond it, several off-buildings and a small, cabin-like house with only one floor.

Moos could already be heard in the distance, echoing off the trees.

Charlotte surveys the scene carefully. She's lost some of her businesslike air--walking more slowly now, as though out for a nice walk, hands in the pockets of her leather coat. She keeps an eye out for workers in the barn and paddock area, but aims in the general direction of the house.

A whooping and hollering came from a paddock, and suddenly a herd of cattle with enormously long horns poured out of a little wooden gate. Some of the cattle saw Charlotte and began to trot over to her, while most of them headed for the trees.

Charlotte braces herself at the sight of the longhorns coming toward her. She would really hate to start things off by slaughtering one of Fred's cows, but if it comes down to that or being gored...

Three of the cows slowed to a stop a few meters from Charlotte. One sniffed the air near her.

A guy on horseback wearing a straw hat finished leading the cattle out of their paddock, and saw Charlotte with the three lollygaggers.

Charlotte eyes the cattle warily and tries backing up a little to put more space between them and her. Cattle are not really part of her life experience. She notices the man on horseback and feels a little tug of familiarity, but while the dress and bearing are reminiscent of Fred, she can tell even from a distance that it's not him.

Keeping a close watch on the cows in case they spook, she lifts one arm and waves at the guy. Help! Distress!

The man tapped his horse and it walked around the cattle. "Get," he said to them, calmly, and they all turned and wandered off to join the rest of the herd. The man clambered down from his horse and dusted his hands off, approached Charlotte, considered offering a hand, then decided he ought to be more wary of strangers, and just crossed his arms. "Can I help you?" he asked, as the horse went to graze.

"You already did," Charlotte says cheerfully, with a self-deprecating laugh. "I wasn't expecting the cattle onslaught and I wasn't sure what to do. I guess they're more amenable to persuasion than I gave them credit for."

The man scratched the back of his neck, looking confused. "They uh, yeah. That's... yeah." Then, disarmed by her laugh, he walked up to offer a hand. The sunlight snuck through some tears in his straw hat and showed bright blue eyes. "Payton," he said.

Charlotte smiles as she takes his hand. "Charlotte Smythe," she says. "I'm sorry I wandered through your pasture. I'm not very familiar with the area. I was actually coming out to look up an old friend."

"Oh," Payton said, and brushed at some of his sand-colored hair that had glued itself to his forehead with sweat. "Well, what's their name? I been here all my life, I know pretty much everyone who lives here, or near here, or... yeah." He chuckled awkwardly.

His horse raised its head and looked toward the house, ears up.

"Fred Cutteridge?" Charlotte says. "I think his place is out in this direction."

Payton suddenly brightened, and his eyes glittered with intrigue. "You know Cousin Fred? Well gee," he said, eyes wandering off past her for a moment, then snapping back. "This is his ranch, I work for'im. Wanna come up to the house, get some shade? I think we got tea, and... stuff."

Charlotte looks delighted. "What are the chances that the cattle that almost gore me would be Fred's? I'd love to come up to the house, if it's not inconvenient. I don't want to interrupt your work."

"Well they weren't gonna... ah never mind them, just gimme a second to get Carl to watch the cattle while I walk you up there." He walked a few feet toward the paddock. "CARL!" he screamed.

A faint "what" came from somewhere out of sight.

"COME WATCH THE CATTLE FOR ME!"

Charlotte smirks to herself while his back is turned.

"A'right," Payton said, turning back to Charlotte. "It's uh, you wanna ride there? Bit of a walk." He started walking toward the horse, which turned to look at them, nostrils twitching.

"Oh!" Charlotte looks surprised. "I'm not exactly what you'd call a horsewoman."

"Oh she's real sweet, she won't kick you off or anything. I let my little baby cousins ride her sometimes," Payton said, yanking on the horse's saddle to straighten it. "But if you're nervous you don't have to."

The horse craned its neck to sniff Payton, knocking his hat crooked.

Charlotte eyes the horse only a little less distrustfully than she did the cattle, but after a moment she takes a breath and smiles at Payton. "Why not! I'll give it a try."

Payton stepped around to the left side of the horse and straightened his hat. "All right, you just gotta put your left foot in the left stirrup," he said, patting said stirrup. "Put all your weight on there, and swing your right leg over her back." He made vague hand gestures in the horse's general direction.

"All right." Charlotte approaches the saddle and grabs the horn and the back of the seat. "You'll catch me if I fall, right?"

"Yup!" Payton said, standing right where he'd been, and held an arm out. "Just stay real calm. She can tell if you're scared, and then that might make her scared."

Charlotte lifts her foot into the stirrup without trouble, but wobbles artfully as she vaults into the saddle. She plays up her incompetence with a little gasp of dismay.

Payton holds the horse's head in one hand. He grins up at Charlotte. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Oh, she's quite tall, isn't she?" Charlotte grips the pommel of the saddle in both hands as she looks down at Payton. She returns his grin. She might even blush a little.

Payton laughed a bit, looking down and away. "She's actually one of our smaller ones," he said. "You wanna lead her with the reins, or want me to?"

"I'll do it, if you tell me how."

"Just... hold 'em kinda loosely, so you don't give her false directions on accident," Payton said, giving the horse a scritch on the nose. "Pull left to make her go left, and right to make her go right."

"Okay." Charlotte takes the reins in her hands. "Err... how do I get her to go forward?"

"Your feet," he says, stepping out of the way. "Just give her a squeeze to tell her to go. Harder you squeeze, faster she'll run. You can also give 'er a li'l kick to get her started if she's not paying attention."

Charlotte cautiously pokes her feet into the horse's ribcage.

The horse begins to walk forward, which happens to already be toward the house.

"It's really beautiful out here," Charlotte says as they amble along. "You must love working here. How long have you been at it?"

"Oh gee, it must be like, ten years almost," Payton said. "Well, I've been working on ranches ten years. Cousin Fred hasn't had this one that long, only about uh, I think five years?"

"Did you grow up out here?" Charlotte holds the reins in one hand so she can pat the horse's neck.

The horse's ears flicked about and its mane twitched at the touch.

"Yeah, a bit south...east of here, where my parents have their farm," Payton said. "My sister still lives out there with them, taking care of what they still have. They're kinda letting it go, though, I think they want to retire but don't wanna admit it." He looked up at her with a half-smile.

Charlotte smiles back. "Which side are you related to Fred on?"(edited)

"Oh, funny thing actually," Payton said, looking ahead to the house. "My parents took him in when I was a kid. He's not actually blood-related, but I still call him my cousin, 'cause we were raised together and all."

"Oh, of course. Fred mentioned something about that," Charlotte says vaguely.

Payton looks up at her. "Really? I can't get him to talk about -anything-." He slowed as they reached the house, and pointed out a hitching post near the porch.

"Your parents must be very kind, to take in a stranger." Charlotte aims the horse toward the hitching post. She smiles down at him. "I can see it rubbed off on you."

"Aw, well, thank you, you're gonna make me blush," Payton said, as he took a rope that was lying across the hitching post. "Pull back to make her stop," he said, approaching the horse's front.

Charlotte tugs gently on the reins and takes advantage of Payton's diverted attention. While he hitches the horse, she scrutinizes the house.

It's ugly, unless one has a taste for unpainted, sunbleached wood logs, and nearly-flat roofs with metal gutters so rusted they didn't shine anymore. The shaded side of the house had dead grass and a few thornbushes framing it, and all the windows had what looked like handmade shutters, most of which were closed, except for the one right next to the front door. It just had a blackout curtain with a hole the size of an eye.

Charlotte furrows her brow a little at the unfriendliness of the place. It looks as prickly as Fred himself. Then she turns her attention back to Payton and looks cheerful again.

"Need help getting down?" Payton asked, just as a shutter on the second floor flew open, startling him.

"Maybe a little," Charlotte admits.

Payton held out an arm for Charlotte and watched the window, where a woman was sticking her head out.

"Who's this?" she called down, suspicious, perhaps, but not unfriendly, as she waved at Charlotte. The wind caught the woman's waves and waves of dark brown hair, and she ducked inside just as quickly as she'd appeared--presumably, so her hair wouldn't parachute her away into the yard.

Charlotte uses Payton's arm for stability as she slides out of the saddle. She's taken by surprise by the woman in the window, but regroups. "Fred's going to be surprised to see me," she tells Payton. "I didn't send word that I was coming. I hope it won't be an inconvenience for anyone...?"

"Well that's the thing..." Payton said, noticeably quieter. "I'm not sure he's here right now. He kinda..." he does a wooshy motion with his hands. "Comes and goes without saying anything." He stepped to the front door to let Charlotte in.

"Oh," Charlotte says, with a faint air of disappointment as she follows Payton to the door. "What a shame if I've missed him!"

"Well you can always come back," Payton said, walking through and keeping the door help open for her.

Inside was the most quaint, undecorated bachelor pad in Kryta. A heating stove gathered dust in a corner, there were no rugs, or pillows anywhere to be seen, and the one couch in the middle of the room faced a blank wall, its cushions covered in books.

Everything was wooden--the floor, the walls, the trim. The trim was painted, thank Lyssa, though it was probably just to hide the sealant.

An untidy kitchen could be seen through a doorway, and carpeted stairs smelled of smoke. But lo, there it was, the only item of decoration in the house so far--a gun cabinet by the stairs, but not just the kind for storing. Handguns and rifles, polished to glittering, filled the cabinet, with a lamp hung directly above it, making it also the brightest part of the room.(edited)

Charlotte steps into the room, the slightest hint of a sardonic expression on her face as she takes it in. Whoever the lady in the window was, she wasn't the cleaning lady. Charlotte turns toward Payton. "It looks like he's been gone a while...?" she suggests.

"Prob'ly?" Payton said, walking toward the kitchen, and turning on a lamp in there. "You want tea? We also got... ooh, lemonade."

The woman from the window came down the stairs tying a silk robe around herself--her entire, incredibly curvy self--and it looked like she had pajamas on underneath. "Hello," she said to Charlotte, "I didn't know anyone was coming over, sorry," she said, and must have been talking about the pj's.

"Oh, no, please don't apologize," Charlotte says with a pleasant smile. "I dropped by unannounced. I'm so sorry to trouble you. I just thought I'd pay Fred a visit, but it looks as though he isn't here." She approaches the woman and offers her hand. "Charlotte Smythe."

"Helena," the woman said, and shook her hand briefly. She glanced to the kitchen where Payton was. "Sometimes my friends call me Jewel," she added quickly, as Payton walked into the room with glasses of lemonade.

Charlotte smiles politely and is glad that Payton's reappearance spares her having to figure out which of the woman's names she's expected to use. She accepts a glass of lemonade from Payton and goes to look at the gun display. "These are lovely," she says. "Of course, I've seen Fred shoot. These must be his prized possessions."

Payton sips at his own lemonade. "Yeah. I think he likes 'em more than he likes people. Jewel, d'you want a drink too?"

"No thank you, sweetie," Helena said in a motherly tone, and followed Charlotte toward the display. "They are impressive, aren't they?"

"I saw him win a prize once at a shooting gallery," Charlotte says conversationally. "I'm sorry I missed him. Do you happen to know when he'll be home?"

Helena looked away and made a thinking face.

"He usually shows up once a week, even if just for the night," Payton said amiably. "I know the guy who runs the inn near town if you wanna stay in the area."

Helena wandered toward the stairs again.

"Oh... maybe," Charlotte says vaguely. "It was really just a whim, coming to see him. I haven't seen him in a long time." She eyes Helena's retreating back, making a quick calculation. "We used to be very close."

Helena paused by the stairs.

"Yeah? How'd you know each other? I forgot to ever ask," Payton said, going to sit on the couch.

Charlotte notes Helena's reaction with interest and turns toward Payton. She laughs softly, as though reminiscing. "We met in a bar in Lions Arch, many years ago. Practically another lifetime."

Helena sits on the steps and brushes her hair over her shoulder to watch Charlotte, listening with genuine curiosity that nearly overwrote her lingering suspicion.

"A bar huh? So are you -that- kind of old friend?" Payton asked, laughing good-naturedly.

Charlotte looks both amused and chagrinned. "Well, you know, we were younger then and... unattached." She keeps her eyes on Payton so that Helena is in her peripheral vision. "But I doubt Fred would thank me for telling those old stories about him. As you said, he isn't really one for sharing. I've probably already said too much."

Payton put a hand over his mouth, eyes round as plates. He looked to Helena, then back to Charlotte. Then he laughed, and slapped his knee. "No kiddin'?"

Helena looked far less surprised, and almost like she was about to smile.

Charlotte looks rueful and turns back to the guns, as though they are the closest she can get to Fred. "I guess it doesn't surprise me that he never spoke of me." She takes a sip of her lemonade. "It was probably a little silly of me to even--well. Probably for the best that he wasn't here; one of those fate things. How many days did I miss him by?"

"Just one," Helena pipes up. "Sorry."

Payton nods, sips his lemonade.

Charlotte turns to them. "Really? He was here just yesterday?"

Helena nods, then looks off... somewhere.

Payton sighs. "It's annoying too, because now Carl and I have to start moving this herd all on our own, which I mean, we -can-, it's just annoying."

Charlotte looks disappointed. "Well. And you say he probably won't be back for a week?"

Payton and Helena both shrug.

Charlotte gives a small, apologetic smile, mostly aimed at Payton. "Probably for the best," she repeats. "I'm sorry to have taken up your time." She sets her half-drunk glass of lemonade down on a dusty table.

"Oh," Payton said, standing. "The inn is just past Fred's ranch, if you keep going the direction you were when you got here," he offered.

"Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?" Charlotte asks. She turns to Helena. "It was lovely to meet you. Sorry again for the interruption."

Helena smiles, and it's a strangely bright and cheery smile considering how quiet she'd been before, almost as if it was a trained smile. She gave a little wave as she stood to go back upstairs.

Payton led Charlotte out the door. "It's really not that far a walk, but I could let you borrow a horse if you want?"

"No, that's not necessary." Charlotte pauses on the porch and touches Payton lightly but earnestly on the arm. She continues in a low voice. "I don't mean to be intrusive, but that woman in there--is she Fred's...?"

"You know I don't actually know?" Payton said, and it sounded like a question. "She's been coming by and visiting, sometimes staying for dinner, for uh, years now, really. As long as the ranch has been here. But, you know, Fred never talks about things."

"She's real nice," Payton added as he led her around the house, where there was a barely-discernible path worn into the dry grass. "She lives in Divinity's Reach, that's where she works too, but I don't remember what she does." He side-eyed the house, but didn't say aloud whatever the thought was.

Charlotte looks nonplussed. "I see. I certainly don't want to get in the way of anything. I don't... well, could you just let Fred know that his old friend Charlotte is looking for him, when he gets back?" She smiles at Payton. "I'd really like to see him again."

"Of course!" he said, smiling. "His 'old friend'," he repeated, and nudged her with his elbow, snickering.

Charlotte continues smiling but her eyes are faintly annoyed. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Payton pauses for a moment, and something passes through his eyes--doubt, maybe--but he turns and points west. "See where that paved road starts? It'll take you right there."

"Thanks," Charlotte starts to move away, then pauses and looks at him. "At the risk of sounding desperate--you don't have any idea where he goes, when he's not here?"

Payton took his hat off to run a hand through his hair. "I mean... he goes on these cartography trips, and sometimes he tells me if it's to a particularly dangerous place.... like that time he and some buddies of his went to Orr." A pause. "I... sometimes he comes back all beat up, though, you know? I worry about him."

Charlotte nods solemnly. "I do, too. There's always been something a little bit... reckless about him, hasn't there? Like he doesn't really care what happens to him?"

Payton scratches his eyebrow. "Yeah, he was like that when we were kids, too." He stares toward the ground for a while.

Charlotte looks pensive for a moment. "Look," she says finally, "instead of letting him know I came by, do you think maybe you could send me a bird if he shows up?" She smiles sadly. "If he knows, he may decide to evaporate before I can get here."

"That's a good idea," Payton said. "Smythe, right?"

Charlotte's smile grows warmer. "That's right. We'll team up on him. For his own good."

Payton laughs. "All right, you good from here? I feel like I should check on Carl."

"Absolutely. I'll pay more attention so I don't go blundering into any more pasture. Thank you so much. It was really lovely to meet you, Payton. I hope we'll meet again soon."

Payton looks a bit surprised at the last remark, but turns and puts his hat back on. Hands in his pockets, he meanders back toward the paddocks.

Charlotte heads down the road in the direction Payton indicated. Once she's out of view of Fred's ranch, her stride lengthens and she moves a bit faster. In town she heads straight for the tavern to locate Fabia.

Raucous laughter bursts through the door as soon as Charlotte opens it. Fabia isn't hard to spot--the large, orange, brooding shape in the corner, being rambled at by a drunk farmer-looking type human.

The laughter is coming from the bar, where a young woman sits perched on the counter in a small, patched skirt, trying to play a fiddle and failing, but laughing along with the others; they were mostly older, working class types, an even mix of men and women, but the men were sitting closer to the... musician?

Charlotte weaves through the crowd, making a beeline for Fabia. She puts a hand on the drunk farmer's shoulder, gives him a coin, and nods her head toward the bar to get rid of him.

The man looked up, foam moustache and Amish-style beard giving him the full St. Nicholas look. He smiled at the pretty lady, looked at the coin, and wandered toward the bar in a confused, daydreamy amble.

Fabia plopped her head on the bar and one of her forehorns left a dent in the dirty, soft wood.

Charlotte grins as she takes the barstool next to Fabia, tossing the tails of her coat behind her. "Find out anything?"

"Humans smell bad, their drinks smell bad, and small towns out in the middle of nowhere hate charr," she said into the table.

Charlotte nods slowly as though this information is all about what she expected. "I had a bit more luck. I've got an informant now. But what I did not expect," she adds acerbicly, "is that I only missed the bastard by one bloody day! So whatever the hell is going on, he's not dead or gravely injured." She leans against the bar, glowering.

Fabia lifts her head. "Wait, he was at his ranch? Yesterday?"

"Yes!" Charlotte says, indignant. "So what the fuck is he playing at? He's off the grid long enough that they want me to go looking for him, but he's faffing about at home?"

Fabia's nose wrinkles. "He did -what- in his home?"

Charlotte snorts. "Messing around, wasting time. But since you ask, that reminds me--there was a woman there. A very curvy sort of woman, trying to look younger than she is, who goes by the name Jewel even though that's not her real name and who 'works' in Divinity's Reach in a profession unknown." She raises her eyebrows at Fabia. "What does all that say to you?"

Fabia sniffed, scratched at a fang, plopped an elbow on the table. "Uh, she.... likes jewels, and..." she shook her head and shrugged.

Charlotte stares at her a moment, then shakes her head in resignation. "Charr are so literal." She flags down the bartender and orders a pint of beer. When the bartender moves away, she turns to Fabia and says in a low voice, "Sounds like a prostitute to me."

Fabia lowers her massive head to also speak in a low voice, which also makes it very grumbly and hard to understand. "So he abandoned the.... ah, apple trade, to sit at home with hookers?"

"It seems highly unlikely, but at the moment I don't have any better theories." The bartender brings Charlotte's beer, and she takes a long drink and thumps it back down on the bar. "What kind of prostitute is still hanging around her john's house the day after he's left town? Not a very ambitious one, if you ask me." She seems nettled.

Fabia bites the inside of her cheek and stares at the counter. She finally looks back up and brushes her mane out of her eyes. "Well, the next spot to check is in the big city, if you've gotten all you can out of... Jewel, was it?" She licks her teeth after saying the name, as if it's far too sweet for her palate.

"I didn't get much out of her, as it happens. I couldn't think of a good way to grill her. But Fred won't have told her anything anyway." Charlotte dismisses Jewel with an irritated shake of her head. "We'll check his hidey hole in the Reach next. With luck, we'll catch up with him."

Fabia narrowed her eyes, staring at the middle distance. "You don't think there's some kind of double-agent bullshit happening, do you?"

Charlotte blows out an explosive breath. "It's crossed my mind. I don't know as much about Fred as I'd like to, which means I don't have any idea who else he might be working for. I'm going to have to get into his file one way or another."

"You think this Jewel person might be some kind of informant?" Fabia mused aloud.

"Or she could be an agent." Charlotte drums her fingers on the table. "I find it very suspicious that she's hanging around Fred's house when he's not there. But on the other hand, Fred wouldn't be that stupid."

A cute waitress with a little pink apron suddenly appeared and put a gigantic t-bone steak in front of Fabia. "Here you go, mi... si... um, here you go!" and she whirled away to hide in the kitchen again.

Fabia grabbed for a fork and stabbed the hunk of meat. "He must be -kinda- stupid, to run off in the first place. You hear he left an initiate all on her own in the Shiverpeaks?"

Charlotte stares at Fabia's steak, lost in thought. "Yes," she says at length. "And it makes no sense to me." She lapses into silence again, slowly rotating her beer glass on the bar surface.

"I assume..." Fabia picked up the entire steak on her fork and ripped a huge bite out of it. "That he never talked to you about running," she said with a mouthful.

Charlotte remains silent for a bit. She does not seem to be put off by Fabia's table manners. "Not as such," she says finally. "But he did say 'fuck the Order.' Or words to that effect."

"Nah, see," Fabia said before finally swallowing, "If someone said that about a Legion they'd get their ass kicked all the way to the Blood Legion homelands." She ripped a bite out of the steak again--it was already half gone.

Charlotte scowls. "Yes, well, humans are different. When we're forced into something we don't want to do, we tend to resent it."

Fabia chewed the steak in thoughtful silence.

Charlotte rubs her temple. "I just can't explain how he's at his farm yesterday, under any scenario. Double agent, abandoning his post--none of it explains why he'd be at a place where it'd be so easy to find him. He has to know someone will come looking for him." She says this last with quite a bit of bitterness.

Fabia smacks her lips and covers her muzzle to belch. "You wanna stay here the rest of the day? We could probably reach DR by nightfall."

Charlotte drains the rest of her beer. "If you're done eating, let's go. We've got a sepulchre to search."

Fabia grabbed the rest of the steak with her paw and carried it out with her, wasting no time leaving the smelly human bar.